To Tame A Texan (10 page)

“Rich, spoiled kid,” Trace grumbled. “All you think about is cards, women, and whiskey.”

“You forgot fast horses,” Ace grinned, and turned to yell toward the kitchen. “Hey, Cookie, I'm starvin' out here.”

“I'm comin'! I'm comin'!” The old man limped in with a plate of steak and eggs. “Here, you young pup. If the old don was still alive, we'd be servin' up this breakfast out on the range, makin' plans for a big brandin' and a cattle drive.”

“And you'd be right there, cookin' for our cowboys.” Ace winked at the cook, and the old man winked back. Despite his orneryness, they were all quite fond of the disabled cowboy, despite the fact that he was the worst cook in the hill country. Still, when Juanita was gone, the old man insisted on stepping into her spot, to the dismay of everyone on the place.

Ace dug into the huge platter of burnt eggs and half-raw steak with gusto and smiled as he thought of winning that big pot last night. There was a certain pretty little
señorita
over at Fandango he thought he'd spend some of it on.

“Cookie,” Dad said, looking up at the old man, “I think you're right. I'm still thinking about organizing one final cattle drive.”

Ace groaned aloud at the thought. “Dad, I hope you're jokin' about that; I got no time for herdin' cattle all the way to Kansas.”

“It might keep you out of jail and the cantinas for a while,” Dad said, glowering at him.

“Oh, now, boss,” Cookie said, coming to his defense, “you got to expect young fellas will sow a few wild oats. As I recall, you sure did afore the lady here haltered and broke you.”

Ma ducked her head, attempting to hide a smile, but Ace saw it. Someday, he'd like a girl just like Ma, but not anytime soon. There were too many pretty, wild girls out there tempting him to drink and dance all night. He wasn't ready to be tied down and branded yet.

Ma said, “There's something I'd like to talk about. I'm planning an old-fashioned Texas barbecue.”

All three men looked at her with curiosity.

Ace nodded agreeably. “Sounds like a real fiesta: plenty of beef and beer and pretty girls.”

Dad cocked his head and looked at Ma. “You still set on that?”

“Well,” she said with a nod, “Cayenne contacted me and said the family would like to come for a visit.”

Ace paused with his fork halfway to his lips, like a wary coyote smelling a trap. “They can come anytime without throwing a big party.”

“Actually . . .” Cimarron put down her cup and beamed at him. “We're trying to do something for Lynnie.”

“Uh-oh,” Cookie said, and went back through the kitchen door.

Ace groaned aloud. “Don't even mention that woman to me.”

“I reckon not,” Dad said, “after you got the poor little thing in so much trouble.”

“Me?
Get
her
in trouble?” Ace looked at him in disbelief. “Lordy, Dad, she was the one who—she used me,” Ace groused.

Ma cleared her throat. “Sounds like what I've heard girls say about you.”

“I don't reckon anyone would believe this”—Ace attacked his eggs again—“but Lynnie's smart, almost as smart as a man, and as sneaky as a coyote.”

“Do tell.” Ma smiled sweetly. “Well, we all know the poor little thing's been fired from her teaching job.”

“I reckon so!” Ace snorted, “after causin' a riot at the governor's ball. She's got too much pluck for one girl; it ain't natural.”

“Okay, so she's feisty,” Dad conceded, sipping his coffee. “The Durango men have always liked feisty women. That's how I ended up with your mother.”

“Well, I ain't endin' up with Lynnie McBride.” Ace shuddered as he reached for another charred biscuit. “Why, she ain't even got any prospects, much less been spoke for, and she's old to be unmarried.”

“Twenty is not old. And besides, Lynnie's choosy,” Ma said, rushing to the defense.

“You mean, men are choosy,” Ace corrected as he buttered the bread. “No Texan wants to go through life with a headstrong, skinny . . .”

“Why don't you just admit you can't handle her?” Dad leaned back in his chair and grinned. “She's a well-bred little filly.”

“I like my mounts wild,” Ace snapped back, remembering how stubborn Lynnie was, “but she's the most opinionated, annoying—”

“Don't talk with your mouth full, and stop it, you two,” Ma interrupted. “If Cayenne is to be believed— and I think she is—Lynnie wouldn't have our son if he was the last man in Texas.”

Ace felt his mouth drop open. “Why, that snippy, prim little—somebody should tell her girls are linin' up for me; I'm charmin'.”

“Evidently, Lynnie doesn't think so,” Ma said. “So I'm throwing this barbecue, inviting all the young people in two or three counties, and sort of give Lynnie a chance to meet eligible young men and pick one.”

“Won't do any good,” Ace said, attacking the steak. “They've all heard about the ruckus she caused at the ball.”

“Well, there's bound to be one young man in Texas who can appreciate Lynnie's good points.”

“Which are . . . ?” Ace looked at her.

