by Jillian Hart
There was no way she was going to let Nick Gray see how frightened she was. Why were her hands shaking like that? She took a deep breath. The worse part was over, wasn’t it? The coyotes were gone. The child was safe.
Except Mariah could still feel the hot breath on her neck and the weight of the coyote on her back. One rein slipped through her fingers. She scrambled after it, dropping onto her knees.
“Mariah?” Nick’s horse halted at the side of her wagon. His shadow fell across her. “Are you okay?”
“I told you, I’m fine.” She had to be. What choice did she have? She wasn’t Georgie—she couldn’t lean into Nick’s arms and find comfort. She had no comfort anywhere in her life. The last thing she intended to do was to admit it. “Where did that blasted rein go?”
“Here. It’s on the ground.” Nick leaned forward in his saddle, leather creaking with his movements, and reached for the thick strap.
His big, sun-browned fingers snatched it, the movement masculine and commanding, and she hated noticing it. Noticing him.
He straightened, looking her up and down with his steel-blue eyes. No emotion flickered in their depths. “You’re in no shape to drive. Maybe you ought to rest a spell. Let me take you up to the house.”
“Sitting here isn’t going to get my laundry delivered.” Pretending that his concern didn’t matter, she snatched the leather strap from his gloved fingers. “You go back to Georgie and keep her safe this time.”
“Still as prickly as ever, aren’t you, Mariah?” His jaw tightened. “Fine. Have it your way. Sure you’re all right?”
“Positive.” She snapped the reins. “Goodbye, Mr. Gray.”
To his credit, Bad Boy moved forward, leaving Nick in a wake of dust. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the outline of him through the chalky cloud—lean and wide, all man.
She couldn’t help longing just a little. It mortified her to think that she still hid a yearning for him after ten long years. Time had changed her, drawn lines on her face and given her a shield around her heart. But inside she was still that young woman who wanted to believe in love. In possibilities. Who dared to wish that the handsome, dashing Nick Gray would fall in love with her.
But he would choose another.
It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. She tried to be sensible. She was no daydreaming child, so why did she feel the same as she had so long ago? Because when Nick looked at her, he probably saw what everyone else did. A cold, hard-hearted woman who’d never been courted.
Not once.
Bad Boy drifted to a halt in the middle of the road and she didn’t have the strength to scold him. She reached under the seat and found the gunnysack by feel.
“Mariah.” A broad warm hand lighted on her shoulder.
She jumped. An apple shot from her grip and rolled across the wagon floor. Why couldn’t he just leave her be?
Nick’s shadow fell across her, towering between her and the sun. “That was a real fight you put up. You have the right to be shaken up.”
“Me? Those coyotes didn’t want me. They wanted your daughter.”
“I know, Mariah, and like I said, I’m obliged to you.”
“You should have been watching her. You left her alone and she wasn’t safe. Georgie could have been killed.” She realized his hand was still on her shoulder, hot and comforting, and she shrugged away, breaking the connection. “What kind of father are you?”
“One who isn’t going to let that happen again.”
“See that you don’t.” She snapped the reins again, and this time Bad Boy moved, slow and stubborn.
“Your ox could use some training.” Nick rode past her to take the animal by the yoke and speed up his gait. “I’d be happy to work with him. Don’t know what else to offer you for rescuing Georgie like that.”
“I don’t want anything from you. That isn’t why I helped your little girl. Anyone passing by would have done the same.”
“Either way, you still need help with this ox.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“So, you don’t want my help. That’s nothing new.” Bad Boy slowed down and Nick gave a hard tug on the yoke. “The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true.”
Rumors? What rumors? Fury rolled through her, hot and fierce. See what came from trying to have a civil conversation with the man? Nick was bold and overbearing and couldn’t mind his own concern if she paid him to. “Let go of my ox.”
“I’m trying to thank you for saving my daughter’s life, and you won’t accept it.”
