The Bride Wore Spurs

Chapter Three

Trouble in a skirt was heading Matt’s way. Trouble he’d tried to avoid by doing exactly as Hannah asked. Except for helping Martin dress and shave, he’d kept his distance from the Lazy P. So why the long face?

Unless—

His heart skidded. Had Martin taken a bad turn?

No, by the looks of that ramrod posture, the no-nonsense set of her shoulders and those flashing eyes, the filly was out for blood.

His.

As if she were a bounty hunter and his face topped a Wanted poster, Hannah had tracked him to the far border of the Circle W. Not that she looked like any bounty hunter he’d ever seen. Her feminine dress was hiked to reveal dusty-toed boots in the stirrups. Her black Stetson slung low completed an enticing mix of female and rancher that would’ve held an appeal, if not for that bloodthirsty look in her eyes.

He removed his hat, swiped the sweat off his brow and then arched his back, stretching achy muscles. With his pa slowing down, Zack a big-city lawyer and Cal overseeing his in-laws’ spread, Matt barely kept up with the work. He slapped his hat in place. Now he had to take time to deal with an irate female.

She dismounted, standing there waiting.

He turned to the cowpoke working beside him. “If I’m lucky, I’ll only be a minute.” He released a gust of air. “More likely you’ll have time for a siesta.”

“Sounds good. Looks mighty good, too.” He winked. “If you need help, holler.”

“I’ll manage.” Though when it came to women, his past had taught him to curb expectations.

Matt strode to where the feisty female stood. Chin sky high, arms folded across her chest, she started yammering at him before he reached her.

He held up a palm. “Now slow down, little filly.”

Hannah stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’s wrong with filly?”

“I remind you of an awkward young horse?”

“Way back when, you reminded me of a newborn foal, all legs, yet I knew you’d be a beauty.”

Who could help noticing the red highlights in her auburn hair shooting sparks in the sunlight. Without thinking he lifted a hand to a tendril coiled along her jaw.

As if his touch branded her, she jerked back, but then gathered her wits and anger and leaned toward him.

You’re in for it now, Walker.

“Thanks to your meddling, our drovers are accustomed to taking orders from you and won’t listen to me.”

“Martin’s not up to running the ranch. A foreman needs someone looking over his shoulder, making sure the ranch operates efficiently. I stepped in because I had to.”

Those sky-blue eyes of hers narrowed in a vise of disapproval. “Isn’t it more that you want to take over the Lazy P?”

He snorted. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve got more work than I can handle here.”

“Good question. The only answer I can come to—you’re in it for the financial gain.”

Those were fighting words. If she’d been a man, her implications would’ve raised his fists. “If you knew anything about ranching, you’d know that profits are at a record low. I’m not earning a dime from the Lazy P.”

She harrumphed, as if she didn’t believe a word.

“Examine the books,” he ground out. “You won’t see any mysterious loss of funds. Your father is overseeing the accounts. Talk to him.”

“I will.” She whirled to go.

Why had he said that? “Wait, don’t. Leave him be.”

“My father has a right to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” Matt let out a breath. “He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.”

Alarm sprang to her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“That you’re going to ruin that land you love with your confounded stubbornness,” he said, edging away from the truth.

Martin was dying. Nothing she did, nothing Matt did could turn that tide.

The alarm faded, replaced with a stony stare. “I want you to talk to our hands. Tell them I’m in charge of our ranch.”

“I told you that cowpokes resent taking orders from a woman, especially one as young as you. That’s got nothing to do with me.”

“So you say, still I want you to make clear that I’ll be giving the orders until my father’s health improves.”

“Hannah, you need every ranch hand to keep things running. Cowboys are an independent bunch. If you get them riled, they’ll quit.”

A flash of doubt traveled her face, but then she squared her shoulders. “I’ll hire more.” She planted gloved hands on her hips. “Set them straight today. If you don’t, I’ll suspect you of malicious intent.”

“Get this straight, Miss Parrish. I’m not your lackey. I’ve got a ranch to run.”

“Then stop trying to run mine!”

He crossed his arms, stepping toward her until the toes of his boots touched her hem. “You’re one stubborn woman. I’ll enjoy watching you run your ranch into the ground.”

She looked stunned, as if he’d slapped her. His stomach gnarled with regret. Before he could apologize, she stomped to where Star grazed. With a swish of skirts, she mounted, then glared his way. “I can’t understand how good people like your folks got saddled with a son like you,” she said, then rode off.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been told off by a woman. He wasn’t partial to it, especially when he’d spent months slaving for her ranch.

Still, he’d let his temper get away from him.

Hannah might not believe it, but Tom would have no difficulty getting another position if he rebelled against a female boss. He couldn’t let her run the Lazy P into the ground. He owed Martin that much.

