Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  Not much different than the Little Lady standing beside him watching his every move.

  “You know I could probably borrow one of the Jacks Bluff mounts,” Alaine said, more as a statement than a question. “Anyone who is still in town probably doesn’t plan to go back to the ranch tonight. Besides, we could have him back by morning.”

  “And have your mama lynch me for horse stealing?” He had the dang animal half saddled before he spoke again. “Right, ol’ boy.” Morgan pulled the cinch tighter, realizing Jughead had resorted to ol’ fashioned horseplay. His belly had swollen up to twice its size.

  Morgan had seen mules do it many times before, and suspected Alaine had too—Teg definitely had. Might be the first time for a donkey. The rider knew that as soon as the confounded animal felt weight on his back, he’d pull in his belly, loosening the saddle and sending the cowboy sliding underneath him.

  Morgan would play their game if only to sidetrack Alaine from questioning his horsemanship.

  Alaine effortlessly mounted her palomino, and he followed suit.

  Jughead pulled in his belly and the saddle tilted.

  Expecting the trick, Morgan deliberately fell hands first on the ground, eating hay and dirt. The only problem, he hadn’t calculated for fresh horse apples.

  He dusted off his tailor-made suit, now sporting unsavory patches of horse dung, and blessed out the stupid animal, obviously to the amusement of Tegeler. Morgan tightened the rigging and mounted for what was guaranteed to be a very long ride across the prairie.

  Talk about a motley team! A surly, quintessential cowboy wearing a Stetson riding high in the saddle on his stallion; the beauty with her hat hanging down her back on strings, ebony ringlets flying in the breeze; and a Philadelphia lawyer, derby hat and all, lumbering along on a stubborn donkey refusing to give up his sombrero.

  Little was said on the ride, mainly because Jughead seemed to want to stop and rest every hundred yards. Morgan lagged behind by a good quarter of a mile, which was probably good because he could hardly stand his own stench.

  Jeeze, it’d be first light before he would reach the Jacks Bluff. He wanted to tell the other riders to go ahead, he’d walk and lead the blasted fool to the ranch, but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing their joke was irritating the hell out of him.

  Well, ain’t this fun? Morgan reared back in the saddle, trying to make the best of a bad situation. He was enjoying the clear skies and a zillion stars blinking, not to mention watching Alaine ride light in the saddle, letting her hair blow in the wind. She truly matched the horse’s strength, ability and agility. The view was almost enough to take his mind off his predicament.

  Damn Teg Tegeler!

  Leaning farther back, Morgan rested his hand on Jughead’s flank. He felt the donkey’s back arch and its legs get rigid only a fraction of a second before the animal tucked his head between his legs, bowed up and pitched straightaway as though he was leaping to the beat of an Indian war drum. He smoothed out long enough to lull Morgan into thinking Jughead had tired himself out, then suddenly he twisted and turned trying to unseat his rider. But he didn’t.

  Almost as quick as Jughead got rattled, he settled down…all the way down on his backsides, bellowing like he was mad enough to suck the skin off a snake.

  Morgan rolled away from the balking, bellowing donkey.

  Teg circled back toward Morgan, reined in and hollered, “Forgot to warn you. Jughead’s kinda sensitive to being touched on his flank.” He looked down at Morgan sprawled on the ground. “Ain’t hurt, are ya?”

  “Not even a scratch.”

  Teg gave his horse his head, “Didn’t figure you for a bronc buster. Seems there’s a lot about you we don’t know.”

  Chapter 6

  Alaine twisted in her saddle to see what the ruckus was behind her. She watched the dern donkey pitch, trying to send Morgan head over teakettle. Her heart plunged with every jump.

  Feeling as if her chest was about to burst open, she fought to keep raw emotion in check, as she watched Morgan hit the ground and roll away from the animal. Terrified the greenhorn was seriously injured, she turned the palomino and galloped his way, dust billowing behind.

  Diablo slowed and she slipped out of the saddle. She rushed to Morgan’s side and gathered him into her arms, then shot Teg a frown that left no doubt how peeved she was at the ol’ toad.

  “Are you hurt?” She realized she was more frightened than Morgan.

