Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  “Rustlers?”

  “He didn’t mention it, but it’s always at the back of any rancher’s mind, and then there’s the occasional poacher who kills a cow here and there.”

  “Does your sister know what kind of strain her tuition to that fancy school has put on the ranch?”

  “Excuse me?” Mariah jerked her head up.

  “The cost of your sister’s schooling in Philadelphia would pay three men’s wages for a year and then some.” He thumbed through the ledger.

  She took a deep breath. The last time they’d had this conversation, Slade hadn’t given her a chance to explain. Maybe now was the time to clear the air about Amanda. Surely he’d be more understanding if he knew the truth. “Slade, Amanda’s—”

  “If you want to send your sister to a finishing school so she can find a rich husband, I guess that’s your business, but to let the ranch go under is beyond me.”

  Mariah’s jaw dropped as she stared at him. He really didn’t care to learn the reason she’d sacrificed everything to send Amanda to Philadelphia. She crossed her arms. Well, if he didn’t want to know, she wouldn’t go out of her way to tell him. It wasn’t any of his business.

  “Amanda doesn’t know anything about the trouble the ranch has had, and if I have my way, she won’t ever know. I’m glad I sent her to Philadelphia, and if I had it to do over again, I would.”

  She grabbed the coffeepot and stomped out of the office.

  Why did Slade have to keep bringing up her sister? For once, just once, she wished he might ask why Amanda was in Philadelphia.

  It all boiled down to money or the lack of it. Her brow creased as a Bible verse entered her thoughts. “The love of money is the root of all evil.”

  Did Slade’s preoccupation with the cost of Amanda’s schooling stem from his impoverished childhood and the desire to regain everything he’d lost?

  It seemed that with every step she and Slade took toward reconciliation, their pasts hammered a thicker wedge between them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Mariah winced with every slam of Slade’s hammer out at the corral. He’d been at it all day, and the incessant hammering had frayed her nerves to no end. It didn’t help that she’d tossed and turned all night after their altercation over the Lazy M accounts.

  She started to turn away from the window when a movement down the road caught her attention. She stood on tiptoes and peered past the windowsill, trying to make out the visitor coming up the lane. The smart black two-seater with a fringed canopy could only belong to Frederick.

  An uncomfortable knot of unease formed in her stomach.

  She turned from the window and faced the sweltering kitchen. Slade and Buck could arrive for supper at any time. But there was no way she could avoid this visit, even though she wanted to. She hurried to the stove, stirred the pot of stew, and closed the damper to a tiny crack.

  A twinge of guilt shot through her. She hadn’t even thought about Frederick’s proposal. She’d been too distracted by Slade and Buck’s arrival, the shock of losing the ranch, and what the future held for her and her grandmother.

  An unwanted proposal had been the least of her worries the last few days. What would she tell him? How could she convince him she wasn’t interested? She resolved to be polite and treat him with kindness. And she would tell him no for the last time. Since she’d be leaving for Philadelphia in the next month or so, he’d forget about her and find someone else to marry.

  As Mariah made her way to the front door, she smoothed back her flyaway hair and feathered her fingers over her face and shirtwaist, brushing away dustings of flour. In the hall, she paused, closed her eyes, and whispered a quick prayer.

  “Lord, help Frederick accept once and for all that I can’t marry him. Please help him move on and find someone else to share his life with.”

  At his knock, she swung the door open and offered him a wide smile. “Frederick. What a surprise.”

  “Afternoon, Mariah.” Frederick tipped his hat and stepped over the threshold. Mariah stepped back but wasn’t quick enough. He snagged her elbow and leaned down. She turned her head just in time. His lips, cool and dry, brushed her cheek.

  “How was your trip to Laramie?”

  “Better than expected.” He smiled. “A couple of deals were very lucrative.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yes, very good news.” He laughed.

  She led him into the parlor, noticing the shabbiness of the room. A musty odor permeated the area, even though she’d aired the room last week. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t ashamed of her dwelling.

  Then she remembered. It wasn’t her home anymore. It belonged to Slade. With a heavy heart, she motioned to one of the chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

  He eased down on the horsehair settee. At least his clothes were black, so the horsehair wouldn’t show up too much. His gaze traveled around the room to the faded curtains and the battered furniture that had seen better days. He turned toward her again, a considering look on his face. “You know, Mariah, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t pour money into this old house now that you’ve sold the place.”

  There hadn’t been any money to spend on the house in years. The doctors in Laramie and Philadelphia had seen to that. But Frederick didn’t need to know how desperately she’d hoarded every penny.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  He crossed his legs, flicking an imaginary speck of lint off one pressed trouser leg. An unexpected visual of Slade dressed in dusty boots and a sweaty shirt, pounding nails to mend the corral, flitted through her mind. Somehow she couldn’t help but compare the two men, and in many ways Frederick came up lacking.

  “Mariah, I want to apologize for what I said the other day in town. It sounded like I didn’t trust your judgment about selling the ranch. I know you did the right thing. I hope you’re keeping the money at the bank and not out here.” He lifted a brow in silent question.

