He was as angry with himself as he was with her. Lordy, what in the hell had he been thinking when he’d grabbed her in a hot embrace? He’d wanted to hold her close and go even further than a few kisses. A hell of a lot further.
Yes, he decided, he’d been on the trail too long. Once he got to Dodge and into the beds of some of their fancy whores, Lynnie would be as unappealing and as big a nuisance as she’d always been. He crawled under the chuck wagon and lay there sleepless, listening to Cookie and the calves snoring above him. As he lay there, wet and miserable, his anger and frustration grew. He kept remembering the softness of her body and the moist taste of her lips. From here, he could see her curled up, warm, dry, and cozy in his bedroll. Damn the uppity girl, anyhow. Well, he’d make her regret disobeying him and getting off that train.
Morning came, and it was still raining. Ace was wet and aching from sleeping on the wet ground. Cookie’s grub was worse than usual. “Lordy, I ain’t ever et worse food,” Ace grumbled to himself as he ate the heavy biscuits.
“I heerd that. How you expect anyone to turn out one of them fancy meals when the rain keeps puttin’ my fire out?”
“It ain’t any better when it ain’t rainin’,” Ace said.
“Well, who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Lynnie said self-righteously as she yawned and crawled out of his blankets. “I had a great night’s sleep.”
He thought about killing her but decided the other cowboys wouldn’t let him—something to do with a Texan’s code about treating women gently. It didn’t help any that all the cowboys gathered around Lynnie, happy to see her. He pushed the canned beans around his tin plate and washed them down with thick, muddy coffee.
Cookie hurried to get Lynnie a cup of coffee and looked up at the dripping sky. “Glad you’re back, Miss Lynnie.”
The whole crew rushed about, tripping over each other to see to Lynnie’s comfort. That annoyed Ace.
“You shouldn’t treat her so good,” he grumbled as he sipped his coffee. “After all, she was supposed to be on that train. We ought to make her sorry she’s not.”
Comanch looked toward where she’d slept. “You’re sayin’ that, when you let her have your bed last night?”
Ace felt himself flush. “Hell, she was cold and wet. What kind of a man wouldn’t have given her his bedroll?”
“I resent your male, superior remarks,” Lynnie said as she tried to comb her wet hair.
“Fine,” Ace snapped. “If it rains again, I’ll let you find your own warm place.”
Joe grinned. “She can share my bedroll.”
“Mine, too.” The whole crew was smiling at her.
For some reason, that also annoyed the hell out of Ace. “She ain’t sharin’ nobody’s bedroll.”
“Well, now, I reckon I’ll decide that,” she said. “I don’t take orders from you.”
He ground his teeth. “I can see it’s gonna be a long, long trip.”
“I don’t know why you’re so cranky,” she sniffed. “Everyone else is acting like a real Texas gentleman.”
He started to comment that it might have something to do with sleeping on wet ground without enough blankets, but decided he couldn’t win an argument with Lynnie. She was smart, he conceded silently, smarter than most men—maybe as smart as Ace himself. The thought rankled him. “Let’s get this herd movin’.”
They got off to a slow start, the rain steady as they took the trail.
“Cookie . . .” Ace rode up next to the chuck wagon. “When you think we’ll make the Red?”
Cookie ran his hand through his gray beard. “Maybe late this afternoon. With this steady rain, it’s bound to be out of its banks.”
“Can’t help that.” Ace shrugged. “We’ll have to play the hand we’re dealt.”
He rode on up next to Lynnie. “You doin’ all right?”
She nodded, rain dripping off the brim of her Stetson.
He looked at her gray nag and remembered suddenly. “Did that old nag outrun my black yesterday during the stampede?”
“Yes.” She said it glibly and matter-of-factly.
“Mares don’t usually outrun stallions.”
“Just because Boneyard is a mare, she’s got to be slow and dumb? Haven’t I already proved that females—”
“Don’t start, Lynnie,” he warned her. “Where’d you get that mare, anyway?”
