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Synopsis
Throw a sassy whiskey slinger together with a down-on-his-luck cowboy and what do you get? A match made in the Last Chance Saloon. . . She's No Lady Lark Van Schuyler can take care of herself--and has ever since she ran away from home and wound up in Buck Shot, Oklahoma. Taking care of others is a novelty she can't afford. Until she sees a man deep in his drink and being cheated at poker. Lark decides to do him a favor. . . He's No Gentleman The last thing Larado needs is more booze--especially in his lap. Just when he's about to clean up at cards, a no-account soiled dove drops a drink on him. It's her own dang fault that she loses her job. He never expects to see her again. Especially not during a bank hold-up. In Texas. And married--to him. They're Made For Each Other Being tied down to a pretty gal and her crazy donkey is turning out to be the worst fix Larado's ever found himself in. The West isn't big enough for both of them. But maybe love is. . . "Sharp, sexy repartee. . .filled with wit and ribald humor, double-crosses and heated passion, this is the most delightful Western of the season." -- Romantic Times on To Tempt A Texan (4 ½ stars, Top Pick, and KISS Award winner)
Release date: October 9, 2013
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
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To Tease A Texan
Georgina Gentry
Last Chance Saloon, Oklahoma Territory
Early April 1890
They were cheating the cowboy at the poker table tonight. He must be blind or very drunk not to see Snake Hudson dealing from the bottom. Lark felt almost naked in her skimpy sky blue dress as she paused by the table, tray in hand. Dixie, one of the other saloon girls, stood behind the cowboy, and she was giving slight signals as she watched the cowboy’s hand and nodded to her latest lover, Snake.
Lark hesitated. It wasn’t really any of her business. After all, the big, black-haired cowboy was a grown man, and she needed this job.
“Hey you, girlie,” Snake snarled. “You ever gonna serve them drinks afore we all die of thirst?”
“Right away.” Lark began serving drinks around the table as the big cowboy grinned at her a little cross-eyed.
“Left-handed,” he drawled, “just like me.”
“I’m a Texan, too,” she said. His accent told her he was a Texan. Land’s sake, he was a grown man and ought to know better than to sit down at a poker table with a crooked bunch like this.
Snake sipped his whiskey and rubbed the whiplike scar on his forehead. Then he smirked. “Full house. Sorry, cowboy, reckon you lose again.” He reached out and began to rake in the pot. “How ’bout another hand, Larado? You might be luckier this time.”
Lark continued to serve around the table. The noise and the smoke made her head ache, along with the off-key music.
“Dunno, Snake,” Larado said, chewing his lip. “You ’bout cleaned me out.”
“Just one more hand,” Snake urged. “Maybe this hand will win everything back.”
The cowboy hesitated and Lark held her breath. “All I got left is my horse and saddle and my gold watch, and I set a heap of store by it.” He pulled the watch out of his leather vest and stared at it as if trying to make a choice.
“Take a chance,” Snake urged.
“Yeah, take a chance, cowboy,” Dixie urged. She smiled with lips as bright red as her dress, the cigar smoke swirling around her blond hair.
He hesitated again. “Don’t know if I ought to.” He squinted thoughtfully at the gold pocket watch, his face furrowed in concentration.
Oh, no, I can’t let him lose that too. Without giving it a second thought, Lark dropped a glass of beer in the cowboy’s lap. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
He stumbled to his feet, wiping at his pants. “Reckon I’m through for the night, then.” He stuck the gold watch back in his pocket and left, weaving in a crooked line toward the swinging doors.
“Damn it,” Snake roared, “I oughta get you fired for that, girlie.”
“I—it was an accident.” Lark put down her tray and followed the staggering cowboy out onto the wooden sidewalk. The night air was fresh and cool but noisy. In this wide-open town, there were a dozen saloons in a two-block area and not much else. Pianos blared a mix of Stephen Foster songs. Drunken trail hands galloped up and down the dirt street, shooting into the air and shouting.
The cowboy staggered down the sidewalk, whistling:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day, I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, all wrapped in white linen and cold as the clay….
Her blue dress felt thin and skimpy. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “Hey, you!” she yelled at the tall Texan. “You need to stay out of places like the Last Chance.”
“Well, now, sweetie”—he stopped, turned, and grinned down at her, a charming, crooked grin—“I reckon if you’re gonna pour beer on me every time I come in, maybe I’d better.”
“I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”
He leaned against a porch railing and hiccoughed. “I reckon I can handle my own self, sweetie.” He reached out and slapped her familiarly across the bottom.
“Don’t do that. And don’t call me ‘sweetie,’ you saddle tramp!”
“Okay, I’m agreeable. You got a name? I reckon we ain’t howdied yet. I’m Larado.”
“Larado what?”
“Sweetie”—he grinned, pushing his Stetson back—“since you’re a Texan, you should know it ain’t polite to ask a stranger too many questions. What’s your handle?”
“I’m Lark, er, Lark Smith.” She held out her hand awkwardly. Since she was a runaway, it wouldn’t be too smart to give him her full name.
“Well, Lark, sweetie”—his big hand engulfed hers and he hung on—“I like tall, pretty brunettes. Any more like you at home?”
“I’m a mirror twin,” she said before she thought.
“A what?”
“You know, I’ve got a dimple on the left side, she’s got one on the right. I’m left-handed—”
“She’s right-handed. Now I get it.” He nodded. “Well, how about let’s goin’ up to your room?”
“I only wait tables here, nothing else.” She tried to pull out of his grasp and kept her tone cold.
He swayed a little on his feet, and she could smell the whiskey. “I got no money anyway. Maybe you’d take a gold watch?”
“You want to get another beer poured on you?” She jerked out of his hand. “Now, go sleep it off somewhere.”
“I reckon maybe I have had a little too much red-eye.”
“A little?” She snorted. “Why, I’ll bet you couldn’t hit the ground with your hat in three tries. You had to be blind not to see the marked cards in that game.”
He stumbled and sat down heavily on the edge of the wooden sidewalk. “Now, that Snake fella seemed like a right friendly hombre.”
Lark snorted again. “Why, he’d steal the butter off a sick beggar’s biscuit. Cowboy, you’d better report back to your outfit and stay out of dives like this one.”
He shook his head and rolled a cigarette with unsteady hands, looking up at her. “Came up with a trail herd a few days ago, but now they’re sold, and I ain’t found another job. Thought I might win enough to ship me and my horse back to Texas.”
