![Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03]](https://fs.collectorofbookboyfriends.com/544306/thumbs/152x264/adrienne-dewolfe-wild-texas-nights-03.jpg)
After ten minutes of this distraction, Judge Larabee ordered his pouting daughter outside, and Nick flounced down in the vacant chair in front of Mac, who was seated at her side.
The officers of the Woolgrowers' Association were in favor of individualized events such as target shooting, since sheepmen were accustomed to working alone. Hank and his cronies, of course, wanted team events, such as branding. Soon it became clear that more than professional pride was at stake: Most sheepmen were older and physically softer, but were much better read than the average cowhand, who was likely to be a twentyish stud with a high enthusiasm for action and a mighty contempt for books.
Bailey suggested a team event in well drilling, a personal interest of hers. Her idea was greeted by groans from the cattlemen.
"Aw, hell, this rodeo's supposed to be fun, not work," Nick said, standing and ignoring Zack's gavel. "I cast my vote for team whoring. 'Course..." He turned to taunt Bailey, much to the delight of the snickering cattlemen. "I reckon that would keep you out of the contest, sugar, unless you got something you want to stake."
Mac roughly kicked the young upstart's chair into the back of his knees. Nick floundered onto his seat, and Zack shot him a look that would have iced Satan's furnace.
"Another outburst like that, Rotterdam," he said, "and you'll be riding my boot home. Now, shut up and stay seated. And if anyone else has something to say to Miss McShane, it had better be courteous, or you forfeit your ranch's right to compete. Do I make myself clear?"
The cowboys fidgeted, murmuring agreements, and Nick hung his head. "Sorry, Bailey."
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Glancing at Zack, she hoped to convey her gratitude, but his attention had already been claimed by the next speaker. She got nothing more than a fleeting peek at his handsome, square-jawed profile.
After three hours of haggling, an agreement was finally reached. The committees agreed to stage one two-man competition, fence stringing. The rest of the events would be individual competitions: bronc busting, target shooting, and pig herding. Sheep and cattle herding, of course, were out of the question.
No one seemed able to suggest a tie-breaking event to satisfy both sides. Sheepmen claimed log splitting favored the able-bodied cowboy. Cattlemen refused to participate in a horse race, since the Woolgrowers' president, Will Eldridge, had just about recouped his drought losses by taking odds on Sure Bet, his mustang stallion.
Looking short on patience, Zack finally stood up and waved the bickering men into silence.
"I say we make the final event a team event, something we all have a vested interest in."
"Yeah?" Seated in the front row with Nat, Hank snorted to convey his opinion of such a pipe dream. "And what might that be?"
"A hunt." Zack's dark gaze nailed every one of the ranchers to his chair. "To bag One Toe."
Bailey caught her breath at such an inspired idea, and her heart quickened when she saw reluctant approval dawn on the craggy faces around the board tables.
"How would a hunt work?" Nat asked. "What if somebody bags One Toe before we do?"
"The chances of that are slim, since Texas's best bounty hunters have given up," Zack said. "One Toe's luck will probably hold out long after Independence Day if we ranchers don't work together and take up the chase.
"Since the rodeo's still two weeks away," he continued briskly, "I recommend we start the hunt immediately. Whether it takes hours or weeks to bag that cougar, neither team will be declared the winner until One Toe's pelt is finally produced."
"Not so fast, Rawlins," Hank interjected. "Red Calloway's still on his cattle drive. We're going to want him on our team, seeing as how target shooting's part of these games. Outside of your brothers, Red's the best marksman we've got."
"Yeah," the cowboys chimed in from the right side of the room.
"No one bags One Toe till Red gets back,"
The officers of the Woolgrowers' Association were in favor of individualized events such as target shooting, since sheepmen were accustomed to working alone. Hank and his cronies, of course, wanted team events, such as branding. Soon it became clear that more than professional pride was at stake: Most sheepmen were older and physically softer, but were much better read than the average cowhand, who was likely to be a twentyish stud with a high enthusiasm for action and a mighty contempt for books.
Bailey suggested a team event in well drilling, a personal interest of hers. Her idea was greeted by groans from the cattlemen.
"Aw, hell, this rodeo's supposed to be fun, not work," Nick said, standing and ignoring Zack's gavel. "I cast my vote for team whoring. 'Course..." He turned to taunt Bailey, much to the delight of the snickering cattlemen. "I reckon that would keep you out of the contest, sugar, unless you got something you want to stake."
Mac roughly kicked the young upstart's chair into the back of his knees. Nick floundered onto his seat, and Zack shot him a look that would have iced Satan's furnace.
"Another outburst like that, Rotterdam," he said, "and you'll be riding my boot home. Now, shut up and stay seated. And if anyone else has something to say to Miss McShane, it had better be courteous, or you forfeit your ranch's right to compete. Do I make myself clear?"
The cowboys fidgeted, murmuring agreements, and Nick hung his head. "Sorry, Bailey."
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Glancing at Zack, she hoped to convey her gratitude, but his attention had already been claimed by the next speaker. She got nothing more than a fleeting peek at his handsome, square-jawed profile.
After three hours of haggling, an agreement was finally reached. The committees agreed to stage one two-man competition, fence stringing. The rest of the events would be individual competitions: bronc busting, target shooting, and pig herding. Sheep and cattle herding, of course, were out of the question.
No one seemed able to suggest a tie-breaking event to satisfy both sides. Sheepmen claimed log splitting favored the able-bodied cowboy. Cattlemen refused to participate in a horse race, since the Woolgrowers' president, Will Eldridge, had just about recouped his drought losses by taking odds on Sure Bet, his mustang stallion.
Looking short on patience, Zack finally stood up and waved the bickering men into silence.
"I say we make the final event a team event, something we all have a vested interest in."
"Yeah?" Seated in the front row with Nat, Hank snorted to convey his opinion of such a pipe dream. "And what might that be?"
"A hunt." Zack's dark gaze nailed every one of the ranchers to his chair. "To bag One Toe."
Bailey caught her breath at such an inspired idea, and her heart quickened when she saw reluctant approval dawn on the craggy faces around the board tables.
"How would a hunt work?" Nat asked. "What if somebody bags One Toe before we do?"
"The chances of that are slim, since Texas's best bounty hunters have given up," Zack said. "One Toe's luck will probably hold out long after Independence Day if we ranchers don't work together and take up the chase.
"Since the rodeo's still two weeks away," he continued briskly, "I recommend we start the hunt immediately. Whether it takes hours or weeks to bag that cougar, neither team will be declared the winner until One Toe's pelt is finally produced."
"Not so fast, Rawlins," Hank interjected. "Red Calloway's still on his cattle drive. We're going to want him on our team, seeing as how target shooting's part of these games. Outside of your brothers, Red's the best marksman we've got."
"Yeah," the cowboys chimed in from the right side of the room.
"No one bags One Toe till Red gets back,"
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