To Tame A Texan (20 page)

Ace snorted. “I reckon old grumpy Cookie would have a hissy fit about that.”

“I heered that! If Miss Lynnie wants to haul calves in the back of my chuck wagon, it's all right with me.”

All the cowboys looked at each other, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ace shook his head. “It still wouldn't do any good, Lynnie. Any cowboy knows it's almost impossible to get a cow to suckle any calf but her own, and after you've mixed them up in the chuck wagon, how can they identify their own calf?”

Pedro nodded toward Comanche, who turned toward the herd with reluctance.

“Wait!” Lynnie threw up her hands to stop him. “There has to be a way.”

“Look, Lynnie.” Ace's voice was almost gentle. “None of us cotton to killin' baby calves, but—”

“I know what to do!” She laughed with relief. “I've got a bunch of ribbons in my saddle bags. Penelope Dinwiddy sent them along for me to match dress goods.”

Pedro blinked. “Ribbons?
Senorita,
I don't
comprendo.. . .”

“It's simple.” She hurried to rummage in her saddle bags. “I tie a ribbon to a cow's horn, then a matching one around her calf's neck. At night, we just match them all back up; that's all.”

Ace groaned and pushed his hat back. “Lordy, I can't believe I'm hearin' this. You want tough cowboys to decorate up a bunch of cows and calves like play-pretties?”

Lynnie gave the cowboy a beseeching look. “Please, Ace.”

He looked surprised at her begging. Then he looked at Pedro. “I reckon it might work; what do you think?”

Pedro shrugged. “We can try, if it would make the lady happy.”

Ace sighed in defeat. “Okay, Miss Priss, get your ribbons and come on. We'll tie up them cows like they was ladies goin' to a dance.”

“Those
cows,” she corrected, and went running for her horse. The nighthawk led them out to where he had found the new calves. The tiny brown beasts trembled on unsteady legs as they nursed.

“Oh, aren't they precious!” Lynnie exclaimed before she thought.

“Just precious,” Ace agreed, and seemed to be stifling a grin. “Now, Lynnie, you stay on your horse. These old longhorns don't cotton to anyone messin' with their babies.” He dismounted and turned toward her. “Give me your damned ribbon.”

“I think pink would be nice for the first pair.” she handed him two strands of pink ribbon. Their fingers brushed, and he glanced up, as startled as she was.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, and as she looked down at him, she realized again how full and sensual his mouth was. As the moment lengthened, it grew awkward, and she laughed. “The calf,” she reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.” Very gingerly he turned and approached the calf. The mother lowered her head and gave out a warning bellow.

“I must be loco,” Ace muttered under his breath. “I'm gonna get myself kilt over a damned calf that wouldn't bring a dollar in Dodge City.”

“I think you're very brave to do this,” she encouraged behind him.

“Humph!
Tell that to my dad when you take my body home.”

He slipped the ribbon around the calf's neck and tied it in a knot. “That suit you?”

“You could tie it in a bow,” she suggested.

“Damn, Lynnie”—he looked back at her in exasperation—“you're gonna get me killed yet.” But he tied the ribbon in a bow. “Give me the other pink ribbon.”

She leaned from her saddle and handed it over. When she leaned, she knew he was getting a good view of the soft rise of her breasts, but she pretended she didn't. She had to soften him up somehow, she reasoned. He blinked, took a deep breath, grabbed the ribbon, and turned toward the suspicious longhorn.

“Hey, old cow,” Ace crooned softly, “let me hang this on your horn without you guttin' me, okay?”

The cow didn't look like she planned to cooperate.

“Ace,” Lynnie suggested, “why don't you make a big bow and drop it over her horn?”

Ace turned and looked at her. “Who's doin' this?”

“I merely thought . . .”

“Let me do the thinkin'. You've gotten me in enough trouble with this dad-blamed idea.” Very slowly he reached out and tied the ribbon on the cow's sharp horn. “Now, distract her and I'll grab the calf.”

