Lynnie straightened her shoulders and watched the marching children with satisfaction. Her frustrated brother-in-law was attempting to pull the various members of his own clan out of the parade so they could go home. “Well, I reckon I can forget about asking the board to sponsor my trip to Dodge City.”
“Dodge City?” Penelope looked baffled.
“Don’t you remember? There’s a big Women’s Rights gathering up there for the Fourth of July. I had hoped to attend, cheer the ladies on, and maybe get some help for the downtrodden females in Texas.”
“Your folks wouldn’t let you go,” Penelope said as they walked out to the buggy.
“You’re right; I’ve already asked,” Lynnie sighed. “And Cayenne and Papa Joe aren’t going to be too happy over what happened here tonight. They don’t seem to understand that I feel it’s my calling to help get the vote for women.”
Penelope shook her head. “I thought, when I heard that the handsome Ace Durango was taking you to the ball, that you were about to settle down and get married. . . .”
“To Ace Durango?” Lynnie threw back her head and laughed. “Why, that pigheaded, woman-chasing, gambling fool—he’d be the last man an independent girl would want.”
“Lots of girls would have given their eye teeth to go to the ball with him,” Penelope pointed out.
“He is the most egotistical, arrogant, untamed rascal in Texas,” Lynnie said. “I couldn’t stay in the same room with him for five minutes without an argument. He thinks women are good for only one thing.”
The other girl rolled her eyes and giggled. “Lots of girls would like to find out what that one thing is with him.”
“Penny,” Lynnie said in a stern voice, “I doubt your conviction to our good cause.”
Penelope grabbed her arm. “I believe in women’s rights; I truly do, Miss McBride. It’s just that Ace Durango is so charming and every girl in Texas has set her cap for him.”
Lynnie turned away. “Well, that lets me out, anyway, doesn’t it? I haven’t got the looks to attract the brute, even if I were interested—which I’m not. Believe me, Penelope, I’m looking for a man who will appreciate me for my fine mind.”
“Right!” said Penelope, and turned to look at the crowd coming out of the schoolhouse. “As mad as your brother-in-law looks, you’d better forget about the Dodge City Women’s Rights meeting.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Lynnie chewed her lip. “I may have gone too far this time.”
“And Dodge City is a long way, Miss McBride.” Penelope was always the sensible one. “And even if there was a train there, which there ain’t—”
“Isn’t,” Lynnie corrected automatically. “Do you have any money, Penelope?”
“Me?” Penelope touched her chest. “No more than you do.”
“Well, I reckon that lets out buying a ticket on the stage, but I’m not giving up yet.”
Her friend grinned. “That’s what I like about you: you’re so stubborn and determined.”
“Still, it’s a pretty big challenge,” Lynnie admitted.
“Young lady,” Maverick yelled, “get in the buggy.”
She left her friend and walked over to the family group, who were talking. They all looked upset except Ace. That devil was suppressing a grin.
“Oh, shut up!” she snapped at Ace.
“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.
“But you were thinking it,” Lynnie said, and turned toward her out-of-town family by marriage. “I’m really sorry, Uncle Trace, that you and Aunt Cimarron came all this way for nothing.” She felt her lip quiver as the enormity of what she’d done swept over her. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to create so much trouble. . . .”
“Lynnie,” Maverick said, “where you are, there is always trouble. I don’t know what your papa and sister are going to say.”
Lynnie sighed. “I have a pretty good idea.”
She saw Trace nudge his errant son sharply in the ribs.
“Uh, I’m sorry you lost your job, Lynnie,” Ace said.
She didn’t believe he was sorry at all; he was just sorry she had used him and gotten him into trouble.
“It’s all right; I’ll find something to do.”
Maverick lifted one child after another into the buggy. “Lynnie, I just don’t know what’s going to become of you—twenty years old, no husband, no prospects of one, no job, and now your reputation is ruined.”
Trace glanced at his son again, but Ace only glared at Lynnie. Evidently, he didn’t know how to deal with women who could start trouble on their own.
