Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  Clayton spoke first. “Didja hear that that LeDoux woman hired on that kid they call Pony Boy?”

  “He’s as weird as that crazy Cajun, so he’ll fit right in with those misfits who ride for her.” Gimpy chuckled. “He don’t even know which end to put his spurs on.”

  “I wanna see him on a horse.” Clayton snorted. “Maybe we oughta tie him to one of them renegade bulls everybody’s bettin’ on. Maybe Bone Buster. I heard he killed a feller.”

  Furor raged within Alaine. Over her dead body would they touch Pony Boy. He couldn’t help the way God made him. Her jaw set. If she had listened to her gut instead of her mama, she’d be armed and would take them on for even thinking about hurting the kid. As scrappy as Alaine had been raised, if she came after them, they’d have to work hard to keep her from hanging their clawed-out eyeballs on a hitching post for the buzzards. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fist.

  Just one more word, Snyder, and you’ll have the toe of my boot somewhere between pleasure and pain. She didn’t trust him or his cohort Gimpy one iota, never had, never would.

  “Naw. The boy ain’t worth it. I’d rather get that crazy Cajun alone,” Gimpy snickered.

  “Don’t even try,” Snyder said. “If she ain’t any better than her kid is a shot, she wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

  “Didja see how far off Buckaroo was with her target? Goes to show that somebody should’ve told her that she’s out-growed her cute age and since she cain’t hit a lazy bull’s butt, she needs to realize her abilities stink.”

  “Ain’t your beeswax, Gimpy. Besides, we need to stay clear of trouble. Got work to do. Gotta move some of them Lazy S heifers.”

  “Yep, with all them cowboys more interested in breakin’ their bones to show who’s the best or dancin’ them foolself to death, nobody will be watchin’ the henhouse, so to speak.”

  They each snuffed out their smokes, laughed and retreated back into the stink hole they came from.

  Alaine’s heart broke at the words. Not about the cruel things Clayton and his cohort said about her abilities but the asinine comments they made about her mama.

  Lifting her head, Alaine searched the crowd for her mother. Nothing, but she didn’t see McKenna Smith either. “Not unusual for Mama,” she whispered to herself.

  Tempest had probably scared Smith off and then headed for the Springs Hotel where she had a room, so she’d be up early to start the next day’s activities.

  Was Alaine just like her mother?

  Why do I have to live under the shadow of such a powerful, proud woman? Only an apple comes from an apple orchard, she told herself.

  Lowering her head, Alaine tried not to think about the ridicule she had forced herself to become immune to. Couldn’t anybody see that her mama was nervy and strong? Why couldn’t she simply tell them to go to hell? Alaine’s mama had buried five husbands, one being Alaine’s father, so why didn’t they leave her alone? She wasn’t crazy, just liked to have fun, and because she thought for herself, they labeled her mad.

  Alaine thought back to the first round of the sharpshooting event. Dern! She wouldn’t have missed her target if she’d stayed focused instead of letting the man who exuded masculinity in every breath overshadow her confidence. Mr. Grouchy Trousers sure did carry himself with a commanding air of self-confidence. And his well-groomed appearance didn’t match his suntanned skin. His blue eyes seemed to hold secrets—secrets she wouldn’t mind exploring. When she had seen him watching her perform, it unnerved her.

  If it hadn’t been for the sight of him affecting her confidence, she could’ve won the first round.

  “Hey, Little Lady,” a voice as strong as steel, yet as soft as down, broke into her silence.

  That voice—she’d know anywhere.

  “Hey, back-atcha.” She replied to the man who stood over her like a giant oak. His expression a mask of stone.

  “Mind if I sit awhile?” Not waiting for an answer, he eased his strapping frame beside her.

  “Suit yourself.” She didn’t feel like company, but at the same time, she longed for this man’s notice.

  “Nice night.” He removed his derby and laid it beside him on the bench.

  “I’ve seen better.”

  “You’re Alaine, right?” he asked, and this time his voice was more friendly.

  She nodded. “LeDoux. Alaine LeDoux.”

  “Pretty name.”

