Chancy's Cowboy
It was interesting but not unknown for Chancy to watch. The man and the horse were getting acquainted. Cliff was showing the horse that he was his. And the horse appeared to consider that quite easily.
She wondered why the horse accepted a stranger when she hadn’t been able to get his attention at all. He’d been reasonably tolerant of her, but he had discarded being her horse.
It was rather irritating to see a man get that close to a horse so quickly.
In the next month, Cliff worked as if God had sent him to them to spare the rest of the crew of the responsibility for...the Chancy one.
Probably the biggest surprise was that she was a jolt to a single man who was diligent in his activities. Those that concerned the place. Without any warning, she was in the group and determined to be a part of it. She owned the place.
She simply did not have the muscle or the strength to handle what a man could do so easily.
She did not obey rules laid down that were brief, logical and few. She went off when she chose. She joined and intruded on smooth work and jostled them all. She startled placid animals and infuriated busy men...who loved her.
It was Cliff who took the reins of the days and the rest could just watch and be critical.
That critical didn’t last long. Cliff offered for any of them to take the budding female on—to direct and control her. Nobody volunteered.
Clashes between Chancy and Cliff happened. And some arguments. Those were courteous, so far.
Chancy did ride a horse. Not the calm one Cliff allotted to her. No. She sneaked onto Cliff’s horse. There were sharp whistles so that the whole, entire crew all watched what Cliff would do about that.
When he saw what she’d done, he got on her horse and whistled at his, who was under her and riding away like the wind.
The whistle was to stop... and his horse did stop. The horse almost had to rear, clear up, to keep her on his back. With his rider stable, the horse had turned and looked at Cliff with some interest.
Of course, Chancy was flicking the ends of the reins against the horse and urging his sides with her naked boot heels to get him to go again. She was earnest and determined—but even her rein strokes were kind. She was simply indicating seriously that she wanted the horse to do as she chose.
That was logical.
Cliff pulled her horse up alongside her and the prancing Jasper. Cliff took the reins from her hands as he got off her horse.
He told her through his teeth, “They are both brown coated. But if you look closely, you’ll be able to tell which is Jasper and which is your own horse.”
Then he put his arm around the lower part of her torso and lifted her effortlessly from his horse. He had the audacity of lifting her then onto her own horse, as if she’d made a mistake.
She glanced around, but no one else was anywhere around that she could see. So she looked again at Cliff. She tilted her sober-faced head, waiting for an apology from Cliff.
He gave none.
Cliff swung up on his own horse and just trotted it away, leaving her there with her own horse. She was owner of the land. He didn’t give a damn.
He had told Chancy that his horse was not trained as an exercise horse. He was a working horse. He obeyed enough. He didn’t need any stranger getting up on him and demanding other rules. He was not a pet.
The horse, Jasper, was a partner. He was willing to carry a saddle and a man...if there was a reason. But he did not take to just roaming without some goal.
Cliff had learned to call the horse’s name of Jasper. If Jasper hadn’t anything to control or find, he’d get bored and just stop. Or he’d go looking for something interesting.
The horse’s curiosity sometimes led to a real wrangle of wills. He’d take the bit in his teeth and just...go!
Actually, Jasper was a whole lot like the male version of the budding female. Like Chancy. But Chancy was more kind.
There were increasing times that Cliff wondered how had her daddy known to name her thataway, right away, when she was born?
From what Cliff had heard, her parents hadn’t been ordinary. And maybe not even—normal. They’d been a little weird. Their attachment had been too intense. But from what Cliff had heard, they’d understood limits.
How come their daughter had turned out as curious as she was? As determined and independent? And yet. And yet, with all that, she kept her courtesy and interest in others.
But she was a handful.
Chancy was never flippant or snotty. She was earnest and curious, and she continued to consider herself equal to any adult male. Any man knows no female is equal to a male at any time. Not only females’ physical strengths, but their minds don’t work the same as a man’s.
Men are generally just tolerant and ready to salvage whatever the female louses up. That is done silently by the male with great endurance that is allowed to show—somewhat.
Cliff considered what he’d heard of the parents and knew they had been indulgent. The crew even yet just shook their heads over Chancy how many times?
But it was obvious to Cliff that her parents had never lifted a finger or a voice to Chancy. They’d just observed her with interest...and rescued her if necessary.
In exasperation, the crew told Cliff that the rescue part was just about always. Practically from birth, she had defied the limits.
