To Tame A Texan (3 page)

Dad smiled. “Don't ever gamble against a woman.”

Cookie stuck his head out the kitchen door. “Women ain't to be trusted, you young squirt; even I know that.”

“Cookie . . .” Ma turned. “Don't you have dishes piled up in the kitchen?”

With a disgusted snort, the old man disappeared.

Dad nodded. “Let that be a lesson to you, Ace. Women are sneaky creatures and smarter than we are.”

“I don't want smart, I want pretty,” Ace groaned.

“For the Valentine dance, you'll get Lynnie McBride,” Cimarron said firmly, “and after that, you can return to your hot little
señoritas.”

 

 

On the afternoon of February 14th, Ace took a deep breath and hesitated before he knocked on the door of the hotel suite.

“Go on,” his mother urged behind him.

He turned in mute appeal to his father, but the senior Durango only mouthed the words:
you owe your mother.

Lordy, what had he gotten himself into? Could he teach this plain old maid to dance in less than two hours? Of course not. What a miserable evening this was going to be. Well, Ace had learned his lesson; he'd been cold sober and stayed out of the cantinas ever since he'd gotten back from Mexico. The thought of all the fun he'd missed annoyed him, and he rapped harder.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a horrible sight. Ace gasped and stepped backward, staring. The creature blinked at him nearsightedly through a mask of white goo and wire-rimmed spectacles. The reddish hair was tied up in hundreds of little rags. Worse yet, the figure wore a faded pink bathrobe tied at the waist and a pair of fluffy, faded house slippers. Ace wanted to turn and run, then realized his retreat was blocked. His mother stood behind him, pushing him forward. He was trapped, and he'd get no mercy. Now he truly understood how his heroes, Travis, Crockett, and Bowie, had felt in those last desperate minutes at the Alamo. His heart sank. “Lynnie?”

“Of course, you dolt, who else could it be? Hello, Aunt Cimarron and Uncle Trace.” The skinny, grease-smeared mess standing in the doorway gestured the trio inside.

Lordy, she was worse than he remembered.

As Lynnie opened the door, she was so taken aback that she could hardly speak. She had forgotten how handsome and broad-shouldered Ace Durango was. She hadn't forgotten he was supposed to be a devil with the ladies. The very kind of man she hated most, she thought, but she needed him tonight. As she gestured the trio inside, she said to Ace, “You're early.”

Big drops of sweat gathered on his dark, rugged face. “Reckoned I might as well get it over.”

“Excuse me?”

He fumbled with his Stetson, took a step backward. His mother seemed to be nudging him in the ribs. “I—I meant, I was in a hurry to see you again.”

“Humph!”
She didn't believe it for a minute. “Come into the parlor, where the family is sitting.” All three were staring at her in mute astonishment, and she remembered her outlandish appearance. Thunderation. She had meant to have herself presentable by the time Ace arrived. “Aunt Cimarron and Uncle Trace, how good to see you. Don't hug me”—she gestured them off—“I don't want to get lard on your clothes.”

“Lard?” Ace looked as if he'd like to turn and run out the door. Lynnie could only imagine what Cimarron had had to do to get her errant son here.

She saw herself in a nearby mirror and winced. “Sorry I'm not presentable, but they do say lard softens and beautifies the skin.”

Ace grinned. “I never saw a beautiful hog.”

Oh, the rascal. He was as arrogant and annoying as she remembered from their younger days. If she didn't need him to escort her tonight, she would whack him so hard . . .

“Cimarron! Trace! Long time no see.” Maverick and Cayenne came in from the parlor just then, followed by a bevy of their many children. As usual, big sister was expecting again.

The women hugged each other and the men shook hands.

Cimarron smiled. “I'm afraid we're a little early; Ace was so eager to teach Lynnie to dance.”

“Uh-huh,” Lynnie said, looking up into Ace's stricken face. The only thing he looked eager to do was run like a scalded hound.
Coward.
“Ace, we can all go into the parlor so everyone can sit down.”

“And have everyone watch us dancin'?” Ace sounded as if he were choking.

Lynnie frowned at him behind her thick glasses. “I'm sure they will all find it amusing.”

One of the twins, Jefferson Davis, peered up at Ace, his freckled face smudged with ice cream. “You gonna marry Aunt Lynnie?”

“Certainly not!” Lynnie felt as horrified as Ace looked, which annoyed her even more. “He's only escorting me to the governor's ball.”

As the group walked into the parlor behind her, she heard her pregnant sister saying, “Cimarron, I can't imagine why Lynnie suddenly wants to go to this event; it's not like her at all. But I'm so glad Ace offered to escort her.”

