To Tempt A Texan. Georgina Gentry

she and Lark were raised in Texas after her grandfather decided he couldn’t deal with the twins, and that’s what counts.” Trace countered. “She’s proud and stubborn. You know what they say, ‘the meek may inherit the earth, but the proud will get Texas.’ The meek don’t feel at home here anyway.”

      “Don’t let the padre hear you say that,” Cimarron scolded. “He might think it was blasphemous.”

      “Naw.” Trace shook his head, “he’s a Texan, too.”

      “I am concerned about Lacey,” Cimarron worried aloud. “A woman alone in an uncivilized land rush. If she gets in trouble, she’s just like Lark, she won’t let us know so we can help her.”

      Cookie sighed and surveyed the fountain. “Anybody heered from Lark?”

      Cimarron shook her head. “Not in months. Of course, she was always a tomboy while Lacey was the perfect lady, so maybe Lark can take care of herself.”

      “Even Pinkertons haven’t found Lark.” Trace tossed away his smoke with a sigh. “I reckon she’ll turn up when she wants to be found. She’s a lot wilder than Lacey.”

      Cimarron nodded. “You’re right; I’m more concerned about Lacey. Maybe we should go up to the Territory and see how she’s doing.”

      “She wouldn’t like that,” Trace said.

      The old codger scratched his gray beard. “You know, I always said, if I was a younger man, I’d have gotten in on that land rush myself.”

      “You, Cookie?” Both turned to look at him with surprise.

      “Well, why not?” The old man said defensively, “Ain’t I got a right to some dreams besides cookin’ for a bunch of ungrateful cowhands?”

      “I reckon I always thought you were happy as a dead hog in the sunshine on the Triple D.” Trace stroked the pup.

      “I am and I don’t want you to think I ain’t grateful, Boss, but I always had a hankerin’ to open a cafe.”

      Both the others gulped.

      “I heered that!” Cookie said.

      “We didn’t say anything,” Cimarron said. “Did we, darlin’?”

      “Nope.” A muscle in Trace’s jaw twitched.

      “Wal, you was thinkin’ it, Boss.” Cookie said and stared off toward the north horizon. “You know, I’ll bet that new town could use a good cafe. I could call it Cookie’s Kitchen.”

      Trace hesitated as he lit a cigarillo. “It might be too much work for you, partner, and we’d miss you.”

      “Wal, I’d be back to visit and I could see about Lacey. I reckon somebody needs to.”

      Cimarron coughed, thinking of just what Lacey would say if the old cowboy showed up to check on her. Her niece was fiercely independent. “I don’t know, Cookie, opening a cafe takes money—”

      “Now what you think I been doin’ with my wages all these years?” Cookie asked. “I been savin’ them, that’s what. I got enough to open a nice cafe.”

      Trace took a deep puff of his cigar. “Cookie, now you might want to rethink this—”

      “I don’t know why, unless you’re needin’ me to cook here at the big house again for you and the missus.”

      The others exchanged alarmed glances.

      “Uh, Cookie,” Cimarron said, “you wouldn’t want to do Juanita out of her job, would you? She’s got grandchildren to support.”

      Cookie thought it over and nodded. “Reckon you’re right. Wal, I might just mosey up to that Oklahoma Territory and look things over. If I see a good business opportunity, I might take it.”

      “Remember you’re always welcome on the Triple D,” Trace reminded him. “Long as we got a biscuit, you got half.”

      A Texan couldn’t make a deeper gesture of commitment than that and Cookie was touched. “I know that, Boss, and I’m much obliged. The Durangos is the onliest family I got, that’s why I’m concerned about Miss Lacey. I could keep you informed about how she’s doin’ since she won’t write.”

      “She won’t like that,” Cimarron said, wondering what she could do to dissuade the old man.

      “Then let the young lady lump it.” Cookie stood up. “I’ll start makin’ my plans right now. It may take me a week or two to get everything squared away, but the more I think about it, the better I like it. Cookie’s Kitchen, best food in the southwest.”

      The pair watched him limp away and disappear around the corner of the adobe ranch house.

      Trace swore in Spanish. “He’ll poison the whole town.”

      “I heered that,” yelled the old man.

      “Now you’ve hurt his feelings, Trace,” she scolded.

      “If I could hurt his feeling, he would have left years ago.” He pulled his wife to him and kissed her. “You got any tequila inside?”

      “You know what your doctor said about tequila and cigars,” she reminded him and kissed him back. The kiss lengthened.

      “Well, I ain’t too old for one thing,” he murmured. “Why don’t we move inside so half of Texas ain’t watchin’?”

      “I’m agreeable.” She smiled at him.

      They both got up, dumping the dozing Chihuahua on the patio. It promptly started for the house.

      “You think I should let Lacey know Cookie’s coming?” Cimarron asked as she linked arms with her husband and they strolled toward the front door.

      “Uh, why don’t we just pretend we don’t know anything?” Trace answered. “Maybe Cookie will change his mind.”

      “Won’t!” yelled the old man from around the corner, “I’m goin’ to Oklahoma to rescue our Lacey.”

      Cimarron smiled as they went inside. Their cowboys would get a reprieve for awhile, but God help the settlers in the Territory who ate in Cookie’s Kitchen. At least, the old cowboy would let them know how Lacey was doing.

      Blackie smoked and watched dourly as the scene across the street unfolded. That annoying damnyankee gal and some short, ink-stained man were directing workmen unloading a printing press and many boxes at a site on Main Street. She looked fresh and determined this morning with her hair up in a bun, and wearing a no-nonsense plain dark skirt with a small bustle and a clean white shirtwaist with the new leg o’ mutton sleeves. She wore horn-rimmed glasses and a determined expression.

      Blackie was in a bad mood as he watched. Miss Iron Corset, yes, that was a good name for that ornery gal. She must have rented herself a lot on Main Street for her damned reformer rag while she waited the outcome of the contested land. If she thought she could be as stubborn as Blackie O’Neal, she had another think coming. He decided at that moment that he would make her so miserable, she would be happy to shout “calf rope,” forget her prissy goals, and leave town.

      That decided, Blackie looked about the bustling, busy settlement this third day after the run and went to find the owner of the lot directly across the street from Miss Iron Corset’s newspaper. His bartender, Moose, and Flo and the girls would be arriving the day after tomorrow to open and as yet, there was no saloon to put them in. Maybe Blackie could rent that lot.

      The whole settlement was a madhouse, most of the businesses attempting to open along the dusty streets were in tents, with a few already building more permanent structures. Hammers echoed throughout the area with horses and buggies moving up and down through the higgledy-piggledy crooked lines of shacks and tents.

      He scowled at the choice corner lot when he passed it; a