“I’ve already decided my future,” she said matter-of-factly as she leaned on the buggy wheel, “Up to now, I’ve been spending only a little time on the crusade for women’s rights, but now I can give it my full attention.”
Everyone groaned aloud, but she ignored them.
“Lynnie,” said Aunt Cimarron, “I’m sorry we couldn’t help.” She hugged Lynnie.
“You did your best,” Lynnie said.
“I’m going to have a barbecue next month in your honor,” Auntie said.
“That’s nice.” Lynnie was only half listening, already planning her next move in the great crusade. Maybe she could start a newspaper or, better yet, lead the few liberated women she knew to picket the local newspaper.
“Maverick,” Uncle Trace said as they shook hands, “give some thought to coming on that cattle drive.”
Maverick nodded. “I’m in. Sounds like old times.”
While everyone continued to talk, Lynnie lifted her skirts to get into the buggy. After a moment’s hesitation, Ace sauntered over reluctantly and offered his hand in assistance.
“I don’t need your help,” she said, and got in by herself.
“I was tryin’ to act like a gentleman,” Ace said.
“A gentleman?” Lynnie snorted. “Everyone knows all you can think of is getting a girl’s drawers off.”
“Not yours.” In the moonlight, she could see he was so annoyed, his nostrils flared.
The family crowd was breaking up; Maverick was bringing over more children to pile into the buggy. They all waved good-bye. Maverick slapped the horse with the reins, and the buggy pulled away. When she glanced back, her uncle and aunt had turned toward their buggy, but Ace was grinning at her as if pleased she’d gotten what she deserved. She forgot she was a dignified representative of women’s rights. She did what she had done years ago when the brute had annoyed her: she stuck her tongue out at him and crossed her eyes.
“I hope your face freezes that way!” he yelled at her.
Maverick glanced sideways at Lynnie. “What was that about?”
She gave her brother-in-law her most innocent look. “I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea. You know what an uncivilized oaf Ace Durango is. I pity the poor, downtrodden girl who gets stuck with him!”
Cimarron sipped her coffee and nodded to her husband as he came in from the barn and threw his Stetson up on the coatrack. “Hey,” he yelled, “I could use some coffee out here!”
“Keep your shirt on.” Cookie limped out of the kitchen and slammed the pot down. “You could get it yourself; I got a cake in the oven.” He turned and limped back into the kitchen.
“What happened to Juanita?” Trace poured himself a cup and made a wry face as he tasted it.
“Another cousin’s having a baby,” Cimarron murmured, and returned to the list she was working on.
“I ought to fire that old bastard,” Trace grumbled, “for being so uppity, and besides, he’s a lousy cook.”
“I heerd that!” Cookie yelled from the kitchen.
Cimarron rolled her eyes. “Trace, you know better than that. The old don would turn over in his grave if you fired Cookie. He’s been here since you were a kid, cooking on the cattle drives.”
“And he’s poisoned hundreds of good cowboys.” Trace yelled toward the kitchen, “Did you hear that?”
“Oh, hush up.” The grizzled cook stuck his head ou
t the kitchen door, “You’ll cause my cake to fall.”
“Won’t make it taste any worse,” Trace said.
“I’ll see you don’t get none.” Cookie disappeared behind the door.
“That’s a relief,” Trace muttered.
“Shame on you. Now you’ve hurt his feelings,” Cimarron said.
“The old rattlesnake doesn’t have any.” Trace sipped his coffee and shuddered, looking around. “Where’s our lazy son? It’s past dawn; day’s half gone.”
“Nobody should have to get out of bed this early.” Ace stumbled into the dining room, yawning and wiping his eyes.
“Just getting up?” his father grumbled, “I’ve been up two hours.”
Ace sighed. “I know, Dad, you’re always up with the chickens, but then, you weren’t playin’ cards last night.”
Trace frowned, and Cimarron rushed in to stop the fuss before it started. “Did you win, son?”
Ace took a chair, grinning. “Took Willis Forrester for a couple of thousand.” He surveyed his father’s cup and frowned. “Not again. Cookie,” he yelled, “can I get some coffee out here?”
