The Boss's Daughter

by J. T. Marie

  Nana is a former slave, half-African, half-Cherokee, who’s been with the Tates since Boss Daddy was a little boy. Rumor has it that some well-meaning missionaries passed through Junction after the war and took it upon themselves to notify Nana she was now a free woman who could leave whenever she wanted. Her response? “What the hell I want to leave here for? I got a warm bed, a roof over my head, and a whole damn household to look after. You think this place runs itself? Now get.”

  Word among the ranch hands is that Boss Daddy is only scared of two people in the whole wide world, and that’s Miss Lucille and Nana. Truth be told, I’m a little scared of both, myself.

  As if she knows I’m thinking of her, Miss Lucille comes closer, trapping me against the wall. “So, is it a yes?” she asks.

  “Well,” I hedge, “I don’t want to put anyone out…”

  Her smile widens. “Then it is a yes! Oh, I’ll tell Nana to fix another plate.”

  I try to back out of it. “I don’t want to be a bother—”

  But Miss Lucille shakes her head. “Hush. It’s no bother. I’ll enjoy the company. We won’t really be able to talk much, you know. We won’t be alone. But tomorrow…”

  She lets that thought drift off as she heads back out into the hall. She’s right, actually. Tonight won’t be an intimate meal; there will be too many people around. All I have to do is keep my head down and remember my manners, and no one will even talk about me once I head back to the boarding house.

  But tomorrow it will be just the two of us. And that terrifies the hell out of me.

  Chapter 14

  I help Miss Lucille pay the ranch hands. They come into the room one at a time and stand nervously in front of her, hats clutched tight in both hands at their waists. She gives each man a smile which is probably meant to be relaxing, but only makes them more anxious. When she says his name so I can find it in her ledger, the man in front of her starts to rock from side to side; slowly at first, almost unconsciously, then a little faster, as if he has to pee. The handwriting in the ledger is clear and neat, but it still takes some time to locate each man, particularly when a lot of the vaqueros have the same last name. I hunch down over the ledger but still see the rocking cowboy out of the corner of my eye, and it’s distracting, almost as if he’s afraid I won’t be able to find him on the list and thus he won’t get paid.

  But I do find him, and I tell Miss Lucille his pay rate. She has an envelope stuffed fat with dollar bills. She counts out the pay from the envelope, sets the envelope on the edge of the desk where I sit, and then slowly counts the money out into the worker’s open palm. I don’t know why she bothers—most of the men can’t count along with her, and just assume she and Boss Daddy aren’t ripping them off. As soon as the money leaves her hand, it’s clutched in grubby fingers and, with a nod and a grin, the cowboy hurries out into the hall. Another quickly takes his place.

  By the time we’re finished, the noise from the hallway where the men had gathered has disappeared. They’re all halfway to town by now, chasing each other in their haste to get to Stubs’. Maddy will be busy tonight.

  I start to shut the ledger, but Miss Lucille says, “I need to pay you, too, Nat.”

  It’s Nat again, not Mister, even though the door is open and any servant lingering in the hallway might overhear.

  With my finger, I trace down the column of names, looking for mine, but before I reach it, Miss Lucille places a small stack of bills in front of me. “I already know what it is,” she says when I give her a questioning look. The slightly color pinks her cheeks, as if the admission is embarrassing.

  “Thanks.” I stand and fold the money in half, then tuck it into my pocket.

  Miss Lucille watches it disappear. “Aren’t you going to count it?”

  “I trust you.” My smile darkens the blush on her face prettily.

  She ducks her head. “Well, there’s a little extra in there for helping me out. Tonight, and when we went into town.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Miss Lucille.”

  I start to extract the money so I can give back the extra, but her hand on mine stops me. “It’s Lucy, remember? And I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

  I try again. “You shouldn’t…”

  With a stern look, she says, “Don’t you tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Nat Allen.”

  “I just don’t want you to think I’m helping out to get paid,” I offer.