  “Nope.” He picked up his hat that looked like hell, and pulled to his feet. Putting on the filthy, crumpled-up derby, he added, “Just my pride.”

  “I can’t believe you stayed in the saddle as long as you did with that spoiled fool.” She gave him an encouraging smile, while she shot another go-to-blue-blazes look Teg’s way. Not that it would faze the tough foreman.

  She ran her fingers along Morgan’s jaw line and caressed a bloody scrape smaller than her little finger that ran parallel with the one he’d gotten from McKenna’s gun.

  He caught her hand with his. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

  His touch sent a ripple of excitement through her.

  “Good. I don’t need a lame rodeo partner.”

  At least her team member hadn’t gotten killed before they had a chance to share a real kiss. Not a light substitute for a sensual, searing one not so easy to forget.

  Morgan straightened to his full height, towering over her like a giant cottonwood. He was tougher than she had imagined. He had shown what he was made of—certainly not whipped cream and feathers. The delectable man was strong, stalwart and all male. More cowboy than lawyer.

  “I insist that you ride the rest of the way with me.” She watched for any sign of disapproval on Teg’s part, while she picked up the donkey’s reins and handed them to him.

  The foreman seemed to know any objections from him would be shrugged off, so he snatched up Jughead’s reins and spurred his stallion, giving the donkey little choice but to pick up speed or be dragged all the way to headquarters.

  “Appreciate it.” Morgan swung into the saddle, gave Alaine a hand, and shifted his weight to allow her to settle in front of him. Very snug fit. There was an air of efficiency about the man that fascinated her.

  Without warning, Alaine become extremely conscious of Morgan’s virile appeal. A reasonable woman would sit stiff in the saddle, and after her companion got settled, knee the gelding forward, but Alaine enjoyed the feel of his strong arms around her waist and leaned back into him, taking pleasure in his hard, well-sculptured chest.

  The day had been a real scorcher—a cherry-red branding iron of a day—but night brought relief, as if the hot iron had been doused with cold water. But now, clouds wove cobwebs across the moon, giving the prairie a romantic air.

  She closed her eyes, wishing the evening would never end.

  The rangeland was so quiet she swore she could hear the twinkle of the stars. Except for an occasional coyote howl and the crunch of prairie grass beneath Diablo’s hooves, the universe seemed to stop and listen as two hearts beat as one.

  Morgan’s unbridled energy nestling against her could start a flame not easily put out. She inhaled, trying to ignore the heavy, warm thighs pressed against hers every time he moved.

  Any other man’s hands on her waist would’ve had her clutching her bolero tighter across her breasts. Morgan was different. He made her feel safe. Her muscles relaxed, sending the tension from her body. She loosened her grip and let the vest gap open.

  Maybe she had stopped being afraid of her own reactions to him. Alaine let her head drop, half expecting the big man to kiss the nape of her neck. Her body didn’t object when he shifted his position, tucking her nicely in the circle of his arms.

  Maybe it was time that Alaine stopped calling him Mr. Grouchy Trousers, because Mr. Daring Drawers seemed more fitting…at least at the moment.

  The couple rode along absorbed in their own thoughts, until the trail turned north towar
d a valley, something Morgan hadn’t expected.

  Descending off the wide-open plains, Diablo increased his gait, clearly knowing home was close at hand. They cut down through an arroyo. Shortly after crossing a stream, the main house came in view. The home reminded Morgan of ones he’d seen in Galveston. Stately, but not ostentatious, a cross between the traditional rambling ranch houses of the Texas Panhandle and the grandeur of a southern plantation.

  Morgan broke the silence. “So this is Jacks Bluff?”

  “Welcome to our humble abode.” She twisted around and flashed a sweet, endearing smile that made him feel truly welcome.

  As they neared, Tegeler’s outline became more clear. He sat on the veranda that wrapped completely around the house, rocking in a chair, obviously making certain his Little Buckaroo met curfew.

  Diablo halted near the barn. Morgan helped Alaine to the ground and slid out of the saddle, making sure he made as little contact as possible with the pretty lady.

  Alaine adjusted her bolero and kept an eye glued to the foreman, who stepped from the porch and sauntered their way.