“Don't get smart with your mother,” Trace snapped. “Besides, once Cimarron sets her mind to something, she's gonna do it, and you're wasting her breath trying to stop her.”

“That's a fact!” Cookie called from the kitchen.

“Cookie,” Cimarron yelled, “it isn't polite to eavesdrop on family discussions.”

Cookie stuck his grizzled, weathered face out of the kitchen door. “Well, now, if I ain't family by now, I don't know who is.”

“You're right, Cookie,” Cimarron conceded. “Besides, I'll need both your and Juanita's help to put on this shindig.”

“I'll have to look at my social schedule and see if I'm available,” the old man said loftily. “When you plannin' this barbecue?”

“End of March,” Cimarron said. “It'll warm up by then, and the bluebonnets will be in bloom—a very romantic time.”

Ace snorted, “It'll take more than bluebonnets to marry off that headstrong old maid.”

“Ace, please!” Ma glared at him. “You only have to make sure that all your friends meet her and maybe ask her to dance.”

“Lordy, Ma,” Ace protested, “I'm still indebted to my friends over the governor's ball.”

Cimarron got up from her chair. “Well, if you can't get your friends to dance with her, then you can just entertain her yourself all evening.”

Ace sighed at the thought of verbal sparring with the prim Miss McBride for a long, long evening. “All right, you win. You know, it's a good thing you don't play poker, Ma. You're a hell of an opponent.”

Dad seemed to stifle a grin. “Better to get in the way of a stampede than in the path of a determined woman, son. I think the barbecue is a great idea; it'll give me a chance to talk to all the local ranchers about the cattle drive. Now, finish up your breakfast, Ace. We've got a lot of work to do before sundown.”

He sighed and listened to the wind whip around the
rancho
. “But it's cold enough out there to freeze the balls off a—”

“Ace!” Ma glared at him.

“Well, it is.”

“Such a nancy-boy,” Cookie yelled from the kitchen, “me and the old don brought in thousands of cows in weather colder than this.”

Cimarron smiled as the two men in her life reached for their Stetsons. Maybe her husband was right: Ace was spoiled and soft and did as little around the ranch as possible. She thought marriage to a serious, responsible girl might snap him out of it, but maybe Ace wasn't through sowing his wild oats. Sending him on a long cattle drive would certainly toughen him up.

 

Ace leaned against the big beer keg next to Dad in the courtyard, where dozens of men drank and tossed horseshoes. He looked toward the drive, where buggies were arriving. Uncle Maverick's buggy had just pulled up, and lots of noisy red-haired children were piling out of it. He sighed, only a little happy from too much beer, and watched Lynnie, wearing a green gingham dress, sitting in the buggy. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she wore her spectacles.

His dad nudged him. “There they are; mind what your mother said.”

“I remember,” Ace grumbled, and ambled toward the buggy. He almost felt sorry for the old maid. She looked a little hesitant, as well she might be in facing a big crowd after all the scandal.

Cayenne, with a baby in her arms, passed him. “Wait till you see what she's wearing. I just couldn't talk her out of it.”

Ace nodded and ambled out to the buggy. Maverick had just unloaded many red-haired children and now picked up a picnic basket, nodded to Ace, and headed for the house.

Ace stood looking up at Lynnie, swaying a little on his feet. “You need help gettin' down?”

“You look like you're about to fall down yourself,” Lynnie sniffed, “and you smell like a brewery.”

He started to say something but thought better of it. He realized he wasn't as quick-witted as the strait-laced schoolteacher, and the thought annoyed him. Nevertheless, he reached up and put his hands on her slim waist, helping her down. She smelled good. Without thinking, he leaned closer and sniffed again.

“Will you stop that?” Lynnie snapped, backing away, “you're fogging my spectacles, snuffling me like a hungry hound looking for a biscuit.”

If he weren't a gentleman, it would be so satisfying to pick her up and toss her into the big fountain in the courtyard. That would get him in
mucho
trouble with his parents, to say nothing of Uncle Maverick. Now he looked askance at her costume. “Lordy, what an outfit. Lynnie, your dress is too short; your underpants are showin'.”

Lynnie drew herself up primly. “These are bloomers, Mr. Durango, created by Amelia Bloomer as a protest garment for women's rights many years ago.”

He leaned on the buggy and grinned. “So Miss Amelia protested by showin' her drawers?”

“Thunderation, I don't know why I bother.” She turned to unload some of the food in the buggy. Even when he was drunk, Ace was handsome and so strong, Lynnie thought with annoyance, certain his parents had sent him out to meet her. She looked around with some trepidation into the warm afternoon of the Durango
rancho
. The barbecue was going to be a huge event, all right. Buggies and wagons were tied up at every hitching post, and crowds gathered around the great fountain in the courtyard and the big keg of beer over by the adobe wall. It seemed to her that everyone had paused to stare at her. No doubt it was common gossip about the scandal she had created. Well, she didn't give a fig. The cause was all that was important.

