To Tame A Texan (15 page)

Abruptly, Ace turned his horse and galloped back along the herd, looking things over, motioning to a cowboy to stop a stray from bolting away. He didn't look quite so green as he had earlier in the day. Then he fell in next to her. Oh, thunderation. Had she been discovered already? She'd hoped to make it at least a few miles before she was caught in this masquerade.

“Hey, kid,” Ace yelled, “you look familiar. What spread you from?”

“Uh ...” She took a deep breath, then remembered the brand on the horse she rode. “Double X.”

Ace pushed his Stetson back and scratched his head. “Never heard of it.”

“From the Panhandle,” Lynnie kept her voice gruff.

His dusty, handsome face turned incredulous. “You come that far on that old nag?”

She almost corrected his grammar but caught herself. “I—I wanted to be in on this drive.”

“
I
sure as hell didn't.” Ace groaned and rubbed his forehead as if in pain, cursing in Spanish as he did so. “It was my dad's idea. They say the Forrester outfit is a day ahead of us; looks like we'll be eatin' their dust the whole way.”

Lynnie nodded and ducked her head. He galloped on, and she couldn't help but turn in her saddle and watch him ride. He might be a woman-chasing hooligan, but the Cheyenne blood in him was apparent from the way he sat a horse. Maybe that was the reason silly girls kept sighing over the big brute, even though he had the manners of a caveman.

Halfway through the afternoon, Pedro sent word down the line of riders to stop the big herd to graze a little. That gave the cowboys a few minutes to get a drink of water from the big barrel on the side of the chuck wagon and eat a cold biscuit and beef that Cookie handed out. Lynnie kept her hat low over her eyes and didn't say anything, leaning against a big rock. Now most of the men were taking a chaw of tobacco or rolling a cigarette. Lynnie seemed to be the only one not smoking.

Ace ambled up to her, his expression still quizzical. “You ain't smokin' or chawin'?”

Lynnie kept her head low. “I—I forgot my makin's.”

“Here.” Ace handed her his little sack of tobacco.

“Much obliged.” She took it and the little paper he handed her. Her hands trembled as she tried to roll it.

“Lordy, kid, you're wastin' tobacco,” Ace grumbled, and he took the makings from her and expertly rolled a cigarette.

Lynnie took it and stuck it in her mouth. Maybe he wouldn't have a light.

But Ace struck a match across the seat of his pants and lit it for her. Even as he did so, he stared hard. “I swear I know you from somewhere, kid.”

“Uh, don't think so.” She fought off a fit of coughing as she inhaled the acrid smoke. To her, it tasted like burning hay.

“What's your name?”

“Ly—Lee. Lee Smith.” She didn't look up at him.

“Okay, Lee, we'll take a leak and then we'll mount up and see how far we can get before sundown.”

“What?” She looked around in horror, realizing some of the cowboys around her had their pants unbuttoned. She'd never seen a full-grown man with his plumbing on display for everyone to see. “I—I already went.” She took her cigarette and stumbled toward her horse in confusion.

Ace Durango didn't have any modesty about him at all. As she glanced back in embarrassed horror, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his ... My goodness, that was a big one! Ace Durango had a manhood on him like a stallion. She knew she shouldn't look, but it was difficult not to, with him making a pattern in the dust with the stream. He appeared to be spelling out his first name. She'd seen Cayenne's little boys do that. Well, some things about males never changed, she thought with disgust as he buttoned his pants, swung up on his black stallion, and galloped to the front of the herd.

“Head 'em up and move 'em out!” Pedro shouted, and the herd began to move north again.

With no one looking, Lynnie stubbed out her cigarette against her saddle. She made sure it was extinguished before she dropped it in the dirt. A prairie fire would be the devil of a thing to deal with. Red dust choked her, and she was having a difficult time seeing without her spectacles, but she was afraid to wear them, certain Ace would recognize her. As it was, the dust was so thick, she could hardly see the chuck wagon moving along ahead of her. Old Cookie seemed to be singing, or maybe he was in pain; it was difficult to tell. When she ran her tongue over her lips, it was so gritty, her teeth seemed to grind. She thought about a warm bath in clean water, soft towels, and clothes that didn't smell like horse sweat. Oh, this was going to be a long, long trip, and it had barely gotten started. The worst of it was going to be dealing with Ace Durango, who thought he was God's gift to women. She grinned to herself and began to plan revenge.