  His thigh touched hers, and as much as she knew to move away, she couldn’t. As though he were a magnet, he drew her to him.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but couldn’t help but overhear those bastards talk about your mama. They don’t have enough sense to hobble their lips or spit downwind.”

  “So now you’re coming to my rescue again?”

  “Nope. Just figured you needed a friend.” He turned slightly toward her and broke into a pleasant smile. “I know I don’t know you all that well. Hell, barely know your name, but those coffee boilers don’t even have a vocabulary big enough to string three words together to make an intelligent sentence.” His shoulder touched hers, as he twisted in his seat slightly. “Hypocrites, they are. Dumb ones to boot. Why do you let ignorance rule your heart?”

  “You don’t know anything about my heart.”

  “I know about hearts. Got one myself, you know.” He gazed down at her, a half smile on his lips. The late-evening shadow of a beard gave his classically handsome face a manly aura.

  She tried not to return his smile, but failed miserably. “That’s good or I guess you wouldn’t be walking around, huh?” The merciful shadows hid her awkwardness. She felt the need to explain. “Mister, my mama isn’t crazy and those who say so are fools.”

  Eyes as blue as the Texas sky held her gaze, brimming with tenderness and passion.

  Trying to explain to her that he understood was like fencing off sticks and stones with a feather duster. Morgan knew more than he wanted about protecting a loved one from ridicule. He’d lived it but that was years ago. His mother hadn’t been condemned to a life of mockery; she’d been damned to a life of mental illness. After his father died, Morgan was destined to a lifetime of shielding her and his three siblings from cruel remarks by the ignorant and the just plain mean folks. He swallowed hard, remembering his vow that he could not—would not—allow himself to dwell on his growing-up years, but he couldn’t stand seeing the same hurt crush the gal sitting next to him.

  She was no gal—she was a full-fledged woman. Smelled like one, too—sweetbriar roses. And her thigh resting comfortably against his reminded him that she was a hot-blooded woman.

  Morgan’s heart broke with the knowledge that Alaine carried such a heavy burden. Her mama was her mama, after all. Yet his vulnerability where she was concerned made him uneasy. She could present serious problems if he continued to let feelings for her get in his way.

  He laid his hand on hers. “Why don’t you do what you’ve probably always done? Go over to the dance, hold your head high, be yourself, and not give a flying frog what others think.” Impulsively he added slight pressure to his touch. “I sense you’ve been doing that for a long time.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Because I’m scared,” she managed to reply through stiff lips.

  He figured she didn’t admit that very often. The gal didn’t appear to be intimidated by anything or anybody.

  “You know if I lose the sharpshooting event, I’ll embarrass Mama and the ranch. Maybe I should drop out.” It was no question but a simple statement.

  “I didn’t peg you as a quitter. One question, though. Why is it so important to be another Annie Oakley, anyway?”

  “Crowds, cheers and cowgirls. She’s independent and gets paid a thousand dollars a week, plus she doesn’t have to answer to anybody.”

  He wanted to ask if Alaine ever considered that Oakley had to do what her boss Cody or her husband said, but didn’t, deciding to change the subject instead.

  “Heard the ranches donated the prize money for the all-around d
rover. How’s that work?”

  “Each ranch participating ponied up a dozen head of cattle, rounding out a purse of between two and three hundred head. Not a bad start for a ranch.”

  A soft Texas waltz floated in the air as they both absorbed themselves in thought.

  Morgan broke the silence. “Want some advice?”

  “Seems if I don’t say yes, I’ll get it anyway.” A rosy tint kissed high yet delicate cheekbones.

  “This morning was calm, and I’m betting you are accustomed to practicing with pretty good gusts of wind. Using a 16-gauge hammer-type?”

  Nodding, she replied, “A Parker.”

  “I suggest going to a 20-gauge. It’ll eliminate some of the recoil. Because of the lighter weight, you’ll have to make up the difference with skill.”

  “Makes sense.” She mulled over his suggestion. “It just might work.”

  Leaning into him, she touched the small graze on his temple. When she lifted her face, their lips touched briefly. She whispered, “Thanks—”

  He cut off her words with his mouth. Her lips were warm and sweet against his. Soft, yet firm breasts brushed his arm as she quickly pulled away, leaving his flesh burning with fire.

  Morgan hadn’t intended to kiss her. It was wrong in so many ways, but it just seemed the right thing to do.

  “Would you partner with me for the rodeo, uh, the…” She wavered, as though considering taking back the invitation. “Wild cow milking?”

  Damn, she completely ignored the kiss! Good. It meant as little to her as it did to him. But one thing for sure, this cowpoke wouldn’t be milking any wild cows.

  “Why me? There’s lots of seasoned cowboys chompin’ at the bit to partner with you. Why a greenhorn?” Dang, it hurt him to say the word “greenhorn.”

  “Nobody will team with me because they’re scared of her—”

  “Her?”

  “Mother. They think because she’s always husband-hunting, I am too. But it sure isn’t true.”

  “No beau?” Way too personal, he figured but the words had already escaped.

  “No,” she said as though she wasn’t sure, but quickly added, “Wanna go pretend this day never happened and release some of that bottled-up energy?”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t have any bottled-up energy,” he replied.

  “But you’re always grouchy.”

  He glared at her. “What was it you wanted to do?”

  “Shoot!”

  Chapter 4

  Bottled-up energy. The words rumbled around in Morgan’s head like stones in a wagon bed. He didn’t know what possessed him to accept Alaine’s challenge, but somewhat later he had snatched up his hat and stalked after the leather-clad woman toward the livery stable.

  He knew he’d just purchased a ticket for a stampede, but he had a feeling he needed to see how it played out.

  At least he could check on her horse and get her back to the hotel before retiring for the night, thankful she’d be out of his hair for another day. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of.

  He definitely recalled the conversation where he had unequivocally stated his position—he would not be hornswoggled into any of her games. “Not here, not tonight, not anytime,” he steadfastly retorted.

  “But you haven’t asked what I want to shoot.”

  He didn’t even want to know her weapon of choice. “Not with a knife, bow and arrow or a gun. Nil, nada, nothing,” he had said.

  Alaine suddenly stopped and he almost plowed into her as she turned to face him. “Dice.” A tad of a smile touched her lips. “Surely you know how to shoot craps.”

  “I’m not in the wagering mood.”

  “Are you ever in a good mood?” she asked.

  “I’m not grouchy, if that’s what you mean, so quit asking me that.” Morgan fumed, wondering if she thought he was so dense that he didn’t know she’d already made her point. “Besides my disposition is none of your damn business.”

  Blasted, he had offered her friendship, but drew the line when it came to being her playmate. After all, he was on assignment and had a small window of opportunity to get the job done. The Pinks didn’t earn the motto “We never sleep” by going off on tangents with pretty women. They even had their slogan painted beneath an open eye on their office doors. Morgan hated to be called a private eye, the nickname it had garnered.

  Even the thoughts of shooting as a sport bothered him. Only one reason to shoot existed—self-preservation.

  He could help her improve her skill in sharpshooting, but partnering with her for the title of wild cow milking champion was not going to happen. No doubt they’d win hands down. With Alaine’s long, agile fingers and his quickness, they’d make a good pair, but he didn’t have the time or patience to mess with her. The other side of the coin: she stirred feelings that he was desperately trying to ignore. The kiss was nothing less than dynamite, and no doubt would stick with him for a while—a distraction he couldn’t afford.

  Morgan exhaled and realized he was fast losing sight of the job he had to do. He had only scratched the surface of his investigation. Although he knew before he left Philly that the big syndicate ranches were despised, he hadn’t realized the magnitude of the problem until he spoke with Tegeler and some of the other ranch owners. Armed with the facts, he still had to make sure that nobody knew the Slippery Elm owners had engaged the Pinkertons to investigate their own operation. And that was secondary to the major trouble. He couldn’t allow anybody to know that he worked indirectly for the British belted earls or the door to his investigation would be slammed shut so fast it’d slap a flea in the face.

  The Slippery Elm seemed to be the only ranch reporting abnormal incidents of cattle rustling. Not only in the frequency but the numbers stolen.

  Why the Lazy S and no one else? Even Tegeler confirmed Jacks Bluff had no problems, and the foreman for the shoestring company called the Rocking J, which was catawampus between the two biggest operations, professed to having no awareness of problems in the area.

  Cattle and rustling went hand in hand, so why were Kasota Springs pastures off-limits? Nothing added up.

  He thought he’d made headway toward gaining the trust of one rancher. Now he wasn’t even sure about that. But the best way to reinforce their relationship was to patronize the wild child of Kasota Springs and her whim-whams, one of which he was currently up to his ears in.

  The Pink and the Little Lady entered the livery stable. The stalls had been mucked out recently, leaving a sweet, musky smell of hay, which wouldn’t last long.

  Morgan watched Alaine spread an Indian-woven horse blanket on the dirt floor. Opening her fist she showed him the dice. Smiling up at him, she said, “Best four out of seven and I promise not to call you grouchy.”

  An angelic look made her features glow, reminding him of a schoolgirl making a promise she had no intention of keeping. Oh yeah, she was an angel through and through. With a devilish smile. But then she sure did have a great pair of…lips. Full, red and ripe. Her strength and stamina seemed at odds with her exquisite beauty.

  “And what’s the reward?” He generally had fair luck playing and reasoned that good fortune would shine on him today.

  “You name it.”

  “Okay.” Damn, it was getting hotter by the minute and he couldn’t remove his jacket since he had his shoulder holster on. “The question of partnering for the rodeo.” He squatted down across from her.

  Her bosom bulged at the neckline, disturbing his thoughts.

  She leaned forward, exposing tanned flesh. “Okay, when I win, you agree to be my partner.”

  “No, when you lose, I don’t have to be your partner!” He tried to say it with conviction, but her allure made him dithery. “Women first.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her neckline, which seemed to swell with every move she made.

  Alaine leisurely rolled the dice between her palms.

  “Said I’m not in the wagering mood, but to oblige I’ll play until
one of us shoots a seven or eleven, then game’s over.” He tried to peel his gaze away from her. “Quick and painless. No quarrels over rules. Understand?”

  “Understood.” Amusement flickered in her eyes. She tossed the come-out roll.

  The dice cartwheeled before stopping on a five and a one.

  “Oh dear me.” She looked up at Morgan and leaned forward, handing him the cubes. “I believe I lost, so that makes you the shooter. Right?”

  He nodded and followed suit, throwing snake eyes.

  They continued alternating tosses, until Morgan bested her with three winning rolls to her two.

  Morgan slid the dice to her.

  Alaine followed her same practice of rolling the cubes between her palms, cupping them and blowing before she shot. “Three and six! Goodness gracious, but I’m still in the game, I believe.” She clutched the lapel of her blouse, leaned forward, exposing a great deal of cleavage, and laughed. She reveled in her glee longer than Morgan thought necessary before sitting upright and dropping the dice on the blanket.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of a woman. Roll again,” he directed.

  He knew from the first toss that she was up to something. The gal apparently couldn’t play it straight if she had thirteen diamonds in her hand. He’d been around. Won and lost his share of scammed crap games, and recognized her trick from the get-go. He had played along with her so far, but that was coming to a halt—if she didn’t cheat him out of his drawers in the meantime.

  “Oh gracious, kind sir.” She picked up the dice, flung her hands to her chest and giggled. “I knew you were a gentleman.” She hesitated and gave him a coy look, almost as though he perplexed her. Unhurriedly, she made her play and lost.

  She bent over to give him the dice, exposing more of her velvety bronzed skin. It was as though bit by bit she was slipping out of her corset. Something she probably planned all along.

  Hell’s bells, here he went again, getting all preoccupied.

  “Show ’um to me,” he said, keeping an eye on her nicely constructed chest. He watched as she lifted her hands to her neckline, and as though she got caught, she gradually lowered them allowing the dice to drop to the blanket.