A Rancher’s Surrender

by Michelle Beattie

  “All right, Papa. I’ll go finish my chores right now!”

  “Wait!” he called before she bolted away. “What do you say to Miss Matthews?”

  “Hello, Miss Matthews,” Annabelle said hurriedly before skipping away.

  Wade watched his daughter disappear behind the barn. He heard the chickens cluck and squawk as she burst into the henhouse. Jillian’s giggle turned his head. The sound captivated him, as did the warmth that filled her eyes when she smiled.

  “She must keep you hopping.”

  Wade shook his head. “You have no idea.”

  *

  Wade secured Whiskey to a nearby tree and grabbed the fallen wheel. It wasn’t broken, which meant he’d be bringing back the spare he’d brought along.

  He passed her the wheel. “I’ll push up the corner, you slip it on.”

  She nodded and within moments the wheel was in place and secured. Silently they worked to load the supplies back into the wagon. Despite her protest that she could do it, he re-harnessed Hope to the wagon.

  Wiping his hands on his thighs, he faced her. “That should do it.”

  Her green eyes met his and she stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “Thank you. I couldn’t do this alone and you saved me from having to go all the way back to town. I know I’m likely the last person you want to help and I appreciate that you did it anyway.”

  He grimaced. “I suppose I gave you more than enough reason to think that.” He accepted her hand. “You ever need help again there’ll always be someone at the Parker ranch who can help.”

  Her hand was small and delicate within his. Soft. Silky soft. It conjured up all sorts of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. But they bombarded him mercilessly. Flickers of images filled his mind. The way she’d looked at his naked chest. The way her cheeks had flushed. The way she’d made him feel as she looked at him. The way she was making him feel again.

  He pulled his hand away but it burned as though branded. He hadn’t looked twice at any woman since Amy died. Certainly Jillian was pretty, but there were a lot of pretty women around Marietta, take Silver for example. Maybe it was the combination of Jillian’s green eyes and reddish-gold hair that made him want to touch her so badly his fingers twitched with need.

  He knew by looking he could span her waist with his hands, could fill those same hands with her breasts. Knowing it, wanting it, drove him to distraction. He had to physically drag all the reasons she was wrong for him back to the forefront of his mind, where reason, not lust, reigned.

  “Wade? Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Heat must be getting to me.”

  Despite knowing better, he helped her into the wagon. His fingers sank into the soft flesh at her waist. How long had it been since he’d felt the give of a woman’s flesh?

  She’s not the right woman for you.

  Yet he stood there, aroused and overheated, until Jillian rode out of sight.

  Chapter Five

  For hours he stared at the ledgers, scratched out numbers and shuffled them around. All he had to show for it was a crick in his neck and a thumping headache. The debt was still staggering and the horse ranch was as far away as it had ever been. He closed the books, rubbed his eyes. All he could do was take it one day at a time. Eventually, so long as he kept putting one foot in the front of the other, kept putting in an honest day’s work, he believed he’d come out from under the burden his pa had left him. It was just going to take longer than he’d hoped.

  And it was going to take innovation, such as making deals like the one he’d struck with Liam, who owned a spread not far from Wade’s ranch. In much the same predicament Wade was in, they’d agreed to trade bulls. It would breathe new blood into each of their herds without the expense of buying a new bull.

  From the open window he heard the porch swing creak. He’d forgotten his ma had gone out after making him coffee. He looked at the empty cup, wondered how long ago that had been.

  “Long enough,” he muttered, coming to his feet.

  He knew his ma wouldn’t go to bed until he did. And though she hadn’t spent the last few hours stewing over the ledgers, he didn’t doubt she worried about them as much as he did.

  The porch swing dipped with his weight as he settled next to her.

  “Make any progress?” she asked.

  There wasn’t any point in lying to her since she was smart enough to see what surrounded her on a daily basis but he could give her hope. “I have a few ideas up my sleeve.”

  Her hand found his, held on. “Let James help, Wade. He wants to.”