“I’m not uncharitable. I simply do not require any assistance.” It hurt her that he still thought so little of her.
Her chin shot up and she sent Bad Boy into a lope. Dust rose up to sting her eyes and the bouncing wagon rattled her bones, but it felt good to leave Nick Gray behind in the dust where he belonged.
She refused to feel sorry for her harsh words. Or for losing her temper. Nick had a real life, and he had children of his own to love.
She had no life at all, just her laundry business and a house that echoed with loneliness.
When she looked over her shoulder, he was still in the middle of the road, watching her, the dust settling around him like mist.
The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true. Nick believed that and so did nearly everyone in the entire county. Oh, she could probably figure out what people thought. She was strong and iron-willed and prickly…and far too independent for any man to show any interest in her. Well, that was true enough. She didn’t need any man. She was getting along just fine. She had her own business, her own home and her own ox and wagon.
You should have let Nick help you, Mariah. She closed her eyes briefly against the glare of the sun and certainly not because of the stinging sensation behind her lids. Nothing good would have come from letting Nick Gray train the ox. Not one thing.
She had to be practical. Had to accept the kind of woman she was. She was meant to be alone. Not everyone had a heart that could love.
So it couldn’t be her heart that was hurting as she turned the wagon toward the Dayton ranch, late for her next delivery.
Chapter Two
Holding his gelding steady, Nick watched Mariah disappear in a trail of dust. That woman could get his dander up like no other, that was for sure. Not even his late wife could get him het up so fast as the Spinster Scott could. Maybe he didn’t like independent-minded women, but what other woman would have battled coyotes to protect his little girl without wanting so much as a thank-you?
Hell, it would have been civil of her to accept his gratitude. She could have taken him up on his offer to train her young ox. But, no, not Mariah.
He swept off his hat in exasperation and raked his fingers through his hot, sweaty hair. The air felt good, almost as good as the relief of knowing his little girl was safe and sound and in his brother’s care.
The wind warmed him, but that wasn’t enough to stop his shivering. The image of hungry coyotes circling Georgie and Mariah chilled him to the meat of his bones.
“Darn lucky she came along when she did,” his brother Will commented as he handed Georgie over. “No other woman in the county could do what she did. Miss Mariah Scott is tougher than a bad-tempered grizzly. Even those danged coyotes know it.”
“So they say.” Grim, Nick cuddled his little girl to his chest. What would have happened to her alone in this field? He was damn glad he’d come along when he did. Glad his son had run to him, telling of Georgie’s escape.
Best thing to do would be to head home and give Georgie that serious talking-to she needed, but there was Mariah’s wagon, tiny in the distance. He could still barely make it out, a small brown dot rolling along the expansive prairie. As he watched, her vehicle dipped down a rise and out of sight.
Mariah Scott. He hadn’t cause to think of her in a long while. But he thought of her now.
“Pa, I want down. That lady said I could go with her and her ox.
”
“I’m here now and so I’ll give you a ride on my horse.”
“But you don’t love me.” Georgie’s sob rattled through her. “My mama does.”
A well-honed blade could not cut his heart this deep. Nick grimaced. He held his daughter with more gentleness. Searched for words that would explain this fierce jumble of pain inside him. And failed.
He didn’t have the words. He didn’t need to ask Georgie where she’d been heading. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, running off in search of her mother gone and buried.
Poor Georgie. Lida’s death had hurt her the most of all. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her sunbonnet, willing to do anything to take away her grief. “I love you, baby.”
She sighed deeply, feeling frail and ready to break. Such a little girl, and not even his comfort seemed to help her. Georgie’s arms wrapped tight around his neck. “Is heaven long gone and far away?”
“Very far away. Not even my horse can get us there. If I could, I’d take you to see your ma. It just can’t be done.”
Georgie’s arms tightened, her face pressed hard against his throat. “Not even an ox can get there?”
“Nope.”
