Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron

by Patricia Watters

  The incident the woman was recounting happened two nights before, at the woman's neighbor's place, when his wire fence had been torn down and dragged off. "Lord Whittington's behind it alright," the woman said, "maybe not doing the dirty work himself, but he's sending his cowboys out to do it. My neighbor, Jess, said he saw the younger of the two men with Lord Whittington when they were in town a few weeks back. Jess shot at the young man to scare him off and clipped him in the arm, so we'll be watching for him around town. But he probably won't show up until his arm's healed."

  "Why didn't your neighbor report it to the sheriff?" another woman asked.

  The first woman gave a cynical laugh. "It would be like sending the fox to guard the henhouse since the lawmen are appointed by the cattlemen in the stockmen's association."

  Other women joined in...

  "When one of them runs for mayor like Lord Whittington it's all about helping cattlemen. He talks pretty but it don't mean nothin'..."

  "Then we'd better make sure he don't get into office," another called out, "and make sure we get out there and cast our votes..."

  "Amen..."

  The subject finally exhausted, the women returned to dress reform and exercising in garments that didn't restrict such activities as bicycling and playing tennis.

  But now, Priscilla's attention was divided between the women's accusatory words about Adam and the notion that one of his men could have dragged off someone's fence, and the fact that Trudy was still missing. Deciding to draw the meeting to a close so she could search for Trudy, she raised her hands to get the women's attention, and said, "Thank you all for coming tonight, and for your subscriptions and contributions, and other support for The Town Tattler. We'll meet again in a week, and I'll be posting on the front door where the next meeting will be, since it's too crowded in here. I'll talk to the pastor about the meeting room at the church."

  After the women filed out, Priscilla was about to get on her rover and pedal to Adam's house to see if Trudy was there, since Adam's house was just on the next street and only a few blocks down, when she heard harsh voices of what sounded like a man and a woman arguing, the sound coming from just behind the building. She rushed through the back room and swept open the door, and was shocked to find Trudy with a tall, lean cowboy, who had his arm in a sling.

  'Jess shot at the young man to scare him off and clipped him in the arm...

  Trudy looked at Priscilla in alarm. "I swear to you, Miss Priscilla, Tom didn't touch me," she said in a worried voice. "I was telling him that he can't come here, that it's over between us."

  "You're Tom Rafferty," Priscilla said.

  Eyes narrowed, he nodded, but said nothing.

  Priscilla eyed the sling. "What happened to your arm, Mr. Rafferty?" she asked.

  His face hardened and his lips compressed, as if he were about to tell her it was none of her business. Then his eyes shifted to Trudy and back to Priscilla, and he replied, "I was cleaning my gun and it went off."

  "You told me Tanner was holding the gun," Trudy said.

  Tom's jaw muscles flexed and his eyes held a hostile glint. "It was my gun."

  "But you said that—"

  "Hell, what difference does it make. I got shot in the arm!" He shoved his hat on his head and turned to go. But as he was stepping off the back porch, Priscilla called after him.

  "Just a moment, Mr. Rafferty. I have something else to say." She turned to Trudy, and said, "Please go to your room, Trudy. I want to talk to Mr. Rafferty alone."

  Trudy shot Tom one last look, then slipped past Priscilla and dashed through the back room. A few moments later, Priscilla heard footsteps ascending the stairs. Raising her eyes from the sling, she said, "You'd better get your story straight, Mr. Rafferty. The only part that rings true is that you got shot, and I don't think the bullet came from your gun."

  "You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he said in a terse voice. "If I say I got shot with my own gun, then that's what happened. You nesters come here taking up our land and cutting off our water supply, and when something happens, you blame us."

  Priscilla felt anger coiling in her stomach, not so much at his terse words, but because she knew he'd been one of the men to tear down the fence. She suspected the other was the one Trudy referred to as Tanner. But she refused to be intimidated by the young man. "Nesters don't tear down nester's fences, Mr. Rafferty. Cattlemen do that. But I didn't claim something happened, nor did I blame you for anything. I only said that I didn't believe the bullet you took came from your gun. But from what you just said, I have to surmise that it came from someone else's gun, maybe while they were trying to run you off their property while you were in the process of tearing down their fence?"

  His lips spread in a feigned smile. "If you think that then why don't you tell the sheriff?"

  "That would be pointless," Priscilla said. "But I will tell Lord Whittington. He might be interested in your conflicting stories. And one more thing before you go. Trudy's under my care while she's here, and if you try to contact her again, you'll be dealing with Lord Whittington about that as well. From what I've heard, he isn't a man to trifle with."

  Tom's eyes took on the glint of steel and his nostrils flared, as he said, "Don't bother about going to Whittington. I won't be coming around to see his daughter anymore because I don't feel like getting my eyes scratched out by a loose-tailed hellcat." He shot a spate of tobacco at the ground. "As for what happened to my arm... Whittington already knows how I got shot." He turned and walked away.

  ...Adam Whittington's behind it... sending out his boys to do the dirty work...

