Wichita, Kansas, 1881
On the way to the afternoon meeting of the Ladies’ Society for the Betterment of Culture, Millie “the Magnificent” Cain and her best friend, Ellen Harper, passed several drovers. Of all the things she disliked since her family’s move from Boston, the stench of the twice-yearly cattle drives bothered her the most.
“Wes should be here any day now,” Ellen said. “I’ll invite you to dinner as soon as he arrives. Although I warn you, he’s a straightforward guy. He’s not looking for a lady with fancy manners.”
Wes. Warmth flooded Millie at the mention of Ellen’s cousin, with whom she had been corresponding for over a year. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’” Wes had quoted Shakespeare more than once, saying her letters kept him sane during the arduous summer heat. The man who wrote those letters was a gentleman.
Another group of drovers straight from the trail approached. Millie doubled over, although she controlled her urge to lose the contents of her stomach. Most of the time, cowboys laughed off her discomfort and moved on. Not this time. One of them issued a whistle as clear as a mockingbird. “How about a smile for a lonely cowboy?”
Millie wished she had a prairie bonnet like Ellen’s to hide her flaming cheeks. Instead, she increased her speed moderately. A couple of cowboys headed toward them from the other direction but disappeared in a doorway.
The clip-clop of horses brought the cowboys closer. “Just one smile. Then I’ll leave you alone.” A short man removed his Stetson, revealing a bald spot on the top of his head.
Pushed beyond her limits, Millie faced the drovers. In her most precise Boston accent, she said, “I’m a proper lady, and I refuse to entertain a swarm of—filthy white trash.”
Ellen pulled on her arm, and Millie saw they had reached the intersection to her street. She practically ran down the street until her breath caught her up short. A lady will exhibit a calm demeanor in all circumstances. Once she caught her breath, she and Ellen strolled the remaining blocks to her house.
After their encounter with the drovers, Millie was more eager than ever for the next project of Ladies’ Society for the Betterment of Culture. All the ladies felt that a decent gentleman resided beneath the surface of even the dirtiest cowboy. They only needed to be taught how. The class, taught by Millie and Ellen, would start on Monday morning.
“Hey, trail boss, are you sure you’re ready to meet that fancy lady of yours?” The question came by Tex, Wes Harper’s best friend on the Bar B Ranch and indispensable right-hand man on this year’s cattle drive.
A slow smile spread across Wes’s face. If Tex had any idea of the content of the perfume-scented letters he received on a regular basis, he’d tease his boss even more. Since the two of them hadn’t met face-to-face, Wes wasn’t ready to say he loved Millie Cain. But if she was as entertaining, witty, intelligent, and spiritual in person as she was in her correspondence, he didn’t know if he could help himself.
Which was why he had no intention of making her acquaintance until he had scrubbed all evidence of the trail drive from his body, from a good bath soak to a spot in a barber’s chair. If he wasn’t saving money to buy a spread of his own within a year, he might even buy a suit.
Now that they had finished the business of selling the herd and paying the hands, Wes and Tex were heading for the boardinghouse where they planned to spend the next few nights. Their cook, T-Bone, would join them there. Wes had cousins in Wichita, but as soon as he showed up at Ellen’s house, she would introduce him to Millie Cain. He wasn’t ready to meet the girl he had dreamed about every night on the trail with the stench of three thousand head of cattle clinging to him.
Not far ahead, Wes spotted drovers even fresher from the trail than his own. Plugs of chew bulged in their cheeks and cow patties clung to their boots. They were a rowdy bunch, ready for a party at the nearest saloon. Wes shook his head. Men like that gave decent, hardworking cowboys a bad name.
One of the men was known to Wes, Rudy Mulrooney, his head as red as his name suggested. Before Wes could escape, Rudy called hello. They exchanged tales of their drives as they made their way down the street. Before long they approached the shopping district, where Wes and his friends peeled off from the group to head to the boardinghouse.
A pair of lovely young ladies exited a millinery. One of them looked familiar, but the other one arrested his attention. Her beauty sucked the breath out of his body—hair the color of the finest corn silk, skin a milky pink rarely seen in Kansas, her dress one shade fancier than her companion’s. When the other lady turned her head, Wes recognized his cousin Ellen. Did that mean her companion was… could it be… his Millie?
Afraid that Ellen might recognize him any second and insist on an introduction, he pulled Tex into the doorway of the nearest store and explained the situation.
Before they could decide what to do, they heard a whistle as clear as a mockingbird. “How about a smile for a lonely cowboy?” one of the drovers from Rudy’s group called.
Wes peeked around the corner, ready to dash to defend the ladies if necessary. Millie—if it was Millie—turned bright red, but she and Ellen ignored the drovers while making their way down the sidewalk at a steady pace.
The leader of Rudy’s group kept up with their pace, and the others followed with horses moseying behind. Wes ground his teeth, ready to jump in if they presented danger. The approaching cowboy removed his hat, revealing a bald spot that only made him look worse. “Just one smile. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Millie stopped, gathering herself, before facing the drovers. In a precise voice that revealed her Boston roots, she said, “I’m a proper lady, and I refuse to entertain a swarm of—filthy white trash.”
Ellen pulled on her arm and led Millie down a side street. Rudy’s gang gave up the chase, and Wes relaxed, his worry relieved.
Had she really said “filthy white trash”? Did this girl from Boston have any idea what an ugly slur that was? Sure, Rudy’s drovers were dirty and not fit for a fancy drawing room after months on the trail. But the woman said it like ranching was an immoral occupation, certainly unfit company.
If Wes’s Millie felt that way, she would never accept him. No, he couldn’t believe it. The Millie he had come to know was perhaps naive but never superficial.
Whatever her reasons, Wes had to get to know her better. Even more important, he wanted to become the gentleman that Millie deserved.
He and Tex stopped for a hot soak in a bathtub before heading for the boardinghouse. His thick beard begged to be shaved off, but that could wait until tomorrow. Bertha Babcock’s boardinghouse awaited.
Bertha welcomed Wes as if he were her long-lost son, and she gave Tex a hearty welcome. “Any friend of Wes is welcome here as well. Not like some folk I have to turn away.”
Tex’s nose twitched at her comment. “I’m glad you see the difference. Some people paint all cowboys with the same dark brush.” The maybe-Millie’s statement had stung his friend as well.
“They should attend this class, then. It promises to teach even the roughest of cowboys some basic rules of etiquette in one week of classes.” She pointed to a poster on the wall. “Everyone who completes the course is promised a date at a dance. Space is limited, so if you’re interested, sign up right away.”
Wes scanned the poster, his eyes freezing on the names of the teachers.
His cousin, Ellen Harper.
And the woman he wanted to impress more than anybody in the world—Millicent Cain.