Her older sister, Cayenne, holding the baby, Joey, yelled from the courtyard. “Lynnie, can you get those pies?”

“Certainly.” Lynnie nodded as her nieces, nephews, and younger sisters scattered across the courtyard, yelling to friends. She looked at the food in the back of the buggy. She wasn't about to ask this drunken brute for his help. Defiantly, she took a coconut cake in one hand and a rhubarb pie in the other, stuck her nose in the air, and started across the courtyard.

“Can I help you with that?” Ace blocked her path. He was taller and more broad-shouldered than she remembered, but one thing she hadn't forgotten was the arrogant cockiness of the man, as if he were God's gift to women.

“May,”
she corrected automatically,
“May
I help you with that?”

“I'm offerin' to tote that stuff to the kitchen.” He grinned, obviously unaware he was being corrected, or maybe not caring.

“You'd probably drop things,” Lynnie said primly, “and besides, you're so drunk, you couldn't hit the ground with your hat in three tries.”

He winked at her. “Not as drunk as I'm gonna be later tonight.”

Lynnie paused, tempted. It occurred to her that to hit him with the coconut cake might be soul-satisfying, but it would be the waste of a delicious cake that she had worked hours baking. “I'm perfectly capable of carrying this, thank you.”

His rugged face lit up. “Is that rhubarb? My favorite.”

Had she remembered that? Of course not! “If I'd known, I'd have brought apple instead.”

“Like that, too.” He grinned down at her.

“Leave me alone,” she commanded, and resumed her march toward the kitchen, green skirts swishing.

He trailed along beside her, his long legs easily keeping up with her shorter steps. “Dad said I was to help you; you wouldn't want to get me in trouble, would you?”

“How tempting, although I suspect that with you, Ace Durango, you're usually in trouble anyway.”

He looked too drunk to be insulted as he took the pie away from her. “Didn't know you could cook—especially rhubarb pie.”

They continued their walk toward the kitchen through the curious crowd. “There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Ace.”

“Lordy, girl, you're the derndest thing I ever met. All the other girls here are gigglin' and being agreeable.”

“The silly dolts are trying to attract your attention,” Lynnie said as they entered the big
rancho.
“All they want out of life is a husband.”

“And you don't want one?”

“I have bigger plans in mind,” Lynnie said loftily, “and it doesn't include continual cooking and cleaning up after some big, dirty ox like you.”

“Lynnie, you sure know how to hurt a fellow.” He followed her into the kitchen.

Lynnie ignored him while nodding to the women bustling about the kitchen. “Hello, all.”

Aunt Cimarron raised her gaze from a huge platter of deviled eggs she was finishing up. “Well, hello, Lynnie. I see Ace couldn't wait to give you a hand. Remember to save him a dance later this evening.”

Lynnie put the cake down, feeling hesitant. “I doubt very many men are going to ask me to dance tonight.”

“Oh,” Aunt Cimarron nodded, “I'm sure all Ace's friends will want to dance with you, so he can't hog all your evening, right, son?”

“Uh, right.” Ace put the rhubarb pie on the table next to the dozens of other pies and fled the kitchen. Lordy, he thought as he stumbled away,
if I don't get some of the hombres to dance with her, I'll be stuck with her all evening
—and there were dozens of local beauties here to choose from. Now just who owed him a favor?

Inside the kitchen, Lynnie made herself useful. There were mounds of barbecue sandwiches, plates piled high with homemade pickles and hot Texas relishes, mountains of potato salad, and pans of spicy baked beans and platters of steaming Mexican food.

“Really, Lynnie,” Aunt Cimarron protested, “you go out and mix with the other young people and leave all this to us old married ladies. I hope you don't mind if I invited members of your school board. I thought, in a better mood, they might reconsider.”

“I doubt that.”

Aunt Cimarron was looking at her dress with raised eyebrows.

“They're bloomers,” Lynnie said without being asked. She didn't really want to leave the safety of the kitchen, knowing people outside were gossiping about her; in spite of her careless demeanor, it really hurt. If it hadn't been for the cause, she would have been quite shy. “I'll go find my friend Penelope.”

She started out the back door, past the big tubs of iced lemonade. Children ran and chased each other, laughing and calling. Ladies sat on spread-out quilts, playing with babies and visiting. Lynnie rounded a corner and plowed right into Ace's chest. He reeked of beer and he embraced her without really looking down. “Oh, honey, you smell good,” he murmured, and tried to pull her closer, kissing her neck.

“Ace Durango, have you lost your mind?” And she slapped him hard.

He stumbled backward, rubbing his cheek. “I reckon I did for a moment.” The frown that crossed his handsome face gave her a funny feeling that she couldn't quite put a name to. Was it anger or just disappointment?

