Wyoming Brave
Wyoming Brave
Diana Palmer
International Bestselling author Diana Palmer’s Wyoming men are back!These ranchers are bold and brave enough to protect the women who need them.Ren Colter may own an enormous ranch, but he scorns his wealth. He's closed himself off from everyone since his fiancée left him, so even he is shocked when he allows Meredith Grayling to stay. He tells himself it's only to protect a vulnerable woman from a stalker, but the blonde beauty arouses all Ren's alpha instincts.The last thing Merrie wants is a devastatingly handsome man like Ren distracting her. He's too experienced, too masculine, too appealing for her already stressed nerves. What she needs is just to get away from men, all men: the irresistible man haunting her waking dreams and the one hunting her! But this Colter cowboy won’t let this woman go!
The Wyoming men are back! In their quest for true love on the range, are these ranchers bold enough to open their hearts to the women under their protection?
Ren Colter may own an enormous ranch in Wyoming, but he scorns his wealth. He’s closed himself off since his fiancée left him months ago, so he’s shocked when he allows Meredith Grayling to stay with him. He tells himself it’s only to protect the blonde beauty from a stalker, but Ren’s alpha instincts soon kick in.
The last thing Merrie wants is a devastatingly handsome man like Ren lurking around her. He’s too experienced, too appealing for her already shot nerves. What she needs is just to get away from it all: the man haunting her waking dreams and the one hunting her like an animal. But no woman escapes this Colter cowboy!
Wyoming Brave
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a),
As I write this, we are mourning Jim’s brother Doug. We lost him after a long illness. He leaves behind his wife of fifty years, Victoria, as well as sons Rodney, Paul and James and his wife, Jennifer; Valerie and her husband, Wayne; grandchildren and great-grandchildren; sister Kathleen; brothers John and Jimmy; and nieces and nephews.
This book is dedicated to him. He was a twenty-year navy man, a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was brave and kind, and he loved his family and all sorts of animals, most especially his cats, and wild birds.
We will miss him a lot. I imagine him sitting now by a pond in a green meadow, with a fishing pole in his hands. Waiting for the rest of us to show up.
So long for now, Doug. It was a privilege to know you.
Robert Douglas (Doug) Kyle
1946–2016
Patriot. Vietnam veteran. Father, grandfather, great-grandfather. He loved birds and NASCAR, cats and fishing. We loved him.
Contents
Cover (#u40425eb7-9778-5377-815c-78711ad264dc)
Back Cover Text (#u232910e9-cc8c-57c1-9568-f69cd4d26faf)
Title Page (#u9b07476b-93a8-58fb-96aa-253b809554fe)
Dear Reader (#ue4e4e2d8-e22e-51a6-9747-5d81d2fedc97)
Dedication (#ue8214b1b-d3c5-5231-83d6-f5b12fb73559)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue4dec119-9e09-55f8-bcc2-de346ed5b568)
CHAPTER TWO (#u7e494d43-7da0-5a56-87a4-8dffde8211eb)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub217bd34-1db7-52ba-8324-569830c79e75)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ue65e6ec6-b9b5-5865-a7bc-b7baaab7a560)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
REN COLTER WASN’T WELCOMING. In fact, he was immediately hostile when Merrie Grayling walked in the door of his Wyoming ranch with his brother.
Merrie looked at him and felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach with a bat. He was glorious. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with beautiful lean hands and a mouth that was chiseled and sensual-looking in a face topped by thick black hair and a straight nose. He was as handsome as his brother, but in a darker way. He scowled at her. But, she could hardly take her eyes off him. He was wearing work clothes; jeans and boots that had seen their share of action in the trenches, along with shotgun chaps and a sheepskin jacket. A black Stetson was set at a slant over one eye. Both glistening black eyes were on Merrie, making comments that he didn’t even have to put into words.
She moved closer to Randall, which seemed to set Ren off even more. Randall was tall and blond, with laughing blue eyes and the face of a movie star. He was very different from his brother.
“It’s only for a few weeks, Ren,” Randall said softly. “She’s...well, she’s been through a lot. Her father just died and she’s had some trouble with a...with that person I told you about.” He didn’t look at Merrie, because what he’d told Ren wasn’t quite the truth. “You have state-of-the-art surveillance and plenty of bodyguards around the place. I thought she’d be safe here.”
“Safe.” He had a deep, velvety voice. He studied Merrie with his sensuous lips pursed, but he seemed to find nothing enticing in the woman with the long, platinum hair in a braid down her back, her pale blue eyes trained on him like spotlights. She was pretty enough, but Ren had had enough of pretty women. Her figure wasn’t easily discernible in what she was wearing. She had on jeans and a sweatshirt, both loose on her slender body, and she wore no makeup. Odd, he thought, for one of Randall’s women not to show up in a tight and trashy outfit, batting her eyelashes at Ren and flirting with him. Randall’s women were experienced and aggressive. Ren hated having them around. Of course, Randall was usually around to entertain them. But here he was, bringing in an odd female and leaving her while he traveled around the world for Ren, lauding their ranch’s prize bulls. Randall was a born salesman. Ren was more introverted, withdrawn. He didn’t really like people much. He hated their mother and had no contact with her. But he loved his brother.
He avoided women like the plague since his fiancée, Angie, had been caught with not one, but two other men, only two weeks before they were supposed to be married. Ren called off the ceremony and left Angie to deal with the aftermath. She’d been Randall’s girl first, until she realized that he wasn’t about to marry anyone. She set her cap at Ren instead, and teased him out of his mind for the three months of their engagement. To Randall’s credit, he’d tried to warn his brother. Ren had been in love for the first time in his life, and wouldn’t listen.
Angie, meanwhile, had been looking forward to living a life of luxury. Ren chaired a mining company that was Fortune 500. That was in addition to the very profitable purebred Black Angus herd that graced the thousand acres of his ranch, and the champion seed bulls that commanded millions in sales of both young bulls and semen straws (which held bull semen) that were sold internationally. The bloodlines of his cattle were impeccable.
The worst part of their broken engagement was that Ren had read all about himself on Angie’s Facebook page. He’d had to buy a new laptop afterward, since he’d thrown the damned thing clear through a window out into the yard. One of the kindest things she’d said about him was that he was a clumsy, boring lover, and his hick ranch was a joke.
Attorneys had taken care of Angie’s lies online. He hadn’t heard from her again. He hoped he never did. He was never letting another woman get close to him. Once burned, twice shy.
Now he was being stuck with another one of Randall’s women. It didn’t put him in a sparkling mood. She wasn’t going to find much fun here. He’d make sure of that. He was tired of Randall’s parade of women.
“She won’t cause any trouble,” Randall was saying.
Merrie nodded. She didn’t say anything. The tall rancher didn’t like her. He didn’t even try to hide that.
“Delsey!” Ren called.
An older woman came out of the kitchen with a harassed look on her face. She was small and plump, with gray hair in a bun and dark, beautiful brown eyes. She looked at Merrie with faint surprise, then she smiled.
“This is Merrie Grayling,” Randall announced to her, putting a comforting arm around Merrie, who was almost trembling from Ren’s open hostility. “She’s from a small town in Texas.”
Delsey shook Merrie’s hand. “You’ll be welcome here, dear,” she said with a wary glance at Ren. She smiled at Randall. “You off again?”
“Yes. To England, to talk to a baron,” he added with a grin. “He runs purebred Black Angus and we have some champion bulls we’d like to sell him. He’s interested, but the personal touch is what makes sales.”
“It does,” Ren agreed. His mouth pulled to one side. “I don’t have it.”
“His idea of the personal touch is a cattle prod,” Randall told Merrie with sparkling eyes.
“Only with people,” Ren replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. He stared at Merrie. “I don’t use cruelty as a tool. My cattle are used to gentle handling. I like cattle.”
“Me, too,” Merrie said softly, flushing when Ren stared at her. “But I like horses best.” She searched his hard face. “Do you have one...that I could ride, maybe?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He glanced at his watch. “Vet’s coming over to inoculate some replacement heifers. I have to go.”
Randall started to hug him, but was met with ice-cold eyes, and put out a hand to shake instead. He gave a wry smile to his brother. “Don’t stand in the cold too long,” he advised. “Snow’s coming, they say.”
“It’s Wyoming,” Ren replied. “We always have snow.”
“That must be nice,” Merrie said hesitantly. “We hardly ever have even a flurry where I come from.”
Ren didn’t reply. He glanced at Delsey. “I’ll be in late. Just leave me some cold cuts in the fridge.”
“I’ll do that. You be careful with that horse,” she added with affectionate concern. “He bit Davey yesterday.”
“What horse?” Randall asked.
Ren’s face tensed. “We had a new cowboy, one I took on faith because Tubbs hired him and said he was a good hand. He was out at the line cabin, where we didn’t see him much. When I rode out there to ask him about some of the bred heifers, I found him passed out dead drunk, and the horse we’d given him as a saddle mount was bleeding from deep cuts he’d put in him, God knows with what. I beat the hell out of him before I called the authorities and they took him away. He’s being prosecuted for cruelty to animals. I told them I’d be happy to testify,” he added coldly.
Merrie wrapped her arms tightly around herself and shivered. That brought back painful memories of what she’d endured from her father. Lashings, beatings, all her young life. She was only twenty-two and she’d never been on a date, never been kissed, never had any friends...
Her father was so rich that everyone in the area was afraid of him, so the girls—Merrie and her older sister, Sari—had never told anyone what went on in the beautiful mansion in Comanche Wells, Texas.
“Cold?” Randall asked softly as she shivered.
She shook her head. “My father...hurt a horse like that once.”
“Did you turn him in?” Ren asked curtly.
She swallowed. Hard. “People were too scared of him. It wouldn’t have done any good. The trainer just made sure the horses were never out when he went to the stables.”
“You live on a ranch?” Ren asked.
She nodded. “Not nearly as big as this one. We just had...have...horses.”
“Well, you won’t go near this one. Hurricane is the most dangerous animal on the place. He took a hunk out of one cowboy’s arm and barely missed killing another who tried to get a bridle off him. He won’t let anybody touch him.”
“The bridle’s still on?” Randall asked worriedly.
“Yes.” Ren grimaced. “His head’s rubbed raw by it. The cowboy probably dragged him around with it. We’ll try again to get the vet to sedate him.” He shook his head. “Can’t hold him still long enough for the man to get a needle in him. He knows a guy at the forest service who has a tranquilizer gun. He’s trying to borrow one.”
“Poor thing,” Merrie said softly. “A man who’ll do that to a horse will do it to people,” she added, her eyes lowered as she remembered her father.
Ren studied her curiously. “In fact, the sheriff thinks he had a poster on the man Tubbs hired.” He looked at Randall. “Next time, I’ll do the hiring,” he said with a faint upturn of his mouth. “Tubbs has no judgment about people.”
“She does,” Randall said, hugging Merrie close to his side. “She paints.”
“A lot of people paint,” Ren said dismissively. He checked his watch again. “Have a safe flight,” he told his brother.
“Thanks,” Randall said. He smiled. “Stay out of trouble.”
Ren shrugged. “Not my fault,” he replied. “The man insulted my cattle.”
“The Billings police were very unhappy with you,” Randall persisted.
Ren chuckled. “Yes, they were. They made me take a brief anger management course. Then I went to a conference in Montana and another guy insulted my cattle.” He sighed. “Guess I’ll stay out of Billings until the police forget what I look like.”
Randall shook his head. Ren winked at him and walked out the door without a word to Merrie. His spurs jingled as he walked. They sounded like bells to Merrie, who smiled at Randall.
“He’ll be all right,” he assured her. “He’s just uneasy around people he doesn’t know. Right?” he asked Delsey.
She drew in a breath. “He’s awful around people he doesn’t know. I hope you’ve got grit, young lady,” she added with a smile. “He’ll test you.”
“I’ve lived through hard times,” Merrie said with a warm smile. “I’ll just keep out of his way.”
“Not a bad idea,” Delsey said with a laugh. “Especially with winter coming on and snow forecasted. It’s hard on cattle and cowboys when it gets deep.”
“I love snow,” Merrie said wistfully.
“You wouldn’t if you’d ever lived through a Wyoming winter,” Delsey assured her.
She just grinned.
“Well, I’ve got to go, too,” Randall said. He kissed Merrie on the cheek. “You be careful. Stay away from the stables, and don’t let Ren bother you.” He hesitated. “If he gets too bad, just text me and I’ll take you home. Okay?”
She felt a chill of premonition when he said that, but she managed a smile. “Okay.” She hugged him. “Thanks, Randall.”
“You’re my friend,” he teased. “No worries. You’ll be fine here. Take care.”
“You, too,” she said.
“Drive slowly,” Delsey said, shaking a finger at him. “No more speeding tickets!”
“Dreamer,” he chided. He winked at her as he left.
* * *
DELSEY SHOWED MERRIE to her room. “I’ll have one of the boys bring your luggage up. It’s still sitting in the hall where Randall left it.” She paused. “Don’t let Ren upset you,” she added gently. “He’s hard on people he doesn’t know. Especially women. He had a bad experience. It’s made him cold.”
“I won’t bother him,” Merrie promised. “I brought my sketchbooks and my knitting. I’ll keep busy.”
“Good. If you need anything, I’m usually in the kitchen or somewhere in the house. There are helpers who come on certain days to help me with the heavy stuff. I’m feeling my age a little, but Ren likes the way I cook,” she said with a laugh.
Merrie drew in a long breath. “Our housekeeper, Mandy, taught me to cook. She even taught me how to cut up a chicken and field dress game.” She laughed softly. “I love being in the kitchen, too.”
“I’ll let you help, after you’ve been here a bit.” Her wise dark eyes searched Merrie’s. “It’s a stalker, isn’t it? Randall told me.”
Merrie hesitated. “I don’t want to put anyone in harm’s way...”
“Ren has this place protected like it was Fort Knox,” Delsey told her. “Nobody gets in here without security clearance. Did you notice the cameras at the front gate when you came in?” Merrie nodded. She continued. “We even have facial recognition software. It tracks people.”
“Wow,” Merrie said softly.
“Sadly, it didn’t work on the cowboy who beat that poor horse.” She winced. “Hurricane was the sweetest gelding on the place. It breaks my heart to see what that man did to him.” She drew in a breath. “If he keeps this up, they’ll have to put him down.” She bit her lip, then forced a smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack.” She looked out the door and peered over the banister. “Brady!” she called. “Can you bring those bags up here?”
“Sure thing, Miss Delsey,” the cowboy said with a long drawl.
He brought the bags up the staircase to Merrie’s room.
“Thanks,” she said softly, with a smile.
Brady tipped his hat. He was Delsey’s age, but was wiry and tough and apparently very strong. He grinned at Merrie. “You Mr. Randall’s friend that come to stay awhile?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. I’m Merrie. Nice to meet you, Brady.”
“Nice to meet you, too, miss.” He turned to Delsey. “Willis wants to know if you’ll make the men a cake.”
“I will,” Delsey replied. “What kind do they want?”
“Chocolate, with that white frosting you make.”
“I’ll start on it right now.” She turned to Merrie. “Have you had lunch?”
“Yes, thanks,” Merrie told her. “Randall got me a cheeseburger and fries on the way here.”
“Okay, then. Supper’s at seven. Ren keeps late hours. Sometimes he doesn’t even show up for supper. Like tonight. He told me to leave cold cuts in the fridge, which means he probably won’t get home until bedtime.”
“Ranching is hard on schedules,” Brady said with a chuckle. “Especially for boss man. He has to be everywhere before the bad weather coming.”
“I called that contractor,” Delsey added to Brady. “If you see Ren, tell him the man’s coming tomorrow morning to see what work needs doing.”
“I’ll tell him.” He tipped his hat again. “See you girls later.”
Merrie grinned. Delsey just laughed.
“He’s nice,” Merrie said.
“They mostly are. But we have a few who work security here,” she added solemnly. “One of them is dangerous. He came to us from Iraq, where he’d been training policemen. We don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself most of the time when he’s not watching the livestock.”
“Who is he?” Merrie asked curiously.
“They call him J.C. Nobody knows what the initials stand for.”
“I’ll stay out of his way,” Merrie promised. She stretched. The gold chain around her neck chafed a little. She pulled out the pretty filigree gold cross she wore and dangled it on her sweatshirt.
Delsey grimaced. She wanted to warn the girl, but she didn’t want to make her more nervous than she already was. Ren wouldn’t like that cross. It would prod him, like waving a flag at a bull. But maybe he wouldn’t see it.
She smiled at Merrie and left her alone to unpack.
* * *
MERRIE CAME DOWN for supper, silently hoping Ren wouldn’t be at the table. She really didn’t want to antagonize him any more than she had by just walking into his house.
“It’s a big place,” Merrie commented as she ate the delicious beef stew and homemade rolls Delsey had made.
“Very big. It’s too much for me to keep by myself, which is why we have others come in to help out,” she said with a laugh. “Most of them are wives of the men who already work for us. It’s a way for them to make a little more money to supplement their husbands’ incomes. Some of them keep chickens and sell eggs. Others raise garden crops and sell the excess in summer. We have a good life here.”
“The house is so beautiful,” Merrie said softly.
Delsey frowned slightly. “You’re the first woman Randall brought here who ever said that.”
“But, why?”
Delsey shrugged. “Well, it’s rustic, isn’t it?” She looked toward the living room with its big chairs and long sofa, all done in burgundy leather with cushions that had a Native American look. The rugs on the floor were the same. There were crossed swords above the mantel and an antique rifle perched on a stand.
“It looks like him,” Merrie said absently. “It’s sturdy and quiet and comforting.”
Delsey was lost for words. She knew that the girl was talking about Ren, but she was surprised that she was so astute. Sturdy and quiet and comforting. She just hoped Merrie wasn’t in for too big a surprise when Ren disapproved of something she said or did.
* * *
REN CAME IN very late. Merrie had gone downstairs, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, to ask Delsey about an extra blanket. It was kept cold in the house and she was used to warmer temperatures in Texas.
She stopped on the staircase when Ren spotted her, and his hard face grew even harder. He was looking pointedly at the front of her sweatshirt. For a minute she wondered if she was wearing something with writing on it. Then she remembered, it was just gray and plain. She swallowed hard. Surely he wasn’t looking at her chest!
“Why the hell do you wear that?” he asked shortly.
She was taken aback by the venom in the question. “I... I like sweatshirts,” she began.
“Not the sweatshirt. That thing!” He pointed to her cross.
She recalled Randall saying something about Ren’s feelings on religion. It hadn’t registered at the time, but it did now. She put her hand protectively over the cross.
“I’m a person of faith,” she said in a faint tone.
“Faith.” His eyes glittered at her. “Crutches for a sick, uneducated world,” he scoffed. “Superstition. Useless!”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Mr. Colter,” she began.
“Take that damned thing off, or hide it. I don’t want to see it in my house again. Do you understand?”
He was like her father. He spoke and it was like thunder. He frightened her. She tucked the cross under the sweatshirt with shaking hands.
“And if you’re looking for something to eat, we don’t have à la carte food after supper time. You eat at the table with us, or you don’t eat. Am I clear?”
She swallowed down the fear. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice as shaky as her legs.
“What are you doing down here in the dark?”
“I... I wanted to get a blanket,” she stammered. “It’s cold in my room.”
“We don’t run a sauna here,” he said icily. “Even on a ranch this size, we conserve heat. There are blankets in your damned closet. Why don’t you look before you start bothering other people about trifles?”
She backed away from him. He was much scarier than she’d first thought. That posture, that icy look on his face, the fury in his eyes made her want to run. She’d rarely been around men. Mostly at art classes, and the men who took art were gentle and kind. This man was a lone wolf, not even housebroken. He made her shake when he spoke. Her first impression of him, of a handsome, kind man, took a nosedive. He was the devil in a pair of faded blue jeans.
“That’s it,” he chided. “Run away, little girl.”
She shot back up the staircase. She never even looked back when she got into her room. As an afterthought, she locked the door.
* * *
SARI HAD SAID that Merrie could call her, but she was afraid to. Even though she had six throwaway phones, she was afraid that one of them could be traced if she used it. The man who was after her would be wily. Paul Fiore, Sari’s husband, worked for the FBI. They were trying to find the man who’d been paid by the son of their father’s former lover to kill Merrie. The man he’d hired to kill Sari had been caught, and turned out to be their chauffeur. The man he’d hired for Merrie was far more dangerous.
Timothy Leeds had planned to kill both of Darwin Grayling’s daughters, to hurt the man who’d killed his mother in cold blood. But Darwin had died suddenly, and Timmy had been too drunk to know who he’d hired to do the job. He was horrified at his own actions. He’d been grieving for his mother, furious at Darwin and wanting to get even, to hurt him. But Darwin had died just after Timmy made his deals. He’d taken cash, the money his mother had left him, and paid men to do murder. He was sitting in jail, waiting to be arraigned. He’d turned state’s evidence, but there was no way to get around the fact that his intent had been to kill two innocent women. Intent was the thing in law. Merrie should know. Her older sister, Sari, was an assistant district attorney in Jacobsville, Texas.
She wondered what Sari would think of this taciturn, antagonistic rancher who was offended by a simple cross, a symbol of Merrie’s faith. That faith had carried her and her sister through some incredible sorrows. Their father had beaten them both, kept them like prisoners in the mansion where they lived, made them afraid of men. He was a killer, and he’d been involved in laundering money for organized crime. If he’d lived, he’d have gone to prison for life, despite his wealth.
That wealth had almost cost Sari a husband. Paul Fiore was the only member of his entire family who hadn’t gone into crime for a living. Paul had been with the FBI for a long time, with a brief few years as head of security for the Grayling properties. Now he was assigned to the FBI office in San Antonio. Sari had concocted a story whereby Darwin Grayling had left a hundred million dollars to Paul—half the amount Sari had received from their mother’s two secret bank accounts that she’d left to the girls in her will. Each was given two hundred million, and it had almost sent Paul running. He didn’t want people to think he’d married Sari for her money. But now he and Sari were very happily married, and Merrie was happy for them. She and her sister had some terrible scars, mental and physical, at their father’s hand.
She sat on her bed, still shivering a little from the rancher’s anger. She wondered if she was going to be able to stand it here. Ren Colter scared her.
* * *
SHE DID SLEEP, FINALLY. She went downstairs a little late for breakfast, hoping Ren would already be gone. But he was just getting up from the table.
He glared at her. “We keep regular hours here for meals,” he told her curtly. “If you come sashaying down late, you don’t eat.”
“But, Mr. Ren...” Delsey protested.
“Rules aren’t broken here,” Ren returned. He looked at Merrie, who was stiff as a board. “You heard me. Delsey will tell you what hours mealtimes are. Don’t be late again.”
He shoved his hat down over his eyes, shouldered into his heavy coat and went out without another single word.
Merrie was fighting back tears.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Delsey said. She drew the girl close and rocked her while she cried. “He’s just getting over a broken engagement, and he’s bitter. He wasn’t like this before. He’s basically a kind man...”
“He said my cross was stupid and I wasn’t to let it show again,” she sobbed. “What kind of man is he?”
Delsey rocked her some more and sighed. “It’s a long story. He went to a famous college up north on a scholarship and a professor there changed his mind about religion. He was an excellent student, but when he came home, he was suddenly antireligion. He sounded off to his mother about her Christmas tree and her faith, and had her running away in tears. Then he overheard her telling Randall that Ren was as cold and heartless as his father, whom she’d divorced. She was proud of Randall, because he was a better son. Ren just left. He’s never spoken to his mother again.”
Merrie pulled back and looked at the older woman through red eyes. “She divorced his father?”
She nodded. She handed Merrie tissues to dry her eyes with. “His father owned this ranch, but it was a hard life. His mother had very expensive tastes, so the story goes, and Randall’s father wanted her. So she ran away with him.”
Merrie grimaced. “It’s a huge ranch now.”
“Yes, it is. But it was small and in debt when Ren showed up at the door just after that Christmas. He and his father began to work together to build up a breeding herd. Ren knew business, with his Harvard business degree, and his father knew cattle.” She smiled. “It took fifteen years, but they diversified into oil and mining, as well as cattle, and they built a small empire here. Ren’s very proud of it. His father was, too. He died two years ago.” She sighed. “Ren wouldn’t even let his mother come to the funeral. He’s still bitter about what he heard her say. He won’t speak to her at all.”
“It isn’t human, to hold a grudge like that,” Merrie said quietly. “He seems such a cold man,” she added softly.
“There’s a kind man under all that ice. It’s just that he’s been frozen for a long time.”
“He scares me to death,” Merrie confessed.
“He won’t hurt you,” Delsey said quietly. “You have to stand up to him, honey. A man like that will walk all over you if you let him.”
