Twelve
The next morning, Lynnie felt a decided difference in the air. Although she was still dressed in boy’s pants and denim shirt, the rough, uncivilized cowboys now seemed self-conscious around her. Why, they were acting halfway civilized, Lynnie thought with surprise as she rolled up her bedroll. As she struggled to lift her heavy stock saddle and carry it over to her horse, half a dozen cowhands rushed up.
“Here, ma’am, let me get that for you.”
“Miss McBride, I’d be glad to saddle your horse.”
“Miss Lynnie, a little thing like you oughtn’t to be carryin’ that heavy saddle.”
“Let her carry it,” Ace ordered, his voice as grim as his face. “She wants to be a man’s equal; let her prove it.”
“I can and I will,” Lynnie snapped, and lugged her own saddle across the circle.
Behind her, she heard grumbling among the men. “What’s eatin’ Ace? It ain’t right to let a little lady carry a big saddle while a bunch of men watch her.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at Ace. She could see the disgusted looks among the cowboys. Even old Cookie was giving her a look of sympathy Oh, she was going to make that big brute of a Texan pay for his stubborn superiority.
They saddled up and got the herd moving. The May weather was hot and dusty, and water scarce as they trailed a day or so behind the Forrester herd. She made sure she did more than her share of the work, and she caught the cowboys giving her admiring looks. That is, all except Ace. If looks could kill, she’d surely be dead by now.
That night when they camped, the cowboys were all on their best behavior: no belching or breaking wind in her presence, and there were no ribald jokes. In fact, they all seemed to be watching her with embarrassment, as if remembering some of the ungentlemanly behavior the past several weeks before they had realized there was a girl among them. That is, all but Ace. If anything, he was even more rude and uncivilized to her. She’d heard how charming he could be to women, but danged if she saw any of it. He seemed determined to make her life as miserable as possible. Well, she could give him tit for tat, she promised herself.
Cookie even seemed to have sobered up some, although old Twister was as drunk as ever on vanilla-soaked biscuits. “I suppose you think you’d like to take over my chuck wagon?”
She gave him her most charming smile. “Why, me? No, Cookie, I could never cook the way you do.”
That was the god-awful truth, she thought, remembering last night’s meal. “Of course, if you’d want me to do the lowly stuff like slice bacon and clean pans—”
“Couldn’t ask a lady to do that.” The old man ducked his head, smiling shyly. “Now that I think of it, Miss Lynnie, I’d admire to have you give me a hand. I hear as how you’re the best pie baker in south Texas.”
Ace glowered at her. “I’ll admit she’s that. In fact, that’s where she belongs—in a kitchen, rustlin’ up grub for the unlucky man who’d get hitched to her.”
Comanch sighed wistfully. “Miss Lynnie, any man who got you would be lucky.”
“Comanch,” said Ace sternly, “you been on the trail too long.”
Lynnie smiled sweetly around the circle at the cowboys, and in turn, they all glared at Ace. He retreated to a rock, sat down and began to roll himself a smoke.
“Now,” Lynnie said, rolling up her sleeves, “I believe we passed some sand plum bushes about a half mile back. I might ride there and get enough for a pie.”
Most of the boys jumped to their feet, taking off their Stetsons with a sweeping gesture. “Miss Lynnie, I’d be proud to accompany you.”
“No, I’ll ride back with her—”
“Dagnab it, I spoke first—”
“Hey, I’m the best plum picker there is,” another protested.
“You can all go with me,” Lynnie said grandly.
Ace didn’t smile. “Don’t look at me to help. It appears to me ten or twelve skirt-addled hombres is plenty to pick a few sand plums.”
She gave him her coldest, haughtiest stare. “We can do this without you, thank you.”
Immediately, all the cowboys pushed and shoved to see who would be the fortunate one to help her up on her horse. Then they all mounted up and rode out.
Behind her, she heard Ace griping to Pedro. “Damn it, she’s disruptin’ everything, that gol-darned female.”
She turned in her saddle and yelled back, “I heered that!”
The cowboys guffawed, and she knew she had won another round. Of course, she really shouldn’t rile Ace Durango. He’d already lost the first round, and she shouldn’t be rubbing all this in—he was already almost impossible to deal with. One thing was certain: he’d never follow her around like a puppy dog like these other cowboys were doing. Maybe this was one Texan who couldn’t be tamed, nor did she want to try. He wasn’t at all like the genteel gentleman spouting poetry and playing croquet that she read about in romantic novels. The kind of man she dreamed of would be named Percival or Felix, would accompany her to violin concerts and encourage her in her women’s rights work.
