A Ranch To Call Home
A Ranch To Call Home
Carol Arens
“I won’t let you steal my ranch.”But will this rancher steal her heart?Laura Lee is devastated when Jesse Creed arrives claiming that her new, perfect house doesn’t belong to her absent fiancé – but to him! Until he can prove it, however, Laura isn’t going anywhere. But living side by side with the alluring rancher is temptation itself. And suddenly this house starts to feel an awful lot like the home she’s always longed for…
“I won’t let you steal my ranch.”
But will this rancher steal her heart?
Laura Lee is devastated when Jesse Creed arrives claiming that her new, perfect house doesn’t belong to her absent fiancé, but to him! Until he can prove it, however, Laura isn’t going anywhere. But living side by side with the alluring rancher is temptation itself. And suddenly this house starts to feel an awful lot like the home she’s always longed for...
“This book is well-written, well-populated and full of action.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride
“Readers will be charmed by the spirited heroine and her love-struck cowboy [...] wonderfully written.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Cowboy’s Cinderella
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments, you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.
Also by Carol Arens (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Dreaming of a Western Christmas
Western Christmas Proposals
The Cowboy’s Cinderella
Western Christmas Brides
The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride
The Walker Twins miniseries
Wed to the Montana Cowboy
Wed to the Texas Outlaw
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Ranch to Call Home
Carol Arens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07379-0
A RANCH TO CALL HOME
© 2018 Carol Arens
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Caitlyn Iaccino
The world is a kinder place because of your sweet smile.
Contents
Cover (#u35464564-7287-5fe4-a3d4-66d9969b4f96)
Back Cover Text (#u4d6bfb08-eae0-53e3-9a9b-3c42c9bad6e6)
About the Author (#u5ea214f5-ba69-5c1a-8f15-d684d80c83e2)
Booklist (#u8a714fc4-5622-59f3-86cc-f739c9b8eb7d)
Title Page (#u48d7fe00-2e73-5ae9-a1da-3faf8e155b44)
Copyright (#u8614e806-baf3-5510-b19d-d619fe9d177f)
Dedication (#u29012ee8-0bf2-586d-854a-8875600707e3)
Chapter One (#u53689626-32af-5937-a1df-fcbd1350c949)
Chapter Two (#ubd78cd37-85ea-56b1-9c85-7be7159553c4)
Chapter Three (#ua9b95243-1e3d-5699-8968-42f9fce1c74d)
Chapter Four (#ud63d69fe-f260-5630-ab55-191f7788eb65)
Chapter Five (#u122be4d7-9be7-5d06-973a-4dd67dc5e3bf)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
September 1883, Forget-Me-Not, Texas
A frizzle of unease teased Laura Lee’s stomach. She rolled up the newest edition of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper tight in her fist.
The elegant wedding gown that she had stitched with her own blistered fingers fell in lacy waves to the boardwalk, where she stood in front of Auntie June’s boardinghouse waiting for her very own prince to arrive and carry her off to the preacher.
The pocket watch tucked within the secret pouch stitched into her petticoat marked time against her hip.
Tick, tock, tick... Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes crept up on half an hour.
As a distraction, she watched the breeze pluck golden leaves from the trees and blow them over the rooftops of the main street of Forget-Me-Not. One leaf fell on the brim of a man’s Stetson. He brushed it off, then went inside the bank.
At forty-five minutes, with Johnny nowhere in sight, she reminded herself she had nothing to fear. Her groom had no doubt been delayed by something that was far beyond his control.
Any moment now, dust would stir at the end of the street... Johnny urging his horse to a gallop through a veil of falling leaves. He would be wearing an expression of apology on his dashingly handsome face.
And truth be told, it wasn’t uncommon for Johnny to be late. Once they were married, she would be able to help cure him of that habit.
Tick, tock, tick. Ten more minutes slid past. She gripped the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper tighter.
“Curse it! Where are you, Johnny Ruiz?” She loosened her hold on the precious magazine—her guide to all things domestic and wonderful.
As soon as the impatient words left her mouth, she regretted them. Ordinarily she was sweet tempered, the very soul of composure.
“Howdy, miss,” came a deep male voice. Boot steps thumped on the boardwalk, bringing the speaker within feet of her. “May I be of assistance?”
She spun toward him and looked up...and up at a tall man wearing a black duster, a Stetson dipped over his brow. It was the man who had flicked the leaf from his hat and gone into the bank.
“Why, no.” She had thought Johnny to be handsome but this man... Well, my word. It took all of a second to feel ashamed of the thought. Johnny was her true love and would forever be the most handsome man in her heart. “Thank you, but I’m fine as can be.”
“Name’s Jesse Creed, ma’am,” he said, dipping his dark hat in greeting. “Couldn’t help but notice you’ve been standing in this spot for a good long time now. I reckon that fellow you just mentioned might not show up.”
He might assume so since she had blurted it out. Which did not mean it was any concern of his.
“Perhaps I simply enjoy taking in the morning sunshine.” In a wedding gown.
It cut her heart that this stranger thought her to be abandoned, given that was the very fear that had plagued her for the past ten minutes...as ridiculous a fear as it was.
Johnny loved her. Nothing could keep him from being here unless something horrible had happened. What if he’d been injured...or worse?
“It’s not my business but—”
“Just so. It is not.” She unrolled the magazine and pressed it flat to her chest. “And just how do you know how long I’ve been standing here, sir?”
“I’ve been to the bank, the livery and the blacksmith. Passed in front of you three times.”
She’d been so intent on watching for Johnny that she had only noticed him once.
“Well, you may go along your way knowing that I am perfectly fine.”
“Good day, then.” He tipped his hat and continued down the boardwalk.
One shop down, Jesse Creed stopped, turned. His olive green gaze settling upon her was more than a bit distracting...the sound of his voice far too appealing. In fact, it stirred her in a way she didn’t understand. “If you find you do need something, Auntie June is the one to ask for help. Here in town she’s everyone’s honorary aunt.”
Was that handsome fellow a married man? she wondered before she could stop. She chastised herself for wondering, given that she was an engaged woman.
A very lucky engaged woman. Johnny was dark-eyed and dashing...fun loving...passionate.
And striding out of the front door of the hotel across the street.
* * *
Jesse Creed would have laid a wager that the pretty woman’s “Johnny” was not going to show up. That she was as abandoned as her expression said she was.
Looks like he’d have lost that money. Just as he mounted the steps to the general store, a cowpoke, spiffed up and looking swank, sauntered out of the hotel. The lady rushed across the street and into his arms.
What she did not seem to notice was that another woman drew aside the curtain of a second-story window. She peered down at the couple with resentment contorting her mouth, narrowing her eyes. A red robe drooped off her bare shoulders.
The bride-to-be, and clearly she was that, was not going to find life an easy path with that faithless fellow as her husband.
Sometimes Jesse wished that he didn’t notice so much, but his former career as a bounty hunter made him take note of details that many folks would not.
Hell, the woman’s future was none of his business. He didn’t even know her. Still, he’d go on his way easier if he didn’t guess what her future held in store.
In the end, he knew she would not welcome his observation if he told her. She probably wouldn’t believe him. There was nothing to do but continue on his way to the general store. It was a shame, though, a pretty thing like her headed for such trouble.
Coming up the steps of the store, he nearly smacked into Auntie June on her way out. Carrying a sack of what he guessed to be sugar, she wasn’t looking where she was going, but up the street instead.
Her short, pillow-like body listed left, but he caught her by the forearms and righted her.
“Jesse Creed! I do declare I ought to watch out where I’m going. But I can’t rightly say I mind being rescued by such a dashing fellow.”
“Always a pleasure, Auntie June.” And it was. The woman was one of the kindest souls he had ever met. It had been Auntie June who had convinced Corum Peterson to sell his ranch to Jesse, when he had been a stranger in Forget-Me-Not.
“I’m just relieved to see that her young man showed up.” She turned her attention again to the couple kissing in the middle of the street. “She sewed all night long on that wedding gown.”
“Looks like it was worth the effort,” he answered, meaning that she looked fetching in it, not that he thought the man deserved the trouble she had gone to.
“I hope so.” She glanced back at him, brows arched over honey-brown eyes. “I’m not convinced.”
“Seems like she is, though.”
“Yes...and I do remember what it’s like to be blinded by love.” She stroked the bag of sugar with one finger, shaking her head. “The light of day was a harsh thing to face, I can tell you.”
“Whoever the fellow was who broke your heart, he was a fool.”
“What a pity you weren’t born forty years sooner. I turned many a head back then.” Reaching up, she patted his cheek. “I’d best get on my way if I want to get this pie baked in time for supper.”
Jesse stood for a moment, watching the good-hearted lady walk away. In his opinion, she still could turn heads. After she turned aside into the dressmaker shop, he entered the general store.
“Mornin’, Thomas,” he said, walking past a display of frilly yard goods. The scent of coffee on the simmer hit him like a welcome home.
And home he was. After a lifetime of living here and there, often without a roof to keep out the night, he’d purchased a ranch and settled down in the sweet town of Forget-Me-Not.
“Say, Jesse! Bingham’s nearly busting with excitement. I’m mighty grateful you hired him to come along with you to pick up your horses.”
“No thanks needed. He’ll be earning every bit of his pay.”
“Grateful for that, too. The boy was headed for trouble, taking up with the Underwoods like he was. Good honest work will give him something to be proud of.”
Jesse understood that. He’d earned a lot of money as a bounty hunter but the profession had darkened his soul. Ranching was something to feel honorable about...to let him lay his head on his pillow at night and sleep without regret.
“I’ll take good care of your boy, don’t you worry, Thomas.”
“I won’t. Or not overly. I’d rather see him bucked off a stallion than spend an hour with Hoodoo and his brothers. Those young men grow wilder by the day.”
For the large part, Forget-Me-Not was a peaceful place to lay down roots, but every town had its problems. Most folks waited anxiously for the day that the Underwood boys left home and went looking for adventure that couldn’t be found in this tranquil place.
In Jesse’s opinion and with what hard experience had shown him, those five hoodlums’ quest for adventure would land them in prison or dead.
Something, cans he guessed, clattered to the floor in the storeroom. A series of clanking sounds indicated that they were being set to rights. Heavy boot thumps crossed the floor. Something else rattled but didn’t fall.
The curtain separating the rooms fanned out and Bingham Teal burst into the room, his saddle pack slung over his shoulder.
“I’m ready to go, Mr. Creed.” A grin as wide as sunrise split the kid’s face. He rushed out the front door of the store, his hat nearly brushing the frame, hurrying away without a goodbye. His father raised his arm as if to call him back but then let it fall to his side.
All at once, Bingham charged back into the store, took his father’s hand and pumped it up and down. “See you in two weeks, Pa!” He stepped toward the door again but spun about and wrapped his father in a great hug.
Once again, Bingham hurried out of the store.
“Mind your manners!” Thomas called after his great, lurching offspring. “If you catch a whiff of jasmine along the trail, Jesse, it’ll be his mother watching over him. I reckon she’s bursting her heavenly buttons over what a fine boy he grew into.”
“I’ll bring him home safe, two weeks...three at most.”
Thomas lifted a blanket from behind the counter. “Never know when the night might turn bitter cold.”
Jesse took the heavy wool cover, tipped his Stetson in farewell, then followed the boy outside.
While this was a great adventure for Bingham, it was more so for Jesse. He’d moved onto his ranch only a month ago. There had been enough time to make repairs to the barn and paddock, but being anxious to pick up his herd of horses, he’d neglected fixing up the house.
No matter. It was something he could do over time. He’d lived in worse conditions than a slightly run-down home.
Today he was bound for Cartersville to get his breeding stock. Bringing them home would fulfill the dream of a lifetime.
No, not fulfill, but begin.
* * *
It felt like the sun came out from behind a big black cloud, seeing Johnny walk out of the hotel. What a silly duck she had been to worry.
And truly, this was not the first time she’d been a little restive over his loyalty to her. But on those few occasions, he had handily put her anxiety at ease. From all the way across the street, she felt how much he loved her...saw how he was committed to her by the joyful turn of his smile.
Within an hour, she would be Mrs. Johnny Ruiz. She would be free to show him how much she loved him...in all the ways a woman could show her man.
She hugged him, squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“I thought the night would never pass,” she whispered against his collar.
He must have dabbed on cologne. His neck smelled like a bouquet. What a sweet gesture for their wedding day. He didn’t normally wear cologne.
“I didn’t sleep all night, baby doll.”
Opening her eyes, she spotted a couple of fellows coming out of the hotel. One of them shot her and Johnny an odd glance. Could he really be smirking at them?
No doubt he was jealous over the affection they felt for one another. Clearly the fellow had never been in love and didn’t understand the way it was between nearly married folks.
Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Laura Lee pushed away from her intended but did not let go of him.
“I love you so much, Johnny!”
He lifted a dark brow. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I am a dashing fellow. All the ladies say so.”
She gently swatted his arm with the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper. “And such a tease.”
“I love you, too, Laura Lee.” He kissed her on the mouth, right there in the middle of the street for all to see.
Well, in a few more minutes it would no longer be improper.
“Say—” he leaned in, his whisper tickling the hair near her ear “—let’s go up to your room... We can get a head start on being married.”
“We’ve already kept the minister waiting.”
“Won’t take long, I promise. Then we can come back here and have the whole day and night just the two of us, fine and married.”
“We see the minister first, then we spend the whole day and night just the two of us.”
“Ah, come on, Laura Lee, I’m really aching for you. It’s been two weeks since I came for you in Tanners Ridge and we’ve hardly had a private hour.”
That wasn’t quite true. They had spent several nights under the stars when they traveled between towns. In town, she had naturally wanted her own hotel room.
But what an impetuous fellow he was. His impatience only showed how much he loved her. Ever since they had run off to get married, he’d wanted to take liberties.
Truth to tell, she wouldn’t mind giving him what he wanted, but right was right and wrong was wrong. She would not begin their future on the wrong side of the bed.
“Don’t you love me?” His dark brow lifted. He kissed her again.
“With all my heart. You know that.”
Close by, a window slammed. She heard the young men who came out of the hotel laugh heartily.
“Come on, Hell Dog! Finish kissing your girl goodbye and let’s get outta here.”
Johnny dropped his arms from about her. “Shut your trap, Hoodoo. I’ll be along when I’m ready.”
Laura Lee turned to give the men on the porch a closer look. She could not imagine why Johnny would have even answered the fellow who had spoken.
“Who are they?” She stepped closer to Johnny because the men looked disreputable. Like they had been carousing all night, with their clothes rumpled and their hair in disarray.
They were nothing like her Johnny. He was always dashing and dapper, with his hair neatly groomed and his clothing in order. It was a lucky thing he was completely devoted to her because she could not count the times she’d noticed other women’s gazes lingering upon him.
Three more men came out of the hotel and stood with the carousers.
“Who is Hell Dog?” she murmured. The name could describe anyone of the men on the porch. Still, it did not escape her that the only man doing any kissing was Johnny. “I don’t care for the way those men are looking at us.”
“Don’t pay them any mind. Those are just the Underwood brothers.”
“Why are they talking to you?”
A smile crept across Johnny’s face. His back straightened and his chest puffed out. “Because I’m Hell Dog.”
“That’s not a bit funny!” She slapped his arm with the magazine, not playfully this time. She didn’t like feeling so riled at her intended, but they were late for their appointment with the minister. “Tell them goodbye and let’s be on our way.”
“You going to let that little hen peck at you?” the one named Hoodoo called.
If Hoodoo was an odd name, the man was more so. He was tall, rail thin, with posture as curved as a fishhook. His long nose and his sharp black beard both pointed toward the ground.
Even though the morning was cool, sweat dampened Laura Lee’s neck. Something was very wrong. In a million years, she could not imagine Johnny taking up with the likes of those men.
“What have you been doing all night, Johnny?” While she had been sewing the lace ruffle on the hem of her gown, restless and dreaming of her one true love, what had kept him restless?
“Made me some friends.”
“Of the wrong kind, if you ask me.” All five of them looked like they were about to erupt into misdoing.
“Not that I did ask you.” An expression crossed his face that she’d never seen before. She’d known him for a nearly a year...been in love with him for four and a half months, and she had never seen a hint of bully on that handsome face. He’d always been the soul of congeniality.
For the first time, she doubted her decision to go away with him. It cleaved her heart in half, wondering if she had made a mistake. That he might not be who she knew him to be.
“Don’t look sad.” He took her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, really sorry. That sounded harsh. And just ignore those fools. They aren’t such a bad sort when you get to know them.”
“I don’t intend on getting to know them. I intend on marrying you and settling down. Someday getting our own little house and raising lots of babies. You haven’t changed your mind about that, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t!” He squeezed her to him.
All of a sudden, life felt right again. He was her Johnny, not Hell Dog...whoever that might be. No doubt the name came from a misguided night with that bunch.
But in the end, one night did not hurt what she and Johnny were to each other.
“Let’s go get married, Johnny.” She looked up into his deep brown eyes, her excitement over their future restored. She tugged on his sleeve, half dancing her joy.
“Hold up a minute.” He set his boots firmly in the dirt. “I’ve got a wedding present for you.”
“We’re losing time here, Hell Dog.” The speaker was short and round. His head was topped by an unruly bush of black hair, his long beard a wild match.
“You go on, Ivan,” Johnny called while reaching into his pocket. “I’ll be along.”
“What do you mean, you’ll be along?” she said.
“Just you wait and see!” He unfolded the paper he had taken from his pocket, looking as pleased as she’d ever seen him. “Here’s your dream come true, Laura Lee.” He smoothed open the crisp sheet of paper and held it in front of her face to read.
“A deed? To a house?” Carefully, as though the dream might crumble under the pressure of her fingertips, she took the document from him.
“Your house, baby doll. I was up all night getting it for you. It’s why I was late.”
“I never dreamed...” Words failed. She wanted a little home of her own more than she wanted anything on this earth. “Three hundred and twenty acres? How, Johnny?”
He looked so proud, preening like a peacock with his feathers splayed. How could she not adore him?
“I met an old man last night. We hit up a friendship and he told me how he was headed east to live out his days with his granddaughter. He sold his place to me but I told him to make the deed out to you. I know how you’ve got your heart set on a house of your own.”
A house of their own, she knew he meant to say. “But how did you pay for it?”
They had planned to work and save and finally make that dream come true. Now here it was, not a flight of fancy, but a reality in her hands. She could scarce believe what she was looking at.
“Well, that’s the thing, Laura Lee.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at the men walking single file down the boardwalk, then turning at the ally running between the hotel and the stream that trickled through town. “I’ve still got to pay it off. There’s a mortgage.”
“We’ve got to pay it off, you mean. The both of us will work hard and get it done.” She hugged him about the middle as tight as she could. Any man who would do this for her must love her more than...air or food or...or anything. She regretted thinking badly of him for knowing those men and for being called Hell Dog.
Johnny Ruiz was a man among men.
“The fortunate thing is—” he loosened himself from her grip of gratitude and shoved a slip of paper in her hand “—I know a way of getting it paid off quick. But I’ve got to go away with the Underwood boys to do it. But that there is directions to where the ranch is.”
“I don’t trust them.” Here she was with her dream in her hand, a deed of ownership in her name and so fresh that the ink smelled damp, and she was turning shrewish again.
“I told you, Laura Lee, they’re not so bad as they seem. Trust me, what we’re doing isn’t illegal.”
“Or dangerous? I couldn’t go on if something happened to you.”
“Don’t you worry.” He held her away from him, took two long steps backward. “You go on home and fix the place up. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“When? You must have some idea of when.”
