To Tame A Texan

by Georgina Gentry

  He winked, turned, and sauntered back to the bevy of eager girls gathered under the giant oleander bushes.

  Damn him. Damn, damn, damn him. Oleanders were poisonous. It was too bad she hadn’t sprinkled some leaves or blossoms on his pie instead of just chili peppers.

  Now that most of the crowd had been served, Lynnie got herself a plate and retreated to the kitchen to enjoy the delicious picnic. The barbecue was juicy and smoky, the fresh bread crusty and thickly spread with home-churned butter. She went back for some of her rhubarb pie, but Cookie informed her that Ace had taken the very last piece. She hoped he choked on it.

  Darkness had fallen over the Texas hill country as Lynnie went back outside. The little Mexican band was setting up on the edge of the courtyard, preparing for the dance. Lynnie tried to look busy, bravely walking about the courtyard and nodding first to one and then another, but some avoided her gaze and others paused as she passed, and then the conversation picked up again after she left—she suspected the people were gossiping about her exploits. For the one-hundredth time, Lynnie wished she had stayed home, but her big sister had insisted she attend.

  Penelope joined her by the fountain. “I wonder if Hank is comin’?” She said for the umpteenth time.

  “We can have a perfectly lovely time without men,” Lynnie assured her.

  “I so wanted to dance with him,” Penelope moaned.

  “Speaking of men, where are they all?”

  Penelope gestured. “Some of them are over by the band, some are still hanging around the beer keg, and I think some of the others have gone to the library to smoke cigars and talk business and politics. I think I saw Ace drifting that way.”

  “Politics?” Lynnie’s ears perked up. “That sounds more interesting than standing here hoping to get asked to dance.”

  “Oh, Hank Dale just rode up!” Penelope went running to meet the young rancher. Hank Dale was lanky with brown curly hair. His face lit up when he spotted Penelope, and they laughed together.

  Lynnie felt completely alone. She wasn’t going to be asked to dance—she knew that—and she really didn’t know how, anyway. That short lesson from Ace had only made her aware of her shortcomings in that department. Besides, she didn’t want to argue with some dolt over whether it was his right to lead.

  Politics. She headed toward the library. The door was open, the air heavy with tobacco smoke, which made her choke, but she suppressed a cough.

  “... and the price of beef will of course depend on if we get enough rain for a good stand of grass,” the older Durango said.

  Some of the other men standing around him nodded and murmured agreement.

  Her brother-in-law, Maverick, said, “Trace, are you really planning an old-fashioned cattle drive?”

  “Thinking about it,” Trace said. “It’ll be like old times.”

  She watched Ace sip his whiskey and groan aloud. “Lordy, Dad, it sounds miserable.”

  A couple of the older ranchers made noises of disagreement. “Them was the days,” one of them said wistfully.

  She reminded herself that she must not correct the older man’s grammar as she slipped closer to the sideboard and grabbed a whiskey off a tray. She’d never drunk anything except a little sherry before, but she was feeling brave and reckless.

  One of the other men said, “I hear Willis Forrester has heard what you plan and is going to do a cattle drive himself.”

  Trace Durango snorted. “Sounds like the Forresters. I hear he’s been cozyin’ up to the governor.”

  “The governor has some pretty good ideas,” one rancher said.

  Lynnie couldn’t stand any more. “The governor is an idiot,” she said loudly.

  The men all turned as if noticing her for the first time, and the room grew quiet.

  “Ah, ma’am,” the older Durango said, “ladies don’t usually—”

  “Don’t usually what, Uncle Trace? Join the men for interesting conversation? I’ll have another whiskey, please.” She gulped her drink and handed the glass to the Mexican boy behind the bar, who paused, then filled it for her. She saw Trace look toward his son, and Ace pushed through the silent crowd to her.

  “That’s pretty strong drink for a lady.”

  “Everyone else is drinking it.” With all the men staring, there was nothing to do but grab the glass and gulp it. “Now, as you were saying about the governor, what I’d really like to talk about is his stand on women’s rights.”

