Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

almost as bad once when I got clunked in the head. Came to with Widder O’Toole kneeling by me.”
    Hoots of bawdy laughter met that assertion. Few things could be worse than being subjected to the Widow O’Toole. The woman had a tongue sharper than a razor and spared no words in giving her opinion about the evils of alcohol.
    “I’m a-tellin’ you, the woman’s just addlepated. What man calls hisself a man if he refuses the offer of a few mugs of beer to quench his thirst?” More laughter egged Merle on. He strutted back and forth like a scrappy bantam, his bowed legs adding swagger to his gait. “I’ll tell the truth, though. Any man who overindulges and finds himself in Widder O’Toole’s clutches learns to pray for deliverance!”
    The kid drew closer. “Ho!”
    “Ho!” the men repeated in a shout of disbelief.
    Mistaking their volume for enthusiasm, Fuller’s nephew beamed. “What a jolly greeting! I’m Lord Sydney Hathwell. My uncle is expecting me.”
    “Lord help him, yes,” someone muttered in the sudden silence.
    “It isn’t necessary to use my formal title. Americans don’t often do so, you know.” The kid smiled. “But yes, I do hope to be a great help to my uncle. As I mentioned, he’s expecting me.”
    There was a momentary silence as everyone digested the fact that the stupid kid hadn’t absorbed the insult. “I’ll bet he ain’t expectin’ you,” someone else grated. “Some things aren’t ever quite what’s expected.”
    Jutting out his chin, the kid asked, “Is my uncle out riding, or will I find him in the house?”
    “He needed to go to Abilene. Be gone a week or so.” Pancake absently scratched his belly again.
    “Then perhaps my aunt—”
    “Sonny, Fuller ain’t never been hitched.”
    “I see.” Dropping the valise to the ground and setting off a small cloud of dust, the kid swept the men with a haughty gaze. “Might you think to exercise the civility to at least introduce yourselves?”
    The men had the grace to look a bit ashamed. They shuffled around, and Merle jabbed his thumb at each individual and identified gruffly, “Bert. Pancake. Juan. Boaz. Gulp. I’m Merle.”
    Instead of shaking hands, the kid nodded curtly to each of the men. “Pleased to meet my uncle’s staff.”
    Staff?! Tim bit back a moan. The kid’s shortcomings could fill a catalogue, and he hadn’t been here for two minutes yet.
    The men stared at Hathwell. Merle finally broke the silence. “Velma went to help Etta Sanders with her baby. Took a day and a half, so she probably didn’t get your room ready yet. Just go on in the place. Creighton’s due back any minute.”
    “Creighton?”
    Pancake nodded. “Tim Creighton. He and Fuller go back a ways. Practically runs the place. Owns a full quarter of the head and land, too.”
    “I see.”
    Taking that as a cue, Tim stepped out of the shadows. “This isn’t a tea party. You men get back to work.”
    Sydney Hathwell wheeled around and gaped at him.
    To keep from grinning, Tim ordered his crew, “Get busy! You’re not paid to jaw with Mr. Hathwell.”
    The men disappeared without a trace.
    Tim slowly stripped off his leather gloves, smacked them against his thigh, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Even after doing that, the sight before him didn’t change. If anything, the kid looked sillier with every passing minute. Before he said anything he’d regret, Tim ordered, “You heard the men. Go on up to the house. Velma’s home.”
    The kid’s back stiffened and his chin rose a notch.
    Accustomed to men following his orders, Tim stared back in silence.
    The boy looked away. He stooped, lifted the valise, and nodded. “Very well.”
    Though he decided to obey, the kid had to have the last word. His lack of size, strength, and knowledge were huge liabilities; but the attitude—Tim shook his head. A kink like that could get someone killed. The first order of business was going to be setting Fancy Pants in