A Marriage By Chance

by Carolyn Davidson

  “All right.” She took his hand and allowed him to tug her to her feet. He was beside her horse, tightening the cinch before she could tend to it herself, then circled to where his stallion was tied to a crude hitching rail.

  She held the reins in her left hand, eyeing the stirrup that would require an awkward mount. And then he was behind her, and she was lifted, her waist gripped between wide hands as she grasped the pommel and slid her leg over the saddle. J.T. stood at her knee, tucking her boot into the stirrup.

  “You need a shorter horse, ma’am,” he said, his grin reminding her of the words he’d spoken in town.

  “I can mount without help if I have to,” she said defensively, and then softened. “There’s something about this mare that appeals to me. She’s a little bit ornery, but I know her well. Her mama died when she was born, and I raised her with a bottle till we could get another mare to accept her. Besides, Hogan trained her well for me. She’s a good cow pony.”

  “A little bit ornery, huh?” J.T. mounted his stallion and his eyes surveyed the prancing mare and the woman who rode her. “I’d say you nailed that about right.”

  Micah Dawson wore a silver star pinned to his pocket, a star that hadn’t been polished in a very long time, J.T. decided. But the man who’d pinned it there didn’t appear to hold much with fancy fixings.

  “We’ve hung more than one rustler in Ripsaw Creek, back in the old days,” he said mildly, but the hard look he turned on J.T. was not that of a pushover. His gun looked to be well cared for, and his horse was sleek and well tended. The man who hoisted himself into the saddle knew what he was doing, if Flannery knew anything about men in general, and lawmen in particular.

  “You find tracks?” Micah asked, his horse setting a quick pace as the two men headed from town toward the Double B.

  “Not much to go on,” J.T. said. “They cut across rocky ground, and by the time I got to the other side of the patch there were all sorts of prints. Hale Winters runs his cattle pretty close to the boundary line, same as Chloe and her father have for years.”

  “Wonder if Hale’s missing any stock?” Micah’s eyes scanned the horizon as they rode, his hat pulled low to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You know this running around is makin’ me miss my supper, don’t you?” he asked, casting a glance at J.T. He cleared his throat and adjusted his seat in the saddle. “Heard that Tilly was back at the ranch. Suppose she’s fixin’ fried chicken tonight?”

  J.T. grinned, and after a moment allowed it to turn into a chuckle. There wasn’t any grass growing under the lawman’s feet. “I take it you’ve had your feet plunked under Tilly’s table more than once,” he said. “And,” he added, “as a matter of fact, I saw her killing two chickens this morning.”

  “She’s a fine woman,” Micah said. “I hope John Biddleton’s resting easy in his grave, knowing that Tilly’s lending a hand at the ranch.”

  “You’ve known her a long time?”

  “She lived hereabouts when she was first married. Whole family came in on a wagon train. And then after she got her a husband, she moved south a ways. Hated to hear she was a widow lady, but—” his eyes warmed as he met J.T.’s gaze “—I can’t say I’m sorry she headed back this away.”

  To the north, a rider appeared on the horizon, lifting a hand in greeting, and Micah muttered beneath his breath. “That’s Hale Winters now,” he said. “Something’s goin’ on. I’ll lay money on it.”

  Across the wide expanse of open country, the rider traveled at an angle, the paths of the three men converging as they neared the long lane leading to the Double B Ranch. “Hey, Micah.” Chloe’s neighbor was a big man, hearty and good-natured, but if his scowl was any indication, his mood was anything but cheerful this afternoon.

  “You got a problem?” Micah asked, pulling his mount to a halt as Hale left the stubbled field to join the two men.

  “Damn rustlers made away with nearly twenty of my best cattle, and it looks like they did it in broad daylight.” He pulled his horse to a halt, and snatched his hat from his head, slapping it against his thigh. Beneath it his hair had matted against his skull, and he ran long fingers through its length. “I about sweat up a storm, tryin’ to chase them down. Lost them in the foothills, and I suspect they’re holed up in a canyon. Would’ve been stupid to make a target outta myself, riding in there.”

