Miranda And The Ranch Hand (Domestic Discipline Romance)

by Coleen Singer

  Howie just shook his head. Those two were like dry tinder in a summer drought. If they ever got together, it would be some wildfire. If they survived the heat, maybe they’d be melded together for good.

  Miranda wasn’t typically one to cry easily, but once the tears started, she couldn’t seem to stop. She fled to the safety of her room and just let her emotions go. Despite growing up on the ranch, surrounded by men and spending four years in college with only male classmates, her understanding of relationships was woefully incomplete.

  Things were just kind of arranged out here in Texas, because the days were long and the work was hard. There wasn’t a lot of time for courting and the like. Back East she was too old to come out in proper society fashion, and then when she insisted on going to Cornell instead of Wells College for women, her aunt knew there’d be no hope for a debutante season for Miranda. She had dated a law student who was a year ahead of her. They’d kissed, but nothing more. Miranda had thought she was in love until he graduated and assumed that she’d leave school and marry him, becoming a proper wife and mother, and stop playing at this woman vet nonsense! She was hurt beyond belief that they could have spent so much time together, and he had known so little about her and had so little respect for her. That was when she realized none of her classmates took her seriously either. They just saw her as some Texas wild kid who didn’t have the first idea of a women’s proper place.

  As she thought about her kisses with Michael, and her feelings for him, she realized they were shallow—no passion or desire. Because now she knew what real desire was—she had just tasted a kiss so filled with wanting, it hurt. Why Dylan? She despised him most of the time—he made her angrier than a longhorn on stampede! She hated how he was always ordering her around. Yet his touch sent sparks through her body… When she looked into those deep blue pools, she was lost. Oh, what was she going to do? Miranda finally fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. She didn’t even wake when Jenna brought a dinner tray and then took it away untouched hours later.

  When she finally awoke, it was late. The mantel clock said after midnight, but Miranda was wide-awake and restless. She was still dressed and looked out on her veranda to a beautiful night with a full moon. She needed to clear her head—she needed to ride. She smiled in anticipation of a midnight ride. When she was a teenager, she used to slip out on nights she couldn’t sleep and take Windfire for a run. She rode bareback on these secret jaunts, feeling the full power of the horse under her.

  The last time, she had also felt the full power of Marcus’s wrath. She could still see him standing in the stables when she returned, so exhilarated from the ride. He was furious that she’d been so reckless with her life. And she could still remember her first glance at their father’s razor strop in his hand. Miranda knew that’s what their father had used to discipline Marcus and David, but it never had been used on her. Marcus hadn’t said a word. He just grabbed her and hauled her over the tack bench, bared her bottom and let her have it. She had never felt anything like the burning pain of that leather strop as stroke after stroke left searing red welts across her backside and legs.

  She realized she was absently rubbing her backside at the memory. She shook her head as if to chase it away, and then reminded herself that her brothers were far north on the round-up, and she was five years older and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She left the ranch house and silently made her way to the stable. She greeted Windfire with only a bit and bridle, and the horse knew what she was about. She mounted the animal and took off, feeling release from her troubled thoughts for the first time that day.

  If she hadn’t been so caught up in her own musings, she might have noticed that Dylan’s horse was gone from the barn. He was out patrolling the summer pastures with two other Rangers that he’d called in for back up. He was convinced there would be another attack while the ranch was shorthanded during the round up. The timing matched the other attacks—overnight, usually with a full moon and the ranch owners away. Hard as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand, he too was distracted by what had happened earlier in the day.

  He didn’t know what came over him. He clearly desired Miranda, but there was more to it. Last night it had been all he could do to keep from taking over the foaling as he watched the pain and exhaustion etched in her face. He wanted to protect her, and yet he loved her spirit and that wild streak that set his teeth on edge. He wanted to wring her neck as often as he wanted to caress it.

