To Tame A Texan (32 page)

Sam smiled at Lynnie. “That'll mean the end of the cattle trails. Miss Lynnie, I meant what I said a while ago, about lookin' for a wife.”

Ace glared at him. “Miss Lynnie isn't interested in marriage. She's devoted her life to women's rights.”

Lynnie glared at him and then gave the handsome Sam her warmest smile. “Well, now, the right man might change my mind.”

“I don't think so,” Ace growled. He was almost sick to his stomach, the way the pair kept smiling at each other. He was surprised himself at just how annoyed he was that Lynnie might even consider marrying this big clodbuster. Why, she was too good to waste on someone like that. She might be too good to waste on nearly anybody, because the average man couldn't appreciate a headstrong, smart woman like her and wouldn't know how to handle her. “We can't stay long. The herd's waitin' for us.”

“Wish we had more to offer,” the old woman said as she put a pot of fresh vegetables and a pan of cornbread on the table. “We'd like to get a cattle herd started, but we ain't got the money to buy calves.”

Lynnie looked at Ace, and it was funny, but he already knew what she was thinking. Lynnie said, “I believe we've got three we could spare.”

“That's right,” Ace agreed.

Sam colored. “We got no money.”

Lynnie looked at Ace again, seeking his help.

“Ma'am,” Ace said, “these calves is just slowin' us down, and our crew sure could use some fresh vegetables and homemade bread.”

The old woman brightened. “Why, now, that's different, if you think it's a fair trade. I even got some fresh pies I made this morning.”

Now Ace smiled and licked his lips. “By any chance, might they be rhubarb?”

“Why, yes, they are.”

“Done!” Ace agreed.

So the pair ate, then returned to get the three calves to trade to the farm family.

As they were riding away loaded down with fresh bread, pies, and vegetables, Sam yelled, “Miss Lynnie, should you change your mind about marriage, I'd be glad to have you.”

“I'll remember,” Lynnie promised as she and Ace rode away from the soddie.

“I'll just bet he'd be glad to have you,” Ace sniffed. “You're too much woman to waste on the likes of him.”

“Oh?” She glanced over at him, but he was staring straight ahead as they rode.

“Besides that, Uncle Maverick and Dad would have a hissy fit if I came back without you and said I'd left you with some sodbuster out on the prairie.”

So that's all it was: he felt responsible for her. She had a terrible urge to knock him off his horse and tie him out on an anthill, Indian-style. For a long moment, she relished the thought of him writhing as the busy little insects chewed away, especially on his . . .

“Lynnie, I have to apologize again about what happened back there at the river when we was just playin' around....”

“Playing around? Is that what you call it?” She was outraged.

“Well, I reckon a girl like you would expect the man to make an honest woman of her—”

“Honest?” she was seething. “So what am I? A whore?”

“Lordy, girl, respectable women don't use that word.”

“I suppose respectable women don't wallow around in the dirt with you, either. Let's get one thing straight, Ace Durango. You're under no obligation to me. In fact, I wouldn't have you as a free gift. Now tell that to the boys at the ranch.”

He looked at her, disbelief etched on his dark, rugged features. “I'm supposed to be the best lover above the Rio Grande,” he grumbled. “Women have told me how good I am.”

“Maybe other women were big liars,” Lynnie snapped, and nudged her horse into a lope.

“I could do better!” he yelled after her.

“You aren't going to get the chance!” she yelled back, and kept her face turned toward the trail so he couldn't see her tears. He was not only untamed, he was uncivilized and unsuitable. Well, in a few more days, they would be in Dodge, and then she wouldn't have to see him anymore. Lynnie was annoyed with herself that in a moment of weakness, she had succumbed to Ace's charms.
Like a dog lured off a meat wagon
, she thought grimly. And now he felt guilty and obligated.

Thunderation. Damned if she wanted him to feel obligated. She didn't know for certain how she wanted him to feel or how she felt. There was no room in her life for this rude, crude cowboy. Once in Dodge, she'd go on with her women's voting crusade, and he could go back to chasing women, gambling, and drinking. Trouble was, she finally admitted to herself as they drove the bawling cattle up the trail, she had feelings for Ace Durango, and she was certain the attraction wasn't mutual. So she must hide her feelings for the next few days. The big cowboy need never know that she'd lost her heart as well as her virginity to him.

