Welcome to Longborn

Acknowledgements

Two women are largely responsible for this work. First, Margaret, my wife of almost twenty-five years, without whose gentle prodding this would have remained on my hard drive forever. She gets special bonus spouse points for reading the thing multiple times even though she doesn’t particularly like romance novels. That’s love, folks.

I also have to thank Jane Austen for providing such wonderful original material. There should really be a romance subgenre actually labeled Jane Austen fan fiction. Its offerings would be bountiful. And I would read them.

Part One – The Eyes of Texas

Chapter One

Does it always have to be about sex?

The question hung in the air as Charlotte Bingham and Darcy Fitzwilliam, late of San Francisco, headed out onto the not-so-wild-western streets of Longborn, Texas (population 13,982). They were searching for a bar.

Not everyone is on the prowl, Charlotte continued. Darcy shot her a dubious look, but Charlotte remained undaunted. That stewardess...

Helen with the beautiful smile. And great tits, Darcy added with a grin.

Helen. Charlotte agreed and continued, She was just being nice. They grow them friendly in Texas.

No one is that friendly, Charlie, Darcy scoffed. Not without wanting something.

She did want something. She wanted to show me the sights of Dallas, Charlotte argued, refusing to yield to Darcy’s well-practiced cynicism.

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. Charlie, she said with fond exasperation. She wanted to show you the sights, all right – her sights. The woman looked like she wanted to eat you with a spoon.

Darcy watched as Charlotte nimbly skipped over a looming crack in the sidewalk. She shot an envious look at Charlotte’s running shoes and wished she’d shared her friend’s foresight to change clothes before venturing out of the hotel. The growing gloom and broken pavement, not to mention her 3-inch heels, made walking precarious. Is smooth pavement too much to ask for? Darcy thought with exasperation.

Darcy looked down the dusty street, which was completely devoid of traffic. More than half the storefronts were boarded up, For Sale signs faded in the windows. The sun was setting on Longborn in more ways than one.

Darcy forced her attention back to their argument. Charlotte was sweet but persistent, and Darcy couldn’t let her get the upper hand.

It’s practically a universal law. Single lesbians are always looking for sex. Not companionship, not love. Sex. The rest comes later, after the itch gets scratched. Darcy spoke with the emphatic conviction of the once burned, twice bitter.

Charlotte, naturally optimistic by nature, wasn’t about to concede this argument to her more jaded friend. What about the other universal truth? she asked.

Darcy stared blankly. What other truth? Darcy shook her head, irritated as she caught her heel in another crack.

All successful, single lesbians need a wife, Charlotte said.

Darcy snorted in disbelief. That is a vicious rumor started by the wedding industry and my mother. Do you know what caterers charge? And florists? Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if the floral industry was behind the whole push for gay marriage! It’s ridiculous what some people are willing to pay for public approbation and prepackaged sentiment, she said, rolling her yes. Marriage? No thank you.

But what about romance? What about love? Charlotte asked guilelessly. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. It was getting cool out now that the sun had set.

Darcy scoffed. Love? Sometimes she couldn’t believe her friend’s naiveté.

Love and its bastard cousin romance are by products of the search for sex. It’s that bitch Mother Nature’s idea of a joke, she said venomously. Forehead wrinkled in frustration, she slowed to a stop and looked up and down the street. It seemed like they’d been walking forever.

Where the hell is this place, anyway?

Charlotte looked around, examining the storefronts they had passed. The faded signs were almost impossible to read in the lowering light.

Charlotte pointed to her left. I think it’s this way. The desk clerk said to take a right at the old hardware store and then it’s half a block down on the left. He also said there’s usually a good turnout on Halloween.

Darcy glanced at the sky. Dark clouds were gathering overhead, making nightfall that much sooner. She hoped they found the place before it started to rain. She was already in a foul mood, and getting drenched might just send her over the edge.

They turned down the side street and resumed their discussion. They had been debating the merits of one-night stands versus long-term relationships for years. And, as usual, neither one was giving an inch.

"So, yes, Charlie, it is always about sex, Darcy replied, returning to her original point. At least for me, that stewardess, and 95 percent of the lesbian nation. You should have taken her up on her offer."

What’s the point of starting something that you know won’t have a future?

