Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (9 page)

“Did the kid just insult me?” Pancake scowled at her and Tim.

“He agreed. Your stew on rice looks like puke on maggots.” Tim motioned to the cook. “Better give me extra.”

“That’s more like it. Blood or fire?”

“Both.” Tim took his tin. “But I’ll add them myself.”

Tim shook a bottle over his plate. Red goo plopped out. The second bottle was smaller, and the reddish orange watery contents poured out.

“Stop hoggin’ the Tabasco,” Merle groused. “In fact, give some to the kid. It’ll put hair on his chest.”

“And singe it.” Tim shoved the bottle at Merle.

Sydney ate almost half of what she’d been served. Tim ordered in a low tone, “Eat up, kid. You don’t want to insult Pancake.”

Sydney looked down at the food. She couldn’t eat another bite. A hand slid over, swiped her tin, and replaced it with an empty one. Her eyes widened, and she looked over at Gulp.

He seemed to be staring off in the distance. A moment later, he ducked his head and shoveled in every last morsel. He didn’t say a word—just pushed away from the table and sauntered off.

As she rose from the table, Tim murmured, “You owe him one. A man always pays his debts.”

“I’ll take that to heart.” Reluctantly, she went back to the field of stones.

As suppertime drew nigh, Velma came out and perched her hands on her hips. “Boy, you done a good enough job for today. Go on up to your room and wash up. I even toted up water for you. You’re plumb tuckered out.”

Nodding, Sydney trudged to the house, still carefully wiped her boots on the mat, and forced herself up each step to her bedchamber. She grimaced when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was lank and dusty, her face caked with grime. She’d never worn filthier clothes, and as she peeled off the shirt, she noted that the dirt went clear through the binding and actually made a small ooze of mud in the sweat that trickled down her front.

She almost cried when she started to unknot the strip of cloth. In her haste that morning, she’d left a raw edge up under her arm, and it seesawed with her motions enough to actually start abrading her delicate skin.

For a woman who had never in her life even had to sweat, let alone work, this was a terrible first. Still, she had no choice. Having chosen this path, she had to stay the course.

After all, she owed a debt to Gulp.

A single knock sounded on her door, and it opened before Sydney could react.

Chapter Five

Velma slipped in, shut the door behind herself, and whispered, “Don’t you worry. Your secret’s safe with me. These men are the world’s biggest pack of fools God ever made. One look at you, and I knew straight off that you are a girl. Mercy sakes, you’re a mess. Let me help you before you get poisoning of the blood from all that dirt in your hurts.”

“I’m too tired to protest,” Sydney admitted in a soft tone. “I’m afraid I’ll have to put myself in your capable hands.”

“Child, why you doing this, anyhow? It’s got to be one of the craziest notions I ever did see.”

Sydney winced as Velma started to help her.

“Didn’t you bring talc along to keep from rubbing yourself raw?”

“Everything I had was scented with lilac. I didn’t dare.”

Velma scowled. “You’re raw as can be. Best thing for that is burnt flour.”

“Flour?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “You dust it on just like those fancy talcs, and it’ll help you heal right up. I’ll burn you some. Look for it in your bottom drawer tomorrow morning. It’ll be in a
coffee cup, so don’t go spilling it.”

“You have my undying gratitude.”

“Honey, that’s about the onliest thing in this room that isn’t dying. You look dead tired!”

Sydney groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“You were going to tell me why you’re going through all of this nonsense.”

“I have to keep it a secret until January. Uncle Fuller made it clear he didn’t want women here—I mean you no offense. If I want to stay here—and I do—then I have no choice.”

“The truth doesn’t bother me. I’m the only female he lets on the ranch. What you’re saying makes perfect sense now. Fuller wants nothing to do with women.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t here. Years ago, he got sweet on the housekeeper. They even planned to marry up, but the week before the wedding, the gal ran off with his lead man. After a time, he took on another housekeeper. Several months went by, and it came apparent she had herself an embarrassing problem. Most folks blamed Fuller and demanded he salvage her honor. Things got pretty ugly, but she up and popped out a nine-pound baby after knowing Fuller only seven months. That put the rumors and questions about Fuller’s morals to rest.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“To his credit, Fuller paid for her to go back east to be with her family again. Other than me, he hasn’t had another petticoat on the grounds since.”

