He nodded, but he kept glancing from one to the other. “I tried to get the sheriff here to enter, but he says it wouldn’t be sporting since he’s such a crack shot.”
“Yep, everyone knows that,” Larado said.
About that time, Banker Barclay and Dixie entered the dining room. Mrs. Bottoms ushered them to a prime table, everyone speaking and nodding to this newest addition to Rusty Spur’s society. The pair nodded to Larado and Lark as they passed.
Lark nodded to the gentleman and favored Dixie with a chilling stare. The banker appeared puzzled as he stared at them, then shrugged and went to his table.
The delicious stew suddenly seemed to lose its flavor. She looked at Larado, and he turned a bit more green.
Paco wiped up the bottom of his bowl with a tortilla. “Boss, I been thinkin’. We work so well together, you reckon if you ever managed to buy that ranch you want, I could work for you there?”
Larado shook his head. “Paco, I’ll never be able to get the down payment. But yeah, if we’re gonna dream, we might as well dream big. You can be my ranch foreman.”
Paco grinned. “We’ll raise cattle and some fine quarter horses.”
Little Jimmy came to the table and poured more iced tea all around. “Maybe you’d have room for a kid?”
Lark smiled at him. “Now, Jimmy, what would Mrs. Bottoms do without you?”
“I’d rather live with you two,” he said. “When I grow up, I want to work for the railroad.”
“And maybe you will,” Lark said kindly. With the mess she and Larado were in, they couldn’t drag an innocent child into it.
Larado sighed and put his hand to his head as if it ached. “In the meantime, the town needs protectin’. We’d better get to it. Sweetie, you pay the bill, all right?”
“Certainly.” Her voice was sarcastic, but neither man seemed to notice as they left the dining room.
The next day drew a big crowd to the little town for the festivities. The mayor made a speech about freedom—only mentioning Sam Houston twice and the Alamo three times, which made the real Texans question his patriotism.
There was a little parade of the Odd Fellows band, some of the town notables in red, white, and blue draped buggies, lots of horses, and small children carrying Texas flags. Indeed, many of them thought they were celebrating the day the Union had been lucky enough to join the Lone Star State. Lark made Magnolia a new white hat with red, white, and blue ribbons. The pair marched in the parade with the burro wearing an advertising sign for the French Chapeau.
Two subversive groups from the big city of Dallas came to town to march, the temperance ladies and the suffragettes who were hoping to get the vote for women. Since most of the men were well oiled by the time of the parade, they treated the two groups with benign courtesy and refrained from pelting them with rotten fruit. Besides, what could one expect from those liberals in Dallas?
Later in the day, the local ladies set up tables under the shade of some cottonwood trees at the edge of town and served a wonderful lunch, complete with huge piles of fried chicken and barbecue, ice-cold lemonade, and plenty of watermelon. As usual, when they were finished the little boys threw rinds at each other and put hunks of cold melon down the backs of the little girls, who immediately tattled on them. Magnolia ate a whole melon by herself.
Now it was time for the shooting match. Targets had been set up at the end of the street, and all the cowboys lined up for this contest, as well as some of the local saddle tramps from the saloon. It was a sweltering-hot day with little breeze, perfect for the contest. Women holding small babies gathered in front of the stores to gossip. Local men watched and laid side bets on the outcome. Small children ran in and out of the crowds, and the enterprising Abner Snootley had set up a small stand selling candy and sarsaparilla.
The mayor got up on the little platform and spoke again. Someone must have questioned his loyalty because this time he mentioned Travis, Bowie, Crockett, Sam Houston, and the Alamo again. He also introduced the town council and the new banker, who made himself very popular by declining to speak but saying he would host drinks at the hotel dining room that evening. That brought forth cheers from the thirsty Texas males, although most of them preferred the Cross-eyed Bull. Lone Star men preferred liquor to speeches every time.
Again the Odd Fellows band played “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Truth was, Lark thought, they didn’t know too many songs besides that one, “The Eyes of Texas,” and “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” However, for all the Texans, those three songs were enough of a repertoire for any band.