Interestingly, none of her curiosity was mean or flippant She just thought she could do anything a male could do. She kept on trying. She was an irritating woman.
Probably the main thing about the changes was that now Cliff was in charge. It was to him that questions came. It was his directions they sought. Before his arrival, they had discussed their problems when they were in Chancy’s presence. They hadn’t really inquired if she agreed, but she had known what was being done.
With Cliff in charge, things had changed. It was odd for Chancy not to know what all was happening.
Two
Around the main house, the trees had been selectively removed. The trees had been cut down and the wood used in the fireplaces when the temperature plummeted clear down to fifty degrees. Once it had gone down further and there had been ice!
There was air-conditioning. It was unTEXAN to use it. When the temperature got up to eighty degrees, it was turned on and left there as the outside temperature went on up over a hundred. They were all spoiled rotten. Especially the cats and dogs.
The high temperatures were seldom miserable because the heat was dry and, if you didn’t run around and do a whole lot of things, you didn’t even sweat. Men tend to run around after things and to see things and heaven only knows what all distracts them. Well, what all else.
At the main house, there was Tolly, who was the cook. He did the shopping and organizing and made up the menus. He’d been doing that as long as Chancy remembered.
The meals were always superb. He would listen if something else was wanted.
In that first week, Cliff said, “This pie is great. How about an apricot pie?”
And it was on the table the next day. There was exactly enough of the fruit. The crust was crisp. It was perfect. But then all of Tolly’s foods were done just right.
The people who cared for the crew ate at the house, together, as a family. All were at the round table on the enclosed side porch including Tolly, the cook, and Jim, who did the yard and kept the fruit trees and the flowers just right. And there was Tom, who did the barn and took care of the horses and of course the chickens.
The chickens were allowed their freedom, and they lay eggs just about anywhere. Egg hunting was a challenge and entertained Tom in just finding the nests.
When Cliff questioned the freedom of the chickens, they all replied in a babble that with the chickens ruling their own lives, the eggs were better.
That was probably so. Cliff had never eaten such well-presented foods.
And Cliff found Chancy was a serious distraction. He thought of her at odd times. She apparently didn’t see him as a potent male. That was very different. He wondered if she was flawed.
She never wore a dress. Why not? She’d cut her hair into such a short bunch that she could pass for a teenage boy. Naw. Her chest was female. Even trying her darnedest, she couldn’t ever get past that. But she looked like she was trying to be male.
How would she look in a soft gown that went along her body?
She distracted him from his work.
He began to have trouble sleeping at night.
He found reasons to take her along in his plane. That nubile woman was thrilled scary, like being in a roller coaster, when she was in the plane. And he didn’t even swoop or show off. They just went up so that she could see the overall picture of the place.
She was fascinated. She found things from a dif ferent angle, and she never oohed or aahed over his ability to fly. She accepted that he could and she just went along and was awed—by the sights. Not by him.
Once he told her in order to save himself from concentrating on her presence, “If you didn’t hang around at lunch, the guys could talk.”
And she replied patiently, “My being around keeps them aware of ladies. It’s good for them to watch their language. Then they aren’t tongue-tied when they see a woman they want to talk with.”
He nodded slowly a number of times as he considered. “How’d you know that?”
“My daddy told me.”
“Oh.”
But knowing why she was around didn’t help Cliff any in his intense awareness of her. If she wasn’t there, he could think better. More aligned. With her around, his thinking scattered away and just left his mind on—her.
Actually, it was very strange for Chancy to share the house with Cliff. And she was very conscious of his presence. She accepted the crew, the household and yard and barn people Without a tremor. Why should her radar be so aware of Cliff?
She was such an innocent.
Chancy found the occasion and seriously warmed Cliff about the cleanup crew. She told him, “Once a month, a team comes from the closest town, Uvalde, to turn the house upside down and clean everything. And I do mean everything. They never miss a thing.”
She went on, “One gets all the dogs and cats out of the house, and one learns quickly to be sure anything one cares about is tidy and put away...first. Otherwise, single socks or perfect, uh, underwear could be washed in—boiling lye? Whatever they use, it’s something horrific.”
Then Cliff found out that even everything in the kitchen was scrubbed by the cleanup crew. Tolly told Cliff, “I’ve tried to form limits with that cleanup crew, but that hasn’t entirely worked. It’s as if the crew was a swarm of grasshoppers. The entire place is blighted when pounced upon by the crew.” He moved his face as he frowned. “It’s really pretty scary.”
