by Natalie Dean
Harley stepped back, rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder where he’d connected with the porch post and thankful that all of his ranch hands hadn’t been there to see that.
Shaking his head and grinding his teeth in anger at his foolishness, he set off for the post office down the creaking boardwalk. Why was he so distracted?
Adeline Miller. That was why.
The mere thought of her caused his heart to pound in his chest and his stomach to puddle in warmth. This was ridiculous, and he had to put a stop to it, but when he tried to stop thinking about her, he only thought about her more. That’s why he’d—
“Ummmph!”
“Hey there,” an angry voice said, “watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, head down as he slipped past the man he’d just run into. This was getting out of hand.
Pausing in the opening of an alley, Harley tried to compose himself. He shook his head again as if the action might shake the memory of her out of there too. No such luck.
Golden hair. Flushed cheeks. Sparkling blue eyes. Pretty enough to make a man forget—well, everything. Including the check he hadn’t gotten from Chance.
It was odd to Harley. He’d never noticed a woman like he did Adeline, but that didn’t mean anything. Just proved that he had eyes in his head. Any man could see her and see her beauty. What was more important was the reality that he was not among the men who were looking for a wife. While his name might have somehow, mysteriously appeared on Chance’s list, it was a mistake, plain and simple.
He had more important things to deal with instead of spending time convincing a pretty young lady that he wasn’t the man for her. And that’s what it had come down to, hadn’t it? He’d had to look both her and Chance in the eye and say thanks, but no thanks. It had been the right thing to do.
So why did it feel as if he’d made a mistake?
Forcing away the thoughts that said he could have taken her to tea at the Black Barrel Inn or at least offered her a stroll before turning her down, Harley burst from the alley like a man on fire. No flames licked at his boots, but the memories did their best to follow him. He forced them away with another shake of his head and shoved open the post office door.
“H-h-howdy, Harley.” Rafe Adams nodded toward Harley from where he stood with a telegram in hand.
“Hi.” Harley furrowed his brow in concentration. He just needed to finish chores in town so he could get back to the ranch. He knew once he was there, the things that needed attending would bring his attention back to what mattered.
“How are y-y-you?” Rafe’s stutter didn’t bother Harley, but he could see the man’s frustration with it. Though he usually hid it well, something felt off about the man today.
“Doin’ well,” unless you count my thoughts being plagued by a golden-haired beauty. “You?”
Rafe shrugged. “Jilted a-a-again.” This time, his grimace had nothing to do with the stutter.
Harley frowned. While his thoughts were filled with a woman he wanted to be rid of, poor Rafe still hadn’t found the match for him. How was it fair that the man who wanted to be married wasn’t?
“Sorry to hear it, friend.” He slapped the man on the back. “You’ll have luck soon, I’m sure.”
Rafe shrugged in reply, not looking hopeful, and went back to his telegram.
Unable to offer any more platitudes, Harley strode up to the counter.
“I’ve got nothing for you,” the postmaster said with an apologetic look.
“Nothing?”
The man offered a look that clearly said, Didn’t you hear what I just told you?
“Right. Thanks.”
Harley turned around in a huff and, tossing a wave at Rafe, stepped back out onto the boardwalk, making his way back toward his wagon. This was not good news. Not only was he distracted, but he also was down a ranch hand. They’d managed so far without Otis, but he would need to find someone—and soon—if they were going to make it through spring branding in the next few weeks.
He cringed at the thought of being shorthanded for that and nearly ran into a man. He managed to stop himself before completely knocking the man over and took comfort in the fact that Adeline had moved to the back of his thoughts already. Just like he thought would happen when work came into the picture.
“Sorry,” he muttered and moved to walk around the man.
“Uh, Mr. Swinney?”
Harley came to a stop, turning to face the young man. He had ruddy cheeks and untamed blond hair. His roguish grin spread wide, and he extended a hand.
“Yes?” Harley said, shaking the proffered hand with slight hesitance.
“Sorry, name’s Earl Peters.”
“Nice to meet you.” Harley still had no idea who this kid was.
“I think you got a reference letter of mine? I’m looking for a job and was recommended your ranch.”
Harley tamped down his excitement, knowing he needed to vet the young man first. Many ‘ranch hands’ came around looking for work, but many of them played on a rancher's needs rather than their smarts. They said they could do the work, but once their contract was instated, they proved to be less than knowledgeable.
“Who told you about my ranch?” he asked, eyeing the man for truthfulness in his response.
“Honestly, sir, I can’t remember his name.”
That didn’t bode well. “I’m sorry but—”
“But he had a long beard, cold blue eyes, and a laugh that made you want to burst out yourself.”
Sounded like Vince, but Harley wasn’t going to say that.
“He kept talking about how cold it was last winter.”
Now that did sound like Vince. “I think you might be talking about my hand, Vince.”
“Sounds about right. Look, I know this might be presumptuous of me, but if you need a hand, I’m in desperate need of work.”