They returned to camp with more sand plums than they could possibly use. Old Cookie’s eyes lit up when he saw the hats full. “If we had time, we’d make some wine.”
Pedro shook his head. “No, hombre, no wine.”
Ace glared at her. “We ain’t gonna be on the trail that long.”
She fed a handful to Boneyard and petted her. The lead steer, Twister, ambled over, stuck his muzzle in a hat, and began eating plums.
“Shoo! Shoo!” Lynnie chased the old steer away. “Now, you gentlemen wash up for supper, and Cookie and I will get a meal together.”
“Wash?” Ace said. “We just washed yesterday.”
Lynnie sighed. “I know this might surprise you, Mr. Durango, but gentlemen wash every day, even when they’re not going to Miss Fancy’s.”
The others laughed and headed over to the little stream to wash up.
Ace seemed to dig in his heels. “I ain’t gonna wash up.”
“Then kindly stay downwind from me,” Lynnie said, and reached into the back of the chuck wagon for a can of flour.
“You’ve turned the whole crew against me,” Ace muttered.
“I have done nothing of the sort.” Lynnie began to mix her pie dough. “They see it as a matter of fairness.”
“No, they don’t. They have been on the trail without any women around for several weeks, and now you’re beginnin’ to look like Lillian Russell to them instead of a skinny little schoolmarm.”
Cookie paused in peeling potatoes. “That ain’t no way to talk to a lady. I ought to tell your daddy on you.”
Ace glared at Lynnie. “You see what I mean?”
With an oath, he got up and went out to sit on a rock and smoke. Lynnie sneaked a glance at him as she rolled pie dough. Did he really hate her so much? Why, when all the others were so nice and so eager to please her, did that ornery cowboy act so contrary? One thing was certain: a respectable woman would find it difficult to put a bridle on that mustang. Pity the poor girl who got stuck with him.
Between them, she and Cookie turned out a meal that was mouthwatering, even if she did say so herself.
She noted, as she dished up the tin plates, that every cowboy except Ace had curried and groomed himself. Their hands were clean, their hair combed, and they had even shaved. Some of them reeked of cheap hair tonic. Ace looked like a dirty barbarian by contrast. “You look like a saddle tramp,” she complained as she ladled out the stew.
“You may turn all these others into fawnin’ little nancy-boys, Lynnie McBride, but you ain’t makin’ me act like some lady-broke nag.”
“That,” she announced coldly, “is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Fine.” He took the plate and began to eat. “Hey, this ain’t half bad.”
“Even modern women who want equal rights can learn to cook,” she answered loftily. “Let’s see the girls at Miss Fancy’s match that.”
“The girls at Miss Fancy’s don’t have to cook to interest men,” Ace shot back.
“And they don’t care how many men they interest as long as you plunk down your money,” Lynnie pointed out.
The other cowboys were all glaring at Ace again.
Pedro said, “Hombre, leave the little lady alone.”
“She started it.”
Cookie said, “She only asked you to wash up. We got a lady among us; we ought to be a little more gallant.”
“I’m gonna hate the rest of this trip,” Ace said, and got up.
“Sit back down,” Lynnie said, “or you’ll miss out on the hot phun pie.”
“I don’t want any of your damned pie.” He stalked away from the campfire, went out a ways from camp, and rolled and lit a cigarette.
Lynnie watched him. He looked as puffed up as a riled horny toad, blowing smoke in short, angry spurts. To hell with him. “Who’s for pie, boys?”
Immediately, she drew a crowd of cowboys. “My, that do smell good, Miss Lynnie.”
“Miss Lynnie, I’ll bet you bake the best pie in all Texas.”
“Well, I’ve won a few ribbons at the county fair,” she admitted modestly.
She served up pie, waiting for Ace to come back to the circle, but he continued to sit out on the rock and smoke. He was not only arrogant, he had enough pride to choke a horse. She thought about it a minute and hid the last slice of pie in the back of the chuck wagon.
Cookie saw her do it. “You savin’ that for him?”
She felt her face flush. “Of course not. It’s just that there’s a slice left and you might offer it to him when he gets off his mad.”
Cookie nodded somberly. “He’s an awful proud man, Miss Lynnie.”
She snorted. “Don’t I know it! And undoubtedly the most uncivilized, annoying cuss I ever met.”