  Her face softens, and I’m all too aware of the fact that she hasn’t removed her hand from mine. Her fingers are cool but her palm is warm and soft. I wonder if the rest of her body would feel this nice against mine, and instantly chastise myself for thinking such a sordid thought.

  “Why are you helping out?” she murmurs.

  I shrug—now it’s my turn to be embarrassed. I don’t want to admit it, but I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling free. I’ve been wanting to say them since we came back from our trip into town and haven’t had the opportunity to do so yet, but now seems as good a time as any. “Because I like you, too.”

  Her eyes light up as she beams at me. “You do? Oh, Nat, I—”

  A knock interrupts us. Miss Lucille pulls her hand away as she whirls towards the open door, and I almost knock over the chair trying to distance myself from her. In the doorway, a young servant stands stiffly, his eyes trained on a spot somewhere high above Miss Lucille’s head as if to assure us he didn’t see anything.

  There was nothing to see, but I still feel as if he caught us in a compromised position.

  Clearing his throat, he intones, “Supper is served, ma’am.”

  Miss Lucille pats her hair, her collar, then her skirt, as if afraid she might have somehow become disheveled. “Thank you, Kenny. We were just finishing up with the payroll. Can you take Mr. Nat to the kitchen to wash up before we eat? I have to put away my ledger.”

  She shoots me a questioning look, so I nod quickly and hurry to the door. Kenny’s far-seeing gaze drops to meet mine, and the faintest hint of a smirk crosses his face before he presses his mouth into a thin, dour line. “Right this way, sir,” he says, leading the way.

  As I follow, it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he didn’t see whatever it was he thought he saw, but I realize any protest I make will only fan the flames of his curiosity, so I wisely keep quiet.

  Chapter 15

  I’m led to a large dining room with a table set for eight. Kenny nods at a chair on one side and I pull it out to take a seat. Moments later I’m on my feet again as Nana shuffles in. “Sit, sit,” she says, waving me down. But I hurry to the other side of the table and pull out her chair, ignoring the hands slapping at mine. “I said sit, boy. I ain’t too old to do for myself. Where’s Miss Lucy?”

  “Right here, Nana.”

  I turn as Miss Lucille enters the dining room. She must have freshened up a bit since I saw her last, because her hair is glossy, brushed back off her shoulders, and a faint rouge colors her lips. She takes the seat at the head of the table—an ornate, cushioned chair with arm rests which I suspect usually holds Boss Daddy’s weight. Unlike Nana, she stands beside the chair for a long moment, then gives me a sideways glance that says she’s waiting on me. Nana snickers as I hurry to pull out Miss Lucille’s chair. It’s heavy and awkward, and when she sits down, she adds little to the weight. I guide it into place, then resume my own seat.

  Supper is beef, of course, given the ranch’s business. The roast is succulent and heady, rich in its own juices, and small potatoes slathered in butter. There’s also cornbread and collard greens stewed in vinegar, a welcome change from the slop I get at Stubs’. I don’t eat so much as inhale my food, concentrating on my plate while the ladies talk about their day. After a little while, I realize they’ve fallen silent and I look up, fork halfway to my mouth, to find them both staring at me.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  Nana’s grin wrinkles her entire face. “I like to see a man eat up. You’re a little too ski
nny as it is. Have some more cornbread.”

  I don’t argue and reach for the platter between us. When I glance at Miss Lucille, I falter. There’s something in the way she looks at me that I can’t quite put my finger on. What is it, exactly? Amusement, perhaps, but something more. Something else.

  Something that maybe touches too closely on whatever it is I feel when I look at her, something I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on since it first blossomed between us. My feelings regarding Miss Lucille are almost too tender to touch; I keep them under wraps so I won’t accidentally prod or poke them too much. I don’t want them to flare to life and change things between us. Better to tamp them down, ignore them, and hope maybe they’ll go away.

  Chapter 16

  After supper Nana excuses herself, claiming the hour is late, and leaves Miss Lucille and me at the table. As the servants clear away our plates, Miss Lucille gives me an impish grin I can’t interpret. “When we’re finished, Daddy usually likes to have a smoke in the study.”

