To Tame A Texan Page 2

  Ace grinned and cut up the eggs. They tasted like some of that rubber he’d heard about. “Lordy, that’s great news. All the most beautiful girls in Texas will be there, won’t they?”

  “I reckon they will.” Cimarron nodded. “I’ve had a note from your aunt Cayenne.”

  Ace nodded happily, only half listening as he dug into the horrible food. “How are Uncle Maverick and all the family in West Texas?”

  “Just fine,” Cimarron said.

  “That’s an understatement.” Her husband pushed back his plate and lit a cigarillo. “I never saw so many kids. I don’t think that couple ever gets out of bed—”

  “Trace!” Ma’s face flamed. “That’s no way to talk about your adopted brother and his wife.”

  Cookie limped in with a pot of coffee and a cup and slammed them down before Ace.

  “Do you have to make so much noise?” Ace groaned. “I’ve got a bad headache.”

  “Cheap tequila and bad women will do that,” Cookie snapped.

  Ace poured himself some coffee. It was so thick, it looked like black mud. “You know, most ranch-house cooks show a little respect for the boss—”

  “You ain’t the boss,” the old man corrected him. “Your dad’s the boss and he’s earned respect. We been runnin’ this ranch while you were still in diapers, right, Trace?”

  Dad smiled and nodded. “Right, Cookie; couldn’t run the place without you.”

  With a satisfied look, the old man limped back into the kitchen. Ace sighed and drank the coffee. The old codger couldn’t cook worth a damn, but he knew his father had made a place for Cookie after a horse fell on the veteran cowboy, crippling him. Everyone ignored the fact that the old man drank too much—mostly cheap but potent vanilla from the kitchen.

  The little Chihuahua whimpered under the table, and Ace slipped him a bite of the almost-burnt eggs.

  Dad whispered, “Be careful, Tequila’s old, and Cookie’s food . . .”

  He didn’t need to finish. Ace nodded.

  “Double damnation.” Ma looked a little exasperated. “Can we get back to the subject at hand if all you men are through snarling at each other?”

  “Sure, Ma.” Ace nodded, buttered a burned biscuit, and crunched down on it. “Anything you want; I’m much obliged for you bailin’ me out.”

  “Good.” She settled back in her chair. “I want you to attend the Valentine ball.”

  Ace paused with his cup halfway to his lips. “Is that all? Why, Ma, you know that’s something I’d go to on my own and—”

  “I think it’s a trick, young’un!” Cookie yelled from the kitchen.

  “Cookie,” Ma yelled back, “don’t stick your nose in this.”

  “Women!” came the disgusted snort from the other side of the door.

  Ace grinned at his mother, his headache lessening and his mood brightening considerably. She was the only woman he knew that he thought he could trust—she and Aunt Cayenne. “Ma, I’d love to go to the ball.”

  Dad made a wry smile. “Lots of girls there. It’s like sending a coyote to round up lambs.”

  Ma glared at Dad. “I didn’t ask for you and Cookie’s comments.”

  “Got ’em anyway,” Cookie yelled from the kitchen.

  Ace favored his dear mother with a warm smile. “Sure, I’ll be happy to go.” He thought of the dozens of winsome, pretty girls he would dance with, and how he might lure one or two outside on the terrace or even into the dark interior of a comfortable carriage.

  “I don’t think you quite understand, Ace,” Ma said. “I want you to escort someone.”

  Immediately, Ace sensed a trap, and he was as wily as a coyote about self-preservation. “Who?”

  “Well, she’s bright and has a great personality.”

  Ace put his coffee cup down and glanced at Dad, but the other man only shrugged and shook his head. Evidently, the senior Durango wasn’t in on this. “I said who?”

  “Just hear me out,” Ma said.

  Ace shook his head. “When a mother starts talkin’ about what a great personality a girl has, I reckon she’s coyote ugly.”

  Ma gestured. “Beauty is only skin deep.”

  “But ugly goes all the way to the bone,” Ace retorted. “Cookie was right: there’s a trap here.”

  His mother chewed her lip as if she were trying to control her temper. “Double damnation. You gonna take that fractious old cowboy’s word against mine?”

  “I heerd that!” came from the kitchen.