“I’ve lived almost twenty-three years with a man like that,” Merrie told her. “He...” She swallowed and her arms folded over her chest. “He was brutal to us, especially after our mother died. He wanted sons. He got us. So he made us pay for it. We couldn’t even date. He wouldn’t let us have friends. We still can’t drive a car. I’ve never even been kissed. How’s that for a stifled environment?” she asked with a hollow laugh. “The only concession he made was that we were allowed to go to church. You have no idea how important faith was to us when we were growing up. It was all that kept us going.” She fingered the cross under her sweatshirt. “My mother gave me this cross. And I’m not taking it off.”
Delsey smiled. “That’s the spirit. You tell him.”
“Sorry. I’m not a lemming,” Merrie teased.
Delsey laughed. “You’re a tonic, you know.”
Merrie looked wistfully at biscuits and sausage and eggs. “I guess I’ll be on time at lunch,” she said.
“He’s gone. Sit down and eat.”
Merrie sat at the table, her eyes worriedly glancing at the door.
“Stay there,” Delsey said. She went and looked out the front door. Ren was going down the hill toward the barn in his big red SUV. Snow had started to fall lightly.
She went back to the kitchen. “He’s gone to the barn. After that, he’ll ride out to the line cabins and check on the livestock. Snow’s starting to fall.”
“It is?” Merrie was excited.
“Eat first,” Delsey said with a laugh. “Then you can go play in the snow.”
She hesitated with her fork over the eggs. “Thanks, Delsey.”
“It’s no problem. Really.”
Merrie sighed with pleasure and dug into breakfast. Afterward, she slipped on a light jacket and her boots. She was sorry she hadn’t packed a coat. They never had snow in Comanche Wells in autumn. They rarely even had it in winter.
“Child, you need something heavier than that!” Delsey fussed.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t mind the cold so much if there’s snow.” She laughed. “If I get too cold, I’ll just come back inside.”
“All right, but be careful where you go, okay?”
“I will.”
* * *
SHE STARTED WALKING around the house and down the path that led to some huge outbuildings with adjacent corrals. There was even a pole barn with bench seats. Inside it, a man was working a horse with a length of rope, tossing it lightly at the prancing animal. It was black and beautiful, like silk all over. It reminded her of home and her family’s stable of horses.
She played in the thick flakes of falling snow, laughing as she danced. It was so incredibly beautiful. She caught her breath, watching it freeze as it left her mouth, enjoying the cold, white landscape and the mountains beyond. She wanted to paint it. She loved her home in Texas, but this view was exquisite. She committed it to memory to sketch later.
She was curious about the poor horse that had been beaten. She could empathize with it, because she knew how that felt. She had deep scars on her back from her father’s belt, when she’d tried to save her poor sister from a worse beating. Her father had turned his wrath on her instead.
She shivered, remembering the terror she and Sari had felt when he came at them. He wouldn’t even let a local physician treat them, for fear he’d be arrested. He got an unlicensed doctor on his payroll to stitch the girls up and treat them. There was no question of plastic surgery. They had to live with the scars.
Not now, of course. Sari and Merrie were both worth two hundred million each. They’d gone shopping just before poor Sari ran away to the Bahamas to get over Paul’s rejection. But Merrie had bought sweats and pajamas and very plain clothing. She still couldn’t force herself to buy modern things, like crop tops and low-cut pants. She didn’t want to look as if she was hungry for male attention.
Her eyes were drawn to a huge building with two big doors at its front and a corral adjoining it, with doors that opened into the building. The area was cross-fenced, so that each animal had a slice of pasture. That had to be the stables. She wandered closer, hoping not to run into any of Ren’s men. She wanted to see the poor horse. She knew they’d stop her. Ren would have left orders about it, she was sure.
She waited in the shadows until two men came out.
“We can grab a cup of coffee and come back in thirty minutes,” one told the other. “The mare isn’t going to foal tonight, would be my bet, but we have to stay with her.”
“Let’s don’t be gone long,” the other one said on a sigh. “Boss has been in a terrible temper lately.”
“He should have known that woman was nothing but trouble,” the first one scoffed. “She wrapped him up like a late Christmas present and kept him off balance until he bought her that ring.”
“Don’t mention Christmas around him,” the other man muttered. “Almost got slugged for it myself last December.”
“He doesn’t believe in that stuff,” the first man sighed. “Well, to each his own, but I love Christmas and I’m putting up a tree month after next. He can just close his eyes when he drives by my cabin, because the damned thing is going in the window.”
The other man laughed. “Living dangerously.”
“Why not? He pays good wages, but I’m getting tired of walking on eggshells around him. The man’s temper gets worse by the day, you know?”
“Think of all those benefits. Even retirement. You really want to give that up because the boss is in a snit? He’ll get over it.”
“Hasn’t got over it in six months, has he?”
“It takes time. Let’s get that coffee.”
“Vet’s coming tomorrow to check on the mare. Maybe he got that tranquilizer gun for Hurricane. Damned shame, what happened to him.”
“Not as bad as what happened to the man who did it,” the other man said, wincing. “Boss turned him every way but loose. I never saw so many bruises, and he was a big man. Bigger than the boss, even.”
“The boss was in the army reserves. His unit was called up and he went overseas. He was captain of some company, not sure which, but they were in the thick of the fighting. He changed afterward, I hear.”
“He’s been through a lot. Guess he’s entitled to a bad temper occasionally.”
“I didn’t mind seeing him lose it with that damned cowboy who beat Hurricane. Damn, it was sweet to watch! The man never landed a single punch on the boss.”
“Sheriff noticed all the bruises. He said he guessed the man was so drunk he fell down the stairs headfirst.”
His companion burst out laughing. “Yeah. Good thing he likes the boss, ain’t it?”
“Good thing.”
They walked on. Merrie, who’d been listening, grimaced. Ren had been through hard times, too. She was sad for him. But that didn’t make her less afraid of him.
She opened the stable door and stepped inside. It was cool, but comfortable. She walked down the bricked aisle carefully. There were several horses inside. But she knew immediately which one was Hurricane.
He was coal black with a beautiful, tangled mane. He pitched his head when he saw Merrie and stamped his feet. Then he neighed. She saw the bridle. It was far too tight. She could see blood under it. She winced. There were visible lashes down his sides, near his tail. Deep cuts.
“Poor baby,” she said softly. “Oh, poor, poor baby!”
He pricked his ears up and listened.
She went a step closer. “What did he do to you?” she whispered. She moved another step closer. “Poor boy. Poor thing.”
He shook his mane. He looked at her closely and moved, just a step.
She spotted some horse treats in a nearby bag. She picked up two of them, putting one in her pocket. She held one in her palm, so that the horse couldn’t nip her fingers, and slowly moved it toward him. If he was that dangerous, it would be difficult even for a cowboy to feed or water him. She saw a trough in the back of the stall. It seemed to contain water. But the feed tray was inside the stall, and it was empty. He must be starved. She moved all the way to the gate, one step at a time.
CHAPTER TWO (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
HER FATHER HAD taken a whip to one of the Thoroughbreds once, when Merrie was in high school. She’d gone to see him after her father left the ranch on a European business trip with that Leeds woman. The trainer had talked to the horse softly, but it wouldn’t let him near it. Merrie had braved its nervous prancing and gone right up to it. The horse had responded to her immediately, to the trainer’s delight. After that, Merrie had been its caretaker. At least, as long as her father wasn’t around. He’d killed a dog she loved. He might have done the same to a horse that she’d shown attention to. Sari and she had never understood why their father hated them so. Probably, it was payback. He was getting even with their late mother, through them, for cutting him out of the bulk of her family wealth.
“Have you had anything to eat, baby?” she asked Hurricane in a whisper as she moved her hand closer to the big horse. “Are you hungry? Poor baby. Poor, poor baby!”
He moved closer to the fence. He shook his mane again.
She went closer and sent her breath toward his nostrils, something she’d watched their trainer do with horses he was breaking back home. She blew gently into the big horse’s nostrils. Her father’s Thoroughbreds had been off-limits to the girls when they were growing up, or she might have learned more about horses. The injured Thoroughbred had been the only one of her father’s horses that she had access to. Although there were saddle mounts that the girls had permission to ride, they were careful not to pay too much attention to them when their father was around.
“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered. Her face was drawn and still. “I know how you feel. You know that, don’t you, baby?”
He moved closer, looking at her. She held the treat out in her palm.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked softly.
He shook his mane and then, suddenly, lowered his head. But it wasn’t to attack her. He took the treat from her palm and wolfed it down. He looked at her again, quizzically.
“One more,” she said. She pulled the second treat from her pocket, held it out on her palm. Again, his head lowered and he took the treat gently from it with his lips. He wolfed that down, too.
“Sweet boy,” she said softly. She held out her hand.
He hesitated only for a minute before he moved closer and lowered his head toward hers. She pulled him down by his neck and laid her head against the side of his. “Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Poor horse!”
He moved his head against her, almost like a caress. She didn’t see the two returned cowboys in the back of the stable, gaping at her. There was Hurricane, laying his head against her. They were spellbound.
She touched the bridle. Hurricane hesitated at first. But then he stilled. She reached up and unbuckled the halter. Very carefully, she took it away from his head and slipped it off. She grimaced at the bloody places there and on his body.
“Sweet boy,” she whispered as she put the bridle aside. She reached her hand up and stroked him gently. “Sweet, sweet boy.” She laid her forehead against his with a long, heavy sigh.
After a minute he lifted his head and looked at her and whinnied.
“You need medicine on those cuts, don’t you,” she said softly.
“And you need therapy,” Ren Colter said coldly from behind her. “You were told to stay away from that horse!”
Hurricane jumped and moved back from the gate. He shook his mane and snorted.
Merrie turned with the halter in her hand. She walked toward Ren and pushed it toward him.
He stared at it, and her, with utter shock. “How did you get that off?”
“He let me,” she said simply. “Do you have medicine I can put on the cuts?”
“He’ll kill you if you walk into that stall with him,” Ren snapped. “He’s injured two cowboys already.”
“He won’t hurt me,” she said quietly.
He started to speak. But then he looked at the horse. Hurricane wasn’t stamping and running at the gate, as he had before. He was simply looking at them.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked in a quiet undertone.
She looked up at him with quiet, sad pale blue eyes. “Sort of,” she said. “Of course, if I’m wrong and he kills me, you can always stand over my grave and say you told me so.”
The sarcasm pricked his temper. “You think you know how a horse feels?” he asked sarcastically.
She shivered a little, even though it wasn’t that cold in the stable. She didn’t want to discuss anything personal with that cold, hard man. “He hasn’t attacked me, has he?”
He hesitated, but only briefly. He turned to the two cowboys who’d been standing there while Merrie worked magic on the dangerous animal. “Do we have some of that salve the doctor left?”
“Uh, yes,” one man stammered. He went to get it and handed it to Merrie. “Ma’am,” he said, taking off his hat, “I ain’t never seen nothing like that. You sure have got a way with animals.”
She smiled. “Thanks,” she said shyly.
Ren’s dark eyes narrowed. “If he starts toward you, you run,” he said firmly.
“I will. But, he won’t hurt me.”
They moved back, out of the horse’s line of sight. Ren was concerned. He didn’t want his brother’s girlfriend killed on his ranch. But she did seem to have a rapport with the horse. It was uncanny.
She opened the gate and moved into the stall, with firm purpose in her step and no sign of fear.
“Sweet boy,” she whispered, blowing in his nostrils again. “Will you let me help you? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He shifted restlessly, but he made no move to attack her as she reached up and put some of the salve very delicately on the bad places on his head. From there she moved to his injured flanks, wincing at the cuts. She put salve on those, too, but she could tell they needed stitching. It was no wonder that he was still in this condition. He’d injured anyone who came near him. He was afraid of men, because a man had hurt him. Women, on the other hand, were not his enemies.
She finished her work, smoothed her hand over his mane and laid her head against his neck. “Brave, sweet boy,” she whispered. “What a wonderful horse you are, Hurricane.”
He moved his head against her. She patted him one more time and left the stall, securing the lock. She smiled at the horse and told him goodbye before she walked back down the aisle where the men were.
“The cuts on his flank really need stitching, I think,” she said softly. “But he’s afraid of men. A man hurt him. Women didn’t.” She looked up at Ren. “Do you have a female vet anywhere within driving distance?”
Ren started. She was right. The horse hated men. “There’s one over in Powell, I think. I could send one of the boys to bring her here.”
“He’ll probably let her stitch him up.”
“You can come out and work your witchcraft on him to get her in the stall, can’t you?” Ren asked sarcastically.
She drew in a breath and turned away. She didn’t bother to answer him as she left.
He stared after her with mixed feelings. He hated women. But this one...she was different. All the same, he wasn’t letting her close enough to bite, even if that wild horse would.
“You shouldn’t be so harsh with her, Mr. Ren,” the older cowboy said quietly. “Looks to me like she’s had some of that at home already.”
He glared at the cowboy, who tipped his hat, turned and lit a shuck out of the stable.
* * *
MERRIE WENT TO her room. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t! That Wyoming bad man wasn’t going to upset her.
She pulled out her drawing pad and her pencils and went to work on a study of Hurricane. He was so beautiful. Black as night. Soft as silk. She was drawn to him, because he was like her. He’d been through the wars, too.
It took a long time to finish the drawing. She colored it with pastel pencils, delicately. When she finished, she had an awesome portrait of Hurricane. She smiled as she put it in the case with her other drawings. She’d have to do one of Ren, she decided. But she’d have to make a decision about whether to put just horns or horns and a forked tail on the subject of the picture.
* * *
WHEN SHE GOT DOWNSTAIRS, she was late again for supper. But this time Ren was there and he wouldn’t let Delsey put anything on the table.
“You know the rules,” Ren said harshly. “If you don’t get to the table on time, you don’t eat!”
She didn’t want to tell him that she’d been drawing his horse and had gotten lost in her work. She didn’t want to fight. She’d had so many years of fighting. It was easier to just conform.
“All right,” she said in her soft, quiet voice.
He glared at her. He hated her beauty. He hated the way she knuckled under. He wanted a fight, and he couldn’t start one.
He turned away from the table and pulled off his belt. It was a new one and he’d cinched it too tight. He doubled it, pulled it together and snapped it.
Merrie gasped and ran into the kitchen, hiding behind Delsey and shaking all over.
“What the hell...?” Ren exclaimed.
He walked into the kitchen with the belt still in his hand, and Merrie screamed.
“Put that thing down!” Delsey said quickly. She pulled Merrie into her arms and held her close, rocking her while she sobbed.
Belatedly, Ren realized that the belt had upset her when he snapped it. Frowning, he took it back into the living room and tossed it into his chair. He went back into the kitchen.
“She thought you were going to hit her with it,” Delsey said.
Merrie was still shaking, sobbing. It brought back horrible memories of her father and his uncontrollable temper. He’d hit her and hit her...
“I’ve never hit a woman in my life,” he said in the softest tone she’d heard from him. “Not even under provocation. I would never raise my hand to you. Never.”
She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t quite look at him. “O-okay,” she stammered.
He looked torn. Her reaction to the belt was unsettling. Someone had used one on her. He began to understand why the damaged horse had responded to her. She was damaged, too.
“Get her something to eat,” he told Delsey gently. “Anything she wants.”
“Yes, Mr. Ren,” she replied. She smiled at him.
Merrie didn’t speak. She was still shaking.
He left the two women alone and went into his study. It had been years since he’d had even a drink of the scotch whiskey he kept in the cabinet. But he poured a small measure and downed it. It troubled him, seeing Merrie’s reaction to the belt. Despite his unwelcoming attitude, he didn’t like seeing her frightened. He liked even less knowing that he’d frightened her.
* * *
“HE’D NEVER STRIKE YOU,” Delsey assured Merrie as she put ham and bread and mayonnaise on the table. “Here. Let me make you a sandwich. You’ll feel better.”
“My father...always snapped the belt like that, just before he used it on us.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He’s gone, now. My sister and I should feel sorrow, but all we can feel is relief. It was like being freed from prison.” She looked at Delsey. “He wouldn’t even buy us clothes unless he picked them out. We couldn’t date, we couldn’t have friends over, we couldn’t go to anyone else’s home...” She lowered her eyes. “He was so paranoid that he had us followed everywhere we went.”
“You poor child,” Delsey said, touching her hair. “You’re safe here. Mr. Ren may sound like a lion, but he would never hurt you.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“Now sit down here. Would you like some milk?”
“Oh, yes. Please.”
Delsey made her a sandwich and a glass of milk, and busied herself with the dinner dishes while she ate.
“Thanks,” she said when she finished. She took her plate and glass to the sink.
Delsey hugged her. “Don’t worry. Things work out, even when you don’t think they will.”
She smiled and hugged the older woman back. “I’ll try. Thanks.”
“No problem. You go to bed and sleep. You’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Good night.”
“You, too.”
* * *
BUT IT WASN’T a good night, and she wasn’t fine. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Her father was standing over her with his belt. It had blood all over it. He was yelling as he brought it down on her back with all his strength behind it...
“Wake up, damn it!”
She felt hard hands on her arms, pulling her up, felt whiskey-scented breath on her face. But the hands weren’t hurting her. They were warm and they felt good on the bare skin. She opened her eyes.
Ren was sitting on the bed, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. His broad chest, hair-roughened, was beautiful. She thought how she’d love to paint him like that. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. But she didn’t dare let it show, how she felt. She lifted her eyes to his and winced.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had a nightmare.”
His big hands smoothed down her arms. “About what?”
“Something in the past,” she said evasively. “Long ago,” she lied.
He drew in a long breath. “It was the belt, wasn’t it?”
She hesitated, but finally she nodded. “I can’t stand to hear a belt snapped like that. Daddy always...” She stopped.
“Your father hit you with a belt?”
She nodded.
“So did mine, when I was a kid. I used to have welts on the backs of my legs. I was a reckless boy, always into something I shouldn’t be. Dad got impatient.”
She didn’t want to tell him the truth, about the scars on her poor back. She didn’t want him to see them. She always wore nightgowns with a high neckline, so that no part of her back showed.
He touched her cheek, pushed back the disheveled platinum hair that had come loose from the braid she wore it in. “Don’t you take it down at night?” he asked curiously.
The feel of his hand on her face made her feel odd things. She felt trembly all over when he brushed her cheek like that. Her heart kicked into gear, unsettling her.
“No, I have to put it up when I sleep,” she said. “It gets in my face. I really should cut it. But it’s been long all my life.”
“It would be a crime to cut hair this beautiful,” he said quietly.
She looked up into his eyes and couldn’t look away. Neither could he. His breath came quickly. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, down to the bow shape of her pretty mouth. They lingered there, teasing the soft flesh, making her feel liquid, melting. She wanted to push close to him, feel him hold her. She wanted to tempt his mouth down to hers and see what a kiss felt like. She was hungry for something...
Incredibly, his head started to bend. She felt his whiskey-scented breath in her mouth. She drew in her own breath as she looked at his sensuous lips and wondered how they were going to feel grinding hungrily into hers.
His hand slid to the back of her neck and began to pull, ever so gently. She felt her lips parting, her body throbbing, as his mouth came closer, closer, closer...
“What happened?” Delsey asked from the doorway.
Ren drew back from Merrie, glaring at her as if he was angry. He got to his feet quickly. “She had a nightmare,” he said shortly. He turned away, grateful that his pajamas were loose. “She’s all right. I’m going back to bed.”
“Are you all right, dear?” Delsey asked. She was wearing a cotton nightgown and a long cotton robe. She looked like an angel.
“I’m fine...now,” Merrie said breathlessly. “Just a nightmare. I’m so sorry I woke everybody up.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Delsey confessed. “I was watching a movie on my iPad.”
“You can do that?” Merrie asked excitedly. “How?” Ren left them talking and went back to his bedroom. As an afterthought, he slammed the door. That woman was really a witch. He was reeling just from touching her mouth. He wasn’t going to be led into that sweet trap a second time. If she was in the market for a rich husband, Randall could have her. She was Randall’s girl, anyway, wasn’t she?
He turned off the lights and climbed into bed, surprised at his own vulnerability.
* * *
MERRIE DELIBERATELY SLEPT LATE so that she wouldn’t have to sit at the table with Ren at breakfast. It was cowardly, but she worried that he’d be out for blood. He’d almost kissed her the night before. But he was going to hate himself for that weakness, and it would be open season on Merrie if she gave him the opportunity.
She poked her head into the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t see him.
Delsey was putting away the dishes. She grimaced when she saw Merrie.
“I know. I came late,” Merrie said softly. “It’s okay. I don’t eat much, anyway.”
The older woman looked hunted. Merrie went close and hugged her. “Thanks for saving me last night. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with the boss.”
Delsey hugged her back. “Not so much. I’ve been around since he was in college. I guess he’s used to me.” She drew away with a sigh. “He was topping cotton this morning,” she added, using an old Southern term for someone being furiously angry.
Merrie laughed softly. “That’s very Southern sounding,” she commented.
“I was born in Eufaula, Alabama,” Delsey said surprisingly. “I married a cowboy who was traveling through town with his boss on a cattle-buying trip. Met him in a café and went back to Wyoming with him three days later. We were married for twenty-five years before he had a heart attack. I stayed on working for Mr. Ren’s father after he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “It was a long time ago. I still miss him. I wish we could have had children, but that wasn’t in the cards.”
“I would like children, I think,” Merrie said sadly. “I’m just not sure about marriage. My poor mother,” she said softly. “I don’t think she had a single happy day with my father. She lived for Sari and me. Until...” She closed up like a flower and smiled. “Did they get the female vet to come over from Powell?” she asked.
“Yes, they did,” she replied. “Mr. Ren was on his way to the stables.”
“He said they might call me to use some witchcraft on Hurricane so he’d let the vet in the stall with him,” Merrie murmured.
“He says a lot of things he doesn’t really mean,” Delsey said softly. “Mr. Ren’s had a hard life. His father mostly ignored him. Then his mother divorced him to run away with Mr. Randall’s father, and she made Ren go along. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t crazy about his dad, but he loved this ranch.”
“How old was he?” Merrie asked.
“He was ten years old. Mr. Ren’s father went crazy after they left. He got drunk and stayed drunk for years. The ranch was falling apart by the time Mr. Ren graduated and came back here. He sobered up his dad, reorganized the ranch and started making improvements. He let the land stand for loans to improve pasture and fencing, to buy seed bulls, to upgrade the equipment and refurbish the stables and the barn...” She laughed as she finished putting up dishes. “He was like a whirlwind. The ranch got out of the red two years after he started. Fifteen years later, he has an empire here. His dad lived long enough to see a prosperous future, but not long enough to enjoy it.”
“That’s sad.”
“It was. Mr. Ren’s mother wanted to come to the funeral, but he refused to let her near the place.”
Merrie caught her breath. “Why?”
“They’ve had some problems,” Desley said. “Mr. Ren overheard her say something that hurt him real bad. I told you about that. He just left. Never even said goodbye. Hitchhiked out here to his dad, moved in and started to work. He’s like that,” she added. “He doesn’t say what he’s going to do. He just does it.”
“He’s scary, in a way,” Merrie said.
“Lots of people are, until you get to know them,” Delsey told her gently. “He’s not a violent man...”
“...told you to get the damned rope on him first!” Ren was raging outside the window. “Now look what you’ve done, you idiot! I ought to lay you out on the ground, Grandy!”
Merrie held her breath as Ren stormed in the back door, half carrying a man with blood all over one arm.
“Oh, dear,” Delsey said. “Grandy, what in the world?”
“Clean him up, would you, Delsey?” Ren asked, putting the man in a chair. “Probably needs stitches. I’ll get Tubbs up here to drive him into town to the doctor.” He glanced at Merrie coldly. “If you faint, don’t do it in here. I’ve got enough problems.”
“How did it happen?” Delsey asked, while Merrie stood just staring at the bleeding man.
“He was trying to rope a horse. Horse reared up and threw him into a sheet of tin.”
“Was it Hurricane?” Merrie asked worriedly.
“Yes, it was Hurricane,” he shot at her angrily.
She moved closer to him. “Couldn’t I help?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want her near the horse. He was furious at her because he’d been weak the night before. He didn’t want her around, didn’t want her near him. She was Randall’s girl...
“You might let her try before anybody else gets hurt, Mr. Ren,” Delsey intervened.
“Hell!” He tilted his hat low over his eyes. “All right. Come on.”
Delsey washed the deep cut on Grandy’s arm. “Cut a vein, I think,” she told Ren.
“Tubbs is on his way. Wrap a towel around it,” Ren told her.
“Sorry, Ren,” Grandy said sheepishly.
Ren just glared at him. He opened the door, let Merrie out and followed her.
She’d grabbed her light jacket. It was freezing cold outside and flurries of snow touched her face. A dusting of it was on the ground from the day before. She hadn’t had time to really enjoy it. She lifted her face to it and smiled, her eyes closed.
