The Princess of Coldwater Flats

by Nancy Bush

  Sammy Jo forced herself to slow to a stop and smile and wave. Squinting against the sun, Tommy finally recognized her. When he did, a grin crossed his somewhat dissipated features. The years had not been particularly kind to Tommy.

  “Hey, Sammy Jo, you babe,” he said, striding over. He wore jeans and no shirt. Sammy Jo eyed the eagle tattoo he’d added to his bicep since the last time she’d seen him shirtless.

  “What’s new, Tommy?”

  “Same old, same old. You know, it’s been a while since you and me put down some of that rotgut liquor.” His smile was white, having so far escaped the ravages of nicotine. But then she remembered Tommy, for all his other faults, had never smoked.

  “A long while.”

  “Say, you in this year’s Fourth of July rodeo?”

  “I retired years ago.”

  “Prettiest damn rodeo princess this town ever saw. And the best. Sammy Jo, you could always do it.” He leered. “You could always do it for me.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a dry smile. At least Tommy could make her laugh. He thought he was God’s gift to women, and instead of infuriating her, his attitude generally made her grin and shake her head. There was a puppyish way about Tommy for all his corny lines and low-life ways.

  But husband material?

  “Maybe I’ll see you around on the 4th,” he said in lieu of a goodbye.

  “Maybe you will.”

  The rest of the way home Sammy Jo criticized herself for being such a hypocrite. She couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t marry some guy to save the ranch.

  She changed her mind half an hour later when she opened Doc Carey’s veterinary bill. Gasping, she crumpled it in her fist, then smoothed it out again, chest tight. She was going down for the third time.

  Grabbing her purse, she headed back to Shady Glen, got halfway there, stomped on the brake and turned back to town. In front of the High Noon Saloon, she clenched her hands around the wheel and fought a scream of frustration. Then she slammed out of the truck and stomped into the bar.

  The place seemed empty, apart from Sam and Josh who were both at the bar.

  “You look mad enough to kill a mountain lion with your bare hands,” Josh observed. “Have a brewsky on me.”

  “Looking for somebody?” Sam asked.

  “No,” Sammy Jo retorted.

  “Here.” Sam handed her a frosted mug, which she stared down at uncomprehendingly. “He stopped by earlier,” Sam added helpfully.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Ryan.”

  Sammy Jo blinked at Sam. “I’m not looking for Mr. Ryan.”

  “Yeah?” Sam seemed unconvinced.

  “You must be looking for something,” Josh said. “You’re fit to be tied.”

  “If I’m looking for anything, it’s salvation. I have got to save the Triple R.”

  “Sell it to Ryan,” Sam said.

  “No.”

  “You’re going to lose it, anyway,” Josh pointed out.

  Sammy Jo glared. “You sound just like him. Well, let me tell you something, I’d sell myself before I sold the ranch. Anybody looking for a good woman? How about me for a wife? All you have to do is save the ranch and I’m yours.”

  Her words rose to the rafters, desperate, choked off, embarrassing. Sammy Jo closed her eyes, fighting hot anger.

  And it was at that moment that Cooper Ryan chose to make his presence known. He’d been sitting around the corner behind one of the thick, rough-hewn posts that held up the High Noon’s roof. Now, he sauntered over to the bar.

  Sammy Jo’s mouth dropped in mingled disbelief and horror. “You couldn’t have told me?” she gritted out to Sam who just shrugged and spread his palms.

  “Is that a proposal for me or the bar in general?” Cooper asked. “If it’s for me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down.”

  It was the way he said it. One moment she was sick with humiliation and fear, the next she was incensed beyond reason. Her temper, always ragingly healthy, rose like mercury in a thermometer—but at warp speed.

  “I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man on earth. I wouldn’t have you if you groveled at my feet and begged. I wouldn’t have you period, mister. Don’t you dare listen in on my conversations.”

  “I wasn’t exactly eavesdropping,” he said, enraging her further. “You were shouting. Damn near at the top of your lungs.”

  “If I was shouting, your eardrums would hurt. I was talking normally. NOW, I’M SHOUTING! I’d rather boil in oil, eat nails and wallow with pigs than even look at you again.”

  “Ooooh.” Josh grinned, holding up his hands in surrender.