“Who'd you think it was, one of your saloon tarts?”

He drew himself up, weaving slightly. “I'll have you know that respectable women like me, too.”

“So I've heard, but damned if I can see why.”

“I never heard a lady cuss before.”

“That's because you don't spend much time around ladies, Ace. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

He caught her arm. “You're the only girl I know who don't think I'm charmin'.”

“Doesn't.” She corrected automatically. “Drunken cowboys are not my type. I'd prefer a smart and responsible gentleman. Let go of my arm.”

“You don't think I'm smart?” He was looking down at her with annoyance.

“Not judging from the company you usually keep.”

“Worse than the Austin jail?” he pointed out, swaying on his feet.

“Don't act so wounded and indignant; you've seen the inside of half the jails from here to Mexico City. Good-bye, Mr. Durango.” She pulled away from him and hurried off, leaving him standing there, still weaving slightly. She wasn't about to end up as one of Ace Durango's many conquests. When she finally married, she wanted a very civilized gentleman, the type who would quote Shakespeare and be a true believer in the cause. She sought out Penelope, and the two of them watched couples sashaying around the bubbling fountain.

Penelope sighed. “There's going to be a Mexican band and dancing tonight. I hope Hank Dale shows up and asks me to dance. Who do you want to dance with?”

“With
whom
do I wish to dance?” Lynnie corrected automatically. “Nobody. Men will only distract us from working for women's rights, Penny. They only want one thing from us, and it doesn't have anything to do with voting.”

Penelope's dark eyes blinked as she considered that one thing. “Miss McBride, you ever been kissed?”

“Call me Lynnie, since I'm no longer your teacher. I presume by ‘kiss' you mean by someone other than uncles and little brothers? No, but I don't think we're missing anything,” Lynnie answered, and frowned as she watched Ace Durango laughing with a bunch of silly girls, who were twittering about him like a bunch of birds.

“Well, if you haven't tried it, how would you know?” Penelope, too, watched the girls flocking about the big cowboy.

“I imagine it's like being licked in the face by a hound dog,” Lynnie snapped.

“Emmalou Purdy looks like she can hardly wait to find out,” Penelope observed. “Look at how she's leaning close to Ace and laughing at everything he says.”

“Emmalou Purdy is an idiot.” For some reason she didn't understand, it annoyed Lynnie greatly that the girl was leaning so close to Ace, her big bosom almost brushing his arm. For a moment, she remembered the sensation of being in his embrace at the ball, the power and the size of the man. “And Ace Durango is a bigger idiot to fall for all her giggling. She doesn't have a brain in her head.”

Penelope sighed. “I'm not sure brains are what a man's looking for.”

“Which shows you just how smart the average man is,” Lynnie declared, and meant it. “While ninnies like Emmalou are getting kissed and flirting, we'll be leading the charge for women's right to vote.”

“I don't know,” Penelope said wistfully. “Getting kissed seems awfully nice.”

“Penelope, you mustn't desert the cause,” Lynnie admonished. “We've got to push for women's rights in every way we can, and that means not succumbing to some brute's wiles and ending up hanging over a hot stove, baking rhubarb pies by the dozen.”

“Rhubarb pies?”

“They're his favorite,” Lynnie said without thinking. “Next thing you know, you've got a houseful of babies.”

“From baking rhubarb pies?” Penelope looked puzzled.

The girl was one sandwich short of a picnic, Lynnie decided, or incredibly naive. “Well, that's what it leads to; kisses and babies.”

“Babies are nice; I'd like some, wouldn't you?”

For a split second, Lynnie imagined a baby in her arms that had a cockeyed grin and very black hair. She must be losing her mind. “I can't think of a man I'd want to do ... well, you know ... with to get one.”

“I don't even know what it is you do to get a baby,” Penelope admitted.

Lynnie felt herself flush at the image that came to her mind of that big galoot and how he would look naked. In her mind, his lips brushed across her face and down her throat to her ...

“Miss Lynnie, are you getting sunburned? Your face is turning beet red.”

“No, Penelope.” She watched Emmalou Purdy take Ace's arm, and the two of them laughed together like a pair of crazed hyenas. “He has to be stupid not to see through that.”

Penelope watched the two for a long moment. “He gets much closer to her, he'll have to answer to her brother.”

“Nelbert Purdy?” Lynnie sniffed disdainfully. “Why, Ace Durango would wipe up the courtyard with him.”

“Just think how exciting it would be to have men fighting over your honor.” Her friend sighed.

“Oh, Penny, you'll never be a modern woman if you keep thinking like that,” Lynnie said. Abruptly, she was sick of watching the handsome cowboy fawning all over the giggling simpleton. She used her hand to shield her eyes as she looked up toward the late-afternoon sun. “I wish they'd serve the food. It's too boring to keep watching that pair make idiots of themselves.”