Wildflower

by Lynda Bailey

  WILDFLOWER

  By

  Lynda Bailey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product or the author’s imagination and any resemblance to any actual person living or dead, business establishment, event or locale is entirely coincidental.

  WILDFLOWER

  COPYWRIGHT 2012 by Lynda Bailey

  Published by Lynda Bailey. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  Publishing History; First Edition 2012

  Contact information:

  Lynda@lyndabailey.net

  Visit me at www.lyndabailey.net

  Cover design by Hot Damn Designs

  Dedication:

  To Suzanne and Jenn. Thanks so much ladies for your support and stellar feedback. You both totally rock!

  To my husband Pat. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I love you.

  TABLE OF 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 One

  Indian Territory, 1882

  Like a June bug on a hot skillet, Matilda Grace Townsend couldn’t stay still.

  Every time she sat, nervous energy forced her to stand. She paced the short distance to the window and drew aside the faded calico curtain only to spin on her heel and retrace her steps before her gaze could fix on anything outside. Her boot heels clacked a steady beat on the wooden floorboards as her denim pants swished in time to the macabre tune. The fire crackled at her back, but she didn’t feel the warmth.

  Only cold dread.

  She darted her gaze to her father’s closed bedroom door. Again. Influenza or no, Pa should’ve cussed a blue streak at Doc Bingham then tossed the good doctor out on his ear for being so meddlesome.

  Yet it was quiet. Too quiet. Like that awful stillness right before her mother died. She might have only been four at the time, but she remembered.

  Anxiety churned in her stomach. She clenched her hands into tight fists, her stubby nails stinging her palms. Lordy, she wanted to hit something. Someone. She’d give them to the count of five and then she was going in, her father’s temper be damned. Might do him good to get riled up.

  A thumping noise whipped her around. Logan Cartwright barreled into the house on a strong gust of wind. He shouldered the door shut against the wicked March weather.

  The sight of the tall, blond-haired Kentuckian quieted her ragged nerves even as her eyebrows pleated. “What are you doing here? I thought you were riding out to the herd.”

  He pulled the well-worn Stetson from his head and combed his fingers through his hair. “I was.” He nudged his chin toward her father’s bedroom. “But Chuck said your pa wanted to see me.”

  “Why would Pa send for you?”

  “I don’t know. Figured it was important, though. He wouldn’t have sent Chuck otherwise.” He hung his lambskin-lined coat on a peg beside the door. “What’d Bingham say?”

  “Doc’s still in there.”

  Logan’s intense gray eyes, the color of an Appaloosa horse, met hers. “Still?”

  “Yes.” Frustration again starched her spine. “And I’m sick of waiting.” She stepped toward the bedroom door. “I’m going in there.”

  Logan laid his hand on her arm. She jerked away and faced him, fists up.

  “Whoa, easy there, Matt.” He raised his hands and stepped back. “Causing a stir won’t help anything. Let Doc do his job.” He moved to the fireplace and the coffee pot hanging on the hook. He poured a cup. “You want some tea?”

  “Chuck has yet to get to town,” she bit out, whatever calm she’d felt vanishing like snow on a summer day. “And I drank the last of the tea two days ago.”

  He poured a second cup. “Then have coffee. Last time I checked, we still had plenty of sugar.”

  He set both cups on the table before sitting in a straight-backed chair. Matt again balled her hand into a fist. His head made a tempting target.

  He took a sip. “Either hit me or have a sit. Your choice.”

  She didn’t want to sit so to keep from swinging at Logan’s thick skull, she resumed her pacing. She felt his gray gaze on her every step.

  “He’s gonna be all right, Matt.”

  She rounded on him. “What makes you so dang sure of that?”

  “I just am.” He kicked the other chair out from the table with his foot. “Sit down. You’re wearing a rut in the floor.”

  “Am not,” she retorted, not caring that she sounded more like a child than a grown woman of nineteen years. Still, she plunked her backside into the chair and reached for the second cup. After spooning in a generous portion of sugar, she took a sip and grimaced. No amount of sugar could make coffee taste better than bull piss.

  “Have you seen him today?” Logan again inclined his head toward the bedroom door.

  She shook her head then tucked her too short hair behind her ear. “I was mucking stalls when Chuck found me. Said Pa wanted to see me, too.”

  Logan’s full lips twitched. “Figure Chuck likes his new job as a carrier pigeon?”

  Matt fought to smile back. “He’d rather cook a pigeon than be one.”

  After the shared quiet chuckle, silence blanketed the room. It bore down on Matt, making it hard to breathe. She straightened her shoulders with a toss of her head and blinked at the burn in her eyes. “I talked to Roscoe about getting back on guard duty at the herd.”

  Logan stiffened. “What the hell for?”

  She hitched a shoulder. “I need to stop lollygagging.”

  “You haven’t been lollygagging. You’ve been needed here.”

  “To do what?” Anger and a good dose of fear spiked her words. “It’s not like Pa lets me take care of him. He’d rather go hungry than have me spoon broth down his throat.”

  “You’re his daughter. Your place is here.”

  She crossed her arms and jutted her chin. “Roscoe’s the foreman and he agrees I should get back on guard duty.”