“Land’s sake, partner,” she warned, “you won’t ever win playing at the Last Chance. I’ve only worked here a few months but I spotted the cardsharps right off.”
He smoked with unsteady hands and seemed to be thinking it over. “Maybe I should go back in there and demand my money.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You don’t know how tough the boys in the Last Chance can be.”
“I can handle myself, sweetie.” He tried to stand up, stumbled, reached out and caught her arm to steady himself. He was a big one, all right, taller even than her uncle Trace or her cousin Ace. He stood swaying and staring down at her, and she was tall for a woman. “You cold?”
“Of course I am!” she snapped and pulled away from him. “This skimpy outfit they make me wear hasn’t got enough fabric to cover a broom handle.”
“Looks good to me.” He grinned at her.
“Get out of here and go sleep it off,” she snapped. “Now I got to go, they’re yelling for me inside.”
“Lark,” he murmured, “can you sing?”
“Not very well. Now vamoose, pronto. Maybe tomorrow, you can get on with some outfit.”
He shook his head. “Done tried. Nobody around here needs a wanderin’ saddle tramp. Reckon I’ll go back to Texas.”
“Good idea. And a word of advice. Stay away from poker tables when you’re blind drunk.” She turned and went back into the saloon.
Larado squinted in the darkness and looked after her. He was drunk all right, but not as drunk as she thought. She was purty, a tall dark-haired girl in a gaudy blue dress. Like him, she looked like she had some Injun blood. His manhood stirred as he remembered the feel of her and the scent of her perfume. What the hell was he thinking? Girls like that one came high, and he hadn’t a nickel to his name. He’d have to sleep out on the prairie tonight with his horse, and maybe tomorrow his luck would change. His pants were wet with beer and he was getting cold in the night wind. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears and stumbled away.
Lark scurried back into the smoky, noisy saloon. Joe, the short owner, stood scowling by the poker table with a cigar between his teeth. “Lark, where the hell you been?”
“Uh, just out.”
“Snake here tells me you caused him to lose a sucker he was about to finish off.”
“I accidentally spilled a drink in the cowboy’s lap.” She needed this job.
“Aww, don’t believe her,” said the blond whore Dixie, perching her rear on the poker table. “That was a pretty good gold watch. Besides, that broke up the whole game.”
“Lark,” Joe said, “you’re a lousy waitress. Any more trouble outta you and you’re fired.”
“But, Joe—”
“You heard me.” He walked away from the table.
Lark looked helplessly at the crowd around the poker table.
Snake frowned and shrugged. “You heard him. Next time I got a sucker on the hook, stay out of it. Now, Dixie, get that talented fanny of yours off the table.”
The men all laughed. Dixie laughed too and started to saunter away. Lark caught up with her. “You were helping Snake cheat that cowboy.”
“So what?” Dixie sneered. “Besides, that Texan’s a grown man. He must have been blind not to see Snake dealin’ them cards off the bottom. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
Lark caught her arm. “I ought to slap you, Dixie.”
“You do, and I’ll pull out some of them beautiful black curls. Did I ever tell you I once got into a fight with your sister?”
Everything else was forgotten. “You know my sister?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I believe you.”
“Don’t give a damn whether you do or not. Her name’s Lacey and she’s prissy and straitlaced. She wouldn’t be caught dead workin’ in a saloon.”
That was her twin, all right. “Where’d—?”
“I don’t wanta talk to you no more,” Dixie drawled and started to saunter away, the red satin on her hips swaying as she walked.
“Dixie, tell me where you saw her.” Lark ran after her and caught her arm.
“Let go of me, you bitch.” Dixie swung at her and Lark stepped away, but Dixie came at her again. Lark was a Texas girl, and she could give as good as she got. She buried her fingers in the whore’s bleached hair and gave it a good yank.
Dixie howled like a stepped-on cat and came at her, scratching and shrieking.
“You Southern-fried tramp!” Lark said, and they went down in a mix of short skirts, lace underwear, and tangled long legs.
“Fight! Fight!” The shout went through the crowded saloon and all the men came running to watch. The only thing a bunch of cowboys liked better than a good fistfight was two girls going at it.
Lark wasn’t going to let the slut get away with this. She forgot she needed a job, she forgot everything but slapping Dixie silly. They crashed first into the piano, sending the player falling to the floor, then into a pool table, sending cowboys scrambling. Now other girls and male customers gathered around to watch the latest entertainment in the crowded saloon.
Nate, the big bartender, came running. “All right, break it up, you’ll have the boss out here.” He tried to pull the girls apart, but Lark poked him in the eye as she drew back on Dixie again. Oh, her sister Lacey would be mortified if she could see her tomboy sister in such an unladylike battle—but then, her twin was always so correct and Lark could never do anything right.
“Here comes the boss!” Someone yelled a warning, but Lark was on top, yanking the tart’s yellow hair.
Joe strode up, grabbed both girls by the arms, and hauled them to their feet. “What’s goin’ on out here?”
“She started it,” Dixie wailed.
“I was just giving as good as I got!”
“She was, too,” the crowd assured him.
Joe took the cigar out of his mouth and frowned. “Lark, damn it, I warned you.”
“I know you did, but I’m a Texan and that poor Texas cowboy was being cheated—”
“So what?” Joe shrugged. “If he ain’t a big boy, he don’t belong in a tough town like Buck Shot.”
“But he was almost broke,” Lark protested.
He looked at her and sighed as if speaking to a small child. “That’s what we do here at the Last Chance, we take their money. Now, Texas, I warned you, so you’re fired. Be out of here by morning.” He turned on his heel and stalked back toward his office.
Land’s sake, what had she done? Got herself fired over a drunken, penniless cowboy. Chin still high and defiant, Lark headed up to her cramped room to pack. What was she going to do now?
She’d gotten some satisfaction out of giving Dixie’s yellow hair a good yank, but that wouldn’t pay the bills. She could always wire home to Uncle Trace for money, but she was too proud to do that. Besides, Aunt Cimarron would come after her and take her back to the ranch. They had raised her ever since her parents had been killed and her rich grandfather had decided he couldn’t deal with the twins. She’d just be on the run again as she had been for the last couple of years. She wondered where Dixie had run across Lacey. Last she had heard, Lacey was scheduled to marry that perfect paragon of virtue, Homer Something-or-other. By now, Lacey probably had a perfect baby while her twin made a mess of her life. Well, Lark would just drift on like she always did. It was easier than facing up to her own imperfections.