  But Howie was right, he couldn’t start something he wasn’t going to finish. He wouldn’t be staying once these renegades were caught. And he was living a lie here at the ranch. Her brothers were the sort of men who probably wouldn’t blink twice if Miranda chose to marry a ranch hand—as long as he was honest and treated her right. But he wasn’t a ranch hand—he was a Texas Ranger. A few Rangers were married, but not many. It was tough on a wife and family, not knowing where their man was half the time, or if he was coming home at all. Whoa! What was he thinking? Marriage! Was he daft?

  His startling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hoof beats. Someone was riding this way, fast. He signaled his partners that he would check it out. If it were someone from the ranch, he didn’t want to blow his cover. He dismounted and backed into a clump of trees to watch. When the horse and rider came into view, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Miranda and Windfire were riding like a hungry mountain cat was chasing them. Together they sailed right over the fence line! My God, she was riding bare back and jumping fences like they were prairie mounds. His stomach clenched with fear. If she were thrown at that speed, she’d be killed for sure. And what the hell was she doing riding out alone after midnight? Now he was more than afraid for her, he was furious. He quickly mounted and went after her.

  Miranda was laughing out loud at the freedom she felt, riding like the wind—one with her horse and the night. She was so caught up in the experience she never heard Dylan thundering up behind her until suddenly she felt a steel band around her waist pull her off Windfire and set her down hard on his horse.

  “What the...” she swung her head around and saw Dylan. “Dylan—I should have known! Have you gone completely over the edge? I could have been trampled to death if you had dropped me—not to mention the injury you could have done to our horses if their legs had tangled!” She was spitting fire, but he would have none of it.

  “Shut up, Miranda!” The threat in his low growl was unmistakable, and Miranda bit off her next retort. But as soon as Dylan slowed his horse, she wrenched out of his hold and jumped to the ground, whistling for Windfire.

  Dylan was too fast for her. He grabbed her by both arms and shook her hard. “You don’t have the sense you were born with. Riding that animal bare back? In the middle of the night? What if you’d been thrown—you could lie out here for hours before anyone even came looking for you! What if you’d run into the renegades—your brothers had good reason for telling you to stay close to the house during the round up—the ranch is a prime target for attack right now! What were you thinking?” His words started to sink in, and Miranda trembled. But Dylan didn’t seem to notice, his tirade continued. “No, let me guess—you didn’t think! The spoiled brat wanted to ride, so off she goes without a thought in her head for the consequences!” Those words cut through Miranda—all she heard was the disgust in his tone—not the fear.

  “Let me go you brute! You’re not my keeper. I’ll ride when I damn well please, and you have nothing to say about it!” She was striking out, knowing she really didn’t have a defense. “What the hell do you care, anyway? I’m sick and tired of your arrogant manhandling! Let me go this instant!”

  That was it, something in Dylan snapped. “You want to know that I care—I’ll be more than happy to show you just how much, little girl. You seem to have forgotten my warning about what would happen if I ever caught you risking your safety again.”

  Miranda blanched. Dylan let go her arms and grabbed her at the knees, hauling her up over his sh
oulder like a sack of feed. She kicked and screamed and pounded his back with her fists. He landed several sharp slaps across her backside. “Knock it off, or you’re going to get it even worse. I intend to blister your backside but good, young lady, and the more you fight me, the longer we’ll be at it.” Then he unbuckled his belt as he carried her over to a fallen tree trunk.

  “Dylan, let me go. I’m not a child—you can’t do this. I won’t let you.” Dylan pulled his belt off and sat down on the log.

  “Just how do you plan to stop me?” he said as he slid her down off his shoulder and then maneuvered her over his knee. She grabbed his ankle to keep from falling. She turned to look up at him and saw the belt.

  “No!” she screamed and started fighting in earnest again. But he held her fast with an iron grip around her waist, and then swung his left leg over her kicking feet. She couldn’t move and now she was scared. Her defiance changed to pleading. “Dylan, please don’t do this. I’ll take more care—I promise!”

