{"id":1258,"date":"2019-02-15T00:07:45","date_gmt":"2019-02-15T05:07:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1258"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:46:54","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:46:54","slug":"mansford-ranch","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/mansford-ranch\/","title":{"rendered":"Mansford Ranch"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Mansford Ranch<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Dina L. Sleiman<\/a> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Based on Mansfield Park<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As an aspiring novelist, Franny Sue Price prides herself in being a student of human nature. When dashing Hank Crawfield returns from his studies back East, he sets his Stetson on wooing her. Although he melts her with his charm and sophistication, Franny fears something is amiss. She and her longtime friend, cowboy Eddie Mansford, devise a series of challenges to test Hank\u2019s true character. As Hank\u2019s crooked nature comes to light, Franny realizes that the hero she\u2019s looking for may have been under her upturned nose all along.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Austin, Texas 1897<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, did ya\nkill anyone today?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A muddy boot\nthumped down beside Franny Sue Price where she sat outdoors upon a pristine\npatchwork quilt, but she kept her eyes glued to the paper in front of her. \u201cNot\nyet, but I\u2019m working on it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the\nlucky fella?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny lowered\nher parasol and frowned at Eddie Mansford as her eyes adjusted to the bright\nafternoon sun. No point in admonishing him on his unrefined speech. Ten years\nof harping hadn\u2019t corrected it. Despite his wealth and connections, he seemed\ndetermined to remain a cowpoke of the lowest rank. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t\nquite pinned that down.\u201d She tapped her pencil against her journal.  \u201cPerhaps it shall be a woman who dies this\ntime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhich story\nare you working on? The puritanical pirates or the pirating puritans?\u201d His warm\nhazel eyes gleamed with laughter, but he held his lips steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFunny.\u201d She\nnever said the man was stupid. \u201cI outgrew pirates long ago. I want to delve\ndeeper into human nature and the depravity of mankind with my new tales.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA Gothic it\nis. I sure do love that there Edgar Allen Poe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGothic\nromance, I would say. But I find myself in need of the perfect villain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVillain, huh.\nHow about some big city fella?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny pressed\nher pencil to her lip as she pondered that. \u201cPerhaps you have a point. We do not look to our great cities for our\nbest morality<\/em>,\u201d she said, quoting a favorite author.[1]<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fortunately,\nthe nearby city of Austin, which was yet new and small, did not qualify for\nsuch a description.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019ll be\nhogtied if you don\u2019t have a quote for dern near every occasion.\u201d Eddie took off\nhis hat and slapped it against his chaps, sending forth a swirl of dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cGoodness, Eddie.\u201d Franny coughed and waved\nthe dirt away from her white day dress with its yellow silken sash. She should\nhave known better than to wear such a frock about the ranch, but it was her\nfavorite. \u201cLord knows you <\/em>shall never\nplay the hero in a romance<\/a> novel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry about\nthat. I still need to wash up for supper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou had best,\nor Uncle Manny is sure to tan your hide. Company\u2019s coming. Did you hear? Hank\nCrawfield has returned at long last.\u201d A smile twitched at her lips. Between her\nattendance at finishing school and Hank\u2019s going back East, they\u2019d barely seen\none another in years, but the few glimpses she had caught were quite\nsatisfactory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow there\u2019s a\nvillain for your story. Something about that one just ain\u2019t right. Fancy east\ncoast university or not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny paused\nto contemplate. \u201cInteresting. On the surface his manners are charming, his wit\nflawless, but you might be onto something. He has a bit of the blackguard about\nhim. Remember the way he\u2019d pull the wings off fireflies just for the fun of it\nwhen we were children?\u201d Franny shivered. Something had indeed not been right\nabout the gleam in his eye as he committed the act. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMmm. And shoot\nthe barn cats with his slingshot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t remind\nme.