Lynnie took off her hat and waved it in the cow's face. Immediately, the half-wild cow charged at her, and Lynnie turned the flea-bitten gray horse and galloped away. The cow followed her... until she heard her calf bawl behind her. Ace grabbed up the baby and mounted up, laying the calf across the front of his saddle before him. With the calf bellowing and the cow lowing, they all headed back to the chuck wagon.

The cowboys began to laugh as they rode up. “Hey, Ace, you look right purty with that beribboned calf. Wouldn't they give a play-pretty to see this sight back home?”

“They better not hear about it back home,” Ace said, and his glare seemed to send fear through the cowboys. “Here, Cookie.” He handed the calf over, and the old man placed it in the back of the chuck wagon. The cow hung around, bellowing.

Lynnie smiled. “See? She'll follow along. Don't worry, mama cow, you can have him back later.”

Ace looked up to heaven as if beseeching the Almighty's help. “Okay, boys, where's the others?”

They got the second one without incident. Lynnie, after much thought, used matching lavender ribbons on this cow and calf. Then they went out for the third one, which they decorated in blue. Finally, they found a fourth one.

Ace leaned on his saddle horn and shook his head. “Lordy! That's the ugliest calf I ever did see.”

Lynnie stared. The calf was runty, knock-kneed, and so weak it could barely stand. Worse than that, it was cross-eyed, which gave it a comical expression. “This is my calf,” she announced. “I'm going to keep her.”

“This ugly calf?” Ace snorted, and got down from his horse. “Well, it don't make me no never-mind.”

“She may not be beautiful, but she's got personality,” Lynnie said. “I'm going to named her Daisy Buttercup.”

The ugly calf looked toward Lynnie—at least she thought it was looking toward her—with its crossed eyes and bawled loudly.

“See?” Lynnie said. “She likes the name.”

“Uh-huh. Give me the ribbon.”

She sorted through the ribbons while the old cow lowered her horns. “I think yellow would be a good color for a calf named Daisy Buttercup.”

Ace looked back over his shoulder at the threatening cow. “Lynnie, if you don't give me the damned ribbon—”

“You don't need to lose your temper with me.” She handed over the ribbon.

“You've delayed the drive for over two hours for four calves that ain't worth a dollar apiece,” Ace griped. “I told everyone you'd be a pain to have along, but would they believe me? No, they're all suckers for a woman's tears.”

“Oh, hush and give Daisy her ribbon.”

Ace sighed and shook his head, and approached the cow slowly. “Here, you walkin' beefsteak, I'm gonna pretty you up.”

Lynnie watched him tie the ribbon on the cow and calf. Then, very gently he lifted Daisy Buttercup and carried her over to his horse, the mama cow bawling in protest behind them.

Ace said, “Cookie won't like having four old mama cows trailing along behind the chuck wagon all day.”

“He won't mind,” she answered. “He likes me.”

“Humph.”
Ace mounted up and they headed back to camp.

“Ace,” she said softly as they rode.

“What?” He sounded more than a little annoyed, the cross-eyed, ribbon bedecked Daisy Buttercup bawling across his saddle.

“I just wanted to tell you I'm much obliged for your doing this for me. I couldn't bear to have them kill the calves.”

“Don't mention it.” He looked over at her, and for a moment he almost smiled. “I didn't want to kill 'em, either, but they'll be a lot of trouble—much more than they're worth.”

“We'll put them all in the chuck wagon,” she said.

He laughed. “They'll never believe this back home.”

Soon they had all four calves in the chuck wagon with four bawling, complaining cows trotting along behind as the big herd got back on the trail. It was a long, hot day, but they made good time.

That night when they camped, Ace got the calves out of the chuck wagon for her, and she matched them up to their respective mamas. He watched her fussing over each one, and her tenderness stirred something in him. In spite of her crusade for women's rights, there was something very feminine and gentle about Lynnie. He softened a little toward her, thinking she was a lot like his ma. Then he was annoyed with himself for being sentimental, because he didn't intend to give an inch to this confounded petticoat.

