Hungarian version of TEXAS LONESOME. I understand MAGANYOS TEXASI means “The Tall Texan.” I was hoping for something as racy as the Italian version of ONE BRIGHT MORNING. Oh, well . . .
SHE GAVE ADVICE TO EVERYONE–BUT SHE COULD USE A BIT HERSELF.
Emily von Plotz barely eked out a living giving advice to readers of the San Francisco Call as “Aunt Emily.” Then she chanced to meet the man who had signed himself “Texas Lonesome”–the unpolished, but otherwise appealing fellow who’d sought her wisdom on how to find a decent woman to share his life and wealth. Suddenly, she knew who would be perfect for him: Emily
But “Aunt Emily” had yet to learn that while Will Tate might be a Texan, he had never in his life been lonesome, lovelorn, or lacking in any way.
Alice Duncan
P.O. Box 4316
Roswell, NM 88202-
alice@aliceduncan.net
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California, 1895
“Dear Aunt Emily: I am in deep distress and know not what to do. I have a passionate Artistic Temperament and am in love with an actor. The object of my love is not just any actor, Aunt Emily, but plays Hamlet on the Stage. My mother says all Theatrical People are trash. She refuses to let me attend the Theatre with my friend Jill and says I must marry a banker. All I can do is weep. Oh, please, please, help me! I am Desperate! Signed, In Love With Hamlet.”
Emily von Plotz glared at the letter clutched in her fingers and muttered, “Affected, sniveling dolt.”
Before she could put pencil to paper and answer the correspondent with her own appropriately modified opinions, however, she found herself rudely jerked up from her park bench. Both letter and pencil went flying, and Emily had to grab hard at the leashes straining against her arm. Uncle Ludwig would never forgive her if she lost his dogs.
Will Tate stared at the melee erupting in front of him. He squinted to be sure his
eyes hadn’t deceived him. Shaking his head, he decided they hadn’t. Two of the most
ridiculous-
The ferocious duet were glossy, reddish-
The little hellions were being barely kept in check by a slender woman who tugged with all her might at the leashes nominally tethering them. Will figured she must have come to Golden Gate Park on this perfect San Francisco summer morning in order to exercise the dogs. She had obviously been unprepared for their militant streak.
“It’s a good thing Fred has a sense of humor,” he murmured as he urged Cyclone, his big bay gelding, closer to the action.
He could hear the woman trying to control her wayward pets as he neared.
“Gustav! Helga! Stop it right now. That dog could eat the both of you with one bite!”
That was true, and Will acknowledged the woman’s honesty with a smile. Fred was an enormous, though amiable beast. The latter quality, while generally considered favorable, had apparently gone unappreciated by his present company.
Will reined in Cyclone a few feet from the altercation and whistled for Fred. Then he slipped off the horse’s back and waited for his obedient dog to come to him.
Fred took one last peek at the two frenzied hounds, and plodded meekly to Will, his tail wagging a happy greeting.
“Good Boy, Fred. Sit down now, old fellow.” Will gripped him by the collar, then glanced at the woman.
The poor thing was young—Will guessed her age to be somewhere near twenty—and she
was a charmer. She had lots of honey-
“‘Pears to me those two critters lack a certain sense of proportion, ma’am,” he said
in a friendly drawl owing as much to his understanding of city women as it did to
his southwestern roots. That lazy, sun-
The woman blushed rosily and Will thought she looked pretty as a picture in her blue skirt and short jacket with its puffy sleeves, strapped around by those two crazy animals’ leashes, and with her cheeks as pink as a Texas sunset. Her straw hat had been knocked a little cockeyed in her struggle with the dogs, and it now sat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. Will’s smile broadened and he doffed his hat politely.
“Oh,” she cried in obvious embarrassment. “They’re such absurd dogs. My aunt’s brother Ludwig brought them to her from Germany.”