  However, no one talked. In the silence, the men all looked at each other helplessly, which annoyed her. She knew more about politics in this state than most men, but they were waiting for her to go join the women and talk about babies and crocheting doilies. “I—I’ll have another whiskey, please.”

  Her stomach was already roiling over the liquor she’d just put in it. How in the name of God did men drink that stuff? Maybe the bartender wouldn’t give her another. She could only hope.

  The Mexican boy looked toward Ace, who nodded. “If Miss McBride wants to behave like a man, by all means, pour her another.” He grinned at her. “Would you like a cigar, too?”

  “A cigar?” All the men were staring at her. Her brother-in-law, Maverick, looked annoyed. “I—I—of course. I smoke them all the time.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ace took one from his pocket and handed it to her. She wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Every pair of eyes in the room was on her. There was no backing out now. Ace’s father looked as if he was about to object.

  “It’s all right,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “I just remembered I don’t have a match.”

  “Allow me.” Ace made an exaggerated, courtly bow and pulled out a little silver match safe from his vest.

  She sniffed it as she had seen men do, and remembered then that she was supposed to bite the tip off, but she had trouble with it. All that time, Ace was standing there in the silence with his damned match safe.

  In the silence, he struck the match. What else could she do? With a shaking hand, she put the cigar in her mouth. Ace lit it, looking much amused. She took a deep puff, trying not to cough.

  “Miss McBride, would you like another whiskey?”

  “N-no thank you,” she managed to gasp as the black smoke fogged around her. Why on earth did men like these things? It tasted like burning hay. No, worse. Maybe burning manure. She felt all gazes upon her, most of them dark with disapproval, but she wasn’t sure how to exit gracefully now, so she took another puff and tried to look nonchalant. “Gentlemen, you may continue with your conversation. I—I think I hear someone calling me.”

  She was feeling sick—very sick. Almost tottering, she headed out the French doors, past the dancers, and around to the back of the house, where she tossed away the cigar and leaned against the wall.

  Ace came around the house, looking a little more sober in the moonlight. “Lynnie, are you all right? Your face looks greener than your dress.”

  “Thunderation, why wouldn’t I be all right? I can do anything a man can do.”

  “All right, then.” He started to walk away, and at that point, Lynnie’s stomach couldn’t stand any more. She began to throw up all over his boots.

  “Oh, hell,” Ace said, “my best boots. Little gals shouldn’t try hard liquor and cigars.” He came to her side and put his arm around her to keep her from falling.

  “Go away!” she wailed. “Go away and just let me die! Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

  Ace disappeared and was back in a moment with a bucket of cold well water. He began to splash her face. “Here, you little priss, you’ll feel better.”

  “I don’t need your help,” she gasped, and leaned against the wall.

  “Yes, you do.” He sounded almost gentle as he caught her arm, handing her a dipper of water. “Here, wash your mouth out while I tend to my boots.”

  She gulped the cold water, and it seemed to calm her belly.

  Then he dipped his handkerchief in the water and gently washed her fa
ce. “I’m sorry, Lynnie; I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. Here, let me carry you inside.” Before she could object, he had swung her up in his arms.

  She had forgotten how strong and powerful he was. “I hate you!” she sobbed, laying her face against his chest. “You are the most despicable brute of a man. . . .”

  “Why don’t you try behavin’ like a lady and you wouldn’t get yourself into these scrapes?”

  “Go away!” she yelled at him, fighting the urge to sob.

  “Oh, hush, Lynnie.” Ignoring her pleas and threats, he strode with big, easy strides toward the house. “I was trying to help. . . .”

  “I don’t need your help,” she wailed.

  “Reckon you do,” he said as he carried her into the house, with everyone turning to stare.

  “You’re embarrassing me.” She laid her face against his wide chest.

  “Gal, you embarrassed yourself, but I’ll probably get in trouble for givin’ you the cigar.”

  “I just wanted to talk politics,” she murmured, still queasy as he carried her.

  “I know, but men ain’t used to women with opinions.” He carried her upstairs and kicked a bedroom door open.

  “Aren’t,” she corrected.

  “What?” He paused, looking down at her.

  “Aren’t used to women with opinions.”

