A Lone Star Christmas Read Free Page A

she was sure he had not. Her father tended to be much more methodical than to hire someone that quickly. But that same tendency of his to be methodical might also work against her, for he would not be that anxious to hire someone he knew nothing about.
    Well, Rebecca would just have to talk him into it, that’s all. And surely when her father heard what Tom Whitman had done for her, he would be more than willing.
    Rebecca wondered why she was so intent on getting Mr. Whitman hired. Was it because he had been her knight in shining armor, just when she needed such a hero? Or was it because with his muscular build, his blond hair and blue eyes, that he might be one of the most handsome men she had ever seen? In addition to that, though, there was something else about him, something that she sensed more than she saw. He had a sense of poise and self-assuredness that she found most intriguing.
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    Because it had been unseasonably warm, and because Tom liked to sleep with fresh air, he had raised the window when he went to bed last night. He had taken a room in the same hotel as Rebecca because she had suggested the hotel to him. He was awakened this morning by a combination of things, the sun streaming in through his open window, and the sounds of commerce coming from the street below.
    He could hear the sound of the clash of eras, the whir of an electric streetcar, along with the rattle and clatter of a freight wagon. From somewhere he could hear the buzz and squeal of a power saw, and the ring of steel on steel as a blacksmith worked his trade. Newspaper boys were out on the street, hawking their product.
    â€œPaper, get the paper here! Wyoming to be admitted as state! Get your paper here!”
    Tom got out of bed, shaved, then got dressed. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he frowned. He was wearing a three-piece suit, adequate dress if he wanted to apply for a job with a bank. But he was going to apply for a job as a cowboy, and this would never do.
    Stepping over to the window, he looked up and down Houston Street and saw, on the opposite side, the Fort Worth Mercantile Store. Leaving his suitcase in his room, he hurried downstairs and then across the street. A tall, thin man with a neatly trimmed moustache and garters around his sleeves stepped up to him.
    â€œYes, sir, may I help you?”
    â€œI intend to apply for employment at a neighboring ranch,” Tom said. “And I will need clothes that are suitable for the position.”
    â€œWhen you say that you are going to apply for employment, do you mean as an accountant, or business manager?” the clerk asked.
    â€œNo. As a cowboy.”
    The expression on the clerk’s face registered his surprise. “I beg your pardon, sir. Did you say as a cowboy?”
    â€œYes,” Tom said. “Why, is there a problem?”
    â€œNo, sir,” the clerk said quickly. “No problem. It is just that, well, sir, you will forgive me, but you don’t look like a cowboy.”
    â€œYeah,” Tom said. “That’s why I’m here. I want you to make me look like a cowboy.”
    â€œI can sell you the appropriate attire, sir,” the clerk said. “But, in truth, you still won’t look like a cowboy.”
    â€œTry,” Tom said.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    It took Tom no more than fifteen minutes to buy three outfits, to include boots and a hat. Paying for his purchases, he returned to the hotel, packed his suit and the two extra jeans and shirts into his suitcase, then went downstairs, checked out, and took a seat in the lobby to wait for the young woman he had met last night.
    As he waited for her, he recalled the conversation he had had with his father, just before he left.
    â€œYou are making a big mistake by running away,” his father had told him. “You will not be able to escape your own devils.”
    â€œI can try,” Tom said.
    â€œNobody is holding it against you, Tom. You did what