Her voice sounded at once proper and pretty. It caused something in Will to vibrate in appreciation. He plopped his hat back onto his head and gave her a slow nod, as though it all made sense to him now. “German, are they?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “These two are actually from Vienna, in Austria, I think.”
“That explains their dispositions then, I reckon.”
In spite of her embarrassment, the woman allowed a smile to peek out of her flushed face. To Will’s further delight, a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth.
“I suppose it does,” she said. “I’m really sorry these idiots attacked your dog, mister.”
“That’s all right, ma’am,” said Will. “Old Fred here’s a friendly cuss. And he’s got a right lively sense of humor, so I expect he’ll just go back home and tell his pals about it and they’ll all have a good laugh.”
The woman gave him a full-
Her smile was like sunshine on a rainy day. Will doffed his Stetson once more.
“Will Tate, Miss von Plotz. And it’s a real pleasure to meet you.” After shaking her hand and resettling his hat, Will hooked his thumbs into his back pockets and surveyed Emily von Plotz with a connoisseur’s eye. In order to keep her talking for a while, he said, “These critters always so happy to meet strangers, ma’am?”
Emily smiled at Will’s deep drawl, gazed up into his suntanned face, and couldn’t suppress a small giggle. It surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had uttered a spontaneous giggle. Her life had been rather trying of late.
“They’re really awfully sweet dogs once you get to know them,” she said. “But Uncle Ludwig says they’re bred to be hunters. I guess they take their job in life seriously.”
“Well, that’s more than a lot of human folks can say, I reckon.” Will eyed the two little dogs with a dubious frown. “Hunters, are they?”
Emily watched him, intrigued. Mercy sakes, the man was handsome and so—so manly. She felt warm all of a sudden and wished she could fan herself.
“Oh, yes,” she told him. “They’ve been bred to hunt small game, like rabbits and such. My uncle says they’ll even go after badgers.” She gave a firm nod to emphasize her words. “Uncle Ludwig says they’ve got a lot of heart.”
Will seemed impressed. “Badgers are pretty rugged customers. No wonder you two think you’re tough.” Will squatted onto his haunches and held out a hand to the pair.
The dog Emily had called “Gustav” immediately rolled himself onto his back. He looked
ridiculous with his four tiny legs flapping in the air from both ends of his sausage-
“Well, now, I guess you’re a friendly cuss underneath all that bluster, aren’t you, Gustav, ol’ boy?” Will scritched Gustav’s chest with deft fingers.
The dog named Helga backed up and began to yap hysterically. She bared her teeth and raised her hackles in a perfect fever of upset.
Will chuckled.
Emily sighed.
“Gustav, you’re a complete embarrassment,” she told the male severely. “Helga, stop it right now.” She looked at Will sheepishly. “At least she tries to earn her keep.”
“She’s a scrapper, all right,” acknowledged Will, peering up into Emily’s eyes.
He got lost in her gaze for a moment until Helga intruded again. Edging ever so slowly nearer to Will’s lanky thigh, she started to sniff tentatively. Then, after one or two preliminary snuffles, her long snout began a noisy, businesslike inspection of his leg.
Both Will and Emily let sighs of relief escape them.
“Well, now, are you going to try to make up to me after all that hullabaloo?” he asked the dog.
Helga snapped at Will when he ventured to stroke her head with a hand at least as long and brown as her nose. He withdrew his hand to the safety of Gustav’s belly in a hurry.
“Helga! Stop that,” commanded Emily.
The dog ignored her. Instead, she sniffed Will’s hand as it paid attention to an itchy spot on Gustav’s deep chest.
“I think she likes you,” Emily said. Her voice held little conviction.
Will grinned at her. Emily couldn’t help but notice he had a wonderful grin. His lovely hazel eyes crinkled up at the corners, and the creases on his tanned face deepened.
A tingle of excitement surged through her and she found herself wishing she knew Will Tate. As she was forever telling her correspondents, however, Emily knew it was not a lady’s place to initiate social intimacies with a gentleman. She didn’t quite know what to do instead, so she just swallowed hard and smiled back at him.