She sat down on her bed and listened to the music and laughter from downstairs. Where was she going to go now? Her prominent ranching family would be upset if they knew she was working in a saloon. Of course, ever since she’d dropped out of Miss Priddy’s fancy academy in Boston while Lacey graduated with honors, they’d been upset with her. They said they weren’t, but Lark knew better. If she ever did anything to make them proud, she’d contact them, but it was tough being the twin who always messed up.
She thought of the Texan. The nerve of him slapping her on the bottom so familiarly! And to think he’d wanted to buy a night in her bed with a gold watch. No man had ever bedded her, and a penniless, drunken cowpoke wasn’t going to be the first. Oh my, what did she expect him to think? He wouldn’t have believed the truth, that the niece of one of the biggest ranchers in Texas would be slinging drinks in a wild whiskey town along the border between Oklahoma and Indian Territories. The whiskey towns were the roughest in the West, existing to sell liquor and other brands of sin to the Indians and outlaws who hid out in Indian Territory, where whiskey was forbidden.
Lark blew out her lamp and went to bed with a defeated sigh. Tomorrow, she’d drift on. She was homesick but she couldn’t go home. Lark was certain her relatives felt sorry for her because she couldn’t seem to measure up. It was easier to run. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what had happened to the drunken cowboy. Damn him, he’d gotten her into a mess.
Larado stumbled out to a tree on a prairie where he’d left his horse and bedroll. “Hey, hoss, you doin’ okay?” The bay stallion raised his head and nickered as Larado scratched his neck, then returned to grazing on the dried grass. “Maybe you are, but I ain’t.” Larado shivered in the raw wind, squinted, and looked back toward the long, muddy street of saloons. He could hear the off-key music and the laughter from here. Had the other man been cheating? Should he have called him out?
“Now, pard, that would have been a damn fool thing to do, and you know why,” he muttered to himself as he spread his blankets and lay down. “You ain’t that good a shot without…Well, you ain’t no gunfighter.”
It was a raw night for early April, and he shivered and pulled his blanket closer, thinking about the girl in the blue skimpy dress. She’d have been warm, all right, and he wished he had her in his blankets with him. What was her name? Lark. Like the bird. He remembered the feel of her as he’d pulled her toward him. He didn’t have any money to spend on her, and she must have known it, but she’d come out anyway. He hadn’t been nearly as drunk as she thought he was, it was only…Well, that didn’t make no never mind.
Working at the Last Chance, she had to be experienced and really know how to please men. In his mind, he imagined pulling her close and feeling that curvy body all the way down his. Her legs under the short, skimpy blue dress had looked long enough to go all the way to her neck. “Oh, sweetie,” he groaned, trying to get comfortable as his manhood stirred. “If I win a couple of hands next time, I’m gonna see how much you cost. The first night I spent a dollar on that Dixie, and she was okay, but I’ll wager you’re better.”
Money. He was flat broke. The ranches around here all seemed to have plenty of cowboys. Larado had been trying to win enough to grubstake supplies to get back to Texas. Just what the hell was he gonna do now?
At daylight the next morning Larado sat before a small campfire, sipping the last of his little stash of coffee and nursing a hangover. He’d drift south now and maybe find a temporary job punching cattle somewhere where it was warm. What he really dreamed of was owning his own spread, but he couldn’t see any way he could ever do that.
A sound. He turned his head and squinted. In the early dawn light, he wasn’t sure for a moment who the rider was, then he recognized Snake.
“Kin I get down?” Snake yelled.
“Sure.” Larado nodded. He had a bad headache from last night, and he felt as low-down as a rattlesnake’s belly, but a Texan was always hospitable. He stood up. “Want some coffee?”
“You got an extra cup?”
He nodded, pouring the man a cup. Snake sat down on a rock, taking the tin cup in both hands.
“Damn, that hot coffee feels good on a cold morning.” Snake took a sip and shuddered. “Don’t you Texans make coffee any way but strong?”
Larado laughed. “If it won’t float a horseshoe, we throw it out and make another pot.” He studied the other man’s ugly face with its jagged red scar on the forehead.
Snake touched the scar. “You’re wondering how I got this, right?”
Larado felt his face burn. “Naw, I wasn’t.”
“I don’t mind.” The other man sipped his coffee. “Looks like a snake, don’t it? A long time ago, I got into a whip fight with another fella. Since then, I’ve learned to use a pistol—safer for me.”
Larado laughed but the other man didn’t.
“Listen.” Snake took another sip of coffee. “I felt bad about last night, realizin’ you was pretty broke when you left the table.”
“That happens when you play poker.” Larado rolled a cigarette and shrugged. “I don’t begrudge you the money.”
“Maybe I could stake you a little,” Snake offered. “I got something workin’ and I might cut you in on it, being as how my last partner got kilt in a knife fight.”
“Oh?” Larado felt a rush of warning. “I don’t think—”
“Hear me out,” Snake interrupted. “There’s a fat bank in this town, almost as fat as the owner. You can’t believe how much money goes in there from all these saloons.”
“Uh-uh.” Larado shook his head. “That dog won’t hunt.”
“Huh?”
“It’s what Texans say when it’s no-go. I ain’t never done nothin’ crooked much. I ain’t hankerin’ for no prison cell.”
“You got any money to get back to Texas?”
“No. I’m flat busted except for my watch and my horse,” Larado admitted as he stuck the smoke in his mouth and reached for a burning twig from the campfire.
“Look”—Snake leaned closer—“this bank would be a pushover. It just opened up and is bustin’ with deposits. The sheriff’s out of town, and it’s too early for the bank to be open.”
“Then how would you get in? You gonna blow it?” Larado asked.
Snake spat into the fire. “That’d draw too much attention. I been watchin’ and I seen that fat little banker work on his books with his teller early in the mornin’ before the bank opens.”
Larado shook his head and blew smoke. “I ain’t no robber, and I’d like to live a little longer.”
“I never heard of no Texan being a coward,” Snake said.
“When you say that, mister, you’d better smile. Our motto is ‘Remember the Alamo.’ Texans go down fightin’.”
“I meant no offense.” Snake tossed the last of his coffee in the fire where it sizzled and went up in steam. “You could just mosey in there with me and look around, see if you think it’s doable.”
“Do I look like my mama raised a fool?” Larado shook his head. “I ain’t no bank robber, and to be mighty honest, I ain’t too good with a gun.”
“Hell, I am,” Snake said. “I ain’t askin’ you to shoot somebody, just help me carry all those sacks of money out—they’d be mighty heavy.”
“Mighty heavy,” Larado repeated wistfully.