“Hard to say—not long, though. Before first snow, I reckon.”
“We could get married now, before you head out.”
“I’d like that, you know I would. But the fellows are waiting.”
She held on to his arm. “Thank you. This is more than my dream come true.”
Pounding hooves trembled the dirt. Five animals carrying Underwoods galloped up the road. One horse was being led without a rider.
Johnny peeled her fingers from his arm. He backed away.
“Bug-ock, bug-ock!” clucked one of the Underwoods. This one was short, slim and had blond hair that curled tightly to his scalp.
Johnny turned to glance at him. When he looked back at Laura Lee a smile blazed across his face.
“Goodbye, Johnny!” All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure the house was worth the cost of having him go away. She ought to be a married woman by now. “I love you!”
“Wait for me!” he called, mounting his horse.
“I will! I promise I’ll be waiting!”
Maybe he heard her promise. She couldn’t be sure, though, because galloping off with his friends, he did not glance back.
Chapter Two (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Two wagons were for sale in the livery. One was small and weathered. It would carry her home but would not work to transport all the goods she would need in order to set up housekeeping.
The other one was large and new. She smelled the freshly sawed wood the moment she walked into the livery. It would only take one trip to bring everything she needed. But it would require a pair of durable workhorses to pull it. Saffron, her sweet saddle mare, was not used to such hard work.
Laura Lee knew exactly how much money was in the pocket of her petticoat by the weight of it. It had gotten heavier, but only slightly, since she left the Lucky Clover Ranch.
Before Johnny came for her in Travers Ridge, she, along with Agatha Magee, had worked as cooks. First for a hotel that went bankrupt, then for a traveling circus.
Laura Lee had managed to collect her pay from the hotel owner, who was a good and decent woman. Sadly, the owner of the circus was neither good nor decent and still owed her a week’s wages.
If she had her way, she would have gone after him and pestered him until he paid, but Johnny had come for her, and what really mattered other than that?
Loving man that Johnny was, he thought their time would be better spent in a hotel room. Naturally, she’d reminded him that an even better use of time would be spent with a preacher.
Given that they were traveling together, and in constant company, he’d tried to convince her it was like being married. He vowed that he was as devoted to her as he would be when they were officially wed and that waiting was hard for a man. Especially when he loved a woman so. In the end, he’d accepted the wait. He even promised to replace the money the circus owner had cheated her of.
He had more than kept the promise. He’d bought her a house...and land! Even though she was not yet Mrs. Johnny Ruiz, she soon would be. Johnny would return, just like he swore he would.
Yes, it was disquieting to remember the look on his face when he rode away, like it was the dream of a lifetime to be running free.
When that image threatened to subdue her joy, all she had to do was remember the deed packed away in her trunk.
That piece of paper proved his vision for their future was the same as hers...to settle down in their own little home and raise babies.
A huge gray-and-brown dog wandered into the barn, distracting Laura Lee from her woolgathering. Bartholomew Rawlings, the liveryman, shooed it outside with the bristle end of a broom. He shook his head, sighed, then set the broom against the gate on the larger wagon.
She dearly wanted that one. Did she dare risk spending so much of her money on it? Johnny had been vague about how long he would be gone. What if a mortgage payment became due before he returned?
She would need an income in order to cover it.
Mending and washing laundry...she knew those skills with the best of them. But one needed clients before she could begin earning money that way. The only person she was acquainted with in Forget-Me-Not was Auntie June.
Besides that, she did not particularly enjoy mending and washing.
“You can’t beat this wagon, ma’am.” Mr. Rawlings gripped the large front wheel of the wagon, shook it to demonstrate how solid it was. Then he pointed a finger to a stall on the far side of the barn. “Whittle and Bride are only two years old but are already working well together. You couldn’t ask for a better bargain.”
Given that a bargain was only a bargain as long as one could afford it, Laura Lee nipped her bottom lip, silently watching the horses eating hay. As large as they were, there would be some expense in feeding them.
Still, the ranch had three hundred and twenty acres that would need tending, not the acre or two that she had envisioned.
“I wonder, Mr. Rawlings...does the town have a market day?”
“Oh, yes, it’s quite an event. Every other Friday, farmers come from all over to sell what they have. In the winter, the ladies gather in the library to sell their jarred goods.”
Farmers worked hard, built up strong appetites. Pastries and coffee would be welcome while they sold goods on market day, she imagined.
She could set up her own little booth. In her mind’s eye, she watched her business flourish. All over town, folks were eating her muffins and pies, happily sipping her freshly brewed coffee. In time, perhaps, people would seek her out to provide pastries for parties and festivals.
If she could satisfy the appetites of circus performers, surely she could do the same for the folks of Forget-Me-Not.
“This Friday or next?” The idea sent a shiver of excitement through her. She would earn a bit of money doing something she loved and the enterprise would keep her busy until Johnny returned.
“This. Only five days from now.”
“I’ll take the large wagon and the team, Mr. Rawlings. As long as you include their tack and load the wagon with a week’s worth of feed.”
She extended her hand to shake on the deal, hoping he would accept her conditions. If she had to buy the feed and the tack, she would not be able to purchase the other things she needed to begin life in her own sweet home. Especially now that she would need to invest a bit of her precious funds in her new business venture.
The liveryman stood with his hands in his pockets for a long moment, rocking back on the heels of his boots.
When she thought she might faint in anticipation of his answer, he reached out and accepted her hand.
The deal was made.
At this point, it would have broken her heart to be forced to purchase the smaller wagon. Once she’d made up her mind on a course, nothing else would do.
Just like when she’d realized she was in love with Johnny, she’d decided that they should be married and no other man would do.
With a skip in her step, she approached the horses. She stroked Bride’s brown nose, then Whittle’s black one. Because she had spent much of her life on the Lucky Clover Ranch, she felt comfortable around the large beasts.
Of course, the acres Johnny had given her were dwarfed by the vastness of the ranch she had grown to womanhood on. She carried deep attachments for those countless acres and for everyone who’d worked along with her to keep them running. For many people, living out their lives on the Lucky Clover where they had grown and raised their families was their dream.
That was not the case for Laura Lee. She needed a place to call her own. To know that come what may, it was her own spot on the earth to just...be.
When she was small, her father had a need to wander and was never happy to settle in one spot overlong. About the time Laura Lee would make a friend or feel secure in a new bed, she was dragged off on another “adventure.”
All she’d ever wanted was a place to call home.
Her toes were nearly dancing inside her boots because very soon she would be sitting in four snug walls that were her own. She would rise with the sun and plant a garden...and a peach tree so she could sit under its shade on a hot afternoon.
As much as she would miss the Lucky Clover, would even bring her children to visit one day, she now had a home of her own and her heart was bursting with the joy of it.
“You ready, Bride?” she asked, gazing into a large, gently blinking brown eye. “Time to go home.”
* * *
With Saffron tied to the back of the wagon, Laura Lee sat tall on the wood bench, her gloved hands gripping the team’s reins. As advertised, the horses got along well and were easy to handle.
Seeing a movement beside the wagon, she glanced down. The dog that Mr. Rawlings had chased from the barn trotted beside the wagon wheel. It glanced up, woofed quietly in greeting and wagged its long, fanlike tail.
She pulled the team up short.
“Go on back home.” She pointed toward the livery with her finger.
The dog plopped its hairy rump on the dirt, stirring up dust with its tail.
“Mr. Rawlings!” she called over her shoulder. Luckily the man was standing in the livery yard. “Your dog is following.”
He crossed the road, grinning. “I reckon I ought to have mentioned.” He clapped his palm on the wagon wheel. “The dog comes with the horses.”
“But I don’t need a dog.”
“Oh, he’s useful enough. With his size, coyotes and wolves won’t bother you much.”
“I’ve never been over bothered by the beasts as it is.”
“Haven’t heard of the great wolf migration three years this past February then, I reckon?”
To her knowledge, wolves did not migrate. She shook her head. What she wanted was for the dog to migrate back to the livery.
“The story goes that a fellow named Biggers, a newspaperman, was riding out on the frontier one day when he spotted thousands of animals on the lope. He was a curious fellow, given his occupation, and he went to investigate. Turned out to be wolves. Now, no one knows quite why they did it, mass exodus like that, but Biggers wasn’t the only one to report it. Supposedly it’s the truth.”
Supposedly might be a long stretch from the truth. He wanted to be rid of the dog was what she thought.
“Truth or not, I didn’t agree to purchase your dog.”
“The thing is, he’s not my dog. When I bought the horses, he came along. Followed me just like he’s following you.” Bartholomew Rawlings petted the dog between his ears. “I doubt you’ll be rid of him. But he’s a good boy for all he’s a hairy giant.”
“Go home,” she said to the dog since she was having no success getting the livery owner to keep him. “I can’t feed you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over that, miss. He’s a hunter. It’s fair to say you won’t see a rat in your barn or a rabbit in your garden once he moves in.” Apparently Bartholomew considered the matter finished because he tipped his hat and walked away.
“What’s his name? How old is he?” If the animal really was not going to leave the horses, she ought to know that little bit about him.
“I believe he’s two, same as the team. Don’t know the name he started with since I was a mile from the auction when I noticed he was coming along. He’s been answering to ‘Hey, dog!’ for the last six months.”
The very last thing she needed was to be responsible for a nameless dog.
After another tip of his faded brown hat, the liveryman crossed the road and went inside his stable.
With any luck, while she was busy purchasing her goods, the dog would attach himself to someone else’s horses.
* * *
Glancing out the window of the general store, Laura Lee spotted the great beast. Not only had he not taken up with someone else, he looked quite content where he was...asleep on the four-foot-high pile of hay in the wagon.
Turning her attention to the task at hand, the last of many, she examined several bolts of lace with which to sew curtains.
An especially sweet one caught her eye, having hearts and flowers embroidered on a sheer fabric. It would be romantic for Johnny to see them hanging in the windows when he came riding home with the money to pay off the mortgage for the ranch. She only hoped she had time to sew them and hang them in the windows before he did.
The problem was, she didn’t know how much fabric she would need since she had no idea how many windows the house had. The one and only thing she knew about it was that her name was on the deed...the home belonged to her.
It might be a palace or a cozy cottage. The knowledge that she was only hours from seeing it for the first time left her breathless. Tearful emotion cramped her throat when she set the fabric bolt on the counter and told the clerk she wanted only half of it.
There was no sense in spending more than she needed to. She would be back in town on Friday for market day and could purchase more if her house turned out to have an abundance of windows.
In her mind, there were dozens. She’d always dreamed of a house with lots of windows for her to sit beside. There hadn’t been a time when she didn’t long for a cozy spot with a plump chair to watch the wind blow and the snow fall, to see heat roll off the ground in waves during the summer, peer through the glass when spring rains pelted the earth.
“This will be all, Mr. Teal.”
She’d been in the store for more than an hour. Her stash of money was going to feel a lot lighter going out than it had coming in.
“Are you sure you want to head out now? It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“I’ve been waiting all my life for this house. I can’t wait a moment longer.”
“A woman on her own...it just doesn’t seem right or safe. Let me find a fellow to ride out with you. For the life of me, I can’t picture where your ranch is.”
“You and Auntie June are of a mind. And I thank you, but I’d rather do this on my own.” If she decided to weep for joy or dance around the parlor like a mad woman, she would rather do it privately. “At any rate, it appears I’m not on my own after all. I’ve been adopted by that big dog on the hay pile.”
She scooped up the fabric and walked toward the door because she really could not wait another moment.
Mr. Rawlings followed, carrying the crate of baking pans she had purchased. “You going to be warm enough in that coat? Nights turn cold this time of year.”
If Laura Lee hadn’t just met Mr. Rawlings, she would hug him. His concern for her seemed fatherly in a way she had never known.
Her own father might be alive and well somewhere in the vast world but she had no way of knowing since she hadn’t heard from him since she was twelve years old. He’d left her at the Lucky Clover Ranch because she had begged him to. He’d waved her goodbye and ridden away with a great smile on his face.
Same as Johnny had. The thought left her feeling uneasy.
George Quinn did love her in his own way. Just not as much as he loved his adventuresome way of life. Every once in a while, he had looked at her as though he was surprised to see her.
Oh, Laura Lee, he would say, as if she had just returned from a distant place. But really, the only place she had been was out of the sphere of his attention.
“I have a warmer one, Mr. Rawlings. In case it’s not enough, I’ll snuggle up to my hairy new companion.”
The storekeeper gave her a hand up into the wagon seat. Not that she needed the help. My word, she’d been climbing in and out of wagons on her own for as long as she could remember. Back on the Lucky Clover, she’d often driven wagons like this one for miles across open land, delivering food to the chuck wagons.
Even though it wasn’t needed, the helpful gesture did make her feel at home in Forget-Me-Not.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile down at him springing from a joyful heart. “I’ll see you on market day.”
Two hours later, Laura Lee was riding toward the sunset. On her right was a farmhouse with children playing in the yard. A woman stood on the porch of her white two-story home. When she saw Laura Lee, she waved her arm. A breeze snatched hundreds of fall leaves off the trees behind the house and blew them into the yard. The fading sunlight caught them, giving the appearance of golden rain drifting to the yard.
From what she understood, her own ranch was no more than an hour past this pretty place. Laura Lee waved back, certain that she would become fast friends with her neighbor.
With the sun setting and the land darkened, the earth seemed hushed, except for an occasional breeze that stirred the grass. It whispered through the trees growing in small groves on hillsides rolling away from both sides of the trail.
It was a clear night, so the stars shone as bright as a million candles. She breathed in a deep lungful of cold air, grateful that the moon also shone down to light her way home.
As fast as the temperature had fallen, she might have been shivering had Hey...Dog not come to sit beside her on the bench.
She hadn’t intended to have a dog. Would have refused him if she could have.
But now? She could not deny that he gave off a great deal of warmth, that his solid, hulking presence made her feel safer.
She leaned into him. The chill in her cheek melted when she snuggled against the fur on his shoulder. It was interesting that for such a huge fellow he did not have the unpleasant odor that some dogs had. She had to glance up to look into his face as he sat so tall beside her. He woofed softly and set his chin on top of her head. It was a relief to discover that his breath smelled as fresh as his fur.
Since sundown, she’d noticed coyotes standing on distant hilltops. They lifted their noses, sniffed the air, then vanished back among the trees. She could only guess that they scented a dog and hoped to find an easy dinner. One glance at Hey...Dog must have made them think again about who was going to be a meal.
As long as she did not cross paths with thousands of migrating wolves, she ought to pass the boundary of her land before much longer. There was no way of knowing where the house was. There were a lot of acres; it could be on any one of them. She might spot it in half an hour or two hours.
Forty minutes rolled past before she came upon a split rail fence that looked in good repair. She pulled the team to a halt.
“Here we are,” she said to the dog. “Home! I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had one of my very own.”
She stood up, stretched, then stepped up on the wagon bench to get a better view of the land. Acres stretched before her, sloping slightly downhill, which gave her an excellent view of large meadows surrounded by trees that, with sunrise, would be flushed with fall color.
Moonlight glinted off what she thought must be water, possibly a large stream gouging the shape of a question mark across her property.
This piece of paradise could not possibly be hers. And yet, thanks to a man who was devoted to her, it was. He’d borne the pain of separation to make sure the mortgage would be paid, so that no one could ever take her home from her.
For probably the fourth time today, her throat tightened with emotion. Joyful tears pricked at her eyes. Hey...Dog looked at her and whined, nudged her hip with his nose.
In the darkness, she still could not spot a house and she knew that the horses must need a rest.
“Come on, boy.” She ruffled the dusky colored fur growing between the pointed brown ears. It was odd that such a fierce-looking creature would have fur that felt like down feathers. “Let’s go for a stroll about.”
Now that the horses’ hooves were not plodding the dirt and the new wood of the wagon not creaking, she heard the sound of running water. So it had been a stream she spotted running through her land.
Climbing on the load at the back of the wagon, she rummaged through her spanking new goods until she found a water bucket.
“You thirsty, big fella? I reckon the horses could use a drink, too.”
Climbing down the spokes of the rear wheel, she realized she could use a drink as well. She followed the gurgling noise of the stream. Come summer, she would hear the soothing song of crickets and frogs, but now there was only the rush of water running icy cold.
“Here it is.”
She stooped and drew her coat tighter against the night. The air wasn’t freezing, but it might be before morning.
Glancing about at bushes that cast shifting shadows in the night breeze, she remembered how Mr. Rawlings thought it was dangerous for her to be out alone.
All at once, she was not sure he was wrong. Any kind of predator might have come to drink at the stream. As if to confirm that fear, a large shrub to her left rustled, and not with the wind.
The dog lifted his face from the water. Icy drops dripped from the fur on his chin. His growl was a low rumble in his deep chest.
The shrubbery went still. Suddenly a large shape burst from it, flying over the water in one graceful leap.
Hey...Dog bent his head and lapped once again, not bothering to watch the big cat race over the ridge of the hill.
She would be well and truly grateful to be within the safety of her own walls.
Some creatures owned the night. She was not of one of them.
Chapter Three (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Jesse lay on the lumpy hotel bed, arms cradling his head on a pillow while he stared at the wood ceiling. Moonlight streamed inside the window, giving enough light to expose a network of spiderwebs in the rafters. Given a choice, he would have slept under the stars, but even the extra blanket from Bingham’s father would not have kept the boy warm enough.
It was only the first night away from his ranch and already Jesse felt a yearning to be home. Even though he’d only owned the place for a month, was still a stranger to some of the folks in town, he felt a strong sense of belonging.
He’d only ever known that sense of kinship to a place once before. On the rainy afternoon that a welfare agency dragged him from the whorehouse where he had been born and raised, he’d truly felt like the six-year-old orphan he was.
Living on a ranch for the next ten years, along with four other orphans, hadn’t been horrible. Hadn’t been home either. His adopted parents raised workers, not sons.
Bedsprings creaked near the opposite wall. Footsteps padded lightly across the rug. The door handle turned.
“Where are you going, Bingham?”
“To get a breath of fresh air, is all.”
“I’ll go with you.” Jesse sat up. He’d bet his new herd that fresh air wasn’t all the kid wanted.
“You don’t need to, Mr. Creed. I’ve been breathing on my own since I was born.”
“You walk around in this town with that smart mouth and someone will shoot you as soon as answer.”
“The Underwood brothers come to Black Creek all the time. No one’s shot them yet.”
“Not yet. Put on your coat.” Jesse could lecture the boy all night and not teach him as much as a walk through the streets of this sordid town would.
Once outside, Jesse regretted the need to teach the kid this way. The air was bitter cold. A breeze twirled puffs of dust down the road. He shrugged closer into his coat, hugged the lapels across his throat.
If Bingham was cold, he didn’t show it. All he seemed to notice were two women waving to him from the upper balcony of the saloon.
Jesse resisted the urge to wave back. These were not the women who raised him. Those ladies had doted upon him, loved him freely. He’d come to find out later in life that most soiled doves were not like the ones who had brought him up. With most of those adrift souls, nothing was given for free.
“How about we go inside, have a drink?” Bingham stepped toward the open front door where bawdy sounds spilled into the night.
No doubt it all sounded like a fine time to the boy. Jesse had thought the same at his age. Cold crept through the soles of his boots. It wouldn’t be long before his toes went numb.
Jesse grabbed Bingham’s collar and yanked him back.
“I’m of an age.” The kid gazed longingly at the saloon door.
“When you’re old enough to know better, you’ll be of an age.”
“You sound like my pa.”
The scent of jasmine wafted past Jesse’s nose. Odd to smell that this time of year. He glanced about and didn’t see the plant growing nearby.