“Offered, ha!” Ace muttered under his breath, but Lynnie heard it and gave him her coldest glare.

“Thunderation, you oaf. It's no picnic for me, either,” Lynnie whispered through gritted teeth, “but I couldn't go alone.”

Behind them, the older couples were catching up on family gossip.

“Ace said he was really looking forward to tonight,” Cimarron said a little too brightly.

Liar!
Lynnie thought and turned toward Ace. “How do we start?”

“You can't dance at all?” The lanky cowboy tossed his hat onto a table and surveyed her with disbelief.

“Not a step,” she admitted. “I always had more important things to do, like improving my mind.”

“Lordy!” She thought she heard Ace groan slightly as the whole crowd of family and Ace's parents settled into chairs expectantly. There was ten-year-old Annie Laurie, her sister's oldest daughter; then the twins, young Sam Houston and Jefferson Davis; and the three stair-steps brothers: Bowie, Crockett, and Travis, all named for the heroes of the Alamo. Lynnie's baby sister, Angel, who was now twelve, had stayed at home with the elderly patriarch of the McBride clan, Papa Joe.

Ace licked his lips nervously like a man about to be executed. “Seems like half the county's here to watch,” he muttered, “except for your younger sisters.”

“Stevie and Gracie are away at school, you dolt, along with your sister, Raven. Angel's at home with Papa. Now, how do we start?”

Ace sighed. “You might start with wiping the goo off your face so you won't get it all over my coat.”

“Ace, don't be rude,” said his father.

“He's right,” Lynnie admitted and went to get a towel. She glanced at herself in a mirror and shrugged. So she looked terrible, so what? The kind of man she'd be attracted to would be interested in her brilliant mind, not her looks.

She returned to the middle of the floor, where Ace stood, sweat shining on his handsome face. The whole crowd had settled down to watch.

“You know,” Ace said to the group, “this would be easier if half of Texas wasn't watchin' us.”

Maverick, the dark half-Comanche with the knife scar down one cheek, laughed. “Looks to be more fun than a goat-ropin'. What you think, brother?”

“A sip of tequila might add to the fun,” Trace said.

“I was just fixin' to suggest that very thing.” Maverick grinned and went to get a bottle.

Ace looked at his audience. They were as big-eyed as a bunch of owls, and he felt very ill at ease. “I—I was worried Lynnie might feel self-conscious.”

“I'm a liberated woman,” Lynnie said grimly, “and I'm not worried about appearing ridiculous—but then, I'm more secure mentally than most men.”

“Lynnie,” said her big sister, Cayenne, “that was rude.”

Lynnie shrugged. “You see what an uncouth rascal I'm dealing with here.”

Ace flushed and shot her a look that said he'd like to push Lynnie out the hotel window, and they were on the third floor. “We'll need some music.”

“Walk me through the steps first,” Lynnie said.

He seemed to be sweating a bucketful, although it was February. “Well, first I put my hand on your waist and take your other hand.”

The red-haired children burst into snickers. “He's going to hug Aunt Lynnie. Is he gonna kiss her?”

“That's enough!” warned their mother. “If you don't be quiet, you can't watch.”

Lynnie hesitated, suddenly aware of how tall and masculine Ace Durango was. Very slowly, she put her hand on his wide shoulder and put her small hand in his big, callused one. She had to look up at him, and it gave her a powerless feeling. Lynnie didn't like that; she liked being in control. She took a deep breath to still the nervousness that suddenly overcame her, and smelled the scent of masculine shaving lotion on his dark skin. His big hand went to her waist. She couldn't remember a man ever touching her so intimately. She peered up at him through her spectacles, and he glared down at her.

“Now,” he said, “I will lead off on my left foot and you will step backward at the same time with your right one.”

“Now, why is that?” she demanded. “Why can't the woman lead?”

Behind her, she heard the resigned sigh of her big sister, who didn't understand Lynnie's obsession with the women's rights issue.

“Lordy, girl . . .” Ace shook his head. “I don't know why men get to lead; that's just the way it is; that's all.”

“I think,” Lynnie returned primly, “that when women get the vote, we will change all that.”

Ace grimaced. “Are you one of those suffragettes?”

Lynnie bristled. “As a matter of fact, I am, and what's wrong with that?”

“Lynnie,” said her sister, “we don't have time for all this debate if Ace is to teach you to dance in the next hour.”

“And it's gonna be the longest hour I ever spent,” Ace muttered as they took their positions again.

“For me, too,” she snarled into his ear as he pulled her into the dancing position.

They took a few steps, and one of his big boots trod on her toe.

“Lynnie, don't you know your left foot from your right?” he whispered.