Abner Snootley, who seemed to have a snoot full, decided that he, as a member of the town council, should speak, too.
“Good citizens of Rusty Spur,” he began, “when Texas was its own nation, it was founded by people of rare courage and foresight—”
“Oh Lord,” one of the men groaned, “I hope he ain’t gonna get wound up.”
People began to applaud and whistle until he could barely be heard.
“I ain’t done yet,” he complained.
“Yes, you are, Abner.” His wife stood up beside him. “Now just hush. Folks didn’t come here to listen to you talk for two hours.”
More cheers.
“All right, all right.” The homely, balding man made a calming gesture. “I was just gonna talk about how the town is growin’ because of the new railroad—and we got a new bank and everything—and to remind everyone that Snootley’s General Store is always a good place to shop.”
More whistles and catcalls came from the crowd. “Get on with the shootin’ match!” some wag yelled.
The sheriff stood up and made a calming motion. Lark noted that everyone fell silent. She wondered if it was because they feared him or because he was that respected in the town.
“All right, fellas,” Larado shouted. “Here’s the rules. You get three shots, and if you don’t hit the center of the target, you’re eliminated. We’ll shoot in rounds, and the last one standin’ gets a nice basket of goodies, courtesy of Snootley’s General Store.”
Mr. Snootley and Bertha stood up and bowed. When Abner acted as if he were about to make another speech, his stout wife yanked him back down.
“Don’t forget about the saloon,” someone in the crowd yelled.
The crowd roared its approval.
The sheriff nodded. “Yes, the saloon is selling beer half price all afternoon.”
More cheers from the crowd, but from the temperance ladies there were cries of “Shame! Shame!”
“Hey,” some farmer in the crowd complained. “That target’s pretty small—I ain’t sure anyone can hit it.”
“Aw, the sheriff could,” Paco said. “Hey, Sheriff, won’t you give us an exhibit of your shootin’ skill?”
The sheriff hesitated, licking his lips as he stood at the podium. “Naw, I—I wouldn’t want to show nobody up. After all, this is a day for amateur shooters, not professionals.”
Mrs. Bottoms smiled and nodded. “That Sheriff Witherspoon, he’s as modest as he is brave. Three cheers for our great sheriff.”
“Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”
“That’s enough, folks.” The sheriff nodded with a modest smile. “I’m much obliged for your confidence, but now let’s get on with the program.”
The crowd cheered as Larado stepped down off the platform and came over to stand by Lark.
“Land’s sake,” she scolded. “You could have indulged them a little and let them see you shoot.”
“Now don’t you start in, sweetie. I wouldn’t want to make these fellas feel bad.”
The first men were lining up to shoot their rifles. The noise of the gunfire set a baby to crying, and two horses reared and whinnied, pulling away from their ties at the hitching post and running away. Lark watched, itching to compete. She was better than most of the male contestants, she realized as she watched the contest. She had a terrible urge to push forward and say, “Here, let me show you how it’s done,�
�� but she managed to control herself. Texans liked their women feisty, but they didn’t want to be shown up by them.
In the end, it was Paco who won the shooting match. He accepted the basket he’d won with cheers from the crowd, although Lark heard Mr. Snootley grumble, “I didn’t know I’d be giving a basket of stuff to a Mexican.”
“What?” Lark whirled on him.
“Never mind,” he said. “Some of us ain’t as democratic as you and the sheriff are. I wouldn’t have given him a job in the first place.”
“He’s a good deputy,” Lark reminded the man with a steely gaze.
Paco strode up just then, his dark face lit by a big smile. “Did you see me shoot, señora?”
“I certainly did. Congratulations.”
It was almost dark now. The crowd was scattering, some to the saloon, and some to the hotel, and some were standing around waiting for the fireworks.
