Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (44 page)

The final straw came when Megan demanded that her uncle play his harmonica. Nita piped up eagerly, requesting the courting ballad, "Gypsy Davy," and Zack relinquished Bailey's hand to please his nieces.

During the applause, Zack gazed toward her. His contented smile seemed to say, "Isn't this fun?"

Bailey gave up any hope of winning his undivided attention after that. She scooted to the other side of the wagon, where she could stretch her legs, and gazed resignedly toward the pitched straw battle raging in the other buckboard.

Now,
that
looked like fun.

* * *

The hoedown was in full progress by the time Wes and Cord parked their buckboards and strolled with their eager families across the fairgrounds. In the vast show arena most commonly used for rodeos, an enormous dance floor had been erected, leaving ample room for three hundred or more hoofers. Whoops and fiddle music mingled with the sounds of stomping feet and breathless laughter. Dusty children in their Sunday best stumbled out polkas to the two-stepping beat; young rowdies spun their girls like calico tops; old-timers and married couples danced cheek to cheek in the calmer corners.

Occasionally parents dashed by, chasing sticky-fingered toddlers who'd snatched prizes from the candy-apple and caramel-corn booths. Mesquite smoke wafted up to the boundless stars from the barbecue pits, and a river of cider flowed from the barrels in the horse-drawn wagons near the entrance.

Halting beside one of the few picnic tables that was still uncluttered by bonnets, Stetsons, or baskets of food, Bailey listened with half an ear to the chattering Rawlins children, all of whom seemed more interested in eating than dancing. For the most part, her attention was on the wild shadows whirling over the sawdusted dance floor, their gyrations given extra zeal by the bobbing strings of lanterns. The energy of the violins was exhilarating, and despite her complete inexperience, she found her toe tapping to the music. She wondered how hard it could be, after birthing lambs and shearing sheep, to step with a partner in time to a dance.

She gazed hopefully at Zack. The answering glow in his eyes made her pulse trip. With a firm but patient apology to Megan about the candy-apple booth, he extricated his hand from the seven-year-old's. Megan flounced over to her father in a huff, and Zack grinned at Bailey.

"Would you like to dance?"

She nodded, too breathless to speak when his hand settled on the small of her back, guiding her lightly toward the artful chaos of boots, skirts, and spurs. A kaleidoscope of color blazed around them as he turned her into his arms. She could feel the pounding of his pulse when his fingers wrapped around hers. As she gazed into his handsome face, aflicker with the ruddy lamplight above, she was able to fool herself into believing his smile was full of tenderness, that his heart raced with the excitement of her touch. She decided this wasn't the best time to confess she was completely out of her element.

He took his first step forward. She collided with his knees. Chuckling, he shook his head. "As much as it probably galls you, Bailey, the man is supposed to lead."

"Oh, yeah." She tried to look like she knew what the devil he was talking about. Surely she could get the hang of this dancing stuff if she just bluffed her way through it. Every other woman in the room seemed to know how to hoof.

She glanced furtively at the couple whizzing past them. The female, a pretty but notoriously slow-witted belle, was giggling, spinning, and moving backward. Her movements looked effortless.

See,
Bailey told herself
, dancing is easy. Simpletons can do it.

"Okay." She smiled back at Zack. "I'm ready now."

He stepped forward, and she tripped over her feet.

Next, she tramped on his, and he sucked in a breath.

When she tried again, she managed two awkward steps before her thighs banged against Zack's. His arm saved her from kissing the sawdust with her backside.

The third attempt was even worse than the first, and she toppled against his chest. Biting her lip, she ventured a glance at him. He was frowning.

"I, uh, think it's these boots. I'm not used to them," she apologized.

He didn't look fooled. "Bailey, can you dance?"

She cringed at his accusatory tone. "I don't know. I never tried it before."

His jaw dropped. Comical disbelief registered on his features. In the next instant, he burst into a hearty peal of laughter, its rumble a cozy vibration against her navel.

"What so's funny?" she demanded, her cheeks burning as people around them turned to stare.

His eyes twinkled with his valiantly suppressed mirth. "You, thinking you could step out here without knowing how. I had to practice a whole year with Aunt Lally before I even thought of stepping onto real sawdust."

Her spirits deflated to think her first dance had ruined her last night with him. "A whole year?" she repeated, hard-pressed to swallow her disappointment. Damn. Maybe being female wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought.

His expression softened. "Aw, honey." He pulled her against his chest in a sweet, comforting hug. "You're a lot less gangly than I was," he murmured, his breath gusting tingles from her ear to her toes. "And a whole lot more graceful too."

"I am?" she whispered hopefully, not caring that a dozen or so curious dancers were slowing their spins so they could watch.

"Sure." He started to straighten, his lips brushing her cheek. Then they hesitated. For one tantalizing moment, they lingered over the corner of her mouth, as if he were considering giving her the answer to all her prayers and dreams. He must have remembered their audience though, because his hands abruptly swept up to her shoulders, and he set her on the balls of her feet.

"I bet it won't take nearly as long for you to catch on," he finished huskily. "After all, you've learned everything else I've taught you plenty quick."

Her insides smoked at his bawdy implication.

He chuckled, breaking the spell. "Of course, you're going to have to reconcile yourself to taking direction. Maybe that should be our first lesson on the floor, little wildcat."

She pressed her lips together. He was laughing at her again, the rotten cowpoke.

"Quit gloating."

