Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  Swinging back in his direction, she looked about as down to earth as any woman he’d ever seen in his life…covered with mud, straw and other unpleasant things he’d just as soon not think about, and yelled, “Morgan, there’s no judge! Where do I put it?”

  “On the table, and they can measure later.”

  She looked up and his pulse skittered alarmingly. He joined her at the judge’s stand, and swept her into the circle of his arms. Her nearness kindled feelings of fire. A blaze not easy to ignore. Enjoying the feel of her wet body, he kissed her long and hard.

  Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes, just as she recaptured his lips.

  The heavens opened with another gush of rain, but he didn’t care. He’d had more fun in the last ten minutes than he’d had in years.

  He drew her face to his in a renewed embrace, first kissing the tip of her nose, then her eyes and, finally, he took satisfaction in kissing her soft mouth, leaving him burning with fire.

  Alaine whispered softly, “How does it feel to try to rope the wind?”

  Chapter 9

  Morgan and Alaine raced back to the Springs Hotel in the howling thunderstorm that seemed to pass over about as quickly as it gathered. He had made sure she was safely on her way to her mama’s room, where she planned to spend the night, so she could be up early to prepare for the following day’s activities.

  Nodding a good evening to the goggle-eyed desk clerk, Morgan stopped by the dining room and ordered a supper special, along with a pot of tea, to be taken to Alaine’s room. He had to keep her strength up. The sharpshooting finals were only twenty-four hours away, and he had promised to do everything he could to see that she won.

  He hightailed it for his room. It had been so long since he had been there that it came to his mind the shifty buzzard owning the shabby saloon below it might’ve rented it out by the hour in his absence. He’d heard talk that they let the prisoners, except for the bank robber, out of jail for the weekend and rented out their beds.

  To Morgan’s surprise, the room was just as he’d left it—stinky with a washbasin and a pitcher of insect-infested water. At least the mice had someplace to get a drink. He scooped out the flies and washed away most of the grime. It was too late to use the public bathhouse, but that was on the top of Morgan’s agenda for the following day. A hot bath and shave, not just washing up as far as he could, then down as far as he could, then washing “could”! He scraped the stubble off his face with a blade that was about as dull as a rusty ax head, but it’d have to do until morning.

  Nevada’s hat was beyond saving, so Morgan switched it for his own black Stetson he’d hauled around the country—from Galveston to Philadelphia and parts in between. He still favored the hat, much as he did his boots and watch fob. Oh yeah, the Pinkertons had given him hell about the boots, but in the long run, he’d prevailed. Next to a man’s horse, his hat and boots were his most prized possessions.

  But for Morgan it was his watch fob. The last gift his daddy had given him before being trapped in a mine shaft. At the age of twelve, Morgan had to provide for his three stair-stepsisters and a mentally ill mother, who became too frightened to step out of the house for fear of being kidnapped.

  Morgan vividly recalled every tortuous hour working in the box factory on Second Street in Colinderville, Pennsylvania, where he made crude wooden boxes to hold squibs that were used in the mines.

  Every evening was spent studying, when not shielding his siblings from the townsfolk’s ridicule. They got called poor little ragamuffins and worse. He worked to feed his family until the girls were able to take care of themselves. His mother went into an institution only weeks before the good Lord relieved her of her worldly pain and took her into his arms. Putting her away, as folks called it, became a burden Morgan carried with him ever since. To escape, he had joined the Pinkerton Agency.

  Morgan neared the Springs Hotel and in the distance heard the music and racket of the merrymakers attending the dance. He wished he and Alaine were there. One thing that had kept him going all day was thinking about holding Alaine in his arms and waltzing across Texas, but it wasn’t bound to happen. He planned to look in on her first, then find Tegeler to see what, if anything, he had found out about the rustlers.

  Pony Boy came up behind Morgan so fast that if he’d had a gun he’d probably have drawn it on the kid.

  “Mister,” he hailed. “Hey, Mister Payne, gotta wire for you.” He almost skidded into Morgan. “Mister Dewey’s wife over at the telegram place says that I gotta make shore I give it to you and nobodies else.”

