Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  He’d had to go and touch Augusta. Kiss her, for God’s sake. And not just any kind of kiss, but a bend-one-knee-I-want-usto-make-baby-cowboys-and-build-a-home-together kind of kiss. He’d wanted to feel nothing, planned that if he ever had the opportunity to kiss her again it would mean nothing more than putting an end to something left unfinished. Instead, the touch and taste of her had kindled old wants inside him. Had set fire to a white-hot blaze that promised new beginnings between them if he cowboy-upped and met her challenge.

  Seeing her again had rattled Dally, though he’d tried his best not to show it. It stuck in his craw now having to admit it to himself. Those sky-blue eyes of hers had sizzled with challenge at first, and he’d almost let the anger he saw there intimidate him. But the memory of her lips on his encouraged Dally to be bold and accept the dare. He’d taken the lead, pressing his mouth against hers and demanding that she return the kiss. When she relented and gave in full measure, her lips sent something hotter, wilder than sin itself coursing through him. Feeling as if he’d been freight-trained, he finally let go and tried to regain his bearings.

  He’d expected her anger, but not the bone-melting seduction of a woman full grown. Rekindling the old fire between them had definitely not been in his plans at all. He’d meant to ignore her, treat her like she never filled his thoughts when another woman happened to smile at him as she passed by. He meant to forget the countless midnights he woke up reaching for her and wondering where she was and whether she was safe. But if Dally had learned one thing in life it was like that old saying, “timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.” It was best that he remember now to grab leather and bail out before she left him bloody, beaten and without focus.

  Seeing a long line at the post office, Dally decided to put off finding out where they would put the names in the hat for the draw. Instead, he decided to quench his thirst. No use standing in line and keeping others from paying their fee on time. A glance over at the Slats and Fats Saloon assured him that he’d made a good choice. It looked as if a bunch of the Double D hands had stopped in to shake some of the trail dust off before they joined in the festivities. Slim’s horse was hitched among those wearing the Double D brand.

  He found his friend bellied up to the bar and sitting next to the petite, glossy-skinned lady, Tempest LeDoux. The Cajun rancher was apparently husband hunting again. She had forgone her normal flare of colorful clothing and, instead, was wearing a white dress and resting a matching lace parasol at her side—surefire clues that her latest mourning garments had been laid to rest. She must have set her bonnet for some bootstrap in the room for she was looking primed and ready for courting. He hoped for his friend’s sake that Slim was the target. The stringbean was one of the few folks in the Panhandle who saw no wrong with the woman and her ways, and Dally was one of the few men that Slim felt comfortable in sharing his feelings about her. Dally supposed it was because he didn’t judge people’s pasts. How she made a place here with folks was all that seemed accountable to him.

  He sallied up to the bar and nudged Slim. Slim swung around and grinned. “What are you doing in here, Bull Buster? Thought you’d be out there giving that old brindle what-for.”

  “Done that.” Slim knew him too well. “Looks like you’re trying to rope one in yourself.”

  Slim shook his head. “Nah, she’s got a bead on that shootist there. He’s done spoiled a robbery over at Cattleman’s Bank and captured ol’ Cherokee Bill Bartlett, of all people. That’s McKenna Smith, himself, they say. Passing through and promoting peace. They’re even giving him a parade in his honor at noon. Can’t compete with those kinds of odds, even with the best of the chances, can I? Guess I’m a reputation too late and a buncha muscles too thin.” A deep sigh deflated his thin frame. “Maybe next time.”

  As far as he was concerned, it was Tempest LeDoux’s loss if she didn’t sit up and take notice of how much Slim cared for her. Dally took a look on the other side of the Cajun and noticed she was sort of leaning into the powerful-looking stranger standing next to her. When her hand flashed past the man’s drink, Dally could’ve sworn he saw something move in the man’s glass. The way the stranger was looking at her and she back at him, Dally was sure that Slim had faced his fate justifably. The look those two were sharing would either stir up something like true love or lust everlasting. Dally could almost feel the sizzle from where he sat. Poor Slim, he never had a chance this time. Maybe any of the other five times, now that Dally thought about it some.