“Borrowed her from Penelope’s spread. Her father’s planning on winning a bunch of races with Boneyard.”
“He may not cotton to your stealin’ her.”
Lynnie drew herself up primly. “I didn’t steal her, I borrowed her.”
“Horse-thievin’ is a hangin’ offense.”
Lynnie shrugged. “I reckon I’ll have to return Boneyard at the end of the drive. I really hate that; I’ve gotten quite fond of her.”
“Well, you’ve still got your calves.” He nodded up ahead toward the chuck wagon. Daisy Buttercup stuck her head out of the canvas and looked toward them. At least she appeared to be looking toward them. With the calf’s crossed eyes, it was hard to tell.
He rode on, leaving Lynnie staring after him in confusion. She was having a change of heart about Ace Durango. He wasn’t quite as hard and stubborn as she had always thought him to be. And last night, in his blankets, she had had the most uncontrollable urge to let him kiss her until she was breathless. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to kiss her anymore. Certainly, he had crawled out of that bedroll like red ants were all over him. It was indeed a puzzlement.
Late in the afternoon, they arrived at the river and reined in. Thunderation. It was bad, Lynnie thought, they were asking for disaster if they tried to cross that flooded stream. Question was, could Ace Durango handle this emergency? All their lives might depend on his judgment.
Fifteen
Lynnie looked at the torrents of water and sighed. No wonder they called it the Red. The river that marked the boundary between Texas and the Indian Territory ran the color of blood. Now at flood stage, its scarlet was accented by the white foam and froth racing along its torrent. “What do you think, Ace?”
He rode up, leaned on his saddle horn, and began to curse softly. “It’d be death to half our herd if we tried to swim them across now, to say nothing of our cowboys.”
Comanch had joined them. The young half-breed stared at the water glumly. “They say it’s killed more cowboys than any river in the West. You think that’s true?”
Cookie yelled from the seat of the chuck wagon, “’Course it’s true, you young whippersnapper.”
She watched Ace’s face. The responsibility of this drive was weighing heavily on a man who’d had little responsibility until now. He looked older, more tired. Ace was the trail boss, the one who was ultimately accountable if this drive ended in disaster. Looking at his expression, it was apparent that he knew it and doubted his own ability. “Maybe we’ll wait a day or two for the water to go down.”
Hank spat on the muddy ground. “Judgin’ from the way the grass is eaten up, Forrester’s herd got here a day or two ago and managed to get across before it began to rain.”
Nobody said anything, and Lynnie ducked her head. This herd might have gotten to the river before the big rain if it hadn’t been for her, the stampede, and Pedro’s injury. She determined at that moment to do more than her share as a cowboy on this drive. She owed it to the wranglers.
Everyone waited for the trail boss to speak. “We’ll wait,” he said finally, “and see if the water goes down now that it’s stopped rainin’.”
Cookie said, “We can only wait so long with the grass used up like it is.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Ace snapped. “This drive is my responsibility, and I ain’t gonna lose half the herd in that current.”
His tone had a ring of mature authority to it that made Lynnie stare at him. It was almost as if he were becoming a man rather than a boy. He needed all the support he could get.
“Well,” she said, “we all
heard the trail boss. Let’s get down and make camp.”
“You”—he gestured at her—“you stay out of the way and outta my sight.”
She deserved that, she knew, so she didn’t argue. He was bound to be angry because of the trouble she had caused, and she didn’t blame him. She’d better step softly around the big man on the rest of this trip.
When morning dawned, gray and bleak, the river still ran high and swift, white foam on its crest, and logs and other debris swept along by its swift current.
Ace walked out to the steep bank and looked for a long moment. What would Dad do in a spot like this? Ace was so unsure of himself, his judgment. If the trail crew knew how uncertain Ace was, they’d lose whatever faith they might have in him.
Lynnie walked up and stood beside him. “What do you think?”