“If I had a better partner, maybe I would do better,” she whispered back.

“What? I'll have you know, Miss McBride, that half the girls in Texas would be thrilled to have me as an escort tonight.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lynnie said “You big, egotistical brute.”

He hesitated, and she was sure the cowboy didn't even know what the big word meant. Behind them, the family chatter continued.

Damn his hide,
Lynnie thought. If she didn't need him in her plan, she wouldn't be caught dead with Ace. Why, everyone in Texas knew his reputation. “Well, we might as well get right at it,” she snapped. “Houston, wind up the phonograph.”

Ace took her hand in his and took a deep breath.

In turn, Lynnie looked down at her fluffy house slippers and wished she did not need to get to the ball so desperately that she would have to attend with Ace Durango. He had a reputation across the whole Lone Star State for being a rascal, a womanizer of the first order, who defied every girl's effort to trap him and tame him. Other women said he was charming, too, but Lynnie was mystified as to why they thought that. She had clashed with him at family gatherings for as long as she could remember, because he wanted to take charge of every game and every situation and Lynnie was not about to be bossed by some male brute.

Young Houston finished winding the big phonograph and put on a wax cylinder. “The Blue Danube” waltz began to play, with a noticeable scratching noise.

“Now, Lynnie, remember, I step forward and you step backward as I lead.”

“Remind me again, why is the man allowed to lead?”

Ace started to say something, turned in silent appeal to the watching relatives. They all either shrugged or rolled their eyes, indicating that this was his mess to deal with. “Just do it my way and you can change things when women get the vote, okay?”

“And I suppose you think that will be never?” Her red hair was showing her temperament now.

“Let's just get through this evening”—his voice was grim—“and we'll fight that battle later.”

“All right, you big oaf, you can lead this time,” she conceded, “but don't think that I'll forget about it.”

“I'll just bet you won't.” He sounded tired and more than a little annoyed. “Now, remember to let me lead.”

She didn't like his being in charge, but he took charge anyway as he deftly guided her around the room to the strains of the music. Besides shaving lotion, he smelled of sun, tobacco, and maybe bourbon, all distilled into a masculine scent that made her a little shaky in the knees. She wasn't used to that feeling, but then, she'd never let a man hold her this closely before. Pure biology, she decided.

Behind them, her sister and Cimarron applauded, but the children giggled and hooted.

“Why, Sis, you're doing just fine. You'll be the belle of the ball tonight,” Cayenne said.

Ace snorted, “Not if you keep trying to lead.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lynnie snapped back.

“Ladies don't tell people to shut up,” Ace whispered over the music.

“If you'd behave like a gentleman, I wouldn't have to correct you,” Lynnie returned, “but you're a big brute of a Texan who's about as civilized as one of our range bulls.”

He grinned down at her wickedly as they danced. “And most women like me that way.”

“The kind of saloon whores you favor wouldn't know a gentleman if they met one.”

He blinked in shock. “Nice girls don't know about such things.”

“No, but I'll bet you do.”

“Lordy, Dad would kill me if he heard this discussion. He thinks you're the sweetest, nicest little thing.”

She smiled up at him innocently and then deliberately stepped on his toe.

“Lynnie, you're scuffing my new boots,” he griped.

“Behave yourself and I won't,” she shot back.

Just then, the music ended and the needle sawed noisily on the wax cylinder. Ace let go of her waist and hand as if afraid she might bite him. “I reckon that's enough practice.”

“Don't be silly, son,” his mother said. “It's not nearly enough.”

Houston started the phonograph again.

“It's enough for me,” Ace muttered under his breath.

Lynnie steeled herself and closed her mouth primly as Ace's big hand settled on her waist and his other big paw enveloped hers again. “All right, I'm ready.”

“Here we go, then.”

Unfortunately, both of them stepped forward at the same moment, leading to a tangle of feet that almost caused them both to fall.

“Uh, Lynnie, remember what I told you about allowin' the man to lead?”

“I forgot. It seems so unfair.”

Ace sighed. “Just do it.”

They took a few more hesitant steps to the music.

“There,” he said as he attempted to steer her around the floor, “you're gettin' the hang of it.” He pulled her closer so that her face was brushing against his wide shoulder.

“I don't like being held so close,” she complained.

“And how do you think I feel about you gettin' hog lard all over my coat?” he countered.

“I imagine the little strumpets you usually hold in your arms have rubbed worse stuff on your body.”

“I don't know what a strumpet is, you prissy little prig,” Ace said against her rag-bedecked hair, “but I know when I'm bein' insulted.”

“Good for you,” Lynnie answered. “Now let's make the best of this mess, shall we?”