Tex Times Ten

He jumped.

Then he waited for her to look out to make certain he was in good health, his head crooked around so that he could see her expression.

She closed the window. The lace drapes fell together.

“Damn,” he said to himself, limping toward his truck. “Even superheroes get a little applause for exiting out of windows!”

But Cissy hadn’t seemed to care, much like she hadn’t seemed impressed when he’d ridden that bull to victory, twice. Only this time, he’d kissed her for real. And pulled away fast. He hadn’t been prepared for how much he wanted to have her. The feel of her beneath him all slick and compliant in that silk had made his brain pulsate with fire! He’d had to stop himself from…

He frowned. She hadn’t seemed as rocked as he had.

So then he dove out a window. “Damn,” he said again.

She was supposed to notice.

CISSY FORCED HERSELF not to fly to the window and peer out to see if Tex was okay. That lunatic! But what could a woman expect from a man well versed in the daredevil sport of bullriding?

“You are so not father material,” she muttered, swiftly flipping off the bedside lamp and going to the window to surreptitiously peek through the lace drapes. He was limping, the creep! “That’s what you get for being so desperate to avoid my kiss,” she told his retreating form. “Now you’re only worth forty bucks.”

And he wasn’t husband material, for sure—not that she was looking to mine the fields of bachelors. But Tex had proved that she’d never be able to count on him. The man broke into her bedroom and then leaped out her window.

“I can’t trust you,” she said as he drove off. “And if I need anyone in my life right now, it’s someone I can trust.”

She had a family to raise. “I can just see him teaching my kids to have a wild hair like his,” she murmured, picking up the picture once again. Her eyes clouded over as she looked at the faces of the tiny people who depended on her. Counted on her.

“I need stability in my life,” she told herself as she crawled into bed. “Stability. And someone who doesn’t call wedding cake un-wedding cake and then cut it with a hunting knife!”

Getting up, she grabbed the box off the dresser and slipped the cake under her pillow. “I’ll just ignore Mr. Superstitious’s dire warning,” she said. “It’s not like I’d dream of future husbands, anyway.”

More like she’d have nightmares. Of Tex.

“WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?” Mason demanded as Tex limped into the ranch’s main house. It was just the two of them living there now, and that fact alone was starting to string Tex’s nerves tight. Mason was not a pleasant roommate.

“I just turned my ankle a bit,” Tex said. “It’s nothing.”

Bandera and Navarro came in behind him, eyeing Tex as he fell into the recliner and struggled to get his boot off.

“Need help?” Bandera asked.

“Not really,” Tex said, gritting out the words. His ankle hurt more than he thought it would.

“Hang on,” Navarro said. Gently, he took hold of the boot and did his best to pull it off without hurting Tex.

“Arrgh!” Tex moaned in spite of himself.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bandera asked. “Ranger called here a while ago and said to keep an eye out for you. Said you were three sheets to the wind last night. And then you disappeared.”

“Yeah.” Tex settled into the recliner, trying not to grimace at his swollen ankle. “Hannah wanted me to check on Cissy under the guise of taking her some wedding cake. So I took a shower, sobered up and hit the road.”

“Ooh,” his three brothers said.

“What?” Tex said, sitting up. “What does ‘ooh’ mean?”

“Cissy did that to you,” Bandera said.

“Not exactly.” But Tex didn’t feel like sharing more of the story than that.

The phone rang, and Mason swept it up. “Hello?” He listened for a few moments, then said, “Yes. The superhero made it home fine. Thanks for calling.” Hanging up the phone, Mason put on a fake nonchalant expression. “That was Miss Cissy Kisserton,” he said, torturing Tex just a little. “She says you took a flying leap out of her bedroom window.”

“Ooh,” his other two brothers said.

Tex closed his eyes.

“Fear of intimacy,” Navarro pronounced.

“And Ranger’s Curse of the Broken Body Parts has gotten to Tex,” Bandera stated. “Just look at him all laid up like that.”

“What bullcorn,” Mason said. “What a pile of hockey pucks.”

“It’s all over but the crying,” Bandera said.

“Yeah, Tex crying,” Navarro agreed. “We’re going to have to listen to the wedding bell blues until the blood goes on the marriage certificate.”

“All right. Enough,” Tex said crossly. “I’m afraid you have all overstated the importance of a slightly tweaked ankle.”

“Looks purple to me,” Mason observed, “for a slight tweak. Think I’ll ring the doc and ask him what to do for a broken ankle.”

“Broken!” Tex leaned up to stare at his appendage. “It’s not broken.”

“You jumped out a woman’s second-story window,” Bandera said in disbelief, shaking his head. “The shame of it!”

Navarro blinked. “I’ve never heard of a Jefferson male breaking his own ankle to escape a woman.”

Tex ground his teeth. “If any of you knew half as much as you think you do—”

“All we know is what we see,” Navarro said. “And it’s humiliating!”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Bandera agreed. “Dude, your roses never move past the bud stage. You are way too out of touch with yourself and the universe to be able to release the—”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Tex waved a hand majestically in the air. “You obviously have not heard the good news.”