“I only got two hands!” the old man hollered from the kitchen. “Can’t you Durangos do anything for yourselves?”
“You ought to fire that old bastard,” Ace grumbled as he got up and retrieved a cup from the sideboard.
“I heerd that!” the old man yelled from the kitchen.
Trace smiled, evidently in a better mood because a Durango had won over a Forrester again. The Forresters headquartered in Austin and weren’t too fussy about how they acquired land and money. He leaned back in his chair and said “Son, I want you to help Pedro and me bring in that herd from the south forty today.”
“Today? It’s colder than a witch’s ti—”
“Don’t use that word in front of your mother!” Trace snapped. “You think I don’t know it’s cold? Hell, I’ve been out in it since before sunrise.”
Cimarron moved to diffuse the tension between the two. “Now, Ace, dear, you are, after all, a rancher. It won’t kill you to help Dad with a few cattle.”
“Rich, spoiled kid,” Trace grumbled. “All you think about is cards, women, and whiskey.”
“You forgot fast horses,” Ace grinned, and turned to yell toward the kitchen. “Hey, Cookie, I’m starvin’ out here.”
“I’m comin’! I’m comin’!” The old man limped in with a plate of steak and eggs. “Here, you young pup. If the old don was still alive, we’d be servin’ up this breakfast out on the range, makin’ plans for a big brandin’ and a cattle drive.”
“And you’d be right there, cookin’ for our cowboys.” Ace winked at the cook, and the old man winked back. Despite his orneryness, they were all quite fond of the disabled cowboy, despite the fact that he was the worst cook in the hill country. Still, when Juanita was gone, the old man insisted on stepping into her spot, to the dismay of everyone on the place.
Ace dug into the huge platter of burnt eggs and half-raw steak with gusto and smiled as he thought of winning that big pot last night. There was a certain pretty little señorita over at Fandango he thought he’d spend some of it on.
“Cookie,” Dad said, looking up at the old man, “I think you’re right. I’m still thinking about organizing one final cattle drive.”
Ace groaned aloud at the thought. “Dad, I hope you’re jokin’ about that; I got no time for herdin’ cattle all the way to Kansas.”
“It might keep you out of jail and the cantinas for a while,” Dad said, glowering at him.
“Oh, now, boss,” Cookie said, coming to his defense, “you got to expect young fellas will sow a few wild oats. As I recall, you sure did afore the lady here haltered and broke you.”
Ma ducked her head, attempting to hide a smile, but Ace saw it. Someday, he’d like a girl just like Ma, but not anytime soon. There were too many pretty, wild girls out there tempting him to drink and dance all night. He wasn’t ready to be tied down and branded yet.
Ma said, “There’s something I’d like to talk about. I’m planning an old-fashioned Texas barbecue.”
All three men looked at her with curiosity.
Ace nodded agreeably. “Sounds like a real fiesta: plenty of beef and beer and pretty girls.”
Dad cocked his head and looked at Ma. “You still set on that?”
“Well,” she said with a nod, “Cayenne contacted me and said the family would like to come for a visit.”
Ace paused with his fork halfway to his lips, like a wary coyote smelling a trap. “They can come anytime without throwing a big party.”
“Actually . . .” Cimarron put down her cup and beamed at him. “We’re trying to do something for Lynnie.”
“Uh-oh,” Cookie said, and went back through the kitchen door.
Ace groaned aloud. “Don’t even mention that woman to me.”
“I reckon not,” Dad said, “after you got the poor little thing in so much trouble.”
“Me? Get her in trouble?” Ace looked at him in disbelief. “Lordy, Dad, she was the one who—she used me,” Ace groused.
Ma cleared her throat. “Sounds like what I’ve heard girls say about you.”
“I don’t reckon anyone would believe this”—Ace attacked his eggs again—“but Lynnie’s smart, almost as smart as a man, and as sneaky as a coyote.”
“Do tell.” Ma smiled sweetly. “Well, we all know the poor little thing’s been fired from her teaching job.”
“I reckon so!” Ace snorted, “after causin’ a riot at the governor’s ball. She’s got too much pluck for one girl; it ain’t natural.”
