To Tame A Texan (4 page)

They made two awkward circles of the small room. The music ended, and the crowd of relatives applauded.

Cimarron Durango smiled encouragement. “Why, you two dance beautifully together. Didn't they, folks?”

Everyone murmured approval, but Lynnie didn't see it in their faces. They all looked dubious at best.

“Well,” Lynnie said, “I suppose that's quite enough practice. It's getting late, and I've got a long way to go to get ready.”

“A long, long way to go,” Ace said, looking her over.

Her big sister looked doubtful. “Are you sure, Lynnie? After all, when all those young men ask you to dance . . .”

“It's quite enough,” Lynnie assured her. Lynnie's plans didn't include dancing very much tonight. She had her own agenda—important plans.

“Can I go now?” Ace asked.

His mother shot him a hard look, but Lynnie saw it. “It's all right, Aunt Cimarron. I want to take a bubble bath before I dress.”

“Be sure and wash the hog lard off,” Ace muttered as he turned away.

She could just kill him. But of course, if she did that, she wouldn't have anyone to escort her tonight.

“I think this calls for another drink,” Trace said, “down in the hotel bar.”

Uncle Maverick and Ace perked up. “Count us in.”

“Why is it?” Cimarron said, “that with men, everything calls for a drink?”

“Oh, let them go,” Cayenne said, and waved them out the door. The men scattered like spooked quail.

Cimarron came over to hug Lynnie. “You two danced beautifully together. Why, I can't tell you how thrilled my son is to be escorting you tonight.”

You can't tell me because he really isn't,
Lynnie thought. “Aunt Cimarron, it's nice of you to say that, but we both know Ace wouldn't be eager to take me to a chicken-plucking. I don't know what you did to get him to agree to take me, but I'm grateful for it.”

Cimarron and Cayenne exchanged glances. Lynnie knew that look; she'd seen it before.
Do you suppose there's any chance that at this social event we'll finally find someone to marry this prim old maid and get her off our hands? After all, she's twenty years old and getting a little long in the tooth, with no prospects in sight.

Oh, why couldn't these two women see that there were so many more things that were important besides marrying some big brute of a cowboy and producing a bevy of children? Well, after tonight, they'd know.

With that, Lynnie retreated to the bathtub to soak and make her plans.

 

 

The three men sat in the bar a long time—too long. They talked about things important to Texans—bulls, cows, horses, and guns—while a pretty blond barmaid with big breasts and wearing too much face paint flirted with Ace.

He grinned back, but his Dad nudged him. “Don't think about that, boy. Your evening is taken, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Ace's dark gaze stared at the clock hanging over the big mirror, like a condemned man counting away the last hours of his life. “I'll have another bourbon,” he said to the busty girl.

“Ace, you've had three already,” his father reminded him. “We'd better go. If I don't get you back upstairs so you can get cleaned up, your Ma will be upset with both of us.”

Ace tried to focus his eyes. “Lordy, Dad, you've fought Indians, gunfighters, bad bulls, and unbroke stallions. You ain't afraid of Ma, are you?”

Trace Durango hesitated. “Let's just say a smart Texan picks his battles.”

“You can say that again,” Uncle Maverick laughed. “Don't know what got into Lynnie about wanting to attend this fancy shindig; it ain't like her at all.”

“Looks like somewhere in all of west Texas, you could have found a man willin' to escort her,” Ace complained.

Maverick seemed to think a minute. “No,” he said, “not one. Sorry about this, Ace. My sister-in-law is a mite stubborn and headstrong.”

“A mite?” Ace drained his glass. “I've seen army mules with more give to their personalities.”

“Agreed.” Maverick rubbed the knife scar on his dark cheek good-naturedly “Well, I'll see you
hombres
later.”

Morosely, Ace watched Maverick leave the bar.

“Come on, son,” Trace said, “let's get you ready to go.”

“One more drink,” Ace begged.

“That ain't gonna make her any more desirable,” Trace said.

