The Cowgirl Takes a Husband!

To keep the Texas ranch she loves, Hannah Parrish will wed a man she doesn’t. Cowpokes won’t take orders from a young, single female. But while her exasperating neighbor Matt Walker jokes about her being a mere debutante, Hannah is a rancher to the core. Just like Matt.

“Will you marry me?” It’s a question widowed Matt never intended to ask again. Now spirited Hannah is asking him for a marriage of convenience! Yet whether she’s birthing a calf or caring for a young orphan, the tomboy next door is becoming the partner Matt always hoped for. Now he must convince her the greatest strength comes in trusting your heart to another—and your future to God....

“Are you having second thoughts about our marriage?”

The eyes Hannah lifted to his might not look like those of an excited bride, but they were steely with determination. “Marriage is what I want. Are you changing your mind?”

“No, ma’am.” Matt grinned. “I’m corralled and ready for branding. Thing is, which brand will I wear?”

“The Lazy P, what else.”

“And you’re just the woman to get the job done.”

Hannah grinned back at him. “Never doubt that, cowboy.”

Good to see her feisty side back. A man didn’t hanker to be led around by his nose, but if pretending Hannah was boss would put a smile on her face, that’s what he’d do.

But he couldn’t help wondering at what point a marriage based on pretense would blow up in his face?

JANET DEAN

grew up in a family that cherished the past and had a strong creative streak. Her father recounted wonderful stories, like his father before him. The tales they told instilled in Janet a love of history and the desire to write. She married her college sweetheart and taught first grade before leaving to rear two daughters. As her daughters grew, they watched Little House on the Prairie, reawakening Janet’s love of American history and the stories of strong men and women of faith who built this country. Janet eagerly turned to inspirational historical romance, and she loves spinning stories for Love Inspired Historical. When she isn’t writing, Janet stamps greeting cards, plays golf and bridge, and is never without a book to read. The Deans love to travel and to spend time with family.

The Bride Wore Spurs

Janet Dean

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My grace is sufficient for thee:

for my strength is made perfect in weakness.

—2 Corinthians 12:9

To my friends and family who believed I’d achieve my dream. Your support means everything, then and now. Thank you.

Acknowledgments

A huge, heartfelt thank-you to Mary Connealy and Becke Turner for their invaluable help with researching this story. Their expertise enabled this greenhorn to ride into the Old West largely unscathed. Any errors are my own.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Bliss, Texas

Spring, 1888

The wrong man showed up to collect Hannah Parrish at the train station. And he was late.

Matt Walker.

Hannah bit back a groan. Of all the people in Bliss, why him? Matt never saw her as grown-up and capable. Instead he still treated her like a child, like the young girl he’d teased.

The man was too sure of himself. Tall, broad-shouldered, long legs encased in denim, his suntanned face hidden by the wide brim of a black Stetson, Matt’s every inch oozed cowboy. And every one of those inches oozed irksome.

He came to a halt in front of her, boots planted in a wide stance as if buffeted by the winds that blew across the open range. With a smile, Matt doffed his hat, the late afternoon sun gleaming in his dark wavy hair. The man was good-looking, she’d give him that, but the only man she ached to see was Papa.

“Welcome back,” he said. His Texas drawl was polite, yet the pucker between his brows was far from friendly.

“Good to be back.” She scanned the crowd milling about the depot platform, retrieving baggage and greeting family. “Have you seen my father?”

Matt plopped his hat in place, throwing his chocolate-brown eyes in shadow. “Martin asked me to pick you up.”

Surely after being apart for a year, Papa wouldn’t miss meeting her train unless...

Was something wrong? She swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat. “Why didn’t he come himself?”

“Didn’t say. Better not keep him waiting.”

Before she could question him further, Matt took her by the elbow and guided her across the wooden platform, dodging two rambunctious youngsters running through the throng.

Was it only four years ago she’d tagged after Zack, Matt’s youngest brother? At the time, Matt had been married to Amy, his high school sweetheart, and had reveled in teasing Hannah at every opportunity. That had been before Amy’s horse threw her and she died from a broken neck, when Matt’s laugh came easy.

Now, he looked tense. Did he resent picking her up? Well, she wasn’t any happier about the switch.

Still, to be fair, she should ease her attitude toward the man, give him the benefit of the doubt. From what Papa had told her, he’d closed himself off after his wife’s death.

They stopped before the baggage cart’s perspiring attendant. Hannah pointed out her bags and large camel back trunk.

The porter surveyed her luggage, mumbling an oath under his breath.

Heat flushed her cheeks. If she’d had a choice, she would’ve left every dress behind in Charleston. But, Papa had tired of seeing her in denim and had insisted she return with a new wardrobe. Aunt Mary Esther had made his wishes her mission.

Matt slipped the attendant a tip. “I’ll take it from here.”

With a snaggletooth smile, the porter doffed his hat, then turned to the next traveler.

Matt hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, letting out a grunt. “A man could bust a gut toting this load. Must’ve brought the entire state of South Carolina back with you.”

“That’s not my fault, I—”

“If you packed them, I’d say that makes them yours,” he said before she could explain the large number of cases weren’t her idea.

He balanced the trunk then grabbed a valise’s leather handle, straining muscles that pulled his shirt tight over powerful shoulders and arms, producing an odd flutter in the pit of her stomach.

“Stay put,” he said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying...” Her voice faded as he swaggered off. How dare he treat her like a hothouse flower.

She grabbed the three remaining cases and marched after him, the sun glaring on her back, her lungs heaving against her cast-iron corset. The ostrich plume on her gray felt hat drooped into view, tickling her nose. Her aunt would say the hat made fashion sense. More like fashion insanity.

Papa had sent her away to gain grace and style and all those put-on manners the finishing school had drummed into her. Now she supposed she was indeed finished.

But not as Papa intended.

Her aunt’s aimless life had made Hannah all the more determined to remain a rancher. What she did on the Lazy P had significance, and gave her satisfaction.

Without a free hand to swat at the tormenting feather, she blew a puff of air. The feather fluttered, then came to rest against her nose.

Matt stopped, turned back. His gaze settled on the feather. He gave a smirk. “I’d prefer you’d wait until I can return for the rest.”

“I prefer doing my part.”

Surly eyes gave her a cursory glance. “In that?”

Hannah’s gaze swept her traveling dress, all flounce and ruffle, as uncomfortable as armor thanks to the torturous corset. “Don’t judge me on my attire.”

He harrumphed. “Like Charleston hasn’t changed you.”

She jerked up her chin. “It hasn’t. At all.” Another breath lifted up the feather. This time it stayed put.

“Whatever you say, Miss Parrish.”

He headed down the boardwalk. She followed, perspiration beading on her forehead. At the wagon, she dropped the load with a clatter at Matt’s feet—feet clad in cowboy boots, high quality, Texas made. And he accused her of being a clotheshorse.

Matt leaned against the wagon, apparently untouched by the heat. “Didn’t that fancy finishing school teach you to allow a man to give you a hand?” he drawled.

“It taught me to take care of myself.”

Not exactly the truth. The headmistress’s main message was a proper lady relies on a man for everything, not merely heavy lifting. Well, Hannah tried to never rely on anyone for anything.

His amused expression disputed her claim. “Course you can.”

She slapped her arms across her chest, arms that ached from carrying that load, but she’d never admit as much by rubbing them. “Are you questioning that?”

“All right, then. Go ahead. Take care of yourself.” He gestured toward the trunk.

On the ground. Six feet below the bed of the wagon.

“You mean put that...in there?”

“You said you could take care of yourself.”

To admit she needed help would mean admitting defeat. She bent, the feather quivering in front of her eyes, then gripped the leather handles and heaved with all her might, releasing a decidedly unladylike grunt. And managed to budge the trunk three whole inches before she let it drop. A year in Charleston had made her soft.

“Give up?” Matt asked.

“Never.” Heat flooding her cheeks, she gritted her teeth and tried again.

“We’ll be here all day while you try to prove your point.” He bent down, grabbed the trunk as if it weighed less than the obnoxious feather on her hat and shoved it into the wagon, then stowed the rest of her bags.

“I could have done that.” She met his amused gaze. “Eventually.”

“Next time the trunk is all yours.” With a chuckle, he rounded the wagon and gave her a hand up.

His touch trapped the air in her lungs. Since when did Matt Walker affect her this way? Exhaustion had muddled her mind into mush.

He climbed up beside her. His fluid movements revealed how comfortable he was, how completely at ease. Whereas she felt thrown off balance, as if she’d stepped into somebody else’s skin with a whole set of reactions she didn’t understand. Or appreciate.

She wanted to go home, to see her father, to soak in the tub until not one speck of travel dust remained.

Home. To the cattle, to the land she loved, the limitless expanse under the Texas sky. Home. Where she’d shuck her frills and finery and don her usual garb and favorite Stetson, clothes she could move and breathe in. Home. To Papa.

With large, capable hands, Matt took the reins, then clicked to the horses. The wagon jerked forward as the horses pulled away.

Beyond the depot lay the bustling town with wagons, buggies and horses jamming the streets. After a year in Charleston, returning home was like easing into comfy boots.

Hannah removed her hat, her gaze caressing each edifice they passed. The courthouse dominated Main Street, teeming with storefronts, saloons, Bliss State Bank, Bailey’s Dry Goods, The James Hotel, the post office, the office of The Banner Weekly newspaper and two groceries. They passed the blacksmith shop, O’Hara’s livery stable, the sheriff’s office and the Calico Café, owned by the widow Shields with two rooms to let upstairs if boarders met her strict standards.