Ren glanced at her, and an unfamiliar tenderness tugged at his cold heart. She was like a child, he thought. She took pleasure in the simplest things.
“Your jacket’s too thin for a Wyoming autumn,” he said, fighting down the feelings she provoked in him.
“It rarely gets much below freezing in South Texas,” she replied, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “This is the heaviest coat I own.”
“Tell Delsey to take you to town and get a warmer one. I have an account at Jolpe’s. It’s a chain department store.” He didn’t add that it was one of the real high-end shops. It catered to movie stars who came to Jackson Hole, which wasn’t too far away.
“I’ll do that. Thanks.” She was going to spend her own money, but he could think what he liked.
“Randall would take you himself, if he was here,” he added deliberately. He had to keep reminding himself that she belonged to his stepbrother.
“Of course he would.”
They walked into the stables, down the stone walkway to the stall where Hurricane was kept. The female vet, middle-aged, with blond hair and blue eyes, glanced at them as they approached.
She grimaced. “I can’t get the stupid tranquilizer gun to work. I should have asked Kells with Game and Fish to show me again how to use it...”
While she was talking, Merrie went right up to the gate of the stall and held her hand out. It contained one of two treats she’d taken from a nearby bag.
She opened her hand, the treat on her palm, and offered it to the nervous gelding.
“Hi, sweetheart. Remember me?” she asked softly, smiling.
Apparently he did, because he came right up to the gate and tossed his mane, whinnying softly.
“That’s a sweet boy,” she said, watching him nibble the treat. She smoothed her bare hand over his head, between his eyes. “What a sweet boy!”
The vet, mesmerized, just stared at her. “He just knocked one of the cowboys into that pile of tin in the aisle,” she pointed out, indicating a small refuse pile from some repairs.
“She has a way with horses, apparently,” Ren said curtly. “Can you keep him diverted while Dr. Branch gets in the pen with him?”
“Of course I can,” Merrie said. She smoothed her hand over the horse’s ears, calming him.
The vet took advantage of the lull to go into the stall and examine the cuts. “I can use a local on these,” she said. “If you can just keep him busy...”
“I can do that,” Merrie assured her.
She talked to Hurricane, smoothing her hand over his face, his ears, his cheek, all the while talking to him. When he felt the needle he started to shift, but Merrie drew him back and laid her forehead against his, talking to him again. He calmed. The vet began to put in the stitches, working efficiently. It didn’t take long.
Dr. Branch came out of the stall with a long sigh. “That’s some bedside manner you’ve got there, Miss...?”
“Grayling,” Merrie said. “My name is Meredith, but everybody calls me Merrie,” she added, with a smile.
“Merrie, then. Thanks for the help.”
“I didn’t mind. I love horses.”
“That one certainly seems to like you,” Dr. Branch said. She shook her head. “I couldn’t get the stupid tranquilizer gun to work. I guess I need more training with it,” she said with a laugh.
“Will he be all right now?” Merrie asked, because she was worried. Some of the cuts had been very deep.
“I gave him an antibiotic,” she replied. “If there’s any obvious infection around the cuts, I may need to come back and see him. You know the signs, I’m sure,” she said to Ren.
“I know them all too well. Thanks for coming, Doc.”
“My pleasure.” She picked up her bag, smiled at Merrie and walked back down the aisle.
“I thought he’d have to be put down,” Ren commented.
“He’s not a bad horse. He’s just been exposed to a bad man,” Merrie replied. She was still smoothing the horse’s forehead. “He’s so beautiful. I drew a portrait of him,” she added softly.
“Did you?” He sounded disinterested. “He’ll settle down now. I have work to do.”
“Am I being evicted?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“For the time being, yes.”
She sighed, nuzzled Hurricane’s face with her own and left him. He whinnied when she got halfway down the stall. She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll come back again.”
He tossed his head.
“Don’t tell me you can talk to horses, too,” he scoffed.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Daddy never let us near the stables when he was home.”
He scowled, looking down at her. “What sort of horses did he keep?”
Thoroughbreds, but she wasn’t telling him that. She liked being just plain Merrie. “Quarter horses,” she lied. “He sold them all over the world.”
“But you weren’t allowed to ride them?”
“Not the registered ones, no. He didn’t trust us with them.”
“Why?”
She grimaced. “He thought we might injure one, I guess. He kept a few saddle horses for guests. We got to ride those. They were old and swaybacked, but at least we learned how to ride.”
He raised an eyebrow. There was a big difference between riding a quarter horse and a swayback, he thought privately. He wondered if she was bragging, and her father hadn’t had more than one or two horses. Surely, her clothes were an indication that she and her family didn’t have much money. All her attire seemed to consist of gray sweatpants and sweatshirts, most of which had either writing or logos on them.
Her boots, at least, were proper ones. No designer footwear there, he mused, looking down at her small feet. She had on boots that had seen hard wear. They looked a lot like his own, except that hers hadn’t been subjected to smelly substances and too much water.
“The vet seemed nice,” she commented.
“She was. Nice, and quite smart. Her husband is also a vet. They specialize in large-animal calls.”
“Out here, I guess they’d have to,” she commented, looking around at the long, beautiful pastures that led off to sharp, jagged white peaks in the distance. “Is that the Rocky Mountains?” she asked.
“No. Those are the Teton Mountains. We’re closer to Jackson Hole than we are to Yellowstone.”
“I don’t know much about the territory out here,” she confessed. “I’ve never been out of south Texas in my life.”
He scowled. “Never?”
“Daddy didn’t want us out of his sight,” she said simply.
Daddy sounded like a paranoid schizophrenic. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud.
They walked into the kitchen. Delsey had stopped the bleeding temporarily with a large towel, under which bandages could be seen. A tall, good-looking cowboy with blue eyes and black hair was standing beside Grandy. He looked up when Merrie walked in, and his eyes twinkled.
“It is she. The witch woman!” he teased.
Merrie’s eyebrows met her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“Your fame has preceded you, my lady,” the man said, making her a sweeping bow. “I expected choirs of cherubs singing praises...”
She felt her forehead. “I don’t think I have a fever,” she murmured.
“He does Shakespeare at our local playhouse,” Delsey said, rolling her eyes. “That’s Rory Tubbs, Merrie, although none of us ever use his first name,” she introduced them. “He’s playing King Lear.”
“Not King Lear,” he muttered. “Macbeth!”
“I always get those two confused,” the older woman conceded. “There you go, Grandy. You’ll live until Tubbs can get you to the doc.”
“Hurricane didn’t kill you, then?” Grandy asked Merrie.
She smiled. “No. He’s a sweet horse.”
“You’d think so,” Grandy muttered. “He didn’t pitch you headfirst into a pile of tin, now, did he?”
She laughed softly. “No, he didn’t. I hope you’ll be all right,” she added gently.
Grandy actually flushed. He got up and grabbed his hat, nodding at her before he put it on. “I’ll be fine. Nothing but a cut,” he murmured.
“A big cut, but he’ll still be fine,” Tubbs added with a flash of white teeth. He tipped his hat. “See you again, fair maiden.”
She smiled.
“Don’t die,” Ren told Grandy. “I can’t afford to lose you.”
Grandy grinned at him. “Hard to kill a weed, boss.” He grimaced. “Next time, I’ll listen.”
“Next time, you’d better,” Ren said. His eyes smiled at the older man, even if his mouth didn’t. It was impossible to miss the very real affection Ren had for his men.
“I always listen, don’t I, boss?” Tubbs asked. “And I can drive in six feet of snow and ice.” He buffed his nails on his coat. “I’m irreplaceable.”
“I can do that myself,” Ren shot back. “Don’t get cocky.”
Tubbs chuckled and herded Grandy out the back door toward the waiting pickup truck.
“Don’t flirt with the men,” Ren said icily.
She gaped at him. “I smiled at him!”
“Don’t smile at them, either,” he added belligerently.
She just stood there, uncertain and undecided.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and went back out the door. He slammed it behind him, rattling the elaborate glass pane at the top of it.
“He’ll break that one day,” Delsey said with a sigh. She shook her head. “No pleasing him today, is there?”
“Is he always like this with women?” she wanted to know.
She fought for the right words. “Well, not with older women,” she qualified.
“Maybe I can age ten years or something,” Merrie said under her breath.
Delsey laughed. “You really do have something special in you, if you could get that wild horse to let the vet treat him.”
“He’s been hurt,” Merrie said. “He’s just scared.”
“Maybe. But if I were a man, I wouldn’t go in the pen with him.”
Merrie laughed. “Neither would I,” she confessed.
“Want a sausage biscuit?” Delsey asked, peering around her toward the door, just in case Mr. Ren was somewhere nearby.
“I’d love one, thanks, and some coffee. I’ll sneak them up to my room while he’s away.”
“I promise you, he isn’t usually this unreasonable,” Delsey began.
“I just rub him the wrong way. Some people are like that. It’s okay.” She smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell him you fed me,” she added.
Delsey laughed. “Well, not right away,” she replied.
CHAPTER THREE (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
MERRIE FINISHED A preliminary sketch of Ren, one she planned to turn into a portrait of him later. He really was a striking man, she thought, studying it. But there was something more than just looks there. He was strong and independent and deliberate in the way he went about things. It was all there, in her sketch.
She was so glad that Hurricane had received the care he needed. The vet really knew what she was doing. She’d go back out and check on him tomorrow. Meanwhile, she worked on sketching Ren’s portrait. She loved the hard lines of his face, the incredible masculinity that radiated from him. He brimmed with authority, but not like her father had. Her father had been cruel and domineering. Ren tended to dominate, too, but not in a cruel way.
Delsey had told her that Ren almost never had a drink. But she was sure he’d had whiskey on his breath when he came to see her after her nightmare. He’d looked guilty and haunted after he’d snapped the belt and she’d run away from him. So there was kindness there, inside him. He just didn’t let it show. He was like a wolf who’d put his paw in a fire and drew it back at once, resolving never to go near fire again. Some woman had hurt him badly, Delsey had said. She didn’t think he was the kind of man who went through women in droves, like his brother, Randall. She liked Randall very much as a friend, but she’d never have wanted him for a boyfriend. He was flighty and he loved women. He never stuck with one for longer than a few weeks, and she was sure he’d never been in love. One day, she thought with laughter, he’d meet his match.
She put a campfire and a wolf in the background of Ren’s portrait. It seemed to suit. She added lodgepole pines for a backdrop. She drew him in the shepherd’s coat and the wide-brimmed hat he wore around the ranch. He looked very lifelike, as if he could walk off the page of the sketchbook.
She wished she had her paints and canvases, but those were back in Texas. She’d hesitated to use her cell phones, even though Paul had assured her they couldn’t be traced. And it wasn’t as if she could have her painting supplies sent up here, not without the risk of having someone notice where they were going. Paul had worried about the man Timmy Leeds had hired to kill Merrie. He’d sounded very professional, and Paul mentioned that he’d been in the business for many years. Men who weren’t competent got weeded out fast.
Here, in Wyoming, she could forget for hours at a time that she was being hunted. She gave a thought to Ren and Delsey, and prayed that she wasn’t putting them in harm’s way just by living in the house with them. But, then, Randall had assured her that Ren had state-of-the-art surveillance and very capable bodyguards on the place. He’d also assured her that Ren knew exactly why she was here. It relieved her a little.
She remembered that Ren had told her to go shopping for a coat. She’d have to do that. Maybe there was an art supply store in town. Wait, what about Amazon? She could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. She had an account, with her brand-new credit card backing it up.
She pulled out her cell phone, loaded the app and started shopping for supplies. It didn’t take long to find everything she needed. Now she just had to find a room to paint in. She’d ask Ren.
But not today, she decided. He was bound to be in a snarly mood when he came in from working around the ranch. It amazed her how much there was to do on a ranch this size. There were buildings that had to be repaired, stalls in both the barn and stable that had to be scrubbed and filled with fresh hay, tack that had to be mended, machines that had to be worked on—it was a never-ending process.
Then there were the cattle. In bad weather, cowboys paid even closer attention to them. The herds were checked several times a day by cowboys, who were expected to be out working no matter how bad the weather got.
Most of the outbuildings, Delsey had told her, were made of steel. It was durable, and even snow that packed several feet in winter couldn’t collapse the roofs. There were lean-tos out in the sweeping fenced pastures, for the cattle to shelter in when the weather got rough, and those were also made of steel, with sloping roofs. Heated water troughs were everywhere. The men carried hay out to the cattle when snow got deep. It was placed in troughs with grates, so there wasn’t so much waste as the cattle ate. There were many corrals where horses were worked. Some were used to contain animals when they were due to be branded, tagged, castrated and inoculated. Those had loading chutes. Animals were herded down them either to trays used to work the calves, or to loading docks where the beef steers were loaded en route to other pastures or buyers.
Merrie had read about spring roundup on ranches, and she really would have loved to see the process. But it was October. No roundup was going on now. Instead, she found a DVD that showed the process on Skyhorn, the name of Ren’s big ranch.
While he was out, she put it in the DVD player, gathered up her knitting basket and settled back to watch the men work.
She was knee-deep into knitting a hat and watching Ren talking to a reporter about how branding was done when she heard a door open. She thought it was Delsey and paid no attention, until she heard a deep voice behind her.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ren asked curtly.
She jumped, and looked up from her knitting with red cheeks. “Sorry. Was it okay if I use the DVD player?”
He scowled as he noticed her subject matter. He swept off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I’d forgotten about that,” he murmured. “A reporter for a local station was doing a story about ranches and wanted to interview me. I don’t usually do them, but he was known for fairness in journalism.”
Her eyes asked the question.
He dropped into the leather armchair that nobody else was supposed to sit in and stared at her. “We get a lot of people who want to shut down the beef industry entirely.” He shrugged. “Opinions are like...well, everybody has one,” he said, amending what he’d been about to let out.
“I guess so,” she said. “The cattle industry may be an artificial use of land, but buffalo and other ruminants have been around for a very long time. Animal gases may contribute to climate change, but I’d put nuclear testing and volcanic eruptions at the top of any list I made about gases in the atmosphere.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. His attention was drawn to the interview she was watching. They were using the branding iron on the steers.
“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I know about branding. Some people said freeze branding was better, but it sheds off with the coat. A burned brand lasts forever.” She glanced at him. “I even know what a running iron is. But I didn’t learn that from the video,” she said, nodding toward the screen. “I love to read Zane Grey novels. I guess I have every book he ever wrote.”
“Me, too,” he confessed. “What’s your favorite?”
“The Light of Western Stars,” she said. “You know, the hero was loosely based on a real person, Red Lopez, who fought on the Arizona border during the Mexican War in 1910.”
Both his eyebrows went up. “You know your history.”
“I would have studied it,” she said. She lowered her eyes to her knitting. “But I was tired of people shadowing me. Daddy wouldn’t let us leave the house unless somebody was with us. I took art classes at our local community college instead of doing a degree.”
“Why did he have people following you?”
“He was afraid we might meet a boy and try to go out with him,” she said on a hollow laugh. “This nice cowboy asked me out once, when I was sixteen. I’d met him in school. His sister was in my class. He worked on a ranch. He was just a little older than me.” She shifted on the sofa. “Daddy found out. The cowboy suddenly left for Arizona.” She lowered her eyes back to the hat in her lap that she was knitting while Ren gaped at her.
“Why didn’t he want you dating?”
She bit her lower lip. “He had very definite ideas about what sort of men he wanted us to marry, and when.”
“Then how did you meet my brother?” he asked curtly.
She went back to her knitting. She didn’t answer him.
He leaned forward. “How?”
She let out a shallow breath. “He had a good friend who was in my art class. I’d seen him around town when he was visiting, and when he came to see the exhibit at our college, we started talking.” She smiled. “He wasn’t scared of Daddy. Just the same, I could never invite him to the house, and I had to make sure we were always in a crowd at college when I talked to him. Daddy was...not quite normal.”
He’d already figured that out. “Your sister is married, though?”
Randall must have told him that. “Yes. Just recently. Paul’s a senior agent with the FBI in San Antonio. He used to work for Daddy, long ago.” She stopped. She didn’t want to talk about her father or his fortune.
“What does your sister do?”
She smiled. “She’s an assistant district attorney in Jacobs County.”
“Didn’t you want to have a profession? Some way to earn a living?”
She didn’t want to talk about that, especially. “I hope to do that with my art, one day,” she said. She looked up into a faintly disappointed face. She knew he thought she had no ambition. It hurt. But she wasn’t telling him anything more about Graylings. Not yet. “That reminds me,” she said softly. “Is there a room I could use to paint in? I have paints and canvases coming. I don’t want to make a mess...”
“There’s a studio,” he said. “It belonged to...my father’s wife.” He never called her his mother. “She used it for painting. There’s a drop cloth in there, as well.”
“Thanks,” she told him. She wondered if Ren had loved his mother, before their sad parting. She’d have to ask Randall. She wouldn’t dare ask Ren. He was already fuming about something; perhaps a bad memory of the woman. She was certain that he wouldn’t have referred to his mother at all if she hadn’t asked the question about the studio.
He waved away the gratitude. His eyes went to the quick, efficient movement of her hands. “What are you making?”
“Hats,” she said with a smile. “I make dozens and give them away, to children I meet on the street, to old people in the waiting room when I have dentist appointments. I gave some to a woman who helps Mandy in the house, who works with an outreach program as a volunteer.” She hesitated. “I mostly do it when I’m watching television.”
“You make hats?” Delsey asked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, stirring something she was making in a bowl. “Could you make me one?” she asked. “I’m forever going in and out to take trash, and my head gets cold even when I put on a coat.”
“Sure. You can have this one when it’s finished.” She held it up. It was green and gold and tan.
“I like that!”
She laughed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll just finish getting this cake ready to go in the oven. Apple pound cake, Mr. Ren, with vanilla frosting.”
“Something to look forward to tonight,” he said, and smiled at her.
“It’ll be ready by then.” She went back into the kitchen.
“I thought you’d be squeamish,” Ren remarked as Merrie’s attention went back to the screen.
“I like cattle,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t know much about them. There are ranches all around the house where Sari and I grew up. Most of the people in Jacobs County either run cattle or work on ranches.”
“Sari?”
She laughed softly. “Her name is really Isabel, but only Paul calls her that. To the rest of us, she’s Sari.”
“Are you like her?”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “Sari’s redheaded and has really blue eyes. Mine are sort of a washed-out version of hers. And she’s very smart. She graduated in the top of her class from college and law school.”
He cocked his head and studied her. She was pretty and sweet. Smart? He didn’t care if a woman was smart or not. He liked Merrie. Even though he really didn’t want to.
He got to his feet, slapping his work gloves into his hand. “You can come back for spring roundup,” he mused. “I’ll take you out and you can see the process firsthand.”
“You’d do that for me?” she exclaimed, her face radiating joy. “Oh, I’d love to see it!”
He smiled faintly. “Okay.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Delsey, I’ll be back late tonight. Fred and I have to ride out to the line cabins and check on the men.”
“All right. It’s going to snow kittens and you’re already sniffling. Don’t stand out in the cold.”
“Stop worrying,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” she shot back. “You sound stuffed up.”
“I’m going now,” he replied. “See you later.”
“Okay. Go kill yourself and see if I care!” she called back.
He just laughed. He glanced at Merrie, tipped his hat and went out the door. It was really coming down outside. Snow seemed to come often in autumn here in Wyoming. Merrie wondered if the weather was always like that.
* * *
MERRIE WAS ON TIME for supper. She and Delsey ate a nice stew with biscuits, then Merrie went up to her room to sketch some more. She’d gone to bed when she heard Ren’s footsteps come up the stairs. Odd how slow they sounded. His step was always quick and confident. Probably he was just tired, she thought. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
The next morning, she was on time for breakfast, but Ren wasn’t sitting at the table, as he usually was.
Delsey frowned as she put things on the table. “Not like him to be late. I’m going up to check on him.”
“I hope he’s all right,” Merrie said.
“Warned him about being out in that snow when he was already feeling bad. He never listens.” She was still muttering as she went out the door and up the staircase.
Delsey was back very soon. She went directly to the phone in the living room, picked it up and dialed.
She told someone Ren’s symptoms, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll have Tubbs drive him right into town. Thanks, Sylvia.”
She hung up. Then she called down to the bunkhouse, asked for Tubbs and had him come up to the house.
“Ren’s sick?” Merrie asked, worriedly.
“Yes. He sounds as if he’s breathing water,” Delsey said worriedly. “He almost never gets sick, but there’s that virus that was going around, and he won’t take care of himself. Out in the freezing cold and wind for hours...” She stopped. “Go eat, child. He’ll be all right. He’s tough.”
Merrie managed a smile. She felt sad. When Ren walked in the door, the house came to life. It was an odd thing to feel about a man she barely knew and didn’t really like. But he seemed to fill the house up with color just by being in it.
* * *
MINUTES LATER, DELSEY propped him up with her shoulder and helped him walk down the staircase. His face was a pasty white, and he looked terrible. When he coughed, the congestion was audible.
“I’m all right,” he was protesting.
“You’re not all right. Merrie, can you hold on to him for me while I see if Tubbs is out there? I think I hear the truck...”
“Of course.” Merrie took Delsey’s place under Ren’s arm and felt the hard muscular body closer than she ever had before. He was warm and strong, and smelled of fir trees. She liked the feeling she got, being near him like this. It was something she’d never experienced.
Ren liked the softness of her young body. He liked the feel of her. He liked it too much, he thought to himself. He moved restlessly. He felt really sick.
“It’s okay,” Merrie said softly. “The doctor will give you something, and you’ll get better.”
“I’ve got work to do...!”
“It will get done when it gets done,” she said firmly. “You can’t work if you’re dead, now, can you?”
He looked down into her soft pale blue eyes. “Pest,” he muttered.
She grinned up at him. “Certifiable.”
He managed a laugh, but it made him cough.
Delsey motioned to them. “Tubbs is right outside. Come on, Mr. Ren.” She looked out the door. “Tubbs, come help, he’s heavy!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Tubbs came shooting in the door, grinned at Merrie and took Ren under the arm. “Come on, boss man. You can’t die. We’ll all have to go looking for work and we’ll never find anybody else who’ll yell at us and threaten to soak our blankets in vinegar.”
“Tubbs...” Ren began irritably.
“On the other hand, if you die, I want that nice watch you have, the one with all the dials,” Tubbs continued.
Surprisingly, Ren burst out laughing, which caused another coughing fit.
“In you go, boss man. You’re not dying today.” He waved to the women, got in beside Ren and drove away.
Merrie went back inside the house with Delsey, rubbing her arms because it was bitterly cold outside.
“You need a winter coat,” Delsey said firmly.
“I’ll go shopping. But not today.” Merrie laughed. She followed Delsey into the kitchen. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?” she added, worried and not able to hide it.
Delsey suppressed a smile. “He’ll be fine. Dr. Fellows will make sure of it. He delivered Ren.”
She cocked her head. “How long ago?” she wondered.
“Almost thirty-seven years,” Delsey replied. “He was born December 6.”
“I see.” He was older than she’d thought. Thirty-six, to her twenty-two. Well, she’d be twenty-three in November. It was still fourteen years. She supposed a mature man like that would think of her as just a child. It depressed her. She wondered why. He was hot-tempered, irritable, impatient, overbearing... Well, she had to finish that knitting, and adding to the adjectives would take a long time.
* * *
REN CAME HOME LATER, with Tubbs still supporting him.
“We have medicine and orders from the doctor,” Tubbs said, helping Ren up the staircase. “I expect him to take the first and ignore the second.”
“You can bet on it,” Ren muttered.
Tubbs just laughed.
After he got Ren settled, he came back down the staircase. He tipped his hat to the women. “I have to go ride the fence line and look for breaks.”
“Button that coat,” Delsey said firmly. “One sick man is enough.”
Tubbs grinned at her. “I never get sick.” He glanced at Merrie and started to speak.
“Out,” Delsey said, because she had a feeling he wanted to ask Merrie out. Ren wouldn’t like it.
He made a face. “You’re as bad as he is,” he remarked, nodding up the staircase.
“Where do you think I learned it from?” Delsey returned, and she grinned.
“Ah, well, fair maiden, there’s always tomorrow,” Tubbs said, and made Merrie a sweeping bow before he left. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!” he added on his way out.
Merrie looked after him, but not with any real interest. She turned back to Delsey. “Will Ren take the medicine, you think?”
“I would bet money that he sticks it in his medicine cabinet and closes the door,” Delsey replied. “It’s what he did the last time, and he ended up right back in Dr. Fellows’s office.”
Merrie hesitated. “Does he wear pajamas?” she asked, flushing.
“Ah. I see.” Delsey smiled gently. “He wears the bottoms,” she said. “Think you can get the medicine in him?”
“I got medicine in an outlaw horse once,” Merrie replied.
Delsey smiled gently. “Let me heat up some soup for him, and we’ll both take it up.”
