To Tame A Texan (19 page)

The next morning, Lynnie felt a decided difference in the air. Although she was still dressed in boy's pants and denim shirt, the rough, uncivilized cowboys now seemed self-conscious around her. Why, they were acting halfway civilized, Lynnie thought with surprise as she rolled up her bedroll. As she struggled to lift her heavy stock saddle and carry it over to her horse, half a dozen cowhands rushed up.

“Here, ma'am, let me get that for you.”

“Miss McBride, I'd be glad to saddle your horse.”

“Miss Lynnie, a little thing like you oughtn't to be carryin' that heavy saddle.”

“Let her carry it,” Ace ordered, his voice as grim as his face. “She wants to be a man's equal; let her prove it.”

“I can and I will,” Lynnie snapped, and lugged her own saddle across the circle.

Behind her, she heard grumbling among the men. “What's eatin' Ace? It ain't right to let a little lady carry a big saddle while a bunch of men watch her.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at Ace. She could see the disgusted looks among the cowboys. Even old Cookie was giving her a look of sympathy Oh, she was going to make that big brute of a Texan pay for his stubborn superiority.

They saddled up and got the herd moving. The May weather was hot and dusty, and water scarce as they trailed a day or so behind the Forrester herd. She made sure she did more than her share of the work, and she caught the cowboys giving her admiring looks. That is, all except Ace. If looks could kill, she'd surely be dead by now.

That night when they camped, the cowboys were all on their best behavior: no belching or breaking wind in her presence, and there were no ribald jokes. In fact, they all seemed to be watching her with embarrassment, as if remembering some of the ungentlemanly behavior the past several weeks before they had realized there was a girl among them. That is, all but Ace. If anything, he was even more rude and uncivilized to her. She'd heard how charming he could be to women, but danged if she saw any of it. He seemed determined to make her life as miserable as possible. Well, she could give him tit for tat, she promised herself.

Cookie even seemed to have sobered up some, although old Twister was as drunk as ever on vanilla-soaked biscuits. “I suppose you think you'd like to take over my chuck wagon?”

She gave him her most charming smile. “Why, me? No, Cookie, I could never cook the way you do.”

That was the god-awful truth, she thought, remembering last night's meal. “Of course, if you'd want me to do the lowly stuff like slice bacon and clean pans—”

“Couldn't ask a lady to do that.” The old man ducked his head, smiling shyly. “Now that I think of it, Miss Lynnie, I'd admire to have you give me a hand. I hear as how you're the best pie baker in south Texas.”

Ace glowered at her. “I'll admit she's that. In fact, that's where she belongs—in a kitchen, rustlin' up grub for the unlucky man who'd get hitched to her.”

Comanch sighed wistfully. “Miss Lynnie, any man who got you would be lucky.”

“Comanch,” said Ace sternly, “you been on the trail too long.”

Lynnie smiled sweetly around the circle at the cowboys, and in turn, they all glared at Ace. He retreated to a rock, sat down and began to roll himself a smoke.

“Now,” Lynnie said, rolling up her sleeves, “I believe we passed some sand plum bushes about a half mile back. I might ride there and get enough for a pie.”

Most of the boys jumped to their feet, taking off their Stetsons with a sweeping gesture. “Miss Lynnie, I'd be proud to accompany you.”

“No, I'll ride back with her—”

“Dagnab it, I spoke first—”

“Hey, I'm the best plum picker there is,” another protested.

“You can all go with me,” Lynnie said grandly.

Ace didn't smile. “Don't look at me to help. It appears to me ten or twelve skirt-addled
hombres
is plenty to pick a few sand plums.”

She gave him her coldest, haughtiest stare. “We can do this without you, thank you.”

Immediately, all the cowboys pushed and shoved to see who would be the fortunate one to help her up on her horse. Then they all mounted up and rode out.

Behind her, she heard Ace griping to Pedro. “Damn it, she's disruptin' everything, that gol-darned female.”

She turned in her saddle and yelled back, “I heered that!”

