The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

by Bell, Angela; Breidenbach, Angela; Carter, Lisa

  She was a good enough shot she avoided glands inside a wolverine? Tanner was so full of admiration he felt a little dizzy.

  “I’ll catch the grouse for you, then, while you get on with the skinnin’.”

  She picked up the grouse and held it out to him. He wondered if she was realizing right now, having caught the bird herself, that he was not of much use.

  He carried the placid grouse to the chicken yard while she headed for the wolverine.

  As he looked at the pen, Tanner, who’d been trained by his pa in the way of building, realized it had been built without a single nail. It was a log structure, but the logs were saplings so it wasn’t a heavy coop. And the fence was made by twisting and braiding branches no thicker than his thumb.

  It stirred something in him to see the skill that went with this fence.

  What’s more, there were sections he could tell were new. His first notion was that her father had built this before he died. And maybe he had, but she’d learned enough to carry on.

  Having spent all of two minutes returning the grouse to her little fenced yard, he went to watch Debba skin her catch.

  Her knife must be razor sharp, and each motion was swift and sure. She might be shy of visitors, but there was no denying how skilled she was with that knife.

  “You are really good at that.”

  “Thank you.” She looked up from her work and smiled as she hadn’t before. A full smile with true happiness lighting up her eyes.

  It was a smile so pretty, Tanner followed her without looking left or right until just before he stepped inside. Then he did notice what he should have seen right from the first.

  A stream, a good-sized one, flowing full and fast right along the far south edge of the valley.

  Plentiful sweet water.

  In a dry year.

  When springs he’d counted on to water his cattle had gone dry.

  She was already acting mighty friendly. He hoped that continued after he asked her to let him water his herd.

  Chapter 2

  Debba’s fingers itched to touch the man.

  Tanner. Tanner Harden. The sound of his name was like music. Another person. The shock of it was almost too much to bear. He was tall and slim, with dark brown hair and eyes a startling color. Brown and green and golden all at once. She’d never seen the like. He had the sleeves of a blue shirt turned up to his elbows, and she saw the corded muscles in his forearms.

  He wore thick brown leather chaps and brown jeans with rivets here and there. The clothes looked like some she remembered Pa wearing long ago.

  She forced her attention back to her work, and he crouched beside her and watched in a way that made her clumsy.

  It was almost impossible to speak, but it was even more impossible to remain silent.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “In through that keyhole pass on the northeast corner of the valley.”

  She nodded. She knew that pass well, but she’d never gone through it—not since Pa had died. He’d warned strongly against it. Talked of the dangers. Talked about how Mama had died. That had happened so long ago. Debba only had mixed-up memories of Mama.

  “Are you alone, too?” The notion twisted through her that they might be the only two people in the world.

  “I live in my own home a few miles away. Downhill from here. This is about the top of the world.”

  She was silent. She didn’t know much about the world and if it had a top, bottom, or sides.

  He added, “But I have a big family, and they live on a ways. I’d like to take you to meet my ma.”

  Her heart started pounding. He had a mama? The longing was wild. But she didn’t dare leave her mountain meadow. Her pa’s dying words, the last words he’d spoken, were too strong. And she’d heard no other words for all these years, which gave what Pa had said more and more weight.

  “I—I can’t go.”

  Tanner rested a hand on her shoulder, and she quit her skinning and turned to him. He looked at her, really looked hard, like he was memorizing her eyes or something. Then he said, “Well, all right. Maybe I’ll bring them to meet you sometime.”

  That would probably be safe. She nodded, scared to tell him how much she’d like that. Wondering if Pa’s warnings about the outside world included letting them in.

  “You’ve lived alone here for years?” Tanner asked.

  She nodded and got back to work, glad for something to do so she could force herself not to stare at this man.

  “Don’t you get lonely?”

  “I’m used to it.” She got so lonely she talked to her animals and the walls and sometimes she imagined her parents were at meals with her. She’d asked herself often enough if that made her a lunatic.

