Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  McKenna took a slow turn up and down the arresting figure and her exposed length of leg as she applied a firm hand and calm voice to the bay.

  Favoring McKenna with a glimpse of white teeth framed by a lush mouth, the colorful woman whirled, thundered down the hill and into the middle of the small town.

  A swirl of grit, aided by the sweltering July wind and the tramping of cattle below in the stockyards, momentarily blocked his vision. It took a second for the air to clear.

  With the cemetery sitting up high, it provided a good view of Kasota Springs. He grinned at the mystery woman’s breakneck speed that nearly knocked a man from his ladder. He teetered precariously, clutching the end of a banner that he was doing his damnedest to hang across the street.

  Despite its drooping, McKenna read the lettering that proclaimed a July Fourth Cowboy Competition. He shifted his attention back to the horsewoman who’d reined up hard in front of a gathering of onlookers in front of the saloon and leaped off. From their black expressions they weren’t too happy.

  Now that he was alone with the dead, McKenna could satisfy his curiosity. He rode up to the row of graves and squinted.

  Each of the five stones bore a name and below that was a simple line that read: The Beloved Husband of Tempest.

  He reckoned he’d just met the Lady Tempest, even though they’d yet to speak. Five beloved husbands? And they were all dead. She must be rough as a cob. Didn’t look it though at first glance. Only her brash display afterward told the tale. Her no-nonsense attitude told him she could wear out a whole regiment of battle-hardened soldiers.

  Judging from the testament on the markers, she’d evidently done her best with one shy of a half dozen good souls.

  Nudging his horse into a jog, McKenna proceeded into town, taking in all the hammering, sawing and the like. The town buzzed with more commotion than a hangman preparing for a big send off. But the charged atmosphere took on the makings of a riot when the man who’d been on the ladder climbed down in a stew and appeared ready to string up the pretty widow.

  Pulling alongside the blood bay, McKenna eased from the saddle and tossed the reins over the hitching rail.

  “I swear, Angus Murdoch, if you don’t take down that sign I’ll yank it down myself,” bellowed the Lady Tempest, whose skirt sprang from the waistband and into a more proper position during the commotion. “You know what I told you to put on it and that’s not close.”

  Mindful that he was in front of the saloon and a beer with an inch of foam on top had been in his dreams, he decided it would wait. The spirited woman was a sizzling lightning bolt that a man couldn’t drag his attention from.

  “Loosen your rigging a little, Miz LeDoux, before you have a runaway conniption. You ain’t the only one with an opinion.” The irate sign-hanger flushed. “No one ever called these celebrations a rodeo before. It’s always been a cowboy competition or a cowboy reunion. The mayor said we gotta stick with one or the other. And his word is official.”

  “Yeah, Tempest. When you fill the mayor’s shoes you can call it whatever you like,” informed another exasperated onlooker who likely had to stand twice to make a shadow. The skinny fellow wore a carpenter’s apron around his waist and clenched a handful of nails.

  McKenna hooked his thumbs on his gunbelt, wondering how long it’d be before she made the carpenter mad enough to eat those nails. From the looks of it she was damn close.

  If their looks could kill, she’d be maimed for life.

  “Rodeo has a manlier ring to it. Cowboy Competition is just flat wimpy. The Spanish brought the word ‘rodeo’ with them when they came to Texas and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for us.” Tempest LeDoux jabbed a finger into Angus Murdoch’s chest. “Now get it changed.”

  “Don’t you order me around.”

  “I beg your pardon; the lady does have a point.” McKenna rested his weight against the heavy rail constructed of railroad ties that were probably left over from when they brought Kasota Springs into the transportation age. Despite knowing she needed no help in saving herself from a bloodletting, he added his voice to hers. “Pecos changed theirs to the Pecos Rodeo and it gave the town’s yearly occasion quite a boost.”

  Sure a damn sight better than cowboy reunion.