“What kind of dogs are these, Miss von Plotz? I’ve never seen their like before. Of course, I’m from Texas. We get mostly working breeds there.”
At his mention of Texas, Emily felt a sudden thrill and then tried to tamp it down. Oh, don’t be silly, Emily von Plotz, she chided herself. He couldn’t be. That would be simply too much luck.
Then she remembered Will had asked her a question but couldn’t recall what it was. She cleared her throat in embarrassment and felt her cheeks get warm.
“I—I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. What did you just ask me?”
Will chuckled. She was absolutely adorable. He wanted to scoop her up and make off with her, but he figured polite society would disapprove. “I asked you what kind of dogs these two are, Miss von Plotz.” He also decided Emily deserved a better last name than von Plotz, which sounded kind of ridiculous to him.
“They’re dachshunds, Mr. Tate.” Then Emily hurried on before Will could speak again. “Did you say you were from Texas?”
Will gave up on Gustav’s tummy and stood once more. He realized Emily only came up to his chin, and he liked that a lot. He liked the way she peered up at him with those big blue eyes of hers, too.
“Yep,” he said. “Got me a real nice place near San Antone.” He didn’t lay his accent on this thick as a rule but he figured, since Emily seemed to like it, he’d oblige her.
Emily did like it, although for a reason completely beyond Will’s ken.
She couldn’t help but notice what a big man he was, though. And very appealing. He
had just the tall, lanky, lean look about him that Emily so admired. And he had the
prettiest, sun-
“Are you—are you here in San Francisco on business, Mr. Tate?” she asked with what she hoped sounded merely like polite interest. What she wanted to do was grab him by the collar and shake him until he told her what she wanted to know.
“Nope. I’m playin’. I’m here on a holiday. And San Francisco sure is different from Texas, Miss von Plotz, I can tell you that.”
He seemed like such a sweet man. Emily tried to rein in her excitement. After all, the chances of him being the one she needed were very, very remote. Still, she’d never know for certain unless she asked.
“Mr. Tate,” she began, and stopped, unsure exactly how to proceed. Then she decided just to blurt it out and be done with it.
“Mr. Tate, are you ‘Texas Lonesome,’ by any chance?”
Then she flushed a deep, hot crimson.
“Texas lonesome?” Will’s brow crinkled. That was strange way to put it, he thought.
He watched her curiously, taking note of her fervent expression. She sure seemed to want him to be “Texas lonesome,” whatever that meant. Then he grinned. Will Tate was nothing, if not obliging. “Well, Miss von Plotz, I guess you might just say I am.”
Emily’s heart did a double somersault and began hammering like a woodpecker after a grub. “Oh, Mr. Tate,” she cried. She put a small hand on his sleeve and looked up at him earnestly. “I’m ‘Aunt Emily!’”
Will’s nimble brain assimilated that astonishing piece of information in only a very few seconds. When it did, his mouth dropped open.
“You? You’re Aunt Emily?”
The huge grin following his exclamation nearly caused Emily’s palpitating heart to turn a hand spring. She could only nod. Lord above, the man was handsome. She’d had no idea; would never have suspected, in fact.
Will couldn’t believe it for a second. Why, he and his pal Thomas Crandall had spent
this very morning in stitches over Aunt Emily’s advice-
“Why, ma’am,” he told her honestly, “I just purely can’t believe it. I pictured Aunt
Emily as a middle-
Emily wasn’t entirely sure she appreciated his disclosure. But still, if this man was “Texas Lonesome,” it wouldn’t do for her to get huffy at him. Too many intriguing thoughts were beginning to spin about in her mind for her to risk antagonizing him.
She smiled up at him, sweet as honey on a buttermilk biscuit. “No, Mr. Tate, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not. She’s me.”
Will shook his head slowly. “Oh, don’t be sorry, Miss von Plotz. I’m surely not disappointed.”