The cowboys guffawed, and she knew she had won another round. Of course, she really shouldn't rile Ace Durango. He'd already lost the first round, and she shouldn't be rubbing all this in—he was already almost impossible to deal with. One thing was certain: he'd never follow her around like a puppy dog like these other cowboys were doing. Maybe this was one Texan who couldn't be tamed, nor did she want to try. He wasn't at all like the genteel gentleman spouting poetry and playing croquet that she read about in romantic novels. The kind of man she dreamed of would be named Percival or Felix, would accompany her to violin concerts and encourage her in her women's rights work.

They returned to camp with more sand plums than they could possibly use. Old Cookie's eyes lit up when he saw the hats full. “If we had time, we'd make some wine.”

Pedro shook his head. “No,
hombre
, no wine.”

Ace glared at her. “We ain't gonna be on the trail that long.”

She fed a handful to Boneyard and petted her. The lead steer, Twister, ambled over, stuck his muzzle in a hat, and began eating plums.

“Shoo! Shoo!” Lynnie chased the old steer away. “Now, you gentlemen wash up for supper, and Cookie and I will get a meal together.”

“Wash?” Ace said. “We just washed yesterday.”

Lynnie sighed. “I know this might surprise you, Mr. Durango, but gentlemen wash every day, even when they're not going to Miss Fancy's.”

The others laughed and headed over to the little stream to wash up.

Ace seemed to dig in his heels. “I ain't gonna wash up.”

“Then kindly stay downwind from me,” Lynnie said, and reached into the back of the chuck wagon for a can of flour.

“You've turned the whole crew against me,” Ace muttered.

“I have done nothing of the sort.” Lynnie began to mix her pie dough. “They see it as a matter of fairness.”

“No, they don't. They have been on the trail without any women around for several weeks, and now you're beginnin' to look like Lillian Russell to them instead of a skinny little schoolmarm.”

Cookie paused in peeling potatoes. “That ain't no way to talk to a lady. I ought to tell your daddy on you.”

Ace glared at Lynnie. “You see what I mean?”

With an oath, he got up and went out to sit on a rock and smoke. Lynnie sneaked a glance at him as she rolled pie dough. Did he really hate her so much? Why, when all the others were so nice and so eager to please her, did that ornery cowboy act so contrary? One thing was certain: a respectable woman would find it difficult to put a bridle on that mustang. Pity the poor girl who got stuck with him.

Between them, she and Cookie turned out a meal that was mouthwatering, even if she did say so herself.

She noted, as she dished up the tin plates, that every cowboy except Ace had curried and groomed himself. Their hands were clean, their hair combed, and they had even shaved. Some of them reeked of cheap hair tonic. Ace looked like a dirty barbarian by contrast. “You look like a saddle tramp,” she complained as she ladled out the stew.

“You may turn all these others into fawnin' little nancy-boys, Lynnie McBride, but you ain't makin' me act like some lady-broke nag.”

“That,” she announced coldly, “is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Fine.” He took the plate and began to eat. “Hey, this ain't half bad.”

“Even modern women who want equal rights can learn to cook,” she answered loftily. “Let's see the girls at Miss Fancy's match that.”

“The girls at Miss Fancy's don't have to cook to interest men,” Ace shot back.

“And they don't care how many men they interest as long as you plunk down your money,” Lynnie pointed out.

The other cowboys were all glaring at Ace again.

Pedro said, “
Hombre,
leave the little lady alone.”

“She started it.”

Cookie said, “She only asked you to wash up. We got a lady among us; we ought to be a little more gallant.”

“I'm gonna hate the rest of this trip,” Ace said, and got up.

“Sit back down,” Lynnie said, “or you'll miss out on the hot phun pie.”

“I don't want any of your damned pie.” He stalked away from the campfire, went out a ways from camp, and rolled and lit a cigarette.

Lynnie watched him. He looked as puffed up as a riled horny toad, blowing smoke in short, angry spurts. To hell with him. “Who's for pie, boys?”

Immediately, she drew a crowd of cowboys. “My, that do smell good, Miss Lynnie.”

