The Cowboy Takes a Bride

by Lori Wilde

  Could she ever wash away the stain of loving him?

  Joe climbed into his truck and drove off.

  Cordy was still there. Still waiting.

  She couldn’t deal with him. Not now. Without a word, Ila fled to her pickup.

  Cordy didn’t call to her. He just let her go.

  Ila didn’t even remember driving home. She staggered into the house. Stripped off her dress. The dress she’d worn for Joe’s sake. In her underwear, she scissored the dress. Cut it to ribbons. A madwoman running with scissors.

  Then she turned the scissors on herself, hacking at her long, dark hair. Cutting and snipping until she was completely winded. Then she sank to the floor, sobbing her heart out. Tossed the scissors into the pile of her hair.

  After a time, she became aware of a soft knocking at her door.

  Joe? leaped her crazy heart.

  She got up, answered the door in her bra and panties.

  It wasn’t Joe standing on her porch, but Cordy.

  He looked at her with such empathy it hurt her teeth. His eyes took in her savaged haircut, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.

  “Can I come in?” he murmured.

  A paraphrased version of Mick Jagger wisdom whispered in her head. Hey, if you can’t get what you want, maybe you could accept what you need.

  Ila didn’t hesitate. She reached out, took Cordy by the wrist, and led him to her bed.

  Chapter Ten

  You love what you love.

  —Dutch Callahan

  Mariah awoke at dawn the following morning with one thought in her mind. Those feelings she’d had last night for Joe Daniels were nothing more than the tipsy legacy of a couple of glasses of wine and a rush of adrenaline. She’d been right about him the first time. He was a cynical reprobate with a hair-trigger temper, given to explosive fistfights in bars. She didn’t need that kind of headache in her life.

  Scared much?

  She batted away that thought. Last night, she’d received two offers. She had options now that she hadn’t had a few days ago and she pondered them as she took her shower.

  She could take Clover’s offer of a cocktail waitress job at the Silver Horseshoe. Or she could sell the land to Lee Turpin right now and leave Jubilee forever.

  On the surface, it looked like a no-brainer. Take the money and run.

  But although she didn’t condone Joe’s behavior at the honky-tonk, Lee Turpin gave her the creeps. Dutch hadn’t liked him and he wouldn’t have wanted him to have the property. A sense of loyalty she hadn’t suspected she possessed welled up inside her. Some might say she was stupid for such loyalty and if she was going that far, why not turn the ranch into the equine facility for disadvantaged children per Dutch’s last wishes?

  She didn’t owe her father anything. Or Joe for that matter, yet she couldn’t in good conscience turn Stone Creek over to a jerk like Turpin. From the looks of it, she had a job waiting for her tonight at the Silver Horseshoe or she’d face the firing squad of her own conscience.

  After getting dressed, she padded barefooted into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on to boil for tea. She stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster and turned to get strawberry jam out of the refrigerator. From her peripheral vision she saw something whizz past the window. A blur headed in the direction of her barn.

  Curious, she turned off the stove, slipped her feet into slippers, grabbed a sweater, and ambled outside. She hadn’t had time to really check out the horse barn since she’d moved in. She heard a whinny, walked around the side of the house, and found the stallion.

  Mariah inhaled sharply.

  He was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. He possessed a small, refined head with a straight, regal profile, strong muscular chest, and forceful hindquarters. His coat was sorrel, his mane jet black. His eyes were as dark as his hair.

  He tossed his head, looked Mariah squarely in the face, and pushed straight toward her.

  Mesmerized, she held out a hand. “Hello there, handsome.”

  Mariah’s heart melted. She fell instantly, magically in love. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered, and reached up to scratch him behind the ears. “You are a charming boy.”

  The past was a hook, pulling her headlong into memory. She’d forgotten that she knew things about horses. Indigenous things that had escaped her notice. Horses were in her blood, in her sinew, in the very marrow of her bones. She’d simply misplaced this easy truth.