The sheriff boosted little Jimmy up on his shoulders for a better view when the sky rockets began to explode in the black, hot night. Lark stood next to them and thought about what it would be like to be a real family. Stop it, Lark, she scolded herself, this can’t work out and you know it. As soon as you get enough money, you’re going to do what you always do, flee.
However, she was going to have to stay in this sham marriage for at least a few more weeks. She felt like she was sitting on a keg of blasting powder to have the banker and Dixie in town—but worse yet, to have to share a house with Larado and lie in bed at night, knowing there was only a weak door between them if he ever decided not to take no for an answer.
At last the festivities were over. Larado went on home to feed the livestock, and Lark stayed to help Mrs. Bottoms and the other ladies clean up the mess and put away the food. It was dark as the inside of a cow as she walked home. The town was quiet in spite of the big day. She stepped in a mud puddle without seeing it and paused at the front door, swearing under her breath. Well, she didn’t want to track mud into the parlor. Quietly, she went around back, wiped her feet, and entered through the back door.
Larado sat at the kitchen table reading the local paper. He did not look up, so she knew he had not heard her enter. Then she took a better look and gasped in surprise. Larado was wearing his mother’s gold-rimmed spectacles. When she gasped, he looked up suddenly, his expression one of panic. He ripped off the eyeglasses, threw them down, and jumped up from the table.
“What—?” she asked.
“You tell anyone, I swear, I’ll—” he came at her, grabbing her arm.
She shook his hand off. “Larado, why are you wearing your mother’s glasses?”
He sighed, looked around as if trapped. For once, he wasn’t breezy or lighthearted. “Why don’t you just pretend you didn’t see that, and we’ll forget it.”
“But I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you get it?” He roared at her, “I can’t see! My eyesight is no damn good. I’m a four eyes! I can barely find my way around town without my spectacles.”
“Oh, Larado—”
“Don’t you feel sorry for me,” he shouted at her. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me!”
“But you’re such a good shot. How—?”
He paced up and down. “Everyone thinks I’m a good shot. Have you ever seen me shoot? I couldn’t hit a barn with a scattergun at ten paces. I’m a fake, Lark, a failure.”
Her heart went out to him. “For a failure, you’re doing a pretty good job as a sheriff.”
He shook his head, his rugged face a show of misery. “My old man called me a ‘Nancy boy’—a weakling, because I couldn’t see well, so he dumped us both. My ma worked like a dog as a bunkhouse cook to buy me spectacles, and the kids at school ganged up on me and broke them.”
“Oh, Larado, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”
“Forget it!” he snapped and paced some more. “We had no money for new ones, so I had to wear the broken ones wired together. It got so bad, I quit school.”
“And became a cowboy.”
“A saddle bum,” he corrected. “Now I’ve got respect, and people like me. Nobody knows my secret—nobody but you.”
She shook her head, her voice gentle. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, Larado. Besides, this town wouldn’t care—they’d like you anyway.”
“Ha! Whoever heard of a half-blind sheriff, wearin’ spectacles? Why, if that got around, they’d all laugh, and half the outlaws in the state would come to take a shot at me.”
“But as it is, you’re taking a chance that someone you don’t see will kill you.”
“At least I’d go down respected,” he muttered. “And the whole town would come to my funeral and talk about what a good sheriff I was.”
She walked over and put her hand on his arm. “Larado, that’s loco thinking. Just start wearing the spectacles—no one would care.”
He shook her hand off. “And get me laughed at again? Can you imagine Wyatt Earp wearing glasses? It don’t fit the lawman image.”
“Men!” she snorted. “You’re more vain than most women.”
“If you’d been through what I’ve been through…” He hesitated. In his dark eyes she saw the misery he was remembering—a poor, scrawny child beset by schoolhouse bullies. “I finally got big enough and good enough with my fists to defend myself,” he said. “The rest, I bluff my way through.”
“But it made me think you couldn’t read.”
“I don’t very well, but I’d rather be thought stupid then blind. I’m a loser, that’s all. My old man was right.”