He’d talk to her. Apologize.

If the words didn’t stick in his throat.

* * *

Hannah rode hard for the Lazy P, every muscle tighter than a well-strung fence. She could’ve slapped Matt’s face for suggesting she’d run the ranch into the ground. That he’d enjoy seeing her fail. What cruel arrogance.

She’d accused him of swindling.

A sigh slid from her lips. Forgive me, Lord.

She didn’t really consider Matt a crook. Yet every word out of his mouth raised her hackles. Why, he’d even forbidden her to talk to her father. He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.

A shiver slid through her. What was Matt keeping from her?

On Parrish land, Hannah hauled on the reins and reversed direction. She’d ride to town. Visit Doc Atkins. Ask him what ailed her father.

The decision made, Hannah’s limbs and neck relaxed as she and Star soared over the familiar terrain. Horse and rider blending as one, the miles melted away. The freedom and exhilaration of the ride filled her with hope. Surely, nothing was terribly wrong with Papa.

On Main Street, Hannah tied Star to the hitching post and strode onto the walk, passing the weathered sign, Earl Atkins, M.D.

Inside, she rapped on the open door of the examining room.

“Miss Parrish. Heard you were back. Been expecting you.” The doctor motioned to a pressed-back chair across from the examining table. “Have a seat.”

Doc’s no-nonsense tone carried such authority Hannah dropped into the chair he’d indicated. A short man with white thinning hair and shaggy brows, his faded blue eyes often held a fierce expression, perhaps from handling the harsh realities of life and death. Today his eyes had softened with kindness.

“I’m worried about my father. He avoids talking about his health, but he can’t do much. He’s lost weight. His skin tone isn’t good.” The words escaped in a rush. She bit her lip, waiting for Doc to allay her fears.

With a sigh, Doc Atkins leaned against the examining table. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. Martin’s got a cancerous tumor in his abdomen.”

Pain exploded in her chest. Tumor? Cancer? Papa? Her trembling fingers found her lips. “Oh, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t there an operation? A medicine?”

He shook his head. “I’ve done all I can. The specialist in Dallas agreed.”

“Papa saw a doctor in Dallas?”

“He treats nothing but cancer. He tried what he knew, but...”

The “but” said it all. She released a shuddering breath. Nothing could be done. “How...how long?”

“Only God knows, but he’s...failing fast. All I can do is ease his pain.”

Doc turned to an oak cabinet and withdrew a bottle. “I’ll send out more pain medication with you.” He scribbled the dosage, then handed her the paper and bottle. “Wish I could do more. If we’d found it sooner, he could’ve gone to St. Mary’s, an excellent hospital in Minnesota, but...I’m sorry.”

With herculean effort, she rose and walked to the door, her limbs slogging through an invisible thick haze, the shocking verdict vibrating with each step she took.

“See that he takes the medicine.” Doc laid a gentle hand on her arm. “I’ll be out to see him in a few days.”

“Are you sure this isn’t some horrible mistake?”

Doc shook his head, his eyes glistening. “I never get used to the losses, especially of someone like Martin.”

As if she were a sleepwalker, Hannah found herself outside, dazed and disoriented, her hope shattered. She leaned against the building, shivering in the glaring sunlight, head and heart pounding.

Papa is dying.

A sob tore up her throat. She stuffed a fist to her mouth, biting down on gloved knuckles. What would she do without him? Papa and the ranch were her life. A squeezing fist of fear encircled her neck, closing her throat. She lifted her gaze to heaven. Lord, help Papa. Help me handle this.

She breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out.

As she did, her heart regained its rhythm. She straightened, tamping down the paralyzing panic. Papa needed her. Needed her to be strong. She wouldn’t waste precious time she could spend with her father wallowing in despair.

She pushed away from the clapboards, untied Star and rode for home, happy memories with Papa parading through her mind.

In the stable, she met up with Jake. Eyes averted, he toed the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tom picked up his back pay, said he don’t see a future here.”

“He what?”

“Said he wouldn’t work for a woman today or tomorrow.” Jake sighed. “Our top hand went with him.” He huffed. “Was a time when a man took pride in riding for the brand.”

The news slammed into her like a stampeding herd. She fought for footing. Matt had been right. What would she do?

“You have a problem working for me, Jake?”

“Nope. Way I see it, money is money no matter who’s paying.” He met her gaze with moist eyes. “I reckon this here’s my home.”

“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “The Lazy P is your home and always will be.” If the ranch survived. But she wouldn’t say that.

“Want me to round up some new hands?”

“I’ll take care of it.” How, she didn’t know. But Jake would have more than enough to do.

