Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves(53)

“But truly,” Sally continued, unfazed, “I cannot make a silk purse out of a sow – ”

“ – of sauerkraut,” she finished with an arch smile that matched Sally’s.

The horsewoman stiffened straighter than a fence post, then she broke out laughing. “I like you, Romy Sonnenschein.”

After Arturo sallied off to his duties, the horsewoman accompanied her back to the ranch house. These days, Sally seemed less forceful, her voice less strident.

“You know,” she said, linking her arm with Romy’s, “I must confess I feel right badly about my behavior. It’s occurred to me I’ve acted like a horse’s ass. And I see clearly that Duke and I are as mismatched as a mustang with a thoroughbred, but, still, it sticks in my craw, acknowledging it. And when I realized that your presence forced Duke to realize it, as well, I was bitter”

“Me presence? What did me presence have to do with the relationship between you two?”

“Oh, my dear,” she said patting her wrist, “your presence has influenced everyone here.”

And Duke would most likely attest that for the worse, Romy thought despondently.

§ § §

As he drove north toward Austin’s outskirts of Dessau, Duke’s gaze continually swept Highway 20 through the cracked windshield for deer. Normally, they bedded down during the hottest time of day, but it was not unusual for one to bound from the scrub across a highway at any time.

Course, long as he kept his eyes peeled on the hilly highway, that meant he kept them off Romy, scooched against the pickup’s passenger door. She blistered the eyeballs, gussied up as she was in Sally’s Mexican frillery – a flounced red and silver dress, cut low to flaunt small but very feminine mounds.

Oddly, it was the traditional sombrero, with its chin strap and concealing brim, studded with silver braid and conchos, that kept yanking his burning gaze back to her face – to the slope of her nose and the generous sweep of her lower, childlike full lip.

“Ye understand, Duke, that this act pays nothing – and costs ye time and petrol.”

What he understood was that he had to get shunt of her before she wrecked all his plans. Grand ones and small ones. On the small scale of plans, he should be balancing on a twenty-five-foot high windmill platform at that moment, replacing a defective blade.

But here he was playing chauffeur . . . while his body clamored to shove up that sequin-and-lace skirt. God almighty, when he could be covering any number of females who better fit his plans . . . and here he was in midwinter burning up with a fever.

Day and night. And the nights were worse. He was losing precious sleep.

He switched off the heater. “What I understand is that you are not what I agreed with Rabbi Hickman for – when I signed on for a cook.”

“So, tis back to that? The hands seem to like me cooking now.”

He shot her a quick glance. “You know it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

February, and perspiration dampened the back of his neck. Who would have thought? He rolled down the window a couple of cranks. “Look, you’re a Gypsy. You’ve been around the block.”

“What? Around the block?”

Damn’t! He realized just how little the two of them had in common. “You haven’t led a sheltered life, right?” He glanced over at her to see how she was taking this.

A drollness took control of her mobile mouth. “Ye might say that.”

“Then, it’s got to be as plain as the nose on your face if you stay on at the S&S, we’ll end up in bed together.” There. He had got it out in the open, what bedeviled him.

She tilted her head toward him, eying him from beneath the brim of her hat, and her single pearl earring swung out to glint challengingly. “And that is a problem?”

“You’re goldurned tootin’ it is, ‘cause I am not marrying you.”

Once more, she was looking straight ahead, and that elfish smile graced her profile. “I am not asking ye to.”

He swiped at the sweat rolling down his nape. “Just as long as you got it in your thick skull that come October your term of service with S&S is over, and it’s back to your Gypsy life and all the bull shit you dole out.”

“Aye,” she said airily.

Giving up easily wasn’t in his soul. And didn’t seem to be in hers, either. Still, he would yet be shed of her. “Speaking of the Gypsy life, this gig is right up your alley. Wow the audience, and you are on the road to adventure.”

Her lips lost their usual crimp. “Tis not adventure I want. I have had meself plenty of that, thank ye now.”

The chilling wind whisking through the pickup window’s slot was doing little to alleviate his sweating discomfort. “Well, what in the hell do you want?”

When she did not reply immediately, he took his eyes off the highway briefly. A wistful smile played upon her lips.

At last, she murmured. “Trees. Grass. Plenty of green grass, mind ye. Water. Clean water. Flowing water. Safety – ye know, security, so ye sleep easy enough. Chil – ” She broke off with a gulp.

Gypsies were known for their dramatic skills at duping their marks, and, God Awmighty, if she did not almost persuade him she was earnest. “Score big at Dessau, and you’re on your way to making all that happen.”