The point is getting laid, Darcy said, her exasperation starting to show. What’s wrong with a little no-strings-attached sexual satisfaction? I know you think that there’s some magical, mystical thing that happens after couples have been together for longer than a weekend; but trust me, there isn’t. It’s just what’s for dinner, how was your day, and pass me the TV remote. She shuddered at the prospect.

That sounds kind of nice, actually, Charlotte said. Having someone to come home to every night. Someone who cares.

Someone who’s always around, moving your stuff, asking you when you’re going to be home. Sleeping with your so-called friends behind your back. Darcy rolled her eyes. After her last disastrous experiment with cohabitation, she was even more convinced that some people were truly meant to live alone.

There it is, Charlotte cried, triumphantly interrupting her friend’s familiar litany of domestic complaints. She pointed toward a puddle of light just outside the door of the bar. There were only a few people going inside, but it was still early.

Finally, Darcy said in a huff. I hadn’t expected to hike all around this dump looking for a drink.

If you’d changed like I suggested instead of checking in with the office... Charlotte wisely let that drop. Besides, it’s not the drink we’re looking for; it’s the ambiance. She looped her arm through Darcy’s and picked up the pace. Who knew there’d be a gay bar in such a small town? I still can’t believe Carolyn wants to build a resort here.

Darcy looked down the street and tried to see the potential. Even squinting, she couldn’t quite see it. She gave up after only a few seconds.

I can’t believe it either, Darcy said. "Ever since she scored that big write up in Fortune she’s been insufferable. But she is the boss, and if she wants us to check out a hick town in Texas looking for the next big, exploitable gay vacation spot, then that’s what we’ll do. And we’ll keep doing it until she stops believing her own hype. Ours not to reason why," Darcy mumbled under her breath as she ushered Charlotte through the doors of the bar.

They paused just inside the doorway. It was darker inside than out. They let their eyes adjust for a few seconds and then looked around the room. It was large and smoky and loud. It was just like any bar back home. A smattering of costumed couples danced to the country music blaring from the stereo speakers.

Darcy raised a carefully groomed eyebrow in dismissal of the somewhat pedestrian costumes on display. Used to the hyper flamboyance of Halloween in the Castro, she was decidedly underwhelmed by Halloween in the backwoods of east Texas. She hoped the liquor was better than the costumes. After hours on a plane followed by hours in a rental car, she more than needed a drink. Darcy headed straight for the middle-aged woman with the surprising crew cut who was competently tending to patrons at the long bar.

Charlotte followed at a more leisurely pace. This was her first trip to Texas, and she didn’t want to miss any local color. She looked around carefully and offered a cautious smile to the clusters of curious women who glanced her way. She eventually made her way over to Darcy, waiting at the bar.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Darcy tried to get the attention of the bartender. Getting noticed wasn’t usually a problem, considering she was almost six feet tall, but the fates had been conspiring against her all day. Luckily, Charlotte caught the bartender’s eye right away. Her easy smile might have had something to do with the speed with which the woman made her way toward them. Or maybe it’s the fit of that low-cut sweater, Darcy thought, trying to rein in her ire. It wasn’t Charlotte’s fault she was stuck wearing her business drag.

Or maybe it’s not the clothes. Charlotte had a way of connecting with people that Darcy sorely lacked. Genuinely interested in people, Charlotte was open in a way that Darcy rarely encountered in anyone. Luckily that’s a trait I don’t share. Her carefully cultivated misanthropy had served her well through the years. She’d managed to keep all her colleagues and most of her lovers at a very safe distance. Still, approachableness has its uses. She watched Charlotte flirt with the bartender. In no time at all, the woman was off getting their drinks. Her immediate problem solved, Darcy leaned back against the bar. She listened to the music for a minute, then sighed. She hated country music.

I’m going to go grab us a seat, Darcy said irritably. She didn’t wait for Charlotte’s response before heading toward an empty table on the far side of the dance floor. She needed to sit down. Her feet were killing her. She slid into a chair and out of her heels.

A few minutes later, Charlotte joined her at the table. She handed Darcy a drink and sat down in a chair next to her friend. Here, whisky and soda, right? Sasha, the bartender, said there’s going to be a costume contest later. It’s too bad we didn’t bring our costumes with us, Charlotte said, sipping her iced tea.

And the winner gets what exactly? A new rifle rack for her truck? Darcy asked, sarcasm getting the better of her. She rubbed her foot under the table.