  A muscle popped in Logan’s cheek. “Like hell. I’ll take your shifts.”

  “You’ve taken every one of my shifts for the past three weeks. And with half the men still recovering, you’ll end up with this dang influenza yourself.”

  “Doubtful. Doc says if I haven’t gotten it by now, I won’t. Besides, it’s temporary. Once Gene and everybody else are back on their feet, things will get back to normal.” He calmly sipped his coffee.

  Scowling, she opened her mouth to inform Mr. Logan Cartwright that she didn’t need him or anyone treating her like a ninny little girl. But the creak of her father’s bedroom door cut off the words. Doc Bingham stepped out of the room. She jumped to her feet, as did Logan, their chairs scraping the floor.

  “How is he?” they asked in unison.

  The doctor took his sweet time closing the door before first eyeing Logan then her. “Reckon that’s for him to say.”

  A chill settled at the base of her spine. “What does that mean?”

  Bingham scrubbed his hands down his face with a sigh. “It means your father wants to see you.”

  She started for the bedroom.

  “But first, he wants to see you.” Bingham pointed to Logan.

  Stunned, Matt halted in her boots. She swerved her gaze to Logan who stared back, his eyebrows arched high. After a pause, he pushe
d his chair under the table then walked to her father’s room. With a last look, he disappeared through the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  The essence of wildflowers followed Logan as he walked into Gene’s room. Wildflowers. It never failed to amaze him that Matt could smell like the plants long buried under the winter snow. Yet there was no mistaking the sweet, lingering scent.

  But the stench inside the murky room quickly curdled his stomach. He coughed to keep from gagging. The shell of a man sitting on the bed was hardly recognizable as the forceful Standing T owner. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Townsend.”

  Gene waved a hand. “Don’t just stand there, boy,” he gasped. “Come have a seat.”

  Logan fought not to react to the old man’s thin voice as he perched on the bedside chair, his knees wide and his hands in loose fists on his thighs. With no idea why he’d been summoned, he held his tongue.

  Gene rubbed a crooked finger across his chin. “I ain’t gonna pussyfoot with you, Cartwright. Bingham says I ain’t got much time left.”

  Genuine sorrow clutched Logan’s chest. “I’m mighty sorry to hear that, sir.”

  A knobby hand swatted the air. “Didn’t bring you in here to listen to any balderdash. I got a proposition for you.”

  Curiosity, mixed with dread, pricked his skin. “What kind of proposition?”

  Gene propped himself higher on the bed. “Son, how’d you like to be the new owner of the Standing T?”

  Shock rocked Logan back in his chair. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “An honest one that needs an honest answer.”

  “But what about Matt?”

  “What about her?

  “She’s your daughter. This ranch is her inheritance. You can’t give away what’s rightfully hers.”

  “Bah!” The gnarled hand made another pass through the air. “You know same as me she can’t wait to be gone from here.”

  The usual lurch hit Logan’s pulse at the thought of Matt leaving. But if leaving was what she wanted to do, he’d respected that decision. And her.

  Instead, he concentrated on Gene’s offer. The ranch. Here was his chance to have a home for the first time in twenty years. While not the grandest spread or the biggest herd, a man could do worse. In spite of the joy coiling through him, doubt bristled the hairs on his neck. “You said this was a proposition. What do you want in return?”

  Tired eyes looked away. “For you to marry Matt.”

  Logan’s heart swung up into his throat and stayed there. “What? After just admitting she doesn’t want to stay in Indian Territory, you expect me to marry her?”

  “I do. The ranch is her dowry.”

  Biting the inside of his cheek, Logan schooled his face. If he married Matt, he’d get the Standing T, but at what cost to her? He shifted. “Maybe I’m not interested in marrying her.”

  One side of Gene’s mouth ticked up. “Son, you’re a lousy liar. I know you’ve been sweet on her since you rode through my ranch gates two years ago. Here’s your chance to have her.”

  Logan bit harder on his cheek. Gene knew his true feelings for Matt. Didn’t that beat all? He stood and walked to the window. Pulling aside the drape, he squinted against the bright sunlight bouncing off the snow drifts.

  He had indeed been smitten with Matt, almost from the moment he first laid eyes on her. With short, raven-colored hair and eyes the color of Kentucky clover in springtime, she was the prettiest gal he’d ever known, all filly-legged and curvy. His Levi’s grew tight just thinking about her.

  Hell’s fire.

  It wasn’t just her looks that enticed him, though. She was tough as rail spikes wrapped in rawhide, able to match any man on the ranch. Yet delicate. Like a dainty wildflower petal.

  But she wanted to live in a city. Almost as badly as he wanted never to set foot in one again. He craved the open space and clean air of the frontier. After growing up in an orphanage in Philadelphia, he’d had his fill of smelly, cramped cities. As much as he wanted Matt, and the ranch, he vowed he’d never again live in a place where so many people were packed together. Neither would he force her to stay where he knew she’d never be happy.

  The drape fell back into place as he turned. “I thought you were letting Matt leave for Kansas City after the cattle drive.”

  Gene wheezed a breath. “That’s what she thought, too.”