At the outskirts of town, they headed toward the ranch. No longer distracted by the racket and dust of Bliss, she turned to Matt. “Is my father well?”

Matt glanced at her, then away, staring at the horses’ rumps. Just as she decided he wouldn’t speak, he cleared his throat. “Martin’s had a rough few months. When I stopped in last night to check on him, he asked me to meet your train.”

“Check on him? Why? Isn’t Rosa there?”

“Yes, of course.” Matt shifted on the seat. “Wait to talk to him.”

“I need to know what’s wrong before I arrive.”

“He’s facing...some challenges.” He met her gaze. “Having you home will lift his spirits.”

And lift a load from Papa’s shoulders. If he was sick, she could run the ranch. Oversee the foreman while Papa recovered. If only she’d known he needed help. “Why didn’t he send for me?” A rut in the road sent Hannah’s hat tumbling to the floorboards. She retrieved it, then whacked the crown against her knee, raising a puff of dust. “I didn’t want to go to Charleston in the first place.”

He shot an amused glance at the mound of baggage in the wagon bed. Proof he didn’t believe a word. What did she care?

She’d take the focus off her. “How’s Zack? Is he out of school?”

“My little brother graduated and joined a law firm in Dallas.” He arched an eyebrow. “He’s still single.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t met someone.”

“Figured he was waiting on you. Or you on him.”

“You figured wrong. I’m in no hurry to get married.”

Dark eyes bored into hers with the force of an auger. “From what I’ve seen, most women are downright desperate to get hitched.”

Desperate to get hitched, my eye.

The claim didn’t deserve a retort. From what Hannah had seen, a wife was either a household drudge or an ornamental knickknack. Determined to ignore him, Hannah kept her gaze on the road, away from the vexing man at her side.

At last they drove onto Parrish land, passing a field of bluebonnets carpeting the earth to the horizon. A sense of serenity absent in Charleston seeped into her spirit. But then her mind niggled, filling her with troubling disquiet.

Matt had danced around her questions about Papa. What wasn’t he telling her?

* * *

Matt eased back on the reins, slowing the horses to pass through the Lazy P gate. At his side, Hannah soaked up the terrain. Barely nineteen, yet certain she had her future mapped out. The set of her shoulders, her ramrod back, the tilt of her jaw, all pointed to one determined woman.

He swallowed hard. One determined, beautiful woman.

The skinny tomboy in baggy clothes, who sometimes could outride, outshoot and outrope Zack, had grown up. He forced his eyes away from the pretty woman at his side and onto the Parrish house up ahead.

The past year, he’d fallen into the habit of spending evenings here with Martin, discussing politics or cattle business over a game of checkers. With Hannah away, this ranch had become his refuge, his second home. Here he could unwind, away from haunting memories of Amy in his parents’ house, away from the watchful eyes of his loved ones, away from his father’s tight control.

As he’d gotten close to Martin, he hadn’t seen the signs of his friend’s waning health, but when he grew weak, pale, Matt could no longer deny Martin was sick—too sick to run the ranch. Without shirking his responsibilities at the Circle W, Matt had overseen operations of the Lazy P. The additional work pushed him to his limits, but nothing compared to the agony of watching a friend’s body deteriorate.

Like a crouching lion, a sense of helplessness, sorrow and anger had sprung up inside him, awakening feelings he’d had when he lost Amy. Feelings he’d tried to bury with endless work, collapsing into bed at night, too drained to feel anything.

He’d seen the flash of fear in Hannah’s eyes as he’d spoken of Martin’s health. Unless God wrought a miracle for Martin, she’d have her heart broken.

This spitfire in a skirt, about as competent as a man with his hands tied behind his back, could no more handle this ranch than a cowpoke could handle city life. No matter what she said, she’d need to sell the land. Go back to Charleston where she fit, where she could find herself a husband.

The thought of the anguish awaiting her stung the backs of his eyes. He blinked, clearing the mist, and strengthened his resolve to stay clear of entanglements. He’d do all he could for Martin. But, the debutante’s future wasn’t his problem. He’d hold himself apart, keep that armor in place. The only way he could be of use to anyone.

He halted the horses in front of the Parrish house, a low-slung solid structure with an inviting shady porch sheltering a cluster of twig furniture. A quiet spot where a man could catch a sunset. Catch his breath. Catch a moment with God.

He climbed down and headed toward Hannah. Before he reached her, she’d grabbed a fistful of skirts, jumped down and dashed up the steps. No doubt impatient to see her father.

The door swung open. Rosa, the Parrish housekeeper, stepped out, plump arms thrown as wide as the welcoming smile on her face. “Hannah!”

Rosa had to be around Matt’s parents’ age, yet her dark hair held only an occasional strand of silver and not a single wrinkle creased her round face. With one eye on the happy reunion, Matt unloaded and lugged the baggage to the porch.

Before he toted them to Hannah’s room, he’d check on Martin, see that he was prepared to greet his daughter. The man couldn’t stomach appearing weak, looking like an invalid.

Across the way, Rosa cradled Hannah’s face in work-worn hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “You left a girl and came back a woman. You favor your mama more and more.”

Tears running down her cheeks, Hannah hugged the older woman. “I’ve missed you, Rosa.”

Why women cried at happy occasions baffled Matt. At least they weren’t weeping in his arms.

Rosa smiled at him. “Hello, Señor Matt.”

“How’s the finest cook in the county?”

Rosy-cheeked and beaming, the housekeeper giggled. “You try for cookie. They cool in kitchen.” She tucked an arm around Hannah. “Come. I help you unpack.”

“I want to see Papa first.”

“Hannah, I’d like a minute with Martin. Why don’t you take a second to...” He glanced at Rosa for help.

“Si, wash face, hands.” The housekeeper led the way inside.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Hannah said, pleasant enough, but her pointed stare warned him not overstay his welcome.

With a nod, Matt rounded the corner and strode down the hall to Martin’s room. He rapped on his door then poked his head in. As he suspected, Martin was stretched out on the bed fully dressed, but from his bleary eyes, he’d been dozing.

A smile lit his face as he struggled to rise. “She’s home.”

“Yes, freshening up.” Matt helped Martin stand. Once he was steady on his feet, they walked the short distance to the office. Martin dropped into his chair behind his desk, his back to the window.

Matt sat in a chair across from him. “You sure you’re up to dinner guests tonight?”

“I’m fine.”

Those words belied Martin’s appearance. Yet Matt understood the need to save face, to ignore what was plain to see.

“My illness is going to flip Hannah’s world upside down. She can’t keep the ranch,” Martin said, his tone weary. “I’ve got to make her understand that her future is in Charleston.”

Martin spoke the truth. Yet that truth hurt Martin and would hurt his daughter.

“I let that girl run wild.” A smile lifted the grim line of Martin’s lips. “Can’t wait to see the change in her.”

Tomboy turned debutante would please Martin. “If you have everything you need, I’ll be on my way.”

“Thanks for picking Hannah up at the depot.” Martin’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Appreciate it if you and your folks kept silent about my troubles. I aim to give my daughter a happy homecoming.”

“Of course. You can count on us to—”

The sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards cut off Matt’s words, then halted outside the open door.

“Papa!” With a smile riding her face, Hannah rushed to where Martin sat, the late afternoon sunlight putting him in silhouette. As she reached him, her smile vanished. Wide-eyed, she gaped at Martin. Shock was on her face at seeing her once robust father a shell of his former self, a frail man, his face etched with lines, his skin an unhealthy gray.

“Hannah, dear, I’ve been waiting all afternoon for my daughter’s kiss.”

She leaned down, kissed his cheek then stepped back, plopping hands on hips. “You’re too thin. Are you ill? Are you eating properly?”

“Been ill. Feeling much better now that you’re home. You need to change for dinner. The Walkers will be joining us.”

Stormy blue eyes flashed Matt’s way then turned back to Martin. “Of course. I’ll wear one of my new dresses and relay all the news from Charleston.”

“That’s my girl.”

“I’ll see you later, Papa. Rest, okay?”

She pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead then strode to the door, grabbing Matt’s arm and hauling him with her.

“See you tonight,” Matt said over his shoulder.

As the door clicked shut, Hannah whirled on him. “What’s going on with my father?” she said in a harsh, hoarse whisper.

“He told you. He’s been ill.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything! Ill with what?”

With a shrug and sealed lips, he met her gaze. He wouldn’t betray Martin’s confidence.

Her eyes narrowed, latching on to him like a terrier to a bone. “Who’s running this ranch?”

“I am.”

“The Lazy P belongs to us. You have your own ranch.”

“I’m only helping out.”

“That was nice of you, but he has me now.”

Matt fought to keep a straight face. “You?”

“You think I’m nothing more than a debutante.” She poked him in the chest, her dainty forefinger carrying a surprising wallop. “I’m what I’ve always been, Matt Walker. A rancher.”

“That’s absurd. The sooner you realize you have no business running the ranch, the better.”

“The sooner you realize what I do is none of your business, the better,” she said, then stormed off.

A young, inexperienced female boss was about as welcome to cowpokes as a rattler in the bunkhouse. How long before Hannah learned that truth the hard way?

Chapter Two

A nuisance stood on the Parrish threshold. Or so Hannah tried to tell herself. Taller than her by several inches, Matt’s dark mesmerizing eyes locked with hers.

“Evening,” he said as he stepped inside.

He looked far too appealing, even chivalrous as he swept off his black beaver Stetson, giving access to his features. Pressed flat on the sides from the pressure of the headband, his hair curled around his nape. His full lips and long lashes would make most women envious.