“I hope I do.” Once they walked past the saloon, the night grew quieter. It wouldn’t stay that way because there was another saloon on the next block. “Your father is a fine man.”
“I know, and I love him. But the thing is, he’s happy just being at work or home. And that’s all right for him because he’s old. I’m ready to experience everything out there!”
“It’s fine to want that.”
How did he tell the boy what he’d learned without sounding like a Sunday morning preacher? Not that Jesse had anything against Sunday morning preachers; it’s just that he figured the boy didn’t pay much attention to them.
He sure hadn’t. He’d learned about life the hard way. Made some grave mistakes that other folks paid the price for. If he could keep Bingham from doing the same, it would be worth more than the herd of horses he was going to fetch. And they meant the world to him.
“You too cold to keep walking, boy?”
“I ain’t a bit cold, sir.” His red nose said otherwise but he didn’t appear to be shivering.
“I’m glad. I’ve got some things to say to you.”
“I did come along to learn everything you know.”
“Everything you think I know.”
Bingham slapped his hands on his forearms as though he could ward off the frigid air. “I reckon you’ve had more adventures than even than Hoodoo Underwood.”
Many more. Although calling them adventures was giving his experiences glamour when they didn’t deserve it.
The one and only thing he wanted now was to settle on his property, breed horses and raise children. Wake up every morning with their mother in his bed.
Out of the blue—or the dark—a vision flashed in his mind of the woman he had met earlier today. The one who was going to end up brokenhearted because she chose the wrong sort of man.
Hmm... She lay in his bed, hair the color of shimmering cream splayed about the pillow. A playful smile on her face. In his mind, he allowed himself to brush a feathered kiss across her lips because what was the harm? A pair of blue eyes gazed up at him in love, even though she knew his every secret.
Odd how something he only imagined left his heart half shaken. Slightly bereft.
“I’ve lived life, and I think maybe you envy that. The thing is, Bingham, I’d have traded every last adventure to have parents like yours.”
“What was it you did, when you were living life before you settled in Forget-Hoping-Anything-Interesting-Will-Happen?”
“I was a bounty hunter.” A robber of freedom. A maker of widows and orphans. He’d taken a life...and worse.
Bingham halted midstride. His mouth hung open, making him look like a fledgling bird expecting a worm to be stuffed into its beak.
“That’s enough talk for now. It’s cold. Let’s go back.”
“But I want to see—”
“Adventure? Look around, boy!” Jesse nodded toward a man who had just stumbled out of the saloon.
Even in the dark, he recognized the fellow who held the heart of the lady on the boardwalk back in Forget-Me-Not. The very lady he had just been fantasizing about. Although, the strange thing was, the vision seemed more solid than fantasy. The oddest part being, he was not a man who indulged in fantasy.
“What do you see?” he asked Bingham.
“A fellow having a high old time. Could be he just won money at cards.”
“The truth is more like he’s so drunk he’s going to vomit at the hitching post. He lost money because his mind couldn’t think a straight thought. He’ll wake up in the morning feeling sick to death, then he’ll do the same damn thing tomorrow night. And he’ll keep on until he’s out of money. I’ve seen it over and over, son. Haggard and hungry isn’t adventurous.”
“But you were a bounty hunter!”
What he wouldn’t give to forget that. To live on his sweet little ranch and wake up next to a blue-eyed, blond-haired woman who forgave and forgot.
Yes, one who made him forget.
* * *
Within moments of passing the split-rail fence, Laura Lee drove the team over the rise of a hill. And there it was...
Home.
Moonlight touched the single-story structure with shimmering, magical light.
As least, that’s how her heart saw it. If the reality of the house was different by the light of day, so be it. Setting the place to rights would be an act of love. The porch looked like it circled the house. She longed to spend time there. Someone had even left behind a rocking chair.
While Laura Lee’s shivers were of pure delight, she doubted the same was true for the horses. No doubt the beasts wanted nothing more than warmth and rest.
Not too far in the distance, to the left of the house, she spotted a tall red barn. A wide bridge lay across the stream cutting between the structures.
“Let’s get you settled in.” With a glance back at the house, she led the team toward the bridge. The enchantment of her four walls would not vanish because she settled the animals first.
The barn proved to be in excellent condition. It was as though the previous owners departed only yesterday. They had even left behind a huge supply of hay, which meant she would not have to unload the wagon tonight.
An hour later, the animals fed and put in stalls, she took one last, loving glance at her barn.
“Good night, everyone.” She patted the dog’s head, then closed the barn door.
She hadn’t walked more than ten steps before she heard scratching and whining. Evidently Hey...Dog preferred to spend his nights outdoors. Hurrying back, she opened the barn door. The dog pranced out, his great tail wagging.
“Even though you have plenty of fur,” she said to him while he trotted beside her toward the house, “it’s awfully cold out.”
Moments later, she stood in the spot she had dreamed of standing since...since as long as she could remember. It was fitting to pause at the foot of the stairs and simply gaze in awe of her lovely whitewashed house.
In truth, the paint was a bit chipped and faded but that didn’t dim its appeal one whit in Laura Lee’s eyes. It only meant that her house needed her as much as she needed it.
“Tomorrow night, I’ll find you a blanket,” she said to the dog. She didn’t need to reach down to pet him. He fit nicely under her hand. There was no denying that she found his presence a comfort. If she managed to sleep tonight, she would do it more soundly knowing that he was keeping watch on the porch.
“Good night, then.”
She mounted the steps, walking backward and looking one last time at her property. If the rolling hills, meadows and groves of trees looked this pretty by moonlight, how would they look in the morning with sunshine bringing everything to life?
She stared at the door. What if it was locked? Johnny had given her a deed and directions but not a key. With the stress of separation looming between them, he must have forgotten.
“I suppose I could break a window.” As horrible as it would be if the first thing she did to her house was to break something, she did have to get inside.
To her great relief, when she turned the knob, the door swung open with barely a squeal.
Stepping inside, her emotions burst from her in a flood. She sobbed out loud because she had never really believed she would have a place that was her own. Even all those times she and Johnny spoke about it, dreamed about it, it had been only that. A dream.
Now there were wood floors under her feet. She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but there seemed to be a stone fireplace that spanned the length of a wall. And if she was not mistaken, bedrooms, one to her left and one to right, flanked each end of the big parlor.
Paws scratched at her front door.
Wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she sniffled one more time, then opened the front door.
“You ought to have stayed in the—”
Apparently Hey...Dog had no intention of sleeping on the porch because he trotted happily past her, his tail thumping her skirt in passing.
She closed the door against the frigid air rushing inside. If he meant to stay inside, there was really nothing she could do about it. It’s possible that he weighed more than she did.
“Well, what do you think?” Glancing about in the dark, she only imagined what the place was like or what might be in it.
To her relief, she did spot a chair. It was so big and comfortable-looking that a king might feel at home sitting upon it.
How thoughtful it was of the former owner to leave it behind. She would like to express her gratitude for the hay and the chair, but of course, she had no idea how to go about it.
For all that she thought she would not be able to sleep tonight, the chair seemed to open its arms and call her name. Perhaps she had become more worn down than she thought, running about getting ready for the move. Or perhaps it was simply a sense of security wrapping her up. Her own four walls saying, Welcome home...come and rest your soul.
She plopped down in the chair with a great sigh, loosened her hair and fluffed it out behind her.
The dog pressed his face close, licked a lingering teardrop from her cheek. With a soft woof, he sat on the floor. The weight of his head settled on her thigh. For as much as he resembled an extra-large wolf, he seemed to have a sweet and loyal spirit.
“You need a name of your own,” she said while twining her fingers in the thicket of gray-brown hair on his neck. “From now on, your name is Chisel because you chiseled your way into my house...and into my heart, you great hairy beast.”
He sighed, as though he was happy to finally be worthy of a name of his own. Actually, he might have sighed for many reasons, but she hoped it was that one. Shifting his weight, he lay down upon her feet. The warmth was welcome since it was shivering cold, even inside.
With everything the previous owners had left behind, they’d no doubt left firewood as well. Still, in the moment, she was too weary to go exploring.
Shrugging deeply into her coat, she felt her eyes grow heavy. As she did every night, she carried a vision of Johnny’s handsome face off to sleep with her.
Drifting on a sleepy daze, she imagined the sigh of his breath upon her cheek, the brush of his lips lightly grazing hers. He whispered her name and his voice sounded different. More tender and less demanding. The pitch was different, too, deeper. Compelling. She had to admit she liked the difference. Ordinarily, Johnny was bold, taking—or trying to take—what he wanted. In this dream, he wanted to give.
In her slumbering vision, she lifted her hand, trailed her fingers through the short whorls of his dark blond hair. Which was odd since Johnny had long dark hair. He smiled, and she felt a yearning for him to her very soul. His olive green eyes gazed at her with more love than she’d ever felt before.
Olive green eyes! Laura Lee sat upright with a start. Johnny had deep brown eyes.
Could she have been...? No, she absolutely could not have been dreaming of the stranger from town whom she had met for one brief moment. Why would she?
What a faithless creature she was! Johnny had bought her a house! He was out...somewhere...working hard to pay off the mortgage.
She owed Johnny everything. And yet...the yearning for a stranger lingered in her heart.
How wicked she was. She deserved to shiver the night away wide awake. Ah, but the dog’s warmth crept up her ankles to her calves, then her knees.
She drifted back to sleep barely aware of wind hitting the window and making it rattle in its frame.
* * *
Could it truly be morning? It was hard to remember when she had slept so soundly, even at the Lucky Clover, where she’d felt safe for the first time in her life.
The ranch had been her first home really. She’d been given a small room of her own in the main house, the same as the rest of the unmarried girls. For many years, it had been her sanctuary.
Even though she had been happy, it had never been her dream to live at the Lucky Clover forever. Here, within her own walls, was where her heart always longed to be.
Like a veil being drawn from her eyes, the fog of sleep cleared from her brain. She bounded up from the chair she had slept in.
Everything she had not been able to see in the dark was now visible.
The chair was deep blue and the only piece of furniture in the room. As she’d suspected, there was a bedroom flanking each end of the main room. Behind the fireplace, she thought there might be a kitchen. If she was very lucky, and it appeared that so far she was, there would be a stove so that she could cook her pastries for Friday.
Skipping because there was no one to witness her acting like a loon, she passed through the main room to the area behind the fireplace.
To the right was a table with one chair and to the right of the table was a stairway that led to... She lifted up onto her toes trying to see. There was no way of knowing without climbing the steep stairs, but she thought the space might be a loft.
When she and Johnny had children, the boys could sleep up there. She could nearly see them peeking over the edge, their eyes green and—no, no, no! Brown eyes, warm and happy like their father, peering over the edge.
She shook herself. Perhaps she was still more sleepy than she realized. When she was wide awake, she would no longer recall the dream or how the man had made her feel so cherished.
Spinning left, she was grateful to see a kitchen with a wood-burning stove. As though in a deliriously happy fog, she moved toward the black-iron beauty that had six burners and an oven.
“Hurry home, Johnny! I need to give you a kiss.” And after they’d been to the preacher... Well, she blushed right there in her own sweet kitchen just imagining the kisses they would share.
Chisel, whining at the front door, snapped her to the here and now, which was a wonderful place to be.
“It looks like rain,” she announced, opening the front door. He bunched his legs, then leaped from the porch without touching the stairs. He raced across the yard, over the bridge and through an autumn-brown meadow.
He must be claiming the land as his, the same as she was claiming the house.
And what better way to do it than to explore the loft, then to clean the grime off the windows? After that, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, she would sit in her chair and sew her curtains.
If life could be any better, she could not imagine how.
* * *
If life could be any better, Jesse Creed could not imagine how. Sitting beside the campfire, he could smell his horses, hear them snorting and shuffling their hooves in the dirt.
After a week and a half on the homeward-bound trail, they would soon be grazing in their home pastures. It would take until after dark to get there. They might even encounter some rain. Where he was, it was clear overheard, but far off to the west, clouds were massing.
Rain or not, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be home.
During the time he’d been gone, he’d seen more of the outside world than he wanted to. There had been no way to ignore tainted reality since he’d been constantly dragging Bingham away from this or that “adventure,” lecturing him on how a horse was better company than the Underwood brothers.
But he was a kid and curious. There was only so much Jesse could do to set the boy’s feet on the right path.
“You anxious to get home?” Jesse asked.
Bingham, lounging against his saddle beside the campfire, didn’t answer at first. An owl hooted in a branch overhead and a distant coyote yipped while the boy seemed to consider what to say.
“I’ll be right glad to see my pa. The thing is, I’m worried I’ll dry up with boredom. Next time you buy horses, I’d like to go along. You don’t even have to pay me.”
“You deserve to be paid. You’re a hard worker.”
There was a matter Jesse had been considering, going over it in his mind all during the journey home. Bingham was at a point in his life where his future might go one of two ways. He could work hard and become a man, or he could take up with the Underwoods and remain a boy for the rest of his life.
Jesse owed society recompense for the wrong he’d done. If he could keep this good-hearted boy from going astray...prevent Thomas Teal from having a broken heart, he would do it.
“With all these horses, I’ve got more work than one man can do alone,” Jesse began. “I’ll pay fair wage if you’d work for me when your father doesn’t need you at the store. You’ve shown what a good hand you’ve got with the herd, that you’re willing to work hard.”
Bingham leaped to his feet and crossed to Jesse’s side of the campfire with his hand extended. The kid stood tall with the star-studded sky behind him. It looked for all the world that he wore a sparkling crown.
But there were also flames reflecting on his face.
Yep, the kid could go right or wrong at this point. If Jesse had any say in the matter, Bingham would grow to be a responsible citizen.
“I’ll take that job, sir!”
“You’ll need a horse of your own, son. Pick one out of the herd tomorrow.”
“You’re giving me a horse?” Bingham’s long jaw dropped open.
“No, not giving. You’ve worked hard and earned yourself a pony.”
The boy slapped his thigh. “I reckon I won’t sleep a wink wondering which one to take.”
Half an hour later, Jesse heard snoring from the other side of the campfire. He heard it because he was the one who could not sleep.
Images of home played in his mind. He could nearly hear the sound of the stream that cut between the house and the big red barn. He imagined the solid thud his boots would make on the wooden bridge when he crossed it.
He pictured the horses in the paddock, saw them racing across the meadows, resting in groves of cottonwood and aspen that were scattered over the property.
He’d been so busy getting ready for the herd that he’d neglected the house. It had suited his needs for a while, with the one chair on the porch and the other before the fireplace. It was hard to remember what he’d stuffed into the loft built over the kitchen, but he was anxious to get it out and put his house in order.
Gazing up at the stars, he knew he was a blessed man. He didn’t deserve any of what he had.
In the end, he did fall asleep halfway into a prayer of thanksgiving.
Chapter Four (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
It was late in the evening when Laura Lee hung a curtain on the last bare window. Listening to rain tap on the porch, she adjusted gathers over the rod, smoothing them with her fingers until they were evenly spread.
Then, hands on hips, she stood back to gaze at her handiwork. It looked like bouquets of snow-white flowers bloomed in the windows. Even though she was accustomed to sewing, her fingers ached...along with her back, her legs and her arms. Still, she could not remember a time when she’d felt better.
Glancing down, she saw the hem of her skirt winking in the high shine of the floor she had spent hours polishing.
The attic had been a treasure trove. She was surprised that the previous owners had left such useful items behind.
When Johnny returned, he was going to be pleased to see the place looking like home. There was a red rug on the floor, which she had managed to beat most of the dust out of before the rain started.
He would also appreciate the fact that he had sturdy dinnerware on which to eat the delicious meals she planned to make for him. She had been beyond pleased to find a cast-iron skillet and a pot in the loft. Basic tools but along with what she had purchased, she was well equipped to prepare food with the same skill as her mentor, Mrs. Morgan from the Lucky Clover.
There was still only the one chair, but one of the rooms had a big, comfortable bed with room and more to stretch. She’d found an extra blanket in the loft, and a good thing, too. The weather was turning colder by the day. It couldn’t be long before frost covered the ground.
Walking over to the chair, she glanced about, satisfied at how two weeks of hard work had turned her house into a home. With a tweak and a fluff, she plumped a pillow and set it back in the chair to make it look welcoming.
She smiled at her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper where it lay open on the end table beside the chair. Over the past few months, she’d all but worn out the pages of the magazine. Just this week, she’d spent many an evening in her chair, studying this and dreaming of that.
Hmm... One chair... A pair of newlyweds.
Sighing, she wondered where her fiancé was. It had been too long since she’d seen him and, oh, but she did miss the sound of his voice and the hint of mischief that always lurked in his brown eyes. She could not help but wonder where she would be when Johnny returned, what she would be doing or wearing.
However it happened, their reunion would be utterly romantic.
But where was he? She thought he would have returned by now. Worry over him was beginning to shadow the joy of being in her own home. It couldn’t take this long to conduct a business deal. Surely he was as anxious to get home as she was to have him here?
More and more she had to banish the fear that something might have happened to him. If only he hadn’t gone off with those men. They did not look like the decent sort, in her eyes.
It took some effort to forget Johnny’s smile, how he looked so gloriously happy to be off on an adventure when he rode away from her. It couldn’t mean anything, but still, she’d have rather seen a frown of regret.
In her opinion, it would have been a fine thing for them to work side by side to pay off the mortgage. Still, paid was paid and she should be grateful for it.
She tried not to think it, but would she be able to keep her property if something prevented Johnny from returning?
Yes, she thought so. Her booth at last week’s market had been a great success. It had been wonderful meeting so many friendly people, even if some of them did seem baffled about where her ranch was. She’d explained it, but in the end, they’d simply shrugged and welcomed her. There had been a few new ranchers to the area so the confusion was understandable.
Ten gongs chimed from the clock she’d found in the loft and placed on the mantel.
Time for bed and every muscle in her body was glad for it. Without a doubt, she was going to sleep like a stone. And a good thing, too. She would need to rise early in the morning to begin baking for market on Friday.
“Bedtime,” she announced to Chisel, who was already asleep in front of the hearth.
The dog twitched one ear. Clearly he was in no mood to move to another place to continue his doze. Leaning over him as far as she could, she banked the fire.
“Sweet dreams, my hairy friend.”
The soft woof he gave in answer must mean the same, she figured, except for the hairy part. Moments later, she fell into bed and was sleeping before she got three blessings counted.
* * *
Jesse drew the pocket watch from his vest. He wiped a smear of rain from the glass to find it was already one fifteen in the morning.
Hell, it was good to finally be home, no matter the hour.
A steady sheet of rain blurred the figure of Bingham racing across the bridge for home. Jesse had tried to get the boy to spend the night but he’d wanted to wake up in his own bed and was all but bursting to show his pa the horse he’d earned. The moment they’d sheltered the horses under the large lean-to in the corral, the kid had lit out for home.
Given Bingham’s youth, the extra hour of riding wouldn’t hurt. While Jesse was far from doddering, it had been a long, exhausting trip and he was weary to his bones. Walking over the bridge, he knew that if it weren’t that he was soaked to the skin, he would fall face-first onto his bed and not wake until the afternoon.
Through wavering sheets of rain, he spotted his house. In his mind, it had arms, wide open and ready to give him a welcome-home embrace.
Funny how something that wasn’t even alive could make him feel like that. It must be because a place of his own, that sense of belonging, had eluded him all his life.
It had taken a tragedy to get him here but—
What was in the windows? A white film? Fog, maybe?
He picked up his pace, his boots sucking in the mud with the effort to run. At the porch steps, he came up short, skidding and nearly going down with the shock of what he saw.