  “Who the hell asked you?” The swelled up sign-hanger spun around, clearly intending to tear into McKenna. Instead, his Adam’s apple worked hard to swallow when recognition came. His face drained. “Uh, never mind. You’re probably right.”

  Flustered, Angus punched the carpenter who’d been venting his spleen and loudly whispered, “It’s him.”

  “Him who?”

  “The gunfighter, McKenna Smith. You know, the man that fitted that outlaw, Slim Pickford, with a coffin suit last year.”

  “Why do you reckon he’s here?” the carpenter whispered back.

  The lovely widow LeDoux turned and favored McKenna with a wink before she walloped the two. “It’s rude to talk about someone, especially when he’s within earshot. Number one, I might’ve invited him here. And number two, tend to your own rat killing and get busy changing this banner. I want it up before dark. Visitors start arriving tomorrow.”

  Angus Murdoch ground his teeth, jerking up the long piece of thick burlap. “Damn woman. Wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t tried to knock me off the ladder on purpose.”

  McKenna was hard-pressed to hide a grin. He wouldn’t doubt it in the least.

  The Little Lady with Texas-size character had livened up his day. He’d sure try not to tangle with her. While she hadn’t specifically said she had brought him to Kasota Springs, she’d certainly implied it. She likely did that to pretend she was privy to information they didn’t have.

  Sounded about right. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure though.

  But McKenna couldn’t exactly recall the last time he got invited anywhere, least of all anyplace close to Cimarron, New Mexico, and the slew of enemies he made during the Colfax County War.

  And by a woman? Well, the last time he got an invite she wasn’t a lady. And he sure wasn’t in some fancy parlor at the governor’s mansion.

  This time was different. Tempest LeDoux was clearly more woman than any man could tame.

  Wouldn’t pay to let her catch him saying that though.

  Chapter 2

  McKenna tumbled right into bottomless eyes the color of newly plowed earth and skidded to a stop.

  The amused scrutiny Tempest LeDoux turned on McKenna almost made him swallow his spit sideways. And, yet, her smile appeared rusty as if she didn’t get a chance to use it every day. One thing was crystal clear though, the sun seemed barely the flicker of a candle beside her sultry heat.

  “Here for the rodeo, cowboy?” Her voice was like aged wine, mellow and smooth.

  Dimples in her cheeks created little pockets and told him the lady could charm the pants off him and nary break a sweat. Speaking of sweat, he was mindful of his need for liberal use of soap and water. He added a bathhouse to his short list along with a shave before he rode on.

  “Just passing through; don’t expect to stay long enough to ride any wild horses, bulls or rocking chairs.”

  Tempest LeDoux definitely wasn’t a shrinking violet. But then the graves lined in a row told him that. She was probably used to working fast.

  He’d better make it clear real quick that he wasn’t looking to be notch number six on her belt.

  Even though he yearned to have someone care enough to tend his grave, he’d have to draw the line when it came to marriage. His jaw hardened. Love maimed, it hurt and it destroyed.

  But whiling away a few hours in pleasant company was another matter.

  With the hitching post supporting his weight, he crossed his ankles, fished a match stem from his pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. His gaze took a leisurely stroll down the petite figure. Pausing at her bosom, his throat went as dry as a sun-parched raisin. Her overendowment, confined by the snug fit of some sort
of clingy material, molded each bosom as though they weren’t covered at all.

  Lord have mercy on a poor man!

  Once he could go on, his measure of the flare of her hips suggested she could give him a run for his money and then some.

  His glance returned to the curve of Tempest’s rosy lips that were slightly parted in anticipation. Of a kiss maybe? Her pink tongue made an agonizing slow turn around them.

  McKenna struggled to silence the need.

  Then her mouth turned up unexpectedly in a smile as bright as gold flecks in a miner’s pan. In that moment, he forgot everything except how much he hated the thought of an empty bed and an itch that hadn’t been scratched in so long he couldn’t recall.

  “Most men say hello before they begin doing that.”

  “Doing what, ma’am?”

  “Relieving me of my clothes.”

