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  Georgina GentryGeorgina Gentry20060-8217-8120-0enKensingtonCopyright © 2006 by Lynne MurphyPDFTo Tease A Texan

  IN THE HEART OF TEXAS

  The sheriff sighed with awe. “You know Texans say that on the eighth day, God created Texas, and that was the best of his work.”

  Lark laughed. “That might be sacrilegious.”

  “You wouldn’t get a Texan to think that.” He seemed so earnest and sincere as he looked down at her. They were standing close, too close. For a long moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, and she felt his big hands tighten gently on her arms. She had the feeling that he was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. She stood on her tiptoes and turned her face up to him, closing her eyes.

  She heard him take a deep breath, then he cleared his throat and stepped away from her. She blinked and opened her eyes. He looked uncertain. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me, ma’am. I ain’t one to be forward with a lady.”

  Damn him, he was a perfect gentleman. Too bad at this moment he wasn’t more like his rascal brother. She had a terrible need to be gathered into his strong embrace and kissed and kissed some more….

  Previous Books by Georgina Gentry

  Apache Caress

  Apache Tears

  Bandit’s Embrace

  Cheyenne Captive

  Cheyenne Caress

  Cheyenne Princess

  Cheyenne Splendor

  Cheyenne Song

  Comanche Cowboy

  Eternal Outlaw

  Half-Breed’s Bride

  Nevada Dawn

  Nevada Nights

  Quicksilver Passion

  Sioux Slave

  Song of the Warrior

  Timeless Warrior

  To Tame A Rebel

  To Tame A Savage

  To Tame A Texan

  To Tempt A Texan

  Warrior’s Heart

  Warrior’s Honor

  Warrior’s Prize

  “The Great Cowbow Race”

  in My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

  GEORGINA GENTRY

  To Tease A Texan

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  This story is dedicated

  with warmth and affection

  to the true Texans among you,

  the wannabe Texans,

  and in memory of my Texas grandmother,

  Sarah Jane Crooks Rushing.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Last Chance Saloon, Oklahoma Territory

  Early April 1890

  They were cheating the cowboy at the poker table tonight. He must be blind or very drunk not to see Snake Hudson dealing from the bottom. Lark felt almost naked in her skimpy sky blue dress as she paused by the table, tray in hand. Dixie, one of the other saloon girls, stood behind the cowboy, and she was giving slight signals as she watched the cowboy’s hand and nodded to her latest lover, Snake.

  Lark hesitated. It wasn’t really any of her business. After all, the big, black-haired cowboy was a grown man, and she needed this job.

  “Hey you, girlie,” Snake snarled. “You ever gonna serve them drinks afore we all die of thirst?”

  “Right away.” Lark began serving drinks around the table as the big cowboy grinned at her a little cross-eyed.

  “Left-handed,” he drawled, “just like me.”

  “I’m a Texan, too,” she said. His accent told her he was a Texan. Land’s sake, he was a grown man and ought to know better than to sit down at a poker table with a crooked bunch like this.

  Snake sipped his whiskey and rubbed the whiplike scar on his forehead. Then he smirked. “Full house. Sorry, cowboy, reckon you lose again.” He reached out and began to rake in the pot. “How ’bout another hand, Larado? You might be luckier this time.”

  Lark continued to serve around the table. The noise and the smoke made her head ache, along with the off-key music.

  “Dunno, Snake,” Larado said, chewing his lip. “You ’bout cleaned me out.”

  “Just one more hand,” Snake urged. “Maybe this hand will win everything back.”

  The cowboy hesitated and Lark held her breath. “All I got left is my horse and saddle and my gold watch, and I set a heap of store by it.” He pulled the watch out of his leather vest and stared at it as if trying to make a choice.

  “Take a chance,” Snake urged.

  “Yeah, take a chance, cowboy,” Dixie urged. She smiled with lips as bright red as her dress, the cigar smoke swirling around her blond hair.

  He hesitated again. “Don’t know if I ought to.” He squinted thoughtfully at the gold pocket watch, his face furrowed in concentration.

  Oh, no, I can’t let him lose that too. Without giving it a second thought, Lark dropped a glass of beer in the cowboy’s lap. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  He stumbled to his feet, wiping at his pants. “Reckon I’m through for the night, then.” He stuck the gold watch back in his pocket and left, weaving in a crooked line toward the swinging doors.

  “Damn it,” Snake roared, “I oughta get you fired for that, girlie.”

  “I—it was an accident.” Lark put down her tray and followed the staggering cowboy out onto the wooden sidewalk. The night air was fresh and cool but noisy. In this wide-open town, there were a dozen saloons in a two-block area and not much else. Pianos blared a mix of Stephen Foster songs. Drunken trail hands galloped up and down the dirt street, shooting into the air and shouting.

  The cowboy staggered down the sidewalk, whistling:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day, I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, all wrapped in white linen and cold as the clay….

  Her blue dress felt thin and skimpy. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “Hey, you!” she yelled at the tall Texan. “You need to stay out of places like the Last Chance.”