“Just come along with me and walk through the bank so I can look it over,” Snake urged. “Maybe you can give me some leads on what I ought to do when I do get a partner. You seem like a smart hombre.”
Larado felt himself redden. “Don’t have much book learnin’, although my mama did teach me to read. I reckon I’m smart as the next fella, if only…”
“I reckon I know a smart hombre when I see one.” Snake grinned, showing yellow teeth. “That’s why I want your advice. It’d be worth a gold eagle to find out what you think.”
Larado smoked and stared into the fire. A twenty dollar gold piece was a lot of money to a busted cowboy. “All I got to do is look over the bank and give you an opinion?”
The tough gunman nodded.
“Okay, here’s my opinion,” Larado said. “A man can get kilt robbin’ banks. Don’t do it.”
“Hell, I take back my apology. I reckon what they say about Texans is true.” Snake stood up slowly. “Folks say they’re all gurgle and no guts.”
Larado leaped up and grabbed him by the jacket sleeve. “You callin’ me yellow?”
“Easy, cowboy, easy.” Snake made a soothing gesture. “I wasn’t askin’ you to rob the bank, just help me look it over.”
“I ain’t seen the color of your money.”
“Fair enough. You’re a smart hombre, Larado.” Snake nodded, reached into his coat, and tossed a coin.
Larado caught it and stared at it. “Ain’t you afraid I’ll take your money and skedaddle?”
“You strike me as a purty honest man,” Snake said. “They say Texans got a sense of honor.”
“Reckon that’s true.” Larado nodded. He didn’t like the feel of this whole thing, but he needed the money—Lord, how he needed the money. Chico could use some oats, and he damned sure needed a new sack of Arbuckles’, a hunk of bacon, and a little cornmeal to get back to the Lone Star State. “Well, I’ll go along and look over this here bank, but I ain’t gonna rob it with you.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go now while it’s still early and there’s almost nobody on the street.”
Larado put the gold coin in his vest, tossed his cigarette into the campfire, and stood. “I’ll saddle up.”
Snake followed him to saddle Chico. “I believe you’re the most honest galoot I ever met. Anybody else would jump at the chance to cut himself in on a fat job like this.”
“My mama would roll over in her grave if she thought she’d raised a son who would take another man’s money,” Larado said. “I don’t know what she would say about just lookin’ it over.”
“Aww, that fat banker has plenty, and you know how bankers is. He probably took half of it from some old folks he foreclosed on or cheated some poor widow out of.”
Larado gave that some thought as he saddled up and mounted. He began to whistle his favorite song:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day…
“I hate that song,” Snake grumbled.
Larado stopped whistling. “I was wishin’ last night I had a twenty dollar gold piece. I reckon that’s what it would take to buy that gal.”
“Dixie?” Snake laughed as he swung into the saddle. “Hell, she’s my gal. She’s meetin’ me at my camp later this morning. I tell you what, I’ll give you a few minutes on a blanket with her.”
“I didn’t mean her, I meant that tall one with the black hair.” Silently, he wondered what kind of a man would offer the use of his woman to another man like he was offering to share some pecan pie. Maybe he didn’t know Larado had had the blonde the first night in town. She was pretty good for a dollar.
“Oh, Lark?” Snake snorted as they rode out. “Don’t know much about her ’cept she’s a Texan too. She’ll tease you, but that’s all. Waits tables, won’t work the cribs with the other whores.”
“Oh?” Larado’s interest heightened. “Damn, there was something about her got my blood runnin’ hot.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Snake laughed. “But she don’t do nothin’ but serve drinks—and not very well. You got your pants soaked with beer, so you know that.”
Larado grinned, remembering the girl. “She can pour beer on me any time. She’s purty as an ace-high straight.”
“After you left, she and Dixie got into a fight and she yanked some of Dixie’s hair out. Don’t know what Dixie said to start it.”
Larado pictured the scene, the luscious long legs, the tangle of dark hair, maybe a torn and revealing skimpy costume. “Texas gals ain’t likely to let anyone give them lip. You can always tell a Texan, but you can’t tell ’em much.”
Snake yawned and shrugged. “Ain’t that the Gawd’s truth? A woman is a woman,” Snake said, “they’ll cheat you and trick you and they’re all the same when the lights is turned out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Larado drawled. “That one wasn’t no coyote bait.”
Snake scratched his crotch. “Weeks ago, I made a pass at her and got slapped for it. She acts like a lady, but no lady would work in a saloon.”
“Reckon you got that right.” She was mysterious and interesting. His head hurt, but he remembered the warm scent of perfume wafting up between her full breasts.
They rode away from the camp and into town. As Snake had said, the streets were almost deserted in the early dawn.
Snake said, “We’ll tie up at the hitchin’ post out front.”
Larado looked toward the bank. “There ain’t no hitchin’ post.”
“What? Oh, hell,” Snake grumbled. “I forgot they took ’em down yesterday, doing something to widen the street or some fool thing. Now what we gonna do?”
“Hey,” Larado said with a grin, “look who’s comin’.”
Lark walked along the wooden sidewalk carrying her small valise. She knew the stage stopped in front of the butcher shop near the bank. She’d wait there for it. Where she was going, she couldn’t be sure. She ought to yell “calf rope,” which was Texan for admitting defeat, and wire her uncle. He would be forgiving, but Lark was not only defiant but proud. How could she go home, hat in hand, where no doubt her twin sister, Lacey, the perfect example of young womanhood, was now planning her perfect wedding to young Homer What’s-his-name?
She heard the sound of horses and turned to see that Texan from last night and the bad hombre, Snake, who had been cheating him at cards. What was the Texan’s name? Oh, yes, Larado. He was either stupid, drunk, or blind not to have seen what was going on at that poker table, yet here he was riding into town with the bad hombre.
She was almost abreast of the bank now, trying to decide whether to acknowledge that rascal Snake and the cowboy who had cost her her job.
She heard the two men dismount.
“Miss,” Larado called.
She turned, not sure what to expect. The look in the Texan’s dark eyes told her what he’d like. Land’s sake, just because she worked in a saloon, did every man think she’d fall on her back for a few coins? “Yes?”
The Texan touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She almost wanted to scream at him: You cost me my job, you hare-brained idiot, and now you speak to me? Instead, she gritted her teeth and barely nodded to him.
Larado smiled that engaging, crooked grin. “You don’t seem the type for a saloon, miss.”
She felt herself color. “That’s hardly your business,” she snapped. “A girl’s got to eat.”