“Great!” Merrie said.
Delsey kept her thoughts to herself. It was a relief, however, to notice that dashing Tubbs hadn’t made an impression on the young woman. The boss looked at Merrie in a way he hadn’t looked at a woman since that she-cat took him for the ride of his life. It was a start.
* * *
REN WAS IN BED with the covers pulled up to his waist, looking miserable, when Delsey and Merrie walked in.
“I just need rest,” he muttered, glaring at them. “Not mothering!”
“Nobody’s mothering you,” Merrie promised. “Where’s the medicine?”
He glared at her.
“In the medicine cabinet, I’ll bet,” Delsey told her.
“Traitor!” Ren shot at her.
Merrie walked into his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were two prescriptions. One was an antibiotic, one was a powerful cough syrup.
She carried them both triumphantly back into the bedroom and started to open the antibiotic.
“Is that the cough syrup?” Delsey asked, reaching for it. She had a spoon in her hand. She read the directions, poured some into a spoon and pushed it toward Ren’s defiantly closed mouth.
“Open up, or I’ll roll you in a towel and shove it into you,” Merrie said forcefully.
The words, and the tone, caused him to burst out laughing. He opened his mouth, and Delsey spooned the cough syrup in.
“Very nice,” Merrie said. She held a pill in her hand. “This one, too,” she said.
He stared up at her. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“Delsey, have you got a really big towel and two strong men...?”
“Hell.” He opened his mouth and glared at Merrie as she put the pill on his tongue.
He swallowed it down with some of the milk Delsey had brought him.
“Milk causes more mucus, you know,” Merrie commented.
“It’s all he’ll drink when he’s sick.” Delsey sighed as she put the tray with legs over him and set the soup and spoon and napkin on it.
“He needs to drink lots of water, to thin the secretions so he can cough up the mucus,” Merrie added.
“I’m right here,” Ren muttered. “I can hear both of you.”
They both stared at him.
He grimaced and picked up his soup spoon. “All right, you had your way. Now get out of here and let me eat my soup in peace.”
“It’s not soup. It’s oyster stew. Your favorite,” Delsey added with a warm smile.
He made a face at her, but then he smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You get better. If you need anything, use the intercom,” Delsey added, indicating the unit on his bedside table.
“I won’t. But thanks.” He included Merrie in that. “Don’t think that threat about the towel made any difference,” he added firmly.
She grinned at him. “Liar,” she said mischievously.
He just chuckled.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, MERRIE went in to see Ren before she went to bed. She was still fully dressed. She didn’t want to be seen by a man in just pajamas and a robe, even if it was a modern world.
She knocked lightly and peered in the door. “Doing okay?” she asked.
He glared at her. “Close the door, from the outside,” he said icily.
“Yes, sir.” She closed it, wincing at his angry tone, and went down the hall to her own room.
He was so unpredictable. One day he was almost nice to her, the next he snapped her head off. She looked at herself in the mirror and realized the cause of his sudden irritation. Her cross was visible around her neck, outside the sweatshirt she was wearing.
She fingered it gently. Her mother had given it to her when she was a little girl. She’d changed the gold chain many times over the years, but the cross remained the same. It was something from her mother, her childhood, something priceless. Ren didn’t have to like it. But she wasn’t taking it off.
His coldness hurt her. She wondered why. He was just Randall’s brother. He wasn’t even nice most of the time. Ah, well, she thought, she wasn’t going to be here long anyway. No use wasting thoughts on a man who’d probably pay to see her breaded and deep-fried.
* * *
IT TOOK HIM two days to get up enough strength to leave his bed. He was a little unsteady on his feet when he came down to breakfast, but his bad attitude was back in full force.
He pulled out a chair and glared at the women. “I don’t need babying, in case you had that in mind. I feel fine.”
Merrie stared at him. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Delsey agreed.
He popped his napkin out and folded it in his lap on top of his immaculate jeans and chaps. The spurs on his boots made a jingling sound when he moved his feet under the table.
“Is that sausage?” he asked suddenly, pointing his fork at the platter next to the bacon and eggs.
“Yes. Merrie likes it.”
“I hate sausage,” he said curtly.
“I love it,” Merrie replied, just to irritate him. She gave him a long, steady look. “It just makes me feel good, thinking of pork being shoved through a sausage grinder.”
His eyebrows went up. It was the way she said it, eyeing him the whole time. “I would not fit in a sausage grinder,” he said abruptly.
She sighed. “Pity,” she said, with a blithe smile.
He choked back a laugh and reached for the coffeepot.
* * *
SHE WALKED OUTSIDE before he left, enjoying the previous night’s fall of new snow. It lay like a blanket over the hills and mountains in the distance. She wrapped her arms around herself, because it was below freezing and her coat was more decorative than functional.
“I thought I told you to go to town and buy a coat,” Ren muttered as he came outside, sliding his hat over his brow.
“There hasn’t been time,” she replied.
“I’ll have Delsey drive you in tomorrow,” he said. His eyes gave the old coat a speaking glance. “Don’t you own a decent winter coat?”
She flushed and lowered her eyes. “We had a very strict clothing allowance when Daddy was alive,” she said with stinging pride. “He thought coats were a waste of money. He only gave us enough money to buy jackets, but I found this coat on sale.”
“I’m surprised they weren’t giving it away for free,” he said haughtily.
She frowned at him. “Not everybody is rich, Mr. Colter,” she said shortly. “Most people in the world just do the best they can with what they have.”
He lifted an eyebrow and slid his eyes over what he could see of her trim figure. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.
“Twenty-two,” she returned.
His eyes darkened. Too young, he was thinking. Years too young. Twenty-two to his thirty-six. She was striking. It wasn’t so much beauty, although she had that, as poise and grace. She moved like some graceful fawn, barely leaving traces of her footsteps when she walked.
“You’re just a kid,” he said quietly, thinking out loud.
“It’s the mileage,” she said suddenly.
He frowned. “What?”
“It’s the mileage. Some people are old at twenty and some are young at eighty. It’s the mileage.”
“I see.” He cocked his head and studied her openly. “You aren’t old enough to have much mileage, just the same.”
She smiled. “I don’t let it show. It takes a lot fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown.”
He cocked his hat low over his brow. “Don’t expect to see many smiles around here in winter.”
“Not true,” she said pertly. “Delsey smiles all the time. So does Tubbs.”
At the mention of the younger man’s name, he froze over. “Tubbs is here to work, not to make calf’s eyes at you,” he said, his tone biting. “Don’t encourage him. He likes blondes.”
“I haven’t encouraged anybody,” she protested.
“See that you don’t.” His smile was colder than the snow around them. “After all, you’re Randall’s...friend, aren’t you?” he added, a note of contempt in his tone.
“Yes,” she said, not understanding. “Randall’s my friend.”
“You remember that.”
He turned and marched off toward the truck, where one of the men was waiting for him. “Tell Delsey I’ll be late,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re going quail hunting.”
He was gone before she could even answer.
“Well, he’s in some great shape to go out hunting,” Delsey said irritably as she puttered around the kitchen. “Hunkered down in a snowbank waiting to spook a covey of quail! He’ll catch his death!”
“He really doesn’t listen to reason.”
Delsey laughed. “No. He doesn’t.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
THAT NIGHT, DELSEY had gone up to bed when Ren came in with a bag of partridges. He put them in the kitchen sink.
“Just leave them there,” he said when he noticed Merrie watching television in the living room. “Delsey can deal with them in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night,” she called after him.
Well, at least he was speaking to her, Merrie thought wistfully. She finished watching her program, then turned the television off.
She was about to switch the light off in the kitchen when she remembered the partridges in the sink. It would be a shame to leave them there all night and expect poor Delsey to dress them even before she could start breakfast the next morning.
She pulled up a trash can and went to work. It didn’t take long. She had them dressed and in baggies in the fridge. She dealt with the refuse, taking it outside to the garbage can, so the men could haul it off to the county landfill. They took a load most days.
She went to bed, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was a rare feeling for a woman who’d hardly ever lived, except in the shadow of a tyrant.
* * *
SHE WENT DOWNSTAIRS to breakfast. Voices came up the staircase.
“I left them right there in the damned sink!” Ren growled. “I can’t think what became of them.”
“They’re in the fridge,” Merrie said.
He glared at her. “You don’t put dead birds...”
“Ren?” Delsey held up the Ziplock bags with the dressed partridges in them.
He frowned. His eyes snapped back to Merrie with a question in them.
“Mandy taught me how,” she said simply. “She’s our housekeeper, back home, although she’s more like a mother. She thought we needed to know how to do more than just cook. She even taught us how to dress chickens.”
Ren was fascinated. She didn’t seem the sort of woman who’d take to such a basic sort of occupation. She looked fragile, citified, as if she’d faint at the sight of blood. But Grandy’s wound hadn’t sent her swooning. She’d watched tapes of branding without flinching. Now, here she was field dressing game. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known a woman besides Delsey who could do that. He tried to picture Angie, in her Paris gowns, soiling her hands with bird feathers in a sink.
“If it bothers you that much, I can glue the feathers back on,” Merrie began outrageously.
He hid the smile the words engendered. “Full of surprises, aren’t you, Miss Grayling?”
“Just one or two, Mr. Colter.” She frowned. “Colter. There was a mountain man, Jim Bridger’s protégé, they said, named John Colter. I heard a song about him on an old album my mother had.”
“Yes. He discovered fumeroles and hot springs on the Shoshone River near Cody, as the story goes,” Ren related as they sat down to breakfast. “They nicknamed it Colter’s Hell, although most people thought he was spinning a tall tale until they actually saw it.”
“I’ve never been there,” Merrie said.
“Yellowstone National Park is near there. It’s beautiful,” Delsey remarked. “Pass the strawberry preserves, there’s a dear.”
Merrie handed them to her. “It’s a place I’d love to see. Yellowstone, and the Little Big Horn Battlefield, and the museum.”
“More history,” Ren remarked.
Merrie smiled softly. “I live on YouTube. I’ve been on tours of all those places, but I’d love to see them in person one day. Especially the battlefield. Mama said that one of our relatives actually was in the fight.”
“In the cavalry?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”
He paused in the act of lifting the spoon from his coffee cup and stared at her.
“My great-great-great-grandfather was a full-blooded Oglala Lakota.”
His eyebrows arched as he studied her closely.
“I know, I don’t look it. But my mother’s father had black hair and eyes and very dark skin. It was from her father’s side that we got our blood.”
Ren pursed his lips and chuckled. “One of my ancestors was Northern Cheyenne.”
“They fought the Lakota,” she mused.
“Tooth and nail. Well, usually, except at the Little Bighorn, when they joined together to fight Custer and his men.”
She ate a spoonful of Delsey’s delicious scrambled eggs. “How’s Hurricane?” she asked.
He gave her a cold glance. It still rankled that she’d been able to do something with a horse that he couldn’t. “Healing,” was all he said.
She just nodded. He made his antagonism for her so obvious. It was uncomfortable.
He finished breakfast, threw down the last swallow of his coffee and got to his feet.
“Wear a muffler,” Delsey said without looking up.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he bit off.
“Wear a muffler,” she repeated. “You’re still not well.”
He muttered something about overprotective mother hens. But he got a scarf and wrapped it around his neck before he put on his coat and hat.
Delsey got up and fetched a big thermos. “Hot coffee. It’ll keep your insides warm.”
“My insides are already warm.” He grimaced, bent and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.
Merrie didn’t lift her eyes until he was out the door and gone. She sipped coffee with a wistful glance at Delsey. “I set him off just by being in the house.” She sighed. “He really dislikes me.”
“It wouldn’t matter who you were, child,” Delsey said with a smile. “That she-cat razed his pride, made him a laughingstock on social forums online.” She shook her head. “She was vindictive. None of what she said about him was true, but it was almost impossible to counter it.”
“Yes, it is.” She wondered what the woman had said about Ren. He was proud. It must have hurt his feelings very badly to be ridiculed in a way he couldn’t fight.
There was the sound of a big truck out front, followed by a door slamming and a knock at the door.
Delsey went to answer it, and she stared blankly at the parcel service driver. “You sure that’s for here?” she asked him with a grin.
“If there’s a Miss Grayling here, it is,” he replied, putting a stack of boxes just inside the front door. A flutter of snowflakes entered with them.
“It’s my art supplies!” Merrie enthused. “Oh, thank you!”
“That’s all art supplies?” Delsey asked, shaking her head. “What’d you do, order live models?”
The parcel driver chuckled, waved and left.
“It’s an easel and some canvases and a lot of paints,” Merrie replied. “I was afraid to ask Sari to send my supplies out here from Texas. I didn’t want anybody to trace them.”
“Oh, yes,” Delsey agreed, remembering. “That stalker.”
Merrie frowned. Well, perhaps Ren hadn’t felt comfortable telling Delsey the truth. It didn’t matter. Surely the FBI was hot on the trail of the contract killer by now.
“So I thought it would be better to order them from here,” Merrie added. “Do you have a pair of scissors?”
“Something better.” She grinned, went into the kitchen and came back with a knife in a leather pouch. “Ren gave it to me for my birthday. It’s made by the same people who made the skeet gun he uses in competition.”
“He shoots?”
She nodded. She bent to open the packages. “Not so much these days. Mostly he hunts elk or deer or partridge. Business is so complex here that he doesn’t get a lot of time off.”
“The men stay very busy.”
“That’s ranching, honey,” Delsey said. “There’s always something.”
“It was that way at our ranch, too,” Merrie confessed. “But we only had horses. No cattle. I don’t know much about them yet, but I’ll learn. YouTube is great!”
Delsey gave her a droll look. “Ren is better. Why don’t you ask him to take you around and show you how he manages cattle?”
She sighed. “He’d point me to the path that leads down to the stables and tell me to help myself,” she said with a wistful smile. “He doesn’t want me around. Randall must have known that, before he brought me here. I should have stayed in Comanche Wells.”
Delsey touched her hair gently. “No. You should be here, where you’re safe. Ren will come around. You’ll see. Now let’s get these things into the studio.”
* * *
THEY MOVED THE art supplies into the room that Merrie was using for a studio. “Did his mother really paint?” she asked.
Delsey nodded. “Yes. His father never remarried. He loved his ex-wife until the day he died.”
Merrie’s lips parted. “Ren didn’t say that his mother painted, did he?”
Delsey winced. “He never talks about her. Never calls her. She sends cards and letters—well, she used to—and he sends them right back, unopened. I don’t think he’s even seen her since he graduated from college and came here.” She shook her head. “It’s sad. His mother was a nice person, from what Randall says about her, and she grieves for Ren.”
Merrie didn’t know what to say. She drew in a long breath. “Our mother was like spring itself,” she commented, idly touching the unassembled easel in its box. “She loved us so much. She was always doing things with us, taking us places, loving us. After she died, life was a nightmare.”
Delsey didn’t pry, but she was openly curious. “What did she die of?”
Merrie bit her lower lip. “We think our father killed her. Please don’t tell him,” she said, nodding toward the door with a worried expression, indicating that she meant Ren. “Our father was violent. Paranoid. She died of a concussion, but one of our local doctors thought it was murder. He tried to do an autopsy, but he was suddenly called out of town, and Daddy paid somebody to do it while he was gone and classify it as an accidental death.”
“Why didn’t the doctor protest?”
“Because Daddy made threats to the people in charge.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “You can’t imagine the fear he instilled in people. He had something on every single person who worked for him—even Mandy. Mandy had a brother who was in the mob up north. Daddy threatened to have her brother sent to prison. He knew people who could plant evidence. Everybody in Comanche Wells, where we live, was scared of him. Even people in Jacobsville were. He terrorized the whole community.”
“You had people in law enforcement...”
“Who had families,” Merrie said gently. “If you threaten someone’s child, it makes an impression. He was very good at intimidation.” She didn’t add that he was richer than just about anybody in that part of Texas.
“My goodness,” Delsey said worriedly. She studied the younger woman and read the lingering fear. “Well, he can’t hurt you anymore.”
“No.” Merrie let out a soft laugh. “We can finally leave towels on the floor. The rugs don’t have to be straight. The bed doesn’t have to be inspected to make sure it’s made right. We can have disorder, for the first time in our lives. I even have mismatched towels in my bathroom.” She grimaced. “He used the belt on me once for doing that.”
“Mr. Ren’s father used a belt on him, too, he said.”
“Not like mine did, I imagine, with the belt buckle. It was a heavy one, too, made of metal. I have...scars.” She swallowed and moved away. “That’s all in the past now. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been a very rough childhood.”
“Worse. We couldn’t go to parties or learn to dance or drive, we couldn’t go on dates. My goodness, I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve never even been kissed!”
Delsey was shocked. “But you’re Randall’s girlfriend...”
“No, I am not,” she said firmly. “I’m Randall’s friend, and that’s all.” She smiled. “You see, he’s one of those men who likes lots of women. He doesn’t love them, he just uses them, and when he’s bored, he goes and finds another one. Sari and I went to church. We were taught that women don’t play around before marriage. Actually, we were taught that men shouldn’t, either. That children came of love between two people, in marriage, and that children deserved two parents to raise them.” She gave Delsey a sheepish look. “That doesn’t get us far with modern people. So we keep to ourselves.”
“Child, there are a lot of people who still feel that way. It’s just that they’re shouted down and made to feel inferior because they have those beliefs. It’s a test, of a sort. If we believe in something, we shouldn’t have to defend those beliefs.” She laughed. “Isn’t it funny how some people say we need to respect the opinions and beliefs of other people, and then they go to town on us for being religious? They don’t respect the beliefs of anybody except themselves, and they don’t really believe in anything past having a good time and doing whatever they please. Rules are for fools.”
“I really like you,” Merrie said softly, and smiled. “You’re like our Mandy, back home. She’s been with us since we were very small. After Mama died, she sort of became our mother, if you know what I mean.”
“Sort of like me and Ren.” Delsey laughed. “I love Randall, too, but he isn’t around much. He does most of the marketing and showing for the Black Angus purebred seed bulls that our Skyhorn Ranch is famous for. He’s gone most of the year.”
“He’s good with people,” Merrie said. “I liked him the first time I saw him. But he wasn’t the sort of man I could ever get interested in. I’m no party girl.”
“Did he think you were?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. He flirted with me, but I don’t know how to flirt. I tried to go on a date one time, with a cowboy I knew. Daddy found out. He had the cowboy chased clean out of the state, threatened him with an old felony charge he’d been acquitted of.” She swallowed. The memory was harsh. “Then he knocked me down the stairs and...” She stopped. “I never tried to go out with anybody again.”
“Oh, child,” Delsey said softly. “I’m so sorry!”
“So I wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of going places with Randall. I didn’t tell him much, but I let him know that it was dangerous for me to date anybody, and that we were too different to be involved with each other. But I told him I’d love to be his friend.” She smiled. “That worked out much better. He’s very nice.”
Delsey, looking at her, could understand why Randall might have wanted to get involved with her. She was pretty and sweet and kind. But Randall could never settle for just one woman. He was too flighty. Ren, on the other hand, was certain that Merrie was like Randall’s other girlfriends who came here. Most of them came on to Ren. They were glittery women who had modern attitudes about sex. Delsey didn’t approve, but it wasn’t her place to say anything. If one of Randall’s women ended up in Ren’s bed, it didn’t concern her. They knew the score. She frowned. She hoped Ren wasn’t putting Merrie in that category. There could be consequences. He wasn’t around the woman enough to know her background, and Randall hadn’t been forthcoming about her. It was a recipe for disaster.
Well, that wasn’t a problem that needed solving today. Delsey continued to help Merrie put her canvases and paints and accessories away, including the fine brushes she used.
“What are you painting?” Delsey asked, looking pointedly at the sketchbook on the easel.
“Promise you won’t tell him?” Merrie asked worriedly.
“I promise.”
She pulled up the cloth she’d draped over an old canvas she’d found and displayed the contents. The painting was only a sketch right now. She’d found a leftover canvas in the room and used it to sketch her subject while she’d waited for her art supplies to arrive. Since she had neither paint nor drawing pencils, she’d used a soft lead #2 pencil to do the preliminary outline.
Even so, the image was so realistic it could have walked off the canvas. Delsey actually gasped.
“You said you painted a little,” Delsey exclaimed. “This isn’t... It’s magnificent!” she said, lost for the right words.
Merrie smiled. “Thanks. I’ve always loved to draw. Sari said that we might buy...” She almost said “an art supply store,” but she caught herself. She didn’t want to give away her monied background. It usually intimidated people. “That we might be able to exhibit my work at the local art store.”
“Art store, nothing,” Delsey scoffed. She looked at the sketch with soft eyes. “You captured that look on his face that I could never understand.”
“It’s sorrow,” Merrie said quietly. “He’s alone, inside himself. He can’t get out, or let anyone else in. He’s strong, and tender, and brimming over with love. But he doesn’t really trust women. Or like them very much.” She turned to Delsey, who seemed surprised at her perception of Ren. “How did he get mixed up with that woman you told me about?”
Delsey bit her lower lip. “Angie? She was one of Randall’s girls. He brought her here to visit. She knew that Ren had more money than Randall inherited from his father, so she went after Ren. She was always wrapped around him, playing up to him. He’s a lonely man, for the most part, and she was aggressive physically. If you want my opinion, she made him so hungry that he got engaged to her in desperation. Then he found her with two of his business associates at a party. Apparently the three of them were romantically involved. Ren took the ring off her finger and flushed it down the toilet, with her watching.”
“Poor Ren.”
“She even spread lies about Ren online. We know a man who works for local rancher Mallory Kirk—Red Davis. Red’s a wonder. He can hack anything. The FBI tried to hire him, but he likes cattle better than people, so he refused. He did some work for Mallory’s brother, when his girlfriend was targeted by her vicious stepfather with obscene Photoshopped pictures online. He got rid of every trace. He did the same for Ren. Angie was arrested and prosecuted for what she did to him. She got off with probation, but she never put a word out about him again. Still, it’s made him bitter. That was months ago. He’s still brooding about it.”
“I noticed.”
“He’s not generally a mean person. I’m sorry that he’s been so hard on you. If you’d met under different circumstances, he might have reacted differently.”
“In other words, if Randall hadn’t brought me here.”
“Exactly. You’re the first woman Randall has brought here since Angie. That probably helped set him off.”
Merrie sighed. Just her luck, to be attracted to a man who had a false impression of her because of Randall. She was only just realizing why Ren resented her presence here.
“I probably should go back home,” she said, thinking out loud.
“He’s not mad at you,” Delsey countered. “Besides, aren’t you trying to get away from that man who’s stalking you?”
Merrie turned, frowning. She was putting these people in danger just by being in the house with them. Delsey was so like Mandy back home; sweet and kind and loving. “There are things you don’t know about me,” she began.
The sound of the phone ringing downstairs interrupted them.
“Oh, goodness, I’ll have to get that. I told Ren we should have phones upstairs and he said it was a waste of money,” she muttered on the way downstairs. “It isn’t his poor old legs that get worn out running up and down stairs to answer phones!”
Merrie chuckled to herself. She looked at the sketch of Ren on the canvas. It captured the very essence of the man himself. It was, she decided, going to be the best painting she’d ever done.
* * *
SHE WORKED ON IT tirelessly for a week, reworking it until she had it just the way she wanted it. When it was finished, she turned it to face the wall, just in case he walked in, and started painting one of Hurricane.
She was late to supper one night, and Ren was inflexible about house rules again, so she didn’t get to eat. She had a sandwich in the small cooler in her room that Delsey had provided. She washed it down with a bottle of spring water, also from Delsey. She hoped Ren wouldn’t discover her stash of food. He probably wouldn’t approve. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t become accustomed to rigid rules of behavior back home. She’d just hoped it wouldn’t be like that someplace else. Maybe everybody was like her father and Ren, wanting things just so and refusing to change.
She tiptoed back down to her art studio after she finished the sandwich, wearing her nightgown and a thick white cotton robe that covered every inch of her except for her bare feet. She’d forgotten to pack slippers.
The door to the studio was ajar. She opened it, and there was Ren, gaping at the portrait of Hurricane that she’d just finished.
He heard her come in and turned. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved red flannel shirt with a black checkerboard pattern. His feet were in socks, not boots. His hair was mussed, as if he’d brushed it back in irritation.
“You did this?” he asked, amazement in his whole look.
“Well...yes,” she confessed, flushing. She hoped he hadn’t looked at the other canvas. She glanced at it, relieved to see that it was still turned to the wall.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/diana-palmer/wyoming-brave/) 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.
Diana Palmer
International Bestselling author Diana Palmer’s Wyoming men are back!These ranchers are bold and brave enough to protect the women who need them.Ren Colter may own an enormous ranch, but he scorns his wealth. He's closed himself off from everyone since his fiancée left him, so even he is shocked when he allows Meredith Grayling to stay. He tells himself it's only to protect a vulnerable woman from a stalker, but the blonde beauty arouses all Ren's alpha instincts.The last thing Merrie wants is a devastatingly handsome man like Ren distracting her. He's too experienced, too masculine, too appealing for her already stressed nerves. What she needs is just to get away from men, all men: the irresistible man haunting her waking dreams and the one hunting her! But this Colter cowboy won’t let this woman go!