  “Well, now, sweetie”—he stopped, turned, and grinned down at her, a charming, crooked grin—“I reckon if you’re gonna pour beer on me every time I come in, maybe I’d better.”

  “I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”

  He leaned against a porch railing and hiccoughed. “I reckon I can handle my own self, sweetie.” He reached out and slapped her familiarly across the bottom.

  “Don’t do that. And don’t call me ‘sweetie,’ you saddle tramp!”

  “Okay, I’m agreeable. You got a name? I reckon we ain’t howdied yet. I’m Larado.”

  “Larado what?”

  “Sweetie”—he grinned, pushing his Stetson back—“since you’re a Texan, you should know it ain’t polite to ask a stranger too many questions. What’s your handle?”

  “I’m Lark, er, Lark Smith.” She held out her hand awkwardly. Since she was a runaway, it wouldn’t be too smart to give him her full name.

  “Well, Lark, sweetie”—his big hand engulfed hers and he hung on—“I like tall, pretty brunettes. Any more like you at home?�
�

  “I’m a mirror twin,” she said before she thought.

  “A what?”

  “You know, I’ve got a dimple on the left side, she’s got one on the right. I’m left-handed—”

  “She’s right-handed. Now I get it.” He nodded. “Well, how about let’s goin’ up to your room?”

  “I only wait tables here, nothing else.” She tried to pull out of his grasp and kept her tone cold.

  He swayed a little on his feet, and she could smell the whiskey. “I got no money anyway. Maybe you’d take a gold watch?”

  “You want to get another beer poured on you?” She jerked out of his hand. “Now, go sleep it off somewhere.”

  “I reckon maybe I have had a little too much red-eye.”

  “A little?” She snorted. “Why, I’ll bet you couldn’t hit the ground with your hat in three tries. You had to be blind not to see the marked cards in that game.”

  He stumbled and sat down heavily on the edge of the wooden sidewalk. “Now, that Snake fella seemed like a right friendly hombre.”

  Lark snorted again. “Why, he’d steal the butter off a sick beggar’s biscuit. Cowboy, you’d better report back to your outfit and stay out of dives like this one.”

  He shook his head and rolled a cigarette with unsteady hands, looking up at her. “Came up with a trail herd a few days ago, but now they’re sold, and I ain’t found another job. Thought I might win enough to ship me and my horse back to Texas.”

  “Land’s sake, partner,” she warned, “you won’t ever win playing at the Last Chance. I’ve only worked here a few months but I spotted the cardsharps right off.”

  He smoked with unsteady hands and seemed to be thinking it over. “Maybe I should go back in there and demand my money.”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You don’t know how tough the boys in the Last Chance can be.”

  “I can handle myself, sweetie.” He tried to stand up, stumbled, reached out and caught her arm to steady himself. He was a big one, all right, taller even than her uncle Trace or her cousin Ace. He stood swaying and staring down at her, and she was tall for a woman. “You cold?”

  “Of course I am!” she snapped and pulled away from him. “This skimpy outfit they make me wear hasn’t got enough fabric to cover a broom handle.”

  “Looks good to me.” He grinned at her.

  “Get out of here and go sleep it off,” she snapped. “Now I got to go, they’re yelling for me inside.”

  “Lark,” he murmured, “can you sing?”

  “Not very well. Now vamoose, pronto. Maybe tomorrow, you can get on with some outfit.”

  He shook his head. “Done tried. Nobody around here needs a wanderin’ saddle tramp. Reckon I’ll go back to Texas.”

  “Good idea. And a word of advice. Stay away from poker tables when you’re blind drunk.” She turned and went back into the saloon.

  Larado squinted in the darkness and looked after her. He was drunk all right, but not as drunk as she thought. She was purty, a tall dark-haired girl in a gaudy blue dress. Like him, she looked like she had some Injun blood. His manhood stirred as he remembered the feel of her and the scent of her perfume. What the hell was he thinking? Girls like that one came high, and he hadn’t a nickel to his name. He’d have to sleep out on the prairie tonight with his horse, and maybe tomorrow his luck would change. His pants were wet with beer and he was getting cold in the night wind. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears and stumbled away.

  Lark scurried back into the smoky, noisy saloon. Joe, the short owner, stood scowling by the poker table with a cigar between his teeth. “Lark, where the hell you been?”

  “Uh, just out.”

  “Snake here tells me you caused him to lose a sucker he was about to finish off.”

  “I accidentally spilled a drink in the cowboy’s lap.” She needed this job.

  “Aww, don’t believe her,” said the blond whore Dixie, perching her rear on the poker table. “That was a pretty good gold watch. Besides, that broke up the whole game.”

  “Lark,” Joe said, “you’re a lousy waitress. Any more trouble outta you and you’re fired.”

  “But, Joe—”

  “You heard me.” He walked away from the table.

  Lark looked helplessly at the crowd around the poker table.

  Snake frowned and shrugged. “You heard him. Next time I got a sucker on the hook, stay out of it. Now, Dixie, get that talented fanny of yours off the table.”

  The men all laughed. Dixie laughed too and started to saunter away. Lark caught up with her. “You were helping Snake cheat that cowboy.”

