Dog Wood Bride

by Jillian Hart

  He winced. "Surely, you're right. A smart woman wouldn't gamble on me or waste a drop of her kindness."

  "Maybe it's because I'm not all that bright."

  Oh, he was going to fall hard for that sweet smile and flash of mischief in her golden hazel eyes. She was teasing him. He shook his head. "You seem intelligent to me. Let me guess. Private school education."

  "Some of the best years of my life, but that was a while ago, longer than I care to admit. Besides, a person can have all the schooling in the world and still make idiot decisions."

  "Like talking to a man like me?"

  "You are one of the best horseman I've ever seen." Her fingers brushed heat across his arm. She gave the fresh stripe of gauge around his arm a tug. "Don't think I didn't see you walk right up to that wild mare."

  "She's wounded and won't be going far." He shook his head, ignoring both her compliment and the pain as she tied the gauze.

  "Don't you try to dodge the truth with me." She handed him his steaming cup. "You're a gifted horseman. Real gifted. It's as plain as day."

  "Don't believe everything you see." He winked, uncomfortable with compliments and took the cup. "You are emotional about the mustangs."

  "A little." She packed up her supplies, head bent to her task. "But don't tell anyone."

  "You know, it's a funny thing to be on a horse ranch where there are only three horses."

  "It's supposed to be a horse ranch. One day." The rays of the rising sun shimmered in the cascade of her golden hair. "Someday I might have more than a few mares and foals grazing contentedly and safe in these fields. Too bad I don't have a fantastic horse trainer. Then again, I'm going to keep looking."

  "Are you leaving me? Where are you going off to?"

  "To do a little work. I've got morning house chores to see to. You just sit here and enjoy your coffee. You look like a man who has been shot and refused to sleep a wink all night."

  "I can't say I feel very good after all that. I'm not at my best."

  "You look like you are trembling to me. If you want to go upstairs, you know the way. We won't toss you out after all this."

  "I've already guessed what you are up to." He did his best to keep his trembling hand still and took a sip of coffee. Hot and sweet. Best thing to cross my lips in a good long while.

  "I'll be back. Don't you go anywhere, or I shall hunt you down. I swear on my honor I will find you." Adorable, that's what she was, and so elegant and out of place in this soft sweet greening land of Dog Wood, Wyoming Territory, that he had to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat and say nothing more as she waltzed away.

  She belonged in a ballroom, a rich man's fancy drawing room, living gently sheltered and privileged in a well-heeled life back east. Not filling feeding troughs with hay and grain.

  "What I need is some whiskey. A whole lot of it." He took another sip and blinked into the bright rays of the ever-rising sun gaining height in the eastern sky. The morning star still twinkled, and the door squeaked open behind him.

  "Here you go, Mr. Horse Trainer." A lovely woman, a bit younger than Skye and looked enough like her that he suspected she was the younger sister reported to be visiting, gave him a conspiratorial look. "Don't drink too much of this, or I will have to attempt to replace it. Oh, the trouble that will cause at the mercantile if I try to buy a bottle of liquor."

  "I'll remember that." Brennan studied her over the rim of his cup. "Thank you, Samantha."

  The younger sister set the whiskey onto the porch boards near him. Her bright eyes were as big as saucers. "Gosh, are you wanted by the law?"

  "Not recently," he quipped, but then again, no one ever laughed at that joke.

  "You sure look like a man who should be on a wanted poster. Are you sure?"

  "Yep, last time I checked."

  "I'll leave you be, but just open the door and give me a call if you need breakfast." Samantha retreated behind the door. "That's my sister out there. You be good to her, will you?"

  "I'm not planning to be anything else." He watched the door shut and reached for the whiskey bottle. Pain bit into his side, but that didn't stop him from opening the bottle and giving his coffee a good dollop.

  One sip was all it took. The fiery whiskey burned a path from tongue to belly. The hard, painful icy shivering from the inside of his body out began to ease, although the weakness and pain remained.