  “Thank you.” She raised her voice to make sure Tegeler heard her. “I insist you stay in the main house while you are here.” Morgan’s eyes met hers and he saw amusement flickering there. She shot him a mischievous smile. “Mama would skin all of our hides if we didn’t show proper Texas hospitality to the gentleman who saved my life.”

  “Like hell will he sleep under the same roof!” Teg gave Alaine a warning scowl and snatched up her palomino’s reins. “Animals to tend.” He turned around, and continued. “And, find you a place to bed down. Guess you can have Ol’ Nevada’s bunk. He won’t be needin’ it.”

  “I can take care of Diablo,” Morgan snapped.

  “No need. You need to get settled in the bunkhouse.” Reaching the barn door, he spit tobacco juice in the dirt. “Besides, you smell like the south end of a northbound bull.”

  Alaine raised an eyebrow and laughed softly. “Sometimes it’s impossible to reason with Teg. Without Mama being here to back me, disagreeing with him would be like arguing with a knothole.”

  “Thanks for your hospitality but the bunkhouse will be fine.” He tipped his hat. “Evening, Miss LeDoux.”

  Morgan watched the old man disappear but was fairly certain he wasn’t far enough inside that he couldn’t hear and see the couple’s every move.

  “At least you can join me for a cup of hot tea before you retire.” She offered him a sultry smile, as though she might consider offering more than a drink.

  Surely meaning to antagonize Tegeler, she raised her voice, “It’ll help you sleep better.”

  Alaine looked so enticing that she made it hard for Morgan to resist, in more ways than one.

  “While I find that tempting, I certainly don’t smell like lilacs anymore.” Damn, he needed to get cleaned up and get some rest. He had a feeling tomorrow would be one helluva day, and with the ol’ geezer’s temperament, a long one to boot.

  “I’ll have the tea ready in ten minutes.”

  Before Morgan knew what had happened, Alaine darted off toward the main house, tossing over her shoulder, “Don’t dally.”

  “Coffee,” Morgan called into the night.

  What is wrong with that woman? He knew he was articulate enough to pronounce “no” and Alaine was certainly educated and knew what the word meant, but for some reason his “no” always ended up “yes” where she was concerned.

  Not wanting to rile the ol’ codger any more than he’d already done, Morgan headed off to the bunkhouse to see if he could get rid of as much of the horse crap as possible.

  As he passed the barn, he heard a loud hee-haw from Jughead. He couldn’t help but stop and check in on him. Besides, he owed the donkey a thank-you for not killing him. It wasn’t Jughead’s fault that the true ass was Tegeler.

  Finding a bucket of carrots in the corner, Morgan fed the ornery varmint a treat.

  His next project: find water and see what he could do about cleaning off trail dust and dried horse dung. At least the smell had subsided. Although falling headlong into the first bunk he came to sounded better than tea, Morgan was amenable to sharing some refreshment with the Little Lady at the main house. If to do nothing else but rile Tegeler. Or prove she cheated at dice.

  On the way to the ranch, Morgan had plenty of time to examine the ones Teg had tossed him. Not only could he feel a marked heaviness in one corner, but could feel the spots on one side being deeper than the others.

  The lawman in him, who was trained to find the man, find out what happened and find the hoosegow, wanted to prove she had finagled him into being her rodeo partner, yet the gentleman in him wasn’t about to let it happen.

  Almost before Morgan got the bunkhouse screen closed, Tegeler and a trio of ranch hands lumbered inside.

  “Tuffy, Bobby, Jimmy—this here’s Alaine’s rodeo partner.” Teg held a smug look on his face and a twinkle came to his eye. “Don’t mind the muleskinner smell.”

  The men shook hands and welcomed the younger man like leery coyotes eyeing a piece of burro meat. He introduced himself, “Payne. Morgan Payne.”

  “What brings you to these parts?” Tuffy looked the newcomer up and down, no doubt recognizing he wasn’t a grub-line rider.

  “He’s from back East, trying to find some land to buy,” Tegeler offered.

  Jimmy surveyed Morgan from head to toe, as if to say—not that the derby hat didn’t give him away—“You’re not with one of those syndicate operations, are ya?” Before waiting on an answer, he continued. “Ain’t no land for sale around these parts. At least not to any of them cocklebur British outfits.”