  Sam rubbed his jaw, fighting a smile.

  Sammy Jo wanted to wring both their necks. And then disaster struck. Ginny unfolded her skinny legs from the banquet seat around the corner and strolled toward them. She’d apparently been cozying up to Cooper when Sammy Jo had banged in, and though Ginny was keeping her expression carefully schooled, Sammy Jo could read it immersed in her eyes.

  It was too much, and it goaded Sammy Jo into one more childish and foolhardy remark.

  “But if anybody else wants a wife, and therefore the Triple R,” she challenged rashly, “tell ‘em to look me up. I’m available.”

  With that she slammed through the door without a backward glance, fighting self-recriminations and her still-flaming temper all the way home.

  One hell of a woman…‌

  Cooper tossed back the last of his beer and made a face. Josh’s words still hung in the air. As soon as Sammy Jo left, Josh had slapped his knee, howled with delight and crowed, “One hell of a woman! But she’d make one shrew of a wife.”

  “You can’t take her seriously,” Sam said as he wiped down the bar.

  “And why not?” Josh was perfectly reasonable. “She needs the money. And let’s face it. She could use a man.”

  Ginny snorted. “Couldn’t we all.”

  “Sammy Jo isn’t that mercenary.” Perversely, Cooper found himself defending her. Now, Pamela had been that mercenary. But Sammy Jo wasn’t Pamela. Not by a long shot.

  Josh shrugged. “Who’s talkin’ mercenary? The girl’s in a bind. And she’s true-blue. She’d marry to save the ranch in a heartbeat, but she’d stick by the lucky devil. That’s how she’s made.”

  Cooper wasn’t certain he liked Josh’s assessment. Her reason for wanting to marry sounded cold-blooded to him no matter what fancy motivations anyone might attach to it. And he didn’t like thinking that of Sammy Jo.

  He was surprised to find her pickup parked in front of his house when he returned home later that night. He was even more surprised by his own sense of anticipation. Tamping that down, he entered the front door and followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen where she was leaning against the back door, arms folded across her chest, sharing a cup of coffee with Jack and Lettie.

  “This is a surprise,” Cooper greeted her. With difficulty, he dragged his gaze from her lean form. What was it about some women that they just looked good in jeans? Slim, long legs capped by softly rounded hips and a firm, flat abdomen. Damn nice. And he wasn’t a man who really liked tan women, either; it seemed so calculated and narcissistic. But Sammy Jo’s tan arms spoke of work in the sun, and their sinewy strength was real and therefore sexy. No gym work for Sammy Jo Whalen. Uh-uh. The lady knew how to pull her own weight. Literally.

  “I forgot to tell you about the beaver dam,” she said coolly. “A family’s moved in about a quarter-mile up Cotton Creek. That’s why everything’s so parched down here.”

  “So, that explains it,” Jack said.

  “Our furry friends are wreaking havoc,” Sammy Jo added, as if Cooper didn’t have the brainpower to figure it out himself. “We gotta move them.”

  “You mean kill them?” he asked cautiously.

  Sammy Jo’s face darkened. “I mean move them. You men always think of killing first.”

  “Now, Sammy Jo,” Jack tried to intervene.

 
“I was just making sure of what you meant,” Cooper explained in exasperation.

  “We’ll trap them. Humanely,” she added through her teeth, “and we’ll ask the forest service to relocate them.”

  “Okay.” Cooper was abrupt, annoyed at her attitude. He didn’t need it, and he didn’t need Sammy Jo.

  “Fine.” She set down her coffee cup and headed for the door.

  “Fine,” he agreed just as sharply.

  “Don’t you want some dessert, Sammy Jo?” Lettie offered in a rush.

  “Looks to me like Ms. Whalen’s got better things to do,” Cooper cut in.

  Sammy Jo wouldn’t even honor him with a look. “I’ll see you later,” she said in a softer tone, and Cooper knew she meant that for Jack and Lettie.

  She’d pricked his ego, and Cooper couldn’t let it stand. “You know it’s not my fault you’re trolling around for a husband. You can take it out on me all you want, but you’re the one selling yourself.”

  “What?” Lettie asked, aghast.

  Every muscle Sammy Jo possessed tightened until she looked like a steel missile ready to hurl itself into space. Cooper watched in fascination, knowing he’d goaded her, unable to prevent himself.