  “Your meadow is nice. The house and coop and barn are well built.” Tanner looked around. “Did you do it, or did you have family when you first came here?”

  “I lived here with my mama and pa, but Mama died so long ago I can barely remember her. The house and barn were built when Mama was alive, but I was too young to help. Pa wanted a bigger chicken coop when I was older, and I helped with that. And I learned to build chairs and such with his help. And it’s good that I learned because I’ve had to go on alone.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone skin a pelt this fast.” Tanner’s voice was quiet, like he really meant it. She looked and he was watching her hands whip along, doing the job.

  “Th–thank you.” She had a vague memory of proper manners.

  “Did you build the chicken coop fence?”

  “Yes.” She stood and took the hide to the coop fence to hang it up.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  Debba felt her cheeks heat up. He’d embarrassed her. It was overpraise. Such a strange feeling. She didn’t want to pursue his flattery. “A skunk bear, what did you call it?”

  “Wolverine is the word I’ve learned.”

  She scowled a bit. “I prefer wolves to skunk bears. For that matter I prefer bears to skunk bears. Wolverine is a good name.”

  “I agree.”

  “A couple of years ago a wolverine killed every chicken I had. That greedy varmint ripped a board out of my coop and crawled in and killed them all. He didn’t eat them either, just killed for sport. And this one was up to the same thing.”

  “So catching and taming grouse was something you did on your own?”

  “Yep, they lay a decent-sized egg, so I trailed a grouse hen and found her nest, when it was still full of eggs. I waited for them to hatch and grow just a bit so they weren’t too fragile, then I caught them, about eight chicks, and brought them home and raised them up. They are as tame as my chickens were.”

  “It’s a good-sized flock.”

  Debba finished with the hide. “They’ve hatched out new babies every spring. They give me plenty of eggs as good as any chicken.”

  “Do you want me to bury the carcass or cut it up and feed it to the grouse?”

  “Bury it. They’ll probably peck at it until they find the scent glands, then it’ll smell too strong to interest my flock, and then I’ll need to bury the reeking thing.”

  “Do you have a shovel?”

  “I’ll get it for you. It’s in the barn.”

  Tanner walked along with her to fetch it. Honestly, as fascinated as she was to have company, the way he tagged after her made him seem almost as lonely as she was.

  When that chore was done, Tanner said, “Can we walk around the meadow? You’ve got a stream running, and I’d like to see where it goes. Maybe I can find where it leaves this canyon and use the water.”

  She shrugged again. It was so easy not to talk, to make silent gestures. She had talked easily while she’d worked—to the grouse and her horse and herself. Maybe the chore had distracted her from fretting over how exactly a woman talked to a man.

  They strolled together toward the far end of the pasture. She checked her cattle as they passed, looking for any sign of sickness or injury.r />
  “Debba, what would you think of me bringing my ma or my sisters here to visit?”

  The fear and excitement clashed until she couldn’t speak. Whether that was because she had nothing to say, or too much, she wasn’t sure.

  He touched her elbow, and through the doeskin arms of her tunic his touch seemed warm.

  When he tugged, she stopped walking and turned. He faced her, looking worried. “Does the idea bother you? I think you’d like Ma, but I don’t want to do anything that will bother you.”

  “I—I think I would l–like to meet your mama.”

  “And you won’t come with me?”

  She shook her head frantically. “I can’t.”

  “What makes you say that? Are you worried for your animals? I reckon another wolverine could come.”

  “No, or um…yes, the skunk bear could come, but no, that’s not why I won’t leave.”

  “Can you tell me why not then?”

  “My papa said I mustn’t ever leave this meadow.”

  Tanner frowned and studied her for far too long. “Why did he say that to you?” “He always said it. Long before he died, but on his deathbed he made me swear I’d never go through that keyhole pass.”

  “But he was condemning you to a life of terrible loneliness. Why would he do that?”