The deep tan of Matt’s face and arms were in sharp contrast to the white cotton shirt beneath his leather vest. Open at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves, the snowy fabric revealed dark curly hair on his forearms.

Before she could gather her wits and take his hat, he’d hung his Stetson on the hall tree, obviously very much at home. He’d admitted running the ranch. Give the man his head and he’d encroach on every facet of their lives.

She pasted on a smile, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and glided across the foyer with a ramrod carriage even the persnickety headmistress in Charleston would approve of.

Inside the dining room, candlelight flickered, shimmering in the high gloss of the tabletop. The silver serving pieces, possessions her mother had brought west, looked out of place in the rustic room’s whitewashed walls and dark beamed ceiling.

At the table, Matt’s parents sat talking to her father. Papa looked even more frail beside the Walkers.

Robert Walker’s hair might be streaked with silver, but he possessed the same broad shoulders and dark brown eyes as his son, no doubt the picture of how Matt would look when he aged.

Were father and son preparing to acquire the Lazy P?

Ashamed of her suspicion, Hannah cringed. Just because Matt helped on the ranch, like any good neighbor would, didn’t make him underhanded.

Victoria Walker, tall, big-boned and pretty with soft blue eyes and silvery hair, wrapped Hannah in a hug. A strong woman with a contagious laugh and good heart, Victoria could have a sharp tongue. Or so Hannah had heard. A trait that had surely come in handy raising three ornery sons, one son in particular.

Wrapped in a clean apron, Rosa waited, ready to serve from a table laden with steaming platters and bowls emitting enticing aromas. “The food looks and smells wonderful, Rosa. Thank you.”

“I cook your favorites, Hannah.”

Once they’d taken seats, Papa said grace. Everyone sampled the food—steak, corn pone, mashed potatoes and gravy—and declared every bite delicious. Smiling, Rosa returned to the kitchen.

“A father couldn’t be more proud of a daughter than I am of you, Hannah.”

“You’re a wonderful father.”

Papa cleared his throat. “A picture of your mother, you possess not only her beauty but her spirit.”

Fleeting flashes of gentle hands, a loving smile, a nine-year-old girl’s memories of her mother. The portrait hanging over the fireplace mantel a reminder that Melanie Parrish had been a lovely woman. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Martin’s right,” Victoria declared as she buttered a bite of cornbread. “For an instant earlier, I thought I was seeing Melanie. Gave me quite a start, too.”

“Hannah wasn’t eager to go to Charleston, but I wanted her to visit the city where her mother and I fell in love.” Papa smiled. “High time she got acquainted with her mama’s kin, too.”

Finishing school wouldn’t help her work a ranch, but Papa had been insistent, as unbending as steel.

“Growing up surrounded by cowhands and cattle wasn’t fair to you, Daughter. I wanted to give you the social graces your mother would’ve taught you had she lived.”

Etiquette might mend fences, but not the sort made of barbed wire. Still, Papa had good intentions, always thought of her first. Hannah squeezed his hand.

“So, Daughter, tell the Walkers about Charleston.”

“The city’s beautiful. The grand piazzas and private gardens tucked behind ornate wrought-iron gates are charming.”

Victoria put her hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Surely the gardens aren’t prettier than our fields of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush?”

“Nothing is prettier than Texas wildflowers.”

“Spoken like a true Texan,” Victoria said.

Robert ladled gravy on his potatoes. “South Carolina could never overshadow the great state of Texas.”

“True, but with my eight cousins and their friends coming and going, I loved Aunt Mary Esther’s garden, the one place I could find solitude.”

Matt cut into his steak. “Any damage remaining from the earthquake of ’86?”

“The brick buildings that survived have been stabilized with iron bolts. Otherwise I saw few signs of the quake.”

Victoria’s brow puckered. “Was your aunt’s house damaged?”

“Yes, they had to rebuild, as did most people. The city’s done an amazing job of restoration.”

“After the hectic pace of Charleston, Bliss must seem dull.” Matt’s tone issued a challenge.

“Hardly.” Dull was hours spent practicing stitching, drawing and elocution, but she wouldn’t disappoint Papa by saying as much. “I botched needlework and painting. My poor aunt struggled for something charitable to say about my pitiful efforts.”

“Your cousins would find working on the Lazy P equally difficult,” Victoria said.

Hannah chuckled. “I can’t imagine Anna Lee and Betty Jo riding astride, cutting calves or mending barbed wire.”

“Do you plan to teach those fancy manners to the young ladies in town?” Robert said. “Maybe start a school?”

“No, I’ll work on the ranch as I always have.”

Matt turned dark censorious eyes on her. “The work is hard, even dangerous. Not the place for a lady.”

Hannah clamped her jaw to keep from sharing a piece of her mind with Matt, a piece that would not fit his image of a lady.

“Matt’s right, you’re a lady now.” Papa patted Hannah’s hand. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you marry and settle down with a doctor or lawyer, someone to take care of you, to give you a life of ease.”

“Zack’s a successful lawyer and single,” Matt reminded them, eyes twinkling.

A well-placed heel on his instep would wipe that smirk off his face.

“Zack would make you a fine husband, Daughter.”

“I’ve got two sons needing a wife,” Robert said, shooting Matt a pointed look.

Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. “I’m not looking for a husband.” She glared at Matt. “I’ve never been hurt working on the ranch.”

Papa patted her hand. “Wear those dresses you brought back from Charleston. Practice your stitching and painting. Leave the ranch to the men.”

The food in Hannah’s stomach churned. What had gotten into Papa? Before she’d left, he’d given her free rein. Now he insisted she conform to his image of a lady. Wear clothing that would impede her freedom and make ranch work difficult. She wanted to please him. But the thought of spending hours confined in the garments designed for the “weaker gender”—though any honest woman would admit the clothes took great fortitude to wear—chafed against every nerve.

“I’d like to know what all they taught you at that school.”

“I’d be glad to show you, Papa. I brought back paintings, needlework...”

“I heard from Mary Esther that you’re a master at elocution.” Papa’s gaze traveled the table. “Who’d like my daughter to recite a poem?”

Victoria smiled. “That would be delightful.”

“Oh, ah, maybe another night. I’m...tired from the trip.”

“I’d love to hear a poem.” Matt’s grin spread across his face. “Nice and loud.”

Hannah arched a brow. “Why don’t you sing for us, Matt? You’re certainly loud enough in church.”

“The evening is in your honor, Hannah, not mine. Besides, I’d enjoy listening to a master at elocution.”

“I would, too,” Robert said.

Papa slapped his hands together. “That settles it. Before Rosa serves dessert, rise and recite a poem, Hannah.”

All eyes turned on her. One pair filled with amusement. She wanted to run, but Papa wore a proud smile she couldn’t destroy.

She scrambled for a poem, a short poem. The only verse that came to mind was by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Hannah’s mind the perfect map of love. How could she recite a love sonnet with Matt nearby, no doubt laughing at her?

With Papa’s pat of encouragement, she struggled to her feet, hands cold, cheeks as red-hot as a horseshoe in a blacksmith’s forge.

Matt sprang up and pulled out her chair, then returned to his seat, watching her.

She glanced at each guest as she uttered, “How do I love thee?” First Robert, Victoria, then Papa. “Let me count the ways.” Her gaze landed on Matt. She jerked it away, focusing on the gilt-framed landscape over the fireplace. “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach...” The words flowed from her. “I love thee freely...I love thee purely...” If she ever fell in love—that if towered in her mind—she’d want this sweet, deep, true love. “I love thee with the breadth, smiles, tears, of all my life; and if God choose, I shall love thee better after death.”

Robert clapped heartily. “Bravo!”

For a second she’d forgotten the audience. Her legs turned to jelly and she plopped into her chair. If only the floor would open up and drop her clear to China.

“Lovely.” Papa’s pale face glowed. “Just lovely.”

Matt leaned in. “The way you were caught up in that poem, I have to wonder if you’re pining for some gangly boy back in Charleston.”

“Of course not!”

Rosa’s arrival cut off conversation. She carried a tray of delicate, amber flan, the dessert of her homeland and normally Hannah’s favorite. But her appetite had vanished.

The others dug in with abandon, discussing the drought and Cattlemen Association business while Hannah picked at the flan.

“This dessert makes me think, Matthew. Jenny Sample brought a cake by this afternoon. Said she had extra eggs and knew angel food was your favorite. That’s the second cake this month.”

A wide grin spread across Robert’s face. “Appears she’d like the job of feeding you permanently. Why, Jenny dangles her baked goods in front of your nose like bait on the end of a line. Fishing for a husband, I reckon.” He raised a brow. “You could do worse.”

A flush crawled up Matt’s neck. Amused at his discomfort, Hannah giggled. “One of those women you spoke of, desperate to marry,” she said, her tone as loaded with sugar as the dessert.

Something akin to a growl slid from his lips.

Victoria glanced at Papa, took in his hunched shoulders, then laid her napkin beside her plate. “It’s gotten late. We should be going. We’ve had a lovely evening, Martin. Please express our thanks for the delicious meal to Rosa.”

With both hands, her father pushed against the table, half rising to his feet.

Hannah’s heart lurched. Why, the evening had tired him. “I’ll see our guests out,” she said.

Papa flashed a grateful smile. “I’ll say good-night, then.”

While Matt stayed behind, speaking to her father, Hannah accompanied Robert and Victoria to their carriage and waved as they pulled away.