  A quirk lifted the corner of McKenna’s mouth. He removed the match stem before he replied. “One thing you’ll find out about me—I’m not most men. And you’re in a category by itself from other women, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I’d be real disappointed if you didn’t.”

  “You don’t fool me; you like being admired.” He straightened, pushing away from the rail.

  The top of her dark head almost reached his shoulders. Almost, but not quite. He spared a fleeting smile, preferring to keep things simple until he got acquainted.

  This lady was a stick of dynamite sure as hell.

  “Does it show that much?” Her voice was a breathy purr.

  “Only to someone versed in the subject.” Arching an eyebrow, he nudged his hat back with a forefinger. “Why did you let everyone believe that we have a business arrangement?”

  “Those meddling old goats are worse than a patch of prickly pear, always looking for a chance to jab me. Wanted to rile ’em up a bit is all.” Tempest slipped her arm through his. “Buy a lady a drink and tell me where you’ve been all my life.”

  The request, coupled by light pressure on his arm, was like slow, cool water trickling over baked rocks that thirsted for a bit of relief. Waves of pleasure tumbled through him, creating a roar in his ears that drowned out every lick of sense he had.

  For a moment, he almost forgot the dry dust in his throat that a cool glass of beer could make a distant memory.

  His longing glance at the local watering hole ended in a black scowl. The Slats and Fats Saloon looked far too rough and rowdy for a lady. Even though he didn’t doubt Tempest could hold her own, he wasn’t about to take her into that den of iniquity unless she left him no choice.

  But if she insisted, he’d fight a pack of rabid coyotes to protect the widow who tended lonely graves.

  McKenna swung her around, pointing her toward the hotel café across the street from Cattleman’s Bank. “I prefer a good cup of Arbuckle. What I make can’t be mentioned in the same breath as fresh ground coffee.”

  The lie slipped through his mouth like it’d been coated in axle grease.

  Tempest knitted her brow and dug in her heels. “Don’t you need something stronger to wash the grit from your teeth? Most men prefer a stiff slug of whiskey coming off the hot trail.”

  He wondered if she tried to latch on to every stranger who rode into town and drag him into the saloon. The notion sat about as well as a load of green watermelon in his gut.

  “Like I said, I’m not most men.”

  “Indeed not.” Her mouth twitched in humor. “And you appear a very healthy one as well if I dare say.”

  What an odd thing to observe. McKenna was still trying to figure it out when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down at a youngster whose reddish hair turned a shade of burnished orange in the sunlight.

  “Mr. Smith, would ya like me to take your horse to the livery for you?” The boy grinned. “Won’t be no bother.”

  The free use of McKenna’s name took him aback. Word sure traveled fast. Kinda unnerved him, but at the same time it flattered that the boy knew who he was.

  “Sure, kid.” McKenna tossed the lad a nickel for his trouble. Hard Tack deserved a rest. Deciding to lay up for the night, McKenna fished another coin from his pocket. The silver glinted in the bright sunlight as he flipped it into the air. “Here’s a quarter for some oats too.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Smith. I’ll take real good care of the dun.”

  “Much obliged, son.” He grabbed his saddlebags, tossed them over a shoulder and politely offered the widow his elbow.

  Tempest’s gloved fingers nestled around his arm. “Appears you’re staying after all.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up for the rodeo, Mrs. LeDoux. It’s only for one night. Reckon me and Hard Tack can get an early start come daybreak.” McKenna firmly let her know she couldn’t manipulate him like she apparently did everyone else.

  If he had a nickel for every woman who’d tried it before, he’d have a fair to middling stack, although he knew Tempest was by far the most expert at it. And the loveliest, he added.

  His spurs jangled as she fell smartly into step with him on the wooden sidewalk, her pretty scarlet dress swishing against his britches leg to beat the band. Odd contentment filled the cupboard that’d been bare too long.

  “Thank you for taking pity on a dusty saddle stiff.”

  “Anything I can do to make your stay more pleasurable.”

