REMINDER: I write long stories. Many chapters don't have naughty bits, but those that do will be way more fun if you read the others, too! Also, although TT2 is a sequel, it's a stand-alone story . . . but . . . you might want to go read Texas Trio first, just so you don't know the ending of that one! –Stefanie
–:–:–:–:–:–:– Chapter 5 –:–:–:–:–:–:–
In retrospect, Brody was completely disgusted with himself. He wasn't in the habit of trusting anyone, really. It had taken years for him to trust Graham, his business partner and closest friend. Why in the world had he ever taken the word of those two vagrants when they told him that story about the ranch?
After Jeremiah Wilson booted him out of the wagon– making it clear that a literal kick would have suited him better– Brody was given a bunk and directions to the grub shack. There, he'd gotten a bowl of greasy, gristly leftover stew which tasted twice as good as anything he'd eaten in any European restaurant. He didn't even care that moving his mouth hurt like hell– Brody wiped the shallow bowl with the remainder of his cornbread and only by supreme strength of will did he manage to avoid licking it clean. He returned the empty cup and plate to the hairy, lean beast the range boss had called "the old woman," though he was neither of those things, and headed back to the bunkhouse.
Before the sun set on his first night in the bunkhouse, the range boss, Captain Jackson, had taken Brody aside for a long lecture in which he was told repeatedly that there were NO loose women ANYWHERE on the KCW.
Restraining an urge to explain himself like a boy caught cheating at school, Brody paid attention and learned a lot about the nature of the family. He'd half-assumed that Mrs. Connor was the widow of a former partner in the KCW who had fallen into the current arrangement accidentally. Instead, he was told she'd intentionally married both Kendall and Wilson, which explained why she'd kept her maiden name, Brody supposed.
Surprisingly, as time went on, Brody discovered the unorthodox marriage wasn't a frequent topic of conversation. He expected to hear criticism or snide comments about the marriage or Mrs. Connor herself, but the kind-hearted ranchers' wife was widely respected by her husband's employees. Brody was sure some of the hands felt differently, but those that didn't respect Mrs. Connor sure as hell respected her husbands' fists, and no one said a word against her.
His range boss was a former Confederate soldier whose manner made it clear that he, too, was loyal to the ranch's founding family. Brody didn't dare ask about Mrs. Connor's younger sister. Instead he set himself to learning his duties and biding his time.
Initially, he had planned to stay just long enough to pay for the food and bed he'd been given, then hitch a ride into town and wire Graham for a bank draft.
Then he met Rebecca Connor.
If he were back in San Francisco, in different circumstances, he'd have approached her guardian the following day, requesting permission to pay calls. But he wasn't in San Francisco; he was in Liberty Falls, where he'd grossly insulted the wife of the men whose permission he'd need to attain.
Brody could ride as well as the next man, and he'd been working since he was eight or so, from plowing fields to humping store goods in a mining town– but he didn't know the first thing about cattle. In Texas, toddlers learned to rope, and being a neophyte cowhand was a lesson in humility even after recovering from the second beating he'd taken in three weeks. As for that, Brody wasn't a man accustomed to losing fights, but neither defeat bothered him. The first had been delivered by six burly railroad deputies and the second tacked on when he was barely awake.
The other hands took turns showing him what to do and mocking his mistakes, but Brody had no trouble laughing at himself, and he got along with most of the men, even when they hurled "Easterner" at him like an epithet. So Brody waited for passing time to dull the ranchers' anger and dedicated himself to becoming a decent cowhand in the meantime.
First, he learned the difference between ranch hands and the drovers who took the cattle to market. Instead of spending weeks or months on a trail drive, Brody would be part of a roundup crew working the herd on the ranch, moving, sorting, guarding, and marking cattle. Surprisingly, he also learned that if his own horse hadn't been stolen, he wouldn't have been allowed to keep it with him at the ranch.
The range boss noticed Brody's puzzled expression and explained, "Prevents a fellow with wanderlust from taking off for town the minute he gets paid, no matter what the cattle are doing."
Brody had spent years in the company of gold miners who, like any other isolated group, created their own vernacular, but on the KCW, he discovered cowboys turned habit into art. Not only were there at least three names for every piece of equipment, the hands themselves seldom used the name they'd been given at birth. Those that did were often known by one or two others as well, confusing Brody further.
The "old woman" referred to any cook on the range, but the cook at the grub-shack serving the northern bunkhouse was also known as Salty Jim, Cookie, or King Bean, depending on who was talking. "Cookie" also applied to the cook at the ranch house, the one at the southern bunkhouse, and a tinsmith in town, who didn't cook at all. His direct boss in the chain of command– Captain Jackson– was also called Cap, Cappy, Jack, and Hal, though supposedly no one knew his real first name.
Objects, animals, events, and places were equally confusing in cowboy-speak, he discovered, so Brody spent much of his time trying to decipher what he was being told to do with muleys, dogies, mavericks, choppers, and his yannigan. Brody didn't even know he had a yannigan!
–:–:–:–:–:–:– Chapter 6 –:–:–:–:–:–:–
Brody ran his fingertips across a row of books, impressed by the variety of authors and topics, but the stamped cloth and leather spines weren't sufficient distraction to keep his mind off the risk he was taking by being here. Although he'd been up to the barnyard several times since arriving at the ranch, hoping to bump into the lovely Miss Connor, he hadn't been back inside the house. He hadn't planned on it today, either; he'd meant to wait in the stable until Kendall and Wilson arrived.
He didn't think the owners would appreciate his presence in their home, but Brody hadn't been able to avoid it. Mrs. Connor had walked right past him on her way to the chicken coop, the smaller of the two boys tagging along behind her. She always greeted him when she saw him in the yard, but this time she stopped to ask how he was getting along. Someone had undoubtedly informed her that ranching wasn't his field. They chatted for a few minutes and before she took her leave, Mrs. Connor kindly offered Brody the use of her library.
"If you find yourself at loose ends, feel free to borrow a book. Come to the kitchen door if no one answers the front, and one of the girls will let you in."
Hat in hands, Brody nodded. "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Connor," thinking that as much as he'd like something to read of an evening, there was absolutely no possibility of him taking advantage of her generosity.
Catherine paused in the act of turning away, stopping to let her peridot eyes rest on his face, apparently reading his thoughts as easily as if he were one of her children. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Easton, I believe I'll wait right here until someone lets you in, just to make sure they hear your knock."
He shifted uneasily, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do.
"Thank you, ma'am," Brody murmured with a polite, hesitant nod. He climbed the front steps, defeated.
