Nia laughed at his apparent approval. Returning her attention to his owner, she discovered a smile had lit the man’s eyes to emerald green. Gracious, he was handsome even in worn-out clothes. “Since we are going to be partners, I think you should call me Nia.”
He stuck out his hand. “Toby.”
No man had ever offered to shake her hand before. It took Nia a second to extend hers. The moment their palms touched, warm confidence rushed up her arm and into her heart. Like everything was okay now that she and Toby were partners.
Nia let go with reluctance. “Well, then. I’ll… uh… I’ll meet you…” She pointed in the general direction of the stables. “Tomorrow for… you know.”
His grin went lopsided, taking her balance with it. He inclined his head toward his horse. “We’ll see you there.”
Toby watched Nia leave, a hollow spot in his chest. He should feel good. Great, even. But she’d stung his conscience.
“So you believe honesty is the best policy?”
Sure, he’d told her and Mr. Lindley his name. Wasn’t the same thing as telling the truth. And the longer it took to confess, the worse it was going to be. Toby rubbed the place where his mother’s button used to hang around his neck. What should he say?
“Well, Mr. Lindley, you don’t know it, but my pa lost this ranch in a poker game. When he told my ma, she went into early labor. It killed her and my brother. They’re buried beneath the willow tree next to your house. And, if that isn’t bad enough, my pa couldn’t keep a job and ended up a horse thief. I’m working my hardest to make up for that, but I’m pretty sure God’s got at least another generation or two of hatin’ Lanes before we’re done.”
Yeah. That would win him the job.
He should just pack up and head out now he’d said his words over Ma’s grave. But he couldn’t. Coming here proved one thing: Texas wasn’t home, the Double L was. Leaving would tear his soul in half, the better part of it forever here no matter how far he roamed.
He closed his eyes, blocking Nia Lindley’s retreating form from his vision. The woman took turns irritating him and making him feel warm all over. His hand still tingled where hers had touched it. He’d wanted to hold on longer.
Much longer.
Every time she came around, he found her more enticing. Was it her, though? Or had he turned into Peltzer, building something from nothing because he loved the idea of coming home to stay?
Toby bowed his head. “Lord, I’ve not talked to You much lately—and I’m not real sure You’re listening now—but I’m tryin’ real hard to do the right thing. Should I stay? Go? What?”
No answer. No lightning bolt. Nothing.
Why did he bother?
He walked to Blaze and scratched him behind the ears. The urge to ride out, be anywhere but here, rolled his innards into a tight ball. “How would you feel about quittin’ this here business? Try our luck at mining?”
Blaze shook his head and snorted.
“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Toby laid his head on the horse’s muzzle. “Besides, we were gonna stick it out this time, weren’t we?”
Standing nose to nose with his horse offered comfort, but Toby needed advice. And God wasn’t talking.
Mr. Miller’s voice echoed inside Toby’s head: “Listen to me, Toby Lane. Next place, you tell them who you are right up front.”
Toby hesitated. Was God talking to him after all?
Maybe. Maybe not. But it was still good advice.
Next chance he got, he’d tell Mr. Lindley who Lawrence Lane was, what he’d done, and see what happened. As for Nia Lindley, Toby would compete with her tomorrow, but that was it. No more talking to her. No more seeking her out in the crowd.
And absolutely no more thinking about how nice it felt to hold her hand.
Nia walked toward the house. She was going to speak with Papa. Toby Lane needed to be on her short list of men who might make a good straw boss.
Feminine laughter drifted on the breeze.
Women sipped sweet tea and ate finger sandwiches on the wide wraparound porch of the white house, their dresses scattering color like wildflowers in May. Marigold wanted to hone her skills as a hostess before her wedding in a few months, and Papa had indulged her by inviting several area ranchers and their wives for the week.