  Foreboding shrouded his shoulders. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying she ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “Going to Kansas City is all she’s ever talked about. It’s her dream.”

  “Well, she can’t be traipsing all over Creation if I’m not around,” Gene retorted on a panting gasp. “She needs to stay put where it’s safe. Now, you gonna marry her or not?”

  Logan widened his stance and crossed his arms with a firm shake of his head. “No. I won’t rob Matt of her dream.”

  Gene sagged for a moment then straightened. “Fine. I’ll be asking Roscoe Turner next.”

  Logan’s arms fell to his side as his jaw slackened. “You intend to make this same offer to Roscoe Turner?”

  “I do.”

  Glaring at the bed-ridden man, he took a step. “Matt is your daughter. Not some prize at a damn turkey shoot.”

  Gene’s chest puffed out. “I’m doing this for her own good. ‘Sides, Roscoe’s been my foreman for going on five years now. He’s a good cattle man.”

  But he wasn’t a good man. Logan still remembered the only time he’d gone to town on a Saturday night with the foreman. Roscoe had gotten so ugly drunk, he beat a saloon girl half to death. It had taken Logan and three others to haul the bastard off. The thought of Roscoe laying one finger on Matt….

  He inhaled a slow breath to ease the anger tightening his skin. There had to be a way to reason with Gene. “She won’t agree to marry me or Roscoe.”

  “She’ll do as she’s told.”

  “So she doesn’t get a choice?” Fury clenched Logan’s hands even as his cock thickened.

  Hell’s fire and brimstone!

  “No, she don’t.” Gene pulled in a winded breath. “A woman needs a home. A place where she’s cared for and protected.”

  “And you think I’ll care for Matt and protect her?”

  “You or Roscoe.” A sudden weariness laced the rancher’s voice. “I’d prefer you.”

  “Why me? There are others who’ve worked for you longer.”

  “True, but you’re like me, Cartwright. Hard. It takes a hard man to carve out a living on the prairie. Yet a softness comes over you when you look at Matt. I’m trusting you to take care of her.”

  “She still might leave, even if I marry her.”

  “Yeah, she might. But she’d have a home to come back to.”

  That sobered Logan. “The Standing T will always be her home,” he declared. “I wouldn’t keep what’s rightfully hers.”

  “Unless she marries, she’ll never come back. That what you want? She’s too prideful by half and she’d rather die than ask for help. The only way I know to keep my little girl safe—” Gene ducked his head and swiped a finger under his nose. An ache spread through Logan’s chest as he waited for him to collect himself.

  Finally, Gene cleared his throat and looked up, his jaw set with determination. “All my softness died with her mother. I never did right by Matt, but I did the best I could. The only way to keep my little girl safe after I’m gone is for her to wed. Will you be the man she marries?”

  After a pause, Logan strode to the bed, his decision made. He gripped a gaunt shoulder. “Get some rest, old man.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Matt pounced on Logan the instant her father’s door was closed. “What’d he say?”

  The soft silver of his eyes had been replaced with a stony gray. An army of fire ants marched up her arms at the intensity in his gaze. He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. She stomped her foot. “Well?”

  He opened the front door. “I’m heading to the herd. Be there a couple of
days covering your shift and my own. We’ll talk when I get back.”

  He stopped in the open doorway to stare at her. Even with the cold wind blowing into the room, heat spiraled through her. It started between her legs, raced through her belly, then into her chest and higher still, warming her cheeks.

  Without another word, he left. The soft click of the door snapped Matt from her trance. He’d never answered her question. Huffing, she veered her gaze to Pa’s bedroom. Fine. More than one way to skin a rabbit. She marched to his door, took a fortifying breath then slipped inside.

  Several moments passed before her eyes adjusted to the darkened interior. Bulky drapes, which kept the midday sun at bay, increased the rank smell of sickness in the room. She battled not to choke.

  At first, it appeared Pa was sleeping. His wrinkled face, framed by thinning, white hair, almost disappeared within the folds of the feather pillow. With his eyes closed and gnarled fingers holding the tattered bed quilt, he reminded her of a Lilliputian from Gulliver’s Travels.

  The worry she’d felt over his health for the past two weeks weakened her knees and pressed tears to her eyes. With a sniff, she shifted her weight and her boot thudded softly against the floor. Pa’s eyes popped open. Blue eyes, still hawkish despite his illness, appraised her in the yawning silence. She tamped down the need to squirm.

  He hoisted himself to a sitting position, the bed ropes creaking in protest. “Don’t just stand there. Come closer.”

  When had his voice become more threadbare than the quilt in his hands? She took a step. “What’d you talk to Logan about?”

  He sucked in a wheezing gasp of air. “Never you mind that. There’s something I need you to do, girl.”

  Trepidation squeezed her throat. She swallowed hard. “What’s that?”

  He looked at her then, in that unwavering way of his. She kept her back rigid, prepared for whatever he was about to say. She knew she wasn’t going to like it.

  “I need you to marry Logan Cartwright.”

  Her knees went from weak to watery. She stumbled and gripped the edge of the dresser to keep from falling. “What?”