“You know,” the old man said, “it’s them wild mustangs that make the best stock when someone finally manages to break them.”
“Humph! I wouldn’t wish that stallion on anyone.” She turned on her heel and went over to the fire, where all the cowboys promptly stood up awkwardly.
“Miss Lynnie, can we get you anything?”
“Miss Lynnie, that was a mighty fine supper.”
“Miss Lynnie, here, take my seat, it’s closer to the fire.”
“Thank you, fellows; you may continue your conversation.”
Several faces turned brick red.
Hank stammered, “Miss Lynnie, we was jokin’ around—nothin’ fittin’ for a lady’s ears.”
“You didn’t hold back when you thought I was Lee Smith,” she reminded them.
“We’re powerful sorry about that, Miss Lynnie,” Comanche gulped, “but we can’t be tellin’ rowdy jokes that ain’t fittin’ for a lady to hear.”
“Well, then, sing some cowboy songs.”
Hank broke out a guitar and they sang about the streets of Laredo and dogies and hard trails.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ace. He finally returned from his perch on the rock. Cookie signaled him from the chuck wagon. At first, Ace shook his head, but Cookie insisted. When Ace strode over, Cookie handed him the pie tin with the last piece of plum pie and a cup of coffee. Ace looked her way as if to check and see if she was watching. Lynnie made no sign that she was.
He took a bite. He looked surprised and smiled. Now he was licking the fork. Lynnie winced at his manners but gave no sign that she saw him. Ace dug into the pie again, gobbling like a starving wolf. He did everything but lick the pie pan. It only surprised her that the uncivilized brute didn’t do that, too. It occurred to Lynnie that pie or no pie, Ace intended to make the rest of this trip a living hell for her, and it was still a long, long way to Dodge City.
Well, she could go toe to toe with him on that. Once she got to her suffragette meeting, she didn’t care if she ever saw that half-breed varmint again, but she was going to have to deal with him day in and day out for hundreds of miles. He knew it, too, and would be as ornery and contrary as a billy goat. What could she do to break that rascal’s resistance so he’d treat her halfway decently for the remainder of the trip? She was smart; she’d find a way
The next morning as the camp was stirring, one of the nighthawks rode in from the herd. “Hey, Pedro, we got three or four new baby calves last night.”
Pedro groaned. “You know what to do; it can’t be helped, hombre.”
Lynnie caught the reluctance in both men’s faces. “Wait a minute; what do we do?”
Ace shook his head at her. “Lynnie, we can’t be burdened with calves; they don’t walk fast enough to keep up with the herd.”
She had an uneasy feeling as she looked around the circle. All the cowboys were avoiding her eyes. “So what do we do with them?”
Pedro started to speak, hesitated, then looked at Ace in mute appeal.
Ace chewed his lip. “They can’t keep up, and the cows will stay with them unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Lynnie,” Ace said, looking annoyed at having to be the one to tell her, “we can’t leave the cows behind, and they won’t leave a live calf Hasn’t your brother-in-law ever told you what they do with calves that happen to be unlucky enough to be born on a drive?”
She shook her head, but she had an uneasy feeling deep inside. “You don’t mean kill them?”
Pedro shrugged and sighed. “It can’t be helped, señorita. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she said firmly, “we’ll take them along, even if we have to load them up in the chuck wagon.”
Ace snorted. “I reckon old grumpy Cookie would have a hissy fit about that.”
“I heered that! If Miss Lynnie wants to haul calves in the back of my chuck wagon, it’s all right with me.”
All the cowboys looked at each other, eyes wide with disbelief.
Ace shook his head. “It still wouldn’t do any good, Lynnie. Any cowboy knows it’s almost impossible to get a cow to suckle any calf but her own, and after you’ve mixed them up in the chuck wagon, how can they identify their own calf?”
Pedro nodded toward Comanche, who turned toward the herd with reluctance.
“Wait!” Lynnie threw up her hands to stop him. “There has to be a way.”
“Look, Lynnie.” Ace’s voice was almost gentle. “None of us cotton to killin’ baby calves, but—”
“I know what to do!” She laughed with relief. “I’ve got a bunch of ribbons in my saddle bags. Penelope Dinwiddy sent them along for me to match dress goods.”
Pedro blinked. “Ribbons? Senorita, I don’t comprendo.. . .”
“It’s simple.” She hurried to rummage in her saddle bags. “I tie a ribbon to a cow’s horn, then a matching one around her calf’s neck. At night, we just match them all back up; that’s all.”
