Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  He continued, “I meant, I know you’re cheating. Those aren’t the dice I’m wanting. Give me the loaded ones or I’ll physically take them off you.”

  She peered up at him, bewildered as a chicken on a chain, flabbergasted he’d actually called her a cheater. “And, I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “Most of the time I am, but Little Lady, when you put yourself into a cheater’s position, all bets are off.”

  “I do believe you’re calling me a scallywag!” Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “Just how do you think I could hide them? Everything is out in the open.”

  “I’m warning you, lady. I don’t kowtow to scammers, so give ’um up.”

  “Come get ’um,” she challenged him, showing off a sensuous smile, “if it’s that important to you—”

  And he did.

  In one quick motion he sprang across the blanket and nailed her beneath him. “Give ’um up.”

  “I don’t have them.” She squirreled and wiggled, bringing her knee up close to the most sensitive part of his body. He countered her attack with his own knee and flattened her, pressing his full body against her.

  His grip tightened, his position very clear.

  Morgan enjoyed her nearness, the feel of her skin against his. The rawhide strip holding her raven hair in a ponytail had come off, and long ringlets lay on near naked, ripe breasts, making his senses spin. Alaine’s riding skirt slipped up, exposing nice long legs. His imagination took care of what lay between her thigh and shoulders.

  His body was heavy and warm, and his heart thudded against hers. Alaine refused to give into her squirming and resisted his touch, while she marveled at his strength—the feel of his hands. He made light contact with her cleavage. His fingers were tough and callused, used to hard work, not fine and supple like he spent his time behind a desk.

  Northern businessmen were supposed to be soft, not accustomed to the physical labor needed in the new frontier, but Morgan was tough both physically and mentally. There was nothing soft about him, except his lips which were only inches away from hers. So close that she could feel his breath against her cheeks. Blue eyes closed in on hers, electrifying the very air around her.

  He seemed to lessen the intensity of his hold, and she seized the opportunity, taunting him with her womanly persuasions. She shifted her weight, pressing her breasts into his rock-hard chest. Letting her hips wiggle just in the right places. She hoped to distract him—to make her play.

  Mr. Grouchy Trousers, who was anything but cantankerous at the moment, pulled up slightly, allowing her to wrap the calf of her leg around the back of his knee, where she shoved with all her might, figuring she could flip him, but it didn’t work. She twisted and arched her body, seeking to get free. He came down hard on her, his mouth catching hers and claiming a kiss. A slow naked kiss. Above her head, Morgan’s huge hand held both her wrists together, while his free one explored the rise and fall of her breasts.

  She heaved forward, dislodging the dice. They tumbled over her chest and landed onto the blanket face-up. A six and a five.

  Alaine made a daring try to reach for the dice but a booming voice shattered the air.

  “Touch her again, you sorry flannel mouth, and I’ll rip off your fingers.”

  Morgan rolled off the woman, got to his feet and pulled her up behind him.

  Alaine brushed her skirt off and pulled straw from her hair. “Teg, the uh…”—she seemed to weigh her words carefully—“the gentleman wasn’t attacking me. We were—”

  “Shooting dice,” Morgan spoke up.

  “I guess they got lost.” Teg eyed the cubes on the blanket, and then turned to the young woman. “I’m warning you for the last time—no gambling.” He picked up the dice, tossing them to Morgan. “Keep ’um for a souvenir.”

  “We weren’t exactly gambling, Teg.” She looked like she was about to cry. “And he wasn’t bothering me. He’s agreed to be my partner in the rodeo.” She smiled persuasively at Morgan. “We were playing to determine which event we’ll enter.”

  “And?” Teg switched a curious, yet uncompromising glare between them. “It’ll be?”

  “Wild cow milking,” Alaine said simultaneously with Morgan’s, “Steer roping.”

  “Hum,” the old codger guffawed. “I still think I’ll take you out behind the barn, son, and teach you some manners.” Teg put his thumbs in his vest pockets and never moved his eyes from the younger man.

  “You ol’ goat,” Alaine spoke to the foreman and stepped up beside Morgan. A playful frown crossed her face. “You can’t beat up my partner.” She patted him on the arm. “I need him.”

