Still pining for a date this weekend? No
problem. Sheep rancher Bailey McShane, the (aptly named) Texas Wildcat from Adrienne deWolfe's
bestselling Western Historical Romance, is here to share her secrets for
catching a mate!
Adrienne deWolfe is a #1 best-selling author and
the recipient of the Best Historical Romance of the Year Award for Texas
Wildcat. She also enjoys mentoring
aspiring authors. Learn more about Adrienne’s books at her website and her professional writing services here.
How to Rope a Man: Dating Tips from the Texas Wildcat
by Bailey McShane
Howdy, gals!
Bailey here.
Now don’t you be
moping around the homestead ‘cause some clueless male didn’t ask you to a weekend
fandango! The week’s not over yet! I got plenty of experience
roping stud ponies – ‘specially the two-legged kind.
So listen up.
First off, don’t pay
any mind to the prissy Missies, like that Amaryllis Larabee, who set her cap
for my Zack. Prissies would have you believe that a real lady puts on
lacy pink frou-frou, and totters around on stilts, and bats her eyelashes hard
enough to set a prairie schooner sailing.
Hogwash. No man
worth having wants his woman trussed up in a corset. Men like a gal who
WIGGLES when she walks. You ever see a ewe in a brassiere? I rest my
case!
Now once you get the
ram's . . . er, I mean, the man's attention, don’t gush and giggle every time
the fool opens his mouth. Teach that randy rascal some respect!
When Hank Rotterdam
and his twin sons were after my ranch, here’s how I set those cusses straight:
Hank:
“Aw, c’mon,
Bailey. Why don’t you forget about Nick and marry Nate? Shoot, they
look just the same. And they got the same equipment, if you know what I
mean.”
Me:
“I’ll keep that in
mind, when I’m ready to raise hogs.”
You see that?
The old skirt-chaser was so floored, he didn’t even know which way was up!
Now here’s a sparkin’
tip for ya'll. Girly punch and cucumber sandwiches ain’t gonna
fire up your man’s blood!
You want some bull
pawing the sod to give your skirts a whirl? Then I got one word for you, amigas:
MOONSHINE.
Serve it up by the
barrel.
Here’s how my 100
percent all-beef male likes to tattle on me:
Little Miss Bo Peep
was so sure of herself, sitting over there with that mischievous smirk and that
curl coiling so jauntily on her forehead. Besides, how powerful could the
moonshine be? Bailey had tossed back a belt without batting an eye.
Zack tossed back his
own shot and choked. Fire burned a path from his gullet to his gut. He
was half-convinced his ears started smoking. It was all he could do
not to cough and sputter as the busthead went down.
Bailey thumped him
helpfully between the shoulder blades. "Good stuff, eh?"
He wheezed. "You
sure there's no rat poison in this?"
Yee-haw! Take
it from me, gals. Tarantula juice gets the job done! After a
coupla swigs, Zack started stamping and pawing so hard, he scooped me up in his
arms, hauled me up a flight of stairs and . . .
Oops! Look at
the time! Gotta mozy on down to the barn to get those merino sheep
sheared.
But before I go, I’ll
leave you with one final tip. And this one’s worth its weight in
chocolate, if you know what I mean.
Do you want a man to
kiss you tonight? I’m not talking about some namby-pamby buss on the
cheek. I’m talking about a REAL man, grabbing a REAL woman, and kissing
the livin’ daylights outta her.
(Yeah, I figured
you’d like that.)
Well, pay attention
now. ‘Cause here’s how it’s done.
Texas Wildcat
(Book 3, Wild Texas
Nights)
First Kiss
"You know what
your problem is?" Zack ground out, lowering his face within inches of
hers. "Your daddy spoiled you rotten."
"He did
not!"
"He spoiled you
and coddled you. What he should have done was turned you over his knee."
"My daddy knew
how to treat a woman, Rawlins! Which is more than I can say for
you!"
That was it. The
final straw. Zack had borne Bailey's public insults to his manhood too many
times. In a surge of primal instinct, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her
hard against him.
He heard her gasp as
her heels left the ground; he saw the shock widen her eyes. Then his mouth
swooped to cover hers.
For an instant, the
barest of moments, she swayed on tiptoe. Her hands clutched his shirtsleeves as
their chests collided. His anger was snuffed out in a flare of desire. He
slanted his mouth, demanding an entry to the enticing wetness that lured him
deeper.
The din ebbed; and
the rodeo crowd receded. In that moment, there was only Bailey. Her lips
trembled open, and her rigid spine softened, arching, letting him mold her
length to his.
She was kissing him
eagerly now, hungrily, demanding a response that every sizzling part of him
ached to provide. But not here. Not now. God have mercy on his soul.
Abruptly he pushed
her back, setting her on her feet. She blinked up at him, her eyes brimming
with wonder.
He heard a buzz.
Growing, crescendoing, it thundered to a roar. Boots were stomping, hands were
clapping, spectators in the grandstands were howling with mirth.
Dumbfounded, he
stared at the lips that were so moist and swollen from his kiss. He
thought he should say something. He thought he should apologize.
He should have
thought less and paid more attention.
A fist like a
miniature locomotive slammed into his gut.
Texas Wildcat
When the beautiful,
hot-tempered Bailey McShane bursts into the cattlemen's saloon, waving her
shotgun and accusing the cowboys of theft, simmering tempers start to boil.
Bailey wants
restitution for the fence posts that some low-down cowpokes burned to steal
precious water from her land.
No self-respecting
cattleman would be caught dead siding with a sheep rancher, like Bailey—and yet
Zack Rawlins, the youngest, elected president of the Cattlemen's Association,
can't resist this pint-sized wildcat with the big blue eyes.
With drought-stricken
Bandera County on the brink of range war, Zack faces political suicide if he
can’t find a way to mend fences between Bailey and his cattle-ranching
neighbors. But what's a cowboy to do with an unpredictable woman who refuses to
be tamed?
1 comment:
Howdy, Ya'll! Bailey here. Shucks. I never did think my down-home advice would turn me into a DATING ADVISOR, but heck. Us fillies know how to rope a stud pony down in Texas! Yee-haw! I'll stop back after I get another one of those kids outta the tree (dang goats!) Till then, stay FEISTY and FLIRTY.
Yours truly,
Baily (and that nosy woman in the pink sweater, who keeps following me around.)
Post a Comment