  “Too late for promises, brat!” And without another word, he swung the belt down hard across her backside. She gasped at the force of it and couldn’t help the yelp that came out of her mouth. But she was determined not to cry or show him how much it hurt.

  It only took a couple more licks before any protection her riding skirt might have offered was gone. His sure, steady blows were striping her bottom raw. She winced at each slap of the belt, and after ten her control was lost. The tears ran down her cheeks and all she felt was a mass of red-hot pain as the belt came down again and again. She begged Dylan to stop between sobs. She wasn’t even fully aware of when he stopped, but she finally heard the soft, caressing words through her sobbing.

  “It’s all right, it’s all over now—you’re going to be all right. Sh, take slow easy breaths now.” He released his hold on her and helped her to stand, rubbing her back and continuing his soothing words. She didn’t know which was worse, the pain radiating from her bottom or the humiliation of being spanked like a child by this man. She wanted to strike back, but she wanted to run more. He saw the look of flight in her eyes, just as he’d seen earlier in the barn after he kissed her. But this time she only got a few steps away before he caught her and held her tight to his chest.

  She tried to get loose, pounding on his chest. “I hate you!” she sobbed.

  He kept her close. “No you don’t,” he said softly. He held her tight until all the fight went out of her, and she was just quietly crying, her tears soaking his shirt. Then he loosened his hold and cradled her, running his fingers lightly through her hair.

  “Mandy, I’m sorry I had to spank you so hard, but, honey, you needed it. You nearly scared the life out of me when I saw you tearing across the pastures like that. All I could think of was what if you were hurt or killed?”

  She looked up at him and was amazed at what she saw. There was no arrogance or triumph in his look, only a depth of caring she’d never seen before in a man’s eyes. It reached down to her very soul and melted her heart. No, she didn’t hate this man—she loved him.

  Then he kissed her. It was a slow, languid kiss that first captured her lips, then her whole mouth and tongue till it overwhelmed her senses and she almost didn’t feel the pain in her backside anymore.

  The crack of a rifle shot split through the silence of the night. Miranda and Dylan stumbled apart as if they’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. “My God, that sounded like a gunshot!”

  “Miranda, stay here. I mean it—don’t move from this spot.” She started to protest, but he shot her a look that brooked no argument. Then he was on his horse, gun drawn, in full Texas Ranger mode.

  Dylan dismounted as he got close to the voices and crept up on foot. There were four of them dressed in black with bandanas covering their faces. One of the wild Mustangs was already down, and the next shot took down another. Dylan wasn’t sure where his partners were, but he knew they’d be drawn by the gunfire. He whistled into the air, mimicking a birdcall, listening for the return signal. A low howl, like a coyote off in the distance came back to him. His partners were in place. He took aim at the bandit with the rifle and shot him in the shoulder. Then Dylan and the other two Rangers came out of the trees. “Texas Rangers! Drop your weapons, now!” One of the other renegades turned to fire, and was taken down by two bullets. Slowly, carefully, the other two set their guns on the ground. Dylan started into the field to take the weapons when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Not so fast, lawman!”

  He turned, and what he saw sent his heart into his throat. A fifth gunman came out of the trees holding Miranda’s arms pulled up behind her back with a .45 to her head. Her lip was bloody, so obviously she hadn’t come easily. Her eyes were filled with terror, although at the sight of Dylan alive, there was some relief too.

  “Now, Mr. Texas Ranger, unless you want to see this pretty little thing’s brains splattered across the field like those horses, I suggest you and your boys put down your guns.” The bandit cocked the gun to prove he was serious.

  Dylan’s eyes locked on Miranda’s. There was fear, confusion and anguish as she had glanced at the dead horses. He sent her a look, urging her to trust him. She nodded imperceptibly. Then Dylan fired—taking the gunman down with a shot to the head.