“There she is, boys; there's Dodge up ahead!” Ace took off his hat and waved it with a whoop. Behind him, the tired crew set up a cheer. He glanced at Lynnie, but she betrayed no feelings other than to say, “Well, I hope I'm here in time for the ladies' meeting.”

“Near as I can calculate, ”Ace said, “it can't be later than the first week of July. Lots of celebratin' ahead for Independence Day.”

“A good time to push for women's rights.” Her small chin stuck out stubbornly.

He didn't quite know what to make of Lynnie. Certainly, he had never met another woman like her: independent, stubborn, and headstrong. She wasn't like the silly, giggling girls or lusty, bawdy whores he had known. It was a good thing the trip was ending; she appeared to be barely able to stand the sight of him. He ought to be glad to be rid of her, but somehow, he almost hated to see the trip end. “Get the herd movin', boys,” he shouted, “we'll celebrate tonight!”

Ace rode on in ahead of the herd. It was Independence Day, all right. The town was draped with red, white, and blue banners and lots of flags. Most of the stores were closed, but the saloons and dance halls seemed to be doing a big business. Small boys ran up and down the streets setting off firecrackers, and cowboys lounged against the hitching rails, drinking beer and yelling to each other.

Ace rode up to the cattle buyer's office, and dismounted, and banged on the door.

“Go away; I'm closed for the holiday.”

Ace banged again. “Well, open up. I've got a prime herd comin' down Front Street, and you'll want to see it.”

“Cattle?” The door opened and a small, mustachioed man stuck his head out. “In that case, let's do a little business.”

They both stood and watched Ace's cowboys bring the bawling, dusty herd down the road.

Lynnie yelled, “Is there a hotel in town?”

The buyer nodded and turned to Ace. “Is that a girl with those cowboys?”

Ace nodded and grinned, suddenly proud of her. “Yes, and what a girl.”

“Ain't too purty,” the man said.

“Purty?” Ace said. “Why, are you blind? That's the purtiest, sassiest girl both sides of the Red River.” He paused, surprised at his own words. Once he hadn't thought that. Had Lynnie McBride changed, or was it him? He had no time for deep thinking now. Instead, he turned to yell at his crew. “Take them to the stockyards, boys, and I'll see you in the Lace Garter later.”

The cowboys set up a cheer, but Lynnie glared at him.

The buyer looked her over. “A petticoat outfit; a gal on a cattle drive. Bet that's a stubborn one.”

Ace looked at the redhead moving down the street with the herd. “Lordy, she does know her own mind. There's nothin' wishy-washy or silly about that one, but she's equal to any man in the saddle. Now let's do some business so's I can wet my whistle and celebrate.”

The little man nodded. “Fine herd, let's go inside and talk.”

“Oh, one thing, there's a cross-eyed calf and old Twister that don't go with the deal.”

The other paused in the office door. “A cross-eyed calf? I'll bet there's an interesting story behind that.”

Ace remembered back over the past several months as he wiped sweat from his face. “It's been the trip of a lifetime,” he murmured, “and I'll never forget it.”

 

 

Within an hour, Ace had sold the cattle herd for a very big price in some hard bargaining that would have made his dad proud. Whistling and happy, he headed for the Lace Garter Saloon to celebrate. Here and there, firecrackers exploded as small boys ran up and down the dusty streets, celebrating.

Ace blinked as he entered the darkened saloon and went to the bar. “Whiskey.”

Most of his cowboys were already there, one foot on the brass rail. “Get a good price, boss?”

“You better believe it. Forrester won't get near that much when he comes in. Drinks for everyone!”

All the cowboys pushed up to the bar as Ace grabbed his whiskey and gulped it. It was the good stuff, and it gave him a warm feeling all the way down. He had brought the herd through and got a good price for it. He could finally look his father square in the eye and not feel inferior. He had no doubt now that he could run the Triple D when he inherited his share. He hadn't done it by himself, though. He had a good, loyal crew and a certain stubborn redhead to thank for his success. In some ways, she was equal to a man; in others, she was still very much a lady.