“Okay, so she’s feisty,” Dad conceded, sipping his coffee. “The Durango men have always liked feisty women. That’s how I ended up with your mother.”
“Well, I ain’t endin’ up with Lynnie McBride.” Ace shuddered as he reached for another charred biscuit. “Why, she ain’t even got any prospects, much less been spoke for, and she’s old to be unmarried.”
“Twenty is not old. And besides, Lynnie’s choosy,” Ma said, rushing to the defense.
“You mean, men are choosy,” Ace corrected as he buttered the bread. “No Texan wants to go through life with a headstrong, skinny . . .”
“Why don’t you just admit you can’t handle her?” Dad leaned back in his chair and grinned. “She’s a well-bred little filly.”
“I like my mounts wild,” Ace snapped back, remembering how stubborn Lynnie was, “but she’s the most opinionated, annoying—”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, and stop it, you two,” Ma interrupted. “If Cayenne is to be believed— and I think she is—Lynnie wouldn’t have our son if he was the last man in Texas.”
Ace felt his mouth drop open. “Why, that snippy, prim little—somebody should tell her girls are linin’ up for me; I’m charmin’.”
“Evidently, Lynnie doesn’t think so,” Ma said. “So I’m throwing this barbecue, inviting all the young people in two or three counties, and sort of give Lynnie a chance to meet eligible young men and pick one.”
“Won’t do any good,” Ace said, attacking the steak. “They’ve all heard about the ruckus she caused at the ball.”
“Well, there’s bound to be one young man in Texas who can appreciate Lynnie’s good points.”
“Which are . . . ?” Ace looked at her.
“Don’t get smart with your mother,” Trace snapped. “Besides, once Cimarron sets her mind to something, she’s gonna do it, and you’re wasting her breath trying to stop her.”
“That’s a fact!” Cookie called from the kitchen.
“Cookie,” Cimarron yelled, “it isn’t polite to eavesdrop on family discussions.”
Cookie stuck his grizzled, weathered face out of the kitchen door. “Well, now, if I ain’t family by now, I don’t know who is.”
“You’re right, Cookie,” Cimarron conceded. “Besides, I’ll need both your and Juanita’s help to put on this shindig.”
“I’ll have
to look at my social schedule and see if I’m available,” the old man said loftily. “When you plannin’ this barbecue?”
“End of March,” Cimarron said. “It’ll warm up by then, and the bluebonnets will be in bloom—a very romantic time.”
Ace snorted, “It’ll take more than bluebonnets to marry off that headstrong old maid.”
“Ace, please!” Ma glared at him. “You only have to make sure that all your friends meet her and maybe ask her to dance.”
“Lordy, Ma,” Ace protested, “I’m still indebted to my friends over the governor’s ball.”
Cimarron got up from her chair. “Well, if you can’t get your friends to dance with her, then you can just entertain her yourself all evening.”
Ace sighed at the thought of verbal sparring with the prim Miss McBride for a long, long evening. “All right, you win. You know, it’s a good thing you don’t play poker, Ma. You’re a hell of an opponent.”
Dad seemed to stifle a grin. “Better to get in the way of a stampede than in the path of a determined woman, son. I think the barbecue is a great idea; it’ll give me a chance to talk to all the local ranchers about the cattle drive. Now, finish up your breakfast, Ace. We’ve got a lot of work to do before sundown.”
He sighed and listened to the wind whip around the rancho. “But it’s cold enough out there to freeze the balls off a—”
“Ace!” Ma glared at him.
“Well, it is.”
“Such a nancy-boy,” Cookie yelled from the kitchen, “me and the old don brought in thousands of cows in weather colder than this.”
Cimarron smiled as the two men in her life reached for their Stetsons. Maybe her husband was right: Ace was spoiled and soft and did as little around the ranch as possible. She thought marriage to a serious, responsible girl might snap him out of it, but maybe Ace wasn’t through sowing his wild oats. Sending him on a long cattle drive would certainly toughen him up.
Six
Late afternoon, one Saturday
March 1885
To Tame A Texan Page 8