“You two stop all that jawin’,” Snake griped. “We got things to do.”
“Miss Lark.” Larado took off his hat. “The hitchin’ rail’s down for the street repair. Maybe we could get you to hold our horses while we do a little business?”
“I reckon I can be obliging.” She took a deep breath. The Texan was not only handsome with a lock of black hair hanging in his dark eyes—that grin would rock any woman back in her high-button shoes.
They handed over their reins.
Larado pushed his Stetson back. “We’re much obliged. Won’t be gone a minute.”
She set her small valise down, took the reins from the pair, and watched them swagger into the bank. She didn’t know what business they had in t. . .
Early April 1890
They were cheating the cowboy at the poker table tonight. He must be blind or very drunk not to see Snake Hudson dealing from the bottom. Lark felt almost naked in her skimpy sky blue dress as she paused by the table, tray in hand. Dixie, one of the other saloon girls, stood behind the cowboy, and she was giving slight signals as she watched the cowboy’s hand and nodded to her latest lover, Snake.
Lark hesitated. It wasn’t really any of her business. After all, the big, black-haired cowboy was a grown man, and she needed this job.
“Hey you, girlie,” Snake snarled. “You ever gonna serve them drinks afore we all die of thirst?”
“Right away.” Lark began serving drinks around the table as the big cowboy grinned at her a little cross-eyed.
“Left-handed,” he drawled, “just like me.”
“I’m a Texan, too,” she said. His accent told her he was a Texan. Land’s sake, he was a grown man and ought to know better than to sit down at a poker table with a crooked bunch like this.
Snake sipped his whiskey and rubbed the whiplike scar on his forehead. Then he smirked. “Full house. Sorry, cowboy, reckon you lose again.” He reached out and began to rake in the pot. “How ’bout another hand, Larado? You might be luckier this time.”
Lark continued to serve around the table. The noise and the smoke made her head ache, along with the off-key music.
“Dunno, Snake,” Larado said, chewing his lip. “You ’bout cleaned me out.”
“Just one more hand,” Snake urged. “Maybe this hand will win everything back.”
The cowboy hesitated and Lark held her breath. “All I got left is my horse and saddle and my gold watch, and I set a heap of store by it.” He pulled the watch out of his leather vest and stared at it as if trying to make a choice.
“Take a chance,” Snake urged.
“Yeah, take a chance, cowboy,” Dixie urged. She smiled with lips as bright red as her dress, the cigar smoke swirling around her blond hair.
He hesitated again. “Don’t know if I ought to.” He squinted thoughtfully at the gold pocket watch, his face furrowed in concentration.
Oh, no, I can’t let him lose that too. Without giving it a second thought, Lark dropped a glass of beer in the cowboy’s lap. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
He stumbled to his feet, wiping at his pants. “Reckon I’m through for the night, then.” He stuck the gold watch back in his pocket and left, weaving in a crooked line toward the swinging doors.
“Damn it,” Snake roared, “I oughta get you fired for that, girlie.”
“I—it was an accident.” Lark put down her tray and followed the staggering cowboy out onto the wooden sidewalk. The night air was fresh and cool but noisy. In this wide-open town, there were a dozen saloons in a two-block area and not much else. Pianos blared a mix of Stephen Foster songs. Drunken trail hands galloped up and down the dirt street, shooting into the air and shouting.
The cowboy staggered down the sidewalk, whistling:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day, I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, all wrapped in white linen and cold as the clay….
Her blue dress felt thin and skimpy. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “Hey, you!” she yelled at the tall Texan. “You need to stay out of places like the Last Chance.”
“Well, now, sweetie”—he stopped, turned, and grinned down at her, a charming, crooked grin—“I reckon if you’re gonna pour beer on me every time I come in, maybe I’d better.”
“I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”
He leaned against a porch railing and hiccoughed. “I reckon I can handle my own self, sweetie.” He reached out and slapped her familiarly across the bottom.
“Don’t do that. And don’t call me ‘sweetie,’ you saddle tramp!”
“Okay, I’m agreeable. You got a name? I reckon we ain’t howdied yet. I’m Larado.”
“Larado what?”
“Sweetie”—he grinned, pushing his Stetson back—“since you’re a Texan, you should know it ain’t polite to ask a stranger too many questions. What’s your handle?”
“I’m Lark, er, Lark Smith.” She held out her hand awkwardly. Since she was a runaway, it wouldn’t be too smart to give him her full name.
“Well, Lark, sweetie”—his big hand engulfed hers and he hung on—“I like tall, pretty brunettes. Any more like you at home?”
“I’m a mirror twin,” she said before she thought.
“A what?”
“You know, I’ve got a dimple on the left side, she’s got one on the right. I’m left-handed—”
“She’s right-handed. Now I get it.” He nodded. “Well, how about let’s goin’ up to your room?”
“I only wait tables here, nothing else.” She tried to pull out of his grasp and kept her tone cold.
He swayed a little on his feet, and she could smell the whiskey. “I got no money anyway. Maybe you’d take a gold watch?”
“You want to get another beer poured on you?” She jerked out of his hand. “Now, go sleep it off somewhere.”
“I reckon maybe I have had a little too much red-eye.”
“A little?” She snorted. “Why, I’ll bet you couldn’t hit the ground with your hat in three tries. You had to be blind not to see the marked cards in that game.”
He stumbled and sat down heavily on the edge of the wooden sidewalk. “Now, that Snake fella seemed like a right friendly hombre.”
Lark snorted again. “Why, he’d steal the butter off a sick beggar’s biscuit. Cowboy, you’d better report back to your outfit and stay out of dives like this one.”
He shook his head and rolled a cigarette with unsteady hands, looking up at her. “Came up with a trail herd a few days ago, but now they’re sold, and I ain’t found another job. Thought I might win enough to ship me and my horse back to Texas.”
“Land’s sake, partner,” she warned, “you won’t ever win playing at the Last Chance. I’ve only worked here a few months but I spotted the cardsharps right off.”
He smoked with unsteady hands and seemed to be thinking it over. “Maybe I should go back in there and demand my money.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You don’t know how tough the boys in the Last Chance can be.”
“I can handle myself, sweetie.” He tried to stand up, stumbled, reached out and caught her arm to steady himself. He was a big one, all right, taller even than her uncle Trace or her cousin Ace. He stood swaying and staring down at her, and she was tall for a woman. “You cold?”
“Of course I am!” she snapped and pulled away from him. “This skimpy outfit they make me wear hasn’t got enough fabric to cover a broom handle.”