She had never felt as sorry, as sympathetic, as she did at this moment. She moved closer. “Look, Larado, you have my word that I won’t tell anyone.”
He looked uncertain. “You sure?”
She nodded. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made the appropriate gesture.
“I wouldn’t blame you for telling everyone in town, Lark, holding me up to ridicule—not after what I’ve put you through.”
“That wouldn’t be fair.” She shook her head. “Like shooting a man in the back. This will be our little secret.”
He looked at her a long moment, as if wondering if he could trust her. Finally he said, “Thanks. I’m much obliged.” His manner was gentle, not smart-alecky as in times past.
“There’s only one thing I’m worried about now,” she said.
“What?”
“If you don’t wear your glasses and you have to face down a real gunfighter, he’ll kill you.”
He shrugged. “The rumor got started that I’m an ex–Texas Ranger, so most hombres think twice about challengin’ me. They think I’m a dead shot, but even with my spectacles on, I’m not that good.”
“Then you’re taking a big chance being a sheriff, aren’t you?”
“What can I say?” He looked at her, earnest now. “I’ve got respect, a place in this town. I’m tired of bein’ a saddle tramp. I don’t wanta run anymore.”
“Someone said it’s better to be a live dog than a dead lion.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe that no more. Sometimes a man has to stand for something if he’s goin’ to keep lookin’ himself in the mirror.”
“Well, thank God I’m not a man, then,” she sneered. “Running is what I’ve always done when I came up against something I couldn’t deal with.”
“Runnin’ is for cowards.”
“Okay, so you’d be called a coward,” she conceded with a nod. “But you’d be a live coward.”
“Lark, you’re a Texan and you know the code. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“That’s loco. Sooner or later, some gunfighter or robber will shoot you down in the street, and you’ll be a dead hero.”
He shrugged. “I reckon. Now you know what my weakness is, you could get me killed real fast by spreadin’ the word.”
“Damn it, I don’t want to get you killed, I just want to keep you out of my bed, you rascal.”
“Do you really?” He came toward her and
stopped close enough that she could have reached out and touched him. For a long moment, she felt the electricity pass between them, knowing that all she had to do was look at him or open her arms, and he would sweep her up and kiss her the way he had in all her troubled dreams. Maybe he didn’t even have to wait for a signal—maybe if he just lifted her and kissed her, carried her into the bed, they would both be swept away in a dizzying, heated passion that had nothing to do with love or marriage.
She took a deep breath to quiet her screaming nerves and turned away from him. “I don’t want to be married to a lawman, Larado.”
“You mean a half-blind saddle bum, don’t you?”
“That’s not it, and you know it.”
“I don’t know it. You’ve got a family, Lark. You could go home, and you’d be welcome there.”
“I’m too proud.” She began to weep. “I’m more proud and maybe more foolish than you are, Larado. I ran because I was weary of competing with my sister. I ran because I did poorly at school. I’ve run from every difficult thing that I couldn’t handle, instead of standing my ground.”
“Well,” he said, “if you decide to pack up and go home, I won’t follow you or try to get you in trouble. Folks will finally forget about what happened in Buck Shot. You can go home and make a fresh start.”
She shook her head and wiped away her tears. “I’m not going home until I can go home proud.”
“And bein’ married to a failure—a saddle bum wanted by the law—is not good enough, is it?”
She shook her head. “I—I’ve got to sort things out.”
“I reckon I have my answer, then. Let’s eat a bite, and I’ll go sleep on the settee.”
“Or maybe with one of the girls at the saloon?” She was angry with him, remembering.
“I never cared about anyone but you, Lark, and I took you any way I could get you—and I’d do it again. It’s rotten of me, I know, but I’m a rascal—you’ve always said so. That one night in your arms was worth everything you’ve put me through since, teasin’ and tantalizin’ me until I was half loco for need of you. I’ve lied, and I’ve cheated, and I’d do it again for that one night I spent in your arms.”
Georgina Gentry - To Tease a Texan Page 23