Once the last heifer dropped her calf, they needed to drive the cattle into pens, brand and cut the calves. Without a foreman and only two hands, how could she handle roundup? Especially now that she’d told Matt to stay away?

She believed in God’s power. With every breath she took, she prayed for a miracle for her father. Without one, Papa wasn’t getting better. Tears stung her eyes. Her father had spent his life running the Lazy P. If Papa didn’t make it, she wouldn’t let the ranch die with him.

Lord, please give me wisdom. Show me how to keep the ranch.

Only yesterday her world seemed secure. Only yesterday her future brimmed with rosy hopes and dreams. Only yesterday she welcomed the challenge of running the ranch.

Today Papa was dying. The foreman had quit. Most of the hands had either been let go or quit. Only two drovers remained.

She took a calming breath, steadying her wobbly emotions, and headed inside the house. Outside her father’s room, she pinched color into her cheeks and forced a smile.

Papa was lying down but not asleep. The bed dwarfed him. The pale color of his skin matched the pillowcase beneath his head. Were the lines edged into his face lines of suffering?

“Hi, Papa,” she said, then set the pain medicine on his nightstand.

His gaze settled on the bottle. “You know.”

“Yes.” She dropped onto the bed and clasped one of his hands in both of hers. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She blinked them away.

“I’m sorry, Daughter. I’d hoped to keep it from you a little longer.” He raised his other hand, cupped her jaw. “I’d do anything to change things. To be here for you.”

“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Tom and our top hand quit.”

As if warding off the bad news, Papa closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “You’ve got decisions to make. I’m sure Matt will step up and run things until you can sell the spread.”

“I won’t sell.”

“Hannah, you’ve got no choice. It’ll take a while, but we’ll manage. I’ll hang on as long as I can. When my time comes, I want you to return to Charleston, live with Mary Esther. They’ll treat you well, be the family you’ll need.”

She wouldn’t leave the ranch. She couldn’t. Never.

With the strength of her will, she squared her shoulders. She and Papa couldn’t give up. She moved his blue-veined hand to her lips and kissed it. “You have plenty of time. Let’s talk about something else.”

“I have to know you’ll be taken care of after I’m gone. Please, hear me out on this. You can’t stay. This ranch is too much for a lone woman.”

Weary lines carving his face, Papa closed his eyes.

She tucked the blanket under his chin. “You’re right, Papa. Rest.”

“That’s my girl.” A smile curved his lips, yet his eyes remained closed. The smile eased, his breathing slowed. He slept.

Hannah slipped out of the room and headed for the stable. She had to give her father peace. But how?

Her mind churned with Doc’s diagnosis, the approaching roundup and Papa’s determination to sell the ranch. She needed the wisdom of God but with everything churning inside of her mind, she couldn’t hear His quiet voice.

A ride would clear her head. She threw a blanket and saddle on Papa’s horse. Lightning probably hadn’t been ridden much and needed the exercise.

She found Jake in the tack room. “I’m going to ride out to the north range.”

“Always do my best cogitatin’ on horseback.”

“Me, too.” She gave him a weak smile then led Lightning from the stable, mounted and headed north.

In her entire life she’d never carried the weight of responsibility she shouldered now. What if she couldn’t find the hands she needed? Most honest, hardworking cowpokes were employed. She didn’t trust those loafing around town.

She bit her lip. Matt had been right. She couldn’t handle things by herself. Not a camel back trunk, not a cattle ranch. Not her father’s death.

God, please, help me. Show me what to do.

Near the copse of cottonwoods alongside the creek winding through the Lazy P, Hannah slowed Lightning then stood in the stirrups. Her gaze scanned the herd dotting the landscape, a mix of breeding Hereford and longhorn, evidence of one of the many changes in ranching, along with fenced pastures, wells, windmills, earthen tanks and short drives to railroad heads. By fencing their cattle, they’d protected the land from overgrazing. Or so she hoped. Without rain they still faced that risk. They’d raised hay and saved half of their herd during the harsh winter of ’86 and ’87. Exactly why she couldn’t deplete their supply in spring.

She dismounted and the leather creaked, loud in the stillness. A fly buzzed near Hannah’s head then lighted on the horse’s flank. Lightning flicked his tail but the fly persisted.

Hannah shooed the pest, then walked the horse to a patch of shade, struggling to gather her thoughts and come up with acceptable options. Each alternative that paraded through her mind was worse than the last.

Her gaze roamed the pastureland she loved, settling on the prairie dogs playing tag across the way. The cattle lowing in the background was a sound she’d heard all her life. A few calves bunting each other brought a smile to her face.

How could she leave the ranch? She’d shrivel up and lose herself in Charleston. To remain on this land and give her father peace, she’d do whatever she had to do.

