Charming Jo Read online

  CHARMING JO

  Laura Drewry

  Copyright 2006, Laura Drewry

  Smashwords Edition

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  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  Kansas, 1880

  “No good sunsabitches – the whole lot of them. Just ain’t right up an’ quittin’ like that.”

  Joanna McCaine nodded in agreement. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t already said. But cursing them out isn’t getting me anywhere.” She peered around the crowded saloon, biting back more useless curses. “Surely there’s someone in town needing work, Lefty.”

  The old bartender shook his head slowly.

  “All’s I need is one man. Just one.”

  “That’s a load of crap, Joey, and you know it.” Lefty’s whiskey-hardened voice always reminded Jo of wagon wheels over a rough dirt road. “You can’t have more than a few hands left out there, do you?”

  When she refused the bottle he offered, Lefty poured himself a long shot and downed it in one well-practiced swallow. All around them, the stench of stale whiskey, sweat and tobacco hung thicker than an April fog. Blood from more than a few fights stained the dirt floor, and the door hung crookedly from its hinges.

  Drunks – several of them once employed by Joanna herself - whooped and hollered over various card games while Lefty’s working girls, adorned in tattered feathers and enough face paint to cover the entire building, slinked around the room offering their wares.

  Above the ruckus, a lone voice sang with all the grace and tuning of a twenty-year old tom cat. Sal.

  God bless her, but the woman couldn’t sing to save her life. How she’d ever convinced Lefty to let her do her caterwauling in his saloon was a complete wonder.

  Jo re-rolled the sleeves of her father’s threadbare shirt, then twirled her hat between her hands. Maybe if she pretended it wasn’t so bad, it really wouldn’t be.

  And maybe pigs would fly, too.

  “We’ve still got Walt, Simon and Jimmy.” She paused, swallowed. “Mac, of course. And Newt.”

  Lefty let out a rolling grunt that caused a few heads to turn their way. “Your Uncle Mac’s been dead for ten years; just forgot to fall over is all. And Newt – how old is he?”

  “Seventy. I think.”

  “How’s his hands?”

  “Would I be here looking for more help if his hands were any good?”

  Another grunt. “So you’ve got a drunk, two half-wits, a corpse and a cripple left working for you. You’ll never get that fence built.”

  Jo blew out a long breath. “I would if I could get someone with a strong back and a will to work. With the three men out on the range that only leaves Mac to help me out.” No point in adding Newt to the equation anymore. The man tried his best, but Lefty was right. Newt was too crippled up with arthritis to be the help she needed.

  “Mac must be hatin’ that.” Lefty scratched the thick puckered scar under his blind right eye.

  “On a good day he’s only hating it. If I don’t get him back out with the cattle soon, he’s going to go loco on me.” Jo laughed lightly, though there was probably more truth to that than she wanted to think about. “Since the others up and quit, Mac doesn’t trust the three we have left. He figures they’re either plain slackin’ off or staying on long enough to collect next week’s pay, then they’ll quit, too.”

  Lefty clicked his tongue. “Wouldn’t surprise me. And if Mac ain’t out there ridin’ herd on them, who’s to know what the hell they’re doing?”

  “Which is exactly why I need him back out there.”

  Lefty scratched his ample belly and sighed. “Don’t suppose you’d go out on the range an’ have a couple of the other hands come in to work the fence?”

  “Uh, no.” Heat crept up her neck. “I wouldn’t be much good to Mac out there.”

  “But. . .” Lefty trailed off, then grinned, showing off his tobacco-blackened teeth – or what was left of them, anyway. “Joey – you still can’t rope?”

  “Shh!” she eyed the tables nearest her and shrugged.

  “But you can do everything on that damned ranch – what’s so hard about ropin’?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “If those stupid animals would stand still, I’d be fine. But they just keep moving.”

  Lefty’s laughter crackled through the room. “Yeah, I’ve heard they do that.”

  He downed another shot of whiskey, then set the glass down on the bar. When he looked up, all traces of laughter had disappeared from his face.

  “Hate to tell you, Joey, but all these fellas here are already working.”

  Jo scanned the room full of card-playing, whiskey-drinking men, her brow raised in doubt.

  “Well, they’re not working right now,” Lefty hurried to add.

  “And even if they weren’t working,” Jo sighed. “None of them want to work for a woman.”

  Lefty offered her a quick shrug. “Don’t matter how much you pay some men, they just can’t abide bein’ bossed around by no girl.”

  “I know. That’s why I need someone who needs the money more than his pride. But I also need someone who’ll actually do the work – not like those lazy grunts I hired last time.”

  Lefty shot a quick glance around the room. “There’s this one fella I know of, but you won’t want him.”

  Jo snorted – a sound that never failed to get her in trouble with her aunt. “At this point, Lefty, I’d hire the devil himself as long as he could help me get the fence built. Then Mac can go back out with the herd until round-up.”

  “But this fella’s got himself a bit of a reputation.”

  “I don’t care. If he’s got two good working hands and a strong back, he’s hired.”