  “Well, you wouldn’t,” Ma yelled back, “if you’d stop eavesdropping.”

  “Ace,” Ma said, “you owe me. Is a Texan’s word no good?”

  “You can take a Texan’s word to the bank,” Ace said, “you know that—especially a Durango’s. Dad, what is she up to?”

  His father leaned back in his chair and smoked his cigarillo with a smile. “I haven’t the faintest idea, but never underestimate your mother.”

  Ace got up from the table. In his mind, he heard the distinct sound of a trap snapping closed on him. “Tell me who the girl is.”

  He knew the answer couldn’t be good. If it were the kind of girl Ace favored, Ma would have already told him. On second thought, the kind of girls Ace liked wouldn’t be allowed into an event as respectable as a governor’s ball. “Ma, what’s the girl’s name?”

  “I bailed you out of the lockup when your dad would have left you in there,” Ma reminded him.

  “Who is the girl?” Ace felt panic like he’d never known before. “Who needs an escort bad enough that a fella’s own mother ambushes him?”

  “She’s a lovely girl,” his mother insisted.

  “‘Lovely’ as in ‘pretty,’ or ‘lovely’ as in the plain, wholesome kind of girl mothers pick out?”

  “Oh, Ace, stop thinking about looks. You’re going to have a lovely time.”

  That word again. “This is someone I reckon I wouldn’t escort to a goat-ropin’ if my mother didn’t blackmail me. Does this ‘lovely’ girl have a name?”

  Ma sighed in defeat. “Very well, it’s Lynnie McBride.”

  “Lynnie McBride?!” He and Dad almost shouted the name aloud. Dad looked as stunned as Ace felt. There was a moment of silence as the name sank in. Maybe Ace had misunderstood. Surely his own mother wouldn’t do that to him. “Lynnie McBride? Aunt Cayenne’s younger sister?”

  There was a cackle of laughter from the kitchen. “I told you, you young whippersnapper. Women is always up to trappin’ a man.”

  “Cookie,” Ma yelled, “this is a family matter.”

  The grizzled old man stuck his head out the kitchen door. “I know. You’re the onliest family I got.”

  “Go back to the kitchen,” Ma ordered, and the cook disappeared.

  Ace was oblivious to the wordplay between the two. His mouth went as dry as a Texas dust storm. He had to swallow twice, and he felt suddenly sick. He didn’t know if it was Cookie’s bad cooking or the prospect of taking that redheaded, plain, and opinionated Lynnie McBride anywhere. He couldn’t breathe. Now he knew how a condemned man felt when they yanked the trapdoor open and the noose tightened around his neck. “You want me to take Lynnie McBride to the dance?”

  “Well, she can hardly attend without an escort,” Ma said, “and Cayenne and I decided you would be perfect—”

  “Lordy, no!” Ace set off an anguished howl like an injured wolf. “I’ll be the laughin’stock of all Texas if I have to escort Aunt Cayenne’s old-maid sister.”

  “Now, Ace, she’s not much over twenty,” Cimarron said, “and remember, she’s smart—”

  “Smart? Men don’t go with girls because they’re smart!” Ace threw up his hands and looked toward his father. “Dad, can you say something?”

  Dad scowled. “Cimarron, have you lost your mind? Lynnie is a nice but very naive girl. If Ace ruined her reputation, I’d have to answer to brother Maverick.”

  Ace was outraged. “Ruin her reputation? You think I’d get close enough to Lynnie to
do anything that might . . . ?”

  “She’s a very nice girl,” Ma said stubbornly, “and a schoolteacher.”

  “Ma, besides bein’ plain-lookin’, she’s opinionated and stubborn. Why, when we were kids at family reunions, she’d want to play school and make all us boys sit up straight and do spellin’ and arithmetic.”

  Dad shook his head. “Send that innocent, sweet girl to the ball with our son? Maverick will kill Ace.”

  “No, he won’t,” Ace said, “’cause I ain’t gonna do it.”

  Ma looked at Dad. “Honey?”

  Dad smoked for a long moment. “Ace, a Durango’s word is his bond, I reckon. Sounds like to me you gotta do it.”

  “Well, if men don’t want a smart girl, they should,” Ma insisted. “You’d end up with smarter children that way.”