  He sighed and took another sip. Much better.

  He cut his gaze out past the barn, where he knew Skye would be. He didn't see a sign of her yet, but he waited. This was gonna get interesting.

  * * *

  "What are you doing in my field, Mr. Mosley?" Skye squinted at him from beneath her sunbonnet's brim.

  "Looks like I'm trespassing. Got a problem with that?"

  "Maybe. What are doing carrying that?"

  "Taking it upon myself to pay back that expert medical care I received." He kept one hand planted on the gunny sack slung over his shoulder. It looked like the bag that was nearly depleted she'd left in the grain room. "Who built the trough for you?"

  "My brother and cousins."

  "Why aren't they around here helping you?"

  "Because my brother has his own spread one quarter section over. The cousins are just down the road."

  "Aren't they any good at horse training?" He stopped to unroll the sack.

  "I'm not at liberty to say. What are you doing?" Skye rolled her eyes. "Do I have to say it? Torture me with questions later. You can't lift weight like that."

  "Sure I can, see?" He upended the grain bag and held it in both hands, wincing, as grain poured out to fill the wooden feed tray. "And my questions don't torture anyone. I'm asking for a good reason."

  "I'm the boss, and that means I pour the grain around here. You're going to tear your stitches. I still haven't recovered from the trauma of seeing you bleeding and wounded."

  "I managed to survive it, but I'm sorry it was such an ordeal for you, such a painful thing to go through."

  She bit her bottom lip. "Nope, I'm not going to laugh, I won't do it. I do not think I should give you any encouragement. You have a bad sense of humor and you are not funny."

  "Yes, I am. Admit it. Your eyes are laughing."

  "My eyes don't do anything. It's my mouth that laughs."

  "You can't fool me." Warmth in his dark eyes, warmth in his one-sided grin.

  In this light, golden and new, she saw a thin line along the side of his face, disappearing into his whiskers, in need of a shave. There was another scar on his forehead, just visible below his hat brim.

  She hung her head, unable to mention them. Or the fact that last night when she'd helped the doctor by fetching hot water and enough lamps for him to see by to work, she'd noticed thick ridges of scars crisscrossing his back. From what only could be whip lashes, she guessed.

  She wondered what his life had been like. What had he been through?

  "I have the suspicion that you've endured a lot of hardships," she said.

  "Like your presence." The sun tossed long rays of lemon light over him like an adoring touch.

  Interesting, to see his face in full daylight. It was softer and younger than she'd assumed. Handsome lines were carved like crinkles into the corners of his eyes and framed his granite mouth.

  "Be careful not to speak too soon," she joked. "You may have lived through a lot of things, but you haven't survived me yet."

  "I live in fear."

  "I can tell." She forked the last of the hay from the wheelbarrow. "You are a brave soul, Brennan Mosley."

  "I like to think so." He shook out the last kernels of grain from the bag. "And may I say you wield that pitchfork with practiced precision."

  "Once I poked Claude in the foot with it, punctured his boot and his left big toe. It's why he put in notice unless I got someone else to be in charge."

  "I'll take that as fair warning to stay on the good side of you."

  "It was purely accidental. As for you, I'm not d
one with you yet."

  "Then I can see my hopes are dashed."

  "See? You're not funny at all. You are in need of more doctoring. And I'm requiring bed rest."

  "Is that so? How are you going to get me to do it?"

  "I am holding the business end of a pitchfork. Don't make me use it. You still need breakfast and plenty more coffee and a poultice for that wound. You had better take orders from me, or I'll make it difficult for you."

  "Lady, I'm shaking in my boots."

  "You're teasing me and you don't believe me."

  "I never let a woman tell me what to do."

  "There's a first time for everything." She dropped the pitchfork into the wheelbarrow, grabbed the wooden handles and pushed it away, her skirts snapping around her slender, gorgeous body.

  She left him feeling unsettled and amused and lighter than air. Almost happy, much like a man he used to know once, a man he used to be. Funny how he'd forgotten and it was painful to catch a glimpse of his old self now.