  Micah frowned. “How’d you figure out what happened?”

  “My men had ’em all rounded up, ready to cull ’em out and start in branding. Then some fool fired a gun and started ’em milling around and they scattered, some headin’ for the river, and my boys split up six different ways, trying to get things back in order. By the time they got things settled down, somebody noticed the count was down.”

  “How many head you got out there?” J.T. asked.

  “Couple hundred in that bunch, give or take. We already brought in the calves and yearlings. My breeding stock’s dropped pretty near fifty calves already. What those crooks got was prime beef.”

  “Hell, so much for fried chicken,” Micah grumbled. “We’d might as well go take a look up by the high country, see what we can find.” He turned to J.T. “You got a couple men to spare for the rest of the day?”

  J.T. nodded. “We’ll ride on out to where Tom and Corky have been working. I’ll send them along with you. You can take a look there, but I doubt there’s much more to see than what I found.” He urged his stallion into motion. “I’ll go to the house and let Tilly know to hold supper till we get back.”

  “It’ll be late,” Micah said glumly, turning his mount to follow Hale back toward the north.

  “She won’t care. Go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” Without waiting for an answer, J.T. loosened the reins and his horse headed up the long lane that led to the ranch. He quickly caught up with Chloe and explained the situation.

  “I want to go with you,” Chloe said, her jaw set, her mouth firm. She was making a stand, J.T. figured, and sighed inwardly. Damn fool woman needed to learn how to soften up and let him handle the rough stuff. But apparently, this wasn’t the day to convince her of that fact. Hands on hips, she watched from the porch as J.T. watered his horse at the trough.

  “I won’t stop you, Chloe,” he said, only too aware of the picture she presented. That was about half his trouble these days, he admitted to himself. She fit her trousers to a tee, and every time he got a gander at that round bottom of hers, not to mention the narrow waist and the generous curves of her bosom, he found himself thinking deep, troublesome thoughts.

  He’d probably be better off taking her along than worrying about her while he was gone. She’d taken it into her head to work with the green-broke horses over the past couple of days, and a vision of broken bones and bruises on her smooth skin was riding his conscience.

  Chloe watched as his expression softened. She was tired of fighting him for every inch she gained. “Let me get my coat,” she said. “And have Willie saddle my horse.”

  He nodded as he led his stallion toward the barn, and she reached inside the kitchen door to snatch her coat from the hook. “We’ll be late for supper,” she told Tilly.

  “I figured that already,” her aunt replied. “Chicken keeps, and I’ll just hold everything else on the back of the stove, once it gets ready.” She eyed her niece with a reproving look. “You carrying a gun?”

  Chloe nodded, picking up the shotgun that stood in the corner. “We’re talking about rustlers, Aunt Tilly. Trust me, if we run across them, they’ll all be armed.”

  The long gun settled in its leather sheath, she climbed into her saddle and followed J.T. from the yard, past the corral and across the pasture. There was a certain comfort, she decided, in allowing him to take the lead, and at that thought, she grumbled beneath her breath. Allowing probably wasn’t the right word to use, when it came to her partner.

  He rode tall and straight in the saddle, a strong man. And yet, he’d been careful of her softer flesh, earlier today in the tack room. His
mouth had surprised her, gentle against her own, persuasive against her refusal to allow him the intimacy he’d initiated. He’d held her firmly, but in all fairness, she recognized the truth of his words.

  I’d never put a bruise on you. And he hadn’t. Instead, he’d given her warmth and a brush with passion. A small part of her she’d held inviolate had been summoned forth, and the touch of J. T. Flannery’s hands and lips had made her aware of places deep within her woman’s body. He’d tempted her, and she’d rebelled against the urge to allow him his way. Hell, he tempted her right now, she thought ruefully. Riding before her with a cocky arrogance that should be off-putting, but only succeeded in drawing her gaze to his long, narrow-hipped form.