  “Because”—she wove her fingers together and stared at them—“the world outside this meadow killed my mama. And he said it would kill me, too, if I went out there. It’s a dreadful, dangerous place.”

  Tanner opened his mouth and closed it about five times. Finally he said, “I live out there and it’s not all that dangerous, Debba. I can’t figure what your pa could be talking about. How did your ma die?”

  She wavered, then, from her fear to confusion. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember. She died when I was young, eight years old, I think.”

  “Was it sickness or an accident?”

  Debba looked through him into the past. “I don’t remember an accident. We’d been out, one of the few times we went to town. Pa liked keeping to ourselves. She wasn’t hurt while we were there because I remember riding home together. Pa wasn’t happy we’d gone. He always fussed, but Ma was in high spirits, teasing and laughing about how nice it was to get out and see others. Then one morning a few days later, I woke up and she’d taken to her bed. After she died, he rarely talked of her except to tell me it was dangerous outside of this canyon.”

  “So she must have caught something, a sickness, while she was outside. I can see how your pa would blame the trip. And he probably didn’t plan on dying until you were full grown.”

  Nodding, slowly Tanner reached out and took both her shoulders. “But he can’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life, maybe forty or fifty years, completely alone. He just can’t have wanted that. It sounds awful, cruel. Was your pa a cruel man?”

  “No.” She shuddered at the feel of his hands. It was deep inside so she didn’t think he could tell, but to be touched!

  She had no idea how wonderful it would feel. She lost all control of herself and threw her arms around him and hung on.

  Tanner gasped and his hands came off her shoulders. She shouldn’t have done this. She had to let go and step back. But just another second. Just one more second of contact.

  Then Tanner’s arms came around her and held her tight and close. It was like hearing him speak. It filled a desperately empty place inside her.

  Until now she hadn’t seen it, but it had been cruel of her father to make her swear to live this completely lonely life.

  Was her pa a cruel man? She’d never thought of him as such.

  Tanner released her, and she was going to let go of him in just one more moment.

  His hands settled firmly on her shoulders, as they had when this started, and he eased her back far enough their eyes met.

  Chapter 3

  Come out with me. Come and meet my ma.” Tanner now felt an almost overwhelming need to take her away from this canyon.

  It was so strong he was determined to throw her over his shoulder and kidnap her out of here if he had to.

  He hoped it didn’t come to that. “We’ll feed your grouse and hope that’s the only wolverine that comes by for the year.” He tried to sort out all she needed to do before she left. What chores did he see to before riding to his folks’ place?

  “Your cattle will be fine for a few days while I introduce you to my ma and my sisters, their husbands, and my little brothers—who are near grown-up men these days.”

  “You have a huge family.”

  Tanner smiled. “My sisters all have little ones, so it’s even bigger than it sounds.”

  A bellow sounded from behind him and he whirled around to face the biggest longhorn bull he’d ever seen. Standing not twenty feet away, its head down, pawing the dirt. It was the color of midnight, with a spread of black-tipped horns that had to be more than eight feet. He lowered those massive sharp horns and kicked dirt onto his belly with his front legs. Tanner reached back to grab Debba and run.

  “Shadow, you sweetie.” She’d run all right. Right around him and right up to a bull that looked like a killer.

  “Debba!” He drew his gun, knowing a single bullet would never kill this thing, not in time.

  She didn’t even notice his warning or his gun because she was busy hugging the monster. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Arms that had just been around him. The bellowing stopped, the pawing stopped. She pressed her cheek against his massive forehead and crooned. Then, with a pat on his massive black nose, she stood up and took one of his horns and led the critter right up to Tanner.

  Well, he’d seen a lot of things in his life. Seen his skinny squirt of a ma throw a thousand-pound bull. Seen every one of his big sisters rope and brand a spring crop of jumping, running calves. Seen a neighbor, Mandy Linscott, shoot a running wolf from five hundred yards out. So Tanner didn’t underestimate women, ever.

