To Tame A Texan (7 page)

She was still shouting as the police hauled them down the stairs and into the paddy wagon.

“Now you've done it!” Ace said to her as the policeman slammed the door. His head was pounding like a war drum, and he was cold sober. He looked at her, disheveled but triumphant, her green eyes gleaming. “Lynnie, somebody's given you a black eye.”

“Nobody gave it to me; I earned it!” She looked proud of herself.

“Oh, Lordy,” Ace groaned, “what is Dad going to say?”

“Ace is in jail again,” Cimarron sighed as she entered the hotel bedroom and turned up the gaslights.

“What?” Trace mumbled.

“I said, Ace is in jail again.” She waited for her husband's reaction.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, she thought he had not heard her. She leaned over the bed, and one of his eyes opened, blinked.

“Say that again.”

“You heard me right the first time.”

Trace began to curse in Spanish as he got out of bed, stubbed his toe, and hopped about the room, cursing. “How in the hell did that happen? I'll wager Lynnie is so embarrassed . . .”

“She's in jail, too.” Cimarron crossed her arms. “Maverick's waiting in the lobby for you to go with him to bail them out.”

“I'm gonna kill that boy,” Trace promised as he grabbed up his pants and boots. “I didn't figure Ace could get into any kind of trouble escorting a nice girl to a fancy dance.”

Cimarron tried to say something, but he waved her off as he buttoned his shirt. “Don't defend him. It isn't enough that Ace is wild and irresponsible, oh, no! He has to drag an innocent, respectable girl into it. Maverick will be madder than hell.”

 

 

Maverick didn't say much as they took a carriage and headed through the darkness. “I'm sorry, Maverick, I don't know what got into the boy.”

The other man shrugged. “Don't apologize yet, brother. Ace may not be the only one at fault here.”

Before Trace could carry the discussion further, the hansom cab pulled up before the courthouse. Outside, under the gas streetlights, reporters were clustered around and came running to meet the pair as they recognized the prominent ranchers. “Care to make a statement, sir?”

“Hell, no!” Trace roared, pulling his coat collar up against the chill wind, his gray-streaked hair blowing since he'd left his Stetson at the hotel. “Just say there must be some misunderstanding.”

“Is it true the Triple D and the Lazy M between them control almost a million acres?”

“It ain't polite in Texas to ask a man the size of his spread!” Trace snapped.

Ignoring the eager reporters, he and Maverick shouldered their way through, but the men trailed after them as they entered the building. “Is it true Ace Durango turned the governor's ball into a brawl?”

“No comment!” Maverick yelled back. He looked as grim and disgusted as Trace felt as they entered and strode to the desk.

In moments, they had posted the bail, and the amused officers brought the pair out. Ace had a cut lip, and blood on his fine coat. Lynnie's pink dress appeared to be in tatters, and she sported a black eye.

Trace glowered at his errant son. “It isn't bad enough that you've got to get into a fight; you drag this poor, naive girl into it?”

Poor, naive girl
. Ace glared at Lynnie, waiting for her to 'fess up, but she only smiled demurely as her brother-in-law took off his coat and put it around her shoulders.

“Are there reporters outside?” Lynnie asked.

“Yes, but don't worry,” Trace assured her. “Maybe we can sneak out the back door and your name won't get dragged through the mud.” He scowled at his son again.

Ace couldn't take any more. He didn't mind taking the blame when it was his fault, but this female was going to come out of this smelling like a rose. “Lordy, Dad, I was behaving myself, just like you told me—”

“Ha!” snapped Lynnie. “He was drunk as a lord when he picked me up.”

“Is that a fact?” Trace gritted his teeth. “Why, Maverick, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to horsewhip my son.”

Maverick didn't say anything. He was looking at Lynnie as if trying to puzzle something out.

“Dad . . .” Ace glared at Lynnie, but she only smiled sweetly at him. “If it hadn't been for Lynnie and her banner—”

“Now you're tryin' to blame this innocent girl?” Trace's voice rose, “I can't believe I sired you. No Texas gentleman would ever blame a lady.”

“Let's get out of here,” Maverick said.