  He started to call attention to the fact that there might be something live and kicking in Smith’s glass when all of the sudden the bartender reminded Dally to remove his hat.

  “No hats inside, Angelo. You know the rules.”

  Dally had been thinking so hard on Augusta when he’d entered the saloon that he’d forgotten to hang his hat at the door. He took it off and laid it on the counter. The bartender scowled, showing his disapproval. He guessed the hat would provide a barricade to beer mugs sliding their way down to the men just past him. Dally gauged the distance from bar to peg, grabbed the hat and let it sail. The Stetson hooked itself like a well-thrown horseshoe, instigating a howl of appreciation from several cowboys standing nearby.

  “Crowd’s easy to please this morning.” Dally turned back to Slim and asked what he was drinking.

  “Sarsparilla,” Slim announced a bit loudly. “They’re all in a festive mood because of their money being saved over at the bank.”

  Dally knew Tempest drank the same and figured his friend was trying to bring the point home to the husband hunter. “Fill his up,” he told the bartender, “and I’ll have some coffee.”

  “Figured you’d be drinking something stouter than bean juice today, considering you might be riding Bone Buster tonight.” Slim found his good humor again and thanked him for the refill.

  “Plan to be sober as a judge.” Dally accepted the cup of coffee and took a drink of the bitter, hot liquid. Nothing like the taste of ground piñon beans to help a man shake off any sluggishness.

  “You seen Augusta? A couple of the boys say she’s playing boss tramp and following the competitions around with her folks.”

  Slim would have a lot to say if Dally chose to tell him that he’d seen her. Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t. He sure as hell wouldn’t tell him that he’d kissed her. The stringbean would never let him hear the end of that. Dally decided not to lie to his friend, just not admit the truth. “Who would’ve figured she’d settle for that kind of life?”

  Slim looked longingly at Tempest. “Some women are settling down kind of gals and some ain’t. Some of ’em think they gotta ride all over kingdom come and back before they light somewhere with the right feller. Nothing like a woman who knows her mind and sets it to what she wants.”

  Dally didn’t like the image Slim was conjuring. Augusta with other men. He’d thought it plenty of times and wondered how he’d react when he saw her on someone else’s arm. Watching her just walk beside that other clown a while ago was enough to make him gnaw a jaw tooth loose. “She always said she was going to do something different with her life. I guess she meant it.”

  “You know, you were two shots short of a full trigger for giving anyone else a chance at courting her anyway.” Slim gulped his refill in one swig.

  Slim had disapproved of Dally telling Augusta that their wedding day would have to wait until he’d ridden Bone Buster, no matter how long it took. He’d been quite vocal about it every time the subject came up. “That’s an old trail we don’t need to go down again, friend.”

  He’d been grief stricken at the time and single-minded in purpose. He couldn’t pretend that he cared about wedding preparations and planning a big to-do when all he could think about was riding the rank out of that mankiller who took his father’s life. If Augusta couldn’t understand that, then she didn’t know him half as well as he thought she did.

  “Easy on the trigger, hoss. Just stating facts.” Slim’s gaze focused on
Dally’s neck. “You still got the ring?”

  Dally didn’t know what he had expected Slim to say, but it wasn’t anything concerning the ring that hung tied to a strap of rawhide around his neck and hidden beneath his shirt. It had hung there since the day Augusta had thrown it back at him and yelled that he needed to grow up before she would ever follow through on marrying him. The day she’d taken her father’s bull and left the state. Slim had remarked about that fact one day when he’d caught Dally swimming in the creek without a shirt. Dally couldn’t bring himself to admit that he never took the ring off. He’d just told his friend that it was easier to keep track of it that way and it was too valuable to lose.

  “So what if I do?” Dally grumbled irritably, knowing that his anger wasn’t at Slim but at himself for not being prepared for the sight of Augusta. That’s all. Who would have imagined that she would look even more fetching than she had at seventeen and every bit the stubborn redhead that he remembered? No, not just fetching, but buck-a-cowboy-out-the-backdoor beautiful.