Georgie wiped her tears on his collar and said nothing more.
He held her, all sweetness, until the big house came into view. The orchard’s gnarled black branches shielded the porch from sight, but he knew his son was waiting there, too small to be seen from a distance but keeping careful watch.
Sure enough, there was Joey, darting into the path between the trees. Worry was stark on his pale face and his blond locks were waving on the wind.
Nick’s chest punched. Joey had always been a serious boy, with a frown between his brows when he considered something mightily. But in the three weeks since Lida’s death, he’d changed.
Their lives had changed.
Joey planted his boots and shook a finger at his sister. “You can’t go runnin’ off like that. You’re in big trouble, Georgie.”
“I am not!” Her mouth compressed into a tough line. “You are.”
“The both of you, code of silence, right now.” Nick knew he sounded too stern and too tired.
He was just wrung out, that was all. He was at the end of his rope dangling by a fraying thread, and he had to hang on. His children and this ranch needed him. Look at Joey, all twisted up with worry, shivering in the cool wind. His trousers were wrinkled, his boots scuffed, his jacket crumpled and hanging crooked on his shoulders. “Joey, button up that coat and go to the house.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a tired look to the boy, as if Lida’s death had used him up, too.
Nick wanted to curse her for her choice to leave the children like this. Wanted to hate her. At least he’d been the one to find her, crumpled in the field near the small grave where they’d buried her baby last fall. A baby he knew wasn’t his.
Bitterness filled his craw and he tamped down a blinding rage he refused to give in to. The woman was dead. She’d suffered enough in this life, and he’d torn himself inside out trying to make her happy.
Georgie whimpered against him, bringing him back to the present, cuddling close. Her hold on his neck was choking tight.
It hurt, seeing her like this. Hurt worse to hand her over to his father, who ambled out on the porch, looking frayed and exhausted.
“Glad you found her, son.” Pop nodded once in approval, said nothing more as he settled Georgie in his arms.
She cried, begging for her mama.
Pain twisted in him like a knife. He felt torn and lost and defeated. So damn defeated. Georgie pushed at Pop, struggling to get down. Georgie didn’t understand death, and by God, neither did he. He’d never understand Lida’s actions, so how could he explain to a child?
Georgie was hurting, and he dismounted, leaving his horse standing in the cold. Took the porch steps in two long strides. Had Georgie clutched against him by the third, taking her from Pop’s arms and into his own.
“Pa,” Georgie wept against his flannel collar. “Mama left.”
“I know, princess.” He kissed her brow, and wisps of her silken hair caught on his whiskered chin. He’d forgotten to shave again.
Hell, he was forgetting everything. The world was crumbling into bits around his boots. None of it seemed to matter as he cradled his daughter to his chest, holding her as gingerly as when she’d been newborn.
There was nothing but the sound of her broken sobs and the echo of his heels on the parlor floor. The scrape of the rocker as he eased into the chair. The squeak of a spring. And the feel of heartbreak.
He held Georgie tight and rocked her until there was only silence.
Will emerged from the shadowed depths of the barn. “How’s Georgie?”
“Asleep.” Nick yanked on the stall door. It didn’t give, the damn thing. The hinge was sprung, leaving the wood door jammed into the frame. He kicked it hard, and wood scraped against wood, freeing the door, but not his frustration.
He could still feel Georgie curled against his chest, sobbing so hard her little body shook.
He hurt for her. Would take every grief, every anguish, every bit of pain from her if he could. The door crashed against the wall. The loud crack startled the mare in the stall. She whinnied and sidestepped, her head lifting high in alarm.
That’s it, Nick. Scare the horse while you’re at it. He pushed aside all thoughts of Georgie, but not his troubles. The feel of her sobs stayed with him as he reached for the mare’s bridle, speaking low.
He was in trouble. Up a creek without a paddle at the mouth of a waterfall. He was wise enough to know the plunge would be swift and lethal. He wasn’t on the boat alone. His children were with him.