  Morgan didn’t need the woman to plead his case, and certainly didn’t need a woman to need him, but neither Alaine nor the ranch foreman gave him an opportunity to defend himself.

  “Better get in your entry fees for both events. And, what’s your partner’s name, anyway?” Teg said, disapproving.

  “It’s, uh…” Alaine turned to Morgan, and in wide-eyed innocence said, “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Because you never asked, but it’s—”

  “Morgan Payne, Esquire,” Teg interrupted, looking at him as if he were Morgan Payne the impersonator, someone who didn’t have enough wits about him to know his own name. “And, I ain’t gonna have you lookin’ like a broomtail in a cornfield, shaming the Jacks Bluff or her mama, so you’re gonna spend every minute from now ’til the rodeo events begin learnin’ about ropin’ and ridin’.” He raised craggy brows. “Starting tonight. Gotta be ready at first light ’cause this ain’t gonna be an easy job.” Tegeler looked his student up and down, as though appraising his value. “Don’t look like much of a cowboy to me, but think I can teach you enough to keep you from killin’ your dern self and our Little Buckaroo here.”

  Don’t let the ol’ guy call your bluff, Morgan repeated in his mind. He clenched his fist at first then relaxed it. Mentally, he patted himself on the back for a job well done. Even the veteran ranch hand figured Morgan for an Eastern dandy who thought he could beat the devil around a stump.

  “Can you ride?” Teg surveyed him again, answering his own question. “Probably not, but you got hands that look like you could rope.”

  Silence was golden, Morgan had always heard, and at the moment he was up to his ears in bullion. He set his jaw. Whatever it took to get the job done, he was prepared to give.

  “Get yourself a horse, Payne, while Miss Alaine goes over to the dance and tells her mama that she’s not staying in town tonight.”

  Morgan wanted to hit the man for being such a hard case. He had him by the cojones and Morgan knew it. So did Tegeler.

  “Skedaddle, Little Buckaroo,” Teg called after Alaine, as she shot a confident smile at Morgan and a frown to the foreman. Morgan half expected her to stick out her tongue to emphasize her discontent at being bossed around.

  Quietly, Morgan watched until the woman was out of earshot, while keeping a steady eye on Tegeler. Once he was sure she was gone, Morgan said in a tone that left no doubt to its meaning, “You’re a sorry sonofabitch, Tegeler.”

  “You better make it your best shot, son.” Hostility sharpened Teg’s voice.

  Morgan’s fist connected with the other man’s chin, sending the ol’ coot sprawling to the ground.

  Tegeler pulled himself to his feet, rubbed his jaw and picked up his Stetson. Dusting the dirt from the hat, he said, “I’m warning you. You may have gotten in the first lick, but I’ll get the last.”

  Chapter 5

  The male bravado in the shadowy stables was so dense that Alaine feared she might grow whiskers by simply smelling the air.

  Tegeler nearly plowed her down as he exited, barking over his shoulder, “Payne, be saddled before I change my mind or you can walk to the ranch. Makes me no never mind.”

  Clearly he was still in a tiff over Morgan’s manhandling Alaine.

  “Adios, Teg.” She raised a questioning eyebrow at Morgan. “I see he’s stil
l out of sorts. But then you and Teg are kinda alike—either in a testy mood or no mood at all.”

  Morgan’s jaw clenched and his eyes slightly narrowed. “If you say so.”

  “As long as I can remember, Teg’s been with Mama and seems to have made it his duty to look out after me. Him and every cowhand, prairie dog and cottontail on the ranch.” She walked to her horse’s stall and snatched up her hat. “He’s forgotten that I’ve grown up, but then, sometimes I forget it too.” She smiled and tried to ignore the hammering in her heart.

  Placing the hat on her head, she adjusted the rawhide straps. She deliberately baited Morgan. No doubt he recognized she wasn’t a child any longer, or at least his body said as much when he wrestled her to the ground and searched her bodice for the dice.

  “Every woman needs protecting.” Morgan rubbed the palomino’s nose. “Did you find your mama?”