Marigold had done a wonderful job keeping the ladies busy while their men watched the cowboy competition. Surprised by the urge to join the women, Nia looked down at her dirty chaps. Her father had offered to purchase new dresses months ago. Marigold took him up on it; Nia declined saying it was a waste of money. She had the lavender dress, but wearing it two times in a row would be almost as scandalous as appearing in her work clothes.
With a sigh, she headed around back, avoiding Marigold’s luncheon.
She slipped into the kitchen and ate a few sandwiches deemed not pretty enough for the ladies out on the porch. According to the staff, her father was still watching the team roping competition. She asked Mrs. Lambert if a bath could be prepared. Despite the bustling activity all around the housekeeper, she said yes. Probably glad Nia meant to get clean for once.
Being out of the hot sun in the middle of the afternoon felt strange. And nice.
The bath felt even better. Nia was usually too afraid of falling asleep to indulge in a long soak. Embedded grit floated free in the rose-scented water. Nia washed her hair with the special shampooing soap Marigold brought home from her finishing school. It smelled of roses, too, and Nia breathed in the fragrance as though it would bring her mother back.
Most days, the missing was a dull ache. But certain moments stabbed grief straight into her heart.
Hot tears rolling down her cheeks, Nia ached to crawl into her mother’s lap and pour out her troubles. The attraction to Toby Lane was a bit worrisome. More like a real problem. No… downright terrifying. He seemed a nice enough man, but what if she was wrong? Losing the Double L was too high a price to pay.
When the dancing master had waltzed away with her twelve-year-old heart, she’d been missing her father something terrible, wondering if he would ever return from the war. Gruesome stories of what that beast Santa Anna had done at the Alamo haunted her dreams, and…
Oh! Goodness!
She sat forward so fast bath water sloshed onto the floor.
The almost kiss in the barn was five months after her mother’s death and the first celebration without her. Had it been a similar case of missing a parent so bad that her judgment was off? How much of turning into a cowboy was about replacing her mother’s role as business partner—and how much was fear of being bamboozled by another man?
Nia examined her choices of the past eight years. One thing was clear, she’d not stopped being a woman, but she’d certainly stopped being a lady. It wasn’t about the clothes she wore; it was about being kind, respectful, caring, and creating a sense of family. Whether out of fear or grief…
She’d become hard.
Whatever happened to the girl who adored dancing, couldn’t wait to love and cherish someone, and longed for a whole passel of children. She’d buried her dreams under a fierce determination to forgo femininity and outdo men.
Not everything about the change was bad. She enjoyed the challenges and rewards of a hard day’s work. But even as she acknowledged that, a question nagged at her…
What did she want? Right now? Both as a woman and a rancher?
She slid under the water, rinsing grime from her hair and spirit.
When she emerged from the water, answers came with her.
Dancing? Nice, but not necessary. Marriage? Only to someone who would share responsibility in running the Double L. She’d not be relegated to the parlor like a lace doily. Children? Yes, if she found the right husband.
From here on, she’d be gentle in spirit but unbendable in principle, free to express emotion balanced by logic, and respectful of all—but hard on any who abused that respect. From here on, she’d no longer try to be a woman rancher. Instead, she’d
be something far better.
A lady rancher.
Nia finished her bath and put on the lavender dress again. She smelled nice. No sense ruining the bath’s fragrance with clothes permeated by cow stench. She went downstairs to her father’s study and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Nia stepped inside. “Good afternoon, Papa.”
He stood and smiled. “Why, Petunia, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She approached the desk and perched on the edge of the leather chair to keep from crushing her skirts. “I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Lane.”
His smile sagged. “I don’t wish to argue. Not again.”
Shame wilted her precise posture. “I’m not here to argue, Papa. I’d like to talk about why I think Mr. Lane should be considered for the foreman position.”
“Oh?” His lifted eyebrows created creases in his forehead. He sat and leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”
Nia pressed her palms over her fluttering stomach. “I… I guess it comes down to two things. First, whether I agree with his notion to train wild mustangs or not, it shows he has initiative. Second, he’s honest. Again, I might not agree with him, but at least he’s willing to say what he’s thinking.”
