To Tempt A Texan. Georgina Gentry

in, drawn like magnets to the liquor, gambling, and wild women; the kind of women Miss Iron Corset would not approve of.

      At the railroad terminal, workmen were just unloading a freight car of fresh, pine-scented lumber. However, when he tried to buy some, he was told Miss Durango had come in only an hour earlier and bought most of that load. The rest was headed to the new Peabody General Store that was already operating out of a big, flapping tent at the end of Main Street.

      He would not be outmaneuvered by that staid temperance leader. “I’ll pay more.” he offered.

      The balding clerk hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said, “Miss Durango is planning on buildin’ a newspaper office. Town needs a newspaper.”

      Blackie grinned and offered the man one of his own fine cigars. “You know what I’m plannin’ to build? The finest saloon, gamblin’ palace, and dance hall in the whole West.”

      “Dance hall?” The man took the cigar.

      Blackie winked. “You know what I mean. Why, these gals that are comin’ in on the train from Del Rio are the purtiest you ever saw.”

      “Texas gals? Texas gals are always the best.”

      “Ain’t it the truth?” Blackie nodded and reached for his wallet. Given a choice between a town newspaper and a big saloon and bawdy house, of course there was no contest. Men would always be men.

      Lacey was more than annoyed when she went to the train station to see about her shipment of lumber. The balding clerk mumbled an excuse and promised a later delivery. Despite her protests, she did not get her building supplies. Outrageous. She marched back along the dusty street to the big tent where Isaac was setting up the press. Her mood did not improve when she saw two wagon loads of fresh lumber being unloaded across the street under the watchful eye of that terrible Rebel who was contesting her for the choice lot. Worse yet, when he saw her, he grinned and tipped his hat. She, on the other hand, put her nose in the air and went into the tent. “That sleazy gambler has our lumber.”

      Isaac looked up from setting type. He was a small, stoop-shouldered Hungarian immigrant with ink always smeared across his homely features. “We get the paper out anyhow, yes?”

      She paced up and down, ignoring Precious who attempted to rub against her legs. Every now and then, Lacey peeked out the tent entrance to watch the pile of lumber across the street grow and grow. Blackie O’Neal spotted her peeking and waved to her. Embarrassed to be caught watching him, she turned suddenly and fell across the cat, who fled with an indignant yowl.

      “Miss Lacey, you hurt?” Isaac came around the press to stare down at her.

      “Only my pride.” She got up and dusted herself off. “That sidewinder Rebel, he’s deliberately baiting me.”

      “He seems to be doing a pretty good job, yes?” Isaac observed.

      “I will not let that tinhorn gambler get my goat,” she declared, “that’s exactly why he’s doing it. I only wish I knew what he promised that railroad clerk to give him my lumber. I intend to help build a perfect town with no room for the likes of trashy saloons; I’ll see to that.”

      She sat down at her desk, picked up a pen and pad and thought aloud. “Let’s see, an editorial for our first issue: “Welcome everyone to a new town, a new Territory and a new day. The old wild west is dead and good riddance. First, this settlement needs a name that will draw settlers, lawabiding citizens and families.” Absently, she lay down her pen and strolled to look out the back flap of the tent. While the front of the tent faced on the busy, dusty street and the hubbub of construction, the back view was serene with green rolling prairie. “Yes, this settlement needs a name that will draw the kind of citizens we want, something like Pleasant View, Greenville, or Pretty Prairie.”

      “Pretty Prairie, perfect.” She returned to her very organized desk, picked up her pen and scribbled furiously.

      Behind her, Isaac cleared his throat. “The people will get to vote on the name, yes?”

      “The men will.” She frowned in disgust. “But women’s rights is something I will tackle later.”

      “If you don’t mind me saying so,” Isaac said, “the men won’t vote for a name like Pretty Prairie. It’s too—too—”

      “Civilized?” Lacey chewed on the tip of her pen. “Not brutish enough? You’re right about that, but there has to be a way to do this.”

      Isaac groaned aloud. “Miss Lacey, if you don’t mind me saying so, let’s not go tilting at windmills. Let’s just get out the newspaper. First we need advertisers.”

      “On the contrary, the business of a newspaper is to tilt at windmills. The public has a right to know the facts.”

      “Opinion is not facts,” Isaac reminded her gently. “Save your thoughts for the editorials, Miss Lacey.”

      “Of course. Now the first thing we need is a building instead of a drafty old tent.” She heard a noise outside and went out to greet a driver who was delivering a small load of lumber. She looked at the huge stack across the street as she signed for the building supplies. “All right, you cheap tinhorn,” she muttered, “two can play this game. You can’t outsmart a Texas girl.”

      Maybe he hadn’t yet hired workmen, and carpenters were surely in short supply with all the new construction.

      “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Lacey yelled to Isaac and started off down the street. Soon she had hired the last three available carpenters by offering what she considered outrageous wages and that afternoon, as she and Isaac set type for their first edition, the sound of hammers echoed around them outside the tent. She hated the noise and confusion but she would persevere. “This will work fine,” she shouted at Isaac, “they’ll build the building completely around our tent and then we’ll take the tent down. I’ll get more lumber somehow.”

      She made sure her top of her desk was neat as she sat down. Precious jumped into her lap to be stroked. She patted the cat, chewed her pen and smiled, imagining the look on that Blackie O’Neal’s face when he found out he had lumber but no carpenters. The thought gave her grim satisfaction as she listened to the hammers ring. “About the town’s name…”

      …bam, bam, bam.

      “Pretty Prairie would be a fitting name for this…”

      …bam, bam.

      “…settlement, and when we choose a city council…”

      …bam, bam, bam.

      “…this newspaper suggests to all law-abiding citizens that they should choose a name that shows a bright future.”

      …bam, bam.

      She fiddled with her pen, and readjusted her horn-rimmed spectacles, deep in thought. She must really stop and take a pitcher of lemonade out to her carpenters after awhile.

      Isaac cleared his throat. “What’s that?”

      “What’s what?” She looked up from her writing.

      “The noise has stopped.”

      Lacey paused and looked around. She could hear the sound of wagons passing in the street, a child laughing, a dog barking somewhere, but no hammers. “Maybe our carpenters have stopped for lunch.”

      Isaac pulled out his pocket watch. “At nine-thirty in the morning?”

      The sound of hammers began again, but this time, they sounded farther away. “My word,” Lacey said, “what do you suppose?” She got up, dumping the indignant white cat out of her lap as she went outside to investigate.

      Across the street, that tinhorn nodded to her and toasted her with a tall glass, no doubt full of whiskey and ice. He was clean now, but he still looked like a gambler; bright silk vest, flat panama hat, a string tie, and a diamond ring on the little finger of his right hand. Didn’t he know it was not proper for a man