“Well, it can't hurt.”

“That's a fact. I'll have one with you,” Trace declared. “Might as well get hung for a sheep as a goat.”

“I always wondered what the hell that meant,” Ace said somberly.

“Damned if I know. It's just something Texans say.”

“Lordy, Dad, she's coyote ugly.”

“Coyote ugly” was as big an insult as a Texan could give a person. A girl was coyote ugly if, when a man got too drunk, picked her up, took her to bed, and woke up with her asleep on his arm in the morning, he'd chew his arm off to escape without waking her up.

“Naw.” Trace shook his head. “She just looked a little rough with all those rags in her hair and the goo on her face. I'll bet she cleans up pretty good.”

Ace tried to picture Lynnie looking better than she had looked this afternoon. Anything would be an improvement. “I hope Ma is satisfied,” he grumbled. “I swear I'll never get in trouble again. Ma has no mercy when it comes to callin' in her markers.”

“Don't ever try to outsmart a Texas woman,” Trace said. “They are as ornery as rattlesnakes and as devious as the devil himself.”

“Ma know you think that?”

His father regarded him gravely. “Son, there's some things a smart man keeps to himself,
sí?”

Ace nodded and glanced at the clock again. He gave the barmaid a final, devilish grin in case he managed to get Lynnie home early.

They were both weaving a little when they left the bar and went upstairs to their rooms. Cimarron met Ace and Trace at the door, her face as stormy as a Texas norther. “Double damnation. Where have you all been?”

“Just chewing the fat in the bar a little,” Trace said.

That reminded Ace of hog lard, and he thought for a moment he might lose all that good liquor he'd drunk.

Dad retreated to a comfortable chair, leaving Ace to deal with Ma alone.

“You reek of whiskey,” Cimarron complained, grabbing Ace's arm and leading him toward the washbasin. He was still protesting when she poured the pitcher of cold water over his head. “Lynnie might change her mind about being seen with you.”

“You think so?” he asked, his soul clinging to that forlorn hope. In answer, he got another pitcher of cold water poured over his head.

Unfortunately, he was almost sober by the time he was dressed and combed like a prize stallion at the county fair.

His mother stepped back and surveyed him proudly. “My, you do look nice. Every girl at the ball will be looking you over.”

Ace brightened and smiled at the thought.

Ma frowned. “Hear me, Ace Durango, you are not to flirt with all the girls and leave poor Lynnie standing alone like a wallflower.”

“Aw, Ma, give me a little something to look forward to.”

Trace called from his easy chair. “You heard your mother. You know no one else will ask that poor little filly to dance, so don't you abandon her.”

It was going to be a long, long evening, Ace decided glumly.

“Of course,” his mother said, straightening his tie, “if you could get your friends to fill her dance card so she'd look popular, that would be very nice.”

“That'd turn my friends to enemies,” Ace sighed. “Just remember, Ma, you and I are even after this.”

“Until the next time you get yourself in a mess.” Ma brushed off the lapel of his expensive black coat.

“I've learned my lesson,” Ace declared. “I'm a reformed man.”

Dad snorted from his chair and picked up the newspaper.

“Double damnation, son,” his mother scolded, “you might just have a good time tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” Ace said without enthusiasm.

“Oh, dear . . .” Ma pursed her lips. “I forgot about flowers. Go down to the lobby and get her a corsage. I think I saw a vendor out on the street.”

“And don't forget to come back,” Dad yelled.

Ma gave him her steely gaze. “Of course he'll come back. Ace is too much of a gentleman to stand up a lady, aren't you, son?”

Frankly, the idea seemed very appealing at the moment. “I said I'd take her, and a Texan's word is good as gold.”

“Have a good time, then.” His mother pushed him toward the door.

Good time. Hah.
“I'd have a better time if I could go alone. Why aren't you and Dad and Maverick and Aunt Cayenne going to this thing?”