  “Thanks.” Morgan tossed him two bits, and the kid darted away holding the coin up to the light, as though checking for its authenticity.

  Morgan walked into the lobby of the hotel and found a quiet, well-lit spot to read the message, after which he tore it into tiny pieces and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Didja find out anything?” a voice called from the shadows.

  “Sonofabitch, Teg,” Morgan bellowed. “You could walk through a den of rattlers and never disturb a one.”

  “Too many years of scouting.” The old man motioned with his head to follow him.

  Once they were in the empty dining room, Teg led him to a secluded corner where they could have some privacy.

  “Need to talk, son,” he quickly began. “Trouble isn’t on its way—it’s here.” He smashed a cockroach that scampered across the floor. “Found two dead steers near the fence line. Gutted, mangled. Sending us a message.”

  “Not surprised. Just got a wire from Philly confirming that Gimpy is the same Bandy Jameson who owns the Rocking J.” Morgan frowned. “Pretty sure he was the one who saw us on his land.”

  “Damn it!” Teg clamped his lips together in anger. “Gotta keep Alaine in town and safe. Don’t care how in the hell you do it, but make sure she doesn’t come back out to the ranch until this blows over. I’ve got my hands full out there and can’t protect her right now.”

  Morgan didn’t have to listen to the rest of Teg’s reasoning. He knew full well that she’d be safer in town under his watchful eye than traipsing between Kasota Springs and the Jacks Bluff.

  Teg continued. “I’m leaving some of the guys I trust to give you an extra pair of eyes or three.”

  Jeeze, it’d take them and a dozen more to boot to make sure the most stubborn person Morgan believed he’d ever dealt with didn’t misbehave.

  “One thing more, Payne. McKenna Smith got hurt and Alaine’s mama took him to the ranch to doctor him up, so better stay away. Don’t need him blowing your cover this late in the game.”

  “Smith’s honest and levelheaded. Never killed a man who didn’t draw on him first, but we don’t need another gun involved in this mess.” Morgan defended the gunslinger and eyed the foreman. More trouble was coming, Morgan was certain from the look in Teg’s eyes. “Something else?”

  “Gimpy and Snyder have disappeared. Just upped and walked off, stealing everybody’s money for both operations. Got some mad hombres out there ready to string ’um up. We need to find the bastards before they do.”

  “Wish to hell somebody would have thought about asking Gimpy for his given name before the rustling began.”

  “You know better than that. It ain’t polite to question a man’s name. What his mama tagged him with ain’t none of our business. Besides, some of their names are downright embarrassing.”

  A young couple entered the dining room.

  Not giving Morgan an opportunity to tell him more about the telegram, Tegeler sauntered off.

  “Don’t let our Little Buckaroo get out of your sight without making sure one of the guys are there or you got me to deal with, Payne,” he said over his shoulder before stopping and turning around. “Hogtie her if necessary.” The ol’ buzzard stared Morgan straight in the eyes. “And you sure as hell better not break her heart.”

  Chapter 10

  Damn, Morgan wasn’t sure when he signed on to be Alaine’s bodyguard, but it kind
a happened, just like him saying “no” and her hearing “yes.” Seems everybody at the Jacks Bluff had a ciphering problem.

  Glad the hotel clerk was nowhere in sight, Morgan climbed the stairs to Alaine’s mother’s hotel room. He gave a deep sigh of relief, knowing if he was seen going into her room the rumor mill would grind overtime. He knocked lightly.

  “Alaine, it’s Morgan.”

  “Come on in.” Her voice sounded soft and inviting.

  This might not be such a bad chore after all, he thought, before Teg’s words reminded him otherwise.

  The room was dimly lit, with only a lamp in the far corner of the room. The sweet, heady fragrance of lilac filled the stuffy room, which needed fresh air in the worst way.

  Water swished gently like a mountain stream trickling over stones after a rainstorm.

