The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride

Beyond the back fence, several Holsteins milled about, grazing on alfalfa. Gideon had already seen the black-and-white-spotted animals this morning.

He and Ivy stepped through the back door of the barn and moved inside. The door at the other end was also open, and a fresh breeze blew through the sturdy watertight structure. Oats and bits of hay scattered across the dirt floor. The odors of animal flesh and earth hung on the air.

Gideon had been here earlier checking the horses’ shoes. “Where’s the horse you found?”

“I towed him to a gully using another horse.”

“Could you show me?”

She led him past the house and through the back gate around the cows. Alfalfa blanketed the field in green as far as he could see. As they walked down a slight hill, he spied the glitter of a fast-running creek cutting through a grove of pecan trees. Beyond was a line of thick timber, just like the woods in front of Ivy’s house that ran along the road that was part of the old military trace between Fort Towson and Fort Jesup in Louisiana.

Someday, he was going to have a place like this.

Realizing he’d quickened his pace, Gideon slowed, waiting for Ivy. She reached him, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. He had a sudden image of other things that might make her breathe hard against him.

Inhaling her scent mixed with spring air, his gaze involuntarily went to her mouth. He wanted to know how she tasted and... He bit back a curse.

He hadn’t had a woman since he’d gotten out of prison. A visit was long overdue.

He didn’t understand this fascination with Ivy, this infernal awareness. Yes, she was beautiful, but his experience with another one like her had cost him five years of his life. Then, as now, he’d been trying to protect a woman, and it had left marks.

Deep, soul-scarring marks. He had no intention of getting more.

He glanced away from the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Reminding himself that he was there for her brother, he asked, “Do you own this land?”

“Yes.”

Gideon knew Tom Powell had died about a year and a half ago. “What about your late husband?”

“What about him?” She cut him a sharp look.

“Smith said he was killed when he was thrown from a wagon.”

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“How do you get along with his family?”

“Fine, though I rarely see them. Tom’s grandmother is his only living relative. She’s in Chicago. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out if anyone would want your business.”

She shook her head. “She has no interest in that or in living here.”

“I’m also trying to decide if anyone has a grudge against you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about suitors?”

She stopped, staring blankly at him for a moment. Then a look of horror crossed her features. “No one is courting me! No one is even interested.”

Gideon found that hard to believe. “Did your husband leave any debts unsettled?”

“No.” She shifted her gaze to the pasture.

Several yards away, Gideon saw a gully, its red mud walls carved out of the pasture’s earth. Overhead, ravens circled with a raucous call.

Beside him, Ivy muttered something under her breath, wrestling with her blue skirts now damp from the wet grass.

Gideon slowed. “How does your arrangement with the stage line work?”

“The mayor of Paladin has a contract with them, and he sublets the farm from me to use as a stage stop. He pays me a monthly stipend for the food I provide the passengers and for the horses I board for the stage line.”

“Does the stage change teams every time it stops?”

“Usually, not always.”

“How many of those horses in your corral belong to them?”

“Ten. The other three are mine.”

Her answers were short, brisk. Because she didn’t like that he was asking questions? Or because she could sense how she affected him?

Beneath the scents of grass and earth, he caught her musky floral fragrance, and it pulled his muscles taut. He put a little space between them. “Do you have any passengers who come through regularly?”

“A couple.”

“Have any of them ever made threats? Been unhappy with anything?”

“No.”

She lived out here alone. She’d received the poems and drawings. Her dog was gone, some of her chickens had disappeared and she’d found a dead horse, which he had yet to see. All those things had spooked her enough to prompt the wire to her brother.

They reached the edge of the gully, which looked to be six to seven feet deep. A sour, overwhelming stench reached them, and Gideon pulled his bandanna over his nose, noticing that Ivy pressed a handkerchief over hers.

The horse lay at the bottom in several inches of muddy water. The animal was stiff, its brownish-red hide chewed from neck to rump. The black tips on its ears, mane and tail identified it as a bay.

Beside him, Ivy made a soft, distressed noise, but when he glanced over, she was composed, calm, albeit pale.

“Wait here,” he said. “I want to take a closer look.”

She nodded, staying where she was as he carefully maneuvered his way down the slippery mud walls. Birds and other varmints had picked away at the horse’s flesh.

Gideon could see now that the bay was a gelding. There were no broken legs, no broken bones anywhere that he could find. After thoroughly examining the animal, he returned to study its chest. The long gash from the base of the bay’s neck to the top of his chest looked to have been caused by a knife. A large knife.

He made his way back up the slick slope, struggling to keep his footing a few times. Finally, he stood beside her, the knees of his trousers covered with red mud. He took off his hat and drew his arm across his sweat-dampened forehead.

Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced over.

She shifted her attention to the dead horse. “Who could do something like this? And why?”

“I don’t know.”

She exhaled heavily, clearly vexed.

“What will happen when the stage line finds out about their dead animal?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible they won’t trust me with other animals or even their business.”

“There was nothing in the contract about things like this?”

“My husband signed it, and I’ve never read the whole thing,” she said tiredly. “It’s somewhere in his desk. I’ll look for it when we return to the house.”

He nodded. “And your missing chickens? Does that significantly affect the meals you offer?”

“Yes.”

Staring at the horse, he thumbed his hat back. “Considering the chickens and the bay, this could be directed at your business. It makes you look bad to the stage line and to the mayor who subcontracted you.”

“What about Tug? And the drawings, the poems? Those seem personal, not business.”

True. “You say no one has a grudge against you. Maybe you have something they want.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Your contract with the stage line?”

“No one else around here spoke up when the mayor asked who was interested in contracting with him for the job.”

“Maybe someone wants your land?”

“That makes no sense. I’ve worked hard to make this a nice place, but it isn’t sitting on top of a gold mine. And no one’s approached me about buying.”

Something was going on. Gideon just wasn’t sure how threatening it was. Except for the drawing of her bedroom. That weighed on him.

Turning in a slow circle, he examined every angle from the house. Only the barn roof could be seen from here. His gaze slowly swept the line of fence, the lush alfalfa rippling across the pasture. He paused at the thick line of trees running along the back of her place.

After a moment, he realized what bothered him. “I’d like to take a look at the woods in front of your house.”

“All right.”

Retracing their steps, they reached her house several minutes later then cut across the wet yard and out the gate to the road.

She hurried along beside him, her cheeks flushed. “Why are you interested in the woods?”

“None of those drawings showed the rear view of your property.”

Realization flashed across her face. “Except for the one of my bedroom, they were all from the woods bordering the road.”

“Yes, and there might be some sign that someone’s been lying in wait.”

“You mean spying on me then vandalizing my place?”

He nodded.

“They’re watching me?” She sounded more angry than alarmed.

He sneaked a look at her indignant features. If someone were hanging around, heaven help them. The woman had already held him at gunpoint twice for no other reason than just showing up.

They crossed the muddy road