The Wyoming men are back! In their quest for true love on the range, are these ranchers bold enough to open their hearts to the women under their protection?
Ren Colter may own an enormous ranch in Wyoming, but he scorns his wealth. He’s closed himself off since his fiancée left him months ago, so he’s shocked when he allows Meredith Grayling to stay with him. He tells himself it’s only to protect the blonde beauty from a stalker, but Ren’s alpha instincts soon kick in.
The last thing Merrie wants is a devastatingly handsome man like Ren lurking around her. He’s too experienced, too appealing for her already shot nerves. What she needs is just to get away from it all: the man haunting her waking dreams and the one hunting her like an animal. But no woman escapes this Colter cowboy!
Wyoming Brave
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a),
As I write this, we are mourning Jim’s brother Doug. We lost him after a long illness. He leaves behind his wife of fifty years, Victoria, as well as sons Rodney, Paul and James and his wife, Jennifer; Valerie and her husband, Wayne; grandchildren and great-grandchildren; sister Kathleen; brothers John and Jimmy; and nieces and nephews.
This book is dedicated to him. He was a twenty-year navy man, a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was brave and kind, and he loved his family and all sorts of animals, most especially his cats, and wild birds.
We will miss him a lot. I imagine him sitting now by a pond in a green meadow, with a fishing pole in his hands. Waiting for the rest of us to show up.
So long for now, Doug. It was a privilege to know you.
Robert Douglas (Doug) Kyle
1946–2016
Patriot. Vietnam veteran. Father, grandfather, great-grandfather. He loved birds and NASCAR, cats and fishing. We loved him.
Contents
Cover (#u40425eb7-9778-5377-815c-78711ad264dc)
Back Cover Text (#u232910e9-cc8c-57c1-9568-f69cd4d26faf)
Title Page (#u9b07476b-93a8-58fb-96aa-253b809554fe)
Dear Reader (#ue4e4e2d8-e22e-51a6-9747-5d81d2fedc97)
Dedication (#ue8214b1b-d3c5-5231-83d6-f5b12fb73559)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue4dec119-9e09-55f8-bcc2-de346ed5b568)
CHAPTER TWO (#u7e494d43-7da0-5a56-87a4-8dffde8211eb)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub217bd34-1db7-52ba-8324-569830c79e75)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ue65e6ec6-b9b5-5865-a7bc-b7baaab7a560)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
REN COLTER WASN’T WELCOMING. In fact, he was immediately hostile when Merrie Grayling walked in the door of his Wyoming ranch with his brother.
Merrie looked at him and felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach with a bat. He was glorious. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with beautiful lean hands and a mouth that was chiseled and sensual-looking in a face topped by thick black hair and a straight nose. He was as handsome as his brother, but in a darker way. He scowled at her. But, she could hardly take her eyes off him. He was wearing work clothes; jeans and boots that had seen their share of action in the trenches, along with shotgun chaps and a sheepskin jacket. A black Stetson was set at a slant over one eye. Both glistening black eyes were on Merrie, making comments that he didn’t even have to put into words.
She moved closer to Randall, which seemed to set Ren off even more. Randall was tall and blond, with laughing blue eyes and the face of a movie star. He was very different from his brother.
“It’s only for a few weeks, Ren,” Randall said softly. “She’s...well, she’s been through a lot. Her father just died and she’s had some trouble with a...with that person I told you about.” He didn’t look at Merrie, because what he’d told Ren wasn’t quite the truth. “You have state-of-the-art surveillance and plenty of bodyguards around the place. I thought she’d be safe here.”
“Safe.” He had a deep, velvety voice. He studied Merrie with his sensuous lips pursed, but he seemed to find nothing enticing in the woman with the long, platinum hair in a braid down her back, her pale blue eyes trained on him like spotlights. She was pretty enough, but Ren had had enough of pretty women. Her figure wasn’t easily discernible in what she was wearing. She had on jeans and a sweatshirt, both loose on her slender body, and she wore no makeup. Odd, he thought, for one of Randall’s women not to show up in a tight and trashy outfit, batting her eyelashes at Ren and flirting with him. Randall’s women were experienced and aggressive. Ren hated having them around. Of course, Randall was usually around to entertain them. But here he was, bringing in an odd female and leaving her while he traveled around the world for Ren, lauding their ranch’s prize bulls. Randall was a born salesman. Ren was more introverted, withdrawn. He didn’t really like people much. He hated their mother and had no contact with her. But he loved his brother.
He avoided women like the plague since his fiancée, Angie, had been caught with not one, but two other men, only two weeks before they were supposed to be married. Ren called off the ceremony and left Angie to deal with the aftermath. She’d been Randall’s girl first, until she realized that he wasn’t about to marry anyone. She set her cap at Ren instead, and teased him out of his mind for the three months of their engagement. To Randall’s credit, he’d tried to warn his brother. Ren had been in love for the first time in his life, and wouldn’t listen.
Angie, meanwhile, had been looking forward to living a life of luxury. Ren chaired a mining company that was Fortune 500. That was in addition to the very profitable purebred Black Angus herd that graced the thousand acres of his ranch, and the champion seed bulls that commanded millions in sales of both young bulls and semen straws (which held bull semen) that were sold internationally. The bloodlines of his cattle were impeccable.
The worst part of their broken engagement was that Ren had read all about himself on Angie’s Facebook page. He’d had to buy a new laptop afterward, since he’d thrown the damned thing clear through a window out into the yard. One of the kindest things she’d said about him was that he was a clumsy, boring lover, and his hick ranch was a joke.
Attorneys had taken care of Angie’s lies online. He hadn’t heard from her again. He hoped he never did. He was never letting another woman get close to him. Once burned, twice shy.
Now he was being stuck with another one of Randall’s women. It didn’t put him in a sparkling mood. She wasn’t going to find much fun here. He’d make sure of that. He was tired of Randall’s parade of women.
“She won’t cause any trouble,” Randall was saying.
Merrie nodded. She didn’t say anything. The tall rancher didn’t like her. He didn’t even try to hide that.
“Delsey!” Ren called.
An older woman came out of the kitchen with a harassed look on her face. She was small and plump, with gray hair in a bun and dark, beautiful brown eyes. She looked at Merrie with faint surprise, then she smiled.
“This is Merrie Grayling,” Randall announced to her, putting a comforting arm around Merrie, who was almost trembling from Ren’s open hostility. “She’s from a small town in Texas.”
Delsey shook Merrie’s hand. “You’ll be welcome here, dear,” she said with a wary glance at Ren. She smiled at Randall. “You off again?”
“Yes. To England, to talk to a baron,” he added with a grin. “He runs purebred Black Angus and we have some champion bulls we’d like to sell him. He’s interested, but the personal touch is what makes sales.”
“It does,” Ren agreed. His mouth pulled to one side. “I don’t have it.”
“His idea of the personal touch is a cattle prod,” Randall told Merrie with sparkling eyes.
“Only with people,” Ren replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. He stared at Merrie. “I don’t use cruelty as a tool. My cattle are used to gentle handling. I like cattle.”
“Me, too,” Merrie said softly, flushing when Ren stared at her. “But I like horses best.” She searched his hard face. “Do you have one...that I could ride, maybe?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He glanced at his watch. “Vet’s coming over to inoculate some replacement heifers. I have to go.”
Randall started to hug him, but was met with ice-cold eyes, and put out a hand to shake instead. He gave a wry smile to his brother. “Don’t stand in the cold too long,” he advised. “Snow’s coming, they say.”
“It’s Wyoming,” Ren replied. “We always have snow.”
“That must be nice,” Merrie said hesitantly. “We hardly ever have even a flurry where I come from.”
Ren didn’t reply. He glanced at Delsey. “I’ll be in late. Just leave me some cold cuts in the fridge.”
“I’ll do that. You be careful with that horse,” she added with affectionate concern. “He bit Davey yesterday.”
“What horse?” Randall asked.
Ren’s face tensed. “We had a new cowboy, one I took on faith because Tubbs hired him and said he was a good hand. He was out at the line cabin, where we didn’t see him much. When I rode out there to ask him about some of the bred heifers, I found him passed out dead drunk, and the horse we’d given him as a saddle mount was bleeding from deep cuts he’d put in him, God knows with what. I beat the hell out of him before I called the authorities and they took him away. He’s being prosecuted for cruelty to animals. I told them I’d be happy to testify,” he added coldly.
Merrie wrapped her arms tightly around herself and shivered. That brought back painful memories of what she’d endured from her father. Lashings, beatings, all her young life. She was only twenty-two and she’d never been on a date, never been kissed, never had any friends...
Her father was so rich that everyone in the area was afraid of him, so the girls—Merrie and her older sister, Sari—had never told anyone what went on in the beautiful mansion in Comanche Wells, Texas.
“Cold?” Randall asked softly as she shivered.
She shook her head. “My father...hurt a horse like that once.”
“Did you turn him in?” Ren asked curtly.
She swallowed. Hard. “People were too scared of him. It wouldn’t have done any good. The trainer just made sure the horses were never out when he went to the stables.”
“You live on a ranch?” Ren asked.
She nodded. “Not nearly as big as this one. We just had...have...horses.”
“Well, you won’t go near this one. Hurricane is the most dangerous animal on the place. He took a hunk out of one cowboy’s arm and barely missed killing another who tried to get a bridle off him. He won’t let anybody touch him.”
“The bridle’s still on?” Randall asked worriedly.
“Yes.” Ren grimaced. “His head’s rubbed raw by it. The cowboy probably dragged him around with it. We’ll try again to get the vet to sedate him.” He shook his head. “Can’t hold him still long enough for the man to get a needle in him. He knows a guy at the forest service who has a tranquilizer gun. He’s trying to borrow one.”
“Poor thing,” Merrie said softly. “A man who’ll do that to a horse will do it to people,” she added, her eyes lowered as she remembered her father.
Ren studied her curiously. “In fact, the sheriff thinks he had a poster on the man Tubbs hired.” He looked at Randall. “Next time, I’ll do the hiring,” he said with a faint upturn of his mouth. “Tubbs has no judgment about people.”
“She does,” Randall said, hugging Merrie close to his side. “She paints.”
“A lot of people paint,” Ren said dismissively. He checked his watch again. “Have a safe flight,” he told his brother.
“Thanks,” Randall said. He smiled. “Stay out of trouble.”
Ren shrugged. “Not my fault,” he replied. “The man insulted my cattle.”
“The Billings police were very unhappy with you,” Randall persisted.
Ren chuckled. “Yes, they were. They made me take a brief anger management course. Then I went to a conference in Montana and another guy insulted my cattle.” He sighed. “Guess I’ll stay out of Billings until the police forget what I look like.”
Randall shook his head. Ren winked at him and walked out the door without a word to Merrie. His spurs jingled as he walked. They sounded like bells to Merrie, who smiled at Randall.
“He’ll be all right,” he assured her. “He’s just uneasy around people he doesn’t know. Right?” he asked Delsey.
She drew in a breath. “He’s awful around people he doesn’t know. I hope you’ve got grit, young lady,” she added with a smile. “He’ll test you.”
“I’ve lived through hard times,” Merrie said with a warm smile. “I’ll just keep out of his way.”
“Not a bad idea,” Delsey said with a laugh. “Especially with winter coming on and snow forecasted. It’s hard on cattle and cowboys when it gets deep.”
“I love snow,” Merrie said wistfully.
“You wouldn’t if you’d ever lived through a Wyoming winter,” Delsey assured her.
She just grinned.
“Well, I’ve got to go, too,” Randall said. He kissed Merrie on the cheek. “You be careful. Stay away from the stables, and don’t let Ren bother you.” He hesitated. “If he gets too bad, just text me and I’ll take you home. Okay?”
She felt a chill of premonition when he said that, but she managed a smile. “Okay.” She hugged him. “Thanks, Randall.”
“You’re my friend,” he teased. “No worries. You’ll be fine here. Take care.”
“You, too,” she said.
“Drive slowly,” Delsey said, shaking a finger at him. “No more speeding tickets!”
“Dreamer,” he chided. He winked at her as he left.
* * *
DELSEY SHOWED MERRIE to her room. “I’ll have one of the boys bring your luggage up. It’s still sitting in the hall where Randall left it.” She paused. “Don’t let Ren upset you,” she added gently. “He’s hard on people he doesn’t know. Especially women. He had a bad experience. It’s made him cold.”
“I won’t bother him,” Merrie promised. “I brought my sketchbooks and my knitting. I’ll keep busy.”
“Good. If you need anything, I’m usually in the kitchen or somewhere in the house. There are helpers who come on certain days to help me with the heavy stuff. I’m feeling my age a little, but Ren likes the way I cook,” she said with a laugh.
Merrie drew in a long breath. “Our housekeeper, Mandy, taught me to cook. She even taught me how to cut up a chicken and field dress game.” She laughed softly. “I love being in the kitchen, too.”
“I’ll let you help, after you’ve been here a bit.” Her wise dark eyes searched Merrie’s. “It’s a stalker, isn’t it? Randall told me.”
Merrie hesitated. “I don’t want to put anyone in harm’s way...”
“Ren has this place protected like it was Fort Knox,” Delsey told her. “Nobody gets in here without security clearance. Did you notice the cameras at the front gate when you came in?” Merrie nodded. She continued. “We even have facial recognition software. It tracks people.”
“Wow,” Merrie said softly.
“Sadly, it didn’t work on the cowboy who beat that poor horse.” She winced. “Hurricane was the sweetest gelding on the place. It breaks my heart to see what that man did to him.” She drew in a breath. “If he keeps this up, they’ll have to put him down.” She bit her lip, then forced a smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack.” She looked out the door and peered over the banister. “Brady!” she called. “Can you bring those bags up here?”
“Sure thing, Miss Delsey,” the cowboy said with a long drawl.
He brought the bags up the staircase to Merrie’s room.
“Thanks,” she said softly, with a smile.
Brady tipped his hat. He was Delsey’s age, but was wiry and tough and apparently very strong. He grinned at Merrie. “You Mr. Randall’s friend that come to stay awhile?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. I’m Merrie. Nice to meet you, Brady.”
“Nice to meet you, too, miss.” He turned to Delsey. “Willis wants to know if you’ll make the men a cake.”
“I will,” Delsey replied. “What kind do they want?”
“Chocolate, with that white frosting you make.”
“I’ll start on it right now.” She turned to Merrie. “Have you had lunch?”
“Yes, thanks,” Merrie told her. “Randall got me a cheeseburger and fries on the way here.”
“Okay, then. Supper’s at seven. Ren keeps late hours. Sometimes he doesn’t even show up for supper. Like tonight. He told me to leave cold cuts in the fridge, which means he probably won’t get home until bedtime.”
“Ranching is hard on schedules,” Brady said with a chuckle. “Especially for boss man. He has to be everywhere before the bad weather coming.”
“I called that contractor,” Delsey added to Brady. “If you see Ren, tell him the man’s coming tomorrow morning to see what work needs doing.”
“I’ll tell him.” He tipped his hat again. “See you girls later.”
Merrie grinned. Delsey just laughed.
“He’s nice,” Merrie said.
“They mostly are. But we have a few who work security here,” she added solemnly. “One of them is dangerous. He came to us from Iraq, where he’d been training policemen. We don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself most of the time when he’s not watching the livestock.”
“Who is he?” Merrie asked curiously.
“They call him J.C. Nobody knows what the initials stand for.”
“I’ll stay out of his way,” Merrie promised. She stretched. The gold chain around her neck chafed a little. She pulled out the pretty filigree gold cross she wore and dangled it on her sweatshirt.
Delsey grimaced. She wanted to warn the girl, but she didn’t want to make her more nervous than she already was. Ren wouldn’t like that cross. It would prod him, like waving a flag at a bull. But maybe he wouldn’t see it.
She smiled at Merrie and left her alone to unpack.
* * *
MERRIE CAME DOWN for supper, silently hoping Ren wouldn’t be at the table. She really didn’t want to antagonize him any more than she had by just walking into his house.
“It’s a big place,” Merrie commented as she ate the delicious beef stew and homemade rolls Delsey had made.
“Very big. It’s too much for me to keep by myself, which is why we have others come in to help out,” she said with a laugh. “Most of them are wives of the men who already work for us. It’s a way for them to make a little more money to supplement their husbands’ incomes. Some of them keep chickens and sell eggs. Others raise garden crops and sell the excess in summer. We have a good life here.”
“The house is so beautiful,” Merrie said softly.
Delsey frowned slightly. “You’re the first woman Randall brought here who ever said that.”
“But, why?”
Delsey shrugged. “Well, it’s rustic, isn’t it?” She looked toward the living room with its big chairs and long sofa, all done in burgundy leather with cushions that had a Native American look. The rugs on the floor were the same. There were crossed swords above the mantel and an antique rifle perched on a stand.
“It looks like him,” Merrie said absently. “It’s sturdy and quiet and comforting.”
Delsey was lost for words. She knew that the girl was talking about Ren, but she was surprised that she was so astute. Sturdy and quiet and comforting. She just hoped Merrie wasn’t in for too big a surprise when Ren disapproved of something she said or did.
* * *
REN CAME IN very late. Merrie had gone downstairs, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, to ask Delsey about an extra blanket. It was kept cold in the house and she was used to warmer temperatures in Texas.
She stopped on the staircase when Ren spotted her, and his hard face grew even harder. He was looking pointedly at the front of her sweatshirt. For a minute she wondered if she was wearing something with writing on it. Then she remembered, it was just gray and plain. She swallowed hard. Surely he wasn’t looking at her chest!
“Why the hell do you wear that?” he asked shortly.
She was taken aback by the venom in the question. “I... I like sweatshirts,” she began.
“Not the sweatshirt. That thing!” He pointed to her cross.
She recalled Randall saying something about Ren’s feelings on religion. It hadn’t registered at the time, but it did now. She put her hand protectively over the cross.
“I’m a person of faith,” she said in a faint tone.
“Faith.” His eyes glittered at her. “Crutches for a sick, uneducated world,” he scoffed. “Superstition. Useless!”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Mr. Colter,” she began.
“Take that damned thing off, or hide it. I don’t want to see it in my house again. Do you understand?”
He was like her father. He spoke and it was like thunder. He frightened her. She tucked the cross under the sweatshirt with shaking hands.
“And if you’re looking for something to eat, we don’t have à la carte food after supper time. You eat at the table with us, or you don’t eat. Am I clear?”
She swallowed down the fear. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice as shaky as her legs.
“What are you doing down here in the dark?”
“I... I wanted to get a blanket,” she stammered. “It’s cold in my room.”
“We don’t run a sauna here,” he said icily. “Even on a ranch this size, we conserve heat. There are blankets in your damned closet. Why don’t you look before you start bothering other people about trifles?”
She backed away from him. He was much scarier than she’d first thought. That posture, that icy look on his face, the fury in his eyes made her want to run. She’d rarely been around men. Mostly at art classes, and the men who took art were gentle and kind. This man was a lone wolf, not even housebroken. He made her shake when he spoke. Her first impression of him, of a handsome, kind man, took a nosedive. He was the devil in a pair of faded blue jeans.
“That’s it,” he chided. “Run away, little girl.”
She shot back up the staircase. She never even looked back when she got into her room. As an afterthought, she locked the door.
* * *
SARI HAD SAID that Merrie could call her, but she was afraid to. Even though she had six throwaway phones, she was afraid that one of them could be traced if she used it. The man who was after her would be wily. Paul Fiore, Sari’s husband, worked for the FBI. They were trying to find the man who’d been paid by the son of their father’s former lover to kill Merrie. The man he’d hired to kill Sari had been caught, and turned out to be their chauffeur. The man he’d hired for Merrie was far more dangerous.
Timothy Leeds had planned to kill both of Darwin Grayling’s daughters, to hurt the man who’d killed his mother in cold blood. But Darwin had died suddenly, and Timmy had been too drunk to know who he’d hired to do the job. He was horrified at his own actions. He’d been grieving for his mother, furious at Darwin and wanting to get even, to hurt him. But Darwin had died just after Timmy made his deals. He’d taken cash, the money his mother had left him, and paid men to do murder. He was sitting in jail, waiting to be arraigned. He’d turned state’s evidence, but there was no way to get around the fact that his intent had been to kill two innocent women. Intent was the thing in law. Merrie should know. Her older sister, Sari, was an assistant district attorney in Jacobsville, Texas.
She wondered what Sari would think of this taciturn, antagonistic rancher who was offended by a simple cross, a symbol of Merrie’s faith. That faith had carried her and her sister through some incredible sorrows. Their father had beaten them both, kept them like prisoners in the mansion where they lived, made them afraid of men. He was a killer, and he’d been involved in laundering money for organized crime. If he’d lived, he’d have gone to prison for life, despite his wealth.
That wealth had almost cost Sari a husband. Paul Fiore was the only member of his entire family who hadn’t gone into crime for a living. Paul had been with the FBI for a long time, with a brief few years as head of security for the Grayling properties. Now he was assigned to the FBI office in San Antonio. Sari had concocted a story whereby Darwin Grayling had left a hundred million dollars to Paul—half the amount Sari had received from their mother’s two secret bank accounts that she’d left to the girls in her will. Each was given two hundred million, and it had almost sent Paul running. He didn’t want people to think he’d married Sari for her money. But now he and Sari were very happily married, and Merrie was happy for them. She and her sister had some terrible scars, mental and physical, at their father’s hand.
She sat on her bed, still shivering a little from the rancher’s anger. She wondered if she was going to be able to stand it here. Ren Colter scared her.
* * *
SHE DID SLEEP, FINALLY. She went downstairs a little late for breakfast, hoping Ren would already be gone. But he was just getting up from the table.
He glared at her. “We keep regular hours here for meals,” he told her curtly. “If you come sashaying down late, you don’t eat.”
“But, Mr. Ren...” Delsey protested.
“Rules aren’t broken here,” Ren returned. He looked at Merrie, who was stiff as a board. “You heard me. Delsey will tell you what hours mealtimes are. Don’t be late again.”
He shoved his hat down over his eyes, shouldered into his heavy coat and went out without another single word.
Merrie was fighting back tears.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Delsey said. She drew the girl close and rocked her while she cried. “He’s just getting over a broken engagement, and he’s bitter. He wasn’t like this before. He’s basically a kind man...”
“He said my cross was stupid and I wasn’t to let it show again,” she sobbed. “What kind of man is he?”
Delsey rocked her some more and sighed. “It’s a long story. He went to a famous college up north on a scholarship and a professor there changed his mind about religion. He was an excellent student, but when he came home, he was suddenly antireligion. He sounded off to his mother about her Christmas tree and her faith, and had her running away in tears. Then he overheard her telling Randall that Ren was as cold and heartless as his father, whom she’d divorced. She was proud of Randall, because he was a better son. Ren just left. He’s never spoken to his mother again.”
Merrie pulled back and looked at the older woman through red eyes. “She divorced his father?”
She nodded. She handed Merrie tissues to dry her eyes with. “His father owned this ranch, but it was a hard life. His mother had very expensive tastes, so the story goes, and Randall’s father wanted her. So she ran away with him.”
Merrie grimaced. “It’s a huge ranch now.”
“Yes, it is. But it was small and in debt when Ren showed up at the door just after that Christmas. He and his father began to work together to build up a breeding herd. Ren knew business, with his Harvard business degree, and his father knew cattle.” She smiled. “It took fifteen years, but they diversified into oil and mining, as well as cattle, and they built a small empire here. Ren’s very proud of it. His father was, too. He died two years ago.” She sighed. “Ren wouldn’t even let his mother come to the funeral. He’s still bitter about what he heard her say. He won’t speak to her at all.”
“It isn’t human, to hold a grudge like that,” Merrie said quietly. “He seems such a cold man,” she added softly.
“There’s a kind man under all that ice. It’s just that he’s been frozen for a long time.”
“He scares me to death,” Merrie confessed.
“He won’t hurt you,” Delsey said quietly. “You have to stand up to him, honey. A man like that will walk all over you if you let him.”
“I’ve lived almost twenty-three years with a man like that,” Merrie told her. “He...” She swallowed and her arms folded over her chest. “He was brutal to us, especially after our mother died. He wanted sons. He got us. So he made us pay for it. We couldn’t even date. He wouldn’t let us have friends. We still can’t drive a car. I’ve never even been kissed. How’s that for a stifled environment?” she asked with a hollow laugh. “The only concession he made was that we were allowed to go to church. You have no idea how important faith was to us when we were growing up. It was all that kept us going.” She fingered the cross under her sweatshirt. “My mother gave me this cross. And I’m not taking it off.”