  Before the words had fully left her lips, he was shaking his head.

  “Ma, I’ve already had this discussion with him. I won’t take his money. He should be using it to build you a house, or saving it in case something happens to him the way it did Pa, that way you wouldn’t—” He stopped, unable to say the rest. He’d loved his pa, but the man had left them a mess. Still, it somehow felt disrespectful to say it aloud.

  She squeezed his hand. “I think we all learned your father’s lesson. If James is offering to help, he’s doing it within his means.”

  “I’ll be all right, Ma.” He kissed her brow. “I’ll be just fine.”

  Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaned back in the swing. With his heel, he set it in motion. Frogs sang; crickets chirped a steady rhythm. The moon hung plump and bright and the stars dotted the sky like his cattle would soon dot the foothills.

  “Let him help you, Wade. Even a little.”

  “He already did with Jillian’s bill. Tell James to build you a house if he’s got money to spare. I’ve tried telling him but he won’t listen to me.”

  “We don’t need a house, Wade.”

  “Ma, I don’t feel right having you two live in his bunkhouse after the wedding.”

  “It’ll just be me and James in it. Besides, we’ll still have our meals together here in this house, same as always. The bunkhouse suits us, Wade.”

  “It’s not very big.”

  “What do we need big for? We have a table to sit and have coffee; we have a bed to—”

  Wade held up his hand. “Ma, please.”

  Chuckling, she snuggled into his side. “You know what I mean. This house is yours now. Yours, Annabelle’s. Your future wife’s,” she added with a smile in her voice. “I hear Jillian called on you earlier.”

  “I knew it was only a matter of time,” he muttered.

  Knowing he couldn’t stop it, that if she didn’t get this out tonight she’d only corner him another time, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

  “I like her. She’s smart. She’s beautiful with all that fiery gold hair, those eyes green as a spring meadow.” She nudged him. “I know you’re not blind.”

  “No, Ma, I’m not blind.” Even without Jillian there he could see her, hear her voice. Feel her softness.

  “You know she could have gone to town, it’s not that much further. But she came here. To you.”

  “She didn’t come to me,” he said, looking her in the eye. “It could have as easily been Scott or James who was in the yard.”

  “But it wasn’t; it was you. Almost as though it was meant to be.”

  “Meant to be” were three of her favorite words. It wasn’t that she didn’t get angry, sad or frustrated with life. She’d cried and mourned for her husband. But, in the end, telling herself it was meant to be had allowed her to accept his death and move on. In that instance he’d been glad for those words, as it had been hard watching her in such pain.

  He wasn’t nearly so glad when she used those words on him.

  “Ma, it just happened. It wasn’t God’s will.”

  “You hired her, didn’t you?”

  “Because I thought she was a man.”

  “But she’s not. The most qualified person turns out to be a woman. Then it rains and she has to sleep in your bed.”

  “Because you told her to.”
And, though the sheets had been washed, he could still smell Jillian in his room. Not that he’d tell his mother that.

  “Then,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard him, “her wheel breaks and she needs help. Of all the days you’re working the range, today you were in the yard. At the exact moment she came calling.”

  “It’s not fate, Ma,” he argued. If he thought it was possible that they could have arranged it, he’d blame Scott and James.

  “How do you know? Amy was sweet on Steven Garvey until the day she got a cramp swimming and you jumped in the river to save her. From that day on, she had eyes only for you.”

  He remembered it well. A handful of them had decided to go swimming in the Yellowstone River. Steven and his friends were diving beneath the water and showing off for the girls. Wade and Shane had been on the bank, talking about and staring at those same girls. He’d been watching Amy at the time; fate, as his ma would call it. She’d been swimming along with her friends, taunting Steven and his group when she’d suddenly grimaced and begun to sink.

  At first Wade had thought it was a game to get Steven’s attention. Heck, he’d seen Steven feign injury often enough to get Amy to come running and figured she was doing the same thing. It soon became apparent she wasn’t. Amy thrashed; her head dipped below the surface. He was racing in when her friends yelled for help.