“Miss Lynnie, I'll bet you bake the best pie in all Texas.”

“Well, I've won a few ribbons at the county fair,” she admitted modestly.

She served up pie, waiting for Ace to come back to the circle, but he continued to sit out on the rock and smoke. He was not only arrogant, he had enough pride to choke a horse. She thought about it a minute and hid the last slice of pie in the back of the chuck wagon.

Cookie saw her do it. “You savin' that for him?”

She felt her face flush. “Of course not. It's just that there's a slice left and you might offer it to him when he gets off his mad.”

Cookie nodded somberly. “He's an awful proud man, Miss Lynnie.”

She snorted. “Don't I know it! And undoubtedly the most uncivilized, annoying cuss I ever met.”

“You know,” the old man said, “it's them wild mustangs that make the best stock when someone finally manages to break them.”

“Humph!
I wouldn't wish that stallion on anyone.” She turned on her heel and went over to the fire, where all the cowboys promptly stood up awkwardly.

“Miss Lynnie, can we get you anything?”

“Miss Lynnie, that was a mighty fine supper.”

“Miss Lynnie, here, take my seat, it's closer to the fire.”

“Thank you, fellows; you may continue your conversation.”

Several faces turned brick red.

Hank stammered, “Miss Lynnie, we was jokin' around—nothin' fittin' for a lady's ears.”

“You didn't hold back when you thought I was Lee Smith,” she reminded them.

“We're powerful sorry about that, Miss Lynnie,” Comanche gulped, “but we can't be tellin' rowdy jokes that ain't fittin' for a lady to hear.”

“Well, then, sing some cowboy songs.”

Hank broke out a guitar and they sang about the streets of Laredo and dogies and hard trails.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ace. He finally returned from his perch on the rock. Cookie signaled him from the chuck wagon. At first, Ace shook his head, but Cookie insisted. When Ace strode over, Cookie handed him the pie tin with the last piece of plum pie and a cup of coffee. Ace looked her way as if to check and see if she was watching. Lynnie made no sign that she was.

He took a bite. He looked surprised and smiled. Now he was licking the fork. Lynnie winced at his manners but gave no sign that she saw him. Ace dug into the pie again, gobbling like a starving wolf. He did everything but lick the pie pan. It only surprised her that the uncivilized brute didn't do that, too. It occurred to Lynnie that pie or no pie, Ace intended to make the rest of this trip a living hell for her, and it was still a long, long way to Dodge City.

Well, she could go toe to toe with him on that. Once she got to her suffragette meeting, she didn't care if she ever saw that half-breed varmint again, but she was going to have to deal with him day in and day out for hundreds of miles. He knew it, too, and would be as ornery and contrary as a billy goat. What could she do to break that rascal's resistance so he'd treat her halfway decently for the remainder of the trip? She was smart; she'd find a way

 

 

The next morning as the camp was stirring, one of the nighthawks rode in from the herd. “Hey, Pedro, we got three or four new baby calves last night.”

Pedro groaned. “You know what to do; it can't be helped,
hombre.
”

Lynnie caught the reluctance in both men's faces. “Wait a minute; what do we do?”

Ace shook his head at her. “Lynnie, we can't be burdened with calves; they don't walk fast enough to keep up with the herd.”

She had an uneasy feeling as she looked around the circle. All the cowboys were avoiding her eyes. “So what do we do with them?”

Pedro started to speak, hesitated, then looked at Ace in mute appeal.

Ace chewed his lip. “They can't keep up, and the cows will stay with them unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Lynnie,” Ace said, looking annoyed at having to be the one to tell her, “we can't leave the cows behind, and they won't leave a live calf Hasn't your brother-in-law ever told you what they do with calves that happen to be unlucky enough to be born on a drive?”

She shook her head, but she had an uneasy feeling deep inside. “You don't mean kill them?”

Pedro shrugged and sighed. “It can't be helped,
señorita.
I'm sorry.”

“No,” she said firmly, “we'll take them along, even if we have to load them up in the chuck wagon.”