  The old face looking back at her did not look convinced. “Mac’ll have two fits sideways when he finds out.”

  Jo slid a coin across the bar. “It’s my ranch, Lefty.” Mac could have four fits if he wanted to. They needed the help. And as long as the fella didn’t turn out to be. . .

  “His name’s Travers. Levi Travers.”

  Levi Travers. Of course. Papa always said the only kind of luck Joanna ever had was bad. Here was the proof.

  A long groan ripped from her throat. “Not Travers,” she said. “Anyone but him.”

  Lefty backed up, his line of vision darted away from Jo to something – or someone - behind her.

  “Looking for me?” A low, deep voice jolted Jo upright. The ruckus around them paused for a brief moment – save for the echo of hiccups coming from the far corner. But once Sal hit the first key on the piano, the room filled again with curses, howls, and the clinking of glasses almost as though they were all trying to drown the poor woman out.

  Jo swallowed hard, glared at Lefty, and slowly turned on her stool. Impossibly soft brown eyes, like a newborn calf’s, stared back at her. He wore his black Stetson tipped a little to the right, leaving his too-long brownish hair to fall around his shoulders. Thick stubble covered his face, but did little to hide the fading bruise beneath his right eye, the inch-long scar on his chin, or the smirk curling his lip. />
  Clinging to his arm was one of Lefty’s finest. Stella’s white-blonde ringlets, held back by some sort of red feathered ribbon, swung with each movement of her head. Her bright blue dress, if you could call such a scrap of material a dress, boasted more of the same feathers in the most noticeable places – namely her bulging bosom.

  “Hi ya, Joey.” Stella’s sugar-sweet smile never failed to nauseate Jo. “Whatcha needin’ Levi for? He’s kinda busy right now.” She trailed her finger up his arm and across his cheek. The muscle in his lower jaw twitched much like Jo had seen her cattle do against a buzzing mosquito.

  Despite all the stories about Levi Travers, she’d expected him to look different.

  A lot different. A lot uglier.

  But seeing him in person made it easy to see why girls let him do what he did.

  “You’re Travers?”

  He nodded. “Who wants to know?”

  A voice called out from the dimness of the far corner. “Joey – is that you, girl? Does Mac know you’re in here?”

  She waved a dismissive hand toward the caller, but he continued.

  “Come on and play a hand with us. I could use a little luck.”

  “Not a body alive who needs my kind of luck, Tip.”

  Travers shifted his stance a bit, bringing her attention back to him. Heat raced up her neck and over her cheeks. He did more than just look back at her, he seemed to look through her.

  She cleared her throat and forced the words out. “Could we talk outside, please?”

  Stella pouted. “Levi, stay here with me. Ain’t I more fun than some dirty ol’ cowgirl?” Her long finger swept the length of Jo’s arm. “She’s wearing her dead father’s clothes, for pity’s sake! Just the idea gives me the willies.”

  Jo cocked an appraising brow at the other woman and snorted again. “I don’t think you’re one to be handing out fashion tips, Stella.”

  Before Travers or Stella could answer, Jo jammed her hat back on and strode out of the saloon. There had to be someone else who could work for her. Someone who didn’t keep all the tongues wagging in town; someone who didn’t treat every woman as though her only purpose in life was to please him; someone who had at least an ounce of honor attached to his name. Was that asking too much?

  Apparently so.

  She stopped in front of Maggie’s restaurant and, with a heavy sigh, slumped against the nearest post. People – no, men – wandered all through town, back and forth across the deep-rutted road, dodging horses, wagons and yapping mutts. So if there were so many men in town, why couldn’t she find anyone to work for her?

  Lefty had been her last hope. He knew everything about everyone else’s business in town. If he said Travers was the only one, then that was the truth.

  Damn it.

  She’d have to send a wire to the neighboring towns. Surely someone was looking for work nearby. Of course, having to bring men in from out of town would take another week or so – time she could ill afford if she had any hope of getting her fence strung before round-up.

  The heavy thud of boots scuffing against the boardwalk turned her head. Travers sauntered toward her, followed by a still-pouting Stella.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” He leaned his boot against a nearby water trough and looped his arm around Stella’s shoulder. “In case you missed it, I’m rather busy.” With prolonged nonchalance, his gaze raked over Stella’s body, from toe to nose, with extended pauses in certain areas.

  “Yes,” Jo snorted. “I’m told Stella can keep a man busy for hours.”

  “That’s right, sugar,” Stella cooed into Travers’s ear. “So let’s go back inside and. . .”

  Travers’s gaze locked on Jo for a long moment. What did that look mean? It felt like he was about to swallow her whole. He leaned his head toward Stella, but never took his eyes from Jo.

  “You go ahead, Stell. I’ll catch up with you in a while.”

  “But, Levi.” The whine drifted on the air as he waved her away. Jo waited until Stella disappeared inside the saloon.

  With a deep breath, she lifted her chin and forced some starch into her voice. “I need an extra hand.”

  “Not interested. On my way out of town.” He tipped his head to the right a little, and flashed a dazzling smile of nearly straight white teeth.