  "Hey, Brennan, are you going to just stand there? Or are you coming?" Skye glanced over her shoulder, ahead of him in the grass and clover. "If you can stand my cooking, I'll whip you up some eggs and pancakes. I may even let you have some bacon, too, if you're good."

  "I'll be good. I'll do just about anything for bacon."

  "Who wouldn't?" Her brightness sparkled so keenly it made his eyes water. He glanced away before the memories of his past could grab him again.

  Somehow his boots shuffled him forward but he didn't say another word as he paced past more tracks in the field. That troubled him.

  Heck, it looked like he had a real problem to solve. It wasn't as if he could ride away now.

  * * *

  After being handed a plate heaping full with surprisingly delicious food and more coffee and the quiet to enjoy it, Brennan booted up and took the time to show her the scuffle of tracks layered on top of tracks and worn into the dirt.

  "Two men were here, judging by the look of things and I don't think last night was the first time they've been here." Brennan pointed at the tracks cast in dried mud where new grass began to grow.

  Not good at all. He'd spotted knee impression, where the men had settled in for a long stay. Not hard to guess who it might be, but whoever they all were, the men had left stains of tobacco spit, a short length of rope perfect for a makeshift halter, fraying in the scrub grass, and body impressions where the men had stretched out with a view of the yard below.

  Skye shivered. She wanted to deny the truth, but she could not. She thought back now with fear tripping in her chest. How many times had she drawn water or fed the horses and felt as if she were being watched? And she'd dismissed it.

  Well, now she had to sit down, catch her breath, calm down. She plowed through the grass that crackled and rustled beneath her boots, squinting against the mid-morning sun that defied her sunbonnet's brim.

  "How long do you think this has been going on?" She choked out, staring in true shock at the evidence laid out in her own field.

  He shook his head, squinting into the sun at the obvious path through the fallow grasses and the new grass greening.

  "It's hard to say. Tell me the last time it rained?"

  "Two weeks, or so, I think."

  He turned away, gazing out at the meadows and woods. The muscles in his jaw bunched as laid his hand casually on the grip of his holstered gun. His powerful, muscular shadow fell on the ground at her feet. "Whoever this is wants something. Two women living here alone are vulnerable and outlaw types know it."

  "A lot of the time I'm here alone. Samantha leaves for home in a month."

  "You need a man around to protect you, and someone more suited to it than kindly Claude."

  "From who? Who else is doing this?"

  "Well, Judson's a worry, but at least he's cooling his heels in the town slammer for at least today, according to Claude. But there are a lot of bad men running loose. The only thing outlaws fear is a loaded rifle."

  "This is pretty serious." Her hand shook as she pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "This is my land and my home. I should be safe here. No one should be wandering around on my ranch. What can I do? Hire my own army?"

  "That's an idea, but a whole army would be overdoing it. You just need a good gunman you can rely on and trust. One who will stand by you in a pinch, not to mention in hard times. And never yield."

  "I'm going to have to place another advertisement." She gazed out over her land, Weatherby land, and sighed.

  She'd fallen in love with this sweet span of meadows and gently encroaching woods. This sweeping stretch of greening prairie would be nothing but bright colorful fields when the wildflowers went glorious in a few more weeks. That was when warm weather came to stay for a long summery spell.

  She couldn’t believe this property was hers, it still took her breath away. It was a stroke of luck she'd come here at all. And it was a welcome escape and respite from what had happened years ago, when false rumors about her had ruined her reputation forever.

  She felt all trembling inside. Somehow she would have to stand up to this. "What are they watching me for?"

  "First off, there's three quality horses in your barn."

  "Orville is a purebred Arabian, just like his two mares, but he had a very important father."

  "I'm not surprised. He's rare and one of the most handsome horses I've seen. Then, you have to consider this property you own. It's a prime piece of the Wyoming prairie with good water. Not every homestead has such a generous water source."