“Hell, do you have to keep creepin’ up on me, askin’ questions?” He snapped back at her more angrily than he meant to, because he was trying to make a decision, knowing the silent, inexperienced cowboys now drinking coffee around the campfire were depending on him.
“You don’t have to bite my head off.” She sounded on the verge of tears, and he was ashamed of himself and then angry with her because if it hadn’t been for Lynnie McBride, they would have been across the Red before the rain hit. Unexpected things happened on cattle drives despite the best intentions. That’s why the Chisholm Trail made men out of boys—if they lived to see the end of it.
Ace returned to the fire and ignored the way the wranglers were glaring at him. They had heard him yell at the girl, and a Texan didn’t shout at a lady. Lady. He poured himself a tin cup of the steaming black coffee and glanced at her. There was something both pathetic and appealing about the slight girl in her boy’s garb. Her spectacles were slightly askew, and her lip trembled when she looked his way.
Cookie glared at him. “Well, Mister Boss Man, if you’re through yellin’ at the girl, what ya think?”
It was his decision to make, and abruptly Ace wished he had listened and learned more when his father was attempting to teach him about the cattle business. He’d have to do the best he could with little wisdom to draw from. None of these young cowboys had any more experience than he did. “I reckon we’ll have to wait a day or two until the river goes down. We try to cross now, we’ll lose half the herd swept downstream and drowned.”
Cookie grunted. “Can’t wait too long. Forrester’s herd done et up most of the grass in this area. Our cattle will scatter so bad that we’ll never find them again.”
Lynnie had returned to the circle. Now she cleared her throat. “I’m sure Ace is aware of that,” she said to the cowboys. “He’ll make the right decision; he’s a Durango, isn’t he? And the Durangos are cattlemen for half a dozen generations.”
The others nodded and murmured agreement. Ace blinked and looked away. Here he’d shouted at her, and now she was coming to his defense. Well, he didn’t need some small bit of calico to look out for him. “Hank, you and me’ll ride downstream, see if we can find a better place to cross.”
Hank started for his horse as Ace began to saddle Nighthawk.
Cookie looked up from the fire. “Ain’t gonna find no better place. I’ve ridden this trail before, remember?”
“We’ll see.” He glanced over at Lynnie. She was now hunting down the cows so she could feed her bawling baby calves. It was both a ridiculous and a touching scene, Ace thought: the calves with their ribbons around their necks, and the slight girl with that forest fire of hair pulled back like a pony’s tail.
He did find a little better place down the river a few hundred yards, but not that much better. Its only improvement was that the banks weren’t quite so steep. He and Hank stared silently at the rushing water.
Hank leaned on his saddle horn. “Looks ten miles wide, don’t it?”
“Might as well be,” Ace replied as a huge log washed by, causing small waves of reddish foam. “Cattle get out in that current and panic, they’ll try to return to this side. We get a mill churnin’ out in the middle, we’ll have a lot of dead cattle washed downstream.”
“You think our horses will be able to make it to the other side?”
“If not, we’ll have some drowned cowboys, too.” It was a cool day, but sweat broke out on Ace’s face. He had a secret he hadn’t told anyone, and he harbored a terrible fear of deep water. “We’ll wait until tomorrow and look at her again.”
Back in camp, there wasn’t much to do except drink coffee, play cards, and help Lynnie with her calves. The little critters were beginning to eat grass now. Watching her, Ace smiled in spite of himself. Just what did the girl think she was going to do with those calves when they got to Dodge City? If they got to Dodge City.
“We’ll get there, Ace.” She came over and sat down on a rock before him as if she had just read his self-doubts. “All the boys have plenty of faith in you.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to it,” he whispered without thinking.
“Sure, you are.” She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Cattlemen are made, not born, and your dad had to learn all this, too, at one time or another.”
“I just wish I’d spent more time out on the range rather than in cantinas and cockfights.”
“You’ll get us there.” She smiled, and once again he thought how gentle and appealing she looked in her oversized boy’s clothes. Why, when she smiled, she was almost pretty.