In the cooler night air, Hannah lingered for a moment, listening to the plaintive sound of a harmonica drifting on the breeze from the bunkhouse. In the moonlight, long pale shadows of outbuildings instilled the ordinary structures with a sense of mystery. She tilted her head back and studied the star-studded sky, bright as diamonds.

God had created this land long before the Parrish family lived upon it. The land would remain long after they were gone. The permanence of the land and of its Creator slid through her, wrapping her in tranquility. In gratitude.

Until Matt loped to her, leading his horse by the reins. From the smirk on his face, he’d come to taunt her. At the end of her rope, she hoped he had the good sense to keep his smart-alecky mouth nailed shut. Nothing would give her more pleasure than showing that naysayer she could run the ranch and run it well.

* * *

Matt chucked Hannah under the chin. He’d do what he could to encourage Martin’s wish to see his daughter settled in Charleston. “You gave quite a performance earlier. Proof you’re well suited for Charleston’s social life.”

She swatted his hand away. “Stop trying to stuff me into a box labeled debutante. That’s not who I am.”

“Kind of testy, aren’t you?”

“I was enjoying the peace of this beautiful night before you came along.”

The glint in those blue eyes gazing up at him had nothing to do with reflected moonlight and everything to do with an urge to wallop him. He had no idea why he’d been hard on her, especially with her concern for Martin. “Look, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe her ears, then she gave a brisk nod.

Surely on a night like this they could find a way to get along. He tilted his head, studying the starry expanse. “When I look up at that sky, at the number of stars and planets, I feel part of something big. Part of God’s creation.”

“I know. I only caught snippets of the sky in Charleston, but here...” Her voice caught, then trailed off. “I love this land.”

It was one thing they had in common. “Who wouldn’t?”

Her gaze landed on him, intense, eager. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Then you understand how much the ranch means to me. Why I have to take charge until my father’s on his feet.”

“You’d be wise to set your heart on something else before you get it trampled.”

At his words, the accord between them evaporated faster than dew on a hot Texas morning.

Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “You’d be wise to keep your opinions to yourself, Matt Walker.”

“I know these cowpokes—”

“I’ve known most of our cowhands all my life. Why, except for Papa, I’m better suited than anyone to handle the job.”

“You can mend a fence, move cattle, muck a barn, I’ll give you that, but operating a ranch is more than that.”

She harrumphed. “You’re exactly like the men in Charleston. They treat women as if we are delicate porcelain or, worse, dim-witted. I can run the ranch as well as anyone.”

How could he make her see reason? He doffed his hat and ran his fingers along the brim, gathering his thoughts. “You’re not fragile or dim-witted. I don’t doubt that you could learn to manage the financial end. But, truth is, cowpokes don’t cotton to taking orders from a female, especially one as young as you.”

“They will if they want to be paid.”

Matt stifled a sigh. How could he make her understand what was at stake? Cowhands saw her as the boss’s daughter, more capable than many perhaps, but still young and inexperienced, hardly prepared to run a spread like the Lazy P.

“It’s not about money, Hannah. It’s about respect. Something that’s earned, not bought.”

Alarm traveled her face. She sighed, clasping trembling hands in front of her. “You make a point. I’ll need to earn their respect and earn it fast.”

Respect wasn’t earned overnight. Nor were these men eager to give it. But to say more would get her dander up. “Let me handle things for now.”

“You’re no longer needed here.” She pinned him with a fierce, chilling gaze. “I don’t want your interference.”

If looks could kill, Matt would be a dead man.

How would Martin have managed if Matt hadn’t—as she called it—interfered? He’d call it lending a hand, being neighborly. How in tarnation did the dainty debutante think she’d manage roundup?

Not his concern. She’d made that abundantly clear.

He jammed his Stetson on his head and swung into the saddle. Without a backward glance, he nudged Thunder in the flanks and rode in the direction of the Circle W, the peace of the starry night shattered.

Hannah Parrish had no concept of the trouble looming on the horizon. Trouble she’d bring on herself, as if she needed more.

She saw him as an enemy instead of an ally. Any action he took, she’d misconstrue. He’d warned her, it was all he could do. Except for checking on Martin and looking after his needs, Matt would stay clear of the little spitfire.

How long before her plan to run the Lazy P singlehandedly blew up in her face?

* * *

A rooster’s call pierced the muggy morning air drifting through the open window. Hannah stirred then opened her eyes, stretching languidly, relishing the pleasure of waking in her own bed.

A smile curved her lips. In the dream she’d had, a handsome cowboy, tall, dark, held her in his arms.

She reared upright. All the events of yesterday slid into her sleep-fogged brain, rousing her faster than a cold dip in a horse tank. Her stomach knotted, as she recalled Matt’s attitude toward women, and Papa’s poor health and sudden determination to make her a lady.

Lady or not, she had work to do. Last night she’d looked the part of debutante. Today she’d show Matt Walker, her father and the Lazy P cowhands she could run this ranch, if need be, wearing skirts. That ought to earn their respect. And wipe that smug smile off Matt’s face.

Hannah donned a pair of denims and a shirt, her hands trembling. What if she failed to earn the crew’s respect? What if they wouldn’t listen to her? What would she do then?

One glance around her room’s familiar belongings slowed her breathing. The quilt her mother had stitched, the rocker beside the open window, curtains rustling in the morning breeze. Peaceful, normal.

Her stomach clenched. With Papa ill, normal had fled faster than a calf freed after branding.

At the washstand, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then ran a fingertip over the chip on the blue-and-white ironstone bowl, the result of a carelessly tossed hairbrush years before.

Her possessions might not be perfect but this room was an oasis in a world flipped upside down. “Oh, please, God, don’t let Papa...” Her voice trailed off, the possibility too horrible to speak aloud.

Surely things weren’t as dire as they appeared. She took a calming breath. She’d see that Papa ate well and got plenty of rest. Whether Matt believed in her ability or not, she’d run the ranch, gladly taking the burden from her father and returning the operation of the Lazy P to its rightful owners.

She braided her hair, shoved her feet into scuffed boots, grabbed her leather gloves and Stetson, then strode out the door.

In the kitchen, Rosa removed a pan of biscuits from the oven.

“How’s Papa this morning?”

“Sleeping. You up with rooster.”

“I’m heading out to help with the chores.”

“I fix big breakfast when you finish.”

“Thanks.”

Hannah downed a hot biscuit and coffee, then strode to the stable. A few feet away, the pungent odor of manure and horseflesh teased her nostrils, softened by the sweet smell of hay, a welcome relief from the overpowering scents of potpourri and eau de cologne permeating her aunt’s house.

She stepped into the dim interior and a ray of sunlight dancing with dust motes lit a path to Star’s stall. As she approached, she spoke the mare’s name.

With a nickered greeting, Star poked her bronze head over the stall door, bobbing it in recognition.

Hannah pulled the mare’s nose against her shoulder, rubbing the white irregular shape that earned her name. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” Hannah murmured. “Later today I’ll take you out.”

Hannah grappled with the feed sack, watching the oats tumble end over end into the feedbox. A sense of peace filled her. Here in the stable, among crusty cowpokes, unpredictable livestock and her steadfast steed, she fit. This life filled her as she’d filled Star’s feedbox, to the brim, to overflowing.

Across the way, Jake Hardy lugged two buckets of water into the stable. Stooped and wiry, he’d worked on the Lazy P for as long as Hannah could remember. “Hi, Jake.”

“Well, welcome home, Miz Hannah!” Jake entered Star’s stall and tipped water into the trough. “Star missed you something fierce. Reckon lots of folks like me are glad you’re back, specially your pa.”

“Thanks, Jake. How’s that back?”

He grinned, revealing the gap between his front teeth. “’Bout what you’d expect for an old coot throwed too many times from breaking broncos.”

“Any news from your niece?”

The light in Jake’s gray eyes dimmed. “No idea where Lorna’s gone off to. I don’t mind telling ya, she’s got me worried. What kind of a woman leaves her child?”

What else had Papa kept from her? “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“My sis is taking care of Lorna’s girl, Allie.”

Lord, help Lorna do what’s right. “I’ll pray for her.”

A smile crinkled his leathery face. “’Preciate it.”

If anything happened to Jake’s sister Gertie, Jake would have to take care of Allie. He wouldn’t know what to do with a seven-year-old girl any more than Hannah would.

Finished with the morning chores, Hannah glanced outside. “Do you know where I can find Tom?”

“I’ll fetch him.” Jake hobbled toward the bunkhouse, pitched forward from the waist, his legs curved as if permanently astride. Thanks to multiple injuries, Jake looked older than his years, but he was sinewy, his disabilities didn’t slow him down.

While she waited, Hannah checked the tack room. Oiled leather hung on the wall. The horses looked well cared for. Even with Papa’s poor health, the ranch appeared to be operating efficiently. How much credit was Matt’s? How much was Tom’s?

She wandered outside and spied the foreman rounding the corner of the corral, ambling toward her, his frame reed thin, a bandana around his neck, spurs jangling. She raised a hand in greeting.

He touched his hat. “You looking for me, Miss Hannah?”

“I want to thank you for keeping the ranch running smoothly.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Before I left for Charleston, my father and I discussed the need for a well on the south range. When I arrived yesterday, I noticed nothing had been done. I’d like you to get the digging underway first thing tomorrow. I’ll arrange for a windmill.”

Tom removed his hat and scratched the back of his head. “The boss didn’t mention nothing about another well.”

“With his illness, the plan must’ve slipped his mind.” She knew ranching. Soon Tom, the entire crew, would see that too, and give her respect. “Progressive ranchers don’t rely on nature to supply water to their herds.”