  She should be concentrating on the loss of part of her herd, and instead she was focused on a man’s body, still torn by the havoc he’d wreaked with a kiss and an embrace that should never have happened. He’d set loose a cauldron of heat she’d fought hard to control, and only his release of her and the rueful look he’d offered had halted her submission to his persuasion.

  They were partners, and over that fact she had no control. But his assumption that they should become entangled in a partnership of greater proportion was out of the question. Marriage would put her at a disadvantage, and she reined in the temptation that yearned for more of what his touch promised.

  She’d managed to evade several men in the area who’d invaded her territory, suggesting a courtship, or blatantly offering to take on her problems in exchange for a wedding ring. Well aware of the value of her ranch, she knew what lured them in her direction. She’d become adept at refusing their advances. She was no beauty, and looking in the mirror every morning made her aware of a freckled face and ordinary features. But she’d learned to live with ordinary and found satisfaction in life without a man’s approval.

  Until today, when she’d found herself in J.T. Flannery’s arms. You’re a good-looking woman. And wasn’t that about the fanciest compliment she’d ever received? At least he’d been honest, and not tried to add any frills to his assessment. Matched with her stubborn streak, her ordinary looks and determination to run the ranch on her own terms, she probably didn’t measure up to most men’s idea of the perfect wife.

  But then, J. T. Flannery wasn’t most men, was he?

  Chapter Five

  By some miracle the chicken was still crisp on the outside and tender within, the potatoes creamy and the gravy hot and thick. Micah smacked his lips approvingly as he lifted his fork and savored his first bite of Tilly’s efforts. “Sure appreciate the invite for supper,” he said warmly. “Reckon I’ll take it as my just due for chasin’ up and down those canyons.”

  “I’d appreciate the efforts more if we’d come up with something beside a lot of tracks,” J.T. said quietly. “Small ranchers can’t afford to lose even a few head of cattle.”

  “I suspect that being small makes you more open to the rustlers,” Micah surmised. “The big fellas have a lot more ranch hands to spread around.” He shrugged as he reached for another piece of chicken. “When you’ve only got a handful of men, you have a hard time keepin’ things covered.

  “How do you feel about Tom and Corky?” Micah asked, casting an inquiring look at Chloe. “You think they’re on the up-and-up?”

  “As far as I know,” she said. “They haven’t been here long, but so far they’ve done their work and done it well.”

  “I get the feeling Tom’s an old hand at the business,” J.T. said, “and I think he keeps Corky in line.” He hesitated. “I’d be more wary of Willie than the two of them.”

  “Willie’s a neighbor,” Chloe protested. “His folks are good people, and his mama works hard at taking care of things.”

  “Where’s his pa?” J.T. asked.

  “Al Harper got hurt a couple of years ago, and he’s been flat on his back ever since,” Micah answered. “His wife’s been running herself ragged, just keeping things together.”

  “How come Willie works here instead of on his folk’s place?” J.T. glanced from Micah to Chloe, his curiosity aroused.

  “This brings in cash, and along with his mother’s butter and egg business, it keeps his folks going. His ma tends what livestock they have left, and Willie takes up the slack when he gets home at the end of the week.”

  “Then you’d think he’d watch his step a little better,” J.T. murmured, “seeing as how he needs this job.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Tilly asked sharply, her glance turning to Chloe. “Has he been trying his hand again?”

  “Willie’s all right,” Chloe answered, tossing an exasperated glare in J.T.’s direction. “He doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a child.”

  “That child has eyes for you, Chloe, and you need to understand the difference between a boy who hasn’t learned self-control yet, and a man who knows how to keep his place.” J.T.’s words were harsh, and she stared at him unbelievingly.

  “And who are you describing?” she asked. “Should Willie take lessons from you, Flannery?”

  Micah cleared his throat. “I’d take another helping of green beans, Tilly. You sure do know how to make them tasty.”