  Even so, he shouldn’t have had such a strong reaction to her, no matter how beautiful she’d become or how much he admitted he still wanted her. But the fact remained, seeing Augusta Garrison in the flesh had made his boots shake. That thought made him wish there was something a little stouter than piñon beans in his coffee.

  “I say you find Gus and slap that ring on her finger,” Slim said, his head turning as he watched the Cajun lead the stranger away from the bar and toward a room where others often went to have some privacy, “before it’s too late and you’re a broken old bronc buster full of what could have been. Want me to go fetch her for you?”

  Dally gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Nobody’s fetching anybody. Come on, hoss, let’s go do what we do best. We’ll find out where they’re making the draw and get camp set up. Let’s leave those gals to cagier cowboys than us. What do ya say?”

  “I say I’m lonely as hell and wishing you didn’t make so damned much sense.”

  Dally wanted to laugh at the pitiful expression on his friend’s face, but he couldn’t. He knew exactly how Slim felt. He might act like he didn’t care that his woman didn’t belong to him, lock, stock and wedding-ring finger. But the truth was, it hurt like hell.

  Chapter 4

  “Is that him?” Joey asked as he deliberately bumped Augusta and made her look as if she were going to fall, just as they planned in order to set off a roar of laughter from the crowd who lined Main Street.

  She ignored his question, focusing on dodging and darting between the pretty buckskins and paints that marched in the parade around them. Being a tramp was dangerous on every occasion that people and stock tried to dazzle a crowd. She always kept the old saying in the back of her mind to keep her aware of possible dangers. She’d found out on several occasions already that it wasn’t a matter of if things will go wrong, but when.

  Joey followed her and pointed to the blue-eyed cowboy who had just stepped out of the saloon and stood waiting for the parade to pass. “He and that skinny fellow standing next to him are staring holes through me. Is one of them Angelo?”

  Augusta took up a position next to the wagon that carried some of the rodeo officials and was perturbed when Joey stepped up next to her instead of on the other side of the wagon as they’d rehearsed. She knew he wasn’t going to let it alone. “You know it is. You saw him follow me to the tent.”

  “Honey, I’d be for shedding me some face paint and putting on some prettier clothes if I had a looker like that following me.”

  She glanced up and realized that Tempest LeDoux, head of the rodeo committee, had overheard what she’d said and apparently had taken notice of Dally. Leave it to Mrs. LeDoux to spot a good-looking cowboy. She called the lady rancher and her daughter, Alaine, friends and had shared a little of her and Dally’s history with them. But no one knew all of it. Not even Dally himself.

  Tempest looked like a gypsy fortune-teller, all decked out in a fanciful off-the-shoulder white blouse and shimmering skirt. The wide gold belt around her waist was full of bangles that matched those at her wrist. Augusta pretended to be jealous of the woman’s beauty, including her friend into the comic routine. She signaled to Joey to offer Tempest a sunflower from his clown’s hat and, when he did, Augusta exaggerated her already sad face, acting jealous.

  The crowd roared at her and Joey’s antics, all their faces, except one, filled with approval. Ice blue eyes had turned their glare from Joey to her. Augusta realized that Dally was on the move, following the path the parade was taking up Main Street. If she didn’t do something quick, he would meet up with her at the end of the livery. In no way was she ready for another face-to-face meeting with the man. The taste of him still lingered long after their kiss.

  “Got to go, Mrs. LeDoux. I need to be over at the chutes when they draw for the rides. I’ll see you over at the shooting competition.”

  “Then you are coming?” Tempest looked pleased.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Is Alaine ready?”

  “About to split her britches.” A grin stretched across Tempest’s face as she accepted the sunflower and blew Joey a kiss.

  “See you there.” Augusta signaled to the tramps that it was time to end their part of the parade and give chase to Joey. “Grab a bite to eat,” she instructed as she ran alongside him, “then we’ll meet up at the team roping.”

  “Then you can tell me more about this Angelo fellow.” Joey just wouldn’t let it go.