  “She’d already retired for the night, so I left a note at the hotel desk. She won’t be surprised that I’m going back out to the ranch. I spend as little time as necessary in town. About ready?”

  “Not quite. Wasn’t planning on needing a horse right away, so I didn’t make any arrangements for one,” said Morgan.

  “No need. It’s taken care of. I ran into Pony Boy. He’s helping out in the livery during the rodeo.” She led the gelding out of the stall, picked up a currycomb and ran it through his flaxen mane. “Mama hired him on, but he refuses to come out to the ranch until he completes his duties here. He’s taking care of finding you something to ride.”

  “Hey, Diablo,” Alaine spoke to her horse, “meet Morgan.” She patted the animal’s neck. “Diablo’s good between the ears, Teg says.”

  “Only kind to have.” Morgan reached out and took the comb, letting his fingers linger on hers longer than she thought proper, yet not long enough. He commenced to groom the palomino, brushing the saddle area twice.

  “A horse has to be trusted.” His blue eyes narrowed speculatively. “If you can’t trust ’um, they’re apt to get you killed.”

  Getting the point, Alaine felt her face flush. He might as well have added “like a woman.”

  Alaine watched as Morgan worked with Diablo, eventually placing the blanket several inches forward, leaving room for the saddle to settle in its proper place, while smoothing the coat, making sure the gelding’s hair wasn’t rubbed the wrong way.

  She eyed the rugged fine-looking man who didn’t act like he was a stranger to a horse. A greenhorn would have plopped on a saddle, not caring whether the cinch and stirrups injured the animal or he got spooked.

  For a Philadelphia lawyer who professed to know little about the new frontier, Morgan had done his homework…lessons not learned from books. Knowledge not taught but experienced.

  She needed to find out more about this man. His words were too guarded not to be hiding something. And she questioned herself as to why he wore his gun hidden beneath his coat. Not to mention boots broken in like he’d worn them forever. With a business suit, no less. Maybe it was an Eastern custom.

  For the life of her, she trusted him…but didn’t know why.

  Walking to the horse’s opposite side, Morgan lowered the cinches and stirrups so they hung neatly. As though reading her mind, he said, “You don’t know me, Alaine, so why do you trust me enough to be your rodeo partner?”

  She grabbled for answers. The simple truth—she felt something in her heart that told her to do so, but letting him know that might lead to the wrong idea. She hem-hawed. “Well, for one thing, you don’t look like a man who would take advantage of a woman. I mean, you don’t have wandering hands.”

  Oh damn! Did the man ever have strong, great-feeling hands that seemed to be experienced in wandering about anywhere they wanted to—especially on a woman’s body.

  A stone cold look came from his eyes, and he said nothing, probably thinking…and my hands weren’t wandering when I wrestled you to the ground?

  “Plus, Mama figures you for a dandified Easterner who seems a tad too concerned with your appearance for her liking.” She tilted her head to one side and stole a slanted look at him, just to see his expression, as she continued, “Says you’re too soft, neat and perfect. To quote her, ‘For God’s sake, he smells of lilac water.’”

  “Lilac!” He quirked a questioning eyebrow and tightened the cinch. “And, I paid two bits for a shave and haircut. The barber threw in the shave lotion for good measure.”

  “You got your money’s worth, but you do make me think of Mama’s lilac bushes.” She couldn’t help but grin. “I kinda like it.”

  In reality, he smelled nothing like a flower. More like leather on a fall morning, a tad musky and totally manly.

  “What else did your mama have to say about me?” He laced the latigo through the cinch ring while he spoke. “Something tells me that I don’t wanna know.”

  “She thanks you for saving me from the bank robber.”

  “I didn’t save you, you saved yourself.” He tightened the leather strap, snugging up the saddle. “You never did give me an honest answer about why you trust me.”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re in Kasota Springs.”

  “To find me a little spread to buy. Settle down. Learn to be a rancher.” Patting the horse, he added, “Your turn. Why do you trust me?”

  “Because Teg does.” She studied Morgan’s lean, dark face, watching for a reaction. “Not to mention that he would hogtie and castrate any man laying a hand on me. Nobody is that foolish.”

  But she remembered Morgan Payne had been just that fool.