“Looks good to me.” He grinned at her.
“Get out of here and go sleep it off,” she snapped. “Now I got to go, they’re yelling for me inside.”
“Lark,” he murmured, “can you sing?”
“Not very well. Now vamoose, pronto. Maybe tomorrow, you can get on with some outfit.”
He shook his head. “Done tried. Nobody around here needs a wanderin’ saddle tramp. Reckon I’ll go back to Texas.”
“Good idea. And a word of advice. Stay away from poker tables when you’re blind drunk.” She turned and went back into the saloon.
Larado squinted in the darkness and looked after her. He was drunk all right, but not as drunk as she thought. She was purty, a tall dark-haired girl in a gaudy blue dress. Like him, she looked like she had some Injun blood. His manhood stirred as he remembered the feel of her and the scent of her perfume. What the hell was he thinking? Girls like that one came high, and he hadn’t a nickel to his name. He’d have to sleep out on the prairie tonight with his horse, and maybe tomorrow his luck would change. His pants were wet with beer and he was getting cold in the night wind. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears and stumbled away.
Lark scurried back into the smoky, noisy saloon. Joe, the short owner, stood scowling by the poker table with a cigar between his teeth. “Lark, where the hell you been?”
“Uh, just out.”
“Snake here tells me you caused him to lose a sucker he was about to finish off.”
“I accidentally spilled a drink in the cowboy’s lap.” She needed this job.
“Aww, don’t believe her,” said the blond whore Dixie, perching her rear on the poker table. “That was a pretty good gold watch. Besides, that broke up the whole game.”
“Lark,” Joe said, “you’re a lousy waitress. Any more trouble outta you and you’re fired.”
“But, Joe—”
“You heard me.” He walked away from the table.
Lark looked helplessly at the crowd around the poker table.
Snake frowned and shrugged. “You heard him. Next time I got a sucker on the hook, stay out of it. Now, Dixie, get that talented fanny of yours off the table.”
The men all laughed. Dixie laughed too and started to saunter away. Lark caught up with her. “You were helping Snake cheat that cowboy.”
“So what?” Dixie sneered. “Besides, that Texan’s a grown man. He must have been blind not to see Snake dealin’ them cards off the bottom. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
Lark caught her arm. “I ought to slap you, Dixie.”
“You do, and I’ll pull out some of them beautiful black curls. Did I ever tell you I once got into a fight with your sister?”
Everything else was forgotten. “You know my sister?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I believe you.”
“Don’t give a damn whether you do or not. Her name’s Lacey and she’s prissy and straitlaced. She wouldn’t be caught dead workin’ in a saloon.”
That was her twin, all right. “Where’d—?”
“I don’t wanta talk to you no more,” Dixie drawled and started to saunter away, the red satin on her hips swaying as she walked.
“Dixie, tell me where you saw her.” Lark ran after her and caught her arm.
“Let go of me, you bitch.” Dixie swung at her and Lark stepped away, but Dixie came at her again. Lark was a Texas girl, and she could give as good as she got. She buried her fingers in the whore’s bleached hair and gave it a good yank.
Dixie howled like a stepped-on cat and came at her, scratching and shrieking.
“You Southern-fried tramp!” Lark said, and they went down in a mix of short skirts, lace underwear, and tangled long legs.
“Fight! Fight!” The shout went through the crowded saloon and all the men came running to watch. The only thing a bunch of cowboys liked better than a good fistfight was two girls going at it.
Lark wasn’t going to let the slut get away with this. She forgot she needed a job, she forgot everything but slapping Dixie silly. They crashed first into the piano, sending the player falling to the floor, then into a pool table, sending cowboys scrambling. Now other girls and male customers gathered around to watch the latest entertainment in the crowded saloon.
Nate, the big bartender, came running. “All right, break it up, you’ll have the boss out here.” He tried to pull the girls apart, but Lark poked him in the eye as she drew back on Dixie again. Oh, her sister Lacey would be mortified if she could see her tomboy sister in such an unladylike battle—but then, her twin was always so correct and Lark could never do anything right.
“Here comes the boss!” Someone yelled a warning, but Lark was on top, yanking the tart’s yellow hair.
Joe strode up, grabbed both girls by the arms, and hauled them to their feet. “What’s goin’ on out here?”
“She started it,” Dixie wailed.
“I was just giving as good as I got!”
“She was, too,” the crowd assured him.
Joe took the cigar out of his mouth and frowned. “Lark, damn it, I warned you.”
“I know you did, but I’m a Texan and that poor Texas cowboy was being cheated—”
“So what?” Joe shrugged. “If he ain’t a big boy, he don’t belong in a tough town like Buck Shot.”
“But he was almost broke,” Lark protested.
He looked at her and sighed as if speaking to a small child. “That’s what we do here at the Last Chance, we take their money. Now, Texas, I warned you, so you’re fired. Be out of here by morning.” He turned on his heel and stalked back toward his office.
Land’s sake, what had she done? Got herself fired over a drunken, penniless cowboy. Chin still high and defiant, Lark headed up to her cramped room to pack. What was she going to do now?
She’d gotten some satisfaction out of giving Dixie’s yellow hair a good yank, but that wouldn’t pay the bills. She could always wire home to Uncle Trace for money, but she was too proud to do that. Besides, Aunt Cimarron would come after her and take her back to the ranch. They had raised her ever since her parents had been killed and her rich grandfather had decided he couldn’t deal with the twins. She’d just be on the run again as she had been for the last couple of years. She wondered where Dixie had run across Lacey. Last she had heard, Lacey was scheduled to marry that perfect paragon of virtue, Homer Something-or-other. By now, Lacey probably had a perfect baby while her twin made a mess of her life. Well, Lark would just drift on like she always did. It was easier than facing up to her own imperfections.
She sat down on her bed and listened to the music and laughter from downstairs. Where was she going to go now? Her prominent ranching family would be upset if they knew she was working in a saloon. Of course, ever since she’d dropped out of Miss Priddy’s fancy academy in Boston while Lacey graduated with honors, they’d been upset with her. They said they weren’t, but Lark knew better. If she ever did anything to make them proud, she’d contact them, but it was tough being the twin who always messed up.
She thought of the Texan. The nerve of him slapping her on the bottom so familiarly! And to think he’d wanted to buy a night in her bed with a gold watch. No man had ever bedded her, and a penniless, drunken cowpoke wasn’t going to be the first. Oh my, what did she expect him to think? He wouldn’t have believed the truth, that the niece of one of the biggest ranchers in Texas would be slinging drinks in a wild whiskey town along the border between Oklahoma and Indian Territories. The whiskey towns were the roughest in the West, existing to sell liquor and other brands of sin to the Indians and outlaws who hid out in Indian Territory, where whiskey was forbidden.