  Wade didn’t break the surface until he had Amy in his arms. By then Steven had realized she was in real trouble and was racing toward her. Wade had swum to shore, Amy clinging to him, her face buried in his neck. He’d held, soothed, and, when she’d finally stopping shivering, when she’d peeled her soaked, black hair from her face and thanked him for saving her life, she hadn’t even looked to see where Steven was.

  Not that Wade had cared either. Once the fear of the situation had passed and Amy remained in his lap, arms clutching his neck, nothing had mattered but how she’d felt in his arms.

  “You and Amy started building a life together that day, Wade. You might not have known it would lead to marriage, but it did.”

  “I’m not marrying anyone, Ma, least of all Jillian.” Wade shoved to his feet, turned and leaned against the railing.

  “I know loving again is scary. The thought of losing James like I lost your father—” She stopped, her fingers going to her throat for a moment. “Life is meant to be lived. It’s meant to be shared. Otherwise all you have is this.” She gestured to the ranch that lay sleeping in the darkness.

  She stood, placed a warm hand on his stubbled cheek. “I’m not saying you have to marry her, all I’m saying is don’t close yourself to the idea of falling in love again. You’ve been doing it since Amy died.”

  For good reason. It wasn’t that he regretted marrying Amy, because he didn’t. He’d loved her. Together, they’d made Annabelle. But in the end, she’d broken his heart. Not by dying, though that had been devastating, but by looking elsewhere for fulfillment. By telling him, without words, that he wasn’t enough.

  He’d never told his ma he’d felt less of a man because of Amy’s choices. It was easier on his pride that she continued to think he was simply too scared to love again.

  “I know you mean well but, for me, once was enough.”

  “Why won’t you give yourself the chance to be happy again?”

  “I am happy. I have what I need.”

  “But do you have what you want?”

  He thought of Jillian, how soft her skin was. How she’d felt when he’d lifted her into the wagon. How he’d yearned to kiss her and how that yearning had scared him.

  “Other than my horse ranch, I have everything I want. Goodnight, Ma.” He kissed her cheek then sought refuge in his room.

  He didn’t bother lighting the lamp. Lying on his back, Wade closed his eyes. Two women formed behind his lids. One with dark hair and blue eyes, the other with red hair and green eyes. Both independent. Both strong. One had already broken his heart.

  He vowed he’d never give the other the same opportunity.

  *

  Jillian’s temper was running hot as Hope’s sweaty hide. When she’d set out that morning, intent and eager to make introductions, she’d known it wouldn’t be easy, that she’d meet with more than one stubborn man. It had been that way back east, even with her father at her side.

  Yet she’d hoped she’d have something to show for her efforts.

  Six farms since she’d begun that morning and the only thing she’d earned was a dusty blouse that clung to her damp back, a sweaty horse and a burning sense of frustration. Why were men so close-minded? Why were they willing to put their animals at risk for the sake of their pride?

  Not that she’d seen any animals in need of tending. When she’d looked over corrals, been greeted by tail-wagging dogs and swaggering cats alike, she’d seen no evidence of her skills being required. If she had, she’d have been prepared, as she’d brought along her saddlebags. It would have made her case stronger if she could have shown her skills, rather than simply talk about them.

  Jillian snorted. There’d been little chance of talking, let alone proving anything once she’d stated her name and the reason for the visit. The men that had been in the yard closed their mouths as she imagined they closed their minds. Well, she acknowledged with a fresh wave of bitterness, they did open their mouths long enough to tell her she wasn’t welcome on their land and that it would be a cold day in hell before they ever called on her in a doctor’s capacity.

  A single man, and there wasn’t any doubt he was a bachelor considering his foul mouth, had told Jillian he had only one need, and it wasn’t for a veterinarian. He promised, with a lecherous grin, that should she ever be willing to dispense that kind of medicine, his door would always be open.