As the day progressed, her saddle seemed to get harder and harder, to the point she wasn't sure she would be able to get off her horse, when they finally camped for the night. Ace didn't look any better. His face grimaced as if he were suffering from a hangover—which he probably was, Lynnie thought in disgust. At least with all the confusion of the first day, no one paid much attention to her, which was good.

Would the day never end? She glanced up at the sun, trying to hurry it along and thinking that in a few more weeks, it would turn blistering hot and the band she wore now to tie down her small breasts would become unbearable. About the time dusk finally spread across the plains, and Lynnie had reached the point she thought she'd fall from her saddle, Comanch rode along the trail shouting, “Creek up ahead! Pedro says we'll camp there tonight.”

Thank God! Gratefully Lynnie reined in her horse and followed the chuck wagon as it pulled off the trail. Up ahead, she heard whistles and shouts as the cowboys got the tired cattle headed toward the creek to drink and settle down to graze for the night.

Some of the cowboys were already dismounting, unbuttoning their pants and making patterns in the dust again. Didn't men ever get too old to find that amusing?

“Hey, boy,” the cranky old cook yelled at her, “gather me up some cow chips to cook with.”

She nodded. Oh, how her bottom hurt. It was all she could do to dismount from her horse and lead it over to drink from the creek. Boneyard seemed as tired as she was.

“Hey, kid,” Ace yelled at her, “hurry it up. We got calf fries tonight!”

Oh yes, calf fries. So-called mountain oysters. The cowboys' delight. Yum, yum.
She'd forgotten about the bloody things in the kettle. Although she felt as if she could barely walk, she tied her horse to graze on a particularly rich stretch of grass and walked out across the prairie, looking for old, dried-up cattle manure to fuel the fire. In the olden days, she knew the pioneers had used buffalo chips. Prairie coal, they had called the manure on the treeless plains, but the buffalo had been slaughtered long ago. A buffalo was now a rare curiosity. She stumbled across a big pile of old manure and stared at it with distaste.

Ace rode by. “Hey, kid, get a move on,” he snapped. “Or we won't save you any calf fries.”

Oh, if only she could count on that. She started to suggest he could be a gentleman and get down off that big black horse and help her, but remembered in time. She gritted her teeth and nodded as he rode on, resisting the temptation to throw a clod of manure and knock his jaunty Stetson off. Instead, she bent to pick up the cow pie, then another and another. Even though it was dry, it still smelled terrible.
Parfum de cow.
She wrinkled her nose and kept picking up dung. Finally, her arms were so full, she couldn't carry any more. With her load, she staggered through the dusk toward camp.

Ace sat his horse, watching her, but he didn't offer to help. Instead, he yelled at her, “Hey, kid, while you're workin', watch out for rattlers.”

Snakes.
Yes, this was prime country for rattlesnakes. The thought startled her, and she dropped some of what she'd gathered, then started walking again, very cautious in the tall grass. She could only hope that the next time that arrogant Ace Durango whipped out his, uh, maleness to pee, a big coiled rattler would sink its fangs in his ... well, at least his boot.

Back at the fire, Cookie soon had a good blaze going and opened some canned beans and brought out the big skillet to fry the cowboy delicacy. The smell of the food and strong coffee made her mouth water, and then she remembered what they were about to eat. Up north, they wouldn't believe this.

A young half-breed cowboy ambled up to her. “Hey, we've howdied, but we ain't shook. I'm Comanche Jones.” He stuck out his hand.

It dawned on Lynnie that she was expected to shake it, which she did awkwardly. Women didn't generally shake hands with men. “Lee,” she growled. “Lee, uh, Smith from the Panhandle.”

Comanche turned a critical eye toward her horse. “That the best they got up there?”

She resisted the urge to kick his shins. “Better than she looks.”

Ace came up just then and dismounted. “Couldn't be any worse, could she?”

Both cowboys laughed like idiots.

Ace said, “Pedro says somebody's got to ride herd. Lee and you can start.” He was staring at her in the growing dusk. “Kid, are you sure we ain't met some place before?”