“She's no lady,” Ace grumbled under his breath, and Lynnie gave him an angelic smile as they headed toward the back door. Damn her, she could look so innocent and demure when she had started the whole thing. There wasn't any use in trying to defend himself. Dad would never believe Ace wasn't at the bottom of it.

His dad and uncle were walking fast, Ace falling behind, looking at the marble floor as he walked, thinking there was no justice.

They stopped at the back door. Trace looked around and asked Ace, “Where's Lynnie?”

Ace looked up from his survey of the courthouse floor, glancing around. No Lynnie. “I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?” Maverick roared. “She was walking with you.”

Ace sighed. “She was here and then she wasn't. I reckon we lost her.”

“Lost her?” Dad roared at him.

“She can't see a thing without her spectacles,” Maverick said. “There's no telling which way she went.”

Dad fixed a withering gaze on him. “Damn it, son, she was your responsibility; go find her!”

Looking at Dad's stormy face, Ace decided this wasn't a good time to argue the point. “It was a straight shot to the back door; I can't see how she lost her way.”

Dad's face grew even stormier.

“Uh, I'll backtrack and find her.” Ace turned and hurried in the direction they had come.

 

 

Lynnie had deliberately fallen behind the little group until they were far ahead of her. Reporters were out front. A courageous woman who was crusading for a righteous cause would not sneak away like a chicken thief. This was a perfect time to take her message to the world. Well, at least to the area around Austin. She took out her little purse and put on her glasses so she could see, and hurried out the front door and down the steps. Immediately, she was surrounded by milling reporters.

“Miss McBride?”

“Yes, I'm Lynnie McBride.”

Notebooks came out as the reporters crowded closer. “Tell us what happened at the ball, miss. Is that a black eye you've got?”

Lynnie nodded. “I was attempting to let the governor and the legislators know that Texas women demand equality and the vote.”

“What do you think of the governor?”

“Well, my brother-in-law and Trace Durango think the governor is an idiot, and after seeing the man, I quite agree.”

“Can we quote you on that?” Pencils began to fly.

“Of course! Texas women deserve equal rights, and I merely turned the ball into a protest rally.”

The reporters crowded even closer, shouting questions. Lynnie began to have second thoughts. Maybe her remarks had been too rash. She wasn't quite sure what the consequences could be. Matter-of-fact, she hadn't thought about anything except getting the message out. The men were loud and persistent, and the crush around her was growing. She was a slender, small girl, and she began to panic at the shoving and pushing.

About that time, Ace Durango came through the doors, took the steps two at a time, and shouldered his way through the mob to her. “Lynnie, what the hell are you doin'?”

“Talking to the reporters.” She wouldn't for the world admit that she was a little bit relieved to see him.

“Lordy, Dad and Uncle Maverick will have my hide over this,” he scolded, and put his arm around her, elbowing his way through the men. “I'm already in enough trouble over you.”

She had forgotten how big Ace was until he was plowing a path through the eager reporters, protecting her from the crush. She breathed a sigh of relief. Uncle Trace and Maverick came around the corner and motioned them to follow. Ignoring the eager group following them, the pair ran to get into the carriage and started off into the coming dawn.

“Son,” said Trace, “Lynnie was your responsibility. You should have protected her.”

Ace looked at her, evidently waiting for her to speak. Lynnie hesitated. If she did so, she could take the heat off him. Should she? Naw, the brute deserved it. The big, handsome cowboy thought he was God's gift to the female sex; the antithesis of the equal woman. Lynnie blinked and smiled innocently

Ace glared at her and made a twisting motion with his big hands, as if he were wringing her slender neck.

“Ace,” said his father, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Nothin'.”

Trace leaned back in the carriage. “Young lady, I'm sorry my errant son didn't do a better job of protecting you. I know you didn't realize when you accidentally went out the wrong door that you'd run into reporters.”

Lynnie didn't say anything, only smiled innocently.

Ace watched her and amused himself by thinking about grabbing that skinny neck and shaking her until her teeth rattled and that fire-colored hair fell out of its fancy hairpins. She was crafty and smarter than any woman had a right to be. It wasn't fair that a mere girl had out-manuevered a smart
hombre
like himself and caused him all this trouble.