Lark blew out her lamp and went to bed with a defeated sigh. Tomorrow, she’d drift on. She was homesick but she couldn’t go home. Lark was certain her relatives felt sorry for her because she couldn’t seem to measure up. It was easier to run. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what had happened to the drunken cowboy. Damn him, he’d gotten her into a mess.
Larado stumbled out to a tree on a prairie where he’d left his horse and bedroll. “Hey, hoss, you doin’ okay?” The bay stallion raised his head and nickered as Larado scratched his neck, then returned to grazing on the dried grass. “Maybe you are, but I ain’t.” Larado shivered in the raw wind, squinted, and looked back toward the long, muddy street of saloons. He could hear the off-key music and the laughter from here. Had the other man been cheating? Should he have called him out?
“Now, pard, that would have been a damn fool thing to do, and you know why,” he muttered to himself as he spread his blankets and lay down. “You ain’t that good a shot without…Well, you ain’t no gunfighter.”
It was a raw night for early April, and he shivered and pulled his blanket closer, thinking about the girl in the blue skimpy dress. She’d have been warm, all right, and he wished he had her in his blankets with him. What was her name? Lark. Like the bird. He remembered the feel of her as he’d pulled her toward him. He didn’t have any money to spend on her, and she must have known it, but she’d come out anyway. He hadn’t been nearly as drunk as she thought he was, it was only…Well, that didn’t make no never mind.
Working at the Last Chance, she had to be experienced and really know how to please men. In his mind, he imagined pulling her close and feeling that curvy body all the way down his. Her legs under the short, skimpy blue dress had looked long enough to go all the way to her neck. “Oh, sweetie,” he groaned, trying to get comfortable as his manhood stirred. “If I win a couple of hands next time, I’m gonna see how much you cost. The first night I spent a dollar on that Dixie, and she was okay, but I’ll wager you’re better.”
Money. He was flat broke. The ranches around here all seemed to have plenty of cowboys. Larado had been trying to win enough to grubstake supplies to get back to Texas. Just what the hell was he gonna do now?
At daylight the next morning Larado sat before a small campfire, sipping the last of his little stash of coffee and nursing a hangover. He’d drift south now and maybe find a temporary job punching cattle somewhere where it was warm. What he really dreamed of was owning his own spread, but he couldn’t see any way he could ever do that.
A sound. He turned his head and squinted. In the early dawn light, he wasn’t sure for a moment who the rider was, then he recognized Snake.
“Kin I get down?” Snake yelled.
“Sure.” Larado nodded. He had a bad headache from last night, and he felt as low-down as a rattlesnake’s belly, but a Texan was always hospitable. He stood up. “Want some coffee?”
“You got an extra cup?”
He nodded, pouring the man a cup. Snake sat down on a rock, taking the tin cup in both hands.
“Damn, that hot coffee feels good on a cold morning.” Snake took a sip and shuddered. “Don’t you Texans make coffee any way but strong?”
Larado laughed. “If it won’t float a horseshoe, we throw it out and make another pot.” He studied the other man’s ugly face with its jagged red scar on the forehead.
Snake touched the scar. “You’re wondering how I got this, right?”
Larado felt his face burn. “Naw, I wasn’t.”
“I don’t mind.” The other man sipped his coffee. “Looks like a snake, don’t it? A long time ago, I got into a whip fight with another fella. Since then, I’ve learned to use a pistol—safer for me.”
Larado laughed but the other man didn’t.
“Listen.” Snake took another sip of coffee. “I felt bad about last night, realizin’ you was pretty broke when you left the table.”
“That happens when you play poker.” Larado rolled a cigarette and shrugged. “I don’t begrudge you the money.”
“Maybe I could stake you a little,” Snake offered. “I got something workin’ and I might cut you in on it, being as how my last partner got kilt in a knife fight.”
“Oh?” Larado felt a rush of warning. “I don’t think—”
“Hear me out,” Snake interrupted. “There’s a fat bank in this town, almost as fat as the owner. You can’t believe how much money goes in there from all these saloons.”
“Uh-uh.” Larado shook his head. “That dog won’t hunt.”
“Huh?”
“It’s what Texans say when it’s no-go. I ain’t never done nothin’ crooked much. I ain’t hankerin’ for no prison cell.”
“You got any money to get back to Texas?”
“No. I’m flat busted except for my watch and my horse,” Larado admitted as he stuck the smoke in his mouth and reached for a burning twig from the campfire.
“Look”—Snake leaned closer—“this bank would be a pushover. It just opened up and is bustin’ with deposits. The sheriff’s out of town, and it’s too early for the bank to be open.”
“Then how would you get in? You gonna blow it?” Larado asked.
Snake spat into the fire. “That’d draw too much attention. I been watchin’ and I seen that fat little banker work on his books with his teller early in the mornin’ before the bank opens.”
Larado shook his head and blew smoke. “I ain’t no robber, and I’d like to live a little longer.”
“I never heard of no Texan being a coward,” Snake said.
“When you say that, mister, you’d better smile. Our motto is ‘Remember the Alamo.’ Texans go down fightin’.”
“I meant no offense.” Snake tossed the last of his coffee in the fire where it sizzled and went up in steam. “You could just mosey in there with me and look around, see if you think it’s doable.”
“Do I look like my mama raised a fool?” Larado shook his head. “I ain’t no bank robber, and to be mighty honest, I ain’t too good with a gun.”
“Hell, I am,” Snake said. “I ain’t askin’ you to shoot somebody, just help me carry all those sacks of money out—they’d be mighty heavy.”
“Mighty heavy,” Larado repeated wistfully.
“Just come along with me and walk through the bank so I can look it over,” Snake urged. “Maybe you can give me some leads on what I ought to do when I do get a partner. You seem like a smart hombre.”
Larado felt himself redden. “Don’t have much book learnin’, although my mama did teach me to read. I reckon I’m smart as the next fella, if only…”
“I reckon I know a smart hombre when I see one.” Snake grinned, showing yellow teeth. “That’s why I want your advice. It’d be worth a gold eagle to find out what you think.”
Larado smoked and stared into the fire. A twenty dollar gold piece was a lot of money to a busted cowboy. “All I got to do is look over the bank and give you an opinion?”