Lynnie McBride pretty? Lordy, he must have eaten some loco weed in his biscuits.
The next morning, the river was down but still not nearly calm enough to cross. The cattle were lowing and scattering, looking for grass. Ace looked at the water and felt sweat break out on his broad back. The swift-moving red current looked like streaming blood to a man with his secret. “There’s no help for it; we’ve got to cross today.”
Even Cookie shook his head doubtfully. “Water’s still too high.”
Ace snarled at him, “I’m tellin’ you, there’s no help for it. We’ll have to cross today.”
Everyone looked at each other.
He was right, Lynnie thought; they had to chance it, but some of them might die trying. Ace seemed far too riled. She sensed something wrong—more wrong than losing cattle in a flooding stream. “If Ace says to try for it, I’m game. Who’s with me?”
Cookie shook his head. “Bad current.”
The others looked at each other uncertainly.
“Hell,” Hank said, “if the little lady ain’t afraid, I reckon I’m game.”
The others looked at each other, then at Lynnie.
Comanch said, “I ain’t gonna be showed up by no gal.”
The others nodded in grudging agreement. “I reckon we got to try.”
Ace wiped sweat from his face, and she noted that his hand trembled. He looked at the old cook. “You think you can get the chuck wagon across?”
The old man nodded. “And the lady’s calves, too.”
“Hey, Daisy,” Lynnie cooed, and the ugly calf stuck her head out of the back of the wagon and bawled a greeting. Ace frowned at Lynnie. “I’m worried about you gettin’ across. You’re my responsibility, you know.”
“I can swim,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You get caught in a mill of panicked cattle, they’ll take you down with them. Anyway, since when can a gal swim? I never met a girl who could swim.”
“That’s because the silly things never take off those heavy petticoats. I figured if the boys could do it, I could, too, so Crockett, Bowie, and Travis taught me.”
He didn’t dare tell her or any of the others his secret; she was so smug and superior. “All right, I’ll have a couple of the boys escort you across, one on each side in case something goes wrong.”
“I’ll be damned if you will.” Her cheeks flushed in an attractive way when she was angry. “I’ll help take the herd across just like the other hands.”
“I don’t need the aggravation of arguin’ with a headstrong f
emale, not when I got so many other problems.”
“So fine—stop arguing with me.” She mounted Boneyard and went to join the cowboys, who had mounted up and waited near the herd for instructions.
“All right, boys, here’s what we do,” said Ace. “Cookie will take the chuck wagon across. His mules can swim, and the wagon will float. Then we begin to push the herd into the river. They won’t want to go, and they may try to return. We can’t let that happen, because it will cause a mill out in the middle that will panic and drown the herd.”
The cowboys looked uncertain, and the horses, as if sensing what was coming, stamped their hooves and snorted.
“Everybody ready?” Ace took a deep breath and stared at the rushing water. The red current looked ten miles wide and twice that deep. “Okay, Cookie, take her across!”
The old man slapped his mules with the reins, and they started forward but hesitated at the water’s edge. “Hey, mules, get along, there! Hah, mules!”
With his urging, the mules waded out into the river, hesitating again. Daisy Buttercup stuck her head out the back of the wagon and bawled for her mama. The old cow came to the edge of the water and bawled in answer.
Lynnie watched the wagon, holding her breath as it moved deeper into the fast-moving stream. Her cross-eyed calf looked toward her and bawled for help as the wagon reached deeper water and began to float, the mules’ legs pumping like pistons as they started to swim. She glanced over at Ace. His face looked strained and almost pale, and she pitied him this responsibility. Why, he looked almost scared. A brave man is one who’s scared but keeps on coming anyway. She remembered the credo of the Texas Rangers.
The wagon was out in the middle of the river now, and the current was trying to float it downstream as Cookie lashed his mules and shouted at them. “Ho, mules! Keep a-goin’! Hey, mules!”
To Tame A Texan Page 21
