To Tempt A Texan. Georgina Gentry

cat bristled suddenly and Lacey turned to see Lively sticking his head through the tent opening. “Now, now, Precious, you mustn’t hold it against the poor dog because his master is such an irresponsible rascal.”

      She gave Lively part of a leftover biscuit, patted him. “Must you drool all over everything?”

      The dog’s ribbon of tongue hung out and he wagged his tail. His chest hair was all wet. “You know, a baby bib would stop all that and be a lot neater. I’ll have to get you one.”

      Lively only looked around for another biscuit and when none was offered, he lay down in the middle of the floor and dropped off to sleep. Isaac, hurrying through with an armful of papers, tripped over the dog and went down. The dog ran yelping out of the tent.

      “Oh, Isaac, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

      “No, and I don’t suppose the dog is, either.” He stumbled to his feet, scrambling to gather the strewn papers.

      At that moment, Blackie O’Neal pushed his way in, dark eyes blazing. “I thought you were ruthless, but I didn’t think you’d kick my dog.”

      Lacey confronted him and glared back. “I didn’t kick him. It was an accident. Anyway, if you’d keep him at home instead of letting him roam the town—”

      “If you’d quit luring him over here, he’d stay on my side of the street.”

      “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” She was as mad as he was. “It just seems you’re too busy looking after whores to know what he’s doing.”

      Blackie blinked. “Ladies don’t usually use that word.”

      “Now how would you know anything about ladies?” The more she thought about that blonde called Dixie hugging him up against her big breasts, the more annoyed she became. “I intend to run your whiskey den out of this town.”

      “Go right ahead on,” he challenged, “are you going to have temperance protesters marching out front, too?”

      “Great idea!”

      “Fine. It’ll draw a crowd and I’ll sell more booze.”

      “You’re outrageous,” Lacey said. “And by the way, I resent you calling me Miss damnyankee Iron Corset.”

      He paused. “Now who told you that?”

      “Chief Thunder.”

      He didn’t deny it. “Joe’s got a big mouth. He should stick to selling Custer’s buttons.”

      “You encourage him in that duplicity?”

      “That’s a mighty big word, Miss Durango, but considerin’ you’re a female who’s too big for her britches—”

      “It means to cheat people, to fool them.”

      “I’m not ignorant, sister, I know what it means.”

      “I reckon anyone who would steal chickens from the U.S. Army already knows about cheats—”

      “As I recall, you and your cat ate some of that chicken.”

      Her face flamed. “I did not.”

      He smiled. “Oh no? You had chicken grease on your face. And don’t call me a cheat, Miss Durango. I run an honest card game.”

      “This has nothing to do with the subject at hand,” Lacey began, then stumbled to a halt and stared up at him blankly. He looked as blank as she did. They disliked each other so much, she realized that it didn’t take much ammunition for them to begin firing at each other.

      “Texans,” Isaac sighed in the background.

      Blackie took a deep breath. “You’re mad because I got your lumber and stole your workmen.”

      She would not have admitted it under Apache torture.

      Blackie turned to go. “Are you going to keep enticin’ my dog away?”

      “I beg your pardon. He showed up and I gave him a biscuit. You’re probably so busy with your women, you forgot to feed him.”

      “I don’t neglect my dog. I love dogs, you, you damnyankee cat person.” Blackie said and then he stalked out.

      Isaac had been watching from the corner by the printer. “Why didn’t you just tell him what really happened?”

      “He probably wouldn’t have believed me,” she seethed. “Now let’s try to ignore the tinhorn gambler and get on with getting out the next edition. Have you picked up any news?”

      “Well,” Isaac said, “someone dropped in to say Mrs. Anderson has new baby girl and the ladies sewing circle is planning its first meeting Wednesday, yes.”

      “Good.” She grabbed her pen, “and I heard a committee is trying to raise enough funds for a school. That just shows Pretty Prairie is going to be a law-abiding, progressive town. Once a town gets a newspaper, a school, a church, and a public library, it’s on its way.”

      In the background, drifting faintly on the warm air, she heard an off-key chorus of drunken men’s voices, along with the hammering of the carpenters building the new saloon. “Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling Clementine…”

      “Outrageous!” Lacey snapped, “you wouldn’t think that saloon would be selling so many drinks this early in the day.”

      “Those pretty girls seem to be luring the customers in already.”

      Lacey looked at the little man with a stern eye. “Now how would you know that?”

      He suddenly got very busy. “Well, that’s what some folks say.”

      “Humph. Let’s ignore the racket and do our work. Now, for our next editorial—”

      “…you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine…”

      Lacey took a deep breath and picked up a pencil. “In a civilized town,” she read aloud as she wrote, “everyone works and is responsible.”

      “Oh, the Camptown ladies sing this song, doodah, doodah…”

      “And the ideal town will have a mayor and a town council who are upstanding citizens…”

      “Camptown racetrack, five miles long, oh, doodah day…”

      She was determined to ignore the hammering and the drunken singing, even as women’s voices joined it. “A referendum should be held immediately to choose a town name. Also, we’ll need a safe and adequate water supply…”

      “…Gwine to run all night, gwine to run all day…”

      “My word, this has to stop.” Lacey forgot about the town’s water supply and stuck her head out the tent. There were wagons going up and down the street, a buggy or two, and several men on horseback. Across the street Lively lay on the wooden sidewalk as if dead, while from inside the saloon tent came the sound of singing and clinking glasses as the carpenters built a framework around them. They didn’t look too sober, either.

      “It sounds as if he’s managed to get a piano,” Isaac said behind her.

      “With all the other racket, how can you tell?”

      Precious evidently didn’t like the noise. She flattened her ears back and meowed. Above all the sounds of gaiety, came the noise of her stolen carpenters creating the framework of the building around the saloon tent. “Outrageous!”

      “I think so, too.” A tall, handsome young man walked up outside, turned to follow her indignant gaze. “You’re right, Miss. It’s disgusting; yes, that’s what it is.”

      She smiled at him. “I’m so glad you agree, Mister—?”

      “Peabody.” He doffed his derby hat and made a slight bow. “Eugene Reginald Peabody