Emily’s smile faded and was replaced by an expression of earnest good will. “And, Mr. Tate, if you truly desire assistance in your endeavor, I can help you. I’m just certain I can. In truth, nothing would give me more pleasure than to help ‘Texas Lonesome’ in this time of need.”
By now, Will had come to the conclusion that this “Texas Lonesome” character must be one of Aunt Emily’s lovelorn correspondents. And, while it was true Will had adopted a scruple or two since he’d grown up and made his way in the world, it was also true he was quite taken with this little lady. He guessed he wouldn’t mind playing fast and loose with honesty for a while. At least for long enough to get to know Miss Emily von Plotz better, especially since she seemed so eager to help him out of whatever fix he was in.
He decided it might behoove him to play the bumpkin better, so he tugged his hat from his head and clutched it in front of him to show off his two big, calloused, country hands. “Why, ma’am, I’d just purely appreciate it if you would help me,” he said in his best Texas drawl.
Emily’s eyes fairly shone. Her expression of relief and happiness almost overwhelmed him. He’d never seen anything quite like little Miss Emily von Plotz in all his born days, in spite of her silly name.
“Oh, Mr. Tate, I’d just love to help you.” Emily meant that in all sincerity.
“Well, ma’am, I’d be honored if you would.”
He hoped she’d offer a suggestion as to how she planned to go about it pretty soon, since he had no idea what this “Texas Lonesome” fellow had written to her. It was always possible she might ask a question about his false persona he wouldn’t be able to answer, and then where would he be? Alone in Golden Gate Park without her, he reckoned. The thought held little appeal.
Emily thought fast. Will Tate seemed to be an honest and upright fellow. Still, she didn’t know him at all, and she certainly didn’t want to put herself into any compromising situations—yet. That might come later, after she determined for sure he was truly honorable. All at once, she thought of brilliant solution to her dilemma.
“Mr. Tate,” she said briskly, “I believe we can begin your lessons as soon as tomorrow morning if you’d like to meet me in the park again.”
Just in case he might wonder at—or, worse, object to—a young lady wandering at will
and unaccompanied in a public park, she added, “I live nearby, Mr. Tate, and Golden
Gate Park is such a well-
It sounded a little weak to her, so she smiled what she hoped was an alluring smile when she added, “I promise to leave Gustav and Helga at home.”
Will was lured. In truth, it never entered his head to think it odd that Emily should be out and about all by herself with no chaperone to watch over her. “Why, that sounds just fine to me, ma’am. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Good. Will nine o’clock be a good time for you?”
Although he had planned to spend a rip-
“That will be just perfect, ma’am.”
Emily was pleased. “Well, then, Mr. Tate, until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow, Miss Von Plotz.”
They shook hands on it. Then Emily had to awaken Gustav before she could walk home. Her mind was racing, and she dashed out of Golden Gate Park and practically skipped the few blocks to her aunt’s mansion on Hayes Street.
Blodgett, Aunt Gertrude’s kind, elderly, deaf, and very dignified butler, greeted
her at the door. Emily quickly consigned the care of Helga and Gustav into Blodgett’s
capable hands, then darted down the threadbare carpet and past the second-
The bell-
Since her aunt was otherwise occupied and couldn’t be disappointed at her improper
behavior, Emily took the steps of the wide, curved staircase two at a time. She flung
her door open and made a bee-
“It does,” she breathed with rapture. “It does say what I remember.” Then she kissed the piece of paper, hugged it to her bosom, and did a little twirl around her bedroom.
# # #
Will watched for a long time, enchanted, as Emily and her two low-
With a pat for Fred and an affectionate stroke of a long, silky ear, Will murmured, “You get an extra bone tonight, Freddy boy. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have met Miss Emily von Plotz.” He shook his head and chuckled. “von Plotz. What a name.”
When Emily finally ambled out of his sight, he remounted Cyclone, whistled to Fred, and finished his trot around the park.
The place had changed a good deal in the five years since Will had lived in San Francisco.