Delsey smiled. “That’s the spirit. You tell him.”
“Sorry. I’m not a lemming,” Merrie teased.
Delsey laughed. “You’re a tonic, you know.”
Merrie looked wistfully at biscuits and sausage and eggs. “I guess I’ll be on time at lunch,” she said.
“He’s gone. Sit down and eat.”
Merrie sat at the table, her eyes worriedly glancing at the door.
“Stay there,” Delsey said. She went and looked out the front door. Ren was going down the hill toward the barn in his big red SUV. Snow had started to fall lightly.
She went back to the kitchen. “He’s gone to the barn. After that, he’ll ride out to the line cabins and check on the livestock. Snow’s starting to fall.”
“It is?” Merrie was excited.
“Eat first,” Delsey said with a laugh. “Then you can go play in the snow.”
She hesitated with her fork over the eggs. “Thanks, Delsey.”
“It’s no problem. Really.”
Merrie sighed with pleasure and dug into breakfast. Afterward, she slipped on a light jacket and her boots. She was sorry she hadn’t packed a coat. They never had snow in Comanche Wells in autumn. They rarely even had it in winter.
“Child, you need something heavier than that!” Delsey fussed.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t mind the cold so much if there’s snow.” She laughed. “If I get too cold, I’ll just come back inside.”
“All right, but be careful where you go, okay?”
“I will.”
* * *
SHE STARTED WALKING around the house and down the path that led to some huge outbuildings with adjacent corrals. There was even a pole barn with bench seats. Inside it, a man was working a horse with a length of rope, tossing it lightly at the prancing animal. It was black and beautiful, like silk all over. It reminded her of home and her family’s stable of horses.
She played in the thick flakes of falling snow, laughing as she danced. It was so incredibly beautiful. She caught her breath, watching it freeze as it left her mouth, enjoying the cold, white landscape and the mountains beyond. She wanted to paint it. She loved her home in Texas, but this view was exquisite. She committed it to memory to sketch later.
She was curious about the poor horse that had been beaten. She could empathize with it, because she knew how that felt. She had deep scars on her back from her father’s belt, when she’d tried to save her poor sister from a worse beating. Her father had turned his wrath on her instead.
She shivered, remembering the terror she and Sari had felt when he came at them. He wouldn’t even let a local physician treat them, for fear he’d be arrested. He got an unlicensed doctor on his payroll to stitch the girls up and treat them. There was no question of plastic surgery. They had to live with the scars.
Not now, of course. Sari and Merrie were both worth two hundred million each. They’d gone shopping just before poor Sari ran away to the Bahamas to get over Paul’s rejection. But Merrie had bought sweats and pajamas and very plain clothing. She still couldn’t force herself to buy modern things, like crop tops and low-cut pants. She didn’t want to look as if she was hungry for male attention.
Her eyes were drawn to a huge building with two big doors at its front and a corral adjoining it, with doors that opened into the building. The area was cross-fenced, so that each animal had a slice of pasture. That had to be the stables. She wandered closer, hoping not to run into any of Ren’s men. She wanted to see the poor horse. She knew they’d stop her. Ren would have left orders about it, she was sure.
She waited in the shadows until two men came out.
“We can grab a cup of coffee and come back in thirty minutes,” one told the other. “The mare isn’t going to foal tonight, would be my bet, but we have to stay with her.”
“Let’s don’t be gone long,” the other one said on a sigh. “Boss has been in a terrible temper lately.”
“He should have known that woman was nothing but trouble,” the first one scoffed. “She wrapped him up like a late Christmas present and kept him off balance until he bought her that ring.”
“Don’t mention Christmas around him,” the other man muttered. “Almost got slugged for it myself last December.”
“He doesn’t believe in that stuff,” the first man sighed. “Well, to each his own, but I love Christmas and I’m putting up a tree month after next. He can just close his eyes when he drives by my cabin, because the damned thing is going in the window.”
The other man laughed. “Living dangerously.”
“Why not? He pays good wages, but I’m getting tired of walking on eggshells around him. The man’s temper gets worse by the day, you know?”
“Think of all those benefits. Even retirement. You really want to give that up because the boss is in a snit? He’ll get over it.”
“Hasn’t got over it in six months, has he?”
“It takes time. Let’s get that coffee.”
“Vet’s coming tomorrow to check on the mare. Maybe he got that tranquilizer gun for Hurricane. Damned shame, what happened to him.”
“Not as bad as what happened to the man who did it,” the other man said, wincing. “Boss turned him every way but loose. I never saw so many bruises, and he was a big man. Bigger than the boss, even.”
“The boss was in the army reserves. His unit was called up and he went overseas. He was captain of some company, not sure which, but they were in the thick of the fighting. He changed afterward, I hear.”
“He’s been through a lot. Guess he’s entitled to a bad temper occasionally.”
“I didn’t mind seeing him lose it with that damned cowboy who beat Hurricane. Damn, it was sweet to watch! The man never landed a single punch on the boss.”
“Sheriff noticed all the bruises. He said he guessed the man was so drunk he fell down the stairs headfirst.”
His companion burst out laughing. “Yeah. Good thing he likes the boss, ain’t it?”
“Good thing.”
They walked on. Merrie, who’d been listening, grimaced. Ren had been through hard times, too. She was sad for him. But that didn’t make her less afraid of him.
She opened the stable door and stepped inside. It was cool, but comfortable. She walked down the bricked aisle carefully. There were several horses inside. But she knew immediately which one was Hurricane.
He was coal black with a beautiful, tangled mane. He pitched his head when he saw Merrie and stamped his feet. Then he neighed. She saw the bridle. It was far too tight. She could see blood under it. She winced. There were visible lashes down his sides, near his tail. Deep cuts.
“Poor baby,” she said softly. “Oh, poor, poor baby!”
He pricked his ears up and listened.
She went a step closer. “What did he do to you?” she whispered. She moved another step closer. “Poor boy. Poor thing.”
He shook his mane. He looked at her closely and moved, just a step.
She spotted some horse treats in a nearby bag. She picked up two of them, putting one in her pocket. She held one in her palm, so that the horse couldn’t nip her fingers, and slowly moved it toward him. If he was that dangerous, it would be difficult even for a cowboy to feed or water him. She saw a trough in the back of the stall. It seemed to contain water. But the feed tray was inside the stall, and it was empty. He must be starved. She moved all the way to the gate, one step at a time.
CHAPTER TWO (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
HER FATHER HAD taken a whip to one of the Thoroughbreds once, when Merrie was in high school. She’d gone to see him after her father left the ranch on a European business trip with that Leeds woman. The trainer had talked to the horse softly, but it wouldn’t let him near it. Merrie had braved its nervous prancing and gone right up to it. The horse had responded to her immediately, to the trainer’s delight. After that, Merrie had been its caretaker. At least, as long as her father wasn’t around. He’d killed a dog she loved. He might have done the same to a horse that she’d shown attention to. Sari and she had never understood why their father hated them so. Probably, it was payback. He was getting even with their late mother, through them, for cutting him out of the bulk of her family wealth.
“Have you had anything to eat, baby?” she asked Hurricane in a whisper as she moved her hand closer to the big horse. “Are you hungry? Poor baby. Poor, poor baby!”
He moved closer to the fence. He shook his mane again.
She went closer and sent her breath toward his nostrils, something she’d watched their trainer do with horses he was breaking back home. She blew gently into the big horse’s nostrils. Her father’s Thoroughbreds had been off-limits to the girls when they were growing up, or she might have learned more about horses. The injured Thoroughbred had been the only one of her father’s horses that she had access to. Although there were saddle mounts that the girls had permission to ride, they were careful not to pay too much attention to them when their father was around.
“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered. Her face was drawn and still. “I know how you feel. You know that, don’t you, baby?”
He moved closer, looking at her. She held the treat out in her palm.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked softly.
He shook his mane and then, suddenly, lowered his head. But it wasn’t to attack her. He took the treat from her palm and wolfed it down. He looked at her again, quizzically.
“One more,” she said. She pulled the second treat from her pocket, held it out on her palm. Again, his head lowered and he took the treat gently from it with his lips. He wolfed that down, too.
“Sweet boy,” she said softly. She held out her hand.
He hesitated only for a minute before he moved closer and lowered his head toward hers. She pulled him down by his neck and laid her head against the side of his. “Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Poor horse!”
He moved his head against her, almost like a caress. She didn’t see the two returned cowboys in the back of the stable, gaping at her. There was Hurricane, laying his head against her. They were spellbound.
She touched the bridle. Hurricane hesitated at first. But then he stilled. She reached up and unbuckled the halter. Very carefully, she took it away from his head and slipped it off. She grimaced at the bloody places there and on his body.
“Sweet boy,” she whispered as she put the bridle aside. She reached her hand up and stroked him gently. “Sweet, sweet boy.” She laid her forehead against his with a long, heavy sigh.
After a minute he lifted his head and looked at her and whinnied.
“You need medicine on those cuts, don’t you,” she said softly.
“And you need therapy,” Ren Colter said coldly from behind her. “You were told to stay away from that horse!”
Hurricane jumped and moved back from the gate. He shook his mane and snorted.
Merrie turned with the halter in her hand. She walked toward Ren and pushed it toward him.
He stared at it, and her, with utter shock. “How did you get that off?”
“He let me,” she said simply. “Do you have medicine I can put on the cuts?”
“He’ll kill you if you walk into that stall with him,” Ren snapped. “He’s injured two cowboys already.”
“He won’t hurt me,” she said quietly.
He started to speak. But then he looked at the horse. Hurricane wasn’t stamping and running at the gate, as he had before. He was simply looking at them.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked in a quiet undertone.
She looked up at him with quiet, sad pale blue eyes. “Sort of,” she said. “Of course, if I’m wrong and he kills me, you can always stand over my grave and say you told me so.”
The sarcasm pricked his temper. “You think you know how a horse feels?” he asked sarcastically.
She shivered a little, even though it wasn’t that cold in the stable. She didn’t want to discuss anything personal with that cold, hard man. “He hasn’t attacked me, has he?”
He hesitated, but only briefly. He turned to the two cowboys who’d been standing there while Merrie worked magic on the dangerous animal. “Do we have some of that salve the doctor left?”
“Uh, yes,” one man stammered. He went to get it and handed it to Merrie. “Ma’am,” he said, taking off his hat, “I ain’t never seen nothing like that. You sure have got a way with animals.”
She smiled. “Thanks,” she said shyly.
Ren’s dark eyes narrowed. “If he starts toward you, you run,” he said firmly.
“I will. But, he won’t hurt me.”
They moved back, out of the horse’s line of sight. Ren was concerned. He didn’t want his brother’s girlfriend killed on his ranch. But she did seem to have a rapport with the horse. It was uncanny.
She opened the gate and moved into the stall, with firm purpose in her step and no sign of fear.
“Sweet boy,” she whispered, blowing in his nostrils again. “Will you let me help you? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He shifted restlessly, but he made no move to attack her as she reached up and put some of the salve very delicately on the bad places on his head. From there she moved to his injured flanks, wincing at the cuts. She put salve on those, too, but she could tell they needed stitching. It was no wonder that he was still in this condition. He’d injured anyone who came near him. He was afraid of men, because a man had hurt him. Women, on the other hand, were not his enemies.
She finished her work, smoothed her hand over his mane and laid her head against his neck. “Brave, sweet boy,” she whispered. “What a wonderful horse you are, Hurricane.”
He moved his head against her. She patted him one more time and left the stall, securing the lock. She smiled at the horse and told him goodbye before she walked back down the aisle where the men were.
“The cuts on his flank really need stitching, I think,” she said softly. “But he’s afraid of men. A man hurt him. Women didn’t.” She looked up at Ren. “Do you have a female vet anywhere within driving distance?”
Ren started. She was right. The horse hated men. “There’s one over in Powell, I think. I could send one of the boys to bring her here.”
“He’ll probably let her stitch him up.”
“You can come out and work your witchcraft on him to get her in the stall, can’t you?” Ren asked sarcastically.
She drew in a breath and turned away. She didn’t bother to answer him as she left.
He stared after her with mixed feelings. He hated women. But this one...she was different. All the same, he wasn’t letting her close enough to bite, even if that wild horse would.
“You shouldn’t be so harsh with her, Mr. Ren,” the older cowboy said quietly. “Looks to me like she’s had some of that at home already.”
He glared at the cowboy, who tipped his hat, turned and lit a shuck out of the stable.
* * *
MERRIE WENT TO her room. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t! That Wyoming bad man wasn’t going to upset her.
She pulled out her drawing pad and her pencils and went to work on a study of Hurricane. He was so beautiful. Black as night. Soft as silk. She was drawn to him, because he was like her. He’d been through the wars, too.
It took a long time to finish the drawing. She colored it with pastel pencils, delicately. When she finished, she had an awesome portrait of Hurricane. She smiled as she put it in the case with her other drawings. She’d have to do one of Ren, she decided. But she’d have to make a decision about whether to put just horns or horns and a forked tail on the subject of the picture.
* * *
WHEN SHE GOT DOWNSTAIRS, she was late again for supper. But this time Ren was there and he wouldn’t let Delsey put anything on the table.
“You know the rules,” Ren said harshly. “If you don’t get to the table on time, you don’t eat!”
She didn’t want to tell him that she’d been drawing his horse and had gotten lost in her work. She didn’t want to fight. She’d had so many years of fighting. It was easier to just conform.
“All right,” she said in her soft, quiet voice.
He glared at her. He hated her beauty. He hated the way she knuckled under. He wanted a fight, and he couldn’t start one.
He turned away from the table and pulled off his belt. It was a new one and he’d cinched it too tight. He doubled it, pulled it together and snapped it.
Merrie gasped and ran into the kitchen, hiding behind Delsey and shaking all over.
“What the hell...?” Ren exclaimed.
He walked into the kitchen with the belt still in his hand, and Merrie screamed.
“Put that thing down!” Delsey said quickly. She pulled Merrie into her arms and held her close, rocking her while she sobbed.
Belatedly, Ren realized that the belt had upset her when he snapped it. Frowning, he took it back into the living room and tossed it into his chair. He went back into the kitchen.
“She thought you were going to hit her with it,” Delsey said.
Merrie was still shaking, sobbing. It brought back horrible memories of her father and his uncontrollable temper. He’d hit her and hit her...
“I’ve never hit a woman in my life,” he said in the softest tone she’d heard from him. “Not even under provocation. I would never raise my hand to you. Never.”
She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t quite look at him. “O-okay,” she stammered.
He looked torn. Her reaction to the belt was unsettling. Someone had used one on her. He began to understand why the damaged horse had responded to her. She was damaged, too.
“Get her something to eat,” he told Delsey gently. “Anything she wants.”
“Yes, Mr. Ren,” she replied. She smiled at him.
Merrie didn’t speak. She was still shaking.
He left the two women alone and went into his study. It had been years since he’d had even a drink of the scotch whiskey he kept in the cabinet. But he poured a small measure and downed it. It troubled him, seeing Merrie’s reaction to the belt. Despite his unwelcoming attitude, he didn’t like seeing her frightened. He liked even less knowing that he’d frightened her.
* * *
“HE’D NEVER STRIKE YOU,” Delsey assured Merrie as she put ham and bread and mayonnaise on the table. “Here. Let me make you a sandwich. You’ll feel better.”
“My father...always snapped the belt like that, just before he used it on us.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He’s gone, now. My sister and I should feel sorrow, but all we can feel is relief. It was like being freed from prison.” She looked at Delsey. “He wouldn’t even buy us clothes unless he picked them out. We couldn’t date, we couldn’t have friends over, we couldn’t go to anyone else’s home...” She lowered her eyes. “He was so paranoid that he had us followed everywhere we went.”
“You poor child,” Delsey said, touching her hair. “You’re safe here. Mr. Ren may sound like a lion, but he would never hurt you.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“Now sit down here. Would you like some milk?”
“Oh, yes. Please.”
Delsey made her a sandwich and a glass of milk, and busied herself with the dinner dishes while she ate.
“Thanks,” she said when she finished. She took her plate and glass to the sink.
Delsey hugged her. “Don’t worry. Things work out, even when you don’t think they will.”
She smiled and hugged the older woman back. “I’ll try. Thanks.”
“No problem. You go to bed and sleep. You’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Good night.”
“You, too.”
* * *
BUT IT WASN’T a good night, and she wasn’t fine. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Her father was standing over her with his belt. It had blood all over it. He was yelling as he brought it down on her back with all his strength behind it...
“Wake up, damn it!”
She felt hard hands on her arms, pulling her up, felt whiskey-scented breath on her face. But the hands weren’t hurting her. They were warm and they felt good on the bare skin. She opened her eyes.
Ren was sitting on the bed, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. His broad chest, hair-roughened, was beautiful. She thought how she’d love to paint him like that. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. But she didn’t dare let it show, how she felt. She lifted her eyes to his and winced.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had a nightmare.”
His big hands smoothed down her arms. “About what?”
“Something in the past,” she said evasively. “Long ago,” she lied.
He drew in a long breath. “It was the belt, wasn’t it?”
She hesitated, but finally she nodded. “I can’t stand to hear a belt snapped like that. Daddy always...” She stopped.
“Your father hit you with a belt?”
She nodded.
“So did mine, when I was a kid. I used to have welts on the backs of my legs. I was a reckless boy, always into something I shouldn’t be. Dad got impatient.”
She didn’t want to tell him the truth, about the scars on her poor back. She didn’t want him to see them. She always wore nightgowns with a high neckline, so that no part of her back showed.
He touched her cheek, pushed back the disheveled platinum hair that had come loose from the braid she wore it in. “Don’t you take it down at night?” he asked curiously.
The feel of his hand on her face made her feel odd things. She felt trembly all over when he brushed her cheek like that. Her heart kicked into gear, unsettling her.
“No, I have to put it up when I sleep,” she said. “It gets in my face. I really should cut it. But it’s been long all my life.”
“It would be a crime to cut hair this beautiful,” he said quietly.
She looked up into his eyes and couldn’t look away. Neither could he. His breath came quickly. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, down to the bow shape of her pretty mouth. They lingered there, teasing the soft flesh, making her feel liquid, melting. She wanted to push close to him, feel him hold her. She wanted to tempt his mouth down to hers and see what a kiss felt like. She was hungry for something...
Incredibly, his head started to bend. She felt his whiskey-scented breath in her mouth. She drew in her own breath as she looked at his sensuous lips and wondered how they were going to feel grinding hungrily into hers.
His hand slid to the back of her neck and began to pull, ever so gently. She felt her lips parting, her body throbbing, as his mouth came closer, closer, closer...
“What happened?” Delsey asked from the doorway.
Ren drew back from Merrie, glaring at her as if he was angry. He got to his feet quickly. “She had a nightmare,” he said shortly. He turned away, grateful that his pajamas were loose. “She’s all right. I’m going back to bed.”
“Are you all right, dear?” Delsey asked. She was wearing a cotton nightgown and a long cotton robe. She looked like an angel.
“I’m fine...now,” Merrie said breathlessly. “Just a nightmare. I’m so sorry I woke everybody up.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Delsey confessed. “I was watching a movie on my iPad.”
“You can do that?” Merrie asked excitedly. “How?” Ren left them talking and went back to his bedroom. As an afterthought, he slammed the door. That woman was really a witch. He was reeling just from touching her mouth. He wasn’t going to be led into that sweet trap a second time. If she was in the market for a rich husband, Randall could have her. She was Randall’s girl, anyway, wasn’t she?
He turned off the lights and climbed into bed, surprised at his own vulnerability.
* * *
MERRIE DELIBERATELY SLEPT LATE so that she wouldn’t have to sit at the table with Ren at breakfast. It was cowardly, but she worried that he’d be out for blood. He’d almost kissed her the night before. But he was going to hate himself for that weakness, and it would be open season on Merrie if she gave him the opportunity.
She poked her head into the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t see him.
Delsey was putting away the dishes. She grimaced when she saw Merrie.
“I know. I came late,” Merrie said softly. “It’s okay. I don’t eat much, anyway.”
The older woman looked hunted. Merrie went close and hugged her. “Thanks for saving me last night. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with the boss.”
Delsey hugged her back. “Not so much. I’ve been around since he was in college. I guess he’s used to me.” She drew away with a sigh. “He was topping cotton this morning,” she added, using an old Southern term for someone being furiously angry.
Merrie laughed softly. “That’s very Southern sounding,” she commented.
“I was born in Eufaula, Alabama,” Delsey said surprisingly. “I married a cowboy who was traveling through town with his boss on a cattle-buying trip. Met him in a café and went back to Wyoming with him three days later. We were married for twenty-five years before he had a heart attack. I stayed on working for Mr. Ren’s father after he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “It was a long time ago. I still miss him. I wish we could have had children, but that wasn’t in the cards.”
“I would like children, I think,” Merrie said sadly. “I’m just not sure about marriage. My poor mother,” she said softly. “I don’t think she had a single happy day with my father. She lived for Sari and me. Until...” She closed up like a flower and smiled. “Did they get the female vet to come over from Powell?” she asked.
“Yes, they did,” she replied. “Mr. Ren was on his way to the stables.”
“He said they might call me to use some witchcraft on Hurricane so he’d let the vet in the stall with him,” Merrie murmured.
“He says a lot of things he doesn’t really mean,” Delsey said softly. “Mr. Ren’s had a hard life. His father mostly ignored him. Then his mother divorced him to run away with Mr. Randall’s father, and she made Ren go along. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t crazy about his dad, but he loved this ranch.”
“How old was he?” Merrie asked.
“He was ten years old. Mr. Ren’s father went crazy after they left. He got drunk and stayed drunk for years. The ranch was falling apart by the time Mr. Ren graduated and came back here. He sobered up his dad, reorganized the ranch and started making improvements. He let the land stand for loans to improve pasture and fencing, to buy seed bulls, to upgrade the equipment and refurbish the stables and the barn...” She laughed as she finished putting up dishes. “He was like a whirlwind. The ranch got out of the red two years after he started. Fifteen years later, he has an empire here. His dad lived long enough to see a prosperous future, but not long enough to enjoy it.”
“That’s sad.”
“It was. Mr. Ren’s mother wanted to come to the funeral, but he refused to let her near the place.”
Merrie caught her breath. “Why?”
“They’ve had some problems,” Desley said. “Mr. Ren overheard her say something that hurt him real bad. I told you about that. He just left. Never even said goodbye. Hitchhiked out here to his dad, moved in and started to work. He’s like that,” she added. “He doesn’t say what he’s going to do. He just does it.”
“He’s scary, in a way,” Merrie said.
“Lots of people are, until you get to know them,” Delsey told her gently. “He’s not a violent man...”
“...told you to get the damned rope on him first!” Ren was raging outside the window. “Now look what you’ve done, you idiot! I ought to lay you out on the ground, Grandy!”
Merrie held her breath as Ren stormed in the back door, half carrying a man with blood all over one arm.
“Oh, dear,” Delsey said. “Grandy, what in the world?”
“Clean him up, would you, Delsey?” Ren asked, putting the man in a chair. “Probably needs stitches. I’ll get Tubbs up here to drive him into town to the doctor.” He glanced at Merrie coldly. “If you faint, don’t do it in here. I’ve got enough problems.”
“How did it happen?” Delsey asked, while Merrie stood just staring at the bleeding man.
“He was trying to rope a horse. Horse reared up and threw him into a sheet of tin.”
“Was it Hurricane?” Merrie asked worriedly.
“Yes, it was Hurricane,” he shot at her angrily.
She moved closer to him. “Couldn’t I help?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want her near the horse. He was furious at her because he’d been weak the night before. He didn’t want her around, didn’t want her near him. She was Randall’s girl...
“You might let her try before anybody else gets hurt, Mr. Ren,” Delsey intervened.
“Hell!” He tilted his hat low over his eyes. “All right. Come on.”
Delsey washed the deep cut on Grandy’s arm. “Cut a vein, I think,” she told Ren.
“Tubbs is on his way. Wrap a towel around it,” Ren told her.
“Sorry, Ren,” Grandy said sheepishly.
Ren just glared at him. He opened the door, let Merrie out and followed her.
She’d grabbed her light jacket. It was freezing cold outside and flurries of snow touched her face. A dusting of it was on the ground from the day before. She hadn’t had time to really enjoy it. She lifted her face to it and smiled, her eyes closed.
Ren glanced at her, and an unfamiliar tenderness tugged at his cold heart. She was like a child, he thought. She took pleasure in the simplest things.
“Your jacket’s too thin for a Wyoming autumn,” he said, fighting down the feelings she provoked in him.
“It rarely gets much below freezing in South Texas,” she replied, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “This is the heaviest coat I own.”
“Tell Delsey to take you to town and get a warmer one. I have an account at Jolpe’s. It’s a chain department store.” He didn’t add that it was one of the real high-end shops. It catered to movie stars who came to Jackson Hole, which wasn’t too far away.