Ace groaned and pushed his hat back. “Lordy, I can’t believe I’m hearin’ this. You want tough cowboys to decorate up a bunch of cows and calves like play-pretties?”
Lynnie gave the cowboy a beseeching look. “Please, Ace.”
He looked surprised at her begging. Then he looked at Pedro. “I reckon it might work; what do you think?”
Pedro shrugged. “We can try, if it would make the lady happy.”
Ace sighed in defeat. “Okay, Miss Priss, get your ribbons and come on. We’ll tie up them cows like they was ladies goin’ to a dance.”
“Those cows,” she corrected, and went running for her horse. The nighthawk led them out to where he had found the new calves. The tiny brown beasts trembled on unsteady legs as they nursed.
“Oh, aren’t they precious!” Lynnie exclaimed before she thought.
“Just precious,” Ace agreed, and seemed to be stifling a grin. “Now, Lynnie, you stay on your horse. These old longhorns don’t cotton to anyone messin’ with their babies.” He dismounted and turned toward her. “Give me your damned ribbon.”
“I think pink would be nice for the first pair.” she handed him two strands of pink ribbon. Their fingers brushed, and he glanced up, as startled as she was.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, and as she looked down at him, she realized again how full and sensual his mouth was. As the moment lengthened, it grew awkward, and she laughed. “The calf,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah.” Very gingerly he turned and approached the calf. The mother lowered her head and gave out a warning bellow.
“I must be loco,” Ace muttered under his breath. “I’m gonna get myself kilt over a damned calf that wouldn’t bring a dollar in Dodge City.”
“I think you’re very brave to do this,” she encouraged behind him.
“Humph! Tell that to my dad when you take my body home.”
He slipped the ribbon around the calf’s neck and tied it in a knot. “That suit you?”
“You could tie it in a bow,” she suggested.
“Damn, Lynnie”—he looked back at her in exasperation—“you’re gonna get me killed yet.” But he tied the ribbon in a bow. “Give me the other pink ribbon.”
She leaned from her saddle and handed it over. When she leaned, she knew he was getting a good view of the soft rise of her breasts, but she pretended she didn’t. She had to soften him up somehow, she reasoned. He blinked, took a deep breath, grabbed the ribbon, and turned toward the suspicious longhorn.
“Hey, old cow,” Ace crooned softly, “let me hang this on your horn without you guttin’ me, okay?”
The cow didn’t look like she planned to cooperate.
“Ace,” Lynnie suggested, “why don’t you make a big bow and drop it over her horn?”
Ace turned and looked at her. “Who’s doin’ this?”
“I merely thought . . .”
“Let me do the thinkin’. You’ve gotten me in enough trouble with this dad-blamed idea.” Very slowly he reached out and tied the ribbon on the cow’s sharp horn. “Now, distract her and I’ll grab the calf.”
Lynnie took off her hat and waved it in the cow’s face. Immediately, the half-wild cow charged at her, and Lynnie turned the flea-bitten gray horse and galloped away. The cow followed her... until she heard her calf bawl behind her. Ace grabbed up the baby and mounted up, laying the calf across the front of his saddle before him. With the calf bellowing and the cow lowing, they all headed back to the chuck wagon.
The cowboys began to laugh as they rode up. “Hey, Ace, you look right purty with that beribboned calf. Wouldn’t they give a play-pretty to see this sight back home?”
“They better not hear about it back home,” Ace said, and his glare seemed to send fear through the cowboys. “Here, Cookie.” He handed the calf over, and the old man placed it in the back of the chuck wagon. The cow hung around, bellowing.
Lynnie smiled. “See? She’ll follow along. Don’t worry, mama cow, you can have him back later.”
Ace looked up to heaven as if beseeching the Almighty’s help. “Okay, boys, where’s the others?”
They got the second one without incident. Lynnie, after much thought, used matching lavender ribbons on this cow and calf. Then they went out for the third one, which they decorated in blue. Finally, they found a fourth one.
Ace leaned on his saddle horn and shook his head. “Lordy! That’s the ugliest calf I ever did see.”
Lynnie stared. The calf was runty, knock-kneed, and so weak it could barely stand. Worse than that, it was cross-eyed, which gave it a comical expression. “This is my calf,” she announced. “I’m going to keep her.”
“This ugly calf?” Ace snorted, and got down from his horse. “Well, it don’t make me no never-mind.”