  But this moment, right now. He looked old Shadow in the eye and saw his own death. That bull was as good as speaking to him, telling him no outsiders were welcome.

  “Scratch him between his horns. He loves that.”

  Tanner could swear the bull’s eyes narrowed, daring him to do it, daring him not to. Tanner figured either way, unless Debba could save him, he was bull fodder.

  And, since there was no way to save himself, what the heck? He reached out and scratched the old beast. The bull lowered his head and tilted it as if he had an itchy spot Tanner wasn’t reaching.

  “C–can…uh…do you pet all your longhorns?” His ma had once told him that a longhorn was little more than a wolf that was good to eat. They were mean and wild and not to be fooled with, and especially not to be approached unless they were tied up or you were on horseback. And even the ones that’d been gentled for milking could turn on you and be deadly. It was one of the reasons the Harden family had switched away from longhorns. It’d taken years and there’d been plenty of mixed breeding, but these days the Circle H brand was slapped onto Angus or Hereford or a cross between the two.

  “Well, of course. What’s the use of them if I can’t play with them?”

  Tanner didn’t mention food. He didn’t think Debba would like that, and he was sure ol’ Shadow wouldn’t.

  He stood there scratching a one-ton monster that had been gentled into a house cat. He sure hoped Shadow didn’t take exception when the scratching stopped.

  What would Ma and Pa make of this moment? One thing was for sure, Debba needed to get out of here. This life was nothing Tanner considered good or normal, and he was a man who prided himself on letting people live as they pleased.

  He decided he’d make an exception to that outlook in this case.

  Dear God, let me figure out a way to get this woman to come along with me. And let me live long enough to do it.

  And then he had a thought, which, considering the praying he’d been doing, he took to be inspired straight from God. “I have some supplies in my saddl
ebags.” He’d been planning to scout all day and maybe even be out overnight and sleep by a campfire. And cook by one, too. He wondered how long it’d been since there’d been any cornmeal, flour, or sugar in this place. He had a small pouch that had cookies in it—his ma had left them when she headed home. Maybe he could entice her with food. Give her a couple of bites of sweets then lure her out with a trail of cookie crumbs.

  If the bull didn’t kill him, that’s just what he’d do.

  A movement on past Shadow drew his gaze, and he had to admit it wasn’t easy to take his eyes off the big beast. A whole herd of longhorns was wandering toward them. Based on their horn spread and the moss growing on them, some might be ten or twenty years old. Calves frolicked among them. Several horses came along, two of them ancient draught horses. Belgians, maybe. He’d seen a couple of them in his life. At least three mustangs and some that looked like a cross between the two. He counted ten horses, three of them colts. All as tame as dogs.

  He wondered if she ever rode. Then again, why would she? That would suggest she had somewhere to go.

  “Debba, the sun is high in the sky. It’s time for a noon meal.”

  She stood, done with her hugging at last, and turned to him. “I have food in the house. Come and eat with me.” Her voice rose with every word as if the idea was too exciting to bear.

  Shadow bunted her in the back and knocked her right into him. She clasped his shoulders to keep from falling. His arms went around her waist.

  Maybe the bull was annoyed the scratching had stopped, but Tanner decided to believe the old boy was matchmaking.

  His eyes went to that stream. He planned to find a way to work with Debba because he needed her water. But to drive his black and red cattle in here with this strange valley full of gentle giants was hard to quite imagine.

  Tanner slid one arm around her waist and turned her. Not making any sudden moves. He glanced back to see he led a parade. “Is Shadow going to follow us all the way to the house?”

  Debba glanced back and patted the black head. “If he wants to.”

  Tanner decided if she wasn’t afraid, neither was he. But he kept up a steady pace, not letting go of her, for fear she’d go back to her pets. Or that her pets would keep parading. So if Tanner and Debba stopped, the parade would walk right over the top of them.