His brothers stood by silently.

“We’re going to participate in a bachelor raffle for Miss Honeycutt. Delilah. At the Mayfest.”

Navarro and Bandera stared at him, then started to howl with laughter. “No, we’re not,” they said, leaving the room snickering.

Mason shook his head and left, as well.

“Chickens,” Tex said, staring at his swelling ankle. Mason returned to put a bag of ice on it and then left the house.

Tex rolled his eyes. “Fear of intimacy,” he grumbled. “Budus Interruptus. Curse of the Broken Body Parts. What a bunch of superstitious weirdos!”

They were really starting to bother him.

And Cissy bothered him even more. “They’re wrong,” he told his ankle. “And she’s wrong. I know exactly what I’m doing. Eventually, they’ll all have to admit that I’m not the one with hang-ups.”

He would unlock the Sacred Mysteries of the Rosebuds—and prove he wasn’t scared of intimacy all in one fell swoop.

The raffle would be his salvation. In two weeks, he’d spend time on a date with a woman. Perfect timing for roses to bloom in glorious, take-that color.

TWO WEEKS LATER, Tex’s “tweaked” ankle was healed, and he was on a makeshift stage at the rodeo arena. There were six men to follow him, but he didn’t know them, and at this moment, he didn’t care to introduce himself. He felt silly. Mimi had gussied him up; his twin, Laredo, had sent him well wishes from North Carolina; Frisco Joe had sent him roses—butthead!—and Ranger had called long distance to ask him if he could stand the stress of being owned by a woman. His still-unmarried brothers had teased him unmercifully about becoming a stud and asked him if he was going to start dancing in clubs and letting women stuff money in his G-string.

But he’d endured it all in pursuit of his goal.

Cissy Kisserton seated herself in the stands, making his every hair stand at attention, it seemed. What was it about that woman that electrified him?

She waved at him, and he jerked his head at her in a “hello” motion. Then she lifted a bidding paddle—prettily painted fans just for this occasion—and waved it merrily at him.

He groaned. Surely she didn’t intend to carry out her threat of being a mole bidder. This was not going according to plan. He was supposed to feel liberated and free of his brothers’ teasing. And he was proving to Malfunction Junction and everyone else that he wasn’t an intimacy-phobe.

And there sat Cissy, looking like cool ice cream in a diamond-glazed dish.

What if she won him?

He would look sillier than he did right now. Everybody knew that Cissy was the cause of his ankle sprain, which was all it had turned out to be. His brothers would guffaw and ask what he was going to break while she collected her winnings—him.

Before the auctioneer could get rolling, Tex very pointedly shook his head at Cissy.

She nodded in return, her head bobbing with determination and a big grin on her face.

He shook his head more fiercely. And gave her the no-no-no finger.

In response, she waved her fan madly.

“Well, would you look at that anxious lady in the stands?” the auctioneer called over the microphone. “She’s just determined to start the bidding! What say we open at fifty dollars for this handsome cowboy? Look him over, girls. You’ll not see such chaps as these too often!”

Since he wasn’t wearing chaps, Tex figured the auctioneer was referring to some portion of his anatomy. Taking a deep breath, he watched as the fans one by one moved to the quick-fire droning of the auctioneer’s voice.

Up, up, up went his price.

Cissy’s fan flicked with confidence.

Tex’s breath hung in his chest. Surely she wasn’t really trying to win him! She had no money; she’d said so herself.

The bid reached four hundred dollars, and his brothers were slack-jawed in the stands. Tex’s face burned with humiliation.

“Give us a pose, cowboy!” a female called from the stands.

A pose? “Oh, come on,” Tex muttered, failing to see why he should. But the audience applauded, and he decided to give them what they wanted.

He popped his arm muscles, which thanks to the short-sleeve-T-shirt Mimi had suggested, worked nicely to show off his biceps.

The ladies applauded. See? he told Cissy mentally. They notice me. Women like me, even if you don’t.

He bent slightly at the knee and leaned forward, curling his arm so that he displayed his shoulder and forearm muscles.

The women clapped harder. “More!” someone yelled.

Emboldened, he turned around, showed the audience his backside, held his arms out to the side, and tightly flexed every muscle in his body.

The response was thunderous. With a sheepish grin, he turned back around, done with his antics.

Cissy’s fan gestured wildly.

And then it seemed the arena got quiet. Buzzing hummed in Tex’s ears as the auctioneer pointed to a few more fan-holding women. Tex thought maybe the lovely, dress-wearing Cissy had put her fan into her lap.

He had to admit, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him if she won him. The woman was right sexy for a good girl. If good girls were his thing, which they weren’t.

He liked his women saucy. Minx-y. A little on the bad-girl side.

Sort of the Cissy he thought he knew from their barn encounter, before he’d found out she was newly widowed and had a mess of kids and went to church and took care of her elderly grandma.

A man couldn’t poach on a gal like that, even if she did work for Marvella.

“Sold!” the auctioneer cried. “For five hundred dollars to that lady right over there!”

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