Not fog, not a white film, but curtains...lacy ones with dainty embroidered flowers.
Must be one of his neighbors played a joke on him while he was gone. Although he couldn’t imagine who it would be. He didn’t really know anyone well enough for that kind of humor.
He only hoped it wasn’t Martha Timbly, a widow more than ten years his senior. As new as he was to town, she had set her cap for him. She might have had the forwardness to decorate his place in order to show him what a fine wife she would be.
It didn’t seem likely that she had, but in the end, he could not imagine why there were curtains in his windows. He did know that in the morning they were coming down.
Given that his boots were more mud than leather, he shucked them off outside. His clothes weren’t much better so he shed them, too. Hopefully they would be dry enough come morning to put them back on so he could tend to his stock. Regretfully, all the clothes he owned were in the saddle packs he’d left behind under the lean-to. He would have remembered to bring them up to the house had he not put so much effort into trying to convince Bingham to stay the night.
He opened the front door, grateful that whoever had played the trick or done the courting hadn’t locked the door when they’d sneaked out. He doubted that many of his neighbors even had locks on their doors. Forget-Me-Not wasn’t a locking-doors kind of town.
He probably ought to check the barn to be sure no animals were in there to indicate that the prankster was still here. In his old life, he never left his door unlocked. The person he had been would have checked the barn and the trees surrounding it as a matter of habit.
But this was now. Goose bumps rippled over his bare flesh. Water dripped from his hair in an icy jag between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t get to his bed soon enough.
He paused for a moment to listen for any sound that shouldn’t be.
Nothing. Only the relentless pelting of rain on the roof.
Already half asleep, he plodded toward the bedroom, wondering if the jokester or the widow had done anything but hang curtains. He was just too tired to look right now.
Reaching for the blanket on the bed, his eyes already closed, his fingers curled about something that was not wool. Whatever it was shifted between his fingers like threads of silk...or hair?
His eyes jerked open.
There was a woman sleeping in his bed!
And not just any woman! It was her! The one he had met in town two weeks ago, the one he had daydreamed about so vividly.
Now, with his eyes wide and blinking, he could see that she had left a lamp burning low. It cast the room in a soft amber glow.
Just as in his imagination, the lady lay with shimmering cream-colored hair fanned out across his pillow. The same playful smile he’d conjured now lurked at the corners of her mouth. She must be engaged in some sweet dream.
Awake as he now felt, the room and the lady still bore a dream quality. Something about the shape of her mouth, the way her brown lashes deepened to black at the tips, felt more like a memory than the here and now. Could be he was in the grips of some magic spell. As if he believed in magic spells.
But...just maybe she would open her eyes and gaze upon him with love like she had in the daydream.
Or maybe he really was asleep again, dreaming that he was awake. Maybe the woman and the situation he knew her to be in had touched him more deeply than he realized so she was appearing in his dreams...day and night.
The only thing to do was wait and see what would happen next, if he would wake up or she would.
It was while he watched, eager and hoping to see again that devotion in her eyes, that he heard a growl.
Something lunged and knocked him sideways. The hit left him dazed. He closed his eyes, struggling to make sense of things. Footsteps pattered quickly out of the room and then returned. He cracked his eyes open. The world went black.
* * *
“I think he’s coming around,” said a voice so sweet it could only belong to an angel.
Jesse was halfway afraid to open his eyes and find that eternity had landed him someplace other than heaven. Still there was the voice and a gentle brush of fingers across his forehead.
He wasn’t mistaking the scent of lilac and citrus either. Someone, although he could not recall who or how they would know, had claimed that heaven smelled like that.
No rush to find out where he was. For now, he was happy to feel the angel rustle her fingers in his hair, to feel the soft, moist puff of her breath on his face.
Except...he felt like he was suffocating, being bound in robes that were far too tight. And whatever cloud he was reclining upon was rock hard.
“Get back, Chisel. Let the man breathe.” The fingers in his hair gently traced his scalp, running from ear to—
Pain, red-hot stabbing misery, shot through his head. He tried to sit up but firm yet feminine hands held him down.
“Lie still, Mr. Creed. You’ll only make it hurt worse.”
As if it could. Soothing unconsciousness claimed him before he could decide which side of the mortal coil he was on.
* * *
Laura Lee hadn’t meant to hit the man quite so hard, but a skillet was a skillet and the situation had been dire.
She’d been sleeping when he crept into her room, deeply sleeping in fact and betraying Johnny by dreaming of the man who lay unconscious on the floor beside her bed.
One moment, his compelling green eyes had been looking at her with dreamy longing. In the next instant, he was real, bending over her naked and dripping water on her nose.
Before she knew for sure she was awake, Chisel had knocked the man to the floor. She’d rushed for the frying pan and walloped him, in her fuzzy state not certain he was who she thought.
Not that it would have made a difference one way or another. Knowing who he was was not the same thing as knowing him.
And a wet, naked man leaning over one’s bed was a shocking thing to wake up to.
Naturally, she’d wanted to toss him back into the storm where he came from but he’d been much too heavy for her to drag. Which was why he remained beside the bed where he had fallen.
Upon their first meeting, she hadn’t judged him to be a lewd-minded man. To the contrary. He had been concerned for her predicament, even though she had not been in one.
She could not guess why he had invaded her house in the wee hours.
The storm was much worse than when she had gone to bed. Perhaps that was the reason. Maybe he was seeking shelter. Or he could be lost and had mistaken her home for his. From what she’d seen, the ranch homes in this area were not so different from one another. It might be hard to tell the difference through the deluge pounding the earth.
And if he had been very tired? Given the hour, he might have been confused.
Carefully, she slid a pillow under his head. He winced but didn’t awaken. There was no reason she should feel responsible for his pain. He was the one who’d trespassed. Any woman would have reacted the same way to a bare, damp-skinned intruder in her bedroom.
A gloriously built intruder. One she had gazed upon far longer than was appropriate under the circumstances. Under any circumstances, she had reminded herself before she dressed him in the only garment at hand.
He wouldn’t like it. What man would? But his clothes were a dripping heap on the hearth. He could wear what she put on him or continue to shiver on the floor. Besides, he would have no idea how absurd he looked until he came to.
When he did regain consciousness, and she dearly hoped it was soon since she would hate to have to fetch a doctor in this weather, she would discover his reason for being here. Depending upon what it was, she would make up her mind on whether or not to have Chisel escort him back into the rain, or sleet, as it was becoming.
For the moment, though, she would have to tend to him since she was the one who’d laid him low.
“I’m sorry I hit you.” She ought to touch the lump to assure herself that it was going down, to wash the blood out of his hair and cleanse the gash, but every time she tried, he moaned.
“Nearly sorry anyway. You can’t just sneak into a body’s home. And in case you hoped to shock me, I’ve seen a man without his clothes on before.”
One time when she and Johnny had been camped by a stream, he went to bathe, then came back without wearing a stitch. That had been the first time he’d tried to convince her to take premarital liberties. He’d pivoted this way and that, making sure she got a good look at what she would be missing by turning him down. In spite of the fact that he seemed as confident in his allure as a rooster strutting about the hen coop, some things were meant to be waited for.
In the moment, she had been fascinated by the way he looked, so trim and dapper. There had been the slightest softness to his belly, which she didn’t mind since she chose to take it as a compliment to her cooking.
Johnny was pleasant, but seeing him like that had not made her blush in the least.
The same was not true of Jesse Creed. She’d had to look away several times while getting him decently covered. She’d felt her cheeks flaming each time her fingers touched him while she yanked and tugged fabric about him.
Where Johnny was spare and reedy, Mr. Creed was muscled. Every inch of the man looked ripe with power.
It was a good thing it was Johnny she was marrying. She would hate to spend her life feeling the odd edginess that sidelong glances at Mr. Creed gave her. She took a deep breath, expelled it in a rush to purge her mind of comparing naked men.
Since she could do nothing for Mr. Creed at the moment but watch him sleep, and it was getting close to dawn, she decided to go to the barn and tend her horses.
Walking into the front room, she drew aside her pretty curtain. She’d been right about the sleet. It was coming down heavily.
Responsibilities came with having all this land. Back on the Lucky Clover, animals got fed no matter the weather. Her obligation had been to feed the hands who fed the stock. Today, it was up to her to feed the animals.
“Stay here, Chisel. Watch over our prisoner. Or our guest. We’ll figure it out later.” Yanking the blanket from the bed, she spread it over Mr. Creed.
For safety’s sake, she snuffed out the bedroom lamp. She shrugged into her heavy coat, then went outside and dashed for the barn.
By the time she reached the big red doors, mud caked her legs well past her knees. Her dress and petticoats would never be the same. She didn’t even want to think about her shoes.
A whinny of greeting met her while she still had her hand on the door latch. Then another and another...then three more.
She didn’t have that many horses! And hers were in the barn, not the paddock behind the barn.
* * *
Jesse tried to stretch. His arms would not straighten. He needed to take a deep breath but his chest was banded by something that kept his lungs from expanding.
Confusion set heavy upon him. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he was lying on the floor and it was cold.
Easing onto his elbows, he felt something soft yet inflexible cage the roll of his shoulders.
The fabric smelled pretty, though, like citrus and lilac. He’d noticed that fragrance recently, but when? His head pounded. His eyeballs ached. With great force of will, he opened his eyes.
A rose-patterned ruffle fluttered across his chest to the tempo of his breathing.
Sitting up suddenly, he cursed the pain shooting from the back of his brain to the front. He heard a seam rip. Looking down, he saw his legs sticking out of the bottom of a woman’s flannel nightgown. A wide band of lace tickled the hair on his legs inches below his knees.
What the blazes! He’d been in and out of a dream state was all he could recall.
But this was his room, as solid and real as he’d last seen it.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, his naked butt numb with cold. Glancing down, he saw a pillow. Someone must have put it under his head.
A woman—but no, not simply a woman—the woman. She must be the one who dressed him in this...this flannel nightmare.
Also the one who, no doubt, hit him in the head with the skillet that lay on the mattress. It was the only thing that made sense.
She’d hit him because—
Of his horses!
Her beau was the cowboy who was involved with those hell-raising Underwoods. They would have known he’d gone to purchase his herd.
“Damn!” he shouted, then regretted it because it hurt like blazes and because in a shadowed corner of the room, something growled.
Slowly, Jesse came to his feet. So did the animal. In the dim, predawn light, he saw it bare its great, long teeth.
“Good dog.” Or wolf or bear. “Good, good fellow.”
There was no time to deal with the beast. At this very moment, the Underwoods and their fetching accomplice could be riding away with his stock.
As he thought about it, it made sense. Just because Bingham believed the gang of brothers went to Black Creek on a regular basis did not mean that this time they weren’t following Jesse. It had been no secret in Forget-Me-Not that he would be away purchasing his horses. If the brothers were set on thievery, they knew where to find a victim.
The woman had proved to be a skilled conspirator, luring him over the bed and then knocking him senseless. Could be the reason she looked familiar was from seeing that pretty face on a wanted poster. Although, he didn’t think that was something he would forget.
How long had he been unconscious? Plenty long enough for them to ride off with nineteen prime breeding animals.
The dog’s tail thumped the wall. It emerged from the corner.
“Hey...Dog! Is that you?” he muttered in relief. “What the glory blazes are you doing in my house?”
When Jesse ran out the door, he heard the dog padding behind him.
It was a good thing his closest neighbor was a fair distance away. He’d look like a fool, running barefoot in the freezing rain wearing a woman’s nightie. And a double fool for having no weapon at hand.
In the future, no matter how blamed tired he was, he was not leaving his rifle on his saddle under the lean-to.
But if sheer anger could count as a weapon, he was well armed.
For all that his toes felt frozen, numb in the sucking mud, it didn’t cool his anger at himself and the folly of being duped by a pretty slip of a woman. He was ashamed to admit that he’d succumbed to such beguiling bait...even dreamed of her while wide awake.
Slipping and sliding, he rounded the corner of the barn where the paddock was located.
As he’d feared, it was empty.
No mind, he was a tracker by former profession.
Looked like Hey...Dog was a tracker, too, although not so skilled as a dog ought to be. He trotted to the large barn doors, scratched and whined.
A seam of light glowed dimly through the door crack.
Either someone remained in the barn or the thieves had committed the sin of leaving a lamp burning when they hightailed it.
“Hush up, pup,” he whispered, not wanting his presence known before he snatched his rifle from the saddle where it lay across a sawhorse ten feet away. “You ready to catch us a thief?” he asked, retrieving the weapon. The dog thumped his muddy tail on the nightgown.
Slowly, so as to make the least noise possible, he drew open one of the doors and eased inside, his rifle at the ready.
He spotted his horses first thing.
Then he saw the woman. She stood on a wagon bed, her skirt rucked up about her waist and her shapely bare legs caked with mud. Gripping a pitchfork, she shoveled hay onto the barn floor. Because she had her back turned, he had a moment to watch her golden hair shimmy with the sway of her hips. She hummed an off-key tune while she worked.
The relief he felt finding that she was not a thief seemed excessive. He’d only met her the one time, for pity’s sake. It couldn’t rightly be said that she was even an acquaintance. There was just something about her...a sensation of knowing...
Wasn’t that as logical as a frog flapping butterfly wings?
But here she was, making herself at home in his house and in his barn.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said because his sense of knowing did not include the knowledge of her name.
Chapter Five (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
“Oh!” Startled by the voice, Laura Lee’s fingers clamped hard around the handle of the pitchfork. Turning quickly, she sucked in a breath and held it. Not because she believed the man intended to shoot her; the weapon was nose to the dirt and his finger nowhere near the trigger. She couldn’t breathe because of the effort it took not to laugh out loud.
Her guest—she supposed that was what she must consider him to be—looked absurd. Seeing him standing in the doorway of the barn, his legs spread in a no-nonsense stance, holding his weapon while rain dripped off his eyebrows...oh, my.
Still, it wasn’t that which nearly brought her to her knees in hilarity. It was the sight of this large man, so bold looking in every way, dressed in pink flannel with delicate flowers and leaves stretched across his chest, with wiry brown hair poking from the stretched-out neckline, that made her need to cover her mouth with one hand.
She might have managed to keep control had it not been for the sodden lace clinging to his shins, seeing those muscular calves captured by embroidered rosebuds.
Pressing her fingers to her mouth did no good. A giggle burst from her lips.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said with a slight, high-pitched hiccup.
She stabbed the prongs of the pitchfork into the hay, then climbed down from the wagon. She yanked her skirt from the waistband, smoothing it down so that it covered her legs in a proper manner. He’d already seen more of her than he should have...but not nearly as much as she’d seen of him.
Why did that have to pop into her mind? Now she was blushing and he would guess why.
“Your own clothes are wet and this is all I could spare that didn’t require a corset.” No! She could not have possibly blurted that out. “I meant...well, you were wet and shivering. Most of the time, flannel is wonderfully warm. I hope you—”
“Thank you for bringing my horses in,” he said, saving her from continued babbling.
Which she did not normally do. It’s just that the events of the last hours had been...unusual, and vastly perplexing. At least she understood now what he was doing on her property. He and his horses needed shelter. He had been naked because—she didn’t know why for sure, but there could be many reasons that did not involve an assault on her person.
No doubt being soaked, he had removed his clothes out of for respect for the many hours she had spent polishing the floor. A more suspicious part of her brain argued that he would have no idea how much care she had given the floors and that it had been too dark to see the shine.
“You are welcome. Come, Chisel.” She would rather have the dog standing beside her than Mr. Creed. One could only trust one’s judgment to a certain degree.
Except where Johnny was concerned. Naturally, she trusted her fiancé completely. But where was he? Two weeks would be enough time for him to do what he needed to. If he really... But no, she trusted him with all her heart.
Obediently, Chisel trotted forward and licked her hand. Seconds later, he joined Whittle and Bride in their stall. Saffron and the other horses mingled in the large open area between the stalls, munching hay.
“I’m sorry I hit you, Mr. Creed.” She might as well clear her conscience about that now. Judging by the increasingly bad weather, they might be stranded together for a few hours. “But you did give me a start.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to be in the house.”
It was a relief to know she was right about the reason he was here. Any reasonable person would have sought the nearest shelter in this storm. She knew nothing about Mr. Creed other than his name and that he had a scar on his left hip. She also knew that he looked... well, never mind that.
It was blamed difficult to never mind it, though. Her eyes had seen what they’d seen and there was no changing that. If soaking flannel was not clinging to him, it would be easier. But it was clinging to him, an intimate reminder.
“Your herd is beautiful,” she said as a distraction.
“Plenty hungry, too. Again, many thanks for bringing them inside and feeding them.”
Setting his rifle against the wall beside the door, he crossed the barn and leaped up on the wagon. He picked up the pitchfork and began shoveling out the hay. The smooth pull and draw of his muscles, which she could see because of what he was wearing, made the job look easier than it felt when she did it.
“It was the neighborly thing to do,” she answered while refocusing her attention on the long black mane of a pretty brown mare.
“And I reckon we’re neighbors?” His brows knit together, as though something was puzzling him.
“I suppose we are but I’ve only been in Forget-Me-Not for a short time.”
“It’s a good place to settle.” In one leap, he hopped off the wagon.
She watched him while he walked to the wall where the tools were hanging, taking note of the long rip down the back of her nightgown. She would have to repair it before bed.
It was interesting to note that he knew the exact spot to put the tool even though he had never been in her barn. A barn was a barn, she guessed, pretty much the same anywhere. Tools went where they went with no great mystery involved.
“Must be getting close to dawn,” Mr. Creed remarked while leading the two stallions in his herd, each to a separate stall.
It made sense that he would put the stallions away. But it struck her as forward that he had not asked for her permission. It was her barn, for all that he seemed so at home in it.
“I’ll fix us something to eat.” Since he had unloaded the hay wagon for her, she owed him a meal before she sent him and his livestock on their way.
“Appreciate it. I’m not much of a hand in the kitchen. I’ll build us up a fire in the parlor. Reckon it’s nearly as cold inside as it is out here.”
* * *
Jesse ran toward the house, his saddlebag slung over his shoulder, his rifle in his fist.
The sooner he peeled out of this blamed sleepwear the better. He’d toss it in the fire he was about to build if he didn’t guess the woman would need to take it with her when she left.
He had hoped it would happen after breakfast, but during the dash from the barn to the house, the weather took an intense turn for the worse. This was the kind of storm that living things ought not to venture out in.
The lady dashed a few feet ahead of him, through the mess of rain and sleet. She sure was a shapely little thing. Rude as it was, he couldn’t help staring at how gracefully she bounded up the stairs, how her hips swayed—
He forced his gaze down, watching his knees bump the lace border of the nightgown. He purely hoped she hadn’t married her unfaithful beau. She seemed far too fine for the likes of someone who’d picked the nickname of Hell Dog.
Standing on the porch, he opened the front door for her to enter before him. He was as soaked and muddy as when he last came in the house, but this time he thought better of shedding his clothes.
The dog rushed in first, heedless of the debris sticking to his fur.
“Hey...Dog, get out of the house!” he called.
“He belongs to me now and I’ve named him Chisel,” the lady announced, brushing by him. “I do allow him inside.”
The hell she did! He opened his mouth to say so, then noticed the high gleam reflecting off the floor. Words dried in his mouth like a stream in a three-year drought.
Curtains in the windows, a shine on the floor... How long had she been squatting in his house? And what was he going to do about it?