  Chloe felt a flush rise, and she ducked her head to her plate, unwilling to meet J.T.’s gaze, wishing she’d kept her smart remarks to herself. Her defense of Willie was automatic, based solely on her admiration for his mother. More than aware that the boy had cast calf eyes in her direction for the past year, she’d also noted his increasing confidence as his looks grew bolder and his remarks began hovering on the edge between friendly and amorous.

  “I’m just telling you that Willie’s about put his job on the line lately, Chloe. I won’t have a man working here who offers insulting looks at your body.” J.T.’s accusation was quiet, but his voice was firm as he spoke his piece.

  “That’s a pretty harsh accusation,” Micah said, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Maybe you misunderstood what you saw.”

  “Did I?” J.T.’s query was directed to Chloe and she met his gaze defiantly.

  “I’m not afraid of Willie,” she said quietly, “and I don’t appreciate you bringing this up.”

  “As I recall, I don’t think I did,” he answered. “But so long as it is up for discussion, I think we might want to keep an eye on a young man who’s as needy of money as our Willie appears to be. I’d hate to think he’s got anything to do with losing those steers, but I’d say he bears watching.”

  “Then you just keep your eye on him, partner,” Chloe said sharply. “And I’ll tend to the important things around here.” She rose and shoved her chair back, the sound of it scraping across the floor loud in the sudden silence. With a final glance at J.T., she sailed out onto the back porch, the door slamming in her wake. Only to be faced with a sharp wind from the north as she stood shivering on the edge of the porch, her hands clutching the railing.

  “Here, put on your coat,” he said from behind her, settling the warmth across her shoulders.

  She slid her arms into the sleeves, thankful for the comfort of the fleece lining. J.T.’s big hands grasped her shoulders through the wool fabric, and their presence lent a feeling of security as she considered the quarrel they’d indulged in. That a man could be such a combination of comfort and confusion was more than she felt able to understand tonight. And yet, from the beginning, there’d been that basic element of conflict in their partnership.

  “Thank you,” she said, aware that the acknowledgment of his courtesy was moments overdue.

  “You’re welcome,” he answered gravely, his hands sliding the length of her arms, only to wrap around her waist, capturing her effectively.

  His head dipped and Chloe felt his breath against her hair, each strand seemingly sensitive to his warmth. She turned her head, and heard the murmur of her name spoken from lips that touched her temple. “I’m afraid I embarrassed Micah,” she said quietly.

  J.T. chuckled softly. “I doubt he cares, now that he’s got a few minutes alone with
Tilly. You didn’t tell me he was soft on her.”

  Her anger melting to a puddle of regret, she relaxed against him. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Where Micah’s concerned it seems like a good name for his tender regard in her direction.” His pause was long, and his arms tightened their grip. “Now, if we’re talking about me, and the way I’m looking at you these days, I could come up with a better description, I think.”

  She wiggled beneath his embrace and he loosened his hold, allowing her to slide her arms up, then bringing his forearms higher beneath her breasts. She placed her own firmly against his and uttered a firm rebuke. A single word, yet it spoke her mind.

  “Don’t.” Not that she didn’t enjoy the support beneath the soft curves. Not that she felt threatened by the movement. But simply because the subtle caress spoke of his intentions. Intentions she’d been mulling over in her mind, even as they rode the length of canyons, finally filing it neatly in a mental pigeonhole labeled Flannery, as the sun settled against the western horizon.

  His arms refused to shift their position. “I don’t mean any insult to you, Chloe,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how many men you’ve kept company with, but I don’t think there’s a long list of them.” And as she sputtered her way into a reply, he lifted one finger to press against her lips. “I don’t want to know, honey. If there’s anybody out there who’s looking to stake a claim here, he’d might as well look in another direction.”

  She inhaled sharply as his silencing finger was removed and his hand found its place again against her midriff. “Does this have to do with you staking a claim?”

  He was silent for a moment, and his mouth moved from her temple to her cheek, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered his reply. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips as though he hesitated, groping for words. “I did mention the idea earlier, but now that I think about it, I came across sounding sorta…”