\u201d She had feared the awful boy would hunt down her beloved Nibbles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe always was\nin some heap of trouble when we was young.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny resisted\nthe temptation to correct Eddie\u2019s grammar. \u201cWell, we barely know him anymore.\nAnd we managed to find plenty of trouble ourselves during childhood. He\u2019s\nchanged, no doubt. Who could fail to with such a fine education?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBook learnin\u2019\nwill only get you so far.\u201d Eddie rubbed his jaw. And quite a nice chiseled sort\nof jaw it would be, if only he bothered to shave once in a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old Rusty\nhobbled by on his peg leg, a bucket of water sloshing at his side. He shot\nEddie the oddest look. \u201cEvenin\u2019, folks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood evening\nto you, Mr. Forbes. Can I offer some assistance?\u201d Franny asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank ye\nkindly, ma\u2019am, but I\u2019ll be just fine.\u201d He shook his head at Eddie before\nheading to the bunkhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow there\u2019s a\nmysterious character. I wonder what that was about.\u201d She redirected her\nattention to the dusty young man beside her. \u201cAnd how would you know about\n\u2018book learning\u2019 anyway?\u201d Eddie had barely finished the eighth grade before he\ntraded in his slate for a lasso, whereas she herself had attended the Jeannette\nC. Austen Academy for Young Ladies, the finest finishing school west of the\nMississippi. She now volunteered there as a creative writing teacher one\nafternoon a week and remained after school to help lead a new drama troupe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once upon a\ntime, Eddie had been her Ivanhoe and Sir Walter Scott all tied up in one. Too\nbad he was so determined to waste his life on the trail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou of all\npeople should realize that ain\u2019t fair, Franny Sue. Didn\u2019t I just yesterday give\nyou an earful about that Darcy fella?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Okay, so he was\nwell read. Mostly at her insistence. She repressed a chuckle. Never had she\nexpected him to complete the entire Jane Austen novel, but she had hoped he\nmight learn a thing or two about proper manners before returning it. \u201cNow, Mr.\nDarcy. There\u2019s a hero for you. Perhaps you should take a lesson, Edward\nReginald Mansford.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He winced at\nthe use of his proper name. \u201cI maintain he was right stuck on hisself. Reminded\nme too much of Hank by half, that one did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo which is it\nthen? Is Hank a hero or a villain?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eddie offered a\nsly grin and pushed rumpled hair in a sandy shade of blond from his forehead.\n\u201cI suppose we\u2019ll find out soon enough.\u201d He turned and walked off toward the\nbunkhouse, slapping his hat against his leg once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny Sue bit\non her pencil, an alarming habit she could not bring herself to break for the\nsake of her creative process. Then she proceeded to begin a new and unexpected\nentry in her journal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so we shall see, dear reader, soon\nenough indeed, the true character of one Henry Crawfield of Austin, Texas. For\nit is such in the nature of mankind, that though he attempt to hide his true\nproclivities, in due time they shall trickle forth in telling detail, if one\nbut patiently attunes oneself to observe such minute inconsistencies.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n

Eddie entered\nthe bunkhouse and chuckled to himself. He never tired of teasing that young\nlady. The smell of ham and beans tickled his nose. He wished he could just have\ndinner with the cowhands tonight instead of donning that suffocating evening\ncoat in an attempt to please his father and the ridiculous Crawfields.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rusty eyed him\nwarily from the stove where he stirred a boiling pot of beans. \u201cWhat was that\nthere dern fool accent you was usin\u2019 with Miss Price?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The irony of\nthe comment clearly escaped Rusty. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it\nmatter to you?\u201d Eddie snatched the spoon from Rusty\u2019s hand and sampled the\nsoup. \u201cNeeds salt.\u201d He gave the crusty old man a friendly shove before\nreturning the spoon. Rusty had been cooking up beans ever since he lost his leg\nas a young man in the War Between the States. But he didn\u2019t like to be coddled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou might just\nstand a chance with that young lady iffin you didn\u2019t act like such a dunderhead\naround her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStand a\nchance? Who said I wanted a chance? That squirt is like a sister to me.