To Love A Texan. Georgina Gentry

bull and they charged in, determined to hog-tie him and put a wedding ring through his nose. Oh, there had been one beauty after another, but none had taken his heart and never would. He was a Texan to the core and he valued his freedom and independence. Besides, why buy the cow when he could always get free milk?

      He sipped his drink, smiled, and began to make plans. Maybe even an old maid schoolteacher from Boston could be vulnerable to his virile male charm. “Oh, yeah, when hell freezes over,” he grumbled. Miss Primm seemed too smart, or too strait-laced to fall for a man’s wiles. But then, she had never been charmed by the champion ladies’ man, Brad O’Neal.

      He wandered back toward his downstairs bedroom. From upstairs, he heard the girls laughing and talking. Although pretty and very talented on a mattress, suddenly they seemed stupid and inane to him, and he’d had them all. None of them offered a challenge like the quick-witted old maid. He winced at the thought of bedding her. She was too skinny and not pretty at all; at least, not what he considered pretty. Her dress was modest and severe and she wore her fiery hair pulled back in a plain, no-nonsense bun. “Well, after a few drinks, all women are beauties,” he muttered. Now if she’d just keep that educated mouth shut while he made love to her. Not likely. No doubt she’d never even been kissed, but she’d still try to instruct him on how to do it.

      He plopped down in his favorite chair and lit a cigar, grinning. “All right, Miss Primm, you have thrown down the gauntlet to the biggest ladies’ man in east Texas. If I can’t buy you out or scare you out, maybe I can charm you out of your share of the Texas Lily.” He thought for just a moment that it really wasn’t fair or gallant to seduce an innocent. Then he thought about how she’d probably wreck his business if he didn’t get her out of town.

      Oh, if only she was prettier so the task would be appealing. Miss Primm was definitely coyote bait, the worst kind of Texas insult. “Yes, my dear lady, if you dare to go toe-to-toe with me, you may find yourself losin’ your virginity besides losin’ your share of the Lily.”

      He shuddered again. He had no doubt he could charm her drawers off; the question was, could he stand to bed the stern spinster? “Anything to save the Texas Lily,” he promised himself and he meant it.

      Lillian had driven away from the lawyer’s office gritting her teeth. Oh, that damned Texan thought he was so smart and was so sure of himself. Just the way he had looked at her let her know he thought he was God’s gift to women. Not that Lillian knew anything about men. Her stern, cold mother had been very strict and now Lillian understood why. She must have been afraid her daughter might turn out like her Aunt Lil. Lillian had never even been to a ball, although one of her young students at Miss Pickett’s had taught Lillian how to dance.

      Not that any young man had come to court her anyway. The two or three who had acted even slightly interested when she was young had been run off by her strict mother. Then Mother had gotten sicker and every spare moment was dedicated to her care, leaving Lillian no time for a social life. By the time Mother finally died, Lillian had resigned herself to teaching other people’s daughters and never having one of her own. Her life had been planned in a long, dull line with no surprises. Now Aunt Lil’s will had turned her life upside down. What to do?

      She had no one to ask, really. She drove down the street and back to the fort. It seemed everyone she passed stared at her curiously, even though she nodded politely as she passed. No doubt the story had already made the rounds of the whole town. Out on the parade grounds in the late afternoon shadows, Major Bottoms conducted his marching band. The soldiers didn’t look too happy about spending their Sunday thus engaged, but of course they couldn’t buck authority. Some of them looked sour and headachy and she assumed they had been at the Texas Lily until late the night before. Then she noted Lieutenant Fortenbury playing the tuba. She sighed as she nodded to him in passing. He should have chosen another instrument; the tuba only emphasized his height—or lack thereof.

      Out on the Bottoms’ veranda, the major’s wife was serving iced tea to a group of ladies and invited Lillian to join them. “This is Mrs. Pugsley, her husband owns the General Store and this is Mrs. Darlington, her husband owns the livery stable.” The ladies nodded politely. “Edith has been filling us in, you poor dear,” dumpy little Mrs. Pugsley said.

      Somehow, her patronizing tone annoyed Lillian. “How do you do? I assure you, I’m quite capable of dealing with it.”

      “Oh, my dear, that gambler, he’s s-o-o-o charming,” gaunt Mrs. Darlington sighed. The other ladies looked at her. “I mean, so I hear; a charming rascal, someone told me.”

      “He’s a rascal, all right.” Lillian frowned as she sipped her iced tea. She wondered if Brad O’Neal was presently in the back of Pug’s store, playing pinochle.

      About that time, they were joined by the major and Lieutenant Fortenbury. “Good afternoon, ladies,” the major said, “you should have been there to see our parade.”

      The younger man frowned and looked exhausted. No doubt that tuba was heavy.

      “I saw it in passing,” Lillian said politely, “very good job.”

      The major beamed. “We’ve got important people coming in on the train next week, I hear, so we’ll have to put on a parade, of course.”

      The ladies all turned their attention to him. Obviously, Fort Floppett didn’t get many important visitors.

      “Congressmen from Washington.” The major seemed as puffed up as a toad with his own importance.

      “Oh, dear,” said his wife. The other ladies looked apprehensive.

      “Now, don’t start getting too excited,” the major made a calming motion with his hands. “It might not mean anything at all, especially if the visitors see what an important post this is.”

      Lillian spoke without thinking. “Is it?”

      The others all turned and stared at her. “It is to us,” said young Fortenbury. “Why, if they should decide the fort is not needed—”

      “Don’t even say it,” Mrs. Pugsley’s chubby face turned pale. “The whole town depends on the fort for our livelihoods—everyone knows that. Should it close, we’d be in desperate straits.”

      “Not as desperate as the soldiers,” the major snorted. “Our next post would be the middle of Arizona, chasing Apaches.”

      Young Fortenbury went into a spasm of frenzied coughing. Evidently, being shipped to that hostile desert was his worst nightmare.

      Mrs. Bottoms looked about helplessly. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful.”

      “All right,” said the major, turning his attention to Lillian. “How did your meeting with Brad go?”

      “Brad?” the other three women asked simultaneously.

      “Uh, I meant, that rake who runs the Texas Lily,” the major coughed and then busied himself sipping his tea.

      “Gilbert,” his wife said, “that’s really none of our business.” Then she stared at Lillian with frank curiosity.

      Lillian felt herself flush and shifted uneasily in her chair. “Rake is a good description of him, I’m afraid. He’s being completely unreasonable.”

      The plump matron leaned even closer. “So what do you intend to do? The whole town is wondering—”

      “Now who’s sticking their nose in other peoples’ business?” the major said.

      “It’s all right,” Lillian hastened to say, although she really didn’t want to talk about it, but she was aware the whole group was leaning forward so as not to miss a word. “It seems we are at loggerheads. I can’t afford to buy him out and I refuse to accept his offer. The morality of accepting the wages of sins seems to me—”

      “You wouldn’t think of closing the Lily?” The major paused, his eyes wide.

      His wife peered at him critically. “Now why would you care, Gilbert?”