  “So what?” Dixie sneered. “Besides, that Texan’s a grown man. He must have been blind not to see Snake dealin’ them cards off the bottom. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”

  Lark caught her arm. “I ought to slap you, Dixie.”

  “You do, and I’ll pull out some of them beautiful black curls. Did I ever tell you I once got into a fight with your sister?”

  Everything else was forgotten. “You know my sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think I believe you.”

  “Don’t give a damn whether you do or not. Her name’s Lacey and she’s prissy and straitlaced. She wouldn’t be caught dead workin’ in a saloon.”

  That was her twin, all right. “Where’d—?”

  “I don’t wanta talk to you no more,” Dixie drawled and started to saunter away, the red satin on her hips swaying as she walked.

  “Dixie, tell me where you saw her.” Lark ran after her and caught her arm.

  “Let go of me, you bitch.” Dixie swung at her and Lark stepped away, but Dixie came at her again. Lark was a Texas girl, and she could give as good as she got. She buried her fingers in the whore’s bleached hair and gave it a good yank.

  Dixie howled like a stepped-on cat and came at her, scratching and shrieking.

  “You Southern-fried tramp!” Lark said, and they went down in a mix of short skirts, lace underwear, and tangled long legs.

  “Fight! Fight!” The shout went through the crowded saloon and all the men came running to watch. The only thing a bunch of cowboys liked better than a good fistfight was two girls going at it.

  Lark wasn’t going to let the slut get away with this. She forgot she needed a job, she forgot everything but slapping Dixie silly. They crashed first into the piano, sending the player falling to the floor, then into a pool table, sending cowboys scrambling. Now other girls and male customers gathered around to watch the latest entertainment in the crowded saloon.

  Nate, the big bartender, came running. “All right, break it up, you’ll have the boss out here.” He tried to pull the girls apart, but Lark poked him in the eye as she drew back on Dixie again. Oh, her sister Lacey would be mortified if she could see her tomboy sister in such an unladylike battle—but then, her twin was always so correct and Lark could never do anything right.

  “Here comes the boss!” Someone yelled a warning, but Lark was on top, yanking the tart’s yellow hair.

  Joe strode up, grabbed both girls by the arms, and hauled them to their feet. “What’s goin’ on out here?”

  “She started it,” Dixie wailed.

  “I was just giving as good as I got!”

  “She was, too,” the crowd assured him.

  Joe took the cigar out of his mouth and frowned. “Lark, damn it, I warned you.”

  “I know you did, but I’m a Texan and that poor Texas cowboy was being cheated—”

  “So what?” Joe shrugged. “If he ain’t a big boy, he don’t belong in a tough town like Buck Shot.”

  “But he was almost broke,” Lark protested.

  He looked at her and sighed as if speaking to a small child. “That’s what we do here at the Last Chance, we take their money. Now, Texas, I warned you, so you’re fired. Be out of here by morning.” He turned on his heel and stalked back toward his office.

  Land’s sake, what had
she done? Got herself fired over a drunken, penniless cowboy. Chin still high and defiant, Lark headed up to her cramped room to pack. What was she going to do now?

  She’d gotten some satisfaction out of giving Dixie’s yellow hair a good yank, but that wouldn’t pay the bills. She could always wire home to Uncle Trace for money, but she was too proud to do that. Besides, Aunt Cimarron would come after her and take her back to the ranch. They had raised her ever since her parents had been killed and her rich grandfather had decided he couldn’t deal with the twins. She’d just be on the run again as she had been for the last couple of years. She wondered where Dixie had run across Lacey. Last she had heard, Lacey was scheduled to marry that perfect paragon of virtue, Homer Something-or-other. By now, Lacey probably had a perfect baby while her twin made a mess of her life. Well, Lark would just drift on like she always did. It was easier than facing up to her own imperfections.

  She sat down on her bed and listened to the music and laughter from downstairs. Where was she going to go now? Her prominent ranching family would be upset if they knew she was working in a saloon. Of course, ever since she’d dropped out of Miss Priddy’s fancy academy in Boston while Lacey graduated with honors, they’d been upset with her. They said they weren’t, but Lark knew better. If she ever did anything to make them proud, she’d contact them, but it was tough being the twin who always messed up.

  She thought of the Texan. The nerve of him slapping her on the bottom so familiarly! And to think he’d wanted to buy a night in her bed with a gold watch. No man had ever bedded her, and a penniless, drunken cowpoke wasn’t going to be the first. Oh my, what did she expect him to think? He wouldn’t have believed the truth, that the niece of one of the biggest ranchers in Texas would be slinging drinks in a wild whiskey town along the border between Oklahoma and Indian Territories. The whiskey towns were the roughest in the West, existing to sell liquor and other brands of sin to the Indians and outlaws who hid out in Indian Territory, where whiskey was forbidden.

  Lark blew out her lamp and went to bed with a defeated sigh. Tomorrow, she’d drift on. She was homesick but she couldn’t go home. Lark was certain her relatives felt sorry for her because she couldn’t seem to measure up. It was easier to run. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what had happened to the drunken cowboy. Damn him, he’d gotten her into a mess.