  “Um . . . it’s not here; I’ll grant you that.” She pleated her skirt with her fingers, dreading the moment when he asked her once again to marry him.

  “I knew I could count on you to be sensible.” He leaned forward. “As a matter of fact, this turn of events has made me consider selling out and moving back east.”

  Mariah gasped, stunned by his sudden announcement. “You’d do that? Just up and sell your land? But you’ve only been here a few years.”

  “I’ve decided I’m not cut out to be a rancher. I’m much more suited to the city.” He waved a hand. “We can be married within the week and on our way to Philadelphia. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.”

  Mariah stood, trying to make sense of this new development. While the thought of turning all her worries over to Frederick had its appeal, she couldn’t marry him. She didn’t love him, and she couldn’t see herself spending the rest of her life by his side. It wouldn’t be fair to mislead him into thinking otherwise.

  “Frederick, I’m sorry; I can’t accept your proposal.”

  A fancy rig with a well-appointed mare sat in front of the house. Slade admired the horse. Whoever had come to call knew good horseflesh. He walked around to the back porch, washed up, and followed the smell of beef stew and baking bread into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively.

  Mrs. Malone looked up from her seat at the table, a frown of concentration knitting her brow. The sound of muted voices floated in from the parlor.

  “Evening, ma’am.”

  “Slade.” She shifted in her seat and waved a hand at the stove. “Stir that pot of stew, young man. I thought Mariah would be back by now, but it sounds like Frederick intends to stay awhile.”

  Slade dipped a ladle into the pot and stirred. “Who’s Frederick?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it.

  “Frederick Cooper. Owns land north of the Lazy M. Kind of a newcomer. He seems nice enough, but a bit of a dandy if you ask me. I have to admit th
at when Seth took sick, he was a godsend. Made sure we had plenty of help around the place, that we lacked for nothing.”

  Slade forked up a chunk of meat. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of the tender morsel.

  “He’s been after Mariah to marry him for a coon’s age.”

  The fork froze in midair. Funny, Mariah hadn’t said anything at all about Cooper when she’d insisted on taking the first train out of Wisdom or when he’d asked her why she wasn’t married. She hadn’t even mentioned the man.

  Suddenly he remembered where he’d heard the name. Frederick Cooper had recommended Mariah hire Red Harper. Slade dropped the meat back into the pot, scowling. He’d lost his appetite.

  “Frederick, please!” Mariah’s distressed voice pierced the air.

  The hair on the back of Slade’s neck stood on end, and he clenched his fist. He glanced at Mrs. Malone. She sat, her head cocked to one side as if listening for more. The low rumble of Cooper’s voice floated to them, but Slade couldn’t make out the words.

  “See what’s going on.” Resolve flickered across Mrs. Malone’s face. “Make him leave if you have to.”

  “It’s not my place, ma’am . . . especially if Mariah intends to marry him.”

  “Haven’t you heard a word I said? Just because a man asks doesn’t mean a woman plans to say yes. Oh, fiddlesticks.” She started to heave herself up. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Never mind. I’ll handle it.” Slade gently pushed her down.

  He strode toward the parlor and rapped on the door. He was turning the knob at the same time Mariah called out a breathless “Come in.”

  Slade stepped through the door just in time to see Cooper let go of Mariah’s arm. She stepped away and wrapped her arms around her slender waist, not meeting Slade’s questioning glance. But he didn’t miss the way she rubbed the tender flesh above her elbow. A jolt of protectiveness surged through him, and he clenched his fist. Had Cooper hurt her?

  He studied the man at her side, taking in the expensive coat, gold watch chain, and polished boots.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.” A smile crossed Cooper’s face, creasing his thin lips but not reaching his eyes. “Frederick E. Cooper’s the name. I own the spread north of here.”

  “Slade Donovan.”

  Cooper’s brows lifted as he in turn raked Slade from head to toe, taking in his worn shirt and dusty boots. “The new owner of the Lazy M?”

  Slade nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. I didn’t realize who you were.” The smile grew into a mocking grin. “Been out supervising the hands, have you?”

  “You might say that.” He turned to Mariah. “Supper’s getting cold.”

  “I take it that’s my cue to leave.” Cooper focused his attention on Mariah.

  “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

  Slade crossed his arms and waited. Was it wishful thinking that made Mariah’s offer sound less than enthusiastic?

  “Thank you for the kind invitation, but I must be on my way. I’ll be back in a few days when you’ve had time to think about my proposal.” Cooper eyed Slade even as he pressed his lips against the back of Mariah’s hand. “I’ll let myself out. Give your grandmother my regards.”

  Cooper strode across the room, face devoid of the amusement he’d displayed for Mariah. A cold, calculating mask shuttered his features as he brushed past Slade.

  Neither Slade nor Mariah moved until they heard the front door close.

  Slade turned to Mariah. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She lifted a hand and smoothed back a wayward strand of hair. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t look fine.” His chin jutted. “Did he threaten you?”

  “No, of course not.” Her laugh sounded strained. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Didn’t sound like any proposal I’ve ever heard.”

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  “No. You were just overly loud.”

  She bit her lip. “I turned him down, and he became, uh, persistent.”

