To Tame A Texan Read online

  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 smel
led 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?”

  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 c
ould 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.”