Tom shuffled his feet. “I’ll check with the boss.”

That was the last thing Papa needed. Hannah bristled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Ain’t no trouble.” The foreman tipped his hat, polite enough, but the sullen look in his eyes said otherwise.

As she watched Tom clomp to the house, an unsettling sense of foreboding gripped her, squeezing against her lungs. What would she do if Tom refused to work for her? How could she run the ranch? From the conversation at the table last night, the cows were dropping calves. That meant roundup was only a few weeks away, which was the reason she’d wanted to get the well dug now. Perhaps she’d been hasty in pushing the issue with the foreman.

Across the way, Matt emerged from the house, swung into the saddle and rode toward the Circle W. No one paid a social call at this hour. She sighed. More likely, he’d helped her father dress and shave. Thoughtful of him and easier on Papa’s pride than turning to her or Rosa for assistance.

Had Matt heard Tom question her authority with Papa? Perhaps, if she asked him to intervene, he’d set Tom straight. But she wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t build respect with the men if she didn’t handle things herself.

She strode to the house and met Tom coming out. The smug expression he wore steeled her spine.

“Ain’t going to be no well dug,” he said.

Was her father too ill to stick to his plan, to stand up to his foreman? “Do you think you’re running this ranch?”

“Nope.” He guffawed. “Appears you ain’t either.”

Hannah stepped around him. Inside she found Papa at his desk, dressed and freshly shaven.

“Morning, daughter. Have a seat.” He looked at his hands, instead of meeting her gaze. “We need to talk.”

With an arrowed spine, she sat across from him, her hands knotted in her lap.

“A company back east is buying up land in the area. No reason they won’t buy our spread. Without the responsibility of the Lazy P, you’ll be free to return to Charleston.”

Never. But she wouldn’t upset him with a refusal.

“Papa, can we discuss this later? I just talked to Tom. He claims you don’t want a well dug on the south range.”

Martin motioned to the books spread in front of him. “That was the plan but we’ve had a tough year. Last year’s low beef prices and high costs have put the ranch in jeopardy.”

Why hadn’t Papa told her all this? Did he see her as some fragile female unable to face realities?

“I’ve curtailed expenses. Had to let two hands go.”

“If I’d known about our financial trouble, I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in front of Tom.”

“What Tom thinks doesn’t matter.” The steely determination in his eyes, something she rarely saw, stabbed into her. “What I think does. Denims aren’t fitting for a lady. Change into one of your dresses. If you want to help, help Rosa in the kitchen.”

With roundup a few weeks away, how could Papa relegate her to the kitchen? If this drought didn’t end soon, they risked overgrazing the land and would need to thin the herd. That meant punching cattle to Fort Worth right after roundup. With only two drovers and Tom, she’d need to lend a hand.

Besides, what if Rosa resented the interference? Years of managing the house had proved she didn’t need help.

Roundup wasn’t the huge undertaking it had been when cattle freely roamed the range. Still, how did Papa expect to handle branding the calves without her? Or if rain didn’t come, driving cattle to Fort Worth to sell without her?

Her breath caught. Was Papa too ill to grasp the work that loomed? “Papa, with few drovers, what’s your plan for handling roundup?”

“Matt and I were talking about that this morning. He’ll bring a couple of the Circle W hands. We’ll get by.”

“Why isn’t the Walker ranch struggling, too?”

“Things are tight, sure, but they’re a bigger operation. Better set financially.”

Were the Walkers hoping to pick up the Lazy P for a song?

She wouldn’t sit back and twiddle her thumbs. If dresses pleased her father, she’d work in dresses. She’d ride astride in dresses. She’d run this ranch in dresses. But she wouldn’t turn over their ranch to anyone.

In her room, she changed into one of the simple dresses she’d owned before Charleston, then joined her father in the kitchen for breakfast. Rosa had prepared hotcakes, eggs, steak, biscuits and gravy—food to keep a working man and woman going.

Throughout the long day, she tested the corral, the gates, then rode fence, assisting with repairing barbed wire, as she had before she left for Charleston. The cowpokes tipped their hats and spoke politely, treated her like a lady.

But, when she gave instructions, they played deaf or openly rebelled. By the day’s end, she’d seen and heard enough to know their hands and foreman were used to taking orders from Matt, but refused to listen to her.

Matt had used the pretense of helping her sick father to worm his way into running the Lazy P. Why would he do that? Did he expect to benefit financially?

She saddled Star and rode for the Circle W, determined to have it out with the man.

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.”

“Husband?”

“That is what you call the groom once you tie the knot.”

“I...” Her cheeks bloomed. “I hadn’t thought about a husband.”

“A husband does come with the wedding band,” he ground out.

That chin of hers shot up. He hadn’t meant to sound testy, but matrimony was sacred, not to be entered lightly. If they wed, they’d be hitched for life. With that stubborn streak of hers, marriage would feel like a life sentence, too.

Her gaze dropped away. She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. “We’re not in love so we’d, ah...well...”

“Have no proper marital...union, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes.”

Why didn’t he feel relieved by her answer? If he married, a marriage without love was what he’d want. Even four years later, Amy’s death haunted him. He clamped his jaw. He’d never again risk that kind of anguish.

Tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes. Eyes filled with desperation. Disquiet. A host of emotions he couldn’t handle. A damsel in distress. How could a man look into those eyes without wanting to save her?

But, at what cost? “What do I get out of this marriage?”

Her eyes widened. Like the question surprised her. “You?”

“Yes, me. I’d be half of the man and wife.” He didn’t mention her opposition to a proper man and wife relationship, but the arrangement hung over them just the same.

“Well, you’d, ah, get a home. Good food. Rosa’s an excellent cook. And—” she wrinkled her nose that cute way she had “—you wouldn’t have to ride to the Lazy P twice a day to help Papa and...” Her words trailed off. “That’s not much.”

Without a doubt, Hannah wouldn’t have turned to him if she’d had another candidate for the position of husband. “What I’d get is another ranch to run.” He removed his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh, raising dust and his ire with each whack. “You’ve resented what you called my interference. Now you’re asking for it?”

She straightened her shoulders, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I’d prefer you not interfere. I’d make the decisions on how to run the Lazy P. I will work on my ranch. None of that nonsense about leaving the job to the men.”

Mercy, if he married her, he’d have to put up regularly with this spitfire. One thing he’d give Hannah, she had bravado, more like audacity, considering her lack of alternatives.

“All I need a husband for is...” Her brow furrowed, groping for the word.

“Respect,” he finished for her.

She nodded. “I’m seen as an upstart, not a boss. With a husband—” She shot him a defiant stare. “In name only, well...if you showed your support, the hands would listen to me, figure the instructions came from you.”

That much was true.

“Well, will you marry me or not?” She crossed her arms over her bosom, trying to look in control, but her lips trembled like a terrified toddler.

As long as he’d peered into those pretty, haunted eyes, how could he expect to make an intelligent decision? Could any decision be called intelligent that involved marrying a woman he didn’t love? And who didn’t love him?

Lord, I need the wisdom You gave Solomon.

“I’ll think about it. Pray about it. This isn’t an agreement a man enters into lightly.”

With that assertion, he plopped his Stetson on his head, strode to his horse and rode for the Circle W, leaving Hannah behind, from what he’d heard, sputtering. Had she expected his answer on the spot?

He needed time to wrap his mind around her proposal. He supposed marriage to Hannah would mean no risk of entangling his heart and no more of Jenny Sample’s cakes. And, marrying Hannah would allow him to care for a dying man he saw as a second father.

Amy’s death had killed his capacity to risk his heart. A marriage of convenience would work for him, but didn’t seem fair to Hannah. She deserved love. Even if he could love again, he didn’t deserve her, any woman.

If only—

He refused to let his mind travel to the day of Amy’s death. As much as he lived with regrets, nothing could change the past.

* * *

A bright, sunny morning didn’t fit Hannah’s mood. As she and Jake finished the last of the chores, she’d prayed for an answer to her dilemma. Never thinking God would put words in her mouth, she’d never have spoken if she hadn’t been desperate to give Papa peace. Marry me, Matt, she’d blurted out. Yet marriage was the last thing she wanted. If Matt agreed, would the solution bring even bigger problems? If he refused, she’d have no recourse but to sell.

She felt out of control, swept along like the cattle she’d often witnessed in Fort Worth, driven through narrow chutes and onto waiting railroad boxcars that would deliver them to their final destination.

Annihilation.

She shivered. Surely marriage wouldn’t be that bad. She knew little about wedded life, had no more than an outsider’s view. Would a husband want to herd her into the narrow shoot of his will and destroy the freedom she held dear, freedom to work, freedom to run the ranch? To have purpose and meaning, be part of something bigger than her?

Across the way, Matt emerged from the back door, no doubt finished helping Papa shave and dress, the actions of a thoughtful, caring man. Why had she thought he had ulterior motives for his kindness?

With a strong, hardworking, no-nonsense air about him, Matt’s long legs gobbled up the distance as he strode to his horse. Where was he headed?

She caught up with him just as he took Thunder’s reins. “Heading back to the Circle W?” she said, trying to sound casual, when every muscle tensed with wondering if he’d come to a decision about marrying her.

He turned to her, a smile on his lips. The sight of that dimple winking at her and his dark eyes, soft, kind, whooshed the breath out of her lungs. Why couldn’t she stop reacting to the man? He saw her as a gangly kid to be teased, barely tolerated.

