No Job for a Lady Read Online Free PDF

bold eyes that seem to undress me. But he does it in a way that is both flattering and intriguing, unlike a crude masher.
    He reminds me of the boys my mother has always told me you don’t bring home to meet the parents. “There are the good boys,” she says, “who dress proper and aren’t wild. And there are the bad boys, who have a look to them and are always getting into trouble.”
    He’s a cowboy, that’s for sure, but there’s something else about him that makes me wonder how much time he spends herding cows—as opposed to using that gun he keeps strapped to his leg.
    He is dressed for range work—white wide-brimmed Stetson, red bandanna around his neck, checkered wool shirt, heavy denim jeans. His boots have pointed toes to help guide his foot into a stirrup and high heels to keep his foot from slipping through the stirrup.
    I’m far from being a cowgirl, but I was raised around horses and have done quite a bit of horseback riding myself. Even won a few ribbons.
    His clothes appear clean and have a dusty look that shows they are well-worn from days in the saddle. His low-hung gun could be slid out fast because it isn’t strapped down.
    I saw some cowboys working cattle on the plains during the train ride from Pittsburgh, but this is the closest I’ve been to one, other than the cowboys in the books I read as a little girl. The fictional cowboys fascinate me because they have interesting adventures—going into unknown territory and having to fight rustlers and Indians. They are nothing like the farmhands in my hometown of Cochran’s Mills, Pennsylvania, population exactly 534.
    I test the waters about what I saw last night.
    “How’s your friend Howard, the one you were helping back to the bunkhouse last night? He seemed a bit, uh, reluctant to go with your friends.” My tone lets some puzzlement about his reluctance slip out.
    “Oh, he’s over there.”
    I follow the jerk of his head and there Howard is, in the flesh. He is easy to recognize, with his bowler hat and thick beard. He’s boarding the next train car down, a gunnysack slung over his shoulder.
    “He’s with you. A cowboy?”
    “Yep. But not exactly a cowboy. He’s our cook, though he’s hard to keep in line. If he’s not about to get his poke cleaned by a lady of the night, he’s running off to his first love, prospecting for gold.
    “We were just helping him out last night. It’s a written code between us cowboys—never leave a partner alone in that condition. Didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him. That old coot knocks down more booze than a preacher guzzling holy water.”
    The train whistle blows again with the warning of departure.
    “I think we’d better board if we want to make it to Mexico City.” Sundance gives me that grin of his.
    Once I’m aboard, he hands me my carpetbag.
    I give him a smile and practice my Spanish. “Gracias, señor.”
    He salutes me with his fingers on the rim of his hat as he turns to go back and get his gear.
    “My pleasure, Nellie.”
    I open my mouth to ask how he knows my name, but he’s already slipped through the door.

 
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    “Who’s the cowboy?”
    “What are you doing here?”
    It came out as a screech of horror. He’s here! Occupying a seat in my compartment.
    “Why don’t you step in and close the door before people think you’ve seen a snake.”
    “I have!”
    Slipping in, I slide the door shut behind me, then drop my carpetbag and glare at him. My temper rises as he chuckles.
    “Nice to see you, too.”
    “What are you doing in my compartment? You have no right to be here. I’m going to call the conductor and have you arrested.”
    He shakes his head. “Apparently, you haven’t looked carefully at the compartment tickets.”
    “What about them? Your name’s not on them.” I take the two tickets out of my purse as I speak. “I paid for them and—”
    I stop and stare at the tickets.
    “Ah … I can see your grasp of the situation spreading