To Seduce a Texan. Georgina Gentry

Waco grinned and the others stayed behind him as they followed the officer back into his office and took seats.

      “Now,” said the young major in a back East accent, “I can tell you’re not from around here. What do you need?”

      “It’s what you need, Major,” Waco said. He tried to keep from staring at the blond curls. “We’re up from Texas to see about sellin’ the army some beef.”

      The officer scowled at him. “Why don’t you sell that beef to your own side? I figure the Rebs need beef as much as we do.”

      Waco shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “We got no side, Major. We don’t give diddly shit about this war. Ain’t that right, fellas?”

      The other cowboys nodded.

      “Besides,” Waco grinned, “the Rebs is broke. They got no gold to buy beef or anything else, and them paper Confederate dollars is only good to use in the outhouse. We know the Union has real money.”

      The major’s frown deepened. “You men look healthy, you ought to be in the service on one side or the other.”

      “Like I said, Major,” Waco lied, “we got no dog in this fight. We got a thousand steers we’re thinkin’ about drivin’ up across Indian Territory to feed your troops.”

      “No loyalty,” the major snapped. “I don’t like that in a man. Very well, how much for the beef?”

      “Just like that without talkin’ some?” Waco asked. “In Texas, we like to have a drink and chew something over a little.”

      The major pulled out his watch again. “I’m due at a dinner honoring the banker’s daughter. State your price so we can get on with it.”

      Waco glanced around at the others. He didn’t want the major to say yes because he wasn’t about to sell the Yanks beef. Not that he didn’t own ten thousand now worthless cattle back on his ranch, but he only needed an excuse to be in Prairie View.

      “Well, Major, it’s a long way through hostile country, both Union and Rebel troops would try to take the steers, as well as hostile Indians along the way, so we’d probably lose half of them.”

      “That’s not my problem.” The major looked toward the door and absently twirled a yellow curl.

      “I was just tryin’ to explain why the price is so high,” Waco said genially, “I think we’d need at least a hundred dollars a head.”

      “A hundred dollars!” The major’s pink face looked incredulous and he stood up suddenly. “You must be insane. Why don’t you just carry a gun and a mask? Go peddle your cows somewhere else, mister. They’re probably stolen anyway.”

      “You callin’ me a rustler?” Waco stood up, then remembered he had to control his temper and besides, he’d left his pistol in the outside office. He forced a laugh. “Gawd Almighty! Okay, Major. We’ll find another buyer. Come on, boys.” He turned back to the impatient young officer. “Enjoy your dinner, Major.”

      His three friends stood up and they all went out the door. They stopped to retrieve their weapons, not speaking until they were mounted and riding out.

      Tom wiped the sweat off his freckled face. “Whew! Talk about waltzing’ into the lion’s den. I was as nervous as a rattlesnake on a hot griddle.”

      Zeke guffawed. “Youngster, you got no idea how close we come to a showdown when he called the sergeant a rustler.”

      Waco shrugged his broad shoulders. “I did come a mite close to hittin’ him. Well, we had an excuse to get into the fort and now he thinks we’re just rotten varmints, workin’ both sides for profit.”

      “Did you see them curls? Who does he think he is, Custer?” Zeke took out his mouth organ and began to play “Yellow Rose of Texas.”

      Zeb put a chaw of tobacco in his jaw, grumbling. “We didn’t find out nuthin’ we didn’t already know. Too many soldiers around to rob that bank. We’d never make it to the state line.”

      Waco watched the sun moving lower on the horizon as they rode. “Gimme time to think, boys.”

      “What do you mean ‘think’?” Zeke complained. “Ain’t we now hightailin’ it back to Texas?”

      “You know what’s waitin’ for us there.” Waco frowned. “I thought I saw an old cabin down past the town a few miles as we came up the trail. That might be a good place.”

      “That place on the river?” Tom nodded. “Looked deserted.”

      “Just a place to rest and think,” Waco said, “let’s go.”

      He didn’t dare tell them yet the idea that had just occurred to him. The banker obviously adored his daughter. What if we cowboys kidnapped Miss Rosemary and held her for ransom?

      Chapter Three

      Rosemary didn’t want to deal with Godfrey again, so she waited until she heard the dinner guests arriving in the front hall before she left her room and paused on the landing.

      She was Queen Victoria, standing at the head of the grand staircase of her castle, about to go downstairs for a state dinner with the prime minister and a bevy of her most important, adoring subjects. She wore the crown jewels, of course, and a small diamond tiara. As always, she was regal and dignified.

      Rosemary descended the stairs carefully and only caught her foot on the next-to-the-last step. She managed to right herself and grabbed for the imaginary tiara as the gentlemen rushed forward to assist her.

      “Miss Burke,” said a young, pink-faced Union officer, taking her arm, “are you all right?”

      “Of course,” she said. “I—I was merely feeling—feeling a bit faint.” She couldn’t stop staring at his yellow curls. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She sighed as she looked over her guests. The only one she didn’t know was the young major, who introduced himself. The others were the pastor, the doctor, and Mr. Simms, the owner of the biggest farm in the area, and his dull son.

      They all murmured appropriate things about how happy they were at her return, and she managed to curtsey without falling. In the following moment of silence, her tummy rumbled like a bear because she hadn’t had a snack. Probably Queen Victoria’s tummy never rumbled. Godfrey glared at her and sighed.

      “Perhaps,” offered old Dr. Graham, “the lady might benefit from a sherry? I know I could use one.”

      Does the old man never draw a sober breath? Rosemary suspected the doctor had not been sober the night her mother died, but then he probably couldn’t have saved Agatha from acute appendicitis anyway.

      Evidently Godfrey took the hint. “Of course.” He smiled broadly and ran his finger over his penciled mustache. “We’ll have a drink before dinner.”

      He gestured the group into the library.

      The major took Rosemary’s arm and escorted her toward a small love seat. She was several inches taller and probably outweighed him, she thought with a sigh. She didn’t want him sitting next to her, so she maneuvered so that she took a single chair, leaving him standing beside her awkwardly.

      “I’ll pour,” Godfrey said with a flourish, “since the butler is busy with dinner. Sherry, my dear?”

      She decided to be difficult. He couldn’t do anything about it with company in the room. “No, I—I’ll have a whiskey, if you please.”

      “You mean sherry, don’t you, my dear?” His mouth smiled, but his eyes glared.

      “I said whiskey,” she said in an unmistakable tone that caused the other gentlemen to shift their weight uneasily.

      Godfrey forced a laugh. “Oh, these young ladies who have been on the Grand Tour, they do get some naughty ideas.”

      That