Chancy said thoughtfully, “That’s probably because the crew never talks. They’re sober-faced, efficient... and relentless! But they’re the best and most reliable around these parts.”
When the day came, the cleaning crew descended upon them, and it was exactly as Cliff had been warned. It was Cliffs first experience and, with the-day past and the crew gone, he was carrying around a drastically shrunken web belt. He appeared in shock.
Chancy told him gently, “You’ll quickly realize that you have to keep everything in the places you want them to be. Anything left on a chair or forgotten on the floor is in jeopardy.”
“Look at my belt.” Just his manner of speech proved that it had been precious.
So she did look. It was a belt. Getting emotional over a belt was a challenge. She put it around her own waist and commented, “It was stretched.”
Cliff frowned at her and snarled, “It’s shrunk.”
She grinned. “I’ll find you a new one and keep this one. It’s almost my size.” And she went on off as if she’d solved the whole problem.
Tolly’s food was so rich and involved that Cliff’s stomach complained. Tolly was startled when Cliff mentioned that he’d like just plain food. That was a challenge to Tolly. And he considered how one could serve—just—plain—food?
So while Tolly made the clever, indulgent bits of beauty for the others’ meals, he gave Cliff the basic foods. But, however basic, it was artistically arranged, and there were always celery tops, sliced olives or sprigs of parsley to decorate the plate.
Cliff didn’t notice, and he ate the decorations like a horse at a bush.
The next week, Cliff eased back from the table and scolded Tolly, “In another month, I’ll weigh a ton.”
Tolly dismissed that. “I don’t feed you enough to gain even two pounds.”
“I can hardly get up on Jasper. And he complains about carrying my weight around.”
Tolly pulled in the comers of his mouth and retorted, “You can’t possibly weigh any more than you did when you came here.”
“My pants have trouble zipping up.”
Tolly gasped. “Those house cleaners found your pants and washed them in lye?”
Cliff replied earnestly, “I hopc that’s what happened. I’d hate to starve myself and then find I wasn’t fattening but becoming a skeleton.”
And Tolly promised, “I’ll find out
Chancy volunteered, “Come upstairs and weigh on my scale. It’s accurate.”
Cliff looked at her naked-eyed and asked, “Your... scale?” He would get to go upstairs and see the rest of the house? Enter Valhalla? Actually see where she lay—dreaming of him? Sure.
She was saying earnestly, “I really don’t think you’ve gained any weight. You just haven’t been careful to keep your things neat and tidy.”
“In the laundry basket?”
“Oh. Well, they think they’re helping you in washing the clothes. You need to use the lock we gave you on the basket.”
“What kind of crew are they?”
“Very earnest.” She was serious. Then she was also earnest. “You didn’t see them.”
“No. I was off trying to unstick that da—recalcitrant bull. He was dragging his—belly in the mud His valuable...beily. All’s he did was bellow.”
Tom said, “We heard him,”
The rest at the table had to agree. One of the crew snorted in his laughter, but the rest were passably serious.
So Cliff went upstairs to Valhalla and was weighed. She said kindly, “It won’t be accurate just after a meal this way, but it will give you an idea of what you do weigh.”
And his weight was okay. His pants weren’t.
Cliff slid his eyes around Valhalla and memorized the layout of rooms. Then he went off down the stairs and out of the house on some ranch problem.
So Chancy took his discarded trousers to be replaced. It wasn’t a town, it was just a tent sale at a wide space in the road. They had automobile parts, tractor parts, rope and a gas tank. Just about nobody ever wanted gas. They had their own on their places. Of course, there was the occasional traveler who tried the endless two-lane highway. They were the ones who needed the gas.
In that place, the things they had on hand were jeans and shirts and wide-brimmed hats. They had boots. It was where Chancy shopped. They didn’t carry dresses. There weren’t that many women around that particular area. If they wanted dresses they went to Uvalde.
The strip shops did have other things. There were saddles and blankets and guns. The guns were not readily available. They were hidden. And they were only shown to known people from right around there. Otherwise, they were not openly a part of the stock.
Once, they’d been held up. And one of the men had been shot—for guns.
There was a big sign out on the road showing what they had and at the bottom was: No Guns.
