The Boss's Daughter

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The walk from Big Daddy’s BDT ranch into the clutch of weathered, board-faced buildings that make up the small town of Junction takes just under twenty minutes. It’s a little more than a mile away, and the only transportation in town are Big Daddy’s horses and the train that runs through Junction twice a week. All the ranch hands except for me live in the bunkhouse on the property. I walk the quiet road between the BDT and Junction twice a day, early in the morning before the sun’s barely peeked over the mountains and again in the evening, when the shadows lengthen around me. The other hands come into town on payday, when they head to Stubs’ to blow their hard-earned cash on cards, money, and women.

Or, well, woman. A town as small as Junction really only has room enough in it for one girl down at the saloon. Most nights Maddy doesn’t have to work; she just perches on the edge of the bar and surveys the empty room with hooded eyes. But she makes up for it when the rail rides through, and when Big Daddy pays out his boys.

With my hands shoved deep into the front pockets of my dungarees, I round the last curve in the road and Junction spreads out before me—a dozen rickety facades propped against each other on either side of the dirt road, looking for all the world like crooked, rotted teeth. The boardwalks out front are weathered and worn, and there’s an old, well-worn nag tied to the hitching post outside Miss Barbour’s boarding house. Hers is at the end of the street closest to me, and as I pass by, the horse’s tail slaps at me like I’m some sort of annoying fly. The horse is her nephew’s, which means he’s sniffing around for money again. The shiftless boozer hasn’t worked an honest day his whole life. Why a kind, old lady like Miss Barbour still lets him sweet-talk her out of her pension and rental earnings, I’ll never know.

Past the boarding house, where I rent a room upstairs, is the general store, then the post office, then the sheriff’s. Stubs’ is on the opposite side of the street, along with the stables, the smithy’s, and the whitewashed boards of the Junction church. A smattering of homes stretch out beyond where the boardwalk ends on either side of the street, a cushion between the town and the small railroad depot straddling the road at the farthest edge.

I head for Stubs’. It’s early, and as usual, I’m the only customer. When I push through the swinging doors, Maddy turns on her barstool with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that dies when she sees me. She wears a faded petticoat and not much else. One strap slips off her shoulder, and she pushes it back into place as she sort of grimaces at me. Her henna-dyed hair is piled on top of her head in a messy array of corkscrew curls, and the kohl around her eyes looks smudged.

“Hey there, Nat,” she calls. Then she turns back around, dismissing me.

“Hey yourself.” I nod at the older man behind the bar. “Stubs.”

He nods in return. With his thick, white hair slicked back and his dapper beard, he looks like a Southern gentleman. But the rolled-up sleeves and suspenders stretched over his rotund belly contradict that image. His voice is gravelly and deep in a way mine will never be. “Nat. There’s oxtail stew tonight.”

I take a seat at the bar, leaving a stool between myself and Maddy. “Great, thanks.”

As Stubs disappears through the door behind the bar leading to the kitchen, I feel Maddy watching me. I know what’s coming even before she slides across the empty stool between us. Her hand strums up my back gently, almost as if she’s afraid of spooking me away. “Nat Allen,” she sighs, suddenly so close to my ear. “What’s a girl have to do to catch your eye?”

Carefully I push my hat back a little, hoping the movement will cause her to pull away. It doesn’t. “Aww, Maddy,” I drawl, “I had a long day, and there’ll be more of the same tomorrow. I can’t tonight.”

Her hand hooks over my shoulder and she hangs against my side. “You can’t any night. I told you, the first one’s free. My treat. After that…”

I scoot over a little, trying to put some much-needed distance between us. “After that, I know you’d spoil me for anyone else,” I joke. “What if I fall for you? I can’t take that chance.”

With a breathy laugh, Maddy runs her hand down my side, tickling my ribs through my shirt. I pull away more, until only her fingertips brush over me. “Give me a chance,” she purrs. “I know a big, strong man like you has to need a woman’s touch now and then.”

I’m neither big nor strong, at least not for a man, but before I can correct her, Stubs pushes through the kitchen door, a bowl of dark, greasy soup in one hand. “Get off him, woman!” he shouts, plopping down the bowl in front of me. Then he waves his bar towel at her, as if that will scare her off. “Let a man eat in peace, will you?”

Maddy huffs as she returns to her original stool. “I’m bored here,” she declares, raking the empty saloon with her gaze. “Train’s not coming for another two days, and none of you cowboys will have any money until the end of the week. What am I supposed to do?”

“Mop the floors like I hired you for back in the day,” Stubs counters. He pours me a mug of cheap beer and sets it with a thud beside my bowl. Suds slosh down the side to puddle on the weathered bar. “Wash the damn dishes. Beat the rugs—I rolled them all up for you yesterday and you said they’d get done soon.”

“They will,” Maddy grouses. She gives me a pleading look I try to ignore as I eat. The soup isn’t tasty, but it’s hot and filling, and goes down well after the day I’ve had. “Nat, please. I’m begging here. One night. We can even go back to Miss Barbour’s, if you want.”

I shake my head. Then, as if it’s the reason why I can’t, I say, “Her nephew’s in town. I saw his horse.”

Maddy’s eyes widen with interest. “Really? What’s his name again?”

“Charles,” I say.

From behind the bar, Stubs grunts, which is what passes for laughter from him. “Cheap Charlie, a no-good, broke-ass, lazy son of a b***h if I ever saw one. If you’re looking to strike it rich, woman, just keep looking. He’s probably here to beg money from Miss Barbour, the lousy cad.”

“Broke or not, at least he’s something different,” Maddy points out. She lays a hand on my arm. “Nat, introduce us.”

I sort of shrug. “I don’t rightly know him.”

“Invite me up, then,” she says, brightening to the idea. “We’ll bump into him on the way and I’ll introduce myself.”

Though spending the evening with Maddy is the last thing I want to do, having Charles Barbour “steal” her away from me is a close second. Stubs is right—the guy’s bad reputation precedes him, and I might not be a ladies’ man, but the thought of being cuckolded, even in jest, rankles. “I really can’t,” I say, shooting Stubs a look of mute appeal.

“You got work to do here,” Stubs reminds her. “If he comes in, fine. But I won’t have you go looking for him. Bastard probably don’t have a red cent to pay you with, anyway.”

I smirk. “Ah, but the first time’s free, ain’t it, Maddy?”

She gives me a dark look. “Price just went up. Tell him to stop in for a drink, can you do that, at least?”

“If I see him,” I promise, hoping I don’t.