  “Damn,” he sighed, “I never met a girl who was so opinionated and so much trouble!”

  And with that, he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and strode away, leaving her to her misery.

  Seven

  Lynnie watched the big cowboy turn and stagger out of the room. Then his big feet echoed down the stairs. Could she have humiliated herself any worse? She managed to get off the bed, went to the bowl and pitcher in a corner, and splashed water on her face. Outside, the merriment drifted up to her window.

  Suppose people had seen Ace carrying her upstairs and hadn’t seen him come back? Would they think the two of them were . . . ? Oh, hell, of course not! She and that uncouth rascal? Besides, what did she care what people thought? Her big sister would care, and Lynnie felt obliged to be a good example for Penelope and the younger women. She lay down on the bed until her head stopped whirling, then tidied herself up as much as possible and went down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  The fiesta was still going strong; laughter and guitar music drifted across the night air. There, under the faint glow of the Chinese lanterns, Emmalou Purdy was draped around Ace Durango’s neck, laughing like a hyena.

  About that time, Nelbert Purdy rounded the corner. Uh-oh. Lynnie started to yell a warning, then decided the big lunkhead deserved whatever he got. Nelbert crossed the courtyard like a train engine under full steam, grabbed Ace by the arm, and spun him around. “How dare you take advantage of my innocent little sister?”

  “Innocent?” Ace said, “she was kissing me and—”

  “He was taking advantage of me,” Emmalou declared with a pout. “I do think, though, brother, that his intentions are honorable.”

  “They are?” Ace blinked; obviously, he’d been back at the beer keg.

  Nelbert Purdy bristled. “I reckon you are plannin’ on marriage with sweet Emmalou, or I may have to ask for satisfaction.”

  Nelbert must be drunker than Ace, Lynnie thought, because he was older and shorter, and Ace had a reputation as a saloon brawler.

  Ace turned pale as a catfish’s belly “Marriage? No, not me.”

  Emmalou began to cry, although Lynnie thought it sounded fake.

  The crowd noise lessened, and some drunk in the back yelled “Fight! Fight!”

  Now, besides liquor, fast women, and horses, there wasn’t anything more fun to a bunch of Texas cowboys than a good fistfight. A crowd began to form a circle.

  Ace grinned good-naturedly. “Now, Nelbert, I wasn’t doin’ anything—”

  “But you was thinkin’ it.”

  Ace grinned and tried to focus his eyes. “I’d be a damned liar if I said I wasn’t.”

  Of course, at that point, Nelbert was honor-bound to hit Ace in the mouth, knocking him back against the wall of the fountain. The crowd set up a yell for a fight. Always obliging, Ace wiped his bloody mouth and charged at the shorter man. They meshed and slugged it out around the fountain, with the men in the crowd cheering them on.

  Oh, dear. Where were Trace and Cimarron? Somebody had to break this up. Even as Lynnie looked around, trying to decide what to do next, Emmalou attacked Ace, hitting him in the back and screaming, “How dare you hit my brother! Give it to him, Nelbert!”

  Ace was outnumbered—anyone could see that—trading blows with Nelbert Purdy and trying to fend off Emmalou, who was slapping and hitting him. It wasn’t fair, especially as drunk as Ace was. Always one to come to the aid of the underdog, Lynnie charged in, grabbing the buxom girl by that long blond hair, which was certainly dyed. Now there were four of them struggling and shouting near the bubbling fountain.

  “Let go of me, you old maid, you!” Emmalou scratched and slapped, but Lynnie was used to dealing with overgrown students. She pushed the younger girl, and they both stumbled backward and fell into the fountain with a splash. They both came up wet and gasping. Thunderation, the water was cold. It molded her green gingham dress to her slender form, and the incredulous looks on the crowd’s faces as they ringed the fountain was something to see.

  Just then, Ace punched Nelbert again and they meshed, both going into the fountain with a shower of water. About that time, she heard running feet, and Ace’s dad pushed through the crowd, his face marked by both disbelief and anger.

  “Ace, what the hell’s going on out here?”