  “Sammy Jo would never,” Lettie blustered, tightening her lips. “You owe her an apology, Mr. Ryan.”

  “Save it,” Sammy Jo retorted, her voice ice. “My business is my business, Mr. Ryan. I’ll take care of the beavers by myself.”

  With that, she was gone in a whoosh of hot air as the front door slammed solidly behind her.

  “Mr. Ryan,” Lettie said coolly to Cooper’s broad back, “I’m afraid you’ve made a bad mistake about Sammy Jo.”

  “Have I?” He swiveled to look at her, wishing the knot in his gut would unfurl. Outside, Sammy Jo’s engine roared to life, angry and hot. Gravel spewed from her tires, pinging against the side of the house as she tore away.

  “That girl’s seen more trouble and pain than a child oughta,” Jack agreed.

  “She’s not a girl. She is a full-grown woman,” Cooper said.

  “Sit down,” Lettie said.

  He couldn’t believe it, but he knew Lettie Babbitt was about to give him a lecture. Dropping onto one of the chairs, he wondered if Lettie would offer him some dessert. She was, after all, employed by him and living on his property. To his annoyance and amusement, she carefully wrapped foil over the apple pie on the counter, set it aside, then turned to him, hands on her hips.

  “I’m not certain why I’m sitting here,” Cooper said, “and I don’t guarantee I’ll stay.”

  “Gil Whalen was a good man. Hardheaded, but a decent fellow and a good neighbor.”

  “The hardheaded part must run in the family,” Cooper observed.

  Jack took his seat opposite Cooper, rubbing his chin and dolefully shaking his head as if Cooper were the most dense, self-destructive human being on earth. Cooper surmised wryly that Jack had probably seen more of these lectures than a man ought to.

  “He married a very pretty woman, and I mean pretty. People stared at Irene Whalen when she walked down the street. And she was smart. Real smart. But she kinda liked Irene more than anybody else, and she didn’t much take to bein’ a mother.”

  Cooper sat in silence now, both uncomfortable with this window into Sammy Jo’s life and fascinated, in spite of himself. He should stop Lettie. Stop her now, before he found himself feeling sorry for Sammy Jo, understanding her more and therefore having to change all his plans concerning Ridge Range Ranch.

  Jack got up, poured himself and Cooper each a cup of coffee, then settled down again. Lettie stared at Cooper as if the force of her glare could pound some sense into his thick skull.

  “Irene took up with a cowboy a lot younger than her and she left that little girl in her daddy’s care. Sammy Jo never knew her. Gil woulda liked to stamp out every memory. He didn’t want Sammy Jo to be like her mama. Nosirree. And she’s not.”

  “Except she’s pretty,” Jack mumbled.

  “She’s Gil’s daughter,” Lettie argued. Relenting, she added, “But she is pretty.”

  “We all agree Sammy Jo is pretty,” Cooper said dryly. “But she said herself she was looking for a husband. I didn’t make that up.”

  “Gil ran the finances into the ground so she’d be forced to marry. Sammy Jo’s just statin’ the obvious.” Lettie sniffed, staunch in her defense. “Gil never really understood Sammy Jo.”

  “And you do?” Cooper lifted one disbelieving eyebrow.

  Lettie wagged a finger in front of Cooper’s nose. “I know her uncle showed up like a savior and told her he’d help. Now, Sammy Jo’s ornery and suspicious by nature, but she don’t have any other relatives. She welcomed him with open arms. I don’t know what happened, but the next thing you know, she boots him out but good. I asked her about it and she said this Uncle Peter wanted to get back at her daddy. Tried to steal the ranch from her.”

  Cooper lifted his arms, easing the tension that had developed between his shoulder blades. The knot in his stomach had grown worse, too. Why did it feel as if Lettie was talking about him?

  “So, Sammy Jo has no one,” Lettie continued. “All she cares about is that ranch and that oak tree. Before you start condemnin’ her, you’d better think about her situation. I don’t think it’s such a bad idea for her to get herself a husband. A rich one.”

  Cooper looked at Jack whose face was carefully expressionless. He glanced at Lettie. There was no mistaking the meaning behind her last remark.