  Dylan rushed to Miranda. Just as he got to her, she saw a flash. One of the other two renegades had gone for his gun and was aiming up at Dylan. “Dylan!” she screamed and pushed him down. Dylan rolled over and fired, at the same time one of the other Rangers did, too. They fired three times, but not before he got off one shot.

  At first she didn’t feel any pain—just pressure in her back as she collapsed to the ground. Then the sharp pain and sensation of burning flesh hit. She felt someone’s arms around her and heard her name in an anguished cry before everything went black.

  * * *

  It was three days before her fever broke and she finally came around. The bullet had caught her in the side and gone clean through—but infection set in, as it often did with bullet wounds, and she had to fight for her life. Dylan never left her side, even when her brothers got back and urged him to rest. He tried to give her his strength. He told her how much he needed her and wanted her.

  On the evening of the third day, he was staring out her bedroom window at another brilliant Texas sunset, praying. “I know I’m not much of a God-fearing man, but don’t take this woman. I think I love her.”

  “I think I love you too cowboy, or should I say Ranger?”

  The voice was weak, but he’d never heard sweeter words. “Miranda!”

  She tried to lift her head, but was hit with a flashing pain.

  “Don’t try to move, Mandy, you’ve been through a hell of a three days.”

  “Dylan, there’s not an inch of my body that doesn’t hurt right now.”

  “That’s nothing compared to the walloping you’re going to feel when you recover, young lady.” The words sounded stern, but Marcus had tears in his eyes as he said them, and a grin his face.

  David followed him into her room and winked at her. “Oh, I don’t know, big brother. I have a feeling that enforcing the law with Mandy may be Dylan’s job now.”

  They all laughed and Dylan reached over to lightly kiss her swollen lips.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she whispered.

  Chapter Three

  Miranda watched out her bedroom window till all she could see was a distant cloud of dust kicked up by Dylan’s horse. Tears shimmered under her lashes and she felt a physical ache that had nothing to do with her bullet wound.

  It had been a week since she came around from her infection-induced fever. Dylan had been at her side almost constantly, watching over every aspect of her recovery. He had been adamant that she not leave her bed until the doctor said it was safe, but he had kept her from going stir crazy. They had talked about everything—his life as a Ranger, her desire to be accepted as a veterinarian, and what might lie ahead in the future. She was in lo
ve with this man, and now he was gone, and she didn’t know when he’d be back.

  She knew Dylan had stayed as long as he possibly could after the renegades had been caught. He and his partners had questioned the two surviving bandits, but they didn’t get anything from them about who was behind the killing raids and why. She knew that worried Dylan and her brothers. The random slaughter of cattle and horses just didn’t make sense to any of the area ranchers. And without answers, whoever was behind the vicious killings might just hire another group of renegades to continue the attacks.

  But even with that possibility, Dylan was still called back to Houston. Texans with some honor had finally regained control of the state legislature and the Rangers were being restored to their pre-Civil War status as an independent law enforcement unit for the state. No longer would they be part of a fractious US army, which they had been absorbed into when Texas rejoined the Union. Even though the Union tried to make them soldiers, the Rangers still managed to keep their Texas independence.

  The legislature had created two separate units. Dylan expected to be assigned to a Frontier Battalion unit, which would deal with lawlessness in and around Texas communities—helping local sheriffs or being the arm of the law when there wasn’t local law enforcement. The other unit, the Special Force, would deal with Indian raids and keeping the borders safe against the Mexicans or any other invader.

  Dylan would request permanent assignment to Austin. Since it was now the established capitol, he figured there would definitely be a group of Rangers working out of the city. Any city growing as fast as Austin had more than its share of desperados.

  If he didn’t get the assignment he wanted, Dylan said he would just quit and work fulltime at the Double-R. Her brothers had made it clear he had a place at the ranch. But Dylan was second generation Texas Ranger—his father had been among the original Rangers in the 1830s. Miranda knew it would be really tough for him to give it up and it touched her heart that he was willing to do it for her.