Civic pride had wrought many horticultural changes in which he took particular pleasure.
Will was quite a gardening enthusiast and, therefore, very interested in some of
the new gardens planted for the Mid-
It was around four in the afternoon when he returned to the Nob Hill mansion belonging to Thomas Crandall, his friend and business partner, and made his way into the parlor. There he sat down in an overstuffed wing chair with his big, booted feet propped on a burgundy velvet ottoman.
When Thomas came home an hour later Will was shuffling through a huge stack of newspapers piled beside the chair and sipping from a mug of beer. He looked up and smiled. “Home so soon, Thomas?”
Thomas was a few inches shorter than Will, and he was built along stockier lines, although he was not at all fat. He had thin, curly brown hair and fluffy mutton chop side whiskers Will accused him of growing to distract the ladies from his receding hairline.
Thomas grinned. “Figured I’d better get back here early to keep you out of trouble.”
“Too late for that,” Will told him with a grin of his own.
“Oh, great God, what’s her name?”
Will laughed and shook his head. “Shoot, Thomas, now what kind of trouble can I get into in one little afternoon?”
Thomas flopped into a chair across from Will. “Well, if I remember right, it took you less than five minutes when we met up with Flaming Polly that time in Virginia City.”
There was more than a hint of wistfulness in Will’s smile when he admitted, “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”
“Well, my friend, ladies aside, has the city changed much in five years?”
“It’s changed for the better, I’d say,” Will told him with a wink. “I found me a fine new polyantha for my rose garden.”
Thomas shook his head. “Lord, Will, I still can’t picture you, of all people, as a damned gardener.”
“I like roses. I can’t help it. They make me feel refined. Besides, I’m rich. I can do what I want.”
“I guess that’s so.” Thomas shook his head again, this time almost sadly, as though he were ruing their lost youth. “That all you did today? Smell the roses?”
“Well, I had me a right fine time in the gardens. That’s true. But I also met up with some of the finest scenery I’ve just about ever seen in my life.”
Thomas sat up straight, all attention. “All right, Will, I mean it now. What’s her name?” Thomas and Will knew each other very well.
Sighing lustily, Will said, “All right. Her name is Miss Emily von Plotz.” He eyed his friend over the crinkled newspaper. “Better known to you as ‘Aunt Emily.’”
“Aunt Emily? That old maid who writes the silly advice column for the Call? My God, Will, all that digging in the dirt and playing with posies must be making you soft!”
Will peered at Thomas dreamily. “I learned a valuable lesson today, my friend. You should never judge a book by its cover. Or, in this case, you should never judge a columnist by the drivel she writes. ‘Aunt Emily’ is one prime female.” He added severely, “And I saw her first, so don’t get any ideas.”
Thomas laughed and stretched his legs out to snag the sides of Will’s ottoman. It took some clever maneuvering, but he managed to catch it between his feet and jog it towards himself so he could share it. “I assume you’re reading old columns so you’ll have something to talk about when you meet up with your fair aunt again?”
Will crunched the newspaper up on his lap. “Actually,” he admitted, “it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Hmmm. Now why am I not surprised to hear you say so?”
“You see, she thinks I’m some lonely cowpoke who calls himself ‘Texas Lonesome.’ I guess he wrote her a letter saying he needs some kind of help. So I’m trying to figure out just exactly what his problem is so when Miss Emily tries to help me, I can oblige her by getting better. And I promise to be real grateful, too.”
Thomas cocked an eyebrow. “And how, pray tell, did she get the impression you were this correspondent of hers?”
“Why, city feller, I ain’t got a clue.” Will’s drawl was so slow a snail could have beat it to Thomas’s ears.
“Oh, Lordy,” sighed Thomas. “Here. Better give me a hunk of those papers, and I’ll help you look.”
So Will divvied up the stack of newspapers, and the two men proceeded to dig through them in search of old “Aunt Emily” columns. They had been at their task for about ten minutes, when Will leapt to his feet.