  In answer, Ace knocked Nelbert down again, and water sprayed everyone near the fountain. Emmalou stood up, the water molding her dress to her big bosoms, and wailed, “Your son won’t marry me, and he’s ruined my honor.”

  “Oh, Emmalou,” Lynnie said, “we all know your family’s hoping to marry money.”

  She smacked Emmalou again, and the buxom girl began to wail. “My dress. You’ve ruined my dress.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Lynnie snapped. “You aren’t hurt.”

  She could see Cimarron and her big sister coming from the house even as Ace’s father and Uncle Maverick climbed into the fountain, separating everyone.

  “Show’s over!” Trace yelled, and then he said the magic words to scatter the crowd. “I think the cook just put out more food and another keg of beer!”

  The crowd cheered, and most started drifting away. A drunken cowboy grinned as he left. “More beer and a good fight! Life don’t get no better than this.”

  Any better, Lynnie thought, but she only gathered her sodden skirts around her and stood looking at Cimarron’s and her big sister Cayenne’s horrified faces. Someone helped Emmalou and Nelbert climb out of the fountain, and little Tequila promptly ran over barking and sank his sharp little teeth into Purdy’s leg.

  “Dagnab it, even the Durango mutt is dangerous!” Nelbert howled. “I wasn’t doing nothin’ but protectin’ my sister’s honor.”

  “That’s right,” Emmalou wailed. “I thought Ace had honorable intentions.”

  “Emmalou,” Lynnie snorted, “anyone who knows Ace knows he hasn’t an honorable bone in his body. Besides, he couldn’t have done anything with you; he was upstairs in the bedroom with me!”

  Everyone turned and stared at her, then at the buxom Emmalou. Given the choice, it didn’t seem too likely.

  Ace looked at her with disbelief, then slowly smiled, realizing her sacrifice. “Can I help you out of the fountain, Lynnie?”

  Oh, God, what had she done? It horrified her that anyone might think she would actually ... and with an uncivilized brute like Ace Durango.

  “No, thank you,” she replied primly, already regretting her words.

  Emmalou began to howl like a cat whose tail had gotten caught under a rocking chair.

  “Emmalou,” Lynnie said, “he isn’t going to marry you. Now stop
your caterwauling.”

  “You Durangos!” Nelbert hissed at Ace, water dripping from his stocky form, “you think you’re so high and mighty—too good to marry into regular workin’ folk. . .”

  “Now Nelbert,” Trace soothed, “you’re drunk and there’s no harm done. Go have another drink and some more barbecue.”

  “You think your rascal of a son is too good for my poor, innocent sister.”

  Lynnie started to point out that everyone in the county knew Emmalou hadn’t been innocent since she was twelve or so, but decided that it would only add fuel to the fire.

  Nelbert’s weathered face was dark with anger. “From now on, Trace Durango, you and I is quits. I’m gonna join up with Willis Forrester’s cattle drive, and we’ll beat you to Dodge City.”

  The Purdys marched away with as much dignity as they could muster, which wasn’t much, considering they were leaving a trail of water, and their wet shoes squished with each step.

  Trace turned back to the fountain and cursed in Spanish. “Well, son, now see what you’ve done.”

  Ace grinned. He was still drunk, Lynnie thought. “Thanks, Lynnie, now can I help you out of the fountain?”

  “May I help you?” she corrected, very conscious that her wet clothes were clinging to her.

  Ace grinned, evidently enjoying the sight. “No, I don’t need no help, Lynnie, but let’s get out of here.”

  Before she could protest, he caught her arm and assisted her as they climbed out and stood there, dripping water. The crowd had headed back for more food and beer, but Trace was glaring at them both. Lynnie remembered he had a famous temper when riled.

  “Uncle Trace, let me explain . . .”

  “Never mind, Miss Lynnie. I’m sure this wasn’t your fault. The two of you get in the house and dry out. We’ll be the talk of the whole county tomorrow.”

  Ace grinned good-naturedly. “That was larrupin’ fun, Lynnie. I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

  “Young lady...” Her sister took her arm. “This is the last social event you’ll be attending for a while.”

  There was no point in explaining she had only been helping Ace. When gossip got around, she wouldn’t have any reputation left.