  Morgan didn’t show any outward reaction to her comment, only adjusted the bridle and bit before he said, “Since we’re being honest with each other, we still have an issue. Are you going to admit that you cheat?”

  “I’m not admitting anything. You have the only pair of dice we used—”

  “Then you’re going to force me to prove it?” He dropped the reins over the saddle horn.

  “If you’re big enough.” She dern well knew he was big enough, but also fairly certain that the dice he had in his pocket were legit. The fact that the total of the two dice landing on the blanket had come up to eleven was nothing but a stroke of luck.

  Alaine was pretty sure she had the loaded dice in her blouse when she left the livery. Because she didn’t have a lot of time to find her mama, she hid the blasted things in some tall grass not far beyond the door. She probably should have found a better place, but it was too dark to traipse off into the night just to get rid of the evidence.

  Diablo swished his tail so wide it slapped Alaine on the side of the face. She laughed and patted him on the rump. His ears twitched. The gelding pranced and pawed the dirt, letting everyone know his patience had run out. He was ready to go home.

  In the near distance a donkey brayed like someone was pulling him by the ears down Main Street.

  Teg barged into the stables, tugging the sorriest excuse for a pack animal Morgan had ever laid eyes on. He’d seen his share of plugs, but the hip-shot donkey Teg towed as far as the door was flat-ass bigger than any Morgan had ever seen and was crow-bait at its finest.

  And he was wearing a sombrero with gaudy sunflowers, nonetheless!

  Alaine explained, “He was in today’s parade and won’t let anybody take off the trappin’s.”

  At the mention of the straw hat, the dern animal stopped dead still and refused to move.

  “You ornery, fly-bitten sunfisher. Just sit there all you want, but you’re gonna get saddled anyways.” Teg dropped the lead rope. “I should’ve left you out there and let the wolves gnaw off your ears one at a time.”

  Morgan had to agree with Alaine. Nothing had sweetened the ol’ coot’s disposition.

  Once the foreman turned his back, the dang donkey dropped down on his butt, and set into hee-hawing like he had a bellyache from eatin’ green corn.

  Teg wiped his sweaty brow and stuffed the neckerchief back in his pocket. “He’s all yours, Payne. Get him sa
ddled and ready to go.” He shot Morgan a frown that said don’t-argue-with-me before heading toward a stall where a handsome buckskin nosed him a welcome.

  The donkey stopped bawling and raised to all fours.

  Morgan surveyed the sorry animal. Stepping in front of him, Morgan stared him right in his eyes. The nincompoop went to bawling again and then plopped down.

  “Do you expect me to ride that thing?” Morgan called out.

  “You can ride him or carry the sorry sonofabitch, makes me never mind.” Teg lifted the latch on the horse’s stall. “Ain’t nothing personal, Payne. With that blasted rodeo in town, I couldn’t beg, borrow or steal something suitable to ride.”

  Nothing personal!

  And this blockhead was considered suitable? Morgan wasn’t sure which part of the lie to believe—nothing personal or nothing available. Did he really look that stupid? He couldn’t help but wonder whether he was the stu or pid part of stupid.

  Turnabout was fair play. After all, a guy couldn’t slug a man like Tegeler and expect it not to get personal.

  Alaine smiled mischievously as though they shared a secret. “Teg, Mr. Payne and I can ride double on Diablo.”

  Teg barked, “Not no, but hell no,” leaving no room for argument.

  Alaine shrugged her shoulders and nodded toward a nearby saddle. “There’s some of the ranch’s extra tack. Use what you need.” Her smile twitched with amusement. “Jughead’s been around a long time. Be tender with him.”

  Clamping his jaw tight, Morgan mumbled, “I’m always tender with a fool-ass.”

  He turned his back to the animal and waited. As sure as shootin’, Jughead shut up, stood and then let out a melodious hee-haw as if he missed Morgan more than his own mama.

  Morgan picked up the lead rope without looking at the creature. Jughead followed his new best friend to an area where he could be saddled.

  “Don’t look a donkey directly in the eye or they’ll balk. Rebellious in nature,” he mumbled just loud enough for Alaine to hear.