  “Why?”

  “What kind of question is that? He wants to marry me because he loves me.”

  “Do you believe that?” He scowled.

  She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had, but the thought of her marrying the man who’d just left turned his stomach.

  “Why else would he want to marry me?”

  “Maybe he wants your land. Have you ever thought about that?”

  Mariah grabbed her skirts and pushed past him, eyes flashing. “Well, that’s certainly something you’d know all about, isn’t it?”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Slade’s question reverberated through Mariah’s head as she cleaned up the kitchen after supper. She slapped a pan hard against the stove and winced at the clatter. She’d wake her grandmother if she didn’t get her emotions under control.

  Why had Slade asked her that?

  He didn’t have a high opinion of any of the Malones, other than her grandmother. He thought her father a thief, her sister a spendthrift, and that Mariah herself was incapable of running the ranch. But did he think she was unlovable as well?

  Hot tears stung her eyes. She wanted to slam another pot against the stove but resisted the urge.

  Frederick had been after her to marry him for almost a year. No man would wait that long unless he cared about a woman. Would he? Slade must be addle-brained to think Frederick wanted something other than marriage. He had a fine house and plenty of land of his own. He didn’t need hers.

  She winced. She no longer had any land.

  But Frederick didn’t know that.

  She let her hands drop into the dishwater and stared out the window, absently focusing on a twinkling star hanging low in the sky.

  Could it be possible that Frederick had never loved her and only wanted the land as Slade suggested? It wasn’t so far-fetched. More than one man had come calling after her father had died, making no bones that they wanted to get their hands on the Lazy M. Could Slade be right about Frederick?

  There was one way to find out.

  The next time he asked her to marry him—if there was a next time—she could tell him there was no money. If he truly cared about her, he wouldn’t mind that her family was destitute.

  Her heart stuttered against her rib cage. Was proving Slade wrong worth revealing the truth to Frederick?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “LET’S CUT OUR LOSSES.”

  A rumble of agreement sounded among the motley group of men gathered in the shack, lantern light barely casting enough of a glow to tell who’d spoken. Red squinted, recognizing the haggard-looking drifter Emmit had met in a saloon over in Laramie.

  Emmit lifted his head, eyes narrowed, flat and black like the sky before a freak storm. When he was gambling, Emmit could keep a poker face until the cows came home, but tonight he held all the cards, and there was no need to fool anybody in the room.

  “You think so, Slick?”

  Red tensed. A storm was brewing for sure.

  “Yeah, boss.” Slick leaned against the wall by the door, looking like a stiff wind might blow him over. “It was one thing to skim cattle off that girl and her grandma because nobody was the wiser, but since Donovan’s bought her out, it’s too risky.”

  “And just what do you plan to do with the cattle we rebranded?” Emmit spared Red a glance. “How long before those brands are healed and we can move them?”

  “Another week, maybe two.”

  “So we just take off, leave two hundred head of cattle with my brand on them for Donovan to find?” Emmit smiled—if you could call it that. More of a snarl, really. Red didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Not one bit.

  He’d like to get out too, but Emmit had a point.

  Slick didn’t answer, and Emmit stood, his fancy waistcoat at odds with the dusty, trail-worn clothes the other men wore. “Giff, you and the others move the cattle to the canyon tom
orrow night. Donovan won’t look for them there. When they heal, we’ll get rid of them, and we’ll be done here. Red, you stick around the ranch and keep an eye on Donovan.”

  Red breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to move the stolen cattle this time. The whole business gave him ulcers.

  “I’ll just mosey on down the road, if it’s all right with you fellers.” Slick straightened, jammed his hat tighter on his head, and turned for the door. “It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Slick?”

  “Yeah?” Slick seemed oblivious to the hard, cold tone, but Red didn’t miss the deadly calm in his brother’s voice.

  “Nobody walks out on this job until I say so.”

  The room spun in slow motion, and the men eased to the side, leaving a clear path between Emmit and Slick. Red’s stomach clenched. Something was different in Emmit’s voice. Something deadly, menacing. Something he’d never heard before. He needed to stop his brother.

  But he knew he couldn’t stop Emmit.

  Emmit was a loose cannon packed tight with coiled rattlers when he was mad. He simmered, then exploded, lashing out with lightning speed when the storm hit.

  “Emmit—”

  The blast of a Colt 45 drowned out Red’s protest.

  “Cookie’s here, Grandma,” Mariah called as she grabbed her Bible and checked her hair one last time. “Ready?” she asked as her grandmother tottered out into the hall.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. I hope Reverend Winston can keep his mind on the sermon today. Ain’t never seen a man unable to keep his eyes off his wife like that. And him a preacher and all.”

  “Oh, Grandma, Reverend Winston and Sally are still practically newlyweds. I guess he just can’t help himself.”

  “Well, if you ask me, he needs to get his mind on his sermons.”

  She helped her grandmother down the steps and called out, “Good morning, Cookie.”

  “Morning.”

  She jerked her head up. Slade Donovan stood beside the buggy, not Cookie. A sinking sensation curled in the pit of her stomach.