To Tease A Texan. Georgina Gentry

had spoken the truth, and they didn’t believe her. Well, her conscience was clear, in case the cowboys ever ate any of her cooking. She didn’t say that she could hold her own in any type of riding, shooting, or ranch work. Those were not things cowboys liked to be outdone in.

      The ranch hands trailed the ladies like hungry pups as they walked toward the barn.

      One of them whispered, “She’s real purty, ain’t she? You reckon any hombres got a chance?”

      “The sheriff must be loco if he don’t grab this bit of calico up.”

      Lark didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that the sheriff was going to be patrolling the town rather than coming to the dance. The inside of the big barn was aglow with lanterns. It smelled of fresh hay and roasting beef that turned on a spit outside. Bales of straw were scattered about so people could sit down. Over to one side, a small band of settlers sawed away on fiddles or plucked guitar strings…. Chicken in the bread pan, chicken in the dough, swing your partners and do-si-do….

      Ladies gathered in groups to visit while the men traded stories, slapping their knees when someone told a good joke. Children ran through the crowd, yelling and playing. The whole scene made Lark homesick for her uncle Trace Durango’s ranch, the Triple D.

      The music stopped suddenly, and an old rancher climbed up on a box. “All right, folks, choose your partners for the Virginia reel, and don’t mob that new young lady. Since there ain’t enough ladies to go around, some of you will have to be heifers.”

      A groan went up from the young cowboys, but half a dozen men stood patiently while someone tied a red bandana around their arms to signify they would dance the lady’s part for a while. In the meantime, Lark was surrounded by a crowd of bashful young cowboys. “Miss, will you be my partner?”

      “Wait your turn, Jethro,” another scolded.

      “What do you mean, Al? I saw her first.”

      “No, you didn’t. I saw her the minute she stepped off the stage.”

      There was lots of pushing and shoving, vying for her attention. “Me, Miss Van Schuyler.”

      “No, me. I asked her when she got out of the buggy.”

      “Gentlemen, gentlemen.” She raised her voice and made a soothing gesture. “I’ll dance with all of you, just wait your turn.”

      Mildred Bottoms, at her elbow, said in an undertone, “Are you sure you want to do that, my dear? There must be a couple of dozen of them green young fellas.”

      “If I don’t, there may be a riot,” Lark said.

      “Ain’t it nice to be so popular, though?” Mrs. Bottoms smiled.

      Except with the sheriff, Lark thought. He didn’t seem even interested in her at all. That annoyed her no end. His rascal of a brother would have slapped her on the bottom and called her “sweetie.”

      It seemed the cowboys were drawing straws. One let out a yell. “I got it! I get to dance with her first!” He pushed forward, grinning. His face was shiny with scrubbing, and his longish hair was slicked down with water. “Allow me, ma’am.” He bowed to her and offered her his arm.

      She took it with a smile. “I’d be pleased to, cowboy.”

      “You kin call me Buck, miss.”

      Buck danced with more enthusiasm than skill, but she managed to keep her small slippers out from under his cowboy boots. When they finished that dance, another cowboy—this one smelling of rose water hair tonic—grabbed her and whirled her out on the rough board floor. After that, there was another and another.

      Paco finally asked her to dance, and she accepted gratefully. “I swear I’m going to regret promising to dance with them all, but I’ll do my best.”

      The young Mexican deputy grinned at her. “Now you can see why I sent for you. Everyone’s afraid that if the sheriff don’t find a woman, he won’t stay here, and t he town needs him.”

      “Doesn’t appear to me he’s much interested,” Lark said as they moved to line up for the next square dance.

      “Oh, he’s just shy and takes his job serious, sí?”

      “Well, he does seem conscientious,” she admitted grudgingly. There was a strength and integrity about him that Lark liked.

      After an hour, someone yelled that the meat was ready, and the little band quit playing. The ladies began serving out of big pans of cornbread, beans, and cole slaw. There were pies, cakes, cookies, and more barbecued beef than the whole town could eat. Lark hadn’t realized she was so hungry. The friendly ranchers’ wives kept refilling her plate and her lemonade cup over her halfhearted protests.

      They were just finishing up, and the band had taken their positions to play again, when there was a commotion at the door. Everyone craned their necks to see what was happening. People began to step away as a motley group of hombres came through the door. They were a rough-looking bunch, Lark thought with alarm.

      Mrs. Bottoms nudged her. “Heavens, some of that saloon crowd and railroad workers.”

      The leader needed a shave and a bath, Lark thought as he swaggered across the floor, followed by his friends.

      Paco took a deep breath. “Holy mother of God, I better go get the sheriff.” With that, he slipped out a side door.

      The bad hombre strolled across the floor and stopped in front of Lark. He had an iron railroad spike stuck in his belt. The long heavy spike would make a good weapon. “So you’re the new pretty they’re gossipin’ about in town? I’m Otto. Come on, honey, let’s have us a dance.”

      Lark hesitated. Oh my, what am I going to do now?