It was a lie, but nobody that was a stranger ever saw one for sale.
Chancy showed the trousers at the place she could buy jeans. It showed the waist was a size 38.
Pete laughed. “Did you wash these.” And it wasn’t a question. Nobody, who knew her, thought Chancy was domesticated. She could well louse up anybody in any household skill.
She replied in a stilted manner, “The cleaning crew. Cliff apparently forgot to put them away.”
Pete grinned. “That crew ought to have a slice of my sales. They get me more business from them than any other way. Most people would just wear their jeans to rags. That crew gets them into new jeans regular.”
She ignored his comment and just said patiently, “Give me three pair that are actually 38 at the waist. That’ll hold him ’til he can come in for himself.”
So Pete inquired, “What d’you want me to do with these? They’re still in good shape.”
She said quickly, “I’ll take them.”
“The waist’s too big. There’s nobody out at your place that can fix these to fit.”
“I’ll wear a belt.”
That was when the word went around that Chancy was interested in Cliff, her new head. That got a lot of good smirking laughs.
Sometimes people just don’t have enough to think about.
Her face kind of pink, Chancy took Cliff’s shrunken jeans, a new web belt for him and his new pairs of jeans back to her car. She drove back to the ranch. There, she put the three trousers and the new belt in his room before he came into the house that evening.
In the meantime, she measured, cut off the bottoms of the legs on his old jeans and put them on. They were close. A belt did it. He’d never remember that once they had been his jeans.
But he did. He looked at her wearing his shrunken pants and he opened his lips to breathe more quietly. His bottom had been there. His sex had been there. She was in his pants. Boy, was she ever in his pants.
Chancy mentioned, “So you recognize your jeans?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised. They don’t fit you anymore. So I cut these off. See? I can wear them.” She lifted her arms and turned around. She had a sassy backside.
She could “wear” him!
His hands were back in his pockets. They were there so much lately that the hands both thought they belonged in his pockets. Women are a nuisance.
So Cliff called his sister in San Antonio.
His sister said with an impatient sigh, “Now what.” That wasn’t a question. His sister then was silent, just waiting for—whatever. Her name was Isabel. She was a year older than Chancy. It was tough being sister to a man like Cliff. It meant a lot of phone calls from anxious females.
So Cliff told Isabel, “You need to come on out here and visit for a while. It’ll enhance your attitude and let you see how other folks live.”
“I don’t care how ‘other folks’ live!”
“This will be an expanding experience.”
And Isabel groaned, “Some woman’s after you and you want me to help you escape.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“You want me to help you with a wo—”
“This female doesn’t realize she’s actually a woman. She thinks she’s as good as any man and she tries to prove that all the time. She isn’t pushy. She just pitches in very earnestly and thinks she’s helping.”
Isabel protested, “Oh, for crying out loud!”
He gasped in admiration. “You’re cleaning up your cussin’. Somebody around I ought to know about?”
“Our parents live here also. They are underfoot. I don’t need another custodian!”
His voice level, he told Isabel, “You’re kin to me and you owe me for getting you out of that mess with Buford. Come on out here and quit moaning and groaning that way. You carry on thataway and you’d be a bad influence with an innocent girl.”
“Buford was not a mess. You just happened to come at a good time. I could have handled him with one hand tied behind my back.” And she didn’t stop but went right on, “So she’s innocent? If you think I’m going to convince her you’re a safe date, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He sighed with great patience and told his sister, “She doesn’t know to wear dresses.”
“Uhhhhh. What does she wear?”
“Right now, it’s my old jeans.”
“What’d she—wear—before your jeans?” she asked with some intent curiosity.
“Hers.”
“She slid out of her jeans and wore yours?” Isabel gasped in riveted shock. “What all have you all been doing out there?”
“Not nearly enough.” Then he just went on, “You need to teach her how to be a girl.”
“What is she—now?”
“She was raised by a crew and her daddy. He died a couple of years ago. She doesn’t know how to be—feminine.”
“In a male crowd like that, who would? But don’t worry. She’ll come around. Kiss her.”
“Well, now, I think that’s a very good idea. But I’m not at all sure she would understand if I tried that. There aren’t any women out this way.”
“Big brother, if there is a TV out there, she’s seen a kiss. She knows what it would be. Mother says TV isn’t the innocent it once was. Try it.”
“Isabel, be a good sister and come out here and help me to help her.”
“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.