“Hmmm. Those are certainly points in his favor.” Papa rested his hands on his stomach, the picture of relaxation. “Not to mention he agreed to partner with you for the team roping event and didn’t come unhinged at your performance.”
Certain her cheeks were bright red, Nia nodded.
“Did he call off partnering with you for tomorrow’s team penning event?”
“No.” The word squeaked on the way out. “Well, yes, then no.”
Papa’s forehead creased again. “Do explain.”
Nia told him the whole story, ending with her botched apology and how Mr. Lane corrected her on it. “Like I said, he’s honest and not afraid to tell me what I don’t want to hear.”
Her father leaned forward, a wary look in his eye. “Anyone else on your list?”
“No. Not really.” Nia dropped her gaze to her twisted fingers. There should be at least two or three other names. But from the moment she almost ran into Toby Lane at the willow tree, he had occupied her time and attention.
“Do you think Mr. Lane is right about how you’ve handled the hired hands?”
Nia bit one side of her bottom lip and raised her head. “Yes, sir.”
Papa folded his hands over the top of scattered papers and twirled his thumbs. “And what do you propose we do about that?”
“Before I answer, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Petunia.”
For once, her full name didn’t grate quite so much. Lily, Petunia, and Marigold. Papa’s fair flowers. “Do you think… maybe… Mari and I have been trying to… to replace Mama since her death?”
Tears welled in his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks. He wiped them away with impatient hands. “I’ve thought that a few times. I didn’t know what to do about it except let you work your way through your grief as I did mine.”
Nia placed a hand on his forearm. “You did fine, Papa. Marigold is quite happy with Humphrey, and I’m better now, too. Some of my past choices have been because I was either missing you or Mama. I believe my opinion of Mr. Lane is free of those issues, but I can’t be absolutely certain.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you asking for my opinion?”
“No… I don’t think so.” At his puzzled look, she squeezed his arm. “You asked me to prove I could make a wise choice on my own. After Mr. Lane said I didn’t respect the men, I realized I was looking at them all wrong. They aren’t responsible to me as much as I’m responsible to them. It’s a huge job, and if I don’t do it well or get hornswoggled by some shyster, the people who depend on the Double L for their livelihood will suffer. Even though I’m frightened of what will happen if I fail, I see the wisdom behind our bargain. I need to choose the right foreman for your peace of mind, as well as mine.”
Laying his hand over top of hers, he smiled. “You don’t know how that relieves me.”
“As for what I intend to do about how I’ve treated the men”—Nia took a deep breath—“I don’t believe an outright apology will do as much as simply treating them better from now on.”
He patted her hand. “I agree.”
“Good. Now I’m going to join the ladies on the front porch.” Nia rose and sent her father an airy kiss. “We’ll talk more later.”
“You might check with Mrs. Lambert before you join the ladies.” A twinkle lit his blue eyes. “She has a few dresses I ordered for you just in case.”
Chapter 8
Toby searched for Mr. Lindley the rest of the day with no luck. He went to the white house intent on knocking, but there was a pack of women on the porch yimmering and yammering loud enough to beat the band.
He wasn’t a coward, but there were limits.
When the rankings were posted at the end of the day, Toby was in tenth place. Not too awful, all things considered.
The next morning, he woke to Blaze’s muzzle nudging his shoulder. “What?”
A whinny and head toss.
Toby looked where Blaze seemed to indicate.
The orange-haired cowboy who signed contestants into each event was standing near. “You Toby Lane?”
Toby scrambled to his feet. “Yes, sir.”
“Here’s your draw for team penning this afternoon.” He handed over a piece of paper and turned away.
Not sure why his heart was racing, Toby unfolded the note. “Lane, Lindley, Peltzer.”
Peltzer?
Toby scratched his bristly cheeks. “Well, my friend”—he showed the note to Blaze—“it looks like we got our work cut out for us.”