Cookie grinned. “Now ain't that sweet?” he asked as he watched the beribboned calves nurse.

“Just precious,” Ace said sarcastically, and went off into the bush to relieve himself. It was such a nuisance having a girl along. Everyone had to watch his language and his manners, and no longer could a man just unbutton his pants and do what came naturally—not with a girl along.

What really annoyed him was that he'd found himself watching Lynnie McBride all day whenever he didn't think she was looking. Had he never noticed before that her hair reflected light like flames? When she rode past him, he was aware of the roundness of her bottom and how soft her skin looked. He'd never thought freckles appealing before. “Careful,
hombre,”
he cautioned himself, “don't let her soften you up and make a lapdog out of you like she's doin' these other loco fools. Keep remembering how hot those busty tarts in the saloons in Dodge City will be—and they'll know how to please a man. Lynnie McBride's never even be kissed.”

It would be exciting to the man to show her how, he thought, and then was both surprised and annoyed with himself for that idea. “Lynnie McBride is a stubborn, prim old maid, and no man would want to spend his whole life havin' his grammar corrected and his neck checked for dirt.”

Lynnie enjoyed her day chasing stray cattle and adding them back to the herd. Once in a while, she returned to the chuck wagon to check on the calves. Cookie grinned at her and waved. “They're fine, Miss Lynnie; I'm seein' to that.”

She gave him her warmest smile. “I knew I could count on you, Cookie.” She rode on next to Pedro. “Things going well?”

The Mexican trail boss nodded.
“Sí.
In two or three days, we should make the Red River and be in Indian Territory.”

She noted his concerned look. “What's the matter?”

Pedro shook his head. “Worst river on this whole trail. The Red's drowned many a good cowboy tryin' to get a herd across.”

She had a sudden picture in her mind of cattle churning up the water, horses caught in the confusion or the current. “We've got you, Pedro, and you'll get us through.”

“Sí,
I've crossed the Red before. I know the shallow spots.”

“That's good, since everyone else is so green.” She rode on, assured, and reined in next to Ace. He was so sweaty, his shirt was plastered against every inch of his muscular, virile body. She remembered what he looked like stripped down naked.

“Lordy, girl, what's the matter? Your face is as red as a deacon who got caught with his hand in the collection plate.”

“Nothing,” she stammered. “I—I just wanted to thank you for saving the calves.”

He shrugged and grunted.

She studied his body. His pants were tight and his body muscular. The way he gripped that big horse with his thighs betrayed the strength of the man. She glanced toward his crotch, and her eyes widened at the way he filled out those denims. An image crossed her mind of this big, sweaty man naked, and the thought shocked her. Why should she care what he looked like naked and sweating? “Uh, Pedro says we'll be at the Red River in a couple of days.”

Ace nodded. “Glad we got him with us. They say the Red's a killer if you don't know what you're doin'.”

She saw a drop of sweat run down his sinewy neck and into the open neck of his denim shirt. She'd like to see him without that shirt.
Lynnie, what are you thinking?
she scolded herself.
Why, you're not much better than the girls at Miss Fancy's.
She wondered what it was Ace did to please them. She had a sudden image of his sensual, dark body spread out on white sheets, with those hard hands reaching for her soft, virginal body.

Ace stared at her. “What's the matter, Lynnie? You look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs.”

“Nothing.” His naked image unnerved her so, that she put spurs to her horse and galloped on down the herd of lowing cattle.

That afternoon, a wind came up, blowing swirling dust devils across the rolling prairie.

Pedro frowned and shook his head. “This is not good. Blowing tumbleweeds spook cattle.”

“Maybe we should camp early?” Ace asked.

“Sí.
Pass the word,” Pedro said. “I think there's a creek up ahead.”

Lynnie heard the news with a tired sigh. She wouldn't want to admit how weary she was, but she'd like a chance to rinse off and maybe wash out some of her unmentionables. Maybe she could find some bushes to hang them on where the men wouldn't see them. It wasn't fitting for men to see freshly laundered personal items like a lady's underpants.