She gritted her teeth over his grammar, but with a mighty effort, she didn't correct him. “Maybe in some whorehouse somewheres.”

Young Comanche flushed to his dark hair, but Ace guffawed. “You don't look old enough to be toppin' no fillies, Lee.”

Leave it to this uncivilized stud to put it that way. He was insufferable. She now had her doubts that she could stand arrogant Ace Durango long enough to ride hundreds of miles with him.

Just then, Cookie began to beat on a pan. “Grub's ready! Come and get it 'afore I toss it to the coyotes.”

“Why poison a bunch of helpless coyotes?” Ace muttered under his breath.

“I heerd that!” the old man yelled in their direction.

Ace shrugged. “He only hears what he wants to hear, the old bastard. Believe me, this drive is headin' for disaster—a bunch of green hands, and only old Cookie and Pedro know a damn thing about what to do.”

She grunted an answer and moved away from him, grabbing up a tin plate and cup. She tried to turn down the calf fries, but the old man wouldn't hear of it. The way the dozen Texas cowboys were wolfing them down and licking their lips was disgusting. Hank Dale, the curly-headed young rancher, was there, but he didn't seem to recognize her, either.

“Hey, Lee,” Ace yelled, “eat up! Calf balls will make a man of you.”

It'll take more than that,
she thought, but with everyone watching, there was nothing to do but close her eyes and take a bite. The thought of what she was eating made her gag, but with the cowboys looking, she'd have to finish her plate. She pretended these were Ace's she was grinding her teeth on, and that made it easier somehow. In fact, she began to eat with relish, wiping up the gravy with a biscuit as hard and heavy as a cannonball. Ace was right: Cookie's grub might kill a coyote. She tucked one biscuit in her pocket for her horse. Maybe they wouldn't give Boneyard a bellyache. Lynnie looked around for a napkin and noticed the other men, hunkered down gobbling their food and wiping their greasy faces on their sleeves. She managed to do the same, but she shuddered as she did so.

As they finished, the Durangos' old Mexican ranch boss stood up.
“Señores,
I know most of you are young and have never done this before, but I will teach you, and after a few weeks it will get easier,
sí?”

They all looked doubtful but nodded.

Ace licked his spoon. “How do we make sure we're headed in the right direction?”

Cookie snorted. “'Cause I always point the chuck wagon tongue toward the north star as I unhitch my team, and we start off in the morning the way the wagon tongue points.”

“Now what do we do?” A young, green hand asked.

Everyone looked toward Pedro, who was rolling himself a cigarillo. “We ride the herd all night, circling it to keep it calm. Two men at a time, two hours at a stretch.”

Comanch stepped forward. “I'll take the first watch.”

“Good,” Ace said with a yawn, “then I won't have to. I'm still recoverin' from last night. Lee, you help Comanch so the rest of us can get some shut-eye.”

Of all the irresponsible, gold-bricking ...

Everyone was looking at her.

“All right,” she grunted.

Ace pulled out his bedroll, spread his blankets, and, using his saddle for a pillow, lay down and tipped his hat over his eyes. Even as she walked toward her horse, he was snoring.

She gave Boneyard the biscuit, and the big yellow teeth chomped it up and nuzzled Lynnie's pockets for more. The half-breed kid called Comanche caught up with her, and together they swung up on their horses.

“Hey, Lee,” Comanche said as he reined his bay gelding out toward the herd, “maybe tomorrow night we'll reach a pretty good-sized creek so we can all skinny-dip and wash the dust off.”

“Good.” She turned her horse and started off, wondering how on earth she'd deal with that—swimming with a bunch of naked cowboys. Well, that wasn't tonight's problem. She wondered suddenly how Ace Durango would look naked, and was then properly shocked at herself for the image that came to her mind.

She took her position, riding in a slow circle around the grazing herd. Comanche rode the other direction, and some time within the hour, they passed each other and nodded. Comanch was singing softly,
“As I walked out in the streets of Laredo; as I walked out in Laredo one day; I spied a young cowboy all dressed in white linen . . .”