“She may not be beautiful, but she’s got personality,” Lynnie said. “I’m going to named her Daisy Buttercup.”
The ugly calf looked toward Lynnie—at least she thought it was looking toward her—with its crossed eyes and bawled loudly.
“See?” Lynnie said. “She likes the name.”
“Uh-huh. Give me the ribbon.”
She sorted through the ribbons while the old cow lowered her horns. “I think yellow would be a good color for a calf named Daisy Buttercup.”
Ace looked back over his shoulder at the threatening cow. “Lynnie, if you don’t give me the damned ribbon—”
“You don’t need to lose your temper with me.” She handed over the ribbon.
“You’ve delayed the drive for over two hours for four calves that ain’t worth a dollar apiece,” Ace griped. “I told everyone you’d be a pain to have along, but would they believe me? No, they’re all suckers for a woman’s tears.”
“Oh, hush and give Daisy her ribbon.”
Ace sighed and shook his head, and approached the cow slowly. “Here, you walkin’ beefsteak, I’m gonna pretty you up.”
Lynnie watched him tie the ribbon on the cow and calf. Then, very gently he lifted Daisy Buttercup and carried her over to his horse, the mama cow bawling in protest behind them.
Ace said, “Cookie won’t like having four old mama cows trailing along behind the chuck wagon all day.”
“He won’t mind,” she answered. “He likes me.”
“Humph.” Ace mounted up and they headed back to camp.
“Ace,” she said softly as they rode.
“What?” He sounded more than a little annoyed, the cross-eyed, ribbon bedecked Daisy Buttercup bawling across his saddle.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m much obliged for your doing this for me. I couldn’t bear to have them kill the calves.”
“Don’t mention it.” He looked over at her, and for a moment he almost smiled. “I didn’t want to kill ’em, either, but they’ll be a lot of trouble—much more than they’re worth.”
“We’ll put them all in the chuck wagon,” she said.
He laughed. “They’ll never believe this back home.”
Soon they had all four calves in the chuck wagon with four bawling, complaining cows trotting along behind as the big herd got back on the trail. It was a long, hot day, but they made good time.
That night when they camped, Ace got the calves out of the chuck wagon for her, and she matched them up to their respective mamas. He watched her fussing over each one, and her tenderness stirred something in him. In spite of her crusade for women’s rights, there was something very feminine and gentle about Lynnie. He softened a little toward her, thinking she was a lot like his ma. Then he was annoyed with himself for being sentimental, because he didn’t intend to give an inch to this confounded petticoat.
Cookie grinned. “Now ain’t that sweet?” he asked as he watched the beribboned calves nurse.
“Just precious,” Ace said sarcastically, and went off into the bush to relieve himself. It was such a nuisance having a girl along. Everyone had to watch his language and his manners, and no longer could a man just unbutton his pants and do what came naturally—not with a girl along.
What really annoyed him was that he’d found himself watching Lynnie McBride all day whenever he didn’t think she was looking. Had he never noticed before that her hair reflected light like flames? When she rode past him, he was aware of the roundness of her bottom and how soft her skin looked. He’d never thought freckles appealing before. “Careful, hombre,” he cautioned himself, “don’t let her soften you up and make a lapdog out of you like she’s doin’ these other loco fools. Keep remembering how hot those busty tarts in the saloons in Dodge City will be—and they’ll know how to please a man. Lynnie McBride’s never even be kissed.”
It would be exciting to the man to show her how, he thought, and then was both surprised and annoyed with himself for that idea. “Lynnie McBride is a stubborn, prim old maid, and no man would want to spend his whole life havin’ his grammar corrected and his neck checked for dirt.”
Lynnie enjoyed her day chasing stray cattle and adding them back to the herd. Once in a while, she returned to the chuck wagon to check on the calves. Cookie grinned at her and waved. “They’re fine, Miss Lynnie; I’m seein’ to that.”
She gave him her warmest smile. “I knew I could count on you, Cookie.” She rode on next to Pedro. “Things going well?”
The Mexican trail boss nodded. “Sí. In two or three days, we should make the Red River and be in Indian Territory.”
She noted his concerned look. “What’s the matter?”
Pedro shook his head. “Worst river on this whole trail. The Red’s drowned many a good cowboy tryin’ to get a herd across.”
She had a sudden picture in her mind of cattle churning up the water, horses caught in the confusion or the current. “We’ve got you, Pedro, and you’ll get us through.”
“Sí, I’ve crossed the Red before. I know the shallow spots.”