A weekend at a B&B on the coast, actually, Charlotte said, irked by Darcy’s determined ill humor. Look, if you don’t want to be here, you can go back to the hotel where you can mope in private. Some of us would like to have a little fun. It is Halloween after all.

Darcy knew she was being a bitch. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Sorry, Charlie. I’ll try to be good, she said half-heartedly. After all, the only thing worse than being stuck in a bar full of yokels in the boonies was being stuck in a hotel room alone in the boonies.

Charlotte smiled her appreciation and took another sip of her tea. Oh my God! she exclaimed.

What? What is it? Darcy sat up straight and looked around. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, if you discounted all the vampires, ghosts, and drag queens present. Then she spotted the extremely attractive woman in a brown outfit that had captured her friend’s attention. Darcy sighed and rolled her eyes. Great, another UPS driver. Darcy didn’t know what it was about the drab outfit that did it for Charlotte, but it was beginning to border on a fetish. She scowled and took a deep sip of her drink.

Chapter Two

Carefully balancing a huge platter of nachos, Elizabeth Austin wound her way from the bar to the table where Lydia Charles, her friend and colleague waited. Jane Bennett followed with two frosty pitchers of beer.

Staring openly at two women who had just walked in, Lydia asked, Who’s the fresh meat?

Elizabeth carefully slid the platter on the table. Once the food was secure, she glanced over at the strangers. She straightened up and took a leisurely second look at the newcomers. They are worth a second and even third glance, she thought, her libido perking up.

One was a strikingly tall brunette. Obviously uncomfortable in her surroundings, she was clearly overdressed for the bar, even for Halloween. The tall one towered over her fairer companion. Nevertheless, the blonde’s ready smile made her the more immediately appealing of the two strangers. They were certainly not from around here. Elizabeth knew every lesbian in the entire county, and she’d never seen either of these women before. She would have remembered. Both women, now seated at a table nearby, seemed to be staring at Jane. That didn’t surprise her at all because Elizabeth knew Jane was easily the most beautiful woman in the bar.

Beats me, Elizabeth said. She turned her attention back to arranging the food. But they look like fish out of water.

Says the woman dressed like John Wayne on vacation at the beach, Jane said with a laugh. What’s with the big guns and flowers?

Elizabeth had on full Western regalia – hat, boots, chaps. She even had a double holster, complete with two pearl handled revolvers. But underneath her fringed buckskin vest, she wore an obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt. She’d also draped a necklace of purple plastic hibiscus flowers around her neck.

I can remember when you loved my big guns, babe, Elizabeth replied with mock seriousness. Jane couldn’t help but laugh.

Yeah, but that was when we were in the third grade. So, what are you supposed to be anyway? Jane asked.

She’s Doc Holliday, Lydia said. She rolled her eyes at the pun and returned her attention to the two strangers.

Practically drooling, Lydia watched the newcomers as they made their way to a table nearby.

I could go over and ask one of them to dance, Lydia said, speculatively.

I’d suggest the shorter of the two, Elizabeth said wryly. The other one’s a bit of a climb. Not to mention the obvious stick up her ass.

They might be together, Jane warned.

Elizabeth watched them for a minute. Nope. Body language is all wrong, and they’re not finishing each other’s sentences. They look too comfortable together for it to be a date. She squinted to get a better look. I’d say friends. Maybe friendly exes.

They’re obviously new in town. Should we invite them to join us? Jane asked. Just to be neighborly, I mean.

Lydia snorted in disbelief, but Elizabeth had no doubt that was exactly what Jane meant. Jane was one of the sweetest, most empathetic people Elizabeth had ever met. It was what made her such a great teacher and such a poor judge of character.

I think I will, Lydia replied. After another beer, of course. She smiled and refilled her glass. So what are you supposed to be anyway? she asked Jane.

I’m the UPS man. Jane stood up and modeled her costume. Sherry lent me one of her uniforms.

Is she coming tonight? Elizabeth asked.

I think so. She’s probably waiting for Rachel to get off, Jane replied.

Those two are joined at the hip, Lydia said disparagingly. She resented anyone whose relationship outlasted a loaf of bread.

I think it’s sweet, Jane said. Especially after 12 years.

That’s because you, my dear Jane, are a hopeless romantic, Elizabeth