  McKenna felt a bit like Moses parting the Red Sea the way the crowded sidewalk opened up to let them pass. He doubted it was due to any religious zeal, but more because of his skill with a Colt.

  He scanned the street for trouble. Only took one fool who wanted to make a name for himself to try to force a showdown.

  One middle-aged man gave them a rude stare as he moved aside. In a low voice, he remarked to his female companion, “Don’t know what that crazy Cajun woman has up her sleeve. Suspect she’s the reason Smith is here though.”

  “I’d shore like to know what the hired gun can help her with,” sniffed the woman. “Lord knows bullets can’t help her keep a husband.”

  Bright spots rose in Tempest’s cheeks and he felt her spine stiffen. Never making a peep or acknowledging the speculation with a flicker of an eyelash, she raised her chin and stared toward some distant speck. McKenna had the utmost respect for her ability to ignore the spitefulness.

  Took a lot of doing to keep walking. Times had been when he hadn’t. And given this lady’s hair-trigger temper, he was even more astonished that she could maintain her dignity.

  That told him she’d had more practice than she should’ve.

  Some kind of war waged between the beautiful widow and the rest of the town. This wasn’t his fight, but he’d always rooted for the runt of the litter. Aside from Tempest LeDoux’s bold, scandalous behavior, she was nothing but a runt who tried to pretend she was the biggest hound on the porch.

  From beneath the shaded brim of his hat, he studied her proud features that seemed too lonely and sad. Everyone needed a willing ear, something she didn’t appear to get much of in Kasota Springs.

  Even if she used him for her own purposes, he didn’t mind. In fact, he was happy to help her feed these people some crow.

  Laying a protective hand on the small of her back, he held the door of the hotel and ushered her inside. She waited while he quickly removed his hat, then she took a deep breath and reached again for the crook of his arm. Amid a steady hum of whispers, he escorted her into the dining room.

  Little tendrils of her hair tickled his nose when he leaned next to her ear. “Seems your plan to rile folks up good and plenty is working. They don’t appear able to find much else to get google-eyed over or yap about.”

  She nodded. “The famous Guardian of Justice on the Jacks Bluff payroll, now there’s a tasty morsel to chew over.”

  “But I’m not. You having any particular trouble?”

  “No more than usual, but nothing I can’t handle.” Tempest slid into the seat he held for her, removing her rawhide gloves.

  Putti
ng his hat on the table, McKenna sat opposite her and propped the saddlebags against the side of his chair. “I’m probably butting in where I don’t belong, but if you’re having problems you oughta talk to the sheriff. I’ve seen my share of tinderbox situations. Not a good idea to keep glowing embers around dry grass.”

  She propped her arms on the table and stared straight into his soul. “Enough about my piddly problems. Satisfy a woman’s burning desire to know what brings you to our little corner of the world.”

  “Just passing through on my way up to Horse Creek in Colorado. Seems the town got in my way.”

  Tempest smoothed back a strand of hair that escaped from the red ribbon tying it back. “On business or pleasure?”

  The lady said that like it was a choice between sugar and pickles. For McKenna everything was pickles. He couldn’t recall ever having sugar on purpose. Something told him he’d missed out on a lot by focusing on his job of protecting the weak, righting wrongs and upholding justice.

  Damn the need for someone to do it!

  No one ever wired him to come unless they wanted someone dead or gone. There was a major difference between him and other guns-for-hire. He had scruples. He never drew his Colt unless he knew he fought on the side of right. But his work was unending and it had piss-poor benefits.

  Not a day went by he didn’t wish he’d had a little more sugar to offset the sour taste that lingered in his mouth. The stench of death ruined the ability to savor each victory.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, what did you ask?”

  “Are you going to Colorado because you want to or because you have to?”

  A dull ache sat in McKenna’s midsection. “It’s business. A promise made to a friend.”

  “Sounds like you take those favors real personal.”

  “Do for a fact.” Especially when it came to fulfilling a dying wish. He eyed the smooth leather of the saddlebags.