Old Cookie limped over to stand next to him. “Boy, you left Texas a raw, wet-behind-the-ears kid, but you're a grown man now, a real trail boss. I'd be proud to side you again.”

Joe nodded. “You're a man to ride the river with, boss. You need any hands at the ranch, I'd be proud to work for you.”

Ace grinned. Among cowboys, there was no higher compliment than to judge a man savvy and smart enough to make a river crossing with a herd without getting anyone killed.

Hank yelled, “Three cheers for the toughest, best trail boss in Texas: Ace Durango!”

Ace felt himself flush as the crew cheered him. “Another round of drinks for my boys, barkeep.”

As the men crowded around and glasses clinked, a bald-headed man in sleeve garters began to pound the old piano, not well but loudly. “...
Oh, it rained all the night the day I left; the weather it was dry
.
The sun so hot I froze to death . . .”

Ace looked around. There was one member of the crew who wasn't here. “Where's Lynnie?”

Hank put his elbows on the bar. “Are you daft? Ladies don't come into bars.”

“Don't tell Lynnie that or she'll be bound and determined to do it,” Ace murmured, and smiled when he thought about how feisty she was.

Old Cookie rubbed his stubbly chin. “I recollect that after we put the herd in the pens, she headed for the hotel to clean up—said something about a ladies' meetin'.”

Ace groaned aloud. “That is the dad-blamedest, stubbornest woman.”

He didn't want to think about Lynnie McBride; he wanted to have a good time getting drunk and carousing like he'd always done. Somehow, the gathering didn't seem complete without her; after all, she'd helped bring in the herd. Lynnie. She wasn't as pretty or big-busted or any of the things he'd always wanted in a woman, and yet . . . there was something special about her.

Not that it made any difference, because she sure wasn't interested in him and she was as independent as a hog on ice. Where most women trailed after him, almost begging for marriage, Lynnie had turned up her nose and scoffed at him.

Joe wiped his mouth, drained his mug of beer, and grinned. “Well, now, I reckon it's about time for another kind of fun.”

He started for the stairs. Halfway up, the bartender yelled at him, “You're wastin' your time, cowboy; the girls ain't up there.”

“What?” Joe paused and looked disappointed.

“What?” All the men echoed. Then they began to look around. “Say, just where are all the gals, anyhow?”

The bartender sighed and paused in wiping the bar. “Well, some little red-haired gal came in a couple of hours ago. She was dressed funny in green gingham with her underpants showin'.”

“Lynnie,” Ace sighed.

“Anyways,” said the bartender, “she gave the whores a big talk about how they could do better than be playthings for men. She urged them to turn over a new leaf, come to some meetin', and help her campaign for women's rights.”

The men all turned and glared at Ace.

“Lynnie,” he said again, and took another drink. “Yep, that's Lynnie, all right.”

Joe came back down the stairs. “Well, without whores and dance-hall girls, what are men supposed to do?”

Ace shrugged. “I reckon you'll all have to get married and make honest women out of them.”

“
Married
? ” said the cowboys in shocked horror.

About that time, a skinny man ran through the swinging doors of the saloon. “Hey, come out and see the fun. There's about to be big trouble down in front of City Hall.” He had all the men's attention now.

Ace sighed and kept sipping his drink. He had a feeling that he didn't want to know.

“Well . . .” The skinny man wiped the July sweat from his face, elbowed his way to the bar, and grabbed a mug of beer. “There's a bunch of women with protest signs parading up and down the street. A bunch of fellas is hurrahin' them, and some cowboys who're just bringin' in a herd is really givin' the ladies a hard time.”

“Forrester,” Ace thought aloud as he turned to the man. “Tell me, mister, is there a little redhead involved in this protest?”

The man paused. “Well, yes, wearin' a short green dress with her underpants showin'.”

“Them's bloomers,” Ace advised him. “They're something the suffragettes wear.”

The man scratched his head. Evidently, he didn't know what a suffragette was. “Kind of plain, she is.”