  “I’ve been married once,” he said. “I’m not getting married again. And I’m certainly not marrying a wildcat like Sammy Jo Whalen.”

  “Damn the man to hell,” Sammy Jo cursed for the fiftieth time as she furiously scrubbed the kitchen floor. “May you die a slow, painful death.”

  Okay, her half-baked idea to find herself a husband hadn’t been the wisest plan ever conceived, but did he have to be so mean about it? She let out a growl of frustration.

  She scrubbed and buffed and cleaned until she was exhausted and the wooden floor shone with such a high gloss it looked as if it were coated in plastic. Trigger whined at the back door, but after all her work, Sammy Jo refused to let the dog in.

  Throwing herself into bed, she ignored the images of Cooper Ryan that seemed to cross her mind like a succession of frames in a film. Cooper’s lips working into a smile. Cooper lifting one discerning eyebrow. Cooper glaring at her as if she were some kind of noxious bug he couldn’t wait to squash.

  Blast the man. Did he have to be so good-looking? She hated good-looking men. All they did was stare in the mirror and spout sharp, witty comments about the state of the world as a whole, comments that were generally mean, small and just plain wrong.

  Trigger’s whining finally got to Sammy Jo. She threw open the bedroom window. “Here, girl,” she called, but there was no need. The collie clambered over some boxes that sat against the exterior wall and sailed through the window, curling herself up contentedly at the end of the bed.

  Patting the dog’s head, Sammy Jo climbed into bed, then spent the next half-hour thumping her pillow with her fist and grinding her teeth, mad even at the moonlight that sneaked through her window to trail a soft, blue-white stripe across her grandmother’s quilt. Tomorrow she was going to have to approach Brent in earnest. Forget her earlier reservations. She needed someone like Brent or the ranch was on the Valley Federal chopping block and some eager entrepreneur like Cooper would buy it for a song.

  “Over my dead body,” she declared, squeezing her eyes shut tightly in a vain attempt to induce sleep.

  By the time morning arrived, Sammy Jo was overly tired, grouchy and still just as infuriated. Only her sense of humor saved her when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  “Ugh!” she declared, laughing shortly at the disheveled sight. “No man in his right mind would look at you, let alone marry you.”

  A quick shower, a brush of her hair and a clean pair of jeans and shirt and
she looked almost presentable. Carl waved at her through the window as he did the morning chores. Sammy Jo’s heart twisted. She was thankful for the help but totally stressed over when and how she would pay him.

  Grabbing the paper, she headed into town to find Doc Carey and talk about payment of the bill for Tick-Tock’s surgery. The one bright spot was that the mare seemed to be feeling well and the pregnancy was progressing on schedule. But that didn’t solve Sammy Jo’s financial troubles.

  A familiar truck sat on the street in front of the veterinary clinic, its shiny black finish glittering under the hot sun.

  Cooper’s truck.

  “What’s he doing here?” she mumbled as she slammed her door and headed inside.

  “The doc’s in surgery,” one of the girls who helped out informed Sammy Jo. “Can I help you?”

  Dr. Carey performed minor operations at the clinic, usually on smaller pets like dogs and cats. Sammy Jo gazed thoughtfully at the closed door to the inner sanctuary.

  “Where’s the owner of the black truck outside?”

  “Right here,” Cooper’s deep voice said from a side doorway.

  “The doc let you into surgery?” Sammy Jo asked in surprise. “You really do get around.”

  “You’re still mad about yesterday,” he answered, unruffled.

  The girl giggled, then held her hand to her mouth. Sammy Jo eyed her narrowly. “What do you mean?”

  “About the marriage proposal.”

  The girl collapsed into hysterical fits of laughter at Cooper’s bald disclosure. “You told her?” Sammy Jo asked, too stunned to be upset.

  “Oh, it’s all over town,” the girl said, exonerating Cooper. “I’m sorry, Miss Whalen, but I just can’t picture you trying to…‌you know…”

  “What?”

  “Well…” she turned helpless eyes to Cooper who remained darkly silent.

  “Sell myself to the highest bidder?” Sammy Jo asked in a tight, brittle voice.

  The girl had the grace to look ashamed. Sammy Jo couldn’t read Cooper’s expression, but it didn’t matter. She knew what he thought of her. And she didn’t think much more of him.