“You couldn’t?” she snorted. “That ain’t like you, honey, not to be able to charm a gal out of her drawers.”
Brad didn’t like having that rubbed in. He turned away from the window. “I don’t think that will work with our Yankee schoolteacher, she’s smart and hard-headed.”
Sadie tried to slip her arms around Brad’s neck, but he shook her off. “Smart and hard-headed may be good things in a man, but that ain’t what a guy’s lookin’ for in a girl, is it?”
“Hell, no. She’s my worst nightmare, a lady, a real lady who’s as savvy and stubborn as a man. Dewey has his work cut out for him on this deal. Maybe he can reason with her, but she’s the most unreasonable woman it’s ever been my bad luck to come across.” He went outside and plopped down in the porch swing, trying to think. He’d send José, the little stable boy, with the message to Dewey. Nope, Dewey wasn’t gonna like his afternoon interrupted, either. Just what was it gonna take to rid himself of this skinny, fiery-haired pest?
Lillian returned to the fort for a Sunday dinner with the Bottoms, who had invited Lieutenant Fortenbury to join them. It was a pleasant meal on the patio among the wealth of blooming roses. They dined on fried chicken, a dish called black-eyed peas and another called okra, and a strange bread known as corn bread, the Bottoms told her.
She explained her predicament. “So we’re meeting with Dewey Cheatum at four. Perhaps I should hire my own lawyer.”
“Isn’t another one,” the major said as the Mexican maid brought in another huge platter of fried chicken and fresh vegetables. There was mashed potatoes and cream gravy, homemade pickles, hot rolls, and big pitchers of cold milk and iced tea.
Lillian had never seen so much food in her life. She had always lived so poor that she hadn’t imagined that anyone ate like this.
Lieutenant Fortenbury wiped his wispy mustache on his linen napkin. “Miss Primm, I do sympathize with your dilemma. That Brad O’Neal is such a low-class ruffian.”
“But a handsome one,” Mrs Bottoms said as she passed the pickled peaches.
The lieutenant frowned. “I wouldn’t call him handsome.”
“Well, he is, don’t you think, my dear?” Mrs. Bottoms asked Lillian as she poured more iced tea.
Young Lieutenant Fortenbury frowned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t appeal to a high-class person like Miss Primm.”
“Of course not,” Lillian agreed. In her mind, she remembered the gambler’s grin and the way his black hair fell over his dark eyes. He probably had some Indian blood, which made him even more dangerously appealing…well, to some women. He was virile and wide-shouldered, and had a whole harem of women at his beck and call like a stallion. She wondered suddenly if he serviced them all. He was probably able to do so. Horrors, what was she thinking?
“Are you all right, my dear?” The major inquired, “you appear flushed.”
“It—it—the afternoon is so much warmer here than in Boston.” she stammered while the others seemed to look at her strangely.
“No place hotter than Texas,” the major said, nodding as he helped himself to another piece of chicken. “Locals take pride in it.”
He droned on, but Lillian’s mind was racing again, seeing wild stallions running free across the Texas prairie, a whole herd of mares running with him. Some wild stallions were not meant to be tamed or even controlled.
“…so what do you think, Miss Primm?” The younger officer said.
“What?” She started, embarrassed that she’d been thinking about rearing stallions while ignoring the obvious interest of a respectable, eligible gentleman like Lieutenant Fortenbury.
“I said, the major is planning a band concert soon and I’ll be playing the tuba,” the officer wiped his wispy mustache again. “I do hope you will come hear our concert.”
“Uh, certainly—if I haven’t returned to Boston. What’s the occasion?” She tried to smile and concentrate on young Fortenbury again, but all she could see in her mind was the short man struggling to carry a big brass tuba.
The major cleared his throat. “I understand we’re getting some congressmen coming through on a fact-finding mission—or maybe just looking for a vacation.”
“Too bad we don’t have a hotel anymore.” Fortenbury said.
“Did they ever decide why it caught fire?” Mrs. Bottoms asked.
The major shook his head. “No, but we’ll do our best with rooms here at the fort.”
“What time is it?” Lillian asked. “I have to meet with the gambler at four.”
“My dear,” Mrs. Bottoms cautioned, “I don’t know if I’d confront that gambler alone again, he’s supposed to have a way with the ladies…or so I hear.”
Her husband frowned at her. “Now what would you know about a man like Brad O’Neal, Edith?”
“Women talk.” Now her face flushed and she kept her head down and seemed suddenly engrossed in her salad.
“Anyway,” the major snapped, “she won’t be alone. Dewey will be there.”
Mrs. Bottoms smiled. “If you think you can’t deal with that charming rascal, you could take the lieutenant here along.”
Lillian saw the sudden tremble of Buford’s dainty hands. “I—I was thinking of practicing my tuba this afternoon, Mrs. Bottoms, or otherwise, I’d be delighted—”
“I don’t blame you, son,” said the major as he ate his fried chicken with his hands, “I’d be afraid of Brad, too. I’ve seen him in a fistfight.”
His wife gave him an inquiring, annoyed look. “Now just when was that, Gilbert? You told me you’d never been in the Texas Lily.”
A sweat broke out on the major’s face. “It—it was out on the driveway one time, my dear. I had gone there to retrieve some young soldiers who were too drunk to make it back to the fort.”
“Disgusting!” Young Fortenbury drew himself up proudly. “That place should be closed down.”
“Now that would upset the soldiers and all those cowboys who come into town on Saturday,” the major said. “Men have to blow off a little steam now and then.”
In Lillian’s mind, the big powerful engine raced into town, its engine working and its pistons going up and down, up and down, blowing its whistle while women smiled and swooned. Power and muscle and danger.
“…Miss Primm?” Young Fortenbury said.
“What?” Lillian started.
“I asked,” the younger man said patiently as he wiped his wispy mustache again, “if you thought there was anything to the story about gold being hidden in the Lily?”
She shook her head. “I really have no idea.”
Mrs Bottoms looked intrigued. “You know, I’ve heard that tale, too. They say Lil McGinty didn’t trust banks.”
The major snorted and threw down his napkin. “Oh, Edith, I’m sure that’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Well,” the lady defended herself, “there’s lots of nooks and crannies and walls to hide things—maybe some boxes in the attic just full of treasure.”
“Hmm,” said the lieutenant, “If there is, my dear Miss Primm, you wouldn’t want to sell out too cheaply. Why, he’d probably offer you a lot just to get rid of you so he’d have free rein at hunting the gold.”
“Well,