In the distance she spotted a lone rider. Even from here she could identify him and his horse. Matt. A man who cared about Papa and would understand her grief.

Papa trusted him. Matt had only been helping Papa, not trying for financial gain. He’d been right about the cowhands, but instead of listening to his advice, she’d suspected his motives. She’d misjudged the man. She had nothing to fear from Matt, a man she could lean on.

He loved the land. He’d help her find a way.

* * *

Matt had come to apologize. The fire he’d seen in Hannah’s eyes earlier had vanished, replaced with a gut-wrenching sorrow that slammed into him.

God help her, she knows.

Huddled on the ground in the shade of a cottonwood, she exhaled a shaky breath, turning her gaze to the pastureland beyond. Her shoulders sagged, as if the starch had left her spine.

“Papa’s dying,” she said, tugging on a weed that wouldn’t budge.

To hear the words from her lips, each word laden with anguish, knotted his throat. He sat back on his heels beside her. “I’m sorry.”

She stopped fiddling with the weed and folded her hands on her knees. “Me, too.”

“Your father doesn’t deserve this.” But then, who did?

“How long have you known he has...he was sick?”

“About a month, since I took him to the specialist in Dallas.” He took her hand. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She raised determined eyes to his. “But I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to leave this land.”

He’d seen Hannah as a nuisance, incapable of facing realities. Yet look at her now. Strong. Not falling apart as most women would’ve done. He bit back a sigh. Strong or not, she couldn’t run this ranch alone.

“Martin needs the peace of knowing you’re with family, back in Charleston. Best thing you can do for him is sell the ranch.”

“I’d do anything to please him.” Her voice broke. “Anything but that.” She rose and turned her back to him, swiping at her eyes. Yet that ramrod spine spoke of spirit and strength. Silhouetted against the horizon, small and alone, she had no one to turn to for comfort.

Except him.

Matt crossed the distance in two strides and gathered her into his arms. Something he’d do for anyone struggling with sorrow, for any one of his brother’s friends.

She laid her face against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. He cradled her close, his heart pounding like the hooves of a herd of wild mustangs. What was happening to him?

“I can’t run the ranch alone,” she said, lurching away. “I can’t handle the roundup without a crew. I can’t make Papa well.” She lifted glistening eyes rimmed with spiky lashes, eyes filled with desperation.

“I’ll help any way I can.” He wanted to ease her burden. Ease her heartache, but he didn’t have the power. God, help her.

As if deep in thought, she stepped away, eyes fixed on the horizon, filled with a faraway look. What was she thinking?

She turned to him, resolve on her face. “You’d help me even after the way I treated you earlier?”

“Yes, of course. I care about Martin. About what will happen to you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

She gave a nod, resolute blue eyes nailing him with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer shoeing a horse.

Something in her gaze made him take a step back, unsure he wanted to hear what was coming.

“If you mean that, marry me.”

Chapter Four

Matt held up his palms and took another step back, tripping over a tree root, but managed to stay on his feet. Barely. What the tarnation had just happened?

Assistance with the coming roundup he’d expected.

A helping hand on the Lazy P, sure.

But marriage?

Nothing could’ve been further from his mind. Hannah Parrish, that gangly girl from the neighboring ranch, his kid brother Zack’s tagalong, had proposed?

To him?

“Did you just say...marriage?”

“I did,” she said.

His gaze swept over her slender yet curvy frame, wide blue eyes, wind tossed red-brown hair. That gangly girl had grown into a fine-looking woman. Still, the idea of marriage was crazy. Why, Hannah could barely tolerate him.

Not that he hadn’t been at fault for raising her hackles. Since he’d laid eyes on her at the depot, he’d teased her about her finery, her debutante days in Charleston, her elocution. He’d done it to keep her attention on him and off her father.

He bit back a sigh. Why not be honest? He’d become an expert at holding women at arm’s length. He had no intention of falling for a woman, especially a female with an iron will.

A scowl on her face, Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “You look like a man sentenced to hang.”

An apt description considering his throat had constricted with the pressure of a squeezing noose. He took a step closer. Lifted a hand toward her. “I’m sorry, I...ah, you surprised me.”

She whirled out of his reach. “Forget it!”

“Wait.” He shot after her, taking her by the arm. “You can’t blame a man for being taken aback. A request for help doesn’t usually include a marriage proposal.”

“These aren’t usual circumstances.”

He released a gust of air. “No, they’re not.”

“I don’t want marriage any more than you do.” Her eyes flared. Then drifted in the direction of her house where disease and worry dwelled. “I don’t see another option.”

“Reckon marriage to me means you get help with your pa, an experienced cowhand and a husband all rolled into one.”