\u201d\nEddie\u2019s stepmother and father had taken in Franny Sue, a distant step-cousin,\nover a decade ago when her family<\/a> landed on hard times. The eight-year-old girl\nhad looked so lost and alone. Eddie never could resist melting at the sight of\nthose big, doe eyes. From that first night when he had heard her crying herself\nto sleep and snuck into her room to tell her stories, she had become the\nyounger sibling he always dreamed of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rusty raised a\nbushy gray eyebrow his direction. \u201cYou expectin\u2019 me to believe that nonsense?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eddie pictured\nher as he had seen her moments ago\u2014all gleaming golden-brown curls with those\nperfect bow-shaped lips smiling up at him from beneath the lace of her parasol.\nHis heart did a funny flip in his chest. \u201cFine, she\u2019s turned into the fairest\nmaiden in all of Texas. Is that what you want me to say? But we\u2019re not suited.\nShe\u2019s made that abundantly clear. So why not enjoy a bit of fun?\u201d He chuckled\nagain, sitting at the table. \u201cIt annoys her to no end when I talk like a\ncowboy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHmm. And\nyou\u2019re not at all interested in winning her for yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s right.\nWe don\u2019t belong together. She wants a fancy city life with a man wearing a\nthree-piece suit and a pocket watch. Of course she\u2019s caught my eye. She\u2019s\ncaught every man\u2019s eye within a hundred miles. I care about her, yes. I care\nabout her enough that I want her to be happy, and she would never be happy\nmarried to a cowboy like me.\u201d He needed a solid, practical wife. Not one given\nto fripperies and whimsy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right\nabout one thing. Any man within a hundred miles would be thrilled to rope that\npretty little heifer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though Rusty clearly\nmeant his statement as a compliment, Eddie grinned as he imagined the horror on\nFranny Sue\u2019s face if she\u2019d overheard it. But he turned the subject to more\npertinent matters. \u201cThe girl won\u2019t pick a husband without my father\u2019s approval.\nI know she\u2019s grateful to him and all. She should be, but I can hardly stand the\nway she worships the man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cSo who is suitable for Miss Fancy-pants\nPrice? That Hank Crawfield?\u201d Rusty slammed his spoon down on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eddie rubbed a\nhand over his brow. \u201cDon\u2019t even joke about it.\u201d Hank had always turned his\nblood cold in his veins. The devilish spark in his eye still haunted Eddie. No\none changed that much during a few years at a university. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, if not\nyou, it may as well be him.\u201d Rusty flashed a gap-toothed smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat Hank\u2019s no\ngood. I swear I\u2019d move to town and take a job at the bank myself before letting\nFranny run off with the likes of him.\u201d Eddie crossed his legs and tugged at his\nboot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rusty hobbled\ntoward him, pulling a dishrag from his pocket and smacking Eddie\u2019s shoulder\nwith it. \u201cTo the house with you, boy. Your father will have my skin as well as\nyours if he catches you gettin\u2019 ready for his fancy dinner party out here with\na bucket of lye soap.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine.\u201d Eddie\nstuffed his moist, aching foot back into the boot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rusty shook the\nrag at him. \u201cAnd don\u2019t think I didn\u2019t notice when you started making yourself\nat home in the bunkhouse. Precisely three months ago, that\u2019s when. When that\nthere young lady you\u2019re supposedly not interested in came home from her hoity toity\nfinishing school. What are you running from, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRusty, you\u2019re\ntoo observant for your own good.\u201d It was true. When she returned, the house\nbecame too stifling. Every time she walked into the room with her milky skin\nand tinkling giggle, his heart would race. His throat dried up. And since his\nfather considered her a daughter, they were all too often left unchaperoned. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, better to\nmake teasing banter outdoors and remove himself far from the temptation of one\nMiss Franny Sue Price. Despite her supposed acuity concerning human nature, she\nhad no idea the feelings he struggled with and seemed innocent to them herself.\nHe intended to maintain the illusion of brotherly annoyance. He was more than\nhappy to hang around the bunkhouse and could hardly wait to take the cattle to\nthe farther pastures that would keep him away for days at a time. Give him the\nmusk and leather scent of his faithful mustang over Franny\u2019s honeysuckle\nenticement any day. Besides, as Rusty so pointedly observed, she\u2019d be married off\nand out of the house soon enough. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Best to change\nthe subject. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He thumped his\nfoot to the ground, driving it deeper into the boot. \u201cMaybe you should be the\none writing Gothic novels, Rusty. I\u2019ll send Miss Price your way the next time\nshe gets stuck with her character motivations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rusty plopped\ninto the chair across from him, beady eyes staring from a wrinkled and grizzled\nface straight at Eddie. \u201cI betcha she don\u2019t even know you went to that\nnewfangled university in Austin while she was right nearby in town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA few useless\nclasses in literature and philosophy do not a university education make. And\nthat was supposed to be our little secret.\u201d Eddie shoved his Stetson on his\nhead, and as easily slipped back into his cowboy accent. \u201cJust keep it to yer\nown doggone self.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shot Rusty a\nwarning glare before heading toward the house to dress for dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n

Franny Sue\nsmoothed down a loose curl, admiring herself in the long mirror of her armoire.\nIn the distance, hooves clicked against the drive. She dashed to her dressing\ntable, snatching up her journal and pencil, and dove for her window seat\noverlooking the expansive front lawn. A lady should never run, but there would\nbe plenty of time for such civility later. She didn\u2019t want to miss recording\nthis moment for posterity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tucking her\nfeet beneath the bustle of her buttercup silk gown, she settled herself upon\nthe cushions. The childish position proved yet another appalling habit she dare\nnot forsake for the appeasement of the creative muse. Tonight she would be all\nmanners and refinement, she promised herself. Nothing would prevent her from\npleasing dear Uncle Manny with the portrait of the perfect lady, for which he\nhad invested a small fortune.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the man\nexited the house and appeared on the drive before her, love swelled in her\nchest. How could she ever repay Uncle Manny for gift after gift he had bestowed\nupon her? Her own father had abandoned his family for the lure of the trail.\nWhen his life ended senselessly, hers might have all but ended as well, if not\nfor the generosity of the precious white-haired gentleman awaiting the\ncarriage. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite Thomas\nMansford\u2019s stoic nature, Franny perceived in the set of his square, manly\nfeatures the importance of this evening. He had hinted on more than one\noccasion that it would please him if she settled down with Hank Crawfield, the\nson of his best friend and business associate. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She tapped on\nthe window and waved down at Uncle Manny. His face softened as he gazed toward\nher, waving in return. She wasn\u2019t about to let some vague memory of a wayward\nchild prevent her from granting her uncle his heart\u2019s desire. She determined to\ngive Hank Crawfield every opportunity to prove himself worthy of her affection.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although she\nhad immersed herself in romance for much of her childhood, she had since put\nsuch juvenile nonsense far behind. At Austen Abbey, as the girls called their\nschool, she learned the importance of duty and honor, respect for one\u2019s elders,\nfinding one\u2019s proper role in society. Just as she now fit the role of training\nfuture young ladies, even as she waited for her uncle to choose a suitable\nhusband for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Franny had\nlearned to value a man of manners and education. A man who might provide\nsecurity and stability. Never an irresponsible cowpoke to be lost in the next\npointless gunfight. And Eddie had the audacity to recommend Hank as her next\nvillain. Preposterous!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the carriage\nrolled closer, she noted the exquisite detailing. The crafted leather. The\ncarved woodwork. The Crawfield emblem emblazoned on the side like an English\ncoat of arms. When it pulled to a stop, Franny sat poised and ready to write. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment had\narrived. Hank was finally back to stay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door swung open, dear reader, and at\nfirst all one could distinguish was the form of a Stetson outlined against the backdrop\nof a golden Texas sun. Then the man himself alit from the carriage. A shadowed\nsilhouette of male perfection bedecked in a tailored evening suit sauntered\ntoward one Thomas Mansford with the utmost confidence and grace, causing my\nheart, I must confess, to flutter in my corseted chest. He reached and clasped\nMr. Mansford\u2019s hand with the precise balance of affection and decorum befitting\nthe reunion. Soon enough, we shall discern, my friends, if such etiquette\nresides only upon the surface of his demeanor or if it springs from some deeper\nwellspring of true refinement.<\/em>

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

[1]<\/a>\nMansfield Park<\/em>, Jane Austen 1814<\/p>\n\n\n