Lass Small - Chancy's Cowboy

“I don’t want to come out to some hick ranch and guide an innocent into your bed. I have morals.”

“While I’m pristine and pure, I know all about your morals. I went to Fred’s that time and saved your hide. Remember that?”

“Yeah.” There was a silence. Isabel said, “I remember.” And the silence came again. She said, “I owe you. I guess. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

With great patience, he reiterated, “Come out and teach her to be a female woman.”

“Turn back the bed covers and tell her to strip?”

“Sister, sister, you’re a-way off the track. All’s I want is for you to teach her to wear dresses, maybe even use a little makeup. Help her to let her hair grow and act like a woman. And get her out of our hair! We can’t even talk natural but what she’s around and we have to watch our language.”

With her eyes then slits of suspicion, Isabel asked in a deadly voice, “Does she chew tobacco?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“On my honor.”

“You haven’t brought that honor part up in a while. Tell me what your roll is in this reforming of a neophyte?”

“So you realize she is one.”

“I want to know the ramifications. If this is a passing fancy so that she is going to sink me in a flood of tears and the weight of bystander guilt, I want to know now.”

Being underhanded and sly, he then used her nickname. He said in an honorable voice, “Is. All I ask is that you teach her to be a girl and wear dresses—”

“Good gravy.”

“When you meet her, you’ll understand. Teach her how to wear a little makeup and comb her hair.”

Suspiciously, his sister asked, “Does she have head lice?”

“The only reason I haven’t hung up the phone on you is that I have no one else to ask to help her be a lady. Or just act more female and leave us alone to talk like we want. You can be a lady when you want to. Momma did a good job on you. You are a lady.”

“Why are you asking me to do this?”

“I want her to know what a precious woman she is. Just like all the other women we men are so lucky to see and know. I want you to influence Chancy.”

“Why is she named...Chancy?”

“Her parents were—different. Her daddy named her that at birth.”

“Why.”

“I wasn’t there. I have no idea. I like her. I would like you to help her at this age. She is—”

“At...what age.”

“She’s twenty.”

“And she doesn’t wear dresses? She must be rather feebleminded.”

“No. She was raised in a different atmosphere than you. She has had no instruction in being a woman.”

“Where’s her mother?”

“As I understand it, her mother died when she was a child. I believe it was at three or four years old.”

“Awww. That would be tough.”

And that was what lured Isabel into agreeing to help out. She was a pushover for an orphan.

So Cliff asked Chancy, “Would it be okay if my sister came to visit for a while? She’s from San An-tone and never been on a real ranch. It would be interesting for her.”

Chancy’s eyes widened. “She’d come here?” She’d never had any female guests.

“If that’s okay with you.”

And with a totally stark face of panic, Chancy asked her foreman, “How do I do this? Where would she stay? I’m not sure what to do.”

And instead of taking over and deciding everything for her, Cliff was quick enough to suggest, “Ask Tolly.”

“Yes! That’s a good idea! I’ll go find him now.”

And Cliff’s eyes followed her as she went quickly from the room. It came to him that Chancy had never had female company! Think of that! For a woman.

Chancy had had no trouble finding a place for him. She’d even bought him pants. It hadn’t been any big deal. But now his sister was coming, and Chancy was absolutely thrown off kilter. She was excited. Pleased. She didn’t know what to do. Think of that. She’d never had a female guest?

That was a thoughtful several minutes, sinking into Cliff’s understanding, then he smiled a little. Isabel would handle it all. And he went off outside, whistling. Chancy would be solved by his sister. Now she’d be busy doing something female and leave the place to the men. They could talk their own way and it would all be easier.

Cliff had read Chancy’s conduct very well indeed. She was thrown for a loop. She told the cook, Tolly, “What’ll I do?”

And he asked in a superior manner with somewhat lifted eyebrows, “About—what?”

“Cliff’s sister is coming to visit. Where’ll we put her?”

Tolly was included, that way, in responsibility. So he suggested, “Upstairs in one of the vacant rooms? They are pristine, as usual. That team scrubs them down to the wood and then waxes them. Any of the rooms is ready.”

“Yes.” It was as if she hadn’t realized one of those rooms would be just right. Since she’d never had female guests, those rooms had been empty.

She would have someone else upstairs! And she smiled. She hummed. She cut flowers. That made Jim hostile and competitive. Those were his flowers.

He asked the humming woman, “What the hell are you doing? Just answer me that.”

And she blinked and said, “I’m having a guest come stay!” And she grinned widely with delight.

“Who’s he?” Jim’s eyes squinched in suspicion.

And Chancy laughed as she explained with delight, “He’s a woman!”

Jim narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously. “One of them I’ve read about?”

“No. A real one! She’s coming to stay a while. She’s Cliffs sister!”

“Well, what do you know about that!” And he was taken aback. “Are you using the gladiolas?”

“No. I thought the bluebonnets and the firewheels with a little of the fern would be so pretty.”

He gasped in true shock, “You’d cut them bluebonnets? They don’t last! They’re fragile.”

“She’s special. Her name’s Isabel and she’s my first woman visitor. I’m so excited.”

“Don’t cut the bluebonnets ’til just before she comes. They wilt. They’re the real McCoy and they don’t take to being cut. It’s like men and bulls. Cutting takes a lot out of them.”

She sighed with great forbearance. “See if you can watch your language when my guest is here?” That was a questioning statement. It appeared to share the knowledge instead of stridently directing. She was not at all subtle.

Jim squinted his eyes and said, “You could take some of the daisies. They’ll last longer.”

And she had the gall to reply, “Tomorrow.”

The gardens were for bouquets. They had always been there. But since Chancy didn’t particularly care about bouquets, Jim had become used to his flowers being pretty bouquets—outside. To have the flowers—cut—off—thataway wrenched his heart and joggled his feeling of ownership. Chancy was intruding into his territory.

Jim followed her around gasping and protesting, and she heartlessly put bouquets into his arms and appalled him completely. The garden looked like it had mange. Like a miserable dog that had splotches of hair missing.

Inside the house, there were bouquets everywhere! Even on the backs of the toilet tanks. That was different.

At the supper table, Tolly inquired with great tact, “Perhaps there are too many bouquets?”

“No.” She was sure.

And Jim smothered a pitiful groan.

One of the hands said, “I can’t see Will.”

And she retorted, “You don’t need to see Will. Look at the bouquet.”

“I see flowers all the time, everywhere this time of the year, outside.”

And Will had to mention, “I feel like I’m laying on the ground, half dead, and on my way out of the universe. It’s like a funeral.”