To Tempt A Texan. Georgina Gentry

fine white gloves. The outfit was complete with spats, a boutonniere and a walking stick. Her heart fluttered. “You just arrived? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

      “Hardly.” He favored her with a superior gaze. “I’m a Harvard man, you know, and I’m going to hang out my “attorney” shingle later. First, I must help my uncle get his store up and running. He begged for my assistance.”

      “A lawyer?” She sighed with pleasure. “And so well dressed. We’re used to men in muddy boots around here.”

      He snorted and twirled his cane. “So uncouth. Even the women are so—so provincial and poorly educated.”

      She wanted to make a good impression on this cosmopolitan gentleman. “I’m a graduate of Miss Priddy’s Female Academy in Boston.”

      He looked down his thin nose and gave her an approving nod. “I’ve heard of it. Good school.”

      “Also I own the newspaper and I’ve traveled a great deal myself.”

      “Really?” His pale eyes lit up. “I knew you were sensitive and clever as well as beautiful the moment I saw you. By the way, I want you to know I heartily approve of your editorials. I stand foursquare in favor of temperance and women’s suffrage.”

      Lacey gave him her warmest smile. This was the kind of ideal man she’d always dreamed of, one who certainly could quote poetry and was well-read. She thought about Blackie O’Neal with a frown. Probably that gambler didn’t read anything but the Police Gazette with its racy drawings over at the barber shop. “Mr. Peabody, I’m so glad you’ve arrived and I hope I’ll be seeing more of you.”

      In the background, the tinny piano accompanied raucous voices: “Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight….”

      The elegant Mr. Peabody frowned. “We honest citizens will soon run crooks like that gambler out of town. I might thrash him myself with my cane, but I wouldn’t want genteel ladies to witness such mayhem.”

      “You’re sooo sensitive,” Lacey gushed, “but I agree a fine gentleman shouldn’t dirty his hands with the likes of Blackie O’Neal. Besides, he’s a rough saloon brawler. The man who takes him on had better bring his lunch because it might take a while.”

      “Disgusting.” The handsome dude’s thin nose went even higher in the air. “Perhaps when I open my law office, I’ll run for Congress. Maybe I can get a law passed for prohibition and against sin. Voters are always against sin.”

      “My very thought.” She warmed to the newcomer even more. She’d love to see the Irish saloon brawler run out of town. Knowing the brash Blackie, he’d probably swagger along in front of the mob as if he were leading a parade.

      “Oh, a kitty.” The elegant Mr. Peabody attempted to pat Precious who promptly arched her back and spat at him. “Cats generally love me.”

      Lacey was embarrassed for her impolite animal. “I don’t know what’s bothering her today.”

      “Oh, well.” The gentleman reached to turn his lapel so he could sniff his boutonniere, “I’m here to order a nice big ad in your paper for our Peabody General Store.”

      “Of course. Come in and we’ll make some notes.” She was gushing over the gentleman, but she could not stop herself. “May I get you some coffee?”

      “Actually, in London, I got used to drinking tea, but of course I doubt you—”

      “Oh, but I do.” She led him into her office tent. “I’ve been in England, too, you know. What did you find the most interesting?”

      “Ahh, everything.” He waved one fine gloved hand in dismissal. “I wish I had more time to talk, Miss Durango, but my uncle has a very difficult time with the store unless I’m there to manage.”

      “Oh, I fully understand.” She ran to heat a kettle of water on her small kerosene stove. “We’ll discuss our travels when you have more time. Now you write out your ad while I make you some tea.”

      Isaac frowned at her when she passed him. “Who’s the fancy dude?”

      “Shh! He’ll hear you.” She lowered her voice as she busied herself with the tea kettle. “He’s the perfect catch. That is, if he isn’t married.”

      “A dude, yes?” Isaac whispered with scorn and returned to setting up type for the paper.

      Lacey brought young Mr. Peabody a cup of tea. He took off his gloves one finger at a time and put them in his pocket. She noticed that he held his little finger out as he sipped it. Such refined, sensitive hands. Blackie O’Neal had big strong hands that could easily turn into lethal fists.

      “Miss Durango, I do hope there is some kind of social life for a single gentleman such as myself in this provincial little place.”

      She sighed and her heart beat faster. “Well, so far, I don’t know, but we unmarried ladies hope to establish some croquet clubs or perhaps an occasional tea dance.”

      His pale eyes lit up and he smiled at her. “Croquet? I love it. I do hope sometime you’ll be my partner.”

      “My word, that would be delightful. You know, Mr. Peabody, I’ve been thinking of organizing a box supper or some kind of community dance as fund raisers. This town is in dire need of a school and library.”

      “Very worthy.” He nodded his approval. “I might help organize the businessmen to fund some of your endeavors.”

      Behind them, the singing from the saloon began again: “…Oh, it rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry…”

      Young Mr. Peabody frowned. “Well, some of the business people,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll agree there are some we’d just soon left town.”

      “I quite agree,” Lacey said. “Mr. Peabody, I can see that we have a lot in common.”

      He smiled at her. “I hope you won’t think it too forward if I hope that soon, you’ll think of me as ‘Eugene.’”

      Be still my heart. She was so flustered, she dropped her pencil. “Not at all.” She found herself giggling like an idiot school girl.

      He stood up and twirled his cane. “As loath as I am to leave such pleasant company, I must be off. Uncle is just at a loss without me. Toodle-loo.” He touched the brim of his derby and left, swinging his cane.

      Lacey leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Dear me, I think I’m about to have an attack of the vapors. Such a perfect, perfect gentleman. Didn’t you think so, Isaac?”

      “Umm. A bit of a dandy, yes.” He kept setting type.

      “Oh, don’t be so suspicious. Just imagine, well traveled and a Harvard man. The girl who lands him will get quite a catch.”

      Isaac only snorted and she stared at Eugene’s tea cup. She imagined herself at a pristine dining table with a maid in uniform pouring tea from fine china in the perfect house while she sat across from her handsome, perfect husband, discussing current events and social functions. Outside, their beautiful, perfect children played on the landscaped lawn. Eugene would look across the breakfast table at her as he reached to kiss her hand and say—”

      “You got that ad he gave you?”

      “What?” She came back to reality.

      “The ad,” Isaac frowned.

      “Yes, here.” She handed it over and tried to return to work. It was difficult with memories of the fine gentleman mingling with the caterwauling from the saloon across the street. Her newspaper was off to a rousing start and now she’d be getting even more advertisers. Her life would finally be perfect. Or would be when she could build her new office on that corner lot and run that scummy gambler out of town. With Eugene as an inspiration, she sat down, dusted off her already perfect desk and wrote a scathing