“I’ll do that. Thanks.” She was going to spend her own money, but he could think what he liked.
“Randall would take you himself, if he was here,” he added deliberately. He had to keep reminding himself that she belonged to his stepbrother.
“Of course he would.”
They walked into the stables, down the stone walkway to the stall where Hurricane was kept. The female vet, middle-aged, with blond hair and blue eyes, glanced at them as they approached.
She grimaced. “I can’t get the stupid tranquilizer gun to work. I should have asked Kells with Game and Fish to show me again how to use it...”
While she was talking, Merrie went right up to the gate of the stall and held her hand out. It contained one of two treats she’d taken from a nearby bag.
She opened her hand, the treat on her palm, and offered it to the nervous gelding.
“Hi, sweetheart. Remember me?” she asked softly, smiling.
Apparently he did, because he came right up to the gate and tossed his mane, whinnying softly.
“That’s a sweet boy,” she said, watching him nibble the treat. She smoothed her bare hand over his head, between his eyes. “What a sweet boy!”
The vet, mesmerized, just stared at her. “He just knocked one of the cowboys into that pile of tin in the aisle,” she pointed out, indicating a small refuse pile from some repairs.
“She has a way with horses, apparently,” Ren said curtly. “Can you keep him diverted while Dr. Branch gets in the pen with him?”
“Of course I can,” Merrie said. She smoothed her hand over the horse’s ears, calming him.
The vet took advantage of the lull to go into the stall and examine the cuts. “I can use a local on these,” she said. “If you can just keep him busy...”
“I can do that,” Merrie assured her.
She talked to Hurricane, smoothing her hand over his face, his ears, his cheek, all the while talking to him. When he felt the needle he started to shift, but Merrie drew him back and laid her forehead against his, talking to him again. He calmed. The vet began to put in the stitches, working efficiently. It didn’t take long.
Dr. Branch came out of the stall with a long sigh. “That’s some bedside manner you’ve got there, Miss...?”
“Grayling,” Merrie said. “My name is Meredith, but everybody calls me Merrie,” she added, with a smile.
“Merrie, then. Thanks for the help.”
“I didn’t mind. I love horses.”
“That one certainly seems to like you,” Dr. Branch said. She shook her head. “I couldn’t get the stupid tranquilizer gun to work. I guess I need more training with it,” she said with a laugh.
“Will he be all right now?” Merrie asked, because she was worried. Some of the cuts had been very deep.
“I gave him an antibiotic,” she replied. “If there’s any obvious infection around the cuts, I may need to come back and see him. You know the signs, I’m sure,” she said to Ren.
“I know them all too well. Thanks for coming, Doc.”
“My pleasure.” She picked up her bag, smiled at Merrie and walked back down the aisle.
“I thought he’d have to be put down,” Ren commented.
“He’s not a bad horse. He’s just been exposed to a bad man,” Merrie replied. She was still smoothing the horse’s forehead. “He’s so beautiful. I drew a portrait of him,” she added softly.
“Did you?” He sounded disinterested. “He’ll settle down now. I have work to do.”
“Am I being evicted?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“For the time being, yes.”
She sighed, nuzzled Hurricane’s face with her own and left him. He whinnied when she got halfway down the stall. She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll come back again.”
He tossed his head.
“Don’t tell me you can talk to horses, too,” he scoffed.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Daddy never let us near the stables when he was home.”
He scowled, looking down at her. “What sort of horses did he keep?”
Thoroughbreds, but she wasn’t telling him that. She liked being just plain Merrie. “Quarter horses,” she lied. “He sold them all over the world.”
“But you weren’t allowed to ride them?”
“Not the registered ones, no. He didn’t trust us with them.”
“Why?”
She grimaced. “He thought we might injure one, I guess. He kept a few saddle horses for guests. We got to ride those. They were old and swaybacked, but at least we learned how to ride.”
He raised an eyebrow. There was a big difference between riding a quarter horse and a swayback, he thought privately. He wondered if she was bragging, and her father hadn’t had more than one or two horses. Surely, her clothes were an indication that she and her family didn’t have much money. All her attire seemed to consist of gray sweatpants and sweatshirts, most of which had either writing or logos on them.
Her boots, at least, were proper ones. No designer footwear there, he mused, looking down at her small feet. She had on boots that had seen hard wear. They looked a lot like his own, except that hers hadn’t been subjected to smelly substances and too much water.
“The vet seemed nice,” she commented.
“She was. Nice, and quite smart. Her husband is also a vet. They specialize in large-animal calls.”
“Out here, I guess they’d have to,” she commented, looking around at the long, beautiful pastures that led off to sharp, jagged white peaks in the distance. “Is that the Rocky Mountains?” she asked.
“No. Those are the Teton Mountains. We’re closer to Jackson Hole than we are to Yellowstone.”
“I don’t know much about the territory out here,” she confessed. “I’ve never been out of south Texas in my life.”
He scowled. “Never?”
“Daddy didn’t want us out of his sight,” she said simply.
Daddy sounded like a paranoid schizophrenic. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud.
They walked into the kitchen. Delsey had stopped the bleeding temporarily with a large towel, under which bandages could be seen. A tall, good-looking cowboy with blue eyes and black hair was standing beside Grandy. He looked up when Merrie walked in, and his eyes twinkled.
“It is she. The witch woman!” he teased.
Merrie’s eyebrows met her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“Your fame has preceded you, my lady,” the man said, making her a sweeping bow. “I expected choirs of cherubs singing praises...”
She felt her forehead. “I don’t think I have a fever,” she murmured.
“He does Shakespeare at our local playhouse,” Delsey said, rolling her eyes. “That’s Rory Tubbs, Merrie, although none of us ever use his first name,” she introduced them. “He’s playing King Lear.”
“Not King Lear,” he muttered. “Macbeth!”
“I always get those two confused,” the older woman conceded. “There you go, Grandy. You’ll live until Tubbs can get you to the doc.”
“Hurricane didn’t kill you, then?” Grandy asked Merrie.
She smiled. “No. He’s a sweet horse.”
“You’d think so,” Grandy muttered. “He didn’t pitch you headfirst into a pile of tin, now, did he?”
She laughed softly. “No, he didn’t. I hope you’ll be all right,” she added gently.
Grandy actually flushed. He got up and grabbed his hat, nodding at her before he put it on. “I’ll be fine. Nothing but a cut,” he murmured.
“A big cut, but he’ll still be fine,” Tubbs added with a flash of white teeth. He tipped his hat. “See you again, fair maiden.”
She smiled.
“Don’t die,” Ren told Grandy. “I can’t afford to lose you.”
Grandy grinned at him. “Hard to kill a weed, boss.” He grimaced. “Next time, I’ll listen.”
“Next time, you’d better,” Ren said. His eyes smiled at the older man, even if his mouth didn’t. It was impossible to miss the very real affection Ren had for his men.
“I always listen, don’t I, boss?” Tubbs asked. “And I can drive in six feet of snow and ice.” He buffed his nails on his coat. “I’m irreplaceable.”
“I can do that myself,” Ren shot back. “Don’t get cocky.”
Tubbs chuckled and herded Grandy out the back door toward the waiting pickup truck.
“Don’t flirt with the men,” Ren said icily.
She gaped at him. “I smiled at him!”
“Don’t smile at them, either,” he added belligerently.
She just stood there, uncertain and undecided.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and went back out the door. He slammed it behind him, rattling the elaborate glass pane at the top of it.
“He’ll break that one day,” Delsey said with a sigh. She shook her head. “No pleasing him today, is there?”
“Is he always like this with women?” she wanted to know.
She fought for the right words. “Well, not with older women,” she qualified.
“Maybe I can age ten years or something,” Merrie said under her breath.
Delsey laughed. “You really do have something special in you, if you could get that wild horse to let the vet treat him.”
“He’s been hurt,” Merrie said. “He’s just scared.”
“Maybe. But if I were a man, I wouldn’t go in the pen with him.”
Merrie laughed. “Neither would I,” she confessed.
“Want a sausage biscuit?” Delsey asked, peering around her toward the door, just in case Mr. Ren was somewhere nearby.
“I’d love one, thanks, and some coffee. I’ll sneak them up to my room while he’s away.”
“I promise you, he isn’t usually this unreasonable,” Delsey began.
“I just rub him the wrong way. Some people are like that. It’s okay.” She smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell him you fed me,” she added.
Delsey laughed. “Well, not right away,” she replied.
CHAPTER THREE (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
MERRIE FINISHED A preliminary sketch of Ren, one she planned to turn into a portrait of him later. He really was a striking man, she thought, studying it. But there was something more than just looks there. He was strong and independent and deliberate in the way he went about things. It was all there, in her sketch.
She was so glad that Hurricane had received the care he needed. The vet really knew what she was doing. She’d go back out and check on him tomorrow. Meanwhile, she worked on sketching Ren’s portrait. She loved the hard lines of his face, the incredible masculinity that radiated from him. He brimmed with authority, but not like her father had. Her father had been cruel and domineering. Ren tended to dominate, too, but not in a cruel way.
Delsey had told her that Ren almost never had a drink. But she was sure he’d had whiskey on his breath when he came to see her after her nightmare. He’d looked guilty and haunted after he’d snapped the belt and she’d run away from him. So there was kindness there, inside him. He just didn’t let it show. He was like a wolf who’d put his paw in a fire and drew it back at once, resolving never to go near fire again. Some woman had hurt him badly, Delsey had said. She didn’t think he was the kind of man who went through women in droves, like his brother, Randall. She liked Randall very much as a friend, but she’d never have wanted him for a boyfriend. He was flighty and he loved women. He never stuck with one for longer than a few weeks, and she was sure he’d never been in love. One day, she thought with laughter, he’d meet his match.
She put a campfire and a wolf in the background of Ren’s portrait. It seemed to suit. She added lodgepole pines for a backdrop. She drew him in the shepherd’s coat and the wide-brimmed hat he wore around the ranch. He looked very lifelike, as if he could walk off the page of the sketchbook.
She wished she had her paints and canvases, but those were back in Texas. She’d hesitated to use her cell phones, even though Paul had assured her they couldn’t be traced. And it wasn’t as if she could have her painting supplies sent up here, not without the risk of having someone notice where they were going. Paul had worried about the man Timmy Leeds had hired to kill Merrie. He’d sounded very professional, and Paul mentioned that he’d been in the business for many years. Men who weren’t competent got weeded out fast.
Here, in Wyoming, she could forget for hours at a time that she was being hunted. She gave a thought to Ren and Delsey, and prayed that she wasn’t putting them in harm’s way just by living in the house with them. But, then, Randall had assured her that Ren had state-of-the-art surveillance and very capable bodyguards on the place. He’d also assured her that Ren knew exactly why she was here. It relieved her a little.
She remembered that Ren had told her to go shopping for a coat. She’d have to do that. Maybe there was an art supply store in town. Wait, what about Amazon? She could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. She had an account, with her brand-new credit card backing it up.
She pulled out her cell phone, loaded the app and started shopping for supplies. It didn’t take long to find everything she needed. Now she just had to find a room to paint in. She’d ask Ren.
But not today, she decided. He was bound to be in a snarly mood when he came in from working around the ranch. It amazed her how much there was to do on a ranch this size. There were buildings that had to be repaired, stalls in both the barn and stable that had to be scrubbed and filled with fresh hay, tack that had to be mended, machines that had to be worked on—it was a never-ending process.
Then there were the cattle. In bad weather, cowboys paid even closer attention to them. The herds were checked several times a day by cowboys, who were expected to be out working no matter how bad the weather got.
Most of the outbuildings, Delsey had told her, were made of steel. It was durable, and even snow that packed several feet in winter couldn’t collapse the roofs. There were lean-tos out in the sweeping fenced pastures, for the cattle to shelter in when the weather got rough, and those were also made of steel, with sloping roofs. Heated water troughs were everywhere. The men carried hay out to the cattle when snow got deep. It was placed in troughs with grates, so there wasn’t so much waste as the cattle ate. There were many corrals where horses were worked. Some were used to contain animals when they were due to be branded, tagged, castrated and inoculated. Those had loading chutes. Animals were herded down them either to trays used to work the calves, or to loading docks where the beef steers were loaded en route to other pastures or buyers.
Merrie had read about spring roundup on ranches, and she really would have loved to see the process. But it was October. No roundup was going on now. Instead, she found a DVD that showed the process on Skyhorn, the name of Ren’s big ranch.
While he was out, she put it in the DVD player, gathered up her knitting basket and settled back to watch the men work.
She was knee-deep into knitting a hat and watching Ren talking to a reporter about how branding was done when she heard a door open. She thought it was Delsey and paid no attention, until she heard a deep voice behind her.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ren asked curtly.
She jumped, and looked up from her knitting with red cheeks. “Sorry. Was it okay if I use the DVD player?”
He scowled as he noticed her subject matter. He swept off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I’d forgotten about that,” he murmured. “A reporter for a local station was doing a story about ranches and wanted to interview me. I don’t usually do them, but he was known for fairness in journalism.”
Her eyes asked the question.
He dropped into the leather armchair that nobody else was supposed to sit in and stared at her. “We get a lot of people who want to shut down the beef industry entirely.” He shrugged. “Opinions are like...well, everybody has one,” he said, amending what he’d been about to let out.
“I guess so,” she said. “The cattle industry may be an artificial use of land, but buffalo and other ruminants have been around for a very long time. Animal gases may contribute to climate change, but I’d put nuclear testing and volcanic eruptions at the top of any list I made about gases in the atmosphere.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. His attention was drawn to the interview she was watching. They were using the branding iron on the steers.
“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I know about branding. Some people said freeze branding was better, but it sheds off with the coat. A burned brand lasts forever.” She glanced at him. “I even know what a running iron is. But I didn’t learn that from the video,” she said, nodding toward the screen. “I love to read Zane Grey novels. I guess I have every book he ever wrote.”
“Me, too,” he confessed. “What’s your favorite?”
“The Light of Western Stars,” she said. “You know, the hero was loosely based on a real person, Red Lopez, who fought on the Arizona border during the Mexican War in 1910.”
Both his eyebrows went up. “You know your history.”
“I would have studied it,” she said. She lowered her eyes to her knitting. “But I was tired of people shadowing me. Daddy wouldn’t let us leave the house unless somebody was with us. I took art classes at our local community college instead of doing a degree.”
“Why did he have people following you?”
“He was afraid we might meet a boy and try to go out with him,” she said on a hollow laugh. “This nice cowboy asked me out once, when I was sixteen. I’d met him in school. His sister was in my class. He worked on a ranch. He was just a little older than me.” She shifted on the sofa. “Daddy found out. The cowboy suddenly left for Arizona.” She lowered her eyes back to the hat in her lap that she was knitting while Ren gaped at her.
“Why didn’t he want you dating?”
She bit her lower lip. “He had very definite ideas about what sort of men he wanted us to marry, and when.”
“Then how did you meet my brother?” he asked curtly.
She went back to her knitting. She didn’t answer him.
He leaned forward. “How?”
She let out a shallow breath. “He had a good friend who was in my art class. I’d seen him around town when he was visiting, and when he came to see the exhibit at our college, we started talking.” She smiled. “He wasn’t scared of Daddy. Just the same, I could never invite him to the house, and I had to make sure we were always in a crowd at college when I talked to him. Daddy was...not quite normal.”
He’d already figured that out. “Your sister is married, though?”
Randall must have told him that. “Yes. Just recently. Paul’s a senior agent with the FBI in San Antonio. He used to work for Daddy, long ago.” She stopped. She didn’t want to talk about her father or his fortune.
“What does your sister do?”
She smiled. “She’s an assistant district attorney in Jacobs County.”
“Didn’t you want to have a profession? Some way to earn a living?”
She didn’t want to talk about that, especially. “I hope to do that with my art, one day,” she said. She looked up into a faintly disappointed face. She knew he thought she had no ambition. It hurt. But she wasn’t telling him anything more about Graylings. Not yet. “That reminds me,” she said softly. “Is there a room I could use to paint in? I have paints and canvases coming. I don’t want to make a mess...”
“There’s a studio,” he said. “It belonged to...my father’s wife.” He never called her his mother. “She used it for painting. There’s a drop cloth in there, as well.”
“Thanks,” she told him. She wondered if Ren had loved his mother, before their sad parting. She’d have to ask Randall. She wouldn’t dare ask Ren. He was already fuming about something; perhaps a bad memory of the woman. She was certain that he wouldn’t have referred to his mother at all if she hadn’t asked the question about the studio.
He waved away the gratitude. His eyes went to the quick, efficient movement of her hands. “What are you making?”
“Hats,” she said with a smile. “I make dozens and give them away, to children I meet on the street, to old people in the waiting room when I have dentist appointments. I gave some to a woman who helps Mandy in the house, who works with an outreach program as a volunteer.” She hesitated. “I mostly do it when I’m watching television.”
“You make hats?” Delsey asked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, stirring something she was making in a bowl. “Could you make me one?” she asked. “I’m forever going in and out to take trash, and my head gets cold even when I put on a coat.”
“Sure. You can have this one when it’s finished.” She held it up. It was green and gold and tan.
“I like that!”
She laughed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll just finish getting this cake ready to go in the oven. Apple pound cake, Mr. Ren, with vanilla frosting.”
“Something to look forward to tonight,” he said, and smiled at her.
“It’ll be ready by then.” She went back into the kitchen.
“I thought you’d be squeamish,” Ren remarked as Merrie’s attention went back to the screen.
“I like cattle,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t know much about them. There are ranches all around the house where Sari and I grew up. Most of the people in Jacobs County either run cattle or work on ranches.”
“Sari?”
She laughed softly. “Her name is really Isabel, but only Paul calls her that. To the rest of us, she’s Sari.”
“Are you like her?”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “Sari’s redheaded and has really blue eyes. Mine are sort of a washed-out version of hers. And she’s very smart. She graduated in the top of her class from college and law school.”
He cocked his head and studied her. She was pretty and sweet. Smart? He didn’t care if a woman was smart or not. He liked Merrie. Even though he really didn’t want to.
He got to his feet, slapping his work gloves into his hand. “You can come back for spring roundup,” he mused. “I’ll take you out and you can see the process firsthand.”
“You’d do that for me?” she exclaimed, her face radiating joy. “Oh, I’d love to see it!”
He smiled faintly. “Okay.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Delsey, I’ll be back late tonight. Fred and I have to ride out to the line cabins and check on the men.”
“All right. It’s going to snow kittens and you’re already sniffling. Don’t stand out in the cold.”
“Stop worrying,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” she shot back. “You sound stuffed up.”
“I’m going now,” he replied. “See you later.”
“Okay. Go kill yourself and see if I care!” she called back.
He just laughed. He glanced at Merrie, tipped his hat and went out the door. It was really coming down outside. Snow seemed to come often in autumn here in Wyoming. Merrie wondered if the weather was always like that.
* * *
MERRIE WAS ON TIME for supper. She and Delsey ate a nice stew with biscuits, then Merrie went up to her room to sketch some more. She’d gone to bed when she heard Ren’s footsteps come up the stairs. Odd how slow they sounded. His step was always quick and confident. Probably he was just tired, she thought. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
The next morning, she was on time for breakfast, but Ren wasn’t sitting at the table, as he usually was.
Delsey frowned as she put things on the table. “Not like him to be late. I’m going up to check on him.”
“I hope he’s all right,” Merrie said.
“Warned him about being out in that snow when he was already feeling bad. He never listens.” She was still muttering as she went out the door and up the staircase.
Delsey was back very soon. She went directly to the phone in the living room, picked it up and dialed.
She told someone Ren’s symptoms, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll have Tubbs drive him right into town. Thanks, Sylvia.”
She hung up. Then she called down to the bunkhouse, asked for Tubbs and had him come up to the house.
“Ren’s sick?” Merrie asked, worriedly.
“Yes. He sounds as if he’s breathing water,” Delsey said worriedly. “He almost never gets sick, but there’s that virus that was going around, and he won’t take care of himself. Out in the freezing cold and wind for hours...” She stopped. “Go eat, child. He’ll be all right. He’s tough.”
Merrie managed a smile. She felt sad. When Ren walked in the door, the house came to life. It was an odd thing to feel about a man she barely knew and didn’t really like. But he seemed to fill the house up with color just by being in it.
* * *
MINUTES LATER, DELSEY propped him up with her shoulder and helped him walk down the staircase. His face was a pasty white, and he looked terrible. When he coughed, the congestion was audible.
“I’m all right,” he was protesting.
“You’re not all right. Merrie, can you hold on to him for me while I see if Tubbs is out there? I think I hear the truck...”
“Of course.” Merrie took Delsey’s place under Ren’s arm and felt the hard muscular body closer than she ever had before. He was warm and strong, and smelled of fir trees. She liked the feeling she got, being near him like this. It was something she’d never experienced.
Ren liked the softness of her young body. He liked the feel of her. He liked it too much, he thought to himself. He moved restlessly. He felt really sick.
“It’s okay,” Merrie said softly. “The doctor will give you something, and you’ll get better.”
“I’ve got work to do...!”
“It will get done when it gets done,” she said firmly. “You can’t work if you’re dead, now, can you?”
He looked down into her soft pale blue eyes. “Pest,” he muttered.
She grinned up at him. “Certifiable.”
He managed a laugh, but it made him cough.
Delsey motioned to them. “Tubbs is right outside. Come on, Mr. Ren.” She looked out the door. “Tubbs, come help, he’s heavy!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Tubbs came shooting in the door, grinned at Merrie and took Ren under the arm. “Come on, boss man. You can’t die. We’ll all have to go looking for work and we’ll never find anybody else who’ll yell at us and threaten to soak our blankets in vinegar.”
“Tubbs...” Ren began irritably.
“On the other hand, if you die, I want that nice watch you have, the one with all the dials,” Tubbs continued.
Surprisingly, Ren burst out laughing, which caused another coughing fit.
“In you go, boss man. You’re not dying today.” He waved to the women, got in beside Ren and drove away.
Merrie went back inside the house with Delsey, rubbing her arms because it was bitterly cold outside.
“You need a winter coat,” Delsey said firmly.
“I’ll go shopping. But not today.” Merrie laughed. She followed Delsey into the kitchen. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?” she added, worried and not able to hide it.
Delsey suppressed a smile. “He’ll be fine. Dr. Fellows will make sure of it. He delivered Ren.”
She cocked her head. “How long ago?” she wondered.
“Almost thirty-seven years,” Delsey replied. “He was born December 6.”
“I see.” He was older than she’d thought. Thirty-six, to her twenty-two. Well, she’d be twenty-three in November. It was still fourteen years. She supposed a mature man like that would think of her as just a child. It depressed her. She wondered why. He was hot-tempered, irritable, impatient, overbearing... Well, she had to finish that knitting, and adding to the adjectives would take a long time.
* * *
REN CAME HOME LATER, with Tubbs still supporting him.
“We have medicine and orders from the doctor,” Tubbs said, helping Ren up the staircase. “I expect him to take the first and ignore the second.”
“You can bet on it,” Ren muttered.
Tubbs just laughed.
After he got Ren settled, he came back down the staircase. He tipped his hat to the women. “I have to go ride the fence line and look for breaks.”
“Button that coat,” Delsey said firmly. “One sick man is enough.”
Tubbs grinned at her. “I never get sick.” He glanced at Merrie and started to speak.
“Out,” Delsey said, because she had a feeling he wanted to ask Merrie out. Ren wouldn’t like it.
He made a face. “You’re as bad as he is,” he remarked, nodding up the staircase.
“Where do you think I learned it from?” Delsey returned, and she grinned.
“Ah, well, fair maiden, there’s always tomorrow,” Tubbs said, and made Merrie a sweeping bow before he left. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!” he added on his way out.
Merrie looked after him, but not with any real interest. She turned back to Delsey. “Will Ren take the medicine, you think?”
“I would bet money that he sticks it in his medicine cabinet and closes the door,” Delsey replied. “It’s what he did the last time, and he ended up right back in Dr. Fellows’s office.”
Merrie hesitated. “Does he wear pajamas?” she asked, flushing.
“Ah. I see.” Delsey smiled gently. “He wears the bottoms,” she said. “Think you can get the medicine in him?”
“I got medicine in an outlaw horse once,” Merrie replied.
Delsey smiled gently. “Let me heat up some soup for him, and we’ll both take it up.”
“Great!” Merrie said.
Delsey kept her thoughts to herself. It was a relief, however, to notice that dashing Tubbs hadn’t made an impression on the young woman. The boss looked at Merrie in a way he hadn’t looked at a woman since that she-cat took him for the ride of his life. It was a start.
* * *
REN WAS IN BED with the covers pulled up to his waist, looking miserable, when Delsey and Merrie walked in.
“I just need rest,” he muttered, glaring at them. “Not mothering!”