  I don’t know if that’s an invitation or what. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Oh, I know that.” The off-hand manner in which she says it makes me curious; at the quizzical look I give her, she explains, “I’d smell it on you if you did. Men who smoke stink for miles. I’ve tried telling Daddy that, but he doesn’t listen.”

  The table is bare before us, and I’m suddenly well aware of the fact that we’re alone. It’s so quiet, I almost feel as if we’re the only ones in the entire house. Pushing back my chair, I tell her, “I should go.”

  “Must you?” She stands with me.

  As much as I want to stay, I know I shouldn’t. “It isn’t proper. Someone might say something to your father—”

  For a moment, her eyes flash like the sky before a storm. “Let them!” Then, remembering herself, she sighs. “Well, we’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

  If sitting at a dining room table in the heart of her home isn’t proper, I can’t imagine what sneaking away on a picnic together might be. But weekends are long—I spend them alone in my room, reading and re-reading the books in Miss Barbour’s meager library. Sometimes I come out to the ranch to pick up a few extra hours, but with Boss Daddy away, I already know the hands are all going to slack off. Many will pass out on their stools at Stubs’ and not manage to make it back tonight. The thought of sharing the quiet hours with Miss Lucille is a temptation I can’t resist, especially since her father isn’t likely to find out about it.

  “I’d like that a lot,” I say, letting her lead the way towards the foyer. She’s only a step or two ahead of me, and with each swing of my arm, the back of my hand brushes her skirt where it swishes around her hip. I try to hold back, but when I do, Miss Lucille moves ever so slightly in my direction, causing my hand to touch her skirt.

  Trying to fill the silence between us, I ask, “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

  We’ve reached the foyer, and a servant minds the front door; or rather, he would be minding it if Boss Daddy were home. Instead he lounges in a nearby chair, perusing the local broadsides. When he sees Miss Lucille, he jumps to attention, tucking the newsprint away. She gives a little nod and he hurries to open the heavy front door. Before I can repeat my question, she puts a hand on my wrist. At first I think it’s to stop me while the door is opened, but even after I stop walking, her hand remains. Then I realize she doesn’t want me to say anything within earshot of the servant, or anyone else who doesn’t need to overhear our plans.

  So I wait until we’re out on the porch, the door shut behind us again. At the top step, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my pants and rock back on my heels a little. “So, tomorrow?”

  To my surprise, Miss Lucille threads her arm through mine and hugs me close. “Let me walk you to the gate.”

  Once we’re away from the house, she lets out a sigh. “If you don’t want anything getting back to Daddy, you mustn’t say anything in front of the staff. So, tomorrow. Could you come by around eleven? Or is that too early?”

  “Maybe a bit early for lunch, yeah.” We’re slowly walking towards the gate, more intent on our conversation than our destination. She feels so warm against me, her body curved alongside mine as if she fits perfectly right there, and it would be so easy to reach out and drape an arm around her shoulders. But I can’t do that, I won’t let myself do it; my hands ball into useless fists in my pockets.

  “Eleven, then,” she says, as if I hadn’t disagreed. “We’ll hitch up the cart and I’ll pack a nice picnic basket. I know just the spot, too. Nice and quiet, and on Daddy’s property so no one can bother us.”

  “Most everything around here’s your daddy’s property,” I tease.

  Her hand tightens around my elbow. “I bet you don’t even know the place I’m thinking of, Nat Allen. I’ll have you all to myself.”

  I know she’s joking, but still, it sounds so promising.

  Chapter 17

  We linger at the gate, neither of us wanting to be the one to say goodnight. We agree to meet out here again at eleven in the morning, but Miss Lucille holds onto my arm and doesn’t show any signs of letting go. Finally I point out that it’s getting late—the sun set hours ago, and the road ahead is pitch black. Soon some of the ranch hands will be stumbling back. We shouldn’t still be at the gate where they can see us, no matter how drunk they might be.