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/carol-arens/a-ranch-to-call-home/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Carol Arens
“I won’t let you steal my ranch.”But will this rancher steal her heart?Laura Lee is devastated when Jesse Creed arrives claiming that her new, perfect house doesn’t belong to her absent fiancé – but to him! Until he can prove it, however, Laura isn’t going anywhere. But living side by side with the alluring rancher is temptation itself. And suddenly this house starts to feel an awful lot like the home she’s always longed for…
“I won’t let you steal my ranch.”
But will this rancher steal her heart?
Laura Lee is devastated when Jesse Creed arrives claiming that her new, perfect house doesn’t belong to her absent fiancé, but to him! Until he can prove it, however, Laura isn’t going anywhere. But living side by side with the alluring rancher is temptation itself. And suddenly this house starts to feel an awful lot like the home she’s always longed for...
“This book is well-written, well-populated and full of action.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride
“Readers will be charmed by the spirited heroine and her love-struck cowboy [...] wonderfully written.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Cowboy’s Cinderella
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments, you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.
Also by Carol Arens (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Dreaming of a Western Christmas
Western Christmas Proposals
The Cowboy’s Cinderella
Western Christmas Brides
The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride
The Walker Twins miniseries
Wed to the Montana Cowboy
Wed to the Texas Outlaw
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Ranch to Call Home
Carol Arens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07379-0
A RANCH TO CALL HOME
© 2018 Carol Arens
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Caitlyn Iaccino
The world is a kinder place because of your sweet smile.
Contents
Cover (#u35464564-7287-5fe4-a3d4-66d9969b4f96)
Back Cover Text (#u4d6bfb08-eae0-53e3-9a9b-3c42c9bad6e6)
About the Author (#u5ea214f5-ba69-5c1a-8f15-d684d80c83e2)
Booklist (#u8a714fc4-5622-59f3-86cc-f739c9b8eb7d)
Title Page (#u48d7fe00-2e73-5ae9-a1da-3faf8e155b44)
Copyright (#u8614e806-baf3-5510-b19d-d619fe9d177f)
Dedication (#u29012ee8-0bf2-586d-854a-8875600707e3)
Chapter One (#u53689626-32af-5937-a1df-fcbd1350c949)
Chapter Two (#ubd78cd37-85ea-56b1-9c85-7be7159553c4)
Chapter Three (#ua9b95243-1e3d-5699-8968-42f9fce1c74d)
Chapter Four (#ud63d69fe-f260-5630-ab55-191f7788eb65)
Chapter Five (#u122be4d7-9be7-5d06-973a-4dd67dc5e3bf)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
September 1883, Forget-Me-Not, Texas
A frizzle of unease teased Laura Lee’s stomach. She rolled up the newest edition of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper tight in her fist.
The elegant wedding gown that she had stitched with her own blistered fingers fell in lacy waves to the boardwalk, where she stood in front of Auntie June’s boardinghouse waiting for her very own prince to arrive and carry her off to the preacher.
The pocket watch tucked within the secret pouch stitched into her petticoat marked time against her hip.
Tick, tock, tick... Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes crept up on half an hour.
As a distraction, she watched the breeze pluck golden leaves from the trees and blow them over the rooftops of the main street of Forget-Me-Not. One leaf fell on the brim of a man’s Stetson. He brushed it off, then went inside the bank.
At forty-five minutes, with Johnny nowhere in sight, she reminded herself she had nothing to fear. Her groom had no doubt been delayed by something that was far beyond his control.
Any moment now, dust would stir at the end of the street... Johnny urging his horse to a gallop through a veil of falling leaves. He would be wearing an expression of apology on his dashingly handsome face.
And truth be told, it wasn’t uncommon for Johnny to be late. Once they were married, she would be able to help cure him of that habit.
Tick, tock, tick. Ten more minutes slid past. She gripped the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper tighter.
“Curse it! Where are you, Johnny Ruiz?” She loosened her hold on the precious magazine—her guide to all things domestic and wonderful.
As soon as the impatient words left her mouth, she regretted them. Ordinarily she was sweet tempered, the very soul of composure.
“Howdy, miss,” came a deep male voice. Boot steps thumped on the boardwalk, bringing the speaker within feet of her. “May I be of assistance?”
She spun toward him and looked up...and up at a tall man wearing a black duster, a Stetson dipped over his brow. It was the man who had flicked the leaf from his hat and gone into the bank.
“Why, no.” She had thought Johnny to be handsome but this man... Well, my word. It took all of a second to feel ashamed of the thought. Johnny was her true love and would forever be the most handsome man in her heart. “Thank you, but I’m fine as can be.”
“Name’s Jesse Creed, ma’am,” he said, dipping his dark hat in greeting. “Couldn’t help but notice you’ve been standing in this spot for a good long time now. I reckon that fellow you just mentioned might not show up.”
He might assume so since she had blurted it out. Which did not mean it was any concern of his.
“Perhaps I simply enjoy taking in the morning sunshine.” In a wedding gown.
It cut her heart that this stranger thought her to be abandoned, given that was the very fear that had plagued her for the past ten minutes...as ridiculous a fear as it was.
Johnny loved her. Nothing could keep him from being here unless something horrible had happened. What if he’d been injured...or worse?
“It’s not my business but—”
“Just so. It is not.” She unrolled the magazine and pressed it flat to her chest. “And just how do you know how long I’ve been standing here, sir?”
“I’ve been to the bank, the livery and the blacksmith. Passed in front of you three times.”
She’d been so intent on watching for Johnny that she had only noticed him once.
“Well, you may go along your way knowing that I am perfectly fine.”
“Good day, then.” He tipped his hat and continued down the boardwalk.
One shop down, Jesse Creed stopped, turned. His olive green gaze settling upon her was more than a bit distracting...the sound of his voice far too appealing. In fact, it stirred her in a way she didn’t understand. “If you find you do need something, Auntie June is the one to ask for help. Here in town she’s everyone’s honorary aunt.”
Was that handsome fellow a married man? she wondered before she could stop. She chastised herself for wondering, given that she was an engaged woman.
A very lucky engaged woman. Johnny was dark-eyed and dashing...fun loving...passionate.
And striding out of the front door of the hotel across the street.
* * *
Jesse Creed would have laid a wager that the pretty woman’s “Johnny” was not going to show up. That she was as abandoned as her expression said she was.
Looks like he’d have lost that money. Just as he mounted the steps to the general store, a cowpoke, spiffed up and looking swank, sauntered out of the hotel. The lady rushed across the street and into his arms.
What she did not seem to notice was that another woman drew aside the curtain of a second-story window. She peered down at the couple with resentment contorting her mouth, narrowing her eyes. A red robe drooped off her bare shoulders.
The bride-to-be, and clearly she was that, was not going to find life an easy path with that faithless fellow as her husband.
Sometimes Jesse wished that he didn’t notice so much, but his former career as a bounty hunter made him take note of details that many folks would not.
Hell, the woman’s future was none of his business. He didn’t even know her. Still, he’d go on his way easier if he didn’t guess what her future held in store.
In the end, he knew she would not welcome his observation if he told her. She probably wouldn’t believe him. There was nothing to do but continue on his way to the general store. It was a shame, though, a pretty thing like her headed for such trouble.
Coming up the steps of the store, he nearly smacked into Auntie June on her way out. Carrying a sack of what he guessed to be sugar, she wasn’t looking where she was going, but up the street instead.
Her short, pillow-like body listed left, but he caught her by the forearms and righted her.
“Jesse Creed! I do declare I ought to watch out where I’m going. But I can’t rightly say I mind being rescued by such a dashing fellow.”
“Always a pleasure, Auntie June.” And it was. The woman was one of the kindest souls he had ever met. It had been Auntie June who had convinced Corum Peterson to sell his ranch to Jesse, when he had been a stranger in Forget-Me-Not.
“I’m just relieved to see that her young man showed up.” She turned her attention again to the couple kissing in the middle of the street. “She sewed all night long on that wedding gown.”
“Looks like it was worth the effort,” he answered, meaning that she looked fetching in it, not that he thought the man deserved the trouble she had gone to.
“I hope so.” She glanced back at him, brows arched over honey-brown eyes. “I’m not convinced.”
“Seems like she is, though.”
“Yes...and I do remember what it’s like to be blinded by love.” She stroked the bag of sugar with one finger, shaking her head. “The light of day was a harsh thing to face, I can tell you.”
“Whoever the fellow was who broke your heart, he was a fool.”
“What a pity you weren’t born forty years sooner. I turned many a head back then.” Reaching up, she patted his cheek. “I’d best get on my way if I want to get this pie baked in time for supper.”
Jesse stood for a moment, watching the good-hearted lady walk away. In his opinion, she still could turn heads. After she turned aside into the dressmaker shop, he entered the general store.
“Mornin’, Thomas,” he said, walking past a display of frilly yard goods. The scent of coffee on the simmer hit him like a welcome home.
And home he was. After a lifetime of living here and there, often without a roof to keep out the night, he’d purchased a ranch and settled down in the sweet town of Forget-Me-Not.
“Say, Jesse! Bingham’s nearly busting with excitement. I’m mighty grateful you hired him to come along with you to pick up your horses.”
“No thanks needed. He’ll be earning every bit of his pay.”
“Grateful for that, too. The boy was headed for trouble, taking up with the Underwoods like he was. Good honest work will give him something to be proud of.”
Jesse understood that. He’d earned a lot of money as a bounty hunter but the profession had darkened his soul. Ranching was something to feel honorable about...to let him lay his head on his pillow at night and sleep without regret.
“I’ll take good care of your boy, don’t you worry, Thomas.”
“I won’t. Or not overly. I’d rather see him bucked off a stallion than spend an hour with Hoodoo and his brothers. Those young men grow wilder by the day.”
For the large part, Forget-Me-Not was a peaceful place to lay down roots, but every town had its problems. Most folks waited anxiously for the day that the Underwood boys left home and went looking for adventure that couldn’t be found in this tranquil place.
In Jesse’s opinion and with what hard experience had shown him, those five hoodlums’ quest for adventure would land them in prison or dead.
Something, cans he guessed, clattered to the floor in the storeroom. A series of clanking sounds indicated that they were being set to rights. Heavy boot thumps crossed the floor. Something else rattled but didn’t fall.
The curtain separating the rooms fanned out and Bingham Teal burst into the room, his saddle pack slung over his shoulder.
“I’m ready to go, Mr. Creed.” A grin as wide as sunrise split the kid’s face. He rushed out the front door of the store, his hat nearly brushing the frame, hurrying away without a goodbye. His father raised his arm as if to call him back but then let it fall to his side.
All at once, Bingham charged back into the store, took his father’s hand and pumped it up and down. “See you in two weeks, Pa!” He stepped toward the door again but spun about and wrapped his father in a great hug.
Once again, Bingham hurried out of the store.
“Mind your manners!” Thomas called after his great, lurching offspring. “If you catch a whiff of jasmine along the trail, Jesse, it’ll be his mother watching over him. I reckon she’s bursting her heavenly buttons over what a fine boy he grew into.”
“I’ll bring him home safe, two weeks...three at most.”
Thomas lifted a blanket from behind the counter. “Never know when the night might turn bitter cold.”
Jesse took the heavy wool cover, tipped his Stetson in farewell, then followed the boy outside.
While this was a great adventure for Bingham, it was more so for Jesse. He’d moved onto his ranch only a month ago. There had been enough time to make repairs to the barn and paddock, but being anxious to pick up his herd of horses, he’d neglected fixing up the house.
No matter. It was something he could do over time. He’d lived in worse conditions than a slightly run-down home.
Today he was bound for Cartersville to get his breeding stock. Bringing them home would fulfill the dream of a lifetime.
No, not fulfill, but begin.
* * *
It felt like the sun came out from behind a big black cloud, seeing Johnny walk out of the hotel. What a silly duck she had been to worry.
And truly, this was not the first time she’d been a little restive over his loyalty to her. But on those few occasions, he had handily put her anxiety at ease. From all the way across the street, she felt how much he loved her...saw how he was committed to her by the joyful turn of his smile.
Within an hour, she would be Mrs. Johnny Ruiz. She would be free to show him how much she loved him...in all the ways a woman could show her man.
She hugged him, squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“I thought the night would never pass,” she whispered against his collar.
He must have dabbed on cologne. His neck smelled like a bouquet. What a sweet gesture for their wedding day. He didn’t normally wear cologne.
“I didn’t sleep all night, baby doll.”
Opening her eyes, she spotted a couple of fellows coming out of the hotel. One of them shot her and Johnny an odd glance. Could he really be smirking at them?
No doubt he was jealous over the affection they felt for one another. Clearly the fellow had never been in love and didn’t understand the way it was between nearly married folks.
Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Laura Lee pushed away from her intended but did not let go of him.
“I love you so much, Johnny!”
He lifted a dark brow. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I am a dashing fellow. All the ladies say so.”
She gently swatted his arm with the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper. “And such a tease.”
“I love you, too, Laura Lee.” He kissed her on the mouth, right there in the middle of the street for all to see.
Well, in a few more minutes it would no longer be improper.
“Say—” he leaned in, his whisper tickling the hair near her ear “—let’s go up to your room... We can get a head start on being married.”
“We’ve already kept the minister waiting.”
“Won’t take long, I promise. Then we can come back here and have the whole day and night just the two of us, fine and married.”
“We see the minister first, then we spend the whole day and night just the two of us.”
“Ah, come on, Laura Lee, I’m really aching for you. It’s been two weeks since I came for you in Tanners Ridge and we’ve hardly had a private hour.”
That wasn’t quite true. They had spent several nights under the stars when they traveled between towns. In town, she had naturally wanted her own hotel room.
But what an impetuous fellow he was. His impatience only showed how much he loved her. Ever since they had run off to get married, he’d wanted to take liberties.
Truth to tell, she wouldn’t mind giving him what he wanted, but right was right and wrong was wrong. She would not begin their future on the wrong side of the bed.
“Don’t you love me?” His dark brow lifted. He kissed her again.
“With all my heart. You know that.”
Close by, a window slammed. She heard the young men who came out of the hotel laugh heartily.
“Come on, Hell Dog! Finish kissing your girl goodbye and let’s get outta here.”
Johnny dropped his arms from about her. “Shut your trap, Hoodoo. I’ll be along when I’m ready.”
Laura Lee turned to give the men on the porch a closer look. She could not imagine why Johnny would have even answered the fellow who had spoken.
“Who are they?” She stepped closer to Johnny because the men looked disreputable. Like they had been carousing all night, with their clothes rumpled and their hair in disarray.
They were nothing like her Johnny. He was always dashing and dapper, with his hair neatly groomed and his clothing in order. It was a lucky thing he was completely devoted to her because she could not count the times she’d noticed other women’s gazes lingering upon him.
Three more men came out of the hotel and stood with the carousers.
“Who is Hell Dog?” she murmured. The name could describe anyone of the men on the porch. Still, it did not escape her that the only man doing any kissing was Johnny. “I don’t care for the way those men are looking at us.”
“Don’t pay them any mind. Those are just the Underwood brothers.”
“Why are they talking to you?”
A smile crept across Johnny’s face. His back straightened and his chest puffed out. “Because I’m Hell Dog.”
“That’s not a bit funny!” She slapped his arm with the magazine, not playfully this time. She didn’t like feeling so riled at her intended, but they were late for their appointment with the minister. “Tell them goodbye and let’s be on our way.”
“You going to let that little hen peck at you?” the one named Hoodoo called.
If Hoodoo was an odd name, the man was more so. He was tall, rail thin, with posture as curved as a fishhook. His long nose and his sharp black beard both pointed toward the ground.
Even though the morning was cool, sweat dampened Laura Lee’s neck. Something was very wrong. In a million years, she could not imagine Johnny taking up with the likes of those men.
“What have you been doing all night, Johnny?” While she had been sewing the lace ruffle on the hem of her gown, restless and dreaming of her one true love, what had kept him restless?
“Made me some friends.”
“Of the wrong kind, if you ask me.” All five of them looked like they were about to erupt into misdoing.
“Not that I did ask you.” An expression crossed his face that she’d never seen before. She’d known him for a nearly a year...been in love with him for four and a half months, and she had never seen a hint of bully on that handsome face. He’d always been the soul of congeniality.
For the first time, she doubted her decision to go away with him. It cleaved her heart in half, wondering if she had made a mistake. That he might not be who she knew him to be.
“Don’t look sad.” He took her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, really sorry. That sounded harsh. And just ignore those fools. They aren’t such a bad sort when you get to know them.”
“I don’t intend on getting to know them. I intend on marrying you and settling down. Someday getting our own little house and raising lots of babies. You haven’t changed your mind about that, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t!” He squeezed her to him.
All of a sudden, life felt right again. He was her Johnny, not Hell Dog...whoever that might be. No doubt the name came from a misguided night with that bunch.
But in the end, one night did not hurt what she and Johnny were to each other.
“Let’s go get married, Johnny.” She looked up into his deep brown eyes, her excitement over their future restored. She tugged on his sleeve, half dancing her joy.
“Hold up a minute.” He set his boots firmly in the dirt. “I’ve got a wedding present for you.”
“We’re losing time here, Hell Dog.” The speaker was short and round. His head was topped by an unruly bush of black hair, his long beard a wild match.
“You go on, Ivan,” Johnny called while reaching into his pocket. “I’ll be along.”
“What do you mean, you’ll be along?” she said.
“Just you wait and see!” He unfolded the paper he had taken from his pocket, looking as pleased as she’d ever seen him. “Here’s your dream come true, Laura Lee.” He smoothed open the crisp sheet of paper and held it in front of her face to read.
“A deed? To a house?” Carefully, as though the dream might crumble under the pressure of her fingertips, she took the document from him.
“Your house, baby doll. I was up all night getting it for you. It’s why I was late.”
“I never dreamed...” Words failed. She wanted a little home of her own more than she wanted anything on this earth. “Three hundred and twenty acres? How, Johnny?”
He looked so proud, preening like a peacock with his feathers splayed. How could she not adore him?
“I met an old man last night. We hit up a friendship and he told me how he was headed east to live out his days with his granddaughter. He sold his place to me but I told him to make the deed out to you. I know how you’ve got your heart set on a house of your own.”
A house of their own, she knew he meant to say. “But how did you pay for it?”
They had planned to work and save and finally make that dream come true. Now here it was, not a flight of fancy, but a reality in her hands. She could scarce believe what she was looking at.
“Well, that’s the thing, Laura Lee.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at the men walking single file down the boardwalk, then turning at the ally running between the hotel and the stream that trickled through town. “I’ve still got to pay it off. There’s a mortgage.”
“We’ve got to pay it off, you mean. The both of us will work hard and get it done.” She hugged him about the middle as tight as she could. Any man who would do this for her must love her more than...air or food or...or anything. She regretted thinking badly of him for knowing those men and for being called Hell Dog.
Johnny Ruiz was a man among men.
“The fortunate thing is—” he loosened himself from her grip of gratitude and shoved a slip of paper in her hand “—I know a way of getting it paid off quick. But I’ve got to go away with the Underwood boys to do it. But that there is directions to where the ranch is.”
“I don’t trust them.” Here she was with her dream in her hand, a deed of ownership in her name and so fresh that the ink smelled damp, and she was turning shrewish again.
“I told you, Laura Lee, they’re not so bad as they seem. Trust me, what we’re doing isn’t illegal.”
“Or dangerous? I couldn’t go on if something happened to you.”
“Don’t you worry.” He held her away from him, took two long steps backward. “You go on home and fix the place up. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“When? You must have some idea of when.”
“Hard to say—not long, though. Before first snow, I reckon.”
“We could get married now, before you head out.”
“I’d like that, you know I would. But the fellows are waiting.”
She held on to his arm. “Thank you. This is more than my dream come true.”