  One look into Miracle’s eyes and she was catapulted into a joyous reunion with the girl she used to be.

  Mariah recalled being very young, three or four, and breaking free from her mother’s hand to fly across a pasture, hair streaming out behind her, skirt molding against her legs as she ran, her little red cowgirl boots sinking into the sand. Laughing, Dutch had snagged her around the waist, picked her up, and swung her onto a horse much like this one.

  She recollected Dutch holding her little hand in his big one at a horse auction. The auctioneer jabbering so fast it made Mariah a little dizzy. The dusty air smelling of horses. Her daddy smelling of leather. He’d bought her pink cotton candy earlier, and some of it stuck to her pinafore.

  Another memory spliced into that one. A dance hall. With Dutch and Cassie. Her parents doing the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”; Mariah balanced on Dutch’s shoulders, clapping her hands in time to the music. On the table where they’d been sitting before sliding onto the dance floor sat Stuffy. Dutch had just won him in his first cutting competition in an unsanctioned match.

  For one amazing moment, the entire world made sense. It was as if she understood the meaning of everything. And love was all that there was.

  Splendor filled her lungs, expanded her heart. She remembered how connected her father had been to horses, how he’d shared his love with her. The memory, the realization was so heartbreakingly sweet her body felt suspended, as if by an invisible guy wire, connecting the past to the present.

  “Dad,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around Miracle’s neck. “I miss you so much.”

  She stood for a long time, her face buried in the horse’s mane, feeling the throb of the pulse in his neck, tasting the salty flavor of sadness and regret thick on her tongue, her feet grounded solidly into the earth. This place that now belonged to her.

  Then without warning, Miracle’s heart rate picked up, his pulse quickening beneath her fingers. He flicked his ears, let loose with a snort, his eyes rolled wild, and he lurched sidewise, throwing Mariah off balance.

  “What is it?” she cried, sensing something was terribly wrong with the stallion. “What’s wrong?”

  Miracle yanked away, pulling against her restraining hand, pawed the ground, chuffed out a lungful of air, and then turned and galloped off.

  Mariah glanced down. A snake, as big around as a quarter and at least three feet long, sat curled up on a rock with its mouth wide open.

  Snake!

  Sheer terror drowned her.

  The snake shook its tail, making a rough rattling sound. For one horrifying second, her heart stopped beating.

  Rattlesnake! Move! Run!

  Her stomach pitched like a boat on class-four rapids spilling over a waterfall. Another memory sprang into her mind so vividly clear she could taste the coppery flavor of her own fear. A memory she’d completely blocked out until this moment. It played through her head in freakish slow motion as the snake swayed back and forth hypnotically.

  It was the day Dutch had let her ride on her own pony all by herself. He’d ridden with her, cooing to her mount in a gentle tone, leading the way. They traversed a pasture much like this one. She remembered the sunlight had caught the metal of the bridle, reflected a prism of light. She’d been enthralled with the light and the fact that she was such a big girl, riding a horse all by herself. Sparkly light, sparkly little-girl happiness.

  Then she’d heard the deadly rattling, just as it now echoed in the dewy dawn.

  The horse had reared up in terror, bucking her off.<
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  Mariah had hit the ground with a jarring thud, falling within inches of the rattlesnake. She knew it was going to kill her.

  Then the bone-chilling crack of pistol shattered the air, along with the acrid smell of smoke. Dutch had shot the rattlesnake just as it coiled to strike.

  But Dutch wasn’t here to save her.

  Not this time.

  The snake struck. Hit her ankle. Sank its teeth into her tender skin.

  Mariah shrieked, jerked back, felt her flesh tear as tiny needles of pain shot up through her leg. Blood, hot and sticky, tracked down her ankle into her slipper.

  Her pulse pumped hard and fierce, booming in her ears, a terrible drumming so loud she couldn’t collect her thoughts. A rattlesnake had bitten her!

  The snake danced back and forth. Taunting. Its tongue slithering from its atrocious mouth.