  It came to Priscilla that she really didn't know Adam at all. Not only could he and his men be behind many of the attacks on the homesteaders, but she'd never faced him when he was angry. She'd been around him when he was irritated and annoyed, but never when he was on the verge of losing control. His wife left him for a reason, yet, he'd never said why, and she never asked. She'd never been to his ranch to see how he lived out there, nor had they expressed their views on religion or moral values or almost anything else besides her newspaper and her desire to have him in her bed.

  If truth be known, all there was between them was an obsessive physical attraction for each other bordering on deviancy. At least on her part it seemed deviant. It was not normal for a woman to lust after a man. Women were supposed to want tender love and warm hugs and gentle kisses, and in return they were duty-bound to alleviate the problem a man suffered when his male part got hard. Which was the deviant part of her relationship with Adam. She was the one who suffered when that happened, finding herself frustrated, and aroused, and yearning for him to alleviate his problem with her.

  But that was about to change. The fact that Adam found her attractive meant that other men could find her attractive too, if she took some time with her appearance. Several men bid on her picnic basket at the church social, and they looked to be decent, God-fearing men who were quite presentable. And if she happened to find a man to her liking, and he asked her to marry him, she would very much like to be a virgin when he took her to bed.

  Feeling an uncommonly strong sense of resolve, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. The next time Adam attempted to take her in his arms, as he was certain to do, he'd be expecting her to abandon herself to him, even strip off her clothes and beg him to relieve her shameless need. But she would steel herself against such wanton behavior. She'd let Adam know that giving up her virginity to a man who she did not love, and who she had no intention of marrying, was no longer an option. Her maidenhead had been with her for thirty-nine years, and no moment of unrestrained passion, or reckless surrender, or unhealthy curiosity about what happens during the marital act was going to strip it away.

  Holding that thought, she walked through the back room and headed for the stairs. For the first time since she'd met Trudy, she felt qualified to talk to her about the sanctity of remaining chaste until marriage. Or, if Trudy never married, to be
resigned to remaining a virgin for the duration of her life. But as she started up the stairs, the bell over the front door jingled, and when she turned around to see who it was, Adam stepped into the room.

  "Hello, love," he said. He tossed his hat onto the printer lever and walked over to stand at the foot of the stairs. The wide grin on his face, and the pronounced bulge in his snug-fitting pants, left no question as to what was on his mind. And the effect on her was immediate. And unwanted. Holding that thought, she lifted her foot and backed up one step. "Before you say anything," she said, "you need to know that Trudy's upstairs."

  "Not for much longer," Adam said in a low, husky voice. his eyes slowly roamed down the length of Priscilla and back up to focus on her breasts, leaving her feeling breathless, and vulnerable, and wanting what she'd vowed to reject. "She'll be going to her grandmother's tonight. Call her down and I'll take her there now."

  Her chest rising and falling with her deep, erratic breaths, Priscilla backed up another step to put more distance between them, while focusing on the reason she would not let Adam in her bed tonight, or any other night. "After the Town Tattler meeting this evening there was an incident here with Trudy and Tom Rafferty," she said.

  Adam's face sobered. "What do you mean, an incident? What was he doing here?"

  Priscilla knotted her fingers together to still their nervous trembling and held her clasped hands against her chest. "He found out Trudy was staying with me and they met on the back porch during the Town Tattler meeting. I found them there a few minutes ago."

  "Bloody hell!" Adam barked. "If the young bloke had his hands on her I'll—"

  "Nothing happened!" Priscilla cut in. "When I found them, Trudy was in the midst of telling Tom that things were over with them. She was quite angry with him, so I have no reason to believe she'll be seeing him again. In fact, she's so caught up in the women's suffrage movement and the Miss Manners column that it may be a long time before she notices any young men at all, so you can rest easy."

  "Good," Adam said, "because I have other things on my mind tonight."

  "So do I." Priscilla's gaze dropped, and she noted that Adam's breeches were stretched yet tighter. Looking up, she saw the feral gleam in his eyes and knew he'd caught the focus of her attention, which troubled her. He would not be getting what he'd come for. There were too many things that needed to be sorted through before that would change. Forcing herself to put aside all wanton thoughts, she said, "Can we go outside where we can talk, without Trudy hearing us?"

  Adam held her gaze as he said, "I'd rather talk in the back room. It's been a week since you bared your breasts and I'm about to go mad with wanting to pleasure you again."

  Priscilla patted her chest, disturbed that his words were making her breasts tingle and her nipples pucker. But this time she would not let her passionate nature overrule her better judgment. "We need to talk about that as well," she said.

  "I wasn't planning on talking at all this time, love," he countered. "When I return from taking Trudy to her grandmother's I want to find your bathtub filled, and you in it. Tonight's going to be our night. But before we divest you of your maidenhead, I'll want you to settle back in the water and close your eyes and turn your body over to me so I can minister to the places that bring you the greatest pleasure, and while I stroke and tease and explore those private places, I'll watch the ecstasy on your face, and hear the little moans and sighs you make that drive me—"

  "Stop!" Priscilla said, raising her palms toward him hold him where he was. She drew in a long ragged breath to steady the irregular beating of her heart and focus on the issue, which was not about the sexual pleasure Adam intended to give to her. "Tom Rafferty had his arm in a sling," she said in a firm voice.