  “Good idea.” Miss Lucille stands on her toes, though that isn’t really necessary, and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. It’s close enough to my upper lip for me to count it as a real kiss, my first, and my mouth tingles all the way back to Miss Barbour’s.

  Whatever is happening between us needs to stop, I know. But it’s so hard to keep her at bay when every fiber in my being wants to pull her close and never let her go.

  When I reach the boarding house, I can hear the ruckus from Stubs’ down the street. None of the cowboys in the saloon are in any danger of heading back to the ranch any time soon. I’m tempted to turn around and spend another few minutes with Miss Lucille—time seems to slip away whenever we’re together. But it is late, and we will see each other again in the morning. This picnic may be the last chance I get to be alone with Miss Lucille…with Lucy. Once her father returns from his trip, I’m sure he’ll squash whatever it is budding between us.

  For the moment, though, I’ll savor it while I can.

  Inside Miss Barbour’s, Cheap Charlie is stretched out on the sofa in the parlor, a hand-rolled cigarette giving off a foul odor. His aunt must be in the kitchen, because he yells out to no one in particular, “This is why I hate one-horse towns!”

  It sounds as if he says whore, though, not horse. Coming into the parlor, I lean against the wingback chair facing him and smirk. “Let me guess. Maddy’s too busy for you tonight.”

  Charlie grunts in agreement but doesn’t look my way. Since our run-in his first day in town, neither of us has had anything nice to say to the other. He’s stopped trying to break into my room, though, so at least there’s that. “What would you know?” he snips. “You only go there for the food, such as it is.”

  “Better than the company here,” I shoot back. “Such as it is.”

  Suddenly he sits up straight and leans forward, tipping the ash from his cigarette into his empty sniffer glass. “Hey, you work over at Boss Daddy’s, don’t you?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re finally interested in getting a job.”

  With a distracted wave, he shoos my comment aside. “No, listen. His daughter’s a sweet young thing, ain’t she? I’ve seen her in town, and BD talked her up and down.”

  “BD?” Something I can’t rightly identify ricochets through me. Jealousy? Or just disgust?

  “You know, Boss Daddy. BD.” Charlie looks at me now, eager for an answer.

  I shake my head. “Yeah, don’t let him hear you call him that. It’s bad enough when the vaqueros say jefe Pàpa.”

  Charlie waves again in irritation. “Fine. What a
bout his daughter?”

  I really don’t like this man. “What about her?”

  “She’s a spinster, right?” Charlie leans forward further, almost falling off the sofa. “No prospects, from what I’ve heard. I should call on her, don’t you think?”

  The thought of this ass even looking at Miss Lucille boils my blood, but anything I say to try to dissuade him might seem like I’m interested in her myself. Which I’m not. I can’t be. I won’t be.

  “I didn’t peg you as the marrying type,” I drawl, avoiding his question.

  Charlie shrugs and settles back on the sofa. “Oh, I’m not, but she has to be loaded, right? All BD’s money. Sorry, Boss Daddy. He sure has you trained, hasn’t he?”

  “He’ll run you out of here so fast, you won’t know what happened,” I say, like Charlie’s the type to heed my warning. The smirk on his face tells me he’s only half hearing me. “I’m not talking about Junction, either. I’m talking about the county—he owns it all, from here to Dodge and back. Hell, probably run you out of the territories altogether, send you packing back east with your ass in your hands. So if I were you, I’d show a little respect.”

  He raises his glass to his lips but notices the ashes in the bottom of the half inch of amber alcohol remaining just in time and sets it on the end table. Then he takes a long draw on his cigarette, obviously struggling to think. Not about Boss Daddy either, I suspect.

  I’m right. When I turn to head up to my room, Charlie stops me by asking, “So, his daughter. You think I stand a chance?”

  “As much as any man, I reckon,” I hedge, though the moment the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re probably true. Miss Lucille doesn’t look to be in any hurry to settle down, not with Cheap Charlie, not with anyone. Wasn’t that what she was arguing with her father about earlier in the week?