  At first he thought Alaine was hiding, but after taking a second look he saw her only too well.

  Sweet mother of Joseph! The lamplight behind a thin dressing screen as she bathed served to highlight the silhouette of the most exquisitely created woman Morgan had ever seen. Only God could have made anything that perfect.

  “Mama left a note at the desk that she’s going to the ranch for the night,” she called from behind the screen. “And, thanks for the supper. I was starving.”

  His mouth was spitless, but he finally muttered a couple of words. “You’re welcome.”

  Teg had burst Morgan’s plan apart like a balloon pricked by a bowie knife. He had figured he’d check on Alaine and when her mama got there, he’d set up watch outside the door.

  His eyes returned to the vision behind the screen. Morgan couldn’t tear his gaze away. A gentleman would have excused himself and left the room while she finished bathing, but he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be that gentleman.

  “Mama left a boxed supper, but I found the meal you sent much more inviting,” she said in a silky voice. “Help yourself.”

  Water sloshed, and he could see the silhouette of her body wedged between the screen and the lamp as clearly as if there were no veiling between him and the lady.

  She raised one leg and leaned forward to wash her ankle. The outline of full, well-developed breasts anchored the images in his mind, sending a reminder way down south that he was a hot-blooded male in need of immediate attention.

  “Need anything, Morgan?” Her voice was a velvety purr.

  “No, ma’am.” He tried to remember his pledge…to protect her, and he couldn’t do it sitting outside of her door, not with a window facing Main Street directly across from the mercantile’s upstairs.

  Although the window was covered with dainty lace curtains, she’d be right in the line of fire if someone decided hurting her might serve as a second reminder that they knew Payne and Tegeler were on to their scheme.

  He swallowed again and needed a distraction. He looked around. The room, void of pictures, reminded him of a Civil War battlefield hospital.

  Evidently, Alaine’s mama had planned for the worst, as there were enough bandages, bottles of tonic, even a jug of whiskey, to doctor about anything that could happen at the rodeo. They were prepared even if a range war broke out.

  He could study the wallpaper only so long. He finally said, “Believe I’ll take you up on supper.”

  Snatching up the decorated box, he tore it open like it was the newest Sears Roebuck catalogue.

  Morgan grabbed the first piece of chicken he came to—a luscious, tender and succulent breast. Well, that wouldn’t keep his mind off the naked woman. It was about as tricky as trying to stab fleas with a butcher knife when a fully grown bull was roaming through the room.

  “Try a breast if one’s there. You look like a breast man to me,” she said in a honeyed tone.

  Holy cow! Tossing the piece back in, he fingered his next choice. A meaty, mouthwatering thigh, which reminded him of the fine-looking part of her body that got exposed while they wrestled for the dice.

  “Maybe you’re a leg or thigh man. They’re always my favorite,” she commented.

  Back to the box.

  “Guess I’ll hush so you can enjoy your supper.” Her voice rose a little, making her statement a polite half question, half comment.

  Words escaped him.

  A neck. Kissing her got between him and the skimpy part of the chicken that his mama told him was the sweetest meat of the fryer.

  He waited for Alaine’s next soliloquy, and when none came he settled on the bony chicken back with the tail suggestively hanging on for dear life.

  Hell’s bells, he couldn’t even eat supper for letting thoughts about the woman who made him crazy get in the way.

  A jar caught his eye. He opened it and helped himself to a pretty good-size whole pickle. He munched on it. Surely there was nothing about a plump, mouth-puckering pickle that could remind him of how much he’d like to make love to the woman soaking in the tub.

  Sitting the jar aside, he replaced the lid on the box, nearly crushing it with the force.

  Morgan began to pace the room. Maybe that would take his mind off Alaine’s soap-slickened body.

  “Morgan!” She spaced the next two words evenly. “Come here.”

  He whirled just in time to see her stand up, giving him full view of every inch of her body. Long, luscious legs, tempting thighs, pert breasts—he corralled his thoughts about the rest of her.

  “There’s a roach in the tub. Get him out.”