  Adam looked at her, annoyed. "I didn't come to talk about Tom Rafferty either," he said, his voice no longer playful. "Get Trudy down here so I can take her to my mother's or it will be too late for her to arrive there."

  Ignoring Adam's request, Priscilla said, in an irritated voice, "You don't understand, Adam. At the meeting tonight, a woman said that two nights ago two men came riding in to her neighbor's place and tore down their wire fence, and that her neighbor recognized the younger of the men as someone working for you. She said her neighbor shot at the man and hit him in the arm, and a few minutes ago Tom was here with his arm in a sling."

  "He got shot when he was cleaning his gun," Adam said, without question.

  "But he told Trudy that someone named Tanner accidentally shot him. She corrected him when he told me he shot himself, and he became angry and defensive when Trudy questioned him about changing his story."

  The expression on Adam's face hardened. "What difference does it make?"

  Feeling her anger mount, that Adam could be a part of it, she said in an sharp voice, "It makes a difference between you hearing a lie or hearing the truth. I believe that Tom Rafferty was shot when he tore down a man's fence."

  "My men are not going around tearing down fences," Adam said in a gruff voice. "You're only hearing one side of the story. Cattle rustling's rampant, and the homesteaders and small ranchers are right in there with the outlaws and cattle rustlers, carrying out nightly raids, where afterwards, cattle with altered brands mysteriously appear behind their fences, and when they're accused of stealing, the sheriffs they've appointed do nothing."

  "That's not the way I heard it," Priscilla contested. "The women at the meeting claim that the cattlemen appoint sheriffs who turn their backs on homesteaders when they report incidents. They also believe you're behind the attacks on the homesteaders, sending your men out to carry out your orders."

  Adam's jaws tightened and his eyes narrowed. "And you believe them."

  "I don't know what to believe," Priscilla said, "because I don't know you. We shared a picnic lunch at the church social, we had a few dinners together when I was staying at your house, and we had an evening together at the theater. And the few times when we've managed to be alone whether here or in the buggy, we never talked about anything except my desire to give up my virginity, and your desire to take it. Our entire focus has been on sexual gratification. You've never asked about my family, or my philosophical views on life, or what I like to do when I'm not running a paper. All you know about me is that when you kiss me, my passionate nature takes over and I lose all sense of modesty and virtue, and that I'm willing to open my bodice to you and bare all so you can give me pleasure. And I know almost nothing about you, except that for some odd reason, you seem to find me attractive."

  Adam looked at her thoughtfully. "You're right on both counts," he said. "From the start I found you attractive, but I also took advantage of your lack of experience with men. I've been self-absorbed, and my focus has been on sexual gratification with you, when I should have been more conscious of the things women like. Hugging, holding hands."

  Priscilla pursed her lips in disgust. "You are entirely wrong! I'm not asking you to hold my hand or give me little hugs and kisses. Until just before you came here tonight, all I wanted was for you release yourself from your britches and get under my skirt and finish what we started in the buggy. But that's changed now. I don't want to give up my virginity to someone I don't love. And Tom Rafferty was shot in the arm while he was dragging off a homesteader's fence. And homesteaders are being attacked and intimidated. And every last one of you cattleman want to see the homesteaders go."

  "And you believe I'm right in there among them," Adam said, eyes narrowed on her, the expression on his face challenging.

  "I don't know what to believe," Priscilla said.

  Adam grabbed his hat off the printer lever and shoved it on his head. "Well, when you finally figure it out, let me know. Until then, I won't be bothering you." He stormed out of the building, slamming the door so hard it shook the wall.

  ***

  Adam walked past the lineup of polo ponies tied to the hitching rail outside the Cheyenne Club, mounted the bank of stairs leading to the wrap-around porch of the impr
essive, two-story brick building, and knocked on the heavily-embellished front door. A tall, stately man dressed in black trousers and a black cutaway coat opened the door. "Good evening, Lord Whittington," the man said, then stepped aside for Adam to pass.

  Adam nodded to the man and walked into a room illuminated by elegant chandeliers that hung like so many upside-down spiders with lit candles balanced on their pointy feet. The sweet pungency of cigar smoke, mingled with the muskiness of spilled whiskey and oak paneled walls, teased his nostrils, and as he walked past the massive stairway that curved upward to the second floor, he heard the muffled sound of a woman's laughter. Not a night bird—the Cheyenne Club was not a brothel—but one of the many beautiful women available to club members and their guests. What went on behind the closed doors was not questioned.

  Adam had spent many evenings in the company of such women. While she sipped wines of the finest vintage, and he enjoyed Scotch whiskey served in crystal shot glasses, they both feasted on fresh oysters and imported cheeses and Swiss chocolates and other fine delicacies from far off regions of the world. Or, if it was to be an extended evening, the steward would roll in a butler's tray with a full-course meal served on the finest English bone china and set off by sterling flatware and lead crystal goblets.