  “Children?” Ace howled again. “I can’t even imagine kissin’ her, much less gettin’ in bed with that straitlaced little schoolteacher. I’ll be the laughin’stock of all the cowboys if I have to escort that prim, uptight old maid.”

  “As many fights and gun duels as you’ve been in, and you’re afraid of being laughed at?” Cimarron said. “You’re not only trying to go back on your word, you’re a yellow polecat, not fit to be a Texan.”

  Ace bristled. “No man could call me yellow and live, but I’m rememberin’ you’re my ma.”

  “And you owe me.” Her eyes brightened in triumph as she reminded him.

  “Ask me something else, Ma—anything else,” Ace implored. “Why, she’s skinny as a rail and so flat-chested, you can’t tell if you’re lookin’ at her front or back. And her eyes, behind those glasses, are green as glass. I like a woman with big brown eyes and big . . . well, you know.” He gestured out in front of his chest.

  “You’ve just described one of our cows,” Cimarron said, “and most of the girls you cotton to are about as smart as cows, too.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair. “Your mother has a point, Ace. Lynnie may not be a beauty, but she’s smart.”

  “Smarter than me, I reckon.” Ace threw down his napkin and stood up. “And she’s always talkin’ about women gettin’ equal rights; I don’t know what to think about that.”

  His mother smiled. “So she’s got a brain.”

  Ace paced around the dining room. “I can’t even imagine Lynnie suddenly wantin’ to go to a dance. I reckon she’d think a dance was silly.”

  “It doesn’t sound like Lynnie, does it?” Ma admitted. “Your aunt and I were mystified, too. Maybe Lynnie’s changed and she’s hoping to meet a nice young man at the ball and settle down.”

  “Lordy, what man would marry plain Lynnie McBride?”

  “A woman is always beautiful to the man who loves her,” Ma said gently.

  “Love? I don’t even like her.”

  “Ace, that’s not nice,” his mother scolded. “Will it hurt you to escort her to one dance?”

  “My reputation will be ruined forever,” he groaned.

  “What about her reputation? Being seen with the biggest rake in Texas won’t do hers any good.”

  Ace snorted. “All she does is read books and talk about women votin’. I’ll bet you she can’t even dance.”

  There was a long pause. He turned and looked at his mother. “Ma?”

  “Double damnation, you do try my soul,” Cimarron said. “All right, so she can’t dance.”

  “I knew it! I just knew it!” Ace ran one hand through his blue-black hair. “I’m not only takin’ the plainest girl in Texas to a big ball—she can’t even dance.”

  “Well, we’re all staying in Austin for this. We’ll get to the hotel early that afternoon, and you can teach her a few steps. Then you make sure all the young men fill up her dance card....”

  “Lordy, Ma, you ask too much.” Ace turned to his father. “Dad, she wants me to pressure the other fellas to ask her to dance.”

  His father nodded. “Just think, son; you get her dance card filled, you can dance with the other girls.”

  Ace’s dark eyes lit up. “Hey, that’s right, isn’t it? Maybe that pretty Emmalou Purdy will come.”

  “You know what we think of the Purdys.” Dad frowned. “All hat and no cattle, that family. Her brother is always tryin’ to marry her off into money. Besides, he’s a big windbag and a sidekick of the Forresters.”

  The Forresters were old enemies of the Durangos. Ace would still like to get Emmalou alone in the back of a carriage for a little tickle-and-fun session.

  “Young man,” Ma threatened, “you’d better not abandon Lynnie and leave her on her own at that dance.”

  “From what I’ve seen of that gal,” Ace said, “she can take care of herself. Why don’t you ask me to take Stevie or Gracious? They’re pretty.”

  Ma shook her head. “You know full well Lynnie’s younger sisters are away at school with your own sister.”

  Ace paced up and down the dining room. The Chihuahua dodged his big boots deftly as it followed him about. “Ma, if I’d known what you expected, I’d have stayed in that Mexican jail. At least the jailer had a pretty daughter who was bringing me barbecued cabrito and good tortillas.”

  “You gave your mother your word,” Dad said.

  Ace groaned. He walked over and looked out the window at the rolling hills beyond. “I feel like I came into this game with a few good cards and came up against a stacked deck.”

  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.

  Two

  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 we
ll 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.”