“Because your father hates the governor; he thinks he's an idiot. And of course, Aunt Cayenne is in the family way. So go represent our families and be your usual charming self.”

“Lynnie doesn't think I'm charming,” Ace complained.

Ma laughed. “Now that's a first, isn't it? You're used to every woman in Texas finding you irresistible.”

He had to admit it was true. Lynnie McBride didn't seem to find him charming; in fact, she didn't even seem to find him slightly likable. But then, he figured Lynnie felt that way about most men. “I don't know why Lynnie even wants to go to this dance.”

“I don't, either.” Ma looked puzzled. “Maybe she's finally decided she wants to get married. After all, most of the most prominent, eligible bachelors in Texas will be there tonight.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Like I said, Ma, after tonight, you and me are even. I've learned my lesson.”

“Sure you have, dear. Now get along with you.” She pushed him out the door and closed it.

Reluctantly Ace went down the stairs to the lobby and found the flower vendor. He hadn't the least idea what to buy, but the bright red roses reminded him of the barmaid's lips, so he chose those. Then he stopped at the bar and had two more drinks to steel himself. He took a deep breath and imagined Lynnie coming out still wearing rags in her hair, goo on her face, and that tacky bathrobe and fluffy slippers. He looked down at the flowers in his hand, wondering idly if Lynnie would insist he pin them on her. Maybe he could stick her with the pin and claim it was an accident.

Holding his corsage, he walked slowly up the stairs, weaving slightly So this was what it felt like to walk toward the hangman. He was going to be disgraced tonight; he was sure of it—escorting the prim old maid to this ball where everyone in Texas would know about it. There was no telling what she'd be wearing and what she'd look like.

Taking a deep breath, Ace rapped on the hotel door.

Lynnie opened it. “Ace Durango, you're late. I was beginning to wonder if you were coming at all.”

He was weaving only slightly as he stared at her. She looked different, very different indeed. Lynnie wore a fluffy pink dress of some soft fabric. Her reddish hair was pulled back in a twist of curls. Of course, being a respectable girl, she wore no makeup, but somehow, the freckles across her clean, shiny face looked appealing, and the lashes around those green eyes were quite long. She was slender, but the front of her ball gown was filled out nicely.

“Stop looking at my bosom,” she snapped. “I swear, you men only think about one thing.”

“Uh, you look nice,” he mumbled awkwardly, and thrust out the flowers. “I brought you a corsage.”

“You look nice, too.” She acted hesitant, which was unusual for Lynnie, and he realized that she was not used to men calling on her. He almost pitied her: twenty years old and probably had never been invited out by any man—the ultimate old maid. “Thanks for the flowers.”

She took them, and he realized suddenly that they clashed with her dress. How stupid of him, not remembering to ask the color of her dress. He'd always been so smooth with women. It wasn't like him to make such a blunder. “You don't have to wear them,” he mumbled.

Now she became the Lynnie he remembered. “Wear them? Of course I'm going to wear them. Well, don't just stand there; come in.” She gestured and stepped backward. The dim light on her delicate features made her almost pretty.

Lynnie took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a distillery.”

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath and realized she smelled of some delicate floral scent. “You want me to pin the corsage on?”

“So you can paw my bosom? Not on your life. I'll pin it on myself, thank you.”

He felt the flush creep up his rugged face. Okay, so he had touched a few girls in inappropriate places when he pinned flowers to their dresses, while they giggled with delight. The thought crossed his mind that probably Lynnie had never giggled in her life, and if he was reckless enough to touch Lynnie McBride's bosom, she would certainly poke her small fist in his eye. He looked around and realized the whole family was standing in the background watching. “Well, we'd better be goin'.”

“I'll get my shawl and bag.”

He watched her glide away and thought she was graceful and not too bad-looking—at least not coyote ugly. Maybe he could bribe some of his friends to dance with her so he wouldn't be saddled with her all evening. There were plenty of fellows who owed him a favor or a gambling debt. “Where's your spectacles?”