“She's not plain,” Ace protested, “and she's smart, real smart—a little headstrong, maybe.”

“I'll say,” the man answered doubtfully, wiping foam from his lip. “I'd hate to be the man tryin' to tame that gal.”

“Mister,” Cookie said, “the only man in the world who might tame that little spitfire is Ace Durango.”

The men all looked at him.

Ace shrugged and sipped his drink. “She ain't my responsibility now that we've made it to town. Dodge City is on its own, and God help them.”

Comanch ran into the saloon through the swinging doors. “Hey, Boss, Forrester's herd just got in, and Willis Forrester is mad as a rattlesnake on a hot griddle 'cause I hear he didn't get much for his herd.”

“That's his problem.” Ace took another sip of beer.

“But he and his cowboys are hurrahin' those ladies Miss Lynnie's got paradin' up and down in front of City Hall. They're throwin' firecrackers and horse manure at them.”

He felt a protective instinct for the brave, slight girl. She was no longer his responsibility, and yet . . .

Ace slammed his mug down. “He's peltin' Lynnie with road apples? Come on, boys!”

He was mad now as he led his cowboys out of the saloon and they marched down dusty Front Street.

There was Lynnie, all right, red, white, and blue ribbons on her short green gingham dress with white bloomers peeking out below. She led a mixed parade of painted saloon girls and upright ladies, all carrying protest signs. Daisy Buttercup walked alongside Lynnie, bawling noisily and wearing a sign that read,
Don't Treat Women Like Cows. Give Them The Vote
.

Boneyard stood tied to a hitching post covered with red, white, and blue crepe paper streamers and a sign that urged,
Women's Rights. They Deserve Them
.

Willis Forrester and his cowboys had gathered amid the growing crowd, and they were yelling taunts at the ladies and throwing firecrackers under their feet. Lynnie appeared to be bravely ignoring the unruly, hostile crowd of men.

“Free women!” the ladies shouted as they marched in a big circle with their protest signs. “Free women!”

A drunken rowdy staggered toward them. “Free women? I'll take one. Which one can I have?”

At that point, Lynnie hit the drunken cowboy with her picket sign. Just then, Nelbert Purdy threw a string of firecrackers under Daisy Buttercup's hooves, and the calf threw back her head and bawled in terror.

“Get back in the kitchen!” Willis Forrester shouted. “That's where you gals belong!”

Ace had seen enough. He doubled up his fists. “Lynnie McBride belongs wherever she wants to be!”

He saw Lynnie look up, her lip trembling a little at the onslaught of catcalls and hostile roughnecks crowding in around her and her ladies. “Ace,” she called, “oh, Ace, I knew you'd come.”

For a split second, he looked at her and wondered why he'd once thought her plain. Plain? She was beautiful—the prettiest girl he had ever seen—and she needed him.

Willis Forrester threw another firecracker, sending the ladies scurrying and shrieking.

“Get 'em boys!” Ace commanded, and then he went after Forrester. He grabbed him and whirled him around. “That's no way to treat a lady.”

“She ain't no lady, not with her underpants showin'.” Forester sneered, “I—”

He never finished, because Ace hit him in the mouth and sent him stumbling backward and right into a horse trough. Behind Ace, a commotion broke out as his cowboys waded in, slugging jeering drunks and ne'er-dowells and clearing a path around the women.

Lynnie, not to be outdone, rallied her ladies, and they charged in to help, swinging their protest signs. Nelbert Purdy had just run out into the street to throw more manure when Lynnie caught him with her wooden sign, knocking him backward so that he crashed into the horse trough right on top of Forrester, who was just trying to get up.

Ace grinned at her. “Atta girl, Lynnie. Now let's mop 'em up!”

He grabbed Purdy by his collar, stood him on his feet, and Lynnie hit him again with her sign, tossing him into a fresh pile of horse manure. Men were now fighting each other, rolling and brawling in the middle of the dusty street while the whores from all the local saloons were right in there beside the more respectable women, shrieking and scratching.

Ace turned to fight off two drunken cowboys as Forrester himself staggered, dripping wet, out of the horse trough. Forrester grabbed Lynnie and took her sign away from her.