  “Alaine, I can’t come behind that curtain. You’re not appropriately dressed.”

  Well, wasn’t that about the dumbest observation he’d ever made…but he didn’t know how else to describe her short of…sweet jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, he’d like to see her without a damn divider between them.

  “Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy.” She leaned around the panel, her dark hair hanging in wet ringlets over her shoulder, smiled and extended her hand. “Here he is.”

  Morgan accepted the squiggly insect that theoretically should have drowned. Not sure what to do with him short of stomping its guts out, he opened the jar of pickles and dropped the pest in, not really caring if anybody mistook the cockroach for seasoning or not.

  Water sloshed again as Alaine eased back into the water. “Morgan, it’s so nice in here that I think I could go to sleep,” she said wistfully.

  Teg’s reminder not to touch Alaine, keep her safe and not break her heart hit Morgan like a one-ton bull in a nasty mood. He set his jaw and almost laughed out loud. The ol’ man’s words surfaced. Yep, paybacks were hell.

  He strolled to the table, picked up a pen and jotted on the back of an envelope—Deliver to Teg Tegeler, Jacks Bluff Ranch.

  Opening the door, he set the pickle jar on top of the note right outside, knowing one of Teg’s spies would be within spittin’ distance and would make sure the gift was delivered to his ol’ buddy.

  Every inch of Morgan was drenched with sweat. He couldn’t recall being so hot in all of his life. The rain had served to turn a scorcher of a day into a muggy, humid night. The outdoors was more of a sweat lodge than anything. Now the hotel room was stifling, a sultry mistress waiting on a lover—steamed up from bath water, humidity and—Morgan was pretty sure he was adding several degrees of body heat to the mix.

  Alaine chatted away, recounting the events of the day, talking about people Morgan didn’t know and probably wouldn’t ever meet, yet the sound of her voice lulled him into a relaxed mood. The underlying sensuality of each word captivated him and made him think of a silken rose petal. But underneath he knew there were thorns essential to protect its beauty.

  “What?” He jerked upright.

  “I said why don’t you take your shirt off and hang it over the chair to dry? Rest awhile. I know you’re exhausted, and I truly believe I can sleep a week in this tub.”

  “No argument from me. Might cool down by then.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. This might be the best idea she’d come up with yet.

  He settled back in the only other chair in the
room, a wooden hotel-issue piece, and rested his head against the wall.

  Thoughts of what he had to do to complete his assignment filled his mind for the moment.

  The telegram had given him instructions on how the corporation that owned Slippery Elm wanted him to handle the rustling case. With a directive from his home office, those developments would detain him another day or two. Then he’d head back to Philadelphia where he figured it was about time for him to do something that’d been on his mind for a long time. For starters, resign from the agency and return to being a lawman who enjoyed capturing untrustworthy, natural-born killers like Black Jack Ketchum or the Dalton Gang.

  But before he could do that, he had to make sure that the wild child of Kasota Springs was kept safe…without getting himself killed.

  Chapter 11

  Alaine jerked awake. Shivers ran up her spine. She was about as cold as she’d ever been in her life, not to mention her skin looked like a prune that had been dried too long. Her bath water was not even tepid, close to freezing compared to the heat in the room.

  She had literally fallen asleep in the water while chatting with Morgan, although he really hadn’t said much.

  Light flickered from the lamp. Everything in the room was quiet, except for the soft snoring coming from Morgan. Not a disturbing sound, not that she’d ever heard a man snore, but one that a woman could feel comfortable with, knowing she was being protected by a man she loved.

  Yikes! What was she thinking? What she felt was more of an attraction. Wanting to get your hands on a male kind of magnetism but certainly not anywhere close to love. It was lust, a need, longing, a million other words besides love!

  Ashamed that she let her thoughts run wild, Alaine dried off and slipped into a white muslin gown trimmed with tiny blue rosettes and pulled on the matching robe.

  Rounding the corner of the screen, her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. The sight of Morgan asleep in the chair sent a delightful thrill of desire through her like kindling catching fire.