  “I’d sooner gouge my eyes out,” she muttered.

  Hope agreed with a shake of her head. It was something, Jillian supposed, to have Hope listen, but how she longed to talk to her father. With each farm she’d left, she’d caught herself turning in the saddle, ready to discuss what had happened only to realize he wasn’t there. Wouldn’t be again. The void he’d left when he died had been great, but never more felt than it was as she rode along the quiet countryside of this unfamiliar and unwelcoming place. To simply have him there as support, as someone to talk to so she wouldn’t feel as though she were alone in the world, would have made all the difference.

  Emotion welled up fast and filled her throat. She missed him. The long discussions regarding their profession, hearing his opinion, knowing her own thoughts and ideas were accepted and not only because she was his daughter.

  Jillian blinked to bring the narrow path back into focus. Overhead a hawk’s scream sounded as mournful as she felt. All of a sudden her father’s last words filled her ears as surely as if he were right beside her.

  “Nobody can take your dreams, Jillian. The only person who has the power to snuff them is you.”

  How often had he said that to her?

  “Every time I felt like giving up,” she whispered in the breeze.

  And every time, he’d reminded her what she wanted most, and that she alone was responsible for making it happen. She swallowed back the sorrow and pity. She put some starch in her spine and sat upright as another small farmyard came into view.

  When she rode into the yard, her eyes were dry and her determination was once again firmly in place. Jared Matthews would be proud. Knowing that, Jillian slid from the saddle. It had been a long day of riding and her thighs lamented when her feet hit the dirt.

  Whoever lived there lived a simple life. The house was no bigger than of one Wade’s bunkhouses. The rest of the yard consisted of the privy, a small, well-trodden paddock and a barn that listed heavily to the right. It didn’t appear the farmer grew anything but yellow-flowered weeds and patches of clover. Nor did he appear to be home.

  Since it seemed she’d garnered her determination for nothing, Jillian didn’t see that the trip needed to be a total loss. Both she and her horse were thirs
ty. Leading Hope, Jillian walked the small yard in search of a well.

  She found the silver-handled pump and a shed, which was built into a small hill behind the house. Jillian pumped water into her hand, drank until her mouth no longer felt like the dirt she’d ridden on for most of the day. Not seeing anything she could use to water Hope, Jillian secured the mare to the well and headed for the shed. Surely there was something inside she could use as a bowl for her horse.

  The door was closed and held shut with a thick plank braced against it. As Jillian wrapped her hands around it and began to tug, a putrid smell slithered around her. Wrinkling her nose, she freed the plank and set it down. With an eerie squeak the door fell open.

  The smell of blood and death assailed her. Jillian choked, covered her nose and mouth with her hand. Dear Lord, what had she stumbled into? Squinting into the darkness she couldn’t make out anything but strange shapes on the walls and dark shadows hanging in midair.

  Inching her way forward, Jillian crept inside. Cool air, like the whisper of a ghost, brushed her face. Breathing through her mouth, Jillian stood there until the light from the doorway and her own adjustments allowed her to make out what she was looking at.

  Skins of beaver, cougar, deer and squirrel hung stretched on the wall. Dangling from the cross brace were four headless rabbits, gelatinous red puddles where their heads used to be. Swallowing hard, Jillian backed away. Even if there were a bowl or bucket inside she’d never use it to water her animal. She knew, of course, people trapped, but she’d never seen it firsthand. Never seen for herself the lifeless carcasses hanging, the skins stripped and stretched. She hoped she’d never see it again.

  With the grizzly images filling her head, Jillian turned for the plank she’d tossed on the ground.

  And came face to face with a man’s narrowed black eyes and snarling mouth.

  Jillian screamed. The sharp pitch of it screeched through the small yard and filled her ears. She staggered back, realizing her mistake instantly as it brought her to the mouth of the shed. She forced her limbs to still despite every instinct that told her to run. Her breath soughed through her cold lips as she faced the stranger.