“I found it!” He stood in front of his wing chair and read the column. Then he read it again. Then he looked over to where Thomas sat expectantly, grinning at him. Will was troubled.
“Uh-
“What do you mean, Uh-
Will didn’t respond immediately. He sat down once more and read the column yet a third time to himself. Then he cleared his throat and proceeded to read aloud.
“‘Dear Aunt Emily,’ it says here. ‘I come to San Francisco to get me a wife because this here is where all the real ladies are. I got me a spread in the middle of Texas and a lot of money, but I’m too shy to talk to real ladies. I don’t smoke nor chew, nor I don’t hardly drink overmuch, but how can I get me a lady for a wife if I can’t talk to them. Please help me.’” Will looked at Thomas. “It’s signed, ‘Texas Lonesome.’”
“Oh, Lord. What does she say back?”
“‘Dear Texas Lonesome: You sound like a fine, upright man to Aunt Emily. I believe if you were to study an improving volume on proper deportment, it would help you to feel more at ease with the gentle sex. Ladies always appreciate a gentleman who is polite and kind. Many a young lady would be proud to marry a good man such as the one described in your letter, even if he is deficient in some of the social graces. I must add, however, that a good many proper ladies frown upon the consumption of strong spirits, even if such consumption is not considered by the consumer to be “overmuch.” Please accept my best wishes for success in your endeavor. Sincerely, Aunt Emily.’”
Will sat in his chair, the paper spread over his knees, and stared out of Thomas’s large parlor window. The window afforded him a splendid view of the city sprawled out at the foot of Nob Hill, but Will wasn’t paying any attention to rambunctious San Francisco as it passed by below.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” he said at last.
Thomas had been trying to stifle his amusement, but he let it go now. He hooted loudly, and then laughed so hard, he ended up slapping his knee and clutching his stomach.
Will scowled. “I don’t see what’s so blamed funny, Thomas.”
Thomas leaned back in his chair and wiped his streaming eyes. “Well, I was meaning to talk to you about it’s being high time you got married and settled down, Will. After all, you don’t want to follow in your Uncle Mel’s footsteps, do you?”
Melchior Tate had reared Will from “infantry to adultery,” in his own colorful and
not entirely inaccurate words. Mel Tate was a rambling man. He was also a gambling
man. And he had a more-
It wasn’t until Will met up with Thomas Crandall in the mine fields around Virginia City that he learned not all relationships were based upon what one could get away with. Still, Will appreciated some of the lessons Uncle Mel had taught him. He chalked up his easy way with women to Mel’s tutelage.
At his friend’s jibe, however, Will shuddered. “Lord above, Thomas, I didn’t know ‘Texas Lonesome’ wanted to commit something as foolish as matrimony.”
“What did you say she looked like? Maybe I could take her off your hands.”
“The hell you will,” Will said gruffly. Then he fell silent for a few moments, considering.
Thomas lifted the newspaper from Will’s lap and read Texas Lonesome’s letter and Aunt Emily’s reply for himself.
“What exactly was it Aunt Emily said to you today in the park?”
Will lifted his troubled gaze. “She said she’d be glad to help me.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too sinister, does it? It’s not as if she said she wanted
to marry you herself, is it? Maybe she’s just one of those do-
Will’s clouded countenance began to clear a little. “That may be so.”
“So what can it hurt if you pretend to be this lonesome cowboy and learn a few lessons? At least you’d be in her company. There are worse things to do than keep company with a good woman, you know.”
“Think so? I’ve not had much practice at it.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
Will offered Thomas a crooked grin. “And how would you know about such a thing, my friend?”
His old pal laughed. “Well, that’s what I’ve heard, at any rate.”
By the time the two men sat down to sup upon prime California beefsteak in Thomas Crandall’s elegant dining room, Will had decided to keep his appointment with Emily von Plotz at nine o’clock sharp on the morrow.
As for Miss Emily von Plotz herself, ‘Aunt Emily’ stared at the water-