Pounding hooves trembled the dirt. Five animals carrying Underwoods galloped up the road. One horse was being led without a rider.
Johnny peeled her fingers from his arm. He backed away.
“Bug-ock, bug-ock!” clucked one of the Underwoods. This one was short, slim and had blond hair that curled tightly to his scalp.
Johnny turned to glance at him. When he looked back at Laura Lee a smile blazed across his face.
“Goodbye, Johnny!” All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure the house was worth the cost of having him go away. She ought to be a married woman by now. “I love you!”
“Wait for me!” he called, mounting his horse.
“I will! I promise I’ll be waiting!”
Maybe he heard her promise. She couldn’t be sure, though, because galloping off with his friends, he did not glance back.
Chapter Two (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Two wagons were for sale in the livery. One was small and weathered. It would carry her home but would not work to transport all the goods she would need in order to set up housekeeping.
The other one was large and new. She smelled the freshly sawed wood the moment she walked into the livery. It would only take one trip to bring everything she needed. But it would require a pair of durable workhorses to pull it. Saffron, her sweet saddle mare, was not used to such hard work.
Laura Lee knew exactly how much money was in the pocket of her petticoat by the weight of it. It had gotten heavier, but only slightly, since she left the Lucky Clover Ranch.
Before Johnny came for her in Travers Ridge, she, along with Agatha Magee, had worked as cooks. First for a hotel that went bankrupt, then for a traveling circus.
Laura Lee had managed to collect her pay from the hotel owner, who was a good and decent woman. Sadly, the owner of the circus was neither good nor decent and still owed her a week’s wages.
If she had her way, she would have gone after him and pestered him until he paid, but Johnny had come for her, and what really mattered other than that?
Loving man that Johnny was, he thought their time would be better spent in a hotel room. Naturally, she’d reminded him that an even better use of time would be spent with a preacher.
Given that they were traveling together, and in constant company, he’d tried to convince her it was like being married. He vowed that he was as devoted to her as he would be when they were officially wed and that waiting was hard for a man. Especially when he loved a woman so. In the end, he’d accepted the wait. He even promised to replace the money the circus owner had cheated her of.
He had more than kept the promise. He’d bought her a house...and land! Even though she was not yet Mrs. Johnny Ruiz, she soon would be. Johnny would return, just like he swore he would.
Yes, it was disquieting to remember the look on his face when he rode away, like it was the dream of a lifetime to be running free.
When that image threatened to subdue her joy, all she had to do was remember the deed packed away in her trunk.
That piece of paper proved his vision for their future was the same as hers...to settle down in their own little home and raise babies.
A huge gray-and-brown dog wandered into the barn, distracting Laura Lee from her woolgathering. Bartholomew Rawlings, the liveryman, shooed it outside with the bristle end of a broom. He shook his head, sighed, then set the broom against the gate on the larger wagon.
She dearly wanted that one. Did she dare risk spending so much of her money on it? Johnny had been vague about how long he would be gone. What if a mortgage payment became due before he returned?
She would need an income in order to cover it.
Mending and washing laundry...she knew those skills with the best of them. But one needed clients before she could begin earning money that way. The only person she was acquainted with in Forget-Me-Not was Auntie June.
Besides that, she did not particularly enjoy mending and washing.
“You can’t beat this wagon, ma’am.” Mr. Rawlings gripped the large front wheel of the wagon, shook it to demonstrate how solid it was. Then he pointed a finger to a stall on the far side of the barn. “Whittle and Bride are only two years old but are already working well together. You couldn’t ask for a better bargain.”
Given that a bargain was only a bargain as long as one could afford it, Laura Lee nipped her bottom lip, silently watching the horses eating hay. As large as they were, there would be some expense in feeding them.
Still, the ranch had three hundred and twenty acres that would need tending, not the acre or two that she had envisioned.
“I wonder, Mr. Rawlings...does the town have a market day?”
“Oh, yes, it’s quite an event. Every other Friday, farmers come from all over to sell what they have. In the winter, the ladies gather in the library to sell their jarred goods.”
Farmers worked hard, built up strong appetites. Pastries and coffee would be welcome while they sold goods on market day, she imagined.
She could set up her own little booth. In her mind’s eye, she watched her business flourish. All over town, folks were eating her muffins and pies, happily sipping her freshly brewed coffee. In time, perhaps, people would seek her out to provide pastries for parties and festivals.
If she could satisfy the appetites of circus performers, surely she could do the same for the folks of Forget-Me-Not.
“This Friday or next?” The idea sent a shiver of excitement through her. She would earn a bit of money doing something she loved and the enterprise would keep her busy until Johnny returned.
“This. Only five days from now.”
“I’ll take the large wagon and the team, Mr. Rawlings. As long as you include their tack and load the wagon with a week’s worth of feed.”
She extended her hand to shake on the deal, hoping he would accept her conditions. If she had to buy the feed and the tack, she would not be able to purchase the other things she needed to begin life in her own sweet home. Especially now that she would need to invest a bit of her precious funds in her new business venture.
The liveryman stood with his hands in his pockets for a long moment, rocking back on the heels of his boots.
When she thought she might faint in anticipation of his answer, he reached out and accepted her hand.
The deal was made.
At this point, it would have broken her heart to be forced to purchase the smaller wagon. Once she’d made up her mind on a course, nothing else would do.
Just like when she’d realized she was in love with Johnny, she’d decided that they should be married and no other man would do.
With a skip in her step, she approached the horses. She stroked Bride’s brown nose, then Whittle’s black one. Because she had spent much of her life on the Lucky Clover Ranch, she felt comfortable around the large beasts.
Of course, the acres Johnny had given her were dwarfed by the vastness of the ranch she had grown to womanhood on. She carried deep attachments for those countless acres and for everyone who’d worked along with her to keep them running. For many people, living out their lives on the Lucky Clover where they had grown and raised their families was their dream.
That was not the case for Laura Lee. She needed a place to call her own. To know that come what may, it was her own spot on the earth to just...be.
When she was small, her father had a need to wander and was never happy to settle in one spot overlong. About the time Laura Lee would make a friend or feel secure in a new bed, she was dragged off on another “adventure.”
All she’d ever wanted was a place to call home.
Her toes were nearly dancing inside her boots because very soon she would be sitting in four snug walls that were her own. She would rise with the sun and plant a garden...and a peach tree so she could sit under its shade on a hot afternoon.
As much as she would miss the Lucky Clover, would even bring her children to visit one day, she now had a home of her own and her heart was bursting with the joy of it.
“You ready, Bride?” she asked, gazing into a large, gently blinking brown eye. “Time to go home.”
* * *
With Saffron tied to the back of the wagon, Laura Lee sat tall on the wood bench, her gloved hands gripping the team’s reins. As advertised, the horses got along well and were easy to handle.
Seeing a movement beside the wagon, she glanced down. The dog that Mr. Rawlings had chased from the barn trotted beside the wagon wheel. It glanced up, woofed quietly in greeting and wagged its long, fanlike tail.
She pulled the team up short.
“Go on back home.” She pointed toward the livery with her finger.
The dog plopped its hairy rump on the dirt, stirring up dust with its tail.
“Mr. Rawlings!” she called over her shoulder. Luckily the man was standing in the livery yard. “Your dog is following.”
He crossed the road, grinning. “I reckon I ought to have mentioned.” He clapped his palm on the wagon wheel. “The dog comes with the horses.”
“But I don’t need a dog.”
“Oh, he’s useful enough. With his size, coyotes and wolves won’t bother you much.”
“I’ve never been over bothered by the beasts as it is.”
“Haven’t heard of the great wolf migration three years this past February then, I reckon?”
To her knowledge, wolves did not migrate. She shook her head. What she wanted was for the dog to migrate back to the livery.
“The story goes that a fellow named Biggers, a newspaperman, was riding out on the frontier one day when he spotted thousands of animals on the lope. He was a curious fellow, given his occupation, and he went to investigate. Turned out to be wolves. Now, no one knows quite why they did it, mass exodus like that, but Biggers wasn’t the only one to report it. Supposedly it’s the truth.”
Supposedly might be a long stretch from the truth. He wanted to be rid of the dog was what she thought.
“Truth or not, I didn’t agree to purchase your dog.”
“The thing is, he’s not my dog. When I bought the horses, he came along. Followed me just like he’s following you.” Bartholomew Rawlings petted the dog between his ears. “I doubt you’ll be rid of him. But he’s a good boy for all he’s a hairy giant.”
“Go home,” she said to the dog since she was having no success getting the livery owner to keep him. “I can’t feed you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over that, miss. He’s a hunter. It’s fair to say you won’t see a rat in your barn or a rabbit in your garden once he moves in.” Apparently Bartholomew considered the matter finished because he tipped his hat and walked away.
“What’s his name? How old is he?” If the animal really was not going to leave the horses, she ought to know that little bit about him.
“I believe he’s two, same as the team. Don’t know the name he started with since I was a mile from the auction when I noticed he was coming along. He’s been answering to ‘Hey, dog!’ for the last six months.”
The very last thing she needed was to be responsible for a nameless dog.
After another tip of his faded brown hat, the liveryman crossed the road and went inside his stable.
With any luck, while she was busy purchasing her goods, the dog would attach himself to someone else’s horses.
* * *
Glancing out the window of the general store, Laura Lee spotted the great beast. Not only had he not taken up with someone else, he looked quite content where he was...asleep on the four-foot-high pile of hay in the wagon.
Turning her attention to the task at hand, the last of many, she examined several bolts of lace with which to sew curtains.
An especially sweet one caught her eye, having hearts and flowers embroidered on a sheer fabric. It would be romantic for Johnny to see them hanging in the windows when he came riding home with the money to pay off the mortgage for the ranch. She only hoped she had time to sew them and hang them in the windows before he did.
The problem was, she didn’t know how much fabric she would need since she had no idea how many windows the house had. The one and only thing she knew about it was that her name was on the deed...the home belonged to her.
It might be a palace or a cozy cottage. The knowledge that she was only hours from seeing it for the first time left her breathless. Tearful emotion cramped her throat when she set the fabric bolt on the counter and told the clerk she wanted only half of it.
There was no sense in spending more than she needed to. She would be back in town on Friday for market day and could purchase more if her house turned out to have an abundance of windows.
In her mind, there were dozens. She’d always dreamed of a house with lots of windows for her to sit beside. There hadn’t been a time when she didn’t long for a cozy spot with a plump chair to watch the wind blow and the snow fall, to see heat roll off the ground in waves during the summer, peer through the glass when spring rains pelted the earth.
“This will be all, Mr. Teal.”
She’d been in the store for more than an hour. Her stash of money was going to feel a lot lighter going out than it had coming in.
“Are you sure you want to head out now? It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“I’ve been waiting all my life for this house. I can’t wait a moment longer.”
“A woman on her own...it just doesn’t seem right or safe. Let me find a fellow to ride out with you. For the life of me, I can’t picture where your ranch is.”
“You and Auntie June are of a mind. And I thank you, but I’d rather do this on my own.” If she decided to weep for joy or dance around the parlor like a mad woman, she would rather do it privately. “At any rate, it appears I’m not on my own after all. I’ve been adopted by that big dog on the hay pile.”
She scooped up the fabric and walked toward the door because she really could not wait another moment.
Mr. Rawlings followed, carrying the crate of baking pans she had purchased. “You going to be warm enough in that coat? Nights turn cold this time of year.”
If Laura Lee hadn’t just met Mr. Rawlings, she would hug him. His concern for her seemed fatherly in a way she had never known.
Her own father might be alive and well somewhere in the vast world but she had no way of knowing since she hadn’t heard from him since she was twelve years old. He’d left her at the Lucky Clover Ranch because she had begged him to. He’d waved her goodbye and ridden away with a great smile on his face.
Same as Johnny had. The thought left her feeling uneasy.
George Quinn did love her in his own way. Just not as much as he loved his adventuresome way of life. Every once in a while, he had looked at her as though he was surprised to see her.
Oh, Laura Lee, he would say, as if she had just returned from a distant place. But really, the only place she had been was out of the sphere of his attention.
“I have a warmer one, Mr. Rawlings. In case it’s not enough, I’ll snuggle up to my hairy new companion.”
The storekeeper gave her a hand up into the wagon seat. Not that she needed the help. My word, she’d been climbing in and out of wagons on her own for as long as she could remember. Back on the Lucky Clover, she’d often driven wagons like this one for miles across open land, delivering food to the chuck wagons.
Even though it wasn’t needed, the helpful gesture did make her feel at home in Forget-Me-Not.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile down at him springing from a joyful heart. “I’ll see you on market day.”
Two hours later, Laura Lee was riding toward the sunset. On her right was a farmhouse with children playing in the yard. A woman stood on the porch of her white two-story home. When she saw Laura Lee, she waved her arm. A breeze snatched hundreds of fall leaves off the trees behind the house and blew them into the yard. The fading sunlight caught them, giving the appearance of golden rain drifting to the yard.
From what she understood, her own ranch was no more than an hour past this pretty place. Laura Lee waved back, certain that she would become fast friends with her neighbor.
With the sun setting and the land darkened, the earth seemed hushed, except for an occasional breeze that stirred the grass. It whispered through the trees growing in small groves on hillsides rolling away from both sides of the trail.
It was a clear night, so the stars shone as bright as a million candles. She breathed in a deep lungful of cold air, grateful that the moon also shone down to light her way home.
As fast as the temperature had fallen, she might have been shivering had Hey...Dog not come to sit beside her on the bench.
She hadn’t intended to have a dog. Would have refused him if she could have.
But now? She could not deny that he gave off a great deal of warmth, that his solid, hulking presence made her feel safer.
She leaned into him. The chill in her cheek melted when she snuggled against the fur on his shoulder. It was interesting that for such a huge fellow he did not have the unpleasant odor that some dogs had. She had to glance up to look into his face as he sat so tall beside her. He woofed softly and set his chin on top of her head. It was a relief to discover that his breath smelled as fresh as his fur.
Since sundown, she’d noticed coyotes standing on distant hilltops. They lifted their noses, sniffed the air, then vanished back among the trees. She could only guess that they scented a dog and hoped to find an easy dinner. One glance at Hey...Dog must have made them think again about who was going to be a meal.
As long as she did not cross paths with thousands of migrating wolves, she ought to pass the boundary of her land before much longer. There was no way of knowing where the house was. There were a lot of acres; it could be on any one of them. She might spot it in half an hour or two hours.
Forty minutes rolled past before she came upon a split rail fence that looked in good repair. She pulled the team to a halt.
“Here we are,” she said to the dog. “Home! I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had one of my very own.”
She stood up, stretched, then stepped up on the wagon bench to get a better view of the land. Acres stretched before her, sloping slightly downhill, which gave her an excellent view of large meadows surrounded by trees that, with sunrise, would be flushed with fall color.
Moonlight glinted off what she thought must be water, possibly a large stream gouging the shape of a question mark across her property.
This piece of paradise could not possibly be hers. And yet, thanks to a man who was devoted to her, it was. He’d borne the pain of separation to make sure the mortgage would be paid, so that no one could ever take her home from her.
For probably the fourth time today, her throat tightened with emotion. Joyful tears pricked at her eyes. Hey...Dog looked at her and whined, nudged her hip with his nose.
In the darkness, she still could not spot a house and she knew that the horses must need a rest.
“Come on, boy.” She ruffled the dusky colored fur growing between the pointed brown ears. It was odd that such a fierce-looking creature would have fur that felt like down feathers. “Let’s go for a stroll about.”
Now that the horses’ hooves were not plodding the dirt and the new wood of the wagon not creaking, she heard the sound of running water. So it had been a stream she spotted running through her land.
Climbing on the load at the back of the wagon, she rummaged through her spanking new goods until she found a water bucket.
“You thirsty, big fella? I reckon the horses could use a drink, too.”
Climbing down the spokes of the rear wheel, she realized she could use a drink as well. She followed the gurgling noise of the stream. Come summer, she would hear the soothing song of crickets and frogs, but now there was only the rush of water running icy cold.
“Here it is.”
She stooped and drew her coat tighter against the night. The air wasn’t freezing, but it might be before morning.
Glancing about at bushes that cast shifting shadows in the night breeze, she remembered how Mr. Rawlings thought it was dangerous for her to be out alone.
All at once, she was not sure he was wrong. Any kind of predator might have come to drink at the stream. As if to confirm that fear, a large shrub to her left rustled, and not with the wind.
The dog lifted his face from the water. Icy drops dripped from the fur on his chin. His growl was a low rumble in his deep chest.
The shrubbery went still. Suddenly a large shape burst from it, flying over the water in one graceful leap.
Hey...Dog bent his head and lapped once again, not bothering to watch the big cat race over the ridge of the hill.
She would be well and truly grateful to be within the safety of her own walls.
Some creatures owned the night. She was not of one of them.
Chapter Three (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Jesse lay on the lumpy hotel bed, arms cradling his head on a pillow while he stared at the wood ceiling. Moonlight streamed inside the window, giving enough light to expose a network of spiderwebs in the rafters. Given a choice, he would have slept under the stars, but even the extra blanket from Bingham’s father would not have kept the boy warm enough.
It was only the first night away from his ranch and already Jesse felt a yearning to be home. Even though he’d only owned the place for a month, was still a stranger to some of the folks in town, he felt a strong sense of belonging.
He’d only ever known that sense of kinship to a place once before. On the rainy afternoon that a welfare agency dragged him from the whorehouse where he had been born and raised, he’d truly felt like the six-year-old orphan he was.
Living on a ranch for the next ten years, along with four other orphans, hadn’t been horrible. Hadn’t been home either. His adopted parents raised workers, not sons.
Bedsprings creaked near the opposite wall. Footsteps padded lightly across the rug. The door handle turned.
“Where are you going, Bingham?”
“To get a breath of fresh air, is all.”
“I’ll go with you.” Jesse sat up. He’d bet his new herd that fresh air wasn’t all the kid wanted.
“You don’t need to, Mr. Creed. I’ve been breathing on my own since I was born.”
“You walk around in this town with that smart mouth and someone will shoot you as soon as answer.”
“The Underwood brothers come to Black Creek all the time. No one’s shot them yet.”
“Not yet. Put on your coat.” Jesse could lecture the boy all night and not teach him as much as a walk through the streets of this sordid town would.
Once outside, Jesse regretted the need to teach the kid this way. The air was bitter cold. A breeze twirled puffs of dust down the road. He shrugged closer into his coat, hugged the lapels across his throat.
If Bingham was cold, he didn’t show it. All he seemed to notice were two women waving to him from the upper balcony of the saloon.
Jesse resisted the urge to wave back. These were not the women who raised him. Those ladies had doted upon him, loved him freely. He’d come to find out later in life that most soiled doves were not like the ones who had brought him up. With most of those adrift souls, nothing was given for free.
“How about we go inside, have a drink?” Bingham stepped toward the open front door where bawdy sounds spilled into the night.
No doubt it all sounded like a fine time to the boy. Jesse had thought the same at his age. Cold crept through the soles of his boots. It wouldn’t be long before his toes went numb.
Jesse grabbed Bingham’s collar and yanked him back.
“I’m of an age.” The kid gazed longingly at the saloon door.
“When you’re old enough to know better, you’ll be of an age.”
“You sound like my pa.”
The scent of jasmine wafted past Jesse’s nose. Odd to smell that this time of year. He glanced about and didn’t see the plant growing nearby.
“I hope I do.” Once they walked past the saloon, the night grew quieter. It wouldn’t stay that way because there was another saloon on the next block. “Your father is a fine man.”