"Oh, all right. But you have to admit, I was the model of diplomacy when you tried to stake my foot to the floor with one of those heels. C'mon." He caught her hand to lead her back to the table. "We're just in the way here—"

"Rawlins! Hold on there, son." Rob Cole hurried into the stream of dancers who were now tossing them dirty looks as they stood chatting on the dance floor. "I need to have a word with you about Hank Rotterdam."

Zack frowned. "Business can wait, Rob. I'm busy."

"Well, get unbusy. No offense, ma'am." Rob bobbed his head distractedly in her direction. "Rotterdam's out stumping, saying there's no need to sign any treaty with sheepherders. He's cooked up a scheme to make rain by firing cannons into the clouds. He says Preacher Underhill's prayer vigils aren't doing the job, and those Injun rain dancers the sodbusters hired are only kicking up more dust.

"'Course, Hank's idea is just as outlandish as last month's rain-making scam in Elodea," Rob continued. "You know the one I mean. Folks out there almost tarred and feathered that so-called university professor after they'd been hoodwinked into buying dousing rods that couldn't find a glass of water, much less an underground spring." Rob's brow furrowed in a troubled way. "The difference here, Zack, is that most of the cattlemen are so desperate, they're actually willing to listen to Hank. Red Calloway's already in Rotterdam's camp. If the rest of your board goes the same way, I guarantee you, your contract won't be worth the paper it was written on—"

"What contract?" Bailey interrupted.

Rob glanced her way as if to give her a verbal pat on the head, when suddenly his eyes widened, and he seemed to see her for the first time.

"Bailey? Well, I'll be d—er, criminy! You sure do clean up nice, ma'am!"

She sighed. The insidious Curse of the Dress was striking again. Ever since she'd been a blond, blue-eyed child, men treated her like a brainless nonentity if she wasn't wearing britches.

"Thank you," she said crisply. "What contract?"

"Shoot. Didn't Zack tell you? He got just about everybody who's somebody to sign an agreement to experiment with pasture rotation to conserve forage and water."

Bailey's disbelieving gaze snapped to Zack. Rather than deny his crime, though, he stood smiling at her, looking for all the world as if he thought he'd just accomplished the greatest coup in political history. And maybe he had.

But that didn't save him from being a thickheaded, insensitive, heart-stealing double-dealer!

"Everybody who's somebody, eh?" she said, her voice dripping with irony. "How curious. I'm assuming you mean sheep
men
and cattle
men."

"Well, of course." Rob scratched his head. "Wouldn't be much sense in having just the one side of the feud sign a treaty."

She hiked her chin, making it rock hard to hide her hurt. "So where does that leave the McShane ranch? In some kind of limbo because its 'somebody' is a female? Or did you just leap to conclusions, Zack, assuming you now make all my decisions and speak for me as well?"

Zack blinked, stunned by her reaction. He knew her well enough to realize she was dangerously close to exploding. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why. It wasn't as if he had deliberately cut her out of the agreement, for God's sake. Although he'd always hoped one might be reached quickly, he'd feared the actual drafting of the papers would take months until Will Eldridge had called in his lawyer—his son—right there on the spot. Bailey's signature was missing from the contract only because he'd figured he could get it when he returned to her ranch.

"Bailey, be reasonable," he said in a low voice. He was keenly aware, even if she wasn't, that they were causing another public scene.

"Reasonable?
And by your definition, would that mean suffer in silence while you ride roughshod all over me?"

"No one's riding roughshod over anybody," he bit out, catching her elbow and leading her off the dance floor. "I just haven't had time to tell you—"

"And what would you call the ten minutes we spent in my bedroom?" she flung back, wrenching her arm free as they emerged from the crowd. "Or the hour you sat playing your harmonica in the wagon?"

Zack's neck heated. Okay, so he'd lost focus. In truth, he hadn't been able to string two thoughts together since he'd laid eyes on her in that dress. Besides, he'd hardly felt it fair to dominate the conversation with business while Rorie and the children were in the wagon.

He glanced apologetically at Rob, who was trailing in their wake. "We'll discuss this later, Bailey."

"Discuss it with yourself, Zack," she snapped.

Turning on her heel, she stalked past the picnic tables and the Rawlins clan. The adults were staring curiously after her as she left Zack to choke on her dust.

Muttering an oath, he started to follow. Rob caught his arm.

"Let her go, son. She won't listen to sense until she's cooled off a spell. In the meantime, Calloway needs a talking-to."

Zack blew out his breath. Rob was probably right. Even so, he didn't like the idea that Bailey was heading straight for a cider wagon and the Rotterdam twin who was lounging against it.

Chapter 19

Bailey hardly noticed where her feet were leading her. She was too busy aching, too busy seething over Zack's underhanded scheming. She'd let him sneak into her heart, trusted him with her feelings, and the minute she'd been vulnerable enough to be a real honest-to-goodness woman with him, he'd tried to trample her under his boot heel! How dare he assert his male dominance, taking away her right to make decisions for her ranch?

She was so wrapped up in her feelings of betrayal, she didn't realize she was on a collision course with a Rotterdam until she nearly bowled him over. Strong, youthful hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her, and she blinked apologetically into widened blue eyes.

"Well, I'll be dinged," Nat said. "And here I'd thought about asking the pretty palomino filly in the blue dress to come out to the barbecue pits with me." He grinned, looking boyish, smitten, and outrageously amused all at the same time. "Damn, Bailey, I should have known any sweet thing who danced as bad as you would
have
to be you."