“Several of your cows will be dropping calves. Thought I’d ride out to check on them.”

Here was an opportunity to take back the reins of her life. “If you can wait while I change out of this dress and saddle Star, I’ll ride along. See for myself how the herd looks.”

And along the way ask a few questions about the ranch. Make sure he saw her as being in charge. Prove she wasn’t the debutante he believed her to be.

“I’ll saddle Star for you,” he said, then disappeared into the stable.

Within minutes, she’d told Papa her whereabouts, changed into denims and returned just as Matt emerged leading Star.

“That was quick,” he said, his gaze sliding over her.

“Papa’s determined to see me in a dress. I’ll change back before he sees me.”

With an impish grin on his face, Matt gave her a hand up. “I don’t understand Martin’s position. You look mighty good in pants.”

Her cheeks heated and the smile wobbled on her lips. At least Matt wouldn’t insist on her wearing dresses if they married, but would she lose the freedom she cherished?

Lose her identity like Belle, her married friend? Once she and Belle had shared the thrill of riding, of lassoing calves, of shooting tin cans off fence posts. Now Belle had turned into a lady, answering to her full name Marybelle, spending her days cooking and cleaning, washing and ironing, mending and gardening. Not that Hannah shunned hard work, but she’d find such confinement suffocating.

With maids and a cook to do the work, Aunt Mary Esther spent her days socializing and didn’t appear to have an independent thought from Uncle Clyde. That existence would be even more unbearable.

In comparison with the alternatives, marriage to Matt looked tolerable.

They rode out toward the north range, the view from horseback exhilarating. But then the realities of life invaded her mind, dashing her pleasure like a deluge doused in hot coals.

“How does Papa seem to you?” Hannah asked.

“Having you home has lifted his spirits.”

If Matt agreed, Hannah knew their marriage would give Papa peace. And her the certainty of staying on the land she loved. He hadn’t broached the topic, probably still praying about his answer. She wouldn’t press for his decision, for fear that pushing him would raise his ire and he’d give a hasty no.

Instead she’d focus the conversation on the ranch and look for ways to resolve the problems. “Did we lose many cattle last winter?”

“Nope. Mild winter. Another year or two like that and the herd will come close to its size before the winter of ’86–’87.”

That was a terrible winter and spring. Cattle that survived the blizzard were swept away in floods. They’d lost half the herd, more fortunate than some, but still they’d taken a serious punch in the pocketbook.

Ahead of her, the cattle dotted the fenced pasture, their large frames of every imaginable color. Their horned white faces bent toward the grass. “Crossbreeding longhorns with Herefords makes an interesting herd.”

“Yep, the offspring are the best of both breeds, even-tempered, early maturing and mighty fine eating. They fatten up fast and handle drought. The cows make excellent mothers.”

At the entrance to the north pasture, Matt guided Thunder alongside the fence, opening the gate from horseback, letting her ride through before closing it behind them.

Up ahead two calves bunted each other, then stopped to stare as they rode slowly through the herd, counting calves. A few of the babies were overcome with fear and rushed to their mamas to nurse and be comforted.

Hannah grinned at Matt. “Aren’t they cute?”

“Yep, better yet, they’re profit on legs. I—”

He rose in the saddle, then with a nudge of his knees, urged his horse forward. Hannah followed. Up ahead, away from the herd, a cow lay on the ground. At their approach, she staggered to her feet, took a few steps then lay down again.

Matt frowned. “She’s calving and in distress.”

When they were a few yards from the animal, the cow rose, scrambling away from them, revealing the emerging calf’s snout.

The first time Hannah witnessed the birth of a calf she’d been a tyke riding in front of her father. She knew the front legs should appear before the head. Head first meant trouble.

Matt grabbed the lasso draped on his saddle horn, twirled it overhead, then released the line. The loop settled around the cow’s neck. He tightened the hoop, then hauled the cow toward a fence post. She trotted a few steps, then lurched to the side, attempting to get away, but rider and horse cut off her escape.

At the post, Matt dismounted, heaved the lariat around the wood and, using the leverage, pulled the animal closer, then knotted it, holding her in place.

Breath coming fast and shallow, the cow bellowed as a contraction slithered through her. Matt strode to her hindquarters. “Front legs are folded back.”

Hannah tethered the horses, then moved to Matt’s side. “Poor thing.”

“I’ve got to fish for the front legs.” He didn’t look up, merely unbuttoned his cuff, then jerked his head toward the horses. “Stand by Star. Turn your back. Can’t have you fainting on me.”

“I’ve seen calves born countless times.” She jerked up her chin. “Besides, I’m not the fainting type.”

One arched brow said he doubted her claim. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hannah may have seen calves born, but had no idea what to do in this situation. She bit her lip, grateful Matt didn’t hold back, and took fast action. He tried to slide his hand past the calf’s head. Once. Twice. A third time. “My hand’s too big.”

“I’ll try. What should I do?”

Matt’s eyes lit with something akin to admiration. “See if you can find a small flat surface right below the jaw. That’s the calf’s knee.”

Lord, help me. She slipped her hand in. “Found it.”

“Follow it back till you find the hoof. Bring it forward.”

“Oh, no, the calf pulled his leg away.” Perspiration beaded her brow. “Wait, the legs are straight now. Got ’em. Slippery.”

The sweet scent of amniotic fluid filling her nostrils, she hung on, guiding first one leg, then the other, producing the calf’s fully extended front legs and head. With the next contraction the body followed in a whoosh of fluid and slid out onto the grass, a slick dark speckled lump.

A motionless lump.

Holding her breath, Hannah slid away the sack, waiting for the calf’s chest to rise, fall. Nothing. She ran to Star, jerked her bedroll from behind her saddle and wrapped the blanket around the glistening calf, rubbing the fibers over its hide.

“Come on, baby. Breathe,” she said, warming the calf.

The calf jerked and sucked in air. Its eyes opened and stared up at her. Hannah peered into those dark eyes. “Well, hello there, little guy.”

The cow lunged against the rope, determined to reach her calf. Matt grabbed Hannah’s hand, pulled her out of harm’s way, then untied the rope and removed the lariat. The cow paid them no mind, merely circled to the now bawling calf and proceeded to lick every inch of him. Within minutes the calf staggered to his feet, swaying against the pressure of his mother’s tongue, keeping his balance, barely. A quick maneuver by the mother and he found nourishment.

His grin as wide as the outdoors, Matt met her gaze. “Looks like they’ll both make it, thanks to you.”

“And you. You told me what to do. If you hadn’t decided to ride out here and check on the cows dropping calves...”

“Most likely they’d have both died. We’ll head to the south range.” He winked. “Maybe next time, you’ll help birth twins.”

“I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

With a chuckle, he swept a hand toward her. “No debutante would be caught looking like that.”

Hannah glanced at the damp smears streaking her shirt and denims. “I’m no debutante, remember?”

“I’m starting to believe it. You and I make a good team.” The mischief left his gaze. A gaze that suddenly turned tender. “You love this land, the ranch, the cattle. Everything.”

“I do.”

“I do, too.” He touched her hand. “Reckon with all those I dos, we’d better get hitched and keep you here.”

Her gaze locked with his. She lost herself in his eyes, dark, mysterious, full of life and offering marriage.

“See something you like?” he said, dimple twinkling.

Heat surged to her cheeks. Nothing about the man met her disapproval. “No, nothing much.”

When had she uttered a bigger lie?

Matt’s self-assured, relaxed posture said he was sure of himself—and of her, most likely. Why wouldn’t he be? She’d done the proposing. First.

“With the six-year difference in our ages and your year away, we don’t know each other all that well. But, we’re alike in our bond with this land.” Expression earnest, Matt leaned toward her. “I can think of far worse reasons to marry.”

Just like that, with few words, the bargain was sealed.

“We need to do this right,” he said, taking her hand and sending a shiver along her spine. He moved as if to get down on one knee.

With a gasp of protest, she snatched her hand away. “This marriage is business only. No need for a proper proposal.”

“Is it really? Just business for you?”

Her gaze settled on those eyes searching hers, as if peering into her soul. She wouldn’t get swept up by a handsome face and fall for a man. Not even a man with a dazzling smile and a dimple begging for her touch.

At her silence, he took a step back, erect, formal. “Hannah Parrish, will you marry me?”

A lump rose in her throat. Once she agreed, there’d be no turning back. Yet what choice did she have? “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“We’ll need to marry soon.”

Hannah stiffened. “How soon?”

“Today’s Monday. Can we get it done by Thursday?”

Get it done. As if marriage was on his list of chores. Her stomach clenched. How could she be ready in three days?

“Martin’s a very sick man,” he reminded her. “He’d want to see you wed.”

For Papa she could do anything. “Yes,” she said in a voice that wobbled.

“I’ll do my best to be a good husband.” His soft tone matched the kindness in his eyes.

She had no idea what constituted a good husband...or for that matter, a good wife. Could she fit into a husband’s expectations? Especially a mature man like Matt?

One thing Hannah knew, she could never abide a bossy spouse. Papa seldom gave her orders. Until now. She’d grown up making her own decisions and had felt stifled under Aunt Mary Esther’s thumb. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime of being dictated to by a man. Would Matt allow her the freedom she needed?

Her gaze swept the land. To remain on the ranch, to keep her way of life and to give her father peace, she’d marry.

If only they had more time.

If only Papa wasn’t dying.

If only they were in love.

She thought of the tenderness that had fleetingly appeared in Matt’s eyes. Perhaps love was possible...eventually.