“I can’t blame him. He’s certainly been through enough to make him wary, but Big Tim Creighton is an absolute bear.”

“He’s got good reason, too.” Velma took a washcloth and attacked Sydney’s shoulders with gentle determination.

“Are you going to tell me why?”

“You sure that you want the gospel truth?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, you asked for it, child. Until he got that telegram, Fuller didn’t have any notion that his sister ever even had a kid. His rheumatiz is acting up something awful, and he was talking mighty serious about selling out his share of the ranch to Tim. Heaven only knows Tim deserves it. They’d gotten so far as to start dickering over the price, but then when the letter came, Fuller felt honor bound to step back and think about leaving his land to his kin.”

“Oh, dear goodness!”

“You got it. You stepped right into the middle of men’s business. No worse place to be.” Velma paused. “When they find out you’re a girl, they’ll be fit to be tied.”

She finished washing Sydney’s back and dabbed a bit of some smelly ointment on the chafed spots. She stood back, nodded, and decided, “That’ll do. We’re going to have to truss you up again till you’re done with supper. Then you come on back up here and undo yourself.”

“Thank you ever so much, Velma.”

“It’s a pure pleasure, child. It’s high time someone set this rowdy bunch on their ears.” Velma headed for the door. “Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes. The way you’re moving, you’d be smart if you started down in five.”

Velma joined them for supper. She even asked the blessing.

Accustomed to someone reciting something from the Common Book of Prayer, Sydney found the unstructured way Tim and Velma prayed to be intriguing. They said whatever popped into their minds. Keeping her head bowed a moment longer, Sydney decided to try their approach and silently prayed,
God,
help me. This is much harder than I imagined. And God? Thank you for
Velma
.

“You nodding off, Hathwell?”

Tim’s wry tone made her head shoot up.
Oh, dear. He’s gone
back to being moody
. “I was thanking the Almighty for something. Someone, actually.” She smiled at Velma. “You. I can say with all my heart, you are a godsend.”

“Yeah,
she
is.” Tim’s agreement made Velma’s already broad smile grow larger still.

Sydney pretended not to notice the emphasis. Logic dictated that by contrast, Sydney was a blight.
I worked my fingers to
the bone today. A few more days like this, and Tim Creighton will revise
his opinion
.

Sydney cut the fried chicken from the bone and ate it with her fork. Tim gnawed his off of the bone and even made a show of tearing off several large bites with his teeth. He was on his fifth piece as Sydney finished her only one.

“Kid, you’re going to have to learn to be practical. You use tools when you shouldn’t, and you don’t when you should.”

“Might you clarify that?”

He nodded sagely. “Use your hands to eat chicken. Plain and simple, it’s a hands-on kind of food.”

“It’s evident you feel that way,” she stated in a tone that clearly reflected she wasn’t convinced to alter her dining habits in the least.

“You didn’t use your head today. You lugged every last single rock.”

“You told me to!”

“But you should have thought about what you were doing.”

She stared across the table at him. “Since when did manual labor require intelligence?”

“Think, boy! Think! An ordinary wheelbarrow would have kept you from walking so much. You wouldn’t have had to carry much at all.”

Sydney gave him a stricken look and moaned.

“You should have rolled the larger rocks onto a board and had a horse pull them for you.”

Her breath caught as shame and anger burned inside. She should have thought through those simple solutions. But she was new here. He’d purposefully let her half kill herself, all for the sake of showing her up.

“The only thing you got out of today was sore muscles. I hope you learned something important, though. Ranching is hard enough. Think through each chore before you do it, then carry it out safely and well. It’s never good to hasten through only to have to redo it, but it’s equally foolish to spend more time and effort than necessary. Believe you me, there’s always plenty enough that needs to be done without wasting hours or energy.”