“I know, and I love him. But the thing is, he’s happy just being at work or home. And that’s all right for him because he’s old. I’m ready to experience everything out there!”
“It’s fine to want that.”
How did he tell the boy what he’d learned without sounding like a Sunday morning preacher? Not that Jesse had anything against Sunday morning preachers; it’s just that he figured the boy didn’t pay much attention to them.
He sure hadn’t. He’d learned about life the hard way. Made some grave mistakes that other folks paid the price for. If he could keep Bingham from doing the same, it would be worth more than the herd of horses he was going to fetch. And they meant the world to him.
“You too cold to keep walking, boy?”
“I ain’t a bit cold, sir.” His red nose said otherwise but he didn’t appear to be shivering.
“I’m glad. I’ve got some things to say to you.”
“I did come along to learn everything you know.”
“Everything you think I know.”
Bingham slapped his hands on his forearms as though he could ward off the frigid air. “I reckon you’ve had more adventures than even than Hoodoo Underwood.”
Many more. Although calling them adventures was giving his experiences glamour when they didn’t deserve it.
The one and only thing he wanted now was to settle on his property, breed horses and raise children. Wake up every morning with their mother in his bed.
Out of the blue—or the dark—a vision flashed in his mind of the woman he had met earlier today. The one who was going to end up brokenhearted because she chose the wrong sort of man.
Hmm... She lay in his bed, hair the color of shimmering cream splayed about the pillow. A playful smile on her face. In his mind, he allowed himself to brush a feathered kiss across her lips because what was the harm? A pair of blue eyes gazed up at him in love, even though she knew his every secret.
Odd how something he only imagined left his heart half shaken. Slightly bereft.
“I’ve lived life, and I think maybe you envy that. The thing is, Bingham, I’d have traded every last adventure to have parents like yours.”
“What was it you did, when you were living life before you settled in Forget-Hoping-Anything-Interesting-Will-Happen?”
“I was a bounty hunter.” A robber of freedom. A maker of widows and orphans. He’d taken a life...and worse.
Bingham halted midstride. His mouth hung open, making him look like a fledgling bird expecting a worm to be stuffed into its beak.
“That’s enough talk for now. It’s cold. Let’s go back.”
“But I want to see—”
“Adventure? Look around, boy!” Jesse nodded toward a man who had just stumbled out of the saloon.
Even in the dark, he recognized the fellow who held the heart of the lady on the boardwalk back in Forget-Me-Not. The very lady he had just been fantasizing about. Although, the strange thing was, the vision seemed more solid than fantasy. The oddest part being, he was not a man who indulged in fantasy.
“What do you see?” he asked Bingham.
“A fellow having a high old time. Could be he just won money at cards.”
“The truth is more like he’s so drunk he’s going to vomit at the hitching post. He lost money because his mind couldn’t think a straight thought. He’ll wake up in the morning feeling sick to death, then he’ll do the same damn thing tomorrow night. And he’ll keep on until he’s out of money. I’ve seen it over and over, son. Haggard and hungry isn’t adventurous.”
“But you were a bounty hunter!”
What he wouldn’t give to forget that. To live on his sweet little ranch and wake up next to a blue-eyed, blond-haired woman who forgave and forgot.
Yes, one who made him forget.
* * *
Within moments of passing the split-rail fence, Laura Lee drove the team over the rise of a hill. And there it was...
Home.
Moonlight touched the single-story structure with shimmering, magical light.
As least, that’s how her heart saw it. If the reality of the house was different by the light of day, so be it. Setting the place to rights would be an act of love. The porch looked like it circled the house. She longed to spend time there. Someone had even left behind a rocking chair.
While Laura Lee’s shivers were of pure delight, she doubted the same was true for the horses. No doubt the beasts wanted nothing more than warmth and rest.
Not too far in the distance, to the left of the house, she spotted a tall red barn. A wide bridge lay across the stream cutting between the structures.
“Let’s get you settled in.” With a glance back at the house, she led the team toward the bridge. The enchantment of her four walls would not vanish because she settled the animals first.
The barn proved to be in excellent condition. It was as though the previous owners departed only yesterday. They had even left behind a huge supply of hay, which meant she would not have to unload the wagon tonight.
An hour later, the animals fed and put in stalls, she took one last, loving glance at her barn.
“Good night, everyone.” She patted the dog’s head, then closed the barn door.
She hadn’t walked more than ten steps before she heard scratching and whining. Evidently Hey...Dog preferred to spend his nights outdoors. Hurrying back, she opened the barn door. The dog pranced out, his great tail wagging.
“Even though you have plenty of fur,” she said to him while he trotted beside her toward the house, “it’s awfully cold out.”
Moments later, she stood in the spot she had dreamed of standing since...since as long as she could remember. It was fitting to pause at the foot of the stairs and simply gaze in awe of her lovely whitewashed house.
In truth, the paint was a bit chipped and faded but that didn’t dim its appeal one whit in Laura Lee’s eyes. It only meant that her house needed her as much as she needed it.
“Tomorrow night, I’ll find you a blanket,” she said to the dog. She didn’t need to reach down to pet him. He fit nicely under her hand. There was no denying that she found his presence a comfort. If she managed to sleep tonight, she would do it more soundly knowing that he was keeping watch on the porch.
“Good night, then.”
She mounted the steps, walking backward and looking one last time at her property. If the rolling hills, meadows and groves of trees looked this pretty by moonlight, how would they look in the morning with sunshine bringing everything to life?
She stared at the door. What if it was locked? Johnny had given her a deed and directions but not a key. With the stress of separation looming between them, he must have forgotten.
“I suppose I could break a window.” As horrible as it would be if the first thing she did to her house was to break something, she did have to get inside.
To her great relief, when she turned the knob, the door swung open with barely a squeal.
Stepping inside, her emotions burst from her in a flood. She sobbed out loud because she had never really believed she would have a place that was her own. Even all those times she and Johnny spoke about it, dreamed about it, it had been only that. A dream.
Now there were wood floors under her feet. She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but there seemed to be a stone fireplace that spanned the length of a wall. And if she was not mistaken, bedrooms, one to her left and one to right, flanked each end of the big parlor.
Paws scratched at her front door.
Wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she sniffled one more time, then opened the front door.
“You ought to have stayed in the—”
Apparently Hey...Dog had no intention of sleeping on the porch because he trotted happily past her, his tail thumping her skirt in passing.
She closed the door against the frigid air rushing inside. If he meant to stay inside, there was really nothing she could do about it. It’s possible that he weighed more than she did.
“Well, what do you think?” Glancing about in the dark, she only imagined what the place was like or what might be in it.
To her relief, she did spot a chair. It was so big and comfortable-looking that a king might feel at home sitting upon it.
How thoughtful it was of the former owner to leave it behind. She would like to express her gratitude for the hay and the chair, but of course, she had no idea how to go about it.
For all that she thought she would not be able to sleep tonight, the chair seemed to open its arms and call her name. Perhaps she had become more worn down than she thought, running about getting ready for the move. Or perhaps it was simply a sense of security wrapping her up. Her own four walls saying, Welcome home...come and rest your soul.
She plopped down in the chair with a great sigh, loosened her hair and fluffed it out behind her.
The dog pressed his face close, licked a lingering teardrop from her cheek. With a soft woof, he sat on the floor. The weight of his head settled on her thigh. For as much as he resembled an extra-large wolf, he seemed to have a sweet and loyal spirit.
“You need a name of your own,” she said while twining her fingers in the thicket of gray-brown hair on his neck. “From now on, your name is Chisel because you chiseled your way into my house...and into my heart, you great hairy beast.”
He sighed, as though he was happy to finally be worthy of a name of his own. Actually, he might have sighed for many reasons, but she hoped it was that one. Shifting his weight, he lay down upon her feet. The warmth was welcome since it was shivering cold, even inside.
With everything the previous owners had left behind, they’d no doubt left firewood as well. Still, in the moment, she was too weary to go exploring.
Shrugging deeply into her coat, she felt her eyes grow heavy. As she did every night, she carried a vision of Johnny’s handsome face off to sleep with her.
Drifting on a sleepy daze, she imagined the sigh of his breath upon her cheek, the brush of his lips lightly grazing hers. He whispered her name and his voice sounded different. More tender and less demanding. The pitch was different, too, deeper. Compelling. She had to admit she liked the difference. Ordinarily, Johnny was bold, taking—or trying to take—what he wanted. In this dream, he wanted to give.
In her slumbering vision, she lifted her hand, trailed her fingers through the short whorls of his dark blond hair. Which was odd since Johnny had long dark hair. He smiled, and she felt a yearning for him to her very soul. His olive green eyes gazed at her with more love than she’d ever felt before.
Olive green eyes! Laura Lee sat upright with a start. Johnny had deep brown eyes.
Could she have been...? No, she absolutely could not have been dreaming of the stranger from town whom she had met for one brief moment. Why would she?
What a faithless creature she was! Johnny had bought her a house! He was out...somewhere...working hard to pay off the mortgage.
She owed Johnny everything. And yet...the yearning for a stranger lingered in her heart.
How wicked she was. She deserved to shiver the night away wide awake. Ah, but the dog’s warmth crept up her ankles to her calves, then her knees.
She drifted back to sleep barely aware of wind hitting the window and making it rattle in its frame.
* * *
Could it truly be morning? It was hard to remember when she had slept so soundly, even at the Lucky Clover, where she’d felt safe for the first time in her life.
The ranch had been her first home really. She’d been given a small room of her own in the main house, the same as the rest of the unmarried girls. For many years, it had been her sanctuary.
Even though she had been happy, it had never been her dream to live at the Lucky Clover forever. Here, within her own walls, was where her heart always longed to be.
Like a veil being drawn from her eyes, the fog of sleep cleared from her brain. She bounded up from the chair she had slept in.
Everything she had not been able to see in the dark was now visible.
The chair was deep blue and the only piece of furniture in the room. As she’d suspected, there was a bedroom flanking each end of the main room. Behind the fireplace, she thought there might be a kitchen. If she was very lucky, and it appeared that so far she was, there would be a stove so that she could cook her pastries for Friday.
Skipping because there was no one to witness her acting like a loon, she passed through the main room to the area behind the fireplace.
To the right was a table with one chair and to the right of the table was a stairway that led to... She lifted up onto her toes trying to see. There was no way of knowing without climbing the steep stairs, but she thought the space might be a loft.
When she and Johnny had children, the boys could sleep up there. She could nearly see them peeking over the edge, their eyes green and—no, no, no! Brown eyes, warm and happy like their father, peering over the edge.
She shook herself. Perhaps she was still more sleepy than she realized. When she was wide awake, she would no longer recall the dream or how the man had made her feel so cherished.
Spinning left, she was grateful to see a kitchen with a wood-burning stove. As though in a deliriously happy fog, she moved toward the black-iron beauty that had six burners and an oven.
“Hurry home, Johnny! I need to give you a kiss.” And after they’d been to the preacher... Well, she blushed right there in her own sweet kitchen just imagining the kisses they would share.
Chisel, whining at the front door, snapped her to the here and now, which was a wonderful place to be.
“It looks like rain,” she announced, opening the front door. He bunched his legs, then leaped from the porch without touching the stairs. He raced across the yard, over the bridge and through an autumn-brown meadow.
He must be claiming the land as his, the same as she was claiming the house.
And what better way to do it than to explore the loft, then to clean the grime off the windows? After that, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, she would sit in her chair and sew her curtains.
If life could be any better, she could not imagine how.
* * *
If life could be any better, Jesse Creed could not imagine how. Sitting beside the campfire, he could smell his horses, hear them snorting and shuffling their hooves in the dirt.
After a week and a half on the homeward-bound trail, they would soon be grazing in their home pastures. It would take until after dark to get there. They might even encounter some rain. Where he was, it was clear overheard, but far off to the west, clouds were massing.
Rain or not, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be home.
During the time he’d been gone, he’d seen more of the outside world than he wanted to. There had been no way to ignore tainted reality since he’d been constantly dragging Bingham away from this or that “adventure,” lecturing him on how a horse was better company than the Underwood brothers.
But he was a kid and curious. There was only so much Jesse could do to set the boy’s feet on the right path.
“You anxious to get home?” Jesse asked.
Bingham, lounging against his saddle beside the campfire, didn’t answer at first. An owl hooted in a branch overhead and a distant coyote yipped while the boy seemed to consider what to say.
“I’ll be right glad to see my pa. The thing is, I’m worried I’ll dry up with boredom. Next time you buy horses, I’d like to go along. You don’t even have to pay me.”
“You deserve to be paid. You’re a hard worker.”
There was a matter Jesse had been considering, going over it in his mind all during the journey home. Bingham was at a point in his life where his future might go one of two ways. He could work hard and become a man, or he could take up with the Underwoods and remain a boy for the rest of his life.
Jesse owed society recompense for the wrong he’d done. If he could keep this good-hearted boy from going astray...prevent Thomas Teal from having a broken heart, he would do it.
“With all these horses, I’ve got more work than one man can do alone,” Jesse began. “I’ll pay fair wage if you’d work for me when your father doesn’t need you at the store. You’ve shown what a good hand you’ve got with the herd, that you’re willing to work hard.”
Bingham leaped to his feet and crossed to Jesse’s side of the campfire with his hand extended. The kid stood tall with the star-studded sky behind him. It looked for all the world that he wore a sparkling crown.
But there were also flames reflecting on his face.
Yep, the kid could go right or wrong at this point. If Jesse had any say in the matter, Bingham would grow to be a responsible citizen.
“I’ll take that job, sir!”
“You’ll need a horse of your own, son. Pick one out of the herd tomorrow.”
“You’re giving me a horse?” Bingham’s long jaw dropped open.
“No, not giving. You’ve worked hard and earned yourself a pony.”
The boy slapped his thigh. “I reckon I won’t sleep a wink wondering which one to take.”
Half an hour later, Jesse heard snoring from the other side of the campfire. He heard it because he was the one who could not sleep.
Images of home played in his mind. He could nearly hear the sound of the stream that cut between the house and the big red barn. He imagined the solid thud his boots would make on the wooden bridge when he crossed it.
He pictured the horses in the paddock, saw them racing across the meadows, resting in groves of cottonwood and aspen that were scattered over the property.
He’d been so busy getting ready for the herd that he’d neglected the house. It had suited his needs for a while, with the one chair on the porch and the other before the fireplace. It was hard to remember what he’d stuffed into the loft built over the kitchen, but he was anxious to get it out and put his house in order.
Gazing up at the stars, he knew he was a blessed man. He didn’t deserve any of what he had.
In the end, he did fall asleep halfway into a prayer of thanksgiving.
Chapter Four (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
It was late in the evening when Laura Lee hung a curtain on the last bare window. Listening to rain tap on the porch, she adjusted gathers over the rod, smoothing them with her fingers until they were evenly spread.
Then, hands on hips, she stood back to gaze at her handiwork. It looked like bouquets of snow-white flowers bloomed in the windows. Even though she was accustomed to sewing, her fingers ached...along with her back, her legs and her arms. Still, she could not remember a time when she’d felt better.
Glancing down, she saw the hem of her skirt winking in the high shine of the floor she had spent hours polishing.
The attic had been a treasure trove. She was surprised that the previous owners had left such useful items behind.
When Johnny returned, he was going to be pleased to see the place looking like home. There was a red rug on the floor, which she had managed to beat most of the dust out of before the rain started.
He would also appreciate the fact that he had sturdy dinnerware on which to eat the delicious meals she planned to make for him. She had been beyond pleased to find a cast-iron skillet and a pot in the loft. Basic tools but along with what she had purchased, she was well equipped to prepare food with the same skill as her mentor, Mrs. Morgan from the Lucky Clover.
There was still only the one chair, but one of the rooms had a big, comfortable bed with room and more to stretch. She’d found an extra blanket in the loft, and a good thing, too. The weather was turning colder by the day. It couldn’t be long before frost covered the ground.
Walking over to the chair, she glanced about, satisfied at how two weeks of hard work had turned her house into a home. With a tweak and a fluff, she plumped a pillow and set it back in the chair to make it look welcoming.
She smiled at her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper where it lay open on the end table beside the chair. Over the past few months, she’d all but worn out the pages of the magazine. Just this week, she’d spent many an evening in her chair, studying this and dreaming of that.
Hmm... One chair... A pair of newlyweds.
Sighing, she wondered where her fiancé was. It had been too long since she’d seen him and, oh, but she did miss the sound of his voice and the hint of mischief that always lurked in his brown eyes. She could not help but wonder where she would be when Johnny returned, what she would be doing or wearing.
However it happened, their reunion would be utterly romantic.
But where was he? She thought he would have returned by now. Worry over him was beginning to shadow the joy of being in her own home. It couldn’t take this long to conduct a business deal. Surely he was as anxious to get home as she was to have him here?
More and more she had to banish the fear that something might have happened to him. If only he hadn’t gone off with those men. They did not look like the decent sort, in her eyes.
It took some effort to forget Johnny’s smile, how he looked so gloriously happy to be off on an adventure when he rode away from her. It couldn’t mean anything, but still, she’d have rather seen a frown of regret.
In her opinion, it would have been a fine thing for them to work side by side to pay off the mortgage. Still, paid was paid and she should be grateful for it.
She tried not to think it, but would she be able to keep her property if something prevented Johnny from returning?
Yes, she thought so. Her booth at last week’s market had been a great success. It had been wonderful meeting so many friendly people, even if some of them did seem baffled about where her ranch was. She’d explained it, but in the end, they’d simply shrugged and welcomed her. There had been a few new ranchers to the area so the confusion was understandable.
Ten gongs chimed from the clock she’d found in the loft and placed on the mantel.
Time for bed and every muscle in her body was glad for it. Without a doubt, she was going to sleep like a stone. And a good thing, too. She would need to rise early in the morning to begin baking for market on Friday.
“Bedtime,” she announced to Chisel, who was already asleep in front of the hearth.
The dog twitched one ear. Clearly he was in no mood to move to another place to continue his doze. Leaning over him as far as she could, she banked the fire.
“Sweet dreams, my hairy friend.”
The soft woof he gave in answer must mean the same, she figured, except for the hairy part. Moments later, she fell into bed and was sleeping before she got three blessings counted.
* * *
Jesse drew the pocket watch from his vest. He wiped a smear of rain from the glass to find it was already one fifteen in the morning.
Hell, it was good to finally be home, no matter the hour.
A steady sheet of rain blurred the figure of Bingham racing across the bridge for home. Jesse had tried to get the boy to spend the night but he’d wanted to wake up in his own bed and was all but bursting to show his pa the horse he’d earned. The moment they’d sheltered the horses under the large lean-to in the corral, the kid had lit out for home.
Given Bingham’s youth, the extra hour of riding wouldn’t hurt. While Jesse was far from doddering, it had been a long, exhausting trip and he was weary to his bones. Walking over the bridge, he knew that if it weren’t that he was soaked to the skin, he would fall face-first onto his bed and not wake until the afternoon.
Through wavering sheets of rain, he spotted his house. In his mind, it had arms, wide open and ready to give him a welcome-home embrace.
Funny how something that wasn’t even alive could make him feel like that. It must be because a place of his own, that sense of belonging, had eluded him all his life.
It had taken a tragedy to get him here but—
What was in the windows? A white film? Fog, maybe?
He picked up his pace, his boots sucking in the mud with the effort to run. At the porch steps, he came up short, skidding and nearly going down with the shock of what he saw.
Not fog, not a white film, but curtains...lacy ones with dainty embroidered flowers.
Must be one of his neighbors played a joke on him while he was gone. Although he couldn’t imagine who it would be. He didn’t really know anyone well enough for that kind of humor.