No, that expectation was a foolish peg to hang her heart on. A fairy-tale ending wasn’t what she wanted. She would deal with the real world. Papa was dying. To run the ranch and remain on the land she loved, she’d marry a man she didn’t.

Chapter Five

Wound tighter than a coiled spring, Matt rode into the Circle W stable, stripped leather, then brushed Thunder’s coat. As Matt led the stallion to his stall, fed and watered him, large, wide-set eyes alert with intelligence gazed back at him. Quick, smart and high-spirited, much like his future wife.

But Hannah was a woman, not trained to bridle and bit. Truth was, she held the reins, using him to keep her ranch. Not that he didn’t want the same.

At the pump, he scrubbed his hands and doused his face and neck. Had his admiration for Hannah’s coolheaded competence during a calf’s difficult birth triggered his proposal?

No, he had prayed for wisdom. Felt a deep certainty he’d been led by God and had done the right thing. He wanted to give Martin peace. He wanted to help Hannah. He didn’t want love. The lack of expectations in this marriage fit him perfectly.

Cal and his family were joining them for supper. Normally a good time, but with the task of telling his family the news, his steps lagged. No doubt they’d question his sanity.

He found his mother and Cal’s wife, Susannah, in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. “Smells good, Ma,” he said, letting the screen door slap behind him. “Hi, Susannah.”

Blond silky hair swept into a sleek bun, Susannah looked up from laying plates on the table and smiled. Fair and blue-eyed, Cal’s petite wife had an innocent, delicate quality about her, yet had a mind of her own if the occasion warranted.

Victoria turned from the stove. “Hoped you’d get here in time for supper.”

He hung his Stetson on a peg beside the door, then walked to his ma. “Let me help with that.” He took the potato masher from her hand and battled lumps in the potatoes. An easy skirmish compared to what lay ahead.

As if led by their noses, Cal with his son, Robbie, tucked in his arms, and Pa trooped into the kitchen. Matt greeted them, then turned the pot over to his mother, who scooped the creamy potatoes into a large crock.

“Hey,” Cal said, clapping Matt on the shoulder, “you look down in the mouth.”

“Hush,” Victoria scolded. “Your brother’s been over to the Parrish ranch. You know Martin’s poorly.”

Cal’s gaze clouded. “Sorry. Martin’s a good guy.”

At the moment, Matt’s disquiet involved the task at hand, not merely Martin’s health. He’d like his family’s blessing, and would get it...in time.

They gathered at the table, Robbie tucked in his high chair between Susannah and Cal. Pa offered grace, thanking God for the food and asking His mercy on Martin. After a hearty amen, Robert nabbed a piece of fried chicken, then passed the platter on.

Susannah tied a bib around Robbie’s neck. “Hannah has no family in these parts. What will happen to her?”

“She should sell the ranch and go back to Charleston,” Robert said. “Running a ranch isn’t a woman’s place.”

“The Parrish family has endured a lot. First losing both Melanie and the baby in childbirth, now Martin.” Ma’s voice caught. “Poor Hannah. Makes me want to weep.”

Susannah handed Robbie a spoon. The boy promptly dug into the potatoes and managed to get a spoonful into his mouth. “Hannah loves the ranch. I can’t believe she’d leave willingly.”

Appetite gone, Matt moved his potatoes around his plate with a fork. Might as well get it said. “I asked her to marry me.”

Stunned silence followed his declaration. All eyes turned on him, while the startling news sank in.

“So when is the wedding taking place?” Susannah asked.

Martin was dying. They had no time to cement their relationship. “If Pastor Cummings agrees, Thursday at the Lazy P.”

Ma gasped. “Mercy, that’s fast. Are you sure about this?” she said, searching his face.

Matt had seen that look before. Knew Ma was trying to read his thoughts, zipping him back to when he was ten and had played hooky from school. Ma had been judge and jury, meting out justice. As he recalled, he’d had to muck out the barn every night for a week.

He glanced away from those perceptive eyes. “I’m sure.”

Ma didn’t smile, merely nodded instead. “I’ll drive over to see how we can help.”

“You can’t possibly love the girl,” Cal said. “Why, you barely know her.” He plopped his elbows on the table, his expression aghast, as if Matt had grown two heads. “Hannah’s a great kid. One thing to feel sorry for her, and I do, but quite another to marry her.”

“Obviously, Cal, you haven’t seen Hannah since her return,” Pa declared. “She’s all grown-up.”

Cal plopped tiny bites of chicken on Robbie’s tray. “There’s always been pretty women around. Why the sudden decision to marry this one, big brother?”

Matt would never reveal that Hannah had proposed first. He couldn’t explain their decision to marry without revealing the personal details of the agreement, something he’d never do.

“May be overstepping,” Cal went on, “but I trust grief over Amy isn’t making you settle for a loveless marriage.”

Hands balled into rock-hard fists alongside his plate, Matt glared at Cal. “Keep Amy out of this.”

As if held at gunpoint, Cal raised his arms, palms out. “Whoa, brother. I want you to have what Susannah and I share. I’m just saying—”

“Saying what? That I don’t have the sense to know my own mind?”

“Matthew! Calvin! You’re behaving like bullheaded toddlers,” Robert said. Then he nodded his head, a smile forming on his lips. “A merger with the Lazy P makes sense. By pooling our resources, both ranches might survive dropping cattle prices and the bad economy.”

Leave it to his father to see marriage as a business opportunity. “Hannah hasn’t agreed to a merger,” Matt said.

“See that she does.” Robert glanced around the table, at the untouched food. “Enough of this talk. Eat.”

“Eat!” the food-smeared toddler ordered with pride, then stuck a gooey spoon in his hair and grinned.

Everyone laughed, easing the tension at the table.

Matt settled back in his chair, taking a deep breath, trying to slow his breathing. His father tried to run every facet of his sons’ lives. It was the reason Zack had turned to the law. And Cal spent most of his time at Susannah’s folks’ spread.

Still, the ongoing strain between Matt and his father didn’t explain Matt’s reaction to Cal’s concern. He’d thought he had peace about the decision to marry Hannah, but in truth, he was entering uncharted territory.

One grim possibility after another marched through Matt’s mind. Without the benefit of a loving relationship, he and Hannah would deal with Martin’s illness and without a miracle, his death. This marriage could backfire in a myriad of ways.

Matt had grown comfortable with the emptiness of the past four years. Each day had held a blessed sameness, with neither highs nor lows, just a flat, hollow monotony. He had filled those days with work. The highlight of his week were evenings spent with Martin, another lonely man fighting his own demons. Martin’s waning health triggered painful memories of Amy’s death.

Still, none of this excused his treatment of Cal. “I’m sorry for overreacting, Cal.”

His brother met his gaze, an apology in his eyes. “Me, too.”

“To see Hannah wed will give Martin peace,” Ma said. “Hannah’s a lovely young woman, a rancher at heart. A good match for you.”

Robert gave a nod. “Marriage to Hannah is a solution for everyone.”

Cal looked pained, as if he’d taken a bite of cactus.

At her husband’s silence, Susannah frowned at Cal. “Hope you and Hannah will be very happy,” she said, then reported Robbie’s latest humorous antic and conversation resumed as usual.

Matt’s mind wandered back to how all this started. During his visits to the Lazy P, Martin spoke often of Hannah, the daughter he obviously adored. The day Martin was diagnosed with cancer, he’d shared his heavy burden for his only child’s welfare. Matt shared that concern. Hannah was in a tough spot.

Yet, to wed a nineteen-year-old without love scared him silly. Marriage might be a solution for her, but marriage would also create new problems.

Unlike Cal, Matt knew why he’d proposed. He couldn’t risk love, but at twenty-five, he wanted a new beginning. He’d settle for companionship, settle for a woman to share his dreams and goals, settle for a woman who’d share his way of life.

The honest truth was that he was tired. Tired of dodging unsuitable women with matrimony on their minds. Tired of feeling alone in a houseful of people. Tired of fighting his father’s control.

By marrying her, Matt would see that Hannah could remain on the land she loved. He hoped that would make her happy. If not happy, at least content. Something he’d come to appreciate.

Matt had come, hoping for his family’s support of the marriage. For the most part he’d gotten it. Cal would come around. But Pa.... Would Pa’s expectation of a merger between the two ranches wind up causing trouble?

* * *

Two days till Hannah lassoed and tied herself to Matt Walker. Married. The word twisted in her stomach. Wedding vows meant until death do us part, faithfulness, respect.

She stiffened. Obedience. She hoped Matt could tolerate giving up one of those promises. If he tried to keep her on a short tether—

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, shoving down all the misgivings trying to spew out of her mouth and into Papa’s ear.

Instead she helped her father to his desk. Last evening Matt had asked for Papa’s permission to wed. Papa had clapped Matt on the back, declared he already thought of Matt as a son and nothing could make him happier than seeing Hannah in good hands.

As if she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.

Still the news had eased the tension around Papa’s eyes and put a big smile on his face. That was reason enough to bite her tongue.

Hannah glanced out the window. The Walker buggy was coming up the lane. She kissed her father’s cheek. “Matt’s here.”

“While you’re in town, spread the word about the wedding. A chat with the town’s bench sitters and Pastor Cummings should do the trick.”

Hannah dreaded the townsfolk’s reaction, but forced a bright smile.

Martin motioned to the package in Hannah’s hands. “Is that your mama’s dress?”

“It is. I’m taking it to Miss Carmichael’s for alterations. Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

“You’re in more peril in Biddy Carmichael’s shop than I could ever be here.”