Harley’s eyes narrowed. The man, though looking rough and asking for a ranch hand position, sounded as if he’d had more schooling than most. Still, Harley was in need, and this kid might just be the solution.
“You have your own horse?”
“I do. A reliable buckskin.”
That was good, though not necessarily a requirement for work on his ranch. He just needed to assess the level of the man’s competency.
He tried again. “If I asked you to be my tally-man, would you do it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if I told you to muck out stalls, would you do it without complaint?”
“With the best of ‘em, sir. And,” he stuck out his chest, “I could head up the chuck wagon; ain’t much of a peeler, could be a night hawk, or even be a jigger if you need it.” At the last offer, he waggled his eyebrows.
Harley assessed the young man; his cocky attitude was a bit of a turn off for him, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. He’d agreed to tally the cattle branded or even stay up at night to circle the cattle.
“I don’t need a jigger—got a second-in-command already—but I could use a good cow-puncher if you’re willing.”
“You got it, boss.” The young man shook his hand again.
“You know where my ranch is?”
Earl nodded enthusiastically. “Someone told me where I could find it.”
“Good.” Harley assessed the daylight left. “Gather your things and head out. We’ve got room in the bunkhouse for you.”
“Sure enough. See you in an hour or so.”
Harley nodded and watched the young man bound from the boardwalk in the direction of the blacksmith’s shop where his horse was likely being stabled. What he may lack in skill, he’d make up for in excitement.
Nodding to himself at his good fortune, Harley continued back to his wagon. His supplies had been loaded, and he climbed up into the bench seat to head back to the ranch. The silence of the road home was daunting, considering his earlier dilemma in keeping a certain woman from his thoughts, but now he had a solution to that.
; Think of work and work only. He had a feeling that approach was going to work wonders for him.
Chapter 4
“I can keep looking. There’s bound to be someone else in this town looking for a wife. It’ll all work out; you’ll see, Miss Miller.”
Adeline found her attention wandering as she sat in Chance Redburn’s office, formerly Aunt Viola’s office, and stared out the window at the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees she could see.
“Would you like that? To meet a few other eligible bachelors?’
“What?” She drew her attention back.
“Bachelors. To meet them?”
“I’m sorry,” she wrinkled her forehead in concentration. “What happened to me marrying Mr. Swinney?”
“I, uh, well…” Mr. Redburn struggled for purchase on the slippery slope of his excuses. “I’m not sure that will work. He’s a stubborn man, I’m afraid.”
Adeline scoffed. “Stubborn? More like bull-headed.” She’d seen the man all of twenty minutes—if that—and she knew that about him already. “That doesn’t mean he knows what’s best for himself and his future.”
Mr. Redburn opened and closed his mouth two times before he found a reply. “What do you propose?”
She smiled. “Mr. Redburn, I learned many things during my time as a journalist.” There was no need to qualify the fact that she’d merely written the women’s practical advice column. People were alike, whether writing to a paper or avowing they did not want to marry. “The main thing is that persistence is key. It pays off, and I plan to see that it does.”
“Which means…what?”
“Which means I shall try to convince Mr. Swinney that he has made a grave mistake by refusing to marry me. He may not know how his name ended up on Viola’s list, but I believe it is there for a reason. I intended to do all I can to give him the opportunity to step away from his hesitance of marriage to see the blessing it could be.”
The words sounded good, they almost convinced her as well, but there was still a small seed of doubt lingering. Was it possible that he simply did not want to marry? She had thought that her persistence in pursuing journalism would pay off with something of a career as a writer until she’d come up against the immovable wall that was her father. Would Harley Swinney be the same way?
“While I admire your tenacity, Miss Miller, do you think this is wise?”
She considered the question but came to the same conclusion. As with her writing, she would regret not trying.
“I believe it is. For a time, sir. I will not push myself into an unwise or unhealthy situation. You may have my word that, should Mr. Swinney truly decide against marriage, I retire my efforts and we may begin this process with someone else. But I would be remiss if I didn’t at least try to have one,” or several, “more conversation with him. When he’s not suffering from pretense or misinformation?” She deftly mentioned Mr. Redburn’s failure to remind him that he was in no position to judge her at this juncture. The action seemed to work.
“You drive one hard bargain, Miss Miller. In fact, I can already assist you with the first part of your mission.”
“Oh?” She felt the prickle of hope threaten to blossom in her chest.
“During the, uh, confusion,” was Mr. Redburn blushing? “Mr. Swinney left without collecting his payment for the beef he brought for us. If you’d like to play the role of my executor in paying our bill with him, you are more than welcome to borrow my horse and make the trip to his ranch tomorrow.”
Adeline could barely contain her smile. “Yes. That would be most agreeable.”
Mr. Redburn excused her from his office with the promise of having his check and horse ready in the morning and Adeline left for the peacefulness of the back porch. It was slightly underhanded, creating a reason for her to visit the ranch unaccompanied, but even as she considered the alternative, it seemed harmless when any other outing would require a chaperone. Instead, she was merely going to the ranch of a business partner of the Redburn house and paying a bill. As simple as that.