  The clowns sliced through the crowd like they were bullets being sprayed in every direction. As they raced away, they reached into their baggy pockets and drew out strings of colorful beads, throwing them at the parade watchers. Oohs and ahhs of appreciation echoed all-around from those lucky enough to catch the gifts.

  Fifteen minutes later, Augusta stood among the mob waiting for the shooting competition to commence. She should have been making sure everything was in order with the drawing, but she’d promised Alaine LeDoux she would watch her compete. Not many folks gave Alaine and her mother the time of day but, despite all the gossip and rumors, Augusta found them to be good-hearted, decent women. She meant to show her support, just as promised.

  While Alaine strode to the shooting mark, her mother’s feet braced as if she were facing a showdown. Tempest looked like she was praying, her hands clenched over her heart. Augusta prayed that her friend would show these people a thing or two. A well-aimed bullet today would go a long way in proving a point.

  Alaine looked like she knew what she was doing. She’d certainly been practicing every day since Augusta had gotten off the train from St. Louis. The girl raised the 16-gauge Parker and drew a bead on the target. Blue smoke belched from the end of the firearm. Tempest jerked as if she’d been shot. Alaine’s bullet went wide and seemed to make a rag doll out of her mother. For a moment, the crowd quit breathing and Augusta wondered if the bullet could have possibly struck the Cajun rancher. But Tempest stood slightly behind her daughter. No way a bullet could stray backward.

  Finally, Mrs. LeDoux regained her high color and sensibilities. “That’s some mighty fancy shooting, honey,” Tempest told her daughter as the girl stalked toward the nearest alley with her chin held high. “You’ll do better tomorrow. I’m sure of it.”

  Augusta could read her friend’s disappointment and knew Alaine would never give up till she got it right. And Tempest would never give up helping her get better. Whatever Alaine’s dreams were her mother would champion.

  Augusta respected that kind of loyalty even though she hadn’t been able to give it to Dally. She couldn’t champion his aim to ride Bone Buster.

  Joey strode up beside her, munching on a delicious smelling beef rib. “Any particular reason you’re avoiding this Angelo fellow and me anytime I ask you about him?”

  “I thought I told you to take a break.” Augusta moved away from the crowd and headed for the chutes out at the railhead.

  “That’s what I’m doing. Want a bite?” J
oey offered her a rib as he walked with her. A couple of town mutts followed, waiting patiently for the clown to offer them a tidbit. “Don’t know who I’m voting for, Cookie over at Burkburnett’s camp or Sam from the Flying G. Both make some tasty beef, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You don’t have to vote for Sam just ’cause he works for my father.” Augusta hadn’t had a chance to sample any of the fare being offered by the cooks participating in the chuckwagon cook-off. Seeing Dally had made her lose her appetite.

  “I figure you haven’t seen Angelo in about three, maybe four years until today, have you?” Joey finished off the rib and tossed the bone to one of the dogs. A fight ensued and Joey stopped it by giving the other dog a rib that still had meat on it.

  Augusta’s breath caught in her throat and she stopped to stare at the clown. “Why would you say that?”

  “Oh, I’d say little Maddy’s that old, give or take a few months.”

  Who else suspected the truth, Augusta wondered. “What makes you think he’s her father?”

  “I wasn’t sure until I saw you with him today. He’s her father, all right. Don’t deny it.” When she didn’t, Joey continued. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  “What was the point in telling him? Dally was so hell-bent on riding that bull I figured he’d go and get himself killed before she was ever born.” Her hands knotted into fists as she took brisk strides toward the chutes. “I was seventeen and scared, Joey. He was grief stricken over his father’s death and bent on revenge. I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling him. By leaving and taking that damn bull with me. I knew Dally was strapped for money and never dreamed he’d find a way to follow the brindle all over the southwest. But he followed anyway. Then I had to stay away from the reunions for a while until after the baby was born. I can’t tell you the nights I prayed for him not to draw that brindle. The nights I prayed that, if he did, I wouldn’t have to tell my daughter one day why she’d never met her father.”