Tina Leonard - Tex Times Ten

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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