  "I know you're right, my cousins and brother said so. That's why this was a good ranch to get. I don't ever want to leave."

  "I would reckon that's true, and it's good that you seem determined to stay." His heart twisted with caring when he looked at her, and he wasn't happy with that.

  He drew in air and breathed in the faint scent of strawberry and sweet woman. The breeze tousled the tumbling down, fly-away curls framing her heart-shaped beauty of a face.

  His fingers itched to brush back soft golden tendrils from her wide-set, honest eyes, just for the excuse of touching the gentle curve of her face.

  She's going to be mine, he thought. She was going to be the reason his world would be made right and no longer destroyed. She was going to be the reason he owned land again.

  "You just might be the problem here. They might be after you," he told her, his decision made.

  "Me?" Her forehead scrunched up, adorably, not understanding. "No, you have to be wrong. Because if you are, my family will make me leave here. I want to stay with my whole heart."

  "There aren't many beautiful young women who would say that."

  "I'm not beautiful." A self-conscious blush crept up her face, turning her an adorable pink.

  He wished he wasn't so attracted to her. He wished he knew how to protect her from the truth of the world. Some men saw a woman as property, as someone to own or to ruin. His chest ached at the possibility that something might happen to her.

  He could say more, but the wind gusted and grass rustled and drew his attention away from her. The faint clop of a hoof alerted him.

  He looked up, turning to scan the high prairie meadows toward that small draw, shadowed out of reach of the day's rising sun.

  He saw the shadow first, head up, ears pricked, nose scenting the wind, mane rippling in the breezes. The wounded horse and foal had returned.

  10

  The palomino mare startled, reeling back a few steps. Blood had dried on her right shoulder, and she wasn't using the leg well. Looked liked she'd done the smart thing in coming to the feeder.

  "Did you come looking for food, girl, or for help?" He lifted his good hand from the handle of his holstered revolver.

  He hobbled toward the mare, but the woman remained front and center, kept all of his attention. He heard her gasp in sympathy pain when she saw the mare's wound. He suspected that when his heartbeat lurched, Skye was the reason why, as if her heartbeat
matched his own.

  The mare froze, ears prickled, head up, nostrils flaring. He froze in mid-stride to give her time to size him up, scent him and to let her see his calm concern. He wanted to prove to her that he was the help she'd come looking for.

  "Do you hurt too much to keep up with the herd or is this your normal breakfast spot?" he asked the mare, careful to keep his voice warm and soft.

  Oh, he wasn't fooled by either female, the mare or the woman standing behind him in absolute breathless awe. Heck, he saw what she wanted, what she'd been too protective of to say a single word.

  At least he knew what Skye wanted. That would help in his quest to win her. If he also got her heart involved and had a chance of winning that, he'd be doing even better. The prime piece of Wyoming prairie and foothills rolled in all directions around him as he waited for the mare to take a step closer.

  When she did, he moved a few steps nearer and held out his hand. Let her take her time to get her measure of him, to see him, before lowering her head to him in pain and need.

  "You're not completely wild, are you, girl? Look at you, so pretty." He stroked her forehead, feeling how hard she shook. Palpable fear came off her like waves in the air, so he unbuckled his belt slow and careful.

  He could sense Skye behind him, not moving, not daring to breathe.

  "Although you're wild now and running with the mustangs," he told the mare. "You've got yourself a handsome little foal. Do you need some help and are you gonna trust me to lend a hand?"

  The mare relaxed at his touch and even more at the caring in his voice. She nickered low in her throat, a vulnerable sound of relief and pain.

  "Yeah, I'll help you, pretty girl. Don't you worry. You'll be safe with me." He looped his belt around the mare's golden neck. She sidestepped a bit, instinctively fighting captivity, but she was no true captive.

  His guess was that she'd once belonged to someone, but had gotten loose for whatever reason and joined the stallion's small herd. How long she'd been running with them was anyone's guess.

  "Poor girl, I will take care of you." He patted her tenderly so she would understand he wanted to take nothing from her. Including her freedom.