Maverick sighed. “Maybe we can get the newspapers before Cayenne and Cimarron see them.”

“Maybe the whole thing'll blow over,” Ace said.

“Hmmph!
Not likely,” Trace snapped. “And you, Diego de Durango the Fourth, you can forget about going to any more parties or doing anything besides maybe cleaning out the stables for a while.”

Lynnie grinned at him, and he fought an urge to open the carriage door and push her out into the street in front of a brewery wagon passing by. If he said anything, he was only going to get into more trouble. He couldn't win against Lynnie, Ace realized with a resigned sigh. Even when they were kids, she'd outsmarted him, and she could get away with it because she was a girl. Here he'd thought he was doing a favor, escorting the poor little spinster to the ball, and she'd used him as part of her plan. No wonder the cunning, headstrong old maid couldn't get a husband; no man liked a woman who was smarter than he was. Well, it would be a cold day in hell before Ace got himself into another fix with Lynnie McBride.

 

 

That morning, each family returned to its own ranch. Ace was assigned to clean out the horse stalls in the barn, while his indignant father paced up and down before the library fire with the little Chihuahua trailing after him. “Cimarron, your son is a mess.”

Cimarron raised her head from her sewing and surveyed her angry husband calmly. “He's just a young stallion, and someday he'll tame down.”

“He may not live that long,” Trace grumbled, stopping to light a cigarillo. “I just don't know what it's going to take to turn that young dandy into a man. I'm beginning to worry that he'll never be up to the challenge of running this ranch. His sister, on the other hand . . .”

“Now, Raven will do a good job with her share; we know that,” Cimarron soothed as she put down her sewing and walked over to put her arms around him. “I'll bet when Ace finally has to take on some responsibility, he'll come through.”

“Ha!” Trace paused. “He's never known what it was like to fight Indians, run off rustlers.”

“He can shoot and ride well.” Cimarron defended her errant son. “Maybe he's a little wild and devil-may-care—”

“A little?” Trace looked at her. “When I was that age, Maverick and I were leading cattle drives up the Chisholm Trail.”

Cimarron sighed and walked over to look out the French doors at the big fountain in the courtyard. “Things are changing, dear—getting civilized. With railroads coming in and stockyards being built here in Texas, those cattle drives are fading fast.”

Trace went over to the sideboard and poured himself a tequila. “Now, there was something that would turn a boy into a man. Driving cattle hundreds of miles up to Kansas across Indian Territory. Why, many's the time Maverick and I slept on the ground and stayed in the saddle most of the night, trying to keep spooked cattle from stampeding.”

Cimarron rolled her eyes. She had heard these same stories many, many times. “With Kansas complaining about Texas fever infecting their herds, and barbed wire strung everywhere, I'm afraid those days are almost gone forever.”

Trace nodded agreement and sipped his drink. “Less than twenty years. When the Chisholm Trail opened right after the War ended, I thought the drives would go on forever. I reckon you're right. Soon there'll be no reason to drive cattle hundreds of miles to load them on freight cars.”

“I remember what a handsome young wrangler you were.” Cimarron smiled. “Maybe some of the cattlemen should get together and have one last drive for the fun of it.”

“Hmm.” Trace went to the window and looked out for a long moment. “I don't know. Last time I had to sleep on the ground, I hurt so bad next morning, I could hardly sit a saddle.”

Cimarron laughed. “Middle age catching up to you. It's not an adventure for anyone but the young. Ace has missed one of the great experiences of the old West.”

“A cattle drive might make a man of him.” Trace sipped his drink and smiled, staring out the window as if remembering the old days. “Old Sanchez's younger brother is a good trail boss. Pedro would probably enjoy leading a cattle drive in one final trip up the Chisholm Trail to Dodge City.”

“You're not serious. Why, it must be twelve hundred miles.” She looked at him.

Trace shrugged. “I don't know. Abilene and Wichita don't want the drives coming through any more. The Kansas legislature has passed laws discouraging it. If we arranged a drive, we'd probably have to swing out as we reached the Kansas border and take the Western Trail to Dodge City.”