  This was it. She was going to die. She was out here alone without a weapon. If she ran back to the house, she’d send the venom shooting through her blood. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This was it. Her last day on earth. There was so much she regretted. So many things she’d done wrong. Was this how Dutch had felt just before he died? Had he known the pneumonia was killing him? Why hadn’t he sought treatment? He’d written that letter and given it to Art Bunting. Made his last intentions known. Why?

  The snake slithered away, its evil work done, leaving a foul odor behind it.

  Thank God, it was gone. With the lessening pain in her ankle, she was able to hobble toward the metal horse fence and brace herself against it.

  Don’t panic. Stay calm.

  She’d always been good at staying calm. It was one of the things Destiny had admired most about her.

  Yes, but it wasn’t easy to be calm when your darkest fear had come to pass.

  Sweat coated her body. Was excessive sweating a symptom of a snakebite? Was her heart going to explode? Her mouth was dry. Her mind in chaos. She tried to yell, to holler for help, but when she opened her mouth no words came out.

  She was too afraid to examine the bite. Her cheeks were cold, her hands hot. Was this normal? She had to shake it off. Get to a phone. Why hadn’t she brought her cell phone with her?

  The sound of a truck engine rumbled in the distance.

  Joe?

  Relief washed over her. Joe had come looking for Miracle. But what if he found the horse without coming to the barn?

  She heard the truck approach, the engine stop, the door close. “Joe!”

  “Mariah?”

  “I’m here, out back. Near the barn.”

  “What’s wrong?” he hollered.

  “I’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake.”

  Almost instantly, Joe appeared around the corner of the house, running at full tilt. His face blanched pale. He rushed to where she stood. “Where were you bitten? How long ago?”

  “My right ankle. It just happened.”

  Immediately, he bent at the waist, his hands going to her ankle. He yanked the slipper from her foot, his hands probing the bite. It was sore, but not terribly painful.

  Suddenly, a hearty laugh of urgent relief rolled out of him and she felt the tension ease from his grip.

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped.

  “This isn’t a rattlesnake bite.”

  “It’s not?” She leaned over, pushing her hair from her eyes, and tried to peer around him to get a good look at her ankle. “But I saw the snake.”

  “Did it rattle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it sound like this?” He thumped a crunch of autumn leaves on the ground and produced a rattling noise.

  “Yes.”

  “Certain nonvenomous snakes will shake their tails against something, trying to make you think they’re rattlesnakes so you’ll be warned off and leave them alone.”

  “Stupid defense mechanism if you ask me. People tend to kill venomous snakes. Are you sure it’s not a rattlesnake bite?”

  “How bad does it hurt?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. “Now that I’ve calmed down.”

  “See here.” He moved aside to give her a view of her ankle. The blood had stopped and was already drying.

  “It looks almost like a human bite, except with more teeth,” she observed.

  “Those are bite marks, not fang marks. Plus the wound site isn’t inflamed. If you’d been bitten by a venomous snake, the area would be red and throbbing. From your description, it sounds like a rat snake. They can be pretty aggressive. Did it emit a foul-smelling odor after it bit you?”

  “It did!”

  “Rat snake,” Joe confirmed. “They’re really testy and they stink to high heaven when they bite.”

  “You’ve been bitten by a rat snake before?”

  “Yep. When I was a kid, my brothers and I used to catch them.”

  “Eww.”

  “Boys will be boys. But look at it this way, we’ve got something in common now, we’ve both been bitten by a rat snake.”

  “Be still my heart.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “No, what does it mean?”

  “It means you’re a bona fide Texan now. You can’t claim to be a bona fide Texan until you’ve had some kind of run-in with a snake.”

  For some reason, the thought of being a bona fide Texan made her ridiculously proud. “I assume we’re talking about the reptile species.”

  He grinned. “For the most part.”

  “Sorry for getting all theatrical on you,” she said, feeling sheepish.