“Nobody’s mothering you,” Merrie promised. “Where’s the medicine?”
He glared at her.
“In the medicine cabinet, I’ll bet,” Delsey told her.
“Traitor!” Ren shot at her.
Merrie walked into his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were two prescriptions. One was an antibiotic, one was a powerful cough syrup.
She carried them both triumphantly back into the bedroom and started to open the antibiotic.
“Is that the cough syrup?” Delsey asked, reaching for it. She had a spoon in her hand. She read the directions, poured some into a spoon and pushed it toward Ren’s defiantly closed mouth.
“Open up, or I’ll roll you in a towel and shove it into you,” Merrie said forcefully.
The words, and the tone, caused him to burst out laughing. He opened his mouth, and Delsey spooned the cough syrup in.
“Very nice,” Merrie said. She held a pill in her hand. “This one, too,” she said.
He stared up at her. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“Delsey, have you got a really big towel and two strong men...?”
“Hell.” He opened his mouth and glared at Merrie as she put the pill on his tongue.
He swallowed it down with some of the milk Delsey had brought him.
“Milk causes more mucus, you know,” Merrie commented.
“It’s all he’ll drink when he’s sick.” Delsey sighed as she put the tray with legs over him and set the soup and spoon and napkin on it.
“He needs to drink lots of water, to thin the secretions so he can cough up the mucus,” Merrie added.
“I’m right here,” Ren muttered. “I can hear both of you.”
They both stared at him.
He grimaced and picked up his soup spoon. “All right, you had your way. Now get out of here and let me eat my soup in peace.”
“It’s not soup. It’s oyster stew. Your favorite,” Delsey added with a warm smile.
He made a face at her, but then he smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You get better. If you need anything, use the intercom,” Delsey added, indicating the unit on his bedside table.
“I won’t. But thanks.” He included Merrie in that. “Don’t think that threat about the towel made any difference,” he added firmly.
She grinned at him. “Liar,” she said mischievously.
He just chuckled.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, MERRIE went in to see Ren before she went to bed. She was still fully dressed. She didn’t want to be seen by a man in just pajamas and a robe, even if it was a modern world.
She knocked lightly and peered in the door. “Doing okay?” she asked.
He glared at her. “Close the door, from the outside,” he said icily.
“Yes, sir.” She closed it, wincing at his angry tone, and went down the hall to her own room.
He was so unpredictable. One day he was almost nice to her, the next he snapped her head off. She looked at herself in the mirror and realized the cause of his sudden irritation. Her cross was visible around her neck, outside the sweatshirt she was wearing.
She fingered it gently. Her mother had given it to her when she was a little girl. She’d changed the gold chain many times over the years, but the cross remained the same. It was something from her mother, her childhood, something priceless. Ren didn’t have to like it. But she wasn’t taking it off.
His coldness hurt her. She wondered why. He was just Randall’s brother. He wasn’t even nice most of the time. Ah, well, she thought, she wasn’t going to be here long anyway. No use wasting thoughts on a man who’d probably pay to see her breaded and deep-fried.
* * *
IT TOOK HIM two days to get up enough strength to leave his bed. He was a little unsteady on his feet when he came down to breakfast, but his bad attitude was back in full force.
He pulled out a chair and glared at the women. “I don’t need babying, in case you had that in mind. I feel fine.”
Merrie stared at him. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Delsey agreed.
He popped his napkin out and folded it in his lap on top of his immaculate jeans and chaps. The spurs on his boots made a jingling sound when he moved his feet under the table.
“Is that sausage?” he asked suddenly, pointing his fork at the platter next to the bacon and eggs.
“Yes. Merrie likes it.”
“I hate sausage,” he said curtly.
“I love it,” Merrie replied, just to irritate him. She gave him a long, steady look. “It just makes me feel good, thinking of pork being shoved through a sausage grinder.”
His eyebrows went up. It was the way she said it, eyeing him the whole time. “I would not fit in a sausage grinder,” he said abruptly.
She sighed. “Pity,” she said, with a blithe smile.
He choked back a laugh and reached for the coffeepot.
* * *
SHE WALKED OUTSIDE before he left, enjoying the previous night’s fall of new snow. It lay like a blanket over the hills and mountains in the distance. She wrapped her arms around herself, because it was below freezing and her coat was more decorative than functional.
“I thought I told you to go to town and buy a coat,” Ren muttered as he came outside, sliding his hat over his brow.
“There hasn’t been time,” she replied.
“I’ll have Delsey drive you in tomorrow,” he said. His eyes gave the old coat a speaking glance. “Don’t you own a decent winter coat?”
She flushed and lowered her eyes. “We had a very strict clothing allowance when Daddy was alive,” she said with stinging pride. “He thought coats were a waste of money. He only gave us enough money to buy jackets, but I found this coat on sale.”
“I’m surprised they weren’t giving it away for free,” he said haughtily.
She frowned at him. “Not everybody is rich, Mr. Colter,” she said shortly. “Most people in the world just do the best they can with what they have.”
He lifted an eyebrow and slid his eyes over what he could see of her trim figure. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.
“Twenty-two,” she returned.
His eyes darkened. Too young, he was thinking. Years too young. Twenty-two to his thirty-six. She was striking. It wasn’t so much beauty, although she had that, as poise and grace. She moved like some graceful fawn, barely leaving traces of her footsteps when she walked.
“You’re just a kid,” he said quietly, thinking out loud.
“It’s the mileage,” she said suddenly.
He frowned. “What?”
“It’s the mileage. Some people are old at twenty and some are young at eighty. It’s the mileage.”
“I see.” He cocked his head and studied her openly. “You aren’t old enough to have much mileage, just the same.”
She smiled. “I don’t let it show. It takes a lot fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown.”
He cocked his hat low over his brow. “Don’t expect to see many smiles around here in winter.”
“Not true,” she said pertly. “Delsey smiles all the time. So does Tubbs.”
At the mention of the younger man’s name, he froze over. “Tubbs is here to work, not to make calf’s eyes at you,” he said, his tone biting. “Don’t encourage him. He likes blondes.”
“I haven’t encouraged anybody,” she protested.
“See that you don’t.” His smile was colder than the snow around them. “After all, you’re Randall’s...friend, aren’t you?” he added, a note of contempt in his tone.
“Yes,” she said, not understanding. “Randall’s my friend.”
“You remember that.”
He turned and marched off toward the truck, where one of the men was waiting for him. “Tell Delsey I’ll be late,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re going quail hunting.”
He was gone before she could even answer.
“Well, he’s in some great shape to go out hunting,” Delsey said irritably as she puttered around the kitchen. “Hunkered down in a snowbank waiting to spook a covey of quail! He’ll catch his death!”
“He really doesn’t listen to reason.”
Delsey laughed. “No. He doesn’t.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ue808035e-a859-5043-a3de-8bc1260d119a)
THAT NIGHT, DELSEY had gone up to bed when Ren came in with a bag of partridges. He put them in the kitchen sink.
“Just leave them there,” he said when he noticed Merrie watching television in the living room. “Delsey can deal with them in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night,” she called after him.
Well, at least he was speaking to her, Merrie thought wistfully. She finished watching her program, then turned the television off.
She was about to switch the light off in the kitchen when she remembered the partridges in the sink. It would be a shame to leave them there all night and expect poor Delsey to dress them even before she could start breakfast the next morning.
She pulled up a trash can and went to work. It didn’t take long. She had them dressed and in baggies in the fridge. She dealt with the refuse, taking it outside to the garbage can, so the men could haul it off to the county landfill. They took a load most days.
She went to bed, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was a rare feeling for a woman who’d hardly ever lived, except in the shadow of a tyrant.
* * *
SHE WENT DOWNSTAIRS to breakfast. Voices came up the staircase.
“I left them right there in the damned sink!” Ren growled. “I can’t think what became of them.”
“They’re in the fridge,” Merrie said.
He glared at her. “You don’t put dead birds...”
“Ren?” Delsey held up the Ziplock bags with the dressed partridges in them.
He frowned. His eyes snapped back to Merrie with a question in them.
“Mandy taught me how,” she said simply. “She’s our housekeeper, back home, although she’s more like a mother. She thought we needed to know how to do more than just cook. She even taught us how to dress chickens.”
Ren was fascinated. She didn’t seem the sort of woman who’d take to such a basic sort of occupation. She looked fragile, citified, as if she’d faint at the sight of blood. But Grandy’s wound hadn’t sent her swooning. She’d watched tapes of branding without flinching. Now, here she was field dressing game. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known a woman besides Delsey who could do that. He tried to picture Angie, in her Paris gowns, soiling her hands with bird feathers in a sink.
“If it bothers you that much, I can glue the feathers back on,” Merrie began outrageously.
He hid the smile the words engendered. “Full of surprises, aren’t you, Miss Grayling?”
“Just one or two, Mr. Colter.” She frowned. “Colter. There was a mountain man, Jim Bridger’s protégé, they said, named John Colter. I heard a song about him on an old album my mother had.”
“Yes. He discovered fumeroles and hot springs on the Shoshone River near Cody, as the story goes,” Ren related as they sat down to breakfast. “They nicknamed it Colter’s Hell, although most people thought he was spinning a tall tale until they actually saw it.”
“I’ve never been there,” Merrie said.
“Yellowstone National Park is near there. It’s beautiful,” Delsey remarked. “Pass the strawberry preserves, there’s a dear.”
Merrie handed them to her. “It’s a place I’d love to see. Yellowstone, and the Little Big Horn Battlefield, and the museum.”
“More history,” Ren remarked.
Merrie smiled softly. “I live on YouTube. I’ve been on tours of all those places, but I’d love to see them in person one day. Especially the battlefield. Mama said that one of our relatives actually was in the fight.”
“In the cavalry?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”
He paused in the act of lifting the spoon from his coffee cup and stared at her.
“My great-great-great-grandfather was a full-blooded Oglala Lakota.”
His eyebrows arched as he studied her closely.
“I know, I don’t look it. But my mother’s father had black hair and eyes and very dark skin. It was from her father’s side that we got our blood.”
Ren pursed his lips and chuckled. “One of my ancestors was Northern Cheyenne.”
“They fought the Lakota,” she mused.
“Tooth and nail. Well, usually, except at the Little Bighorn, when they joined together to fight Custer and his men.”
She ate a spoonful of Delsey’s delicious scrambled eggs. “How’s Hurricane?” she asked.
He gave her a cold glance. It still rankled that she’d been able to do something with a horse that he couldn’t. “Healing,” was all he said.
She just nodded. He made his antagonism for her so obvious. It was uncomfortable.
He finished breakfast, threw down the last swallow of his coffee and got to his feet.
“Wear a muffler,” Delsey said without looking up.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he bit off.
“Wear a muffler,” she repeated. “You’re still not well.”
He muttered something about overprotective mother hens. But he got a scarf and wrapped it around his neck before he put on his coat and hat.
Delsey got up and fetched a big thermos. “Hot coffee. It’ll keep your insides warm.”
“My insides are already warm.” He grimaced, bent and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.
Merrie didn’t lift her eyes until he was out the door and gone. She sipped coffee with a wistful glance at Delsey. “I set him off just by being in the house.” She sighed. “He really dislikes me.”
“It wouldn’t matter who you were, child,” Delsey said with a smile. “That she-cat razed his pride, made him a laughingstock on social forums online.” She shook her head. “She was vindictive. None of what she said about him was true, but it was almost impossible to counter it.”
“Yes, it is.” She wondered what the woman had said about Ren. He was proud. It must have hurt his feelings very badly to be ridiculed in a way he couldn’t fight.
There was the sound of a big truck out front, followed by a door slamming and a knock at the door.
Delsey went to answer it, and she stared blankly at the parcel service driver. “You sure that’s for here?” she asked him with a grin.
“If there’s a Miss Grayling here, it is,” he replied, putting a stack of boxes just inside the front door. A flutter of snowflakes entered with them.
“It’s my art supplies!” Merrie enthused. “Oh, thank you!”
“That’s all art supplies?” Delsey asked, shaking her head. “What’d you do, order live models?”
The parcel driver chuckled, waved and left.
“It’s an easel and some canvases and a lot of paints,” Merrie replied. “I was afraid to ask Sari to send my supplies out here from Texas. I didn’t want anybody to trace them.”
“Oh, yes,” Delsey agreed, remembering. “That stalker.”
Merrie frowned. Well, perhaps Ren hadn’t felt comfortable telling Delsey the truth. It didn’t matter. Surely the FBI was hot on the trail of the contract killer by now.
“So I thought it would be better to order them from here,” Merrie added. “Do you have a pair of scissors?”
“Something better.” She grinned, went into the kitchen and came back with a knife in a leather pouch. “Ren gave it to me for my birthday. It’s made by the same people who made the skeet gun he uses in competition.”
“He shoots?”
She nodded. She bent to open the packages. “Not so much these days. Mostly he hunts elk or deer or partridge. Business is so complex here that he doesn’t get a lot of time off.”
“The men stay very busy.”
“That’s ranching, honey,” Delsey said. “There’s always something.”
“It was that way at our ranch, too,” Merrie confessed. “But we only had horses. No cattle. I don’t know much about them yet, but I’ll learn. YouTube is great!”
Delsey gave her a droll look. “Ren is better. Why don’t you ask him to take you around and show you how he manages cattle?”
She sighed. “He’d point me to the path that leads down to the stables and tell me to help myself,” she said with a wistful smile. “He doesn’t want me around. Randall must have known that, before he brought me here. I should have stayed in Comanche Wells.”
Delsey touched her hair gently. “No. You should be here, where you’re safe. Ren will come around. You’ll see. Now let’s get these things into the studio.”
* * *
THEY MOVED THE art supplies into the room that Merrie was using for a studio. “Did his mother really paint?” she asked.
Delsey nodded. “Yes. His father never remarried. He loved his ex-wife until the day he died.”
Merrie’s lips parted. “Ren didn’t say that his mother painted, did he?”
Delsey winced. “He never talks about her. Never calls her. She sends cards and letters—well, she used to—and he sends them right back, unopened. I don’t think he’s even seen her since he graduated from college and came here.” She shook her head. “It’s sad. His mother was a nice person, from what Randall says about her, and she grieves for Ren.”
Merrie didn’t know what to say. She drew in a long breath. “Our mother was like spring itself,” she commented, idly touching the unassembled easel in its box. “She loved us so much. She was always doing things with us, taking us places, loving us. After she died, life was a nightmare.”
Delsey didn’t pry, but she was openly curious. “What did she die of?”
Merrie bit her lower lip. “We think our father killed her. Please don’t tell him,” she said, nodding toward the door with a worried expression, indicating that she meant Ren. “Our father was violent. Paranoid. She died of a concussion, but one of our local doctors thought it was murder. He tried to do an autopsy, but he was suddenly called out of town, and Daddy paid somebody to do it while he was gone and classify it as an accidental death.”
“Why didn’t the doctor protest?”
“Because Daddy made threats to the people in charge.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “You can’t imagine the fear he instilled in people. He had something on every single person who worked for him—even Mandy. Mandy had a brother who was in the mob up north. Daddy threatened to have her brother sent to prison. He knew people who could plant evidence. Everybody in Comanche Wells, where we live, was scared of him. Even people in Jacobsville were. He terrorized the whole community.”
“You had people in law enforcement...”
“Who had families,” Merrie said gently. “If you threaten someone’s child, it makes an impression. He was very good at intimidation.” She didn’t add that he was richer than just about anybody in that part of Texas.
“My goodness,” Delsey said worriedly. She studied the younger woman and read the lingering fear. “Well, he can’t hurt you anymore.”
“No.” Merrie let out a soft laugh. “We can finally leave towels on the floor. The rugs don’t have to be straight. The bed doesn’t have to be inspected to make sure it’s made right. We can have disorder, for the first time in our lives. I even have mismatched towels in my bathroom.” She grimaced. “He used the belt on me once for doing that.”
“Mr. Ren’s father used a belt on him, too, he said.”
“Not like mine did, I imagine, with the belt buckle. It was a heavy one, too, made of metal. I have...scars.” She swallowed and moved away. “That’s all in the past now. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been a very rough childhood.”
“Worse. We couldn’t go to parties or learn to dance or drive, we couldn’t go on dates. My goodness, I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve never even been kissed!”
Delsey was shocked. “But you’re Randall’s girlfriend...”
“No, I am not,” she said firmly. “I’m Randall’s friend, and that’s all.” She smiled. “You see, he’s one of those men who likes lots of women. He doesn’t love them, he just uses them, and when he’s bored, he goes and finds another one. Sari and I went to church. We were taught that women don’t play around before marriage. Actually, we were taught that men shouldn’t, either. That children came of love between two people, in marriage, and that children deserved two parents to raise them.” She gave Delsey a sheepish look. “That doesn’t get us far with modern people. So we keep to ourselves.”
“Child, there are a lot of people who still feel that way. It’s just that they’re shouted down and made to feel inferior because they have those beliefs. It’s a test, of a sort. If we believe in something, we shouldn’t have to defend those beliefs.” She laughed. “Isn’t it funny how some people say we need to respect the opinions and beliefs of other people, and then they go to town on us for being religious? They don’t respect the beliefs of anybody except themselves, and they don’t really believe in anything past having a good time and doing whatever they please. Rules are for fools.”
“I really like you,” Merrie said softly, and smiled. “You’re like our Mandy, back home. She’s been with us since we were very small. After Mama died, she sort of became our mother, if you know what I mean.”
“Sort of like me and Ren.” Delsey laughed. “I love Randall, too, but he isn’t around much. He does most of the marketing and showing for the Black Angus purebred seed bulls that our Skyhorn Ranch is famous for. He’s gone most of the year.”
“He’s good with people,” Merrie said. “I liked him the first time I saw him. But he wasn’t the sort of man I could ever get interested in. I’m no party girl.”
“Did he think you were?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. He flirted with me, but I don’t know how to flirt. I tried to go on a date one time, with a cowboy I knew. Daddy found out. He had the cowboy chased clean out of the state, threatened him with an old felony charge he’d been acquitted of.” She swallowed. The memory was harsh. “Then he knocked me down the stairs and...” She stopped. “I never tried to go out with anybody again.”
“Oh, child,” Delsey said softly. “I’m so sorry!”
“So I wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of going places with Randall. I didn’t tell him much, but I let him know that it was dangerous for me to date anybody, and that we were too different to be involved with each other. But I told him I’d love to be his friend.” She smiled. “That worked out much better. He’s very nice.”
Delsey, looking at her, could understand why Randall might have wanted to get involved with her. She was pretty and sweet and kind. But Randall could never settle for just one woman. He was too flighty. Ren, on the other hand, was certain that Merrie was like Randall’s other girlfriends who came here. Most of them came on to Ren. They were glittery women who had modern attitudes about sex. Delsey didn’t approve, but it wasn’t her place to say anything. If one of Randall’s women ended up in Ren’s bed, it didn’t concern her. They knew the score. She frowned. She hoped Ren wasn’t putting Merrie in that category. There could be consequences. He wasn’t around the woman enough to know her background, and Randall hadn’t been forthcoming about her. It was a recipe for disaster.
Well, that wasn’t a problem that needed solving today. Delsey continued to help Merrie put her canvases and paints and accessories away, including the fine brushes she used.
“What are you painting?” Delsey asked, looking pointedly at the sketchbook on the easel.
“Promise you won’t tell him?” Merrie asked worriedly.
“I promise.”
She pulled up the cloth she’d draped over an old canvas she’d found and displayed the contents. The painting was only a sketch right now. She’d found a leftover canvas in the room and used it to sketch her subject while she’d waited for her art supplies to arrive. Since she had neither paint nor drawing pencils, she’d used a soft lead #2 pencil to do the preliminary outline.
Even so, the image was so realistic it could have walked off the canvas. Delsey actually gasped.
“You said you painted a little,” Delsey exclaimed. “This isn’t... It’s magnificent!” she said, lost for the right words.
Merrie smiled. “Thanks. I’ve always loved to draw. Sari said that we might buy...” She almost said “an art supply store,” but she caught herself. She didn’t want to give away her monied background. It usually intimidated people. “That we might be able to exhibit my work at the local art store.”
“Art store, nothing,” Delsey scoffed. She looked at the sketch with soft eyes. “You captured that look on his face that I could never understand.”
“It’s sorrow,” Merrie said quietly. “He’s alone, inside himself. He can’t get out, or let anyone else in. He’s strong, and tender, and brimming over with love. But he doesn’t really trust women. Or like them very much.” She turned to Delsey, who seemed surprised at her perception of Ren. “How did he get mixed up with that woman you told me about?”
Delsey bit her lower lip. “Angie? She was one of Randall’s girls. He brought her here to visit. She knew that Ren had more money than Randall inherited from his father, so she went after Ren. She was always wrapped around him, playing up to him. He’s a lonely man, for the most part, and she was aggressive physically. If you want my opinion, she made him so hungry that he got engaged to her in desperation. Then he found her with two of his business associates at a party. Apparently the three of them were romantically involved. Ren took the ring off her finger and flushed it down the toilet, with her watching.”
“Poor Ren.”
“She even spread lies about Ren online. We know a man who works for local rancher Mallory Kirk—Red Davis. Red’s a wonder. He can hack anything. The FBI tried to hire him, but he likes cattle better than people, so he refused. He did some work for Mallory’s brother, when his girlfriend was targeted by her vicious stepfather with obscene Photoshopped pictures online. He got rid of every trace. He did the same for Ren. Angie was arrested and prosecuted for what she did to him. She got off with probation, but she never put a word out about him again. Still, it’s made him bitter. That was months ago. He’s still brooding about it.”
“I noticed.”
“He’s not generally a mean person. I’m sorry that he’s been so hard on you. If you’d met under different circumstances, he might have reacted differently.”
“In other words, if Randall hadn’t brought me here.”
“Exactly. You’re the first woman Randall has brought here since Angie. That probably helped set him off.”
Merrie sighed. Just her luck, to be attracted to a man who had a false impression of her because of Randall. She was only just realizing why Ren resented her presence here.
“I probably should go back home,” she said, thinking out loud.
“He’s not mad at you,” Delsey countered. “Besides, aren’t you trying to get away from that man who’s stalking you?”
Merrie turned, frowning. She was putting these people in danger just by being in the house with them. Delsey was so like Mandy back home; sweet and kind and loving. “There are things you don’t know about me,” she began.
The sound of the phone ringing downstairs interrupted them.
“Oh, goodness, I’ll have to get that. I told Ren we should have phones upstairs and he said it was a waste of money,” she muttered on the way downstairs. “It isn’t his poor old legs that get worn out running up and down stairs to answer phones!”
Merrie chuckled to herself. She looked at the sketch of Ren on the canvas. It captured the very essence of the man himself. It was, she decided, going to be the best painting she’d ever done.
* * *
SHE WORKED ON IT tirelessly for a week, reworking it until she had it just the way she wanted it. When it was finished, she turned it to face the wall, just in case he walked in, and started painting one of Hurricane.
She was late to supper one night, and Ren was inflexible about house rules again, so she didn’t get to eat. She had a sandwich in the small cooler in her room that Delsey had provided. She washed it down with a bottle of spring water, also from Delsey. She hoped Ren wouldn’t discover her stash of food. He probably wouldn’t approve. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t become accustomed to rigid rules of behavior back home. She’d just hoped it wouldn’t be like that someplace else. Maybe everybody was like her father and Ren, wanting things just so and refusing to change.
She tiptoed back down to her art studio after she finished the sandwich, wearing her nightgown and a thick white cotton robe that covered every inch of her except for her bare feet. She’d forgotten to pack slippers.
The door to the studio was ajar. She opened it, and there was Ren, gaping at the portrait of Hurricane that she’d just finished.
He heard her come in and turned. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved red flannel shirt with a black checkerboard pattern. His feet were in socks, not boots. His hair was mussed, as if he’d brushed it back in irritation.
“You did this?” he asked, amazement in his whole look.
“Well...yes,” she confessed, flushing. She hoped he hadn’t looked at the other canvas. She glanced at it, relieved to see that it was still turned to the wall.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/diana-palmer/wyoming-brave/) 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.
Diana Palmer
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: International Bestselling author Diana Palmer’s Wyoming men are back!These ranchers are bold and brave enough to protect the women who need them.Ren Colter may own an enormous ranch, but he scorns his wealth. He′s closed himself off from everyone since his fiancée left him, so even he is shocked when he allows Meredith Grayling to stay. He tells himself it′s only to protect a vulnerable woman from a stalker, but the blonde beauty arouses all Ren′s alpha instincts.The last thing Merrie wants is a devastatingly handsome man like Ren distracting her. He′s too experienced, too masculine, too appealing for her already stressed nerves. What she needs is just to get away from men, all men: the irresistible man haunting her waking dreams and the one hunting her! But this Colter cowboy won’t let this woman go!