To Tame A Texan

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Authors: Georgina Gentry
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.”
    â€œMaybe the whole thing’ll blow over,” Ace said.
    â€œHmmph! 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.
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    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.”
    â€œHe 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 . . .”
    â€œNow, 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.”
    â€œHa!” Trace paused. “He’s never known what it was like to fight Indians, run off rustlers.”
    â€œHe can shoot and ride well.” Cimarron defended her errant son. “Maybe he’s a little wild and devil-may-care—”
    â€œA 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.”
    â€œI remember what a handsome young wrangler you were.” Cimarron smiled. “Maybe some of the cattlemen

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