Blaze tossed his head three times.
“I’m glad one of us is happy about it.” Toby headed for the creek to shave and catch breakfast. Should he tell Nia who he was as soon as he saw her? No, better wait until after they competed. She could get hurt if her concentration was divided. Besides, if by some miracle she didn’t toss him out on his ear, he’d like a good score.
An hour later, he and Blaze strolled up to the team penning competition. Since three cowboys worked at a time, the event moved along quickly. Toby scanned the crowd. Nia stood about five feet away wearing her customary gray wool pants and leather chaps. She smiled and waved.
Toby’s spirits lifted. He waved in return.
Peltzer was a few feet back eyeing Nia’s backside like it was a picnic lunch.
The urge to pummel the man until he pooled into the red dirt caught Toby in the chest. Nia Lindley was a lady!
“You ready to do something about that?”
He turned to the orange-haired cowboy. “What?”
The man sent a pointed look at Peltzer. “Makes my blood boil, and that’s a fact.”
Toby squeezed the hand holding Blaze’s reins. “Mine, too, but startin’ a brawl in the middle of a crowd isn’t my idea of how to handle it.”
“Maybe not, but I’m mighty protective of them under my care.”
Protective, not possessive. The difference struck Toby with force. Peltzer wanted to own both Nia and the ranch. Toby wanted to protect them. Which was honorable, wasn’t it? Or was he throwing a straw layer of morality over a manure pile of greed?
“I got an idea about how to put that fella in his place.” The cowboy pulled the brim of his hat lower, hiding his eyes. “It involves a bit of cheatin’ on your part, though.”
Toby stiffened.
“You up for that?” He looked down at the sheet of competitors’ names. “Don’t need to be on this event, though, seein’ as how your score would suffer right along with his.”
The temptation was fierce. Peltzer sat in third place. He’d brought a horse for each event, saving the showy stallion for the race. At the rate he was going, he’d win. Toby gripped his fingers until they burned. “No, sir. That wouldn’t be right.”
&nb
sp; “Suit yourself, Lane, but don’t be surprised if Peltzer there don’t decide to live by a different set of rules. You change your mind, I’m here to help.” The man walked off without a backward glance. Ten minutes later, he called Toby, Nia, and Peltzer for their turn. “You three are to cut and pen the all-red, all-black, and black with white feet. Any questions?”
Toby checked over the yearlings milling around inside the fence. The three selected animals were at the front of the pack. “No, sir.”
Peltzer and Nia answered the same, and the three of them trotted toward the gate.
“I’ll take the lead; you two follow behind.” Peltzer pulled a bit ahead.
Nia turned pink in the face but didn’t say anything.
Toby trotted Blaze forward. “Seein’ as how Miss Lindley and her horse have worked these cows before, she ought to lead.”
Angling his horse to bump Blaze aside, Peltzer sneered. “No woman’s taking lead, and that’s final.”
Nia cantered past the gaping hole left by Peltzer’s maneuver. “I’ll see you boys when I turn around.” She entered the arena, gave the flag man a nod to start the time, and they were off.
Sputtering foul words not fit for a lady’s ears, Peltzer went right while Toby went left. Nia cut the red cow and angled it toward Toby. He circled around until he pinned it between Blaze and the fence and worked it toward the pen. Alternating his focus between the red cow and the cutting work behind him, Toby waited until he saw Peltzer cut the black with white feet toward the other side of the pen. Nia angled the black through the rest of the milling cattle, so Toby went to help, hoping Peltzer wanted to win badly enough he didn’t let the red yearling escape. Toby hawed and hollered, pushing the main herd behind Nia while she forced the black against the fence. Once there was enough separation, Toby left the herd and came in behind Nia so they could work the remaining cow toward the pen.
Peltzer had the other two yearlings blocked on the left side. Nia and Toby worked right. Once the black-and-white was close enough, Toby cut over to Peltzer’s side, allowing him to work forward while the gap behind him was covered.
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 48