“Papa!” Hannah laughed. No matter how much he suffered, her father made the effort to bring laughter to others. “You know her name is Belinda, not Biddy.”

“How could I make such a mistake?” He winked. “Now skedaddle. Don’t keep your groom waiting.”

She kissed him once more, her heart swelling with love, and then walked as fast as her dress would allow, more tortoise than her usual hare. Who could abide such restriction?

Outside, she popped up her frilly parasol, an accessory Aunt Mary Esther had insisted upon. On such a sweltering day riding in an open buggy, Hannah welcomed the shade.

Matt rounded the conveyance, his gaze traveling from the hat perched atop her head to the silk toe of her pump. He doffed his Stetson. “The debutante is back.”

“You looking for a fight, Walker?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.” He grinned wickedly. “One thing’s sure. Whatever garb she’s wearing, the filly’s a Thoroughbred.”

Hannah thrust up her chin. “I’m becoming your wife, not joining your stable.”

Obviously not the least bit repentant, his impish smile held. “Kind of fun having two of you, debutante and cowgirl, all wrapped up in one very nice parcel.”

At his perusal, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She corralled her skirts, then allowed him to assist her into the buggy. Whether she would be in good hands as Papa had said, was to be seen, but his grasp was strong, secure.

“You have an admirer in Rosa. She’s very excited about our wedding,” Hannah told him.

“It pays to be on good terms with the cook. Since I’ve been made to understand that won’t likely be you, I plan on buttering her up.”

“So the way to a man’s heart is indeed through his stomach.”

He cocked a brow. “Are you sure you want to know the way to a man’s heart, Hannah?”

A shiver slid along her spine. She quickly looked away from the amusement in those dark, smoldering eyes.

“The filly’s a tad skittish,” he said. Then with a flick of the reins, they got underway. “Know what kind of a wedding you want?”

“A simple ceremony at the Lazy P, outside if weather permits.”

“Sounds good.”

She sighed. “Papa insists on inviting half the town and hosting a barbecue afterward.”

“He doesn’t want his illness to cheat you out of a pretty wedding. Most women want that.”

Hannah had been thirteen when she and Papa attended Matt and Amy’s wedding, a grand affair. Hannah recalled the glow on their faces as they’d recited their vows. After such a love match, Hannah found Matt’s acceptance of a marriage of convenience baffling. Perhaps he’d understood that no one could take Amy’s place in his affection and wanted companionship.

She plucked at her skirts. “What he doesn’t realize, and I can’t tell him, is I can’t abide the thought of putting on a charade. We aren’t an ordinary couple.”

“True, but a private wedding might set tongues a-waggin’.”

“I suppose you’re right, but a party seems...deceptive.”

“People marry for many reasons, Hannah.” His gaze locked with hers. “If we’re committed to one another, then our wedding won’t be a charade. I believe we’ll be as happy as we choose to be. That’s what I want. Do you?”

As she looked into those dark orbs that penetrated her soul, she vowed to do everything in her power to make the marriage work. “Yes,” she said softly.

A smile curved the corners of his mouth. “God will bless us, help us find our way.”

He took her hand in his. At that moment, the sense of connection between them felt as meaningful as the vows they’d speak on Thursday.

Matt released her hand. “I told my family our decision to wed.”

“What did they say?” Hannah asked, her heart in her throat.

“They were...surprised, at first.” He shot her an impish grin. “But then, no more than I was.”

“Did you tell them I did the proposing?”

“Nope, that’s our little secret.”

“What did they say?”

“They think you’re a lovely young woman and wish us happiness.”

Had Matt omitted much of his family’s reaction? What had they really said? Perhaps she was better off not knowing. She’d have to get accustomed to the startled reactions of others, those who’d question their sudden nuptials.

On Main Street, Matt pulled up in front of Miss Carmichael’s shop, rounded the buggy, then placed his hands around her waist. As she rested her palms on his shoulders and he lifted her down, she stared into warm cocoa eyes, gentle, kind, appealing. Too appealing. She gathered her package, keeping her eyes anywhere except on him.

“I’ll stop at the church and ask Pastor Cummings to perform the ceremony. After that I’ve got business at the bank. What do you say we meet at the Calico Café at noon?”

“That should give me time to visit Leah.”

“We won’t leave town until you’re ready,” he said, then loped up the street to set the wedding plans in motion.

An urge to call him back, to renege on the proposal lurched through her. Foolishness. If she’d had another choice, she’d have taken it.

She threw back her shoulders and stepped inside the shop, in actuality, Miss Carmichael’s parlor. Overhead a tiny bell jingled. Cases and tables held gloves, hats, bolts of fabric, and baskets of feathers, silk flowers and papier-mâché fruit, the tools of her trade.

Belinda Carmichael bustled through a curtain separating the shop from her private quarters. Behind wire-rim glasses, the spinster’s hazel eyes missed nothing. Nor, for that matter, did her ears. Tall, thin, as prim and proper as a starched collar, Belinda gloried in her role as town gossip. No doubt she would gossip about the suddenness of her and Matt’s marriage. Still, Hannah wouldn’t trust Mama’s dress to anyone else.

“Good morning, Miss Parrish. I heard you were back from Charleston.” She glanced at the package in Hannah’s hands. “What can I do for you?”

Hannah untied the string and wrapping, revealing her mother’s wedding dress, an off-white silk confection with a row of pleats edged with lace at the hem, at the flared sleeves and on the draped overskirt.

“I’d like you to alter this dress to fit me.”

Miss Carmichael’s fingers skimmed over the bodice that tapered to a point below the waist. “The stitching is impeccable. Let’s see what needs to be done.”

She guided Hannah behind a screen and helped her change, then turned Hannah around, studying the fit. “I’ll need to add length. If I trim the sleeves and hem with the matching lace on this overskirt, no one would suspect the additions aren’t part of the original dress.”

Hannah agreed the solution would be perfect. She skimmed her palms over the overskirt, proud to wear this lovely dress. If only she were marrying a man she loved. She tamped down the thought. Love didn’t matter. The Lazy P did.

The bell over the door danced a cheery tune. A second customer entered the shop. “Be right with you,” Miss Carmichael called.

“No hurry.” The newcomer removed her hatpins, then her hat, obviously eager to try on one of Miss Carmichael’s creations.

Miss Carmichael leaned in. “I’m curious, Miss Parrish. Why are you having this dress altered? Surely your relations in Charleston didn’t give you their hand-me-downs.” Miss Carmichael’s tone oozed sympathy. “You might want to consider having something new made. I have several beautiful fabrics that would compliment your coloring.”

“Thank you, but I came back with a trunk full of dresses, more than I’ll ever wear.”

The seamstress’s expression soured. “Then why alter this one?” Her eyes widened. “Unless you intend to wear it for sentimental reasons, like at your wedding.” She smirked. “How silly of me. You have no beau.” She raised a brow. “Unless you met someone in Charleston.”

No point in avoiding the truth. Papa said to spread the word about the wedding, no better way than to tell the seamstress. Hannah steeled herself for Miss Carmichael’s reaction. “This is my mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “I want to wear it at my wedding Thursday. You won’t have any difficulty getting the alterations finished by then, will you?”

Hazel eyes gleaming, Miss Carmichael clapped her hands. “For a wedding, it’ll be my priority! Who are you marrying?”

“Matt Walker.”

“Matt Walker! From what I hear, he’s a most elusive catch.” Her shrewd beady eyes resembled a predator moving in for the kill. “You’ve only been home a few days,” she said. “Isn’t this wedding rather sudden?”

Sudden hardly described it.

“To marry that quickly, why, you must’ve fallen in love at first sight.” She tittered. “Not really first sight, of course, but first sight since your return.” Her hands fluttered like tiny birds in flight. “How romantic!”

Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. Love at first sight had not been the reason for the marriage. More like, at first sight of her ailing father. At first sight of her foreman’s refusal to follow orders. At first sight of Papa’s worry about her future.

Harsh realities had led her to propose, not romance, not affection for the man. Still, she’d play the role of blissful bride. She owed Matt that much. “Isn’t it exciting? Matt’s a very persuasive man.”

Miss Carmichael’s gaze sharpened. Perhaps the waver of Hannah’s smile or the wobble in her voice had raised the seamstress’s suspicions. Thankfully, the older woman didn’t pursue the topic, no doubt unwilling to risk a paying customer’s ire. After all, the seamstress had to make her own way.

A wave of sympathy for the woman swept through Hannah. Belinda Carmichael carried a load of responsibility and had no one to help share the burden. At least with Matt she’d have a partner.

All business, Miss Carmichael grabbed a tape measure and whipped it from the edge of Hannah’s hem to the toe of her shoe, then wrote her findings in a tiny notebook. She did the same for her sleeves. “I have all I need. Let me help you change.”

Behind the screen, the seamstress eased the garment over Hannah’s head. “I’ll have the dress finished by tomorrow afternoon and drive out to the ranch and deliver it personally.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Not at all, if you’ll show me the fashions you brought back from Charleston,” Miss Carmichael said with a smile, then rushed toward the waiting customer.

On the way out of the shop, Hannah passed Miss Carmichael and the shopper, their heads together, their smiles couldn’t cover the speculative look in their eyes.

As she escaped into the sunshine, Hannah heaved a sigh. She’d survived Miss Carmichael’s reaction, so surely she could survive anyone’s.

Up ahead, Bertram Bailey swept the entrance of Bailey’s Dry Goods. Thin as the broom in his hand, and not much taller, Mr. Bailey propped the handle against the building. “Good to have you home, Miss Parrish,” he said, then followed her inside.

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