Sydney gave him a cold stare.

Indifferent to her reaction, he pressed on, “Real men who have done the work of the world used their brains long ago. They concocted solutions and inventions that simplify the work and make it easier to accomplish. Since you’ve never gotten your hands dirty, maybe you thought those tools were strange looking or quaint—but wake up. Use them. Someone a whale of a lot more experienced than you came up with the idea, and a bunch of wise ones followed suit. They’re the ones who succeeded.”

Her face grew rigid. “Have you any other advice, or am I free to be excused?”

“Go on and get out of here. Go to bed. You have a full day tomorrow. You’d best be well rested. It’ll be hard work.”

“And you, Mr. Creighton?” Her anger got the better of her. “What will you be doing tomorrow?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I disagree. My uncle owns seventy-five percent of this ranch. Whatever is accomplished on the grounds ultimately concerns me.”

“Don’t be too sure of yourself.”

Sydney stared at him. “Likewise.”

His eyes went dark. “You might very well have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but I’ve earned every last cent in my pocket.”

Heat crept into her face.

“No matter what percentage of the Forsaken partnership I hold, I’ll always do my best. You got your first chance to do the same today. A man rolls up his sleeves and pitches in. He looks for where the need lies and meets it. Sure, his muscles burn and his back aches and the sun’s hot. But he endures. That’s what makes him different from a woman.

“Think about that, kid. The most important thing I did today was to force you to stop being an effeminate sissy and let you try out manhood for a change. Heaven only knows it’s so unfamiliar to you, you don’t know what to think about it.”

A rueful laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. He was more right than he could possibly know.

Tim planted his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and glared at her. His eyes glowed like smoldering coals. “Kid, I’m right . . . and I can outlast you. Just you wait. We’ve got almost a week left. I’m going to wear that fancy polish right off you and strip you down until you finally figure out you’re a bull, not a steer.”

Mortified by his sordid speech, Sydney very precisely put down her silverware, rose, and left the table without a backward glance.

Granted, she was tired when she went to bed. That was nothing compared to how she felt upon awakening. Everything ached. Even her eyelashes hurt. A loud groan rumbled out of Sydney as she threw off the sheets. She couldn’t even jackknife into a sitting position. Instead, she rolled over and slid out of bed.

After dusting her binder with the scorched flour Velma had secreted in the drawer, Sydney struggled to wrap the long cloth around herself. Every move burned and throbbed. Lifting her feet to slide them into the pant legs made the muscles in her thighs quiver. Making it down the stairs seemed to be a task of Herculean proportions.

Afraid she couldn’t manage to keep hold of her knife and fork, Sydney abandoned all civility. She slid the egg and three rashers of bacon between two slices of toast. Lifting the affair to her mouth, she saw Tim’s astonishment.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“I, Mr. Creighton, am borrowing a page out of your copybook.”

He chuckled softly and left her alone.

Sydney strained to think of any reason that she could get out of work for the day. Certainly, the excuse of a headache would buy her no sympathy. She’d eat brains again before admitting her muscles were sore.

“Syd, I forgot I saw a speck of sumpin’ in your coffee cup. Hold up a minute. I’ll get you another.” Velma exited the dining room and returned with another, much larger cup. She set it down. “You drink that. It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

At the mention of her chest, Sydney’s gaze darted downward. Everything was still in order. She looked flat as a tabletop. She realized Tim happened to be staring at that part of her, too. She could feel his gaze, even if she didn’t look up at him. She knew better. If she did, she’d feel the need to slap his face. Instead, she grabbed the mug and took a gulp.

Heat coursed through her veins. She set the cup down on the table with a quick thump as she sucked in her breath.

“Too hot? Sorry.” Velma winked at Sydney from behind Tim’s line of sight.

On rare occasions back home, Father allowed her a few sips of watered-down wine. At parties, she invariably opted for punch. Whatever Velma added to the coffee could melt steel. Odd, though, that one mouthful made her feel warm all over and muted the streaks of pain she’d been suffering.