Will plopped a saddle on the nearby four-by-four. “You look troubled, big brother.”
“Real sharp of you to notice.” Nick kept his voice gruff, because it kept the young man in line. “Got enough ammunition in that pack of yours?”
“I’m packed and waitin’ for you.” Cocky, Will tipped his hat. “You know what you need?”
“A clean blanket. Fetch me one, will you?” Nick slid the brush over the mare’s withers in a few quick swipes. Her tail swished side to side, calmer now, but he couldn’t say the same.
Something had to change. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t last another week like this. Neither could the children.
“Know what you need, big brother?”
“A foreman that does more work than talking?”
“Funny. What you need to solve all your problems is another wife.” Will tossed the blanket.
“A wife, huh?” Nick caught it and smoothed the length of wool into place. “Just goes to show what you know. A wife doesn’t solve troubles. She’s the source of ’em.”
“A little bitter, huh?” Will hoisted the saddle easily onto the mare’s back. “Matrimony isn’t supposed to be bliss, from what I hear. Torture or not, it is something you’re gonna have to do sooner or later, so why wait?”
Nick hated it when his brother was right. Jaw clenched tight, he unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn, letting it swing into place. He’d be the first to admit life had been damn near impossible with Lida, but without her…
“Pa?” Joey ambled into sight with his Stetson crooked, jacket still open, shirt half untucked. He looked uncertain and small and…nine years old. Hell, he was a boy missing his mother.
Leaving Will to cinch the saddle, Nick came down on one knee. “What is it, cowboy?”
“Georgie’s sleepin’. I’m gonna make sure she doesn’t run off again.” So serious, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Nick put his hand there, on the slim curve of his son’s shoulder. One day Joey would be a good man, strong and hardworking and upstanding. The man he would be was easy to see in the boy, his chin set fierce and determined.
Nick’s chest ached. He wanted life to be better for his son. “You’re a good brother, but your grandfather is responsible
for watching Georgie. You want to come riding with us?”
“Grandpop falls asleep sometimes.” Joey bit his bottom lip with indecision. He glanced over his shoulder at the house. “I’d best stay and watch over them both, I reckon.”
There’d been a time when the boy never turned down the chance to ride his horse on the range. Another thing Lida had stolen from him.
What am I going to do about Joey? Nick had no answer as he watched the boy amble back to the house, his boots dragging in the dirt. Would a new wife make a difference? A woman to lift the burden from Joey’s shoulders?
A housekeeper couldn’t do it. It would merely be a job to her, and one day she’d leave for a better opportunity.
No, his children deserved more than that. Needed more than that. They deserved stability and commitment. A woman who would always be there for them.
Joey disappeared from sight. The door slammed behind him, the smack of wood on wood carrying on the wind, sounding lonely and final and accusing. The image of Mariah Scott, holding Georgie in her arms, flashed into Nick’s thoughts.
Nope. Forget it. If he had his way, there would never be another woman in his life. Ever.
Will handed over the reins. “Children need a mother to grow up happy.”
“You’re an expert?”
“Not from personal experience, but I am a keen observer.”
“Of pretty women, maybe.” Nick gathered the reins and shot his foot into the stirrup.
“A pretty woman is one of life’s necessities. Another is a wife who can cook. We can’t keep eating our brother’s cooking. Dakota is likely to kill us with that slop he calls food.”
“Mount up. We’ve got cattle to check on. Save your great wisdom for someone who needs it.”
“If anyone needs wisdom, it’s you, big brother.”
“I’m wise enough to know I shouldn’t listen to you.” Nick eased into the saddle. “Are you comin’?”
Leather creaked as Will mounted up. “Know what you ought to do? Go to the fund-raiser they’ve got tonight for the town school. There’ll be plenty of women there. Maybe one of them wouldn’t mind getting married to an ugly cuss like you.”