  “Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. There are plenty of rattlesnakes around here. It’s not something to take lightly. And while a rat snake bite isn’t serious, it can get infected. Hang on,” he said. “Dutch keeps a first aid kit in the barn. I’ll get you fixed right up.”

  He disappeared into the barn and returned a few minutes later. That’s when she got her first good look at his face. His left eye sported a vividly purple bruise from his fight with Lee Turpin.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He looked startled. “What? Oh, the eye.” He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “You get into fistfights often?”

  “Not in years.”

  “What was different about last night?”

  Joe’s face clouded. “Turpin grabbed your ass.”

  “How was that your problem? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute,” he said. “It was just my misguided chivalry kicking in.”

  “There’s old history between you and Turpin.”

  “Nothing worth talking about.”

  “That shiner tells a different story.

  “Sit down on that rock.” He indicated a large, flat river rock rising up from the ground.

  “You’re bossy.”

  “And?”

  “It’s rude.”

  “I’m a boss. I run a ranch. I’m supposed to be bossy. It’s an admirable trait in the self-employed. Now sit.”

  She sat.

  He knelt in front of her, opened the first aid kit. “Put your foot here.” He patted his lower thigh.

  “Would it kill you to say please?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  She stared at him a long moment.

  He patted his leg again, turned on the charm with a killer smile. Combined with the black eye, it made him look like a raggedy tomcat dragging home after a long night as king of the alley.

  “C’mon,” he drawled, “pretty please with sugar on it.”

  She tried not to smile at his cajoling, but she couldn’t help herself, relented, and eased her bare foot down on his blue-jeaned knee. His thigh muscles were as tight and corded as his biceps.

  “You said you have brothers,” she said while he took a package of antiseptic swabs from the first aid kit. She tried not to notice how warm his leg was. “How many?”

  “Two brothers and two sisters.”

  “Big family.”

  �
��Yep.”

  “Where did you fall in the birth order?”

  “Second. My oldest brother, Chase, is a trauma surgeon. He lives in Dallas. There’s me, then Kimber, my sister. We’re just eighteen months apart. She’s an attorney in Houston. Then there’s Rick, he’s in grad school at the University of Oklahoma. He’s studying meteorology. He’s one of those crazy storm chasers. Then there’s my baby sister, Meg. She’s finishing her last year at TCU in the nursing program.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “No college courses on how to be a cowboy. It’s in your blood. The only preparation is on-the-job training. Every one of my siblings went against the ranching life. I’m the only one who took to it.”

  “Do your parents own a ranch?”

  “That’s where we all grew up. Right here on this ranch. Green Ridge’s been in the Daniels family for five generations. I bought it from my parents when I won my last rodeo purse. My dad has arthritis and he just couldn’t do the physical labor anymore. He and Mom bought a place on Lake Twilight in Hood County. They run a little antique store in town just to keep busy.”

  Joe tore open a package of the antiseptic wipes and with his head bent over her foot, swiped the brown Betadine solution over the bite marks. Suddenly, he laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “Will you look at that.” He looked up from his handiwork.

  “What is it?”

  She peered at her ankle. He’d connected the teeth patterns and it formed the letter D.

  “That rat snake marked you with my brand.” His dark eyes met hers. “D for Daniels.”

  Mariah gulped. There was something so utterly compelling about this man, so sexy and elemental. That’s when she knew she was toeing a highline wire of pure trouble. He was a cowboy. The antithesis of the kind of man she wanted, the kind of life she wanted to lead.

  His head was so close to hers and all she could do was stare at his full, angular mouth. She saw what was in his eyes, felt a corresponding desire grab hold of her.

  It was strange, this casual intimacy. Partially, it was an emotion she’d never experienced before, at least not quite in this way. An awed closeness that made her diffidently aware of the fact that they were, for the most part, strangers. Another part of her felt a heedless sense of ease. Why did she feel so comfortable here? She should feel awkward, displaced, but she did not.