“That’s good, since everyone else is so green.” She rode on, assured, and reined in next to Ace. He was so sweaty, his shirt was plastered against every inch of his muscular, virile body. She remembered what he looked like stripped down naked.
“Lordy, girl, what’s the matter? Your face is as red as a deacon who got caught with his hand in the collection plate.”
“Nothing,” she stammered. “I—I just wanted to thank you for saving the calves.”
He shrugged and grunted.
She studied his body. His pants were tight and his body muscular. The way he gripped that big horse with his thighs betrayed the strength of the man. She glanced toward his crotch, and her eyes widened at the way he filled out those denims. An image crossed her mind of this big, sweaty man naked, and the thought shocked her. Why should she care what he looked like naked and sweating? “Uh, Pedro says we’ll be at the Red River in a couple of days.”
Ace nodded. “Glad we got him with us. They say the Red’s a killer if you don’t know what you’re doin’.”
She saw a drop of sweat run down his sinewy neck and into the open neck of his denim shirt. She’d like to see him without that shirt. Lynnie, what are you thinking? she scolded herself. Why, you’re not much better than the girls at Miss Fancy’s. She wondered what it was Ace did to please them. She had a sudden image of his sensual, dark body spread out on white sheets, with those hard hands reaching for her soft, virginal body.
Ace stared at her. “What’s the matter, Lynnie? You look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.”
“Nothing.” His naked image unnerved her so, that she put spurs to her horse and galloped on down the herd of lowing cattle.
That afternoon, a wind came up, blowing swirling dust devils across the rolling prairie.
Pedro frowned and shook his head. “This is not good. Blowing tumbleweeds spook cattle.”
“Maybe we should camp early?” Ace asked.
“Sí. Pass the word,” Pedro said. “I think there’s a creek up ahead.”
Lynnie heard the news with a tired sigh. She wouldn’t want to admit how weary she was, but she’d like a chance to rinse off and maybe wash out some of her unmentionables. Maybe she could find some bushes to hang them on where the men wouldn’t see them. It wasn’t fitting for men to see freshly laundered personal items like a lady’s underpants.
The cattle were restless in the wind, stamping their hooves and bellowing.
Pedro yelled, “We’ll need double guards tonight, hombres. It won’t take much to set them off and start a stampede.”
The boys hurried to set up camp, and she helped Cookie with a quick meal that had more than a little grit in it. The western sun had turned red on the distant prairie horizon.
Ace looked worried. “Pedro says to keep your horses saddled, boys, in case anything spooks the cattle tonight.”
“If nobody minds,” Lynnie said, “I’d like to do a little personal laundry.”
Pedro nodded. “You go right ahead, Miss Lynnie. Let the men do the ridin’ tonight, you’ve been doin’ more than your share.”
She smiled and went to get a bar of homemade laundry soap from Cookie. The old man and Twister were sharing some vanilla, and her calves were nursing on their contented mamas, the pretty ribbons making the scene look homey.
She looked around. All the cowboys seemed to be busy with chores. She got herself some clean clothes and a towel from her saddlebags, and some of her dirty clothes and bloomers. It was not yet dusk as she pulled off her sweaty clothes and swam about in the cold creek. It was indeed a delicious feeling.
Lynnie waded up onto the bank, dried herself off, and dressed. Then she took her soap and began to wash her laundry. These white bloomers with the lace trim were part of her new protest outfit, she thought with satisfaction as she rinsed and wrung the green fabric out.
Lynnie gathered up her wet laundry and looked toward the restless cattle. The wind seemed to be dying down a little. Good, she wouldn’t get her wet laundry all dusty. She found some sand plum bushes and began to spread her wash out to dry. She had just hung the last pair of bloomers over a bush near the herd when the breeze picked up unexpectedly. The wind caught her lacy white bloomers, filling them with air like a hot-air balloon. Even as she watched in disbelief, the wind took her drawers and blew them through the air and toward the herd of nervous cattle. Immediately, the cattle began to low and bellow.
“What the . . . ?” Ace, riding past the herd, tried to control his rearing black horse.
The bloomers blew through the churning cattle, creating curses and shouts from surprised cowboys. The cattle milled and bellowed in confusion, their panic building in the blowing wind.
Lynnie cried out a warning, but the surprised men were already fighting to keep the spooked cattle milling.
“Stampede!” Hank yelled, “Stampede!”
And even as Lynnie watched in horror, the herd broke and began to run.