The tough gunman nodded.
“Okay, here’s my opinion,” Larado said. “A man can get kilt robbin’ banks. Don’t do it.”
“Hell, I take back my apology. I reckon what they say about Texans is true.” Snake stood up slowly. “Folks say they’re all gurgle and no guts.”
Larado leaped up and grabbed him by the jacket sleeve. “You callin’ me yellow?”
“Easy, cowboy, easy.” Snake made a soothing gesture. “I wasn’t askin’ you to rob the bank, just help me look it over.”
“I ain’t seen the color of your money.”
“Fair enough. You’re a smart hombre, Larado.” Snake nodded, reached into his coat, and tossed a coin.
Larado caught it and stared at it. “Ain’t you afraid I’ll take your money and skedaddle?”
“You strike me as a purty honest man,” Snake said. “They say Texans got a sense of honor.”
“Reckon that’s true.” Larado nodded. He didn’t like the feel of this whole thing, but he needed the money—Lord, how he needed the money. Chico could use some oats, and he damned sure needed a new sack of Arbuckles’, a hunk of bacon, and a little cornmeal to get back to the Lone Star State. “Well, I’ll go along and look over this here bank, but I ain’t gonna rob it with you.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go now while it’s still early and there’s almost nobody on the street.”
Larado put the gold coin in his vest, tossed his cigarette into the campfire, and stood. “I’ll saddle up.”
Snake followed him to saddle Chico. “I believe you’re the most honest galoot I ever met. Anybody else would jump at the chance to cut himself in on a fat job like this.”
“My mama would roll over in her grave if she thought she’d raised a son who would take another man’s money,” Larado said. “I don’t know what she would say about just lookin’ it over.”
“Aww, that fat banker has plenty, and you know how bankers is. He probably took half of it from some old folks he foreclosed on or cheated some poor widow out of.”
Larado gave that some thought as he saddled up and mounted. He began to whistle his favorite song:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day…
“I hate that song,” Snake grumbled.
Larado stopped whistling. “I was wishin’ last night I had a twenty dollar gold piece. I reckon that’s what it would take to buy that gal.”
“Dixie?” Snake laughed as he swung into the saddle. “Hell, she’s my gal. She’s meetin’ me at my camp later this morning. I tell you what, I’ll give you a few minutes on a blanket with her.”
“I didn’t mean her, I meant that tall one with the black hair.” Silently, he wondered what kind of a man would offer the use of his woman to another man like he was offering to share some pecan pie. Maybe he didn’t know Larado had had the blonde the first night in town. She was pretty good for a dollar.
“Oh, Lark?” Snake snorted as they rode out. “Don’t know much about her ’cept she’s a Texan too. She’ll tease you, but that’s all. Waits tables, won’t work the cribs with the other whores.”
“Oh?” Larado’s interest heightened. “Damn, there was something about her got my blood runnin’ hot.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Snake laughed. “But she don’t do nothin’ but serve drinks—and not very well. You got your pants soaked with beer, so you know that.”
Larado grinned, remembering the girl. “She can pour beer on me any time. She’s purty as an ace-high straight.”
“After you left, she and Dixie got into a fight and she yanked some of Dixie’s hair out. Don’t know what Dixie said to start it.”
Larado pictured the scene, the luscious long legs, the tangle of dark hair, maybe a torn and revealing skimpy costume. “Texas gals ain’t likely to let anyone give them lip. You can always tell a Texan, but you can’t tell ’em much.”
Snake yawned and shrugged. “Ain’t that the Gawd’s truth? A woman is a woman,” Snake said, “they’ll cheat you and trick you and they’re all the same when the lights is turned out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Larado drawled. “That one wasn’t no coyote bait.”
Snake scratched his crotch. “Weeks ago, I made a pass at her and got slapped for it. She acts like a lady, but no lady would work in a saloon.”
“Reckon you got that right.” She was mysterious and interesting. His head hurt, but he remembered the warm scent of perfume wafting up between her full breasts.
They rode away from the camp and into town. As Snake had said, the streets were almost deserted in the early dawn.
Snake said, “We’ll tie up at the hitchin’ post out front.”
Larado looked toward the bank. “There ain’t no hitchin’ post.”
“What? Oh, hell,” Snake grumbled. “I forgot they took ’em down yesterday, doing something to widen the street or some fool thing. Now what we gonna do?”
“Hey,” Larado said with a grin, “look who’s comin’.”
Lark walked along the wooden sidewalk carrying her small valise. She knew the stage stopped in front of the butcher shop near the bank. She’d wait there for it. Where she was going, she couldn’t be sure. She ought to yell “calf rope,” which was Texan for admitting defeat, and wire her uncle. He would be forgiving, but Lark was not only defiant but proud. How could she go home, hat in hand, where no doubt her twin sister, Lacey, the perfect example of young womanhood, was now planning her perfect wedding to young Homer What’s-his-name?
She heard the sound of horses and turned to see that Texan from last night and the bad hombre, Snake, who had been cheating him at cards. What was the Texan’s name? Oh, yes, Larado. He was either stupid, drunk, or blind not to have seen what was going on at that poker table, yet here he was riding into town with the bad hombre.
She was almost abreast of the bank now, trying to decide whether to acknowledge that rascal Snake and the cowboy who had cost her her job.
She heard the two men dismount.
“Miss,” Larado called.
She turned, not sure what to expect. The look in the Texan’s dark eyes told her what he’d like. Land’s sake, just because she worked in a saloon, did every man think she’d fall on her back for a few coins? “Yes?”
The Texan touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She almost wanted to scream at him: You cost me my job, you hare-brained idiot, and now you speak to me? Instead, she gritted her teeth and barely nodded to him.
Larado smiled that engaging, crooked grin. “You don’t seem the type for a saloon, miss.”
She felt herself color. “That’s hardly your business,” she snapped. “A girl’s got to eat.”
“You two stop all that jawin’,” Snake griped. “We got things to do.”
“Miss Lark.” Larado took off his hat. “The hitchin’ rail’s down for the street repair. Maybe we could get you to hold our horses while we do a little business?”
“I reckon I can be obliging.” She took a deep breath. The Texan was not only handsome with a lock of black hair hanging in his dark eyes—that grin would rock any woman back in her high-button shoes.
They handed over their reins.
Larado pushed his Stetson back. “We’re much obliged. Won’t be gone a minute.”
She set her small valise down, took the reins from the pair, and watched them swagger into the bank. She didn’t know what business they had in t. . .
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