  “You mean you’re being run out of town.” Not even Mac had teeth that clean.

  A tiny sparkle danced in his eyes. “Six of one, half dozen of ‘nother.”

  “Not really, but regardless, I’m willing to pay you very well.” She crossed her arms over her old button-down shirt and forced her best no-nonsense look.

  “How well?”

  “Well enough.”

  His expression didn’t change. “I’ll ask again. How well?”

  Jo ground her teeth together. Why him? Of all the men in town, why did he have to be the only one she could hire? If she’d been a man, she could have hired any number of good strong workers. What was so bad about working for a woman? With a shake of her head, she relaxed her jaw.

  “Fifty dollars a month plus room and board.”

  “No deal.” He turned to walk back to the saloon.

  “Sixty and you can have a cabin to yourself.” When he hesitated, she nodded toward the restaurant. “Let me buy you a cup of Maggie’s coffee and I’ll explain.”

  Lord almighty, what was she thinking? Sixty dollars a month to have the likes of Levi Travers living on her ranch? Mama was no doubt dying a second long and painful death in her grave.

  Travers shrugged, pulled open the restaurant door and waved her in ahead of him. Warm aromas of baking bread and fresh coffee made Jo’s stomach gurgle. She pulled off her hat, nodded at Maggie and made for the nearest table with Travers close behind. He held out her chair and waited ‘til she was comfortable before taking his seat.

  An eerie chill settled over her spine. Men didn’t hold chairs for Joanna McCaine. They just about fell over themselves holding chairs for her sister, Carrie, but as for Jo – she was usually left to fend for herself. And that was fine with her; she didn’t need to be coddled. She was more than capable of pulling out her own stupid chair.

  Since Travers was her only hope, she could ill afford to make a mistake and say something to scare him off, so while he settled himself across from her, his hat sitting on the chair beside him, she inhaled a few deep breaths and looked everywhere except at him.

  Not much had changed in the six years since Maggie had taken over the restaurant. Yellow cloths covered each of the ten square tables and the three tall, rectangular windows gleamed in the afternoon sun. There was nothing fancy about Maggie’s restaurant – plain and simple, just like Jo.

  The only other customers in the restaurant were Big Bill, who ran the livery, and his wife, Audrey. Their initial smiles turned to shock when they saw who Jo was sitting with. Big Bill’s chair scraped back against the floor and for a second, Jo thought he was going to come over, but Audrey patted his hand and the huge man shuffled his chair back in. But he positioned himself so he had a good view of both Jo and Travers.

  Maggie poured two steaming cups of coffee, offered Jo and Levi menus and then disappeared into the kitchen. Jo waited before speaking. For some reason, her mind was running in four different directions and her insides were jumping around like a frog on a hot griddle.

  It would have been easier if the Levi Travers sitting in front of her had turned out to be short, squat, with a pock-marked pasty face and thinning hair. Instead, this man made every story about him believable. It was no wonder women fell at his feet.

  Jo wanted to kick herself. For goodness sake, he was only a man! Sure, he was nice looking, even as scruffy as he was with his long hair, stubbled face and fraying black shirt. But none of that interested her. All she cared about was his ability to work - and work hard.

  She looked him in the eye and spoke in a low, controlled voice.

  “My name’s Joanna McCaine. My sister and I own the D
ouble M Ranch twelve miles north of here, just across the river.”

  “I’m familiar with the place.” He took a slow sip of coffee, never blinking, just staring back at her with unnerving ease. “Heard you’ve been having some trouble.”

  She snorted. “That’s one word for it. In the last month, three hands have quit and my foreman, Mac, is going to work himself into an early grave if I don’t get some help out there.”

  Travers’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why’d they quit?”

  As if he didn’t already know. The whole town knew. Jo shifted in her chair and folded her hands on the table. “They had a problem working for a woman.”

  “You mean a woman who’s hell-bent on fencing her neighbors out of prime grazing land.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah, I could see how that’d be a problem.”

  “It’s my land, Mr. Travers, and --”

  “Levi.”

  “Fine.” Jo nodded slightly. “It’s my land, Levi, and I’ll do whatever I think is best. All I need is for you to help me get the fence built – two, three months tops - and then you can be on your way to. . .wherever it is you’re running to.”

  “I’m not running, Miss Joanna.”

  “Call me Jo.”

  “Jo is a man’s name.”

  The air thickened around her, her fingers clenched white. “It’s also my name. I’m not a ruffles kind of girl, Travers, and I don’t need a ruffles kind of name.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of coffee, hoping it would burn the rest of the spite from her tongue.

  Travers shrugged his broad shoulders. If he’d only stop looking at her with that charming little smile, she’d feel much better about this whole thing. She raised her brow, took in a slow breath, and gave him a pointed look.

  “Well?”

  “San Francisco.”

  Jo cocked her right eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

  “San Francisco. That’s where I’m heading.” He finally looked away from her and set his mug down.

  What did she care where he was going? As long as he waited a few months. But if he wanted small talk, she’d manage it for a few minutes.