He only hoped it wasn’t Martha Timbly, a widow more than ten years his senior. As new as he was to town, she had set her cap for him. She might have had the forwardness to decorate his place in order to show him what a fine wife she would be.
It didn’t seem likely that she had, but in the end, he could not imagine why there were curtains in his windows. He did know that in the morning they were coming down.
Given that his boots were more mud than leather, he shucked them off outside. His clothes weren’t much better so he shed them, too. Hopefully they would be dry enough come morning to put them back on so he could tend to his stock. Regretfully, all the clothes he owned were in the saddle packs he’d left behind under the lean-to. He would have remembered to bring them up to the house had he not put so much effort into trying to convince Bingham to stay the night.
He opened the front door, grateful that whoever had played the trick or done the courting hadn’t locked the door when they’d sneaked out. He doubted that many of his neighbors even had locks on their doors. Forget-Me-Not wasn’t a locking-doors kind of town.
He probably ought to check the barn to be sure no animals were in there to indicate that the prankster was still here. In his old life, he never left his door unlocked. The person he had been would have checked the barn and the trees surrounding it as a matter of habit.
But this was now. Goose bumps rippled over his bare flesh. Water dripped from his hair in an icy jag between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t get to his bed soon enough.
He paused for a moment to listen for any sound that shouldn’t be.
Nothing. Only the relentless pelting of rain on the roof.
Already half asleep, he plodded toward the bedroom, wondering if the jokester or the widow had done anything but hang curtains. He was just too tired to look right now.
Reaching for the blanket on the bed, his eyes already closed, his fingers curled about something that was not wool. Whatever it was shifted between his fingers like threads of silk...or hair?
His eyes jerked open.
There was a woman sleeping in his bed!
And not just any woman! It was her! The one he had met in town two weeks ago, the one he had daydreamed about so vividly.
Now, with his eyes wide and blinking, he could see that she had left a lamp burning low. It cast the room in a soft amber glow.
Just as in his imagination, the lady lay with shimmering cream-colored hair fanned out across his pillow. The same playful smile he’d conjured now lurked at the corners of her mouth. She must be engaged in some sweet dream.
Awake as he now felt, the room and the lady still bore a dream quality. Something about the shape of her mouth, the way her brown lashes deepened to black at the tips, felt more like a memory than the here and now. Could be he was in the grips of some magic spell. As if he believed in magic spells.
But...just maybe she would open her eyes and gaze upon him with love like she had in the daydream.
Or maybe he really was asleep again, dreaming that he was awake. Maybe the woman and the situation he knew her to be in had touched him more deeply than he realized so she was appearing in his dreams...day and night.
The only thing to do was wait and see what would happen next, if he would wake up or she would.
It was while he watched, eager and hoping to see again that devotion in her eyes, that he heard a growl.
Something lunged and knocked him sideways. The hit left him dazed. He closed his eyes, struggling to make sense of things. Footsteps pattered quickly out of the room and then returned. He cracked his eyes open. The world went black.
* * *
“I think he’s coming around,” said a voice so sweet it could only belong to an angel.
Jesse was halfway afraid to open his eyes and find that eternity had landed him someplace other than heaven. Still there was the voice and a gentle brush of fingers across his forehead.
He wasn’t mistaking the scent of lilac and citrus either. Someone, although he could not recall who or how they would know, had claimed that heaven smelled like that.
No rush to find out where he was. For now, he was happy to feel the angel rustle her fingers in his hair, to feel the soft, moist puff of her breath on his face.
Except...he felt like he was suffocating, being bound in robes that were far too tight. And whatever cloud he was reclining upon was rock hard.
“Get back, Chisel. Let the man breathe.” The fingers in his hair gently traced his scalp, running from ear to—
Pain, red-hot stabbing misery, shot through his head. He tried to sit up but firm yet feminine hands held him down.
“Lie still, Mr. Creed. You’ll only make it hurt worse.”
As if it could. Soothing unconsciousness claimed him before he could decide which side of the mortal coil he was on.
* * *
Laura Lee hadn’t meant to hit the man quite so hard, but a skillet was a skillet and the situation had been dire.
She’d been sleeping when he crept into her room, deeply sleeping in fact and betraying Johnny by dreaming of the man who lay unconscious on the floor beside her bed.
One moment, his compelling green eyes had been looking at her with dreamy longing. In the next instant, he was real, bending over her naked and dripping water on her nose.
Before she knew for sure she was awake, Chisel had knocked the man to the floor. She’d rushed for the frying pan and walloped him, in her fuzzy state not certain he was who she thought.
Not that it would have made a difference one way or another. Knowing who he was was not the same thing as knowing him.
And a wet, naked man leaning over one’s bed was a shocking thing to wake up to.
Naturally, she’d wanted to toss him back into the storm where he came from but he’d been much too heavy for her to drag. Which was why he remained beside the bed where he had fallen.
Upon their first meeting, she hadn’t judged him to be a lewd-minded man. To the contrary. He had been concerned for her predicament, even though she had not been in one.
She could not guess why he had invaded her house in the wee hours.
The storm was much worse than when she had gone to bed. Perhaps that was the reason. Maybe he was seeking shelter. Or he could be lost and had mistaken her home for his. From what she’d seen, the ranch homes in this area were not so different from one another. It might be hard to tell the difference through the deluge pounding the earth.
And if he had been very tired? Given the hour, he might have been confused.
Carefully, she slid a pillow under his head. He winced but didn’t awaken. There was no reason she should feel responsible for his pain. He was the one who’d trespassed. Any woman would have reacted the same way to a bare, damp-skinned intruder in her bedroom.
A gloriously built intruder. One she had gazed upon far longer than was appropriate under the circumstances. Under any circumstances, she had reminded herself before she dressed him in the only garment at hand.
He wouldn’t like it. What man would? But his clothes were a dripping heap on the hearth. He could wear what she put on him or continue to shiver on the floor. Besides, he would have no idea how absurd he looked until he came to.
When he did regain consciousness, and she dearly hoped it was soon since she would hate to have to fetch a doctor in this weather, she would discover his reason for being here. Depending upon what it was, she would make up her mind on whether or not to have Chisel escort him back into the rain, or sleet, as it was becoming.
For the moment, though, she would have to tend to him since she was the one who’d laid him low.
“I’m sorry I hit you.” She ought to touch the lump to assure herself that it was going down, to wash the blood out of his hair and cleanse the gash, but every time she tried, he moaned.
“Nearly sorry anyway. You can’t just sneak into a body’s home. And in case you hoped to shock me, I’ve seen a man without his clothes on before.”
One time when she and Johnny had been camped by a stream, he went to bathe, then came back without wearing a stitch. That had been the first time he’d tried to convince her to take premarital liberties. He’d pivoted this way and that, making sure she got a good look at what she would be missing by turning him down. In spite of the fact that he seemed as confident in his allure as a rooster strutting about the hen coop, some things were meant to be waited for.
In the moment, she had been fascinated by the way he looked, so trim and dapper. There had been the slightest softness to his belly, which she didn’t mind since she chose to take it as a compliment to her cooking.
Johnny was pleasant, but seeing him like that had not made her blush in the least.
The same was not true of Jesse Creed. She’d had to look away several times while getting him decently covered. She’d felt her cheeks flaming each time her fingers touched him while she yanked and tugged fabric about him.
Where Johnny was spare and reedy, Mr. Creed was muscled. Every inch of the man looked ripe with power.
It was a good thing it was Johnny she was marrying. She would hate to spend her life feeling the odd edginess that sidelong glances at Mr. Creed gave her. She took a deep breath, expelled it in a rush to purge her mind of comparing naked men.
Since she could do nothing for Mr. Creed at the moment but watch him sleep, and it was getting close to dawn, she decided to go to the barn and tend her horses.
Walking into the front room, she drew aside her pretty curtain. She’d been right about the sleet. It was coming down heavily.
Responsibilities came with having all this land. Back on the Lucky Clover, animals got fed no matter the weather. Her obligation had been to feed the hands who fed the stock. Today, it was up to her to feed the animals.
“Stay here, Chisel. Watch over our prisoner. Or our guest. We’ll figure it out later.” Yanking the blanket from the bed, she spread it over Mr. Creed.
For safety’s sake, she snuffed out the bedroom lamp. She shrugged into her heavy coat, then went outside and dashed for the barn.
By the time she reached the big red doors, mud caked her legs well past her knees. Her dress and petticoats would never be the same. She didn’t even want to think about her shoes.
A whinny of greeting met her while she still had her hand on the door latch. Then another and another...then three more.
She didn’t have that many horses! And hers were in the barn, not the paddock behind the barn.
* * *
Jesse tried to stretch. His arms would not straighten. He needed to take a deep breath but his chest was banded by something that kept his lungs from expanding.
Confusion set heavy upon him. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he was lying on the floor and it was cold.
Easing onto his elbows, he felt something soft yet inflexible cage the roll of his shoulders.
The fabric smelled pretty, though, like citrus and lilac. He’d noticed that fragrance recently, but when? His head pounded. His eyeballs ached. With great force of will, he opened his eyes.
A rose-patterned ruffle fluttered across his chest to the tempo of his breathing.
Sitting up suddenly, he cursed the pain shooting from the back of his brain to the front. He heard a seam rip. Looking down, he saw his legs sticking out of the bottom of a woman’s flannel nightgown. A wide band of lace tickled the hair on his legs inches below his knees.
What the blazes! He’d been in and out of a dream state was all he could recall.
But this was his room, as solid and real as he’d last seen it.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, his naked butt numb with cold. Glancing down, he saw a pillow. Someone must have put it under his head.
A woman—but no, not simply a woman—the woman. She must be the one who dressed him in this...this flannel nightmare.
Also the one who, no doubt, hit him in the head with the skillet that lay on the mattress. It was the only thing that made sense.
She’d hit him because—
Of his horses!
Her beau was the cowboy who was involved with those hell-raising Underwoods. They would have known he’d gone to purchase his herd.
“Damn!” he shouted, then regretted it because it hurt like blazes and because in a shadowed corner of the room, something growled.
Slowly, Jesse came to his feet. So did the animal. In the dim, predawn light, he saw it bare its great, long teeth.
“Good dog.” Or wolf or bear. “Good, good fellow.”
There was no time to deal with the beast. At this very moment, the Underwoods and their fetching accomplice could be riding away with his stock.
As he thought about it, it made sense. Just because Bingham believed the gang of brothers went to Black Creek on a regular basis did not mean that this time they weren’t following Jesse. It had been no secret in Forget-Me-Not that he would be away purchasing his horses. If the brothers were set on thievery, they knew where to find a victim.
The woman had proved to be a skilled conspirator, luring him over the bed and then knocking him senseless. Could be the reason she looked familiar was from seeing that pretty face on a wanted poster. Although, he didn’t think that was something he would forget.
How long had he been unconscious? Plenty long enough for them to ride off with nineteen prime breeding animals.
The dog’s tail thumped the wall. It emerged from the corner.
“Hey...Dog! Is that you?” he muttered in relief. “What the glory blazes are you doing in my house?”
When Jesse ran out the door, he heard the dog padding behind him.
It was a good thing his closest neighbor was a fair distance away. He’d look like a fool, running barefoot in the freezing rain wearing a woman’s nightie. And a double fool for having no weapon at hand.
In the future, no matter how blamed tired he was, he was not leaving his rifle on his saddle under the lean-to.
But if sheer anger could count as a weapon, he was well armed.
For all that his toes felt frozen, numb in the sucking mud, it didn’t cool his anger at himself and the folly of being duped by a pretty slip of a woman. He was ashamed to admit that he’d succumbed to such beguiling bait...even dreamed of her while wide awake.
Slipping and sliding, he rounded the corner of the barn where the paddock was located.
As he’d feared, it was empty.
No mind, he was a tracker by former profession.
Looked like Hey...Dog was a tracker, too, although not so skilled as a dog ought to be. He trotted to the large barn doors, scratched and whined.
A seam of light glowed dimly through the door crack.
Either someone remained in the barn or the thieves had committed the sin of leaving a lamp burning when they hightailed it.
“Hush up, pup,” he whispered, not wanting his presence known before he snatched his rifle from the saddle where it lay across a sawhorse ten feet away. “You ready to catch us a thief?” he asked, retrieving the weapon. The dog thumped his muddy tail on the nightgown.
Slowly, so as to make the least noise possible, he drew open one of the doors and eased inside, his rifle at the ready.
He spotted his horses first thing.
Then he saw the woman. She stood on a wagon bed, her skirt rucked up about her waist and her shapely bare legs caked with mud. Gripping a pitchfork, she shoveled hay onto the barn floor. Because she had her back turned, he had a moment to watch her golden hair shimmy with the sway of her hips. She hummed an off-key tune while she worked.
The relief he felt finding that she was not a thief seemed excessive. He’d only met her the one time, for pity’s sake. It couldn’t rightly be said that she was even an acquaintance. There was just something about her...a sensation of knowing...
Wasn’t that as logical as a frog flapping butterfly wings?
But here she was, making herself at home in his house and in his barn.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said because his sense of knowing did not include the knowledge of her name.
Chapter Five (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
“Oh!” Startled by the voice, Laura Lee’s fingers clamped hard around the handle of the pitchfork. Turning quickly, she sucked in a breath and held it. Not because she believed the man intended to shoot her; the weapon was nose to the dirt and his finger nowhere near the trigger. She couldn’t breathe because of the effort it took not to laugh out loud.
Her guest—she supposed that was what she must consider him to be—looked absurd. Seeing him standing in the doorway of the barn, his legs spread in a no-nonsense stance, holding his weapon while rain dripped off his eyebrows...oh, my.
Still, it wasn’t that which nearly brought her to her knees in hilarity. It was the sight of this large man, so bold looking in every way, dressed in pink flannel with delicate flowers and leaves stretched across his chest, with wiry brown hair poking from the stretched-out neckline, that made her need to cover her mouth with one hand.
She might have managed to keep control had it not been for the sodden lace clinging to his shins, seeing those muscular calves captured by embroidered rosebuds.
Pressing her fingers to her mouth did no good. A giggle burst from her lips.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said with a slight, high-pitched hiccup.
She stabbed the prongs of the pitchfork into the hay, then climbed down from the wagon. She yanked her skirt from the waistband, smoothing it down so that it covered her legs in a proper manner. He’d already seen more of her than he should have...but not nearly as much as she’d seen of him.
Why did that have to pop into her mind? Now she was blushing and he would guess why.
“Your own clothes are wet and this is all I could spare that didn’t require a corset.” No! She could not have possibly blurted that out. “I meant...well, you were wet and shivering. Most of the time, flannel is wonderfully warm. I hope you—”
“Thank you for bringing my horses in,” he said, saving her from continued babbling.
Which she did not normally do. It’s just that the events of the last hours had been...unusual, and vastly perplexing. At least she understood now what he was doing on her property. He and his horses needed shelter. He had been naked because—she didn’t know why for sure, but there could be many reasons that did not involve an assault on her person.
No doubt being soaked, he had removed his clothes out of for respect for the many hours she had spent polishing the floor. A more suspicious part of her brain argued that he would have no idea how much care she had given the floors and that it had been too dark to see the shine.
“You are welcome. Come, Chisel.” She would rather have the dog standing beside her than Mr. Creed. One could only trust one’s judgment to a certain degree.
Except where Johnny was concerned. Naturally, she trusted her fiancé completely. But where was he? Two weeks would be enough time for him to do what he needed to. If he really... But no, she trusted him with all her heart.
Obediently, Chisel trotted forward and licked her hand. Seconds later, he joined Whittle and Bride in their stall. Saffron and the other horses mingled in the large open area between the stalls, munching hay.
“I’m sorry I hit you, Mr. Creed.” She might as well clear her conscience about that now. Judging by the increasingly bad weather, they might be stranded together for a few hours. “But you did give me a start.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to be in the house.”
It was a relief to know she was right about the reason he was here. Any reasonable person would have sought the nearest shelter in this storm. She knew nothing about Mr. Creed other than his name and that he had a scar on his left hip. She also knew that he looked... well, never mind that.
It was blamed difficult to never mind it, though. Her eyes had seen what they’d seen and there was no changing that. If soaking flannel was not clinging to him, it would be easier. But it was clinging to him, an intimate reminder.
“Your herd is beautiful,” she said as a distraction.
“Plenty hungry, too. Again, many thanks for bringing them inside and feeding them.”
Setting his rifle against the wall beside the door, he crossed the barn and leaped up on the wagon. He picked up the pitchfork and began shoveling out the hay. The smooth pull and draw of his muscles, which she could see because of what he was wearing, made the job look easier than it felt when she did it.
“It was the neighborly thing to do,” she answered while refocusing her attention on the long black mane of a pretty brown mare.
“And I reckon we’re neighbors?” His brows knit together, as though something was puzzling him.
“I suppose we are but I’ve only been in Forget-Me-Not for a short time.”
“It’s a good place to settle.” In one leap, he hopped off the wagon.
She watched him while he walked to the wall where the tools were hanging, taking note of the long rip down the back of her nightgown. She would have to repair it before bed.
It was interesting to note that he knew the exact spot to put the tool even though he had never been in her barn. A barn was a barn, she guessed, pretty much the same anywhere. Tools went where they went with no great mystery involved.
“Must be getting close to dawn,” Mr. Creed remarked while leading the two stallions in his herd, each to a separate stall.
It made sense that he would put the stallions away. But it struck her as forward that he had not asked for her permission. It was her barn, for all that he seemed so at home in it.
“I’ll fix us something to eat.” Since he had unloaded the hay wagon for her, she owed him a meal before she sent him and his livestock on their way.
“Appreciate it. I’m not much of a hand in the kitchen. I’ll build us up a fire in the parlor. Reckon it’s nearly as cold inside as it is out here.”
* * *
Jesse ran toward the house, his saddlebag slung over his shoulder, his rifle in his fist.
The sooner he peeled out of this blamed sleepwear the better. He’d toss it in the fire he was about to build if he didn’t guess the woman would need to take it with her when she left.
He had hoped it would happen after breakfast, but during the dash from the barn to the house, the weather took an intense turn for the worse. This was the kind of storm that living things ought not to venture out in.
The lady dashed a few feet ahead of him, through the mess of rain and sleet. She sure was a shapely little thing. Rude as it was, he couldn’t help staring at how gracefully she bounded up the stairs, how her hips swayed—
He forced his gaze down, watching his knees bump the lace border of the nightgown. He purely hoped she hadn’t married her unfaithful beau. She seemed far too fine for the likes of someone who’d picked the nickname of Hell Dog.
Standing on the porch, he opened the front door for her to enter before him. He was as soaked and muddy as when he last came in the house, but this time he thought better of shedding his clothes.
The dog rushed in first, heedless of the debris sticking to his fur.
“Hey...Dog, get out of the house!” he called.
“He belongs to me now and I’ve named him Chisel,” the lady announced, brushing by him. “I do allow him inside.”
The hell she did! He opened his mouth to say so, then noticed the high gleam reflecting off the floor. Words dried in his mouth like a stream in a three-year drought.
Curtains in the windows, a shine on the floor... How long had she been squatting in his house? And what was he going to do about it?
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/carol-arens/a-ranch-to-call-home/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Carol Arens
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: “I won’t let you steal my ranch.”But will this rancher steal her heart?Laura Lee is devastated when Jesse Creed arrives claiming that her new, perfect house doesn’t belong to her absent fiancé – but to him! Until he can prove it, however, Laura isn’t going anywhere. But living side by side with the alluring rancher is temptation itself. And suddenly this house starts to feel an awful lot like the home she’s always longed for…