She was so tired, her bottom ached, but if she protested or disobeyed orders, her ruse might be discovered and she'd be sent back. Too bad she wasn't more of a tomboy. She kept hearing about these girls who could rope and ride and shoot as well as any man, but she thought they must all be in the dime novels, because she didn't know any girls like that.

It had grown dark and the cattle were settling down, contentedly chewing their cuds, except for old Twister, who was over by the chuck wagon, begging for biscuits. The steer must be a glutton for punishment. A cool breeze dried her damp face, and in the distance a lonely coyote howled. Around her, katydids chirped away, and the smell of Indian paintbrush and bluebonnets drifted to her nose. Despite the fact that she was tired and dirty, she felt a sense of satisfaction that today she had held her own among a bunch of rowdy cowboys, worked just as hard, and was the equal of any of them. Maybe she could make it all the way to Dodge City after all.

When she was so tired she didn't think she'd be able to get off her horse because her bottom was stiff, Ace came riding toward her, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Pedro says I take the next shift, Lee—interrupted a great sleep. I was dreamin' about the girls at Miss Fancy's place in San Antone; you ever been there?”

“Nope,” Lynnie muttered. The leering idiot. Did he think of nothing but women?

“You missed something,” Ace sighed wistfully as if he wished he were there now. “They got real cold beer, too, and the card games go on all night.”

Lynnie didn't say anything. The boys at the Lazy M bunkhouse had taught her to play poker, and she was pretty good at it, although probably not as good as this rake.

She nodded to him and headed back toward the welcome beacon of the campfire. It was all she could do to dismount, but she still had to unsaddle her horse and rub her down. No good cowboy rode a horse hard and put it away wet with sweat. Then she hobbled the mare and turned her out to graze with the other horses. Comanche was already crawling into his blankets by the fire.

Where to spread her bed?
She hesitated, looking around at the snoring men around the fire. She didn't really want to bed down among them. Maybe she could spread her blankets quite a distance away. A lone wolf howled unexpectedly somewhere close by, and she quickly rethought her plans.

Carrying her saddle and bedroll, she tiptoed over dirty, snoring bodies and made her bed as best she could, using her saddle for a pillow. She felt rocks and cockleburrs under the blanket, but she was too tired to move it or search them out. She lay there, tired and dirty, her muscles hurting. She had chigger bites itching in some places she couldn't scratch without taking off some of her clothes, and she wasn't about to do that. Oh, the romance of the Old West. She wished she could get her hands on some of those dudes who wrote dime novels about the thrill of the cattle trail and its lusty cowboys.

She took a deep breath. It was more than obvious that all these cowboys had been eating beans. Here and there, somebody let out a big, noisy sound.

Lynnie wrinkled her nose.
Phew!
Again she was tempted to pick up and move away from the fire. Then the wolf howled again, and she decided to stay where she was—smells and all. Well, she started this and she had to see it through. Lynnie McBride might be a lot of things, but she was no quitter.

About the time she was dozing off, she heard two cowboys get up and head out to saddle their horses for the next shift. Nighthawks, they called the riders, keeping the spooky cattle calmed by singing to them and watching for coyotes or anything that might start a stampede.

As she watched, Ace and Hank rode in from their shifts, dismounted, and unsaddled and hobbled their horses. Then the two came to join the sleeping circle. There was an empty spot next to her, and Ace threw down his saddle and spread his blanket. Without thinking, she scooted in the other direction.

“What's the matter, Lee, you see a tarantula?”

The image of the black, hairy giant spider crossed her mind, so now she had something new to worry about. She muttered something unintelligible, but it didn't seem to matter to Ace. He was already asleep and snoring. He looked as big as a mountain lying there.

The wolf howled again, and it seemed close—too close. She scooted a little nearer to Ace without even thinking about it. Somehow, she felt safer when she lay closer to his big body. The April night had turned chill, and her one blanket wasn't enough. The fire was dying down, but if she tried to build it up, she'd wake people. Very cautiously, she scooted right up against Ace. He not only generated as much heat as a coal stove, he felt hard as iron—and she knew he had a rifle in his bedroll. He was a good shot, too; everyone knew that. She closed her eyes and listened to Ace's steady breathing. Somehow, it was a comforting sound to know he was right there if she needed the big brute.