Sitting on the steps and leaning back against the porch railing, Adeline closed her eyes and allowed the sweet scent of the first blooms of spring to wash over her.
She had told Mr. Redburn in no uncertain terms that she would be successful in winning over Mr. Swinney, but was that merely a whisper of a hope? The man, while seeming to be attracted to her, had told them both that he was not interested in marrying.
Then again, not interested in marrying and not interested in her were two separate things.
Her thought caused her to blush and look around as if someone might have overheard her thoughts. Of course, she didn’t know what the man’s thoughts were, but she was thinking brazenly to suspect that he would be interested if given the right motivation. What that might be, she had no idea, but she also wasn’t willing to tarnish her reputation to find out.
No, she would take the old fashioned approach. The approach she would tell those who wrote looking for advice on a similar subject. She had written back to tell them that the gentle approach was always best.
Yes, she could be gentle, and beguiling all at the same time.
Adeline thought of the strong, handsome man she’d met that day. There had to be a reason Mr. Redburn had his name in his files. His firm statements that it had not been his desire to have his name recorded among the husband-hopefuls still begged the question: then who?
Perhaps divine intervention?
Adeline grinned and rested her head back against the roughshod post. Her hair caught on a splintered piece of wood and she pulled it free but leaned her head back again. The post reminded her of Mr. Swinney—Harley? Would he let her call him that? It was rough but sturdy. Functional and, while not exactly pretty, it fit where it was supposed to.
She tried to imagine what he would look like without all of that scruff and in clothes that were cleaned of dirt and grime.
Handsome. She knew that without question.
Letting out a long sigh, her fingers itched for her journal. It was inside in the room that she shared and would take too long to fetch. She would need to retire to bed soon anyway if she were to be up in time to wash her hair before she left for Mr. Swinney’s ranch.
Yes, she would do her absolute best to have at least one more honest conversation with Mr. Harley Swinney. She would see where his priorities lay, whether he was merely scared of marriage or completely opposed, and then she would see if there was any softness she could press in to. Any hint that he felt a modicum of the attraction she had earlier that day.
Then, bearing his response to all of these things, she would proceed from there. Perhaps toward him or perhaps away.
But secretly, she hoped it was to, for the handsome man had caught her attention in a way she had only read of in books.
“That okay, boss?” Johnny said. “Boss?”
“What? Sorry.” Blast, I’m doing it again! “Yeah, that’s fine. See you in the morning.”
The hands nodded their goodbye and shuffled off toward the bunkhouse, all but the young man he’d hired earlier that day.
“You seem distracted,” Earl observed.
Leave it to the kid to notice something like that.
“Lot on my mind. That’s all. Why don’t you head off to bed?”
“Soon.” He stared into the fire pit in the yard behind the house where the hands and Harley congregated many evenings when the weathered abided.
This kid sure had guts. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” He caught Harley’s gaze with a grin.
Guts indeed. “Nothing that won’t keep.”
“’Bout the ranch?” Earl asked.
“Nope.” At least Harley could give a straight answer there. “More personal than that.”
“Then a woman.”
Harley’s gaze shot to Earl’s and the young man laughed.
“Nailed you on that one.”
Harley shook his head, gaze re
turning to the fire pit. He had nailed him on that. “It’s not really anything.”
“Sure.” The silence stretched out for almost a minute, and Harley thought the subject had dropped, but then Earl said, “She pretty?”
Harley couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You don’t give up, do you, kid?”
“Not usually.” Earl shrugged “I had a girl once. A really nice one. Thought about marrying her.”
“What happened?”
“I tell you, and you fill me in on who’s occupying your thoughts?”
Harley tilted his head to the side.
“Fine,” Earl said, huffing out a breath. “I’ll tell you anyway. My brother up and stole her out from under my nose.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Well, my trouble ain’t looking so bad.”
It was Earl’s turn to laugh. “I dare say you got it good if your brother’s not stealing your woman.”
Your woman. The words lodged in Harley’s mind like a rock in a horse’s shoe. Adeline Miller was not his woman, and yet a small part of him—one that he wouldn’t even acknowledge to himself—wanted her to be.
“So?”
“Not how this works, kid.” He took a swig of water from his tin cup and used the rest to toss on the dying embers. He shoved to his feet, saying, “Have a good night.”
“Not fair,” he heard Earl say as he shuffled off toward the bunkhouse.
While he appreciated his new hand’s openness with him, he felt no compulsion to share in kind. Especially about a woman he’d never see again.
Harley finished up the last minute chores around the house and then made his way to the master bedroom. It had been his parents and, when they’d passed, he’d decided it was time to take full ownership of the house and the ranch.
The day he’d moved into their room, he’d allowed himself to feel the grief as well as the responsibility. The weight of the ranch rested on his shoulders, and he took that charge seriously. It had been the first time in his adult life that he’d felt the freedom to make his own choices—for himself and the ranch.