  “Just looking for a small spread for myself.”

  “Pert near all of the pasture belongs to the Slippery Elm and Jacks Bluff, and they ain’t for sale.” Tuffy hitched up his britches, then drawled on, “Going out to the corrals to check on the livestock, then play some dominoes. Anybody comin’ along?”

  The foreman nodded. “Be there directly.”

  Blasted, Morgan wanted Tegeler to stick around because he had a few issues to discuss with him, beginning with why in the hell Teg set him up with that damn donkey, but there were too many eyes and ears registering every move he made.

  Tegeler motioned toward a cot in the corner. “Might as well use that one. Ol’ Nevada passed on and nobody’s been brave enough to take over his bunk.” Shoving an apple crate from the foot of the cot, he opened it. He surveyed Morgan and then said, “About the right size. Poor fella had nobody to claim his belongings, so these don’t need to go to waste.”

  No doubt Teg was well respected and his word was law where the Jacks Bluff hands were concerned.

  Bobby and Jimmy followed Teg and Tuffy out the door and moseyed toward the corrals.

  With the bunkhouse empty, Morgan wondered what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  Thoughts of ending the day in the company of the beautiful rancher’s daughter fueled Morgan’s desire to get cleaned up with no lollygagging. After changing clothes, he took time to wrap his gun and holster in his filthy coat and hid it deep inside the crate, taking mental note that he needed to replace the shoulder holster with a hip type when he went to town.

  He plopped on a battered dove-gray Stetson sporting a pheasant feather stuck in an Indian-woven headband. Feeling more at home in rough pants and a boiled shirt, even without a gun belt, than he had in weeks, he glanced in a tin mirror. Not bad. He even looked the part of a cowboy…a profession he felt more comfortable with than being a damn Pink.

  As an afterthought, he slipped the dice in his pocket.

  Moments later, he stood in the ranch’s fancy parlor, more fitting for a southern plantation than a West Texas town.

  Everything in the room was in excess. Exquisite paintings worth a mint overlooked a piano that sat cockeyed to shelves of leatherbound books.

  Bright lamplight illuminated the parlor as though to show off the bluish-lavender floral w
allpaper. Alaine’s mother had a lot of cojones to complain about him smelling like lilacs when she had the blasted things plastered all over the room.

  He hung the Stetson on the hat rack, just as Alaine returned from the kitchen carrying a silver tray with a fine porcelain tea set.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you something stronger than coffee?” She set down the tray. “It seems more fitting after such an exciting day.”

  Morgan eyed the teapot and cups, again decorated with some type of gawd-awful blue flowers. Thanking the heavens he didn’t have to drink out of one of the dainty thimbles that he might crush just by holding it, he accepted a heavy coffee mug and practically emptied it with two swallows.

  She poured some tea, before situating herself on one end of the settee. “Please join me.”

  He eased next to her, aware of how fetching she looked in the parlor light. Alaine had changed into a simple muslin dress in a soft shade of violet that emphasized her amethyst eyes and skin as delicate as the cup she sipped from. She had secured her onyx hair at the nape of her neck with ribbons.

  Visions of Morgan’s three stair-stepsisters shot through his mind. One helluva sorry time to start reminiscing about family!

  “Thank you for the coffee.” Morgan didn’t feel as awkward as his voice probably sounded. Seems that thanking her was about the only words he’d uttered since he saddled her horse back in town. Although it’d only been a few hours ago, it seemed like an eternity. He had enjoyed the last leg of the trip, sitting behind Alaine and holding her tight, making sure she didn’t slip from his grip when she dozed off.

  “I uh…” She seemed to stammer for words herself. “Is yours okay? I tend to make it too strong.”

  “Thank you, but it’s fine.” Damn, what was he supposed to say? The coffee’s good, but I really want to make love to you until Jughead decides not to be so stubborn—or Teg, for that matter.

  Morgan tried not to look at her bust, although it was covered completely with an ivory chemisette, a word he’d learned from raising three sisters. Her breasts seemed to bulge at the fabric. His mouth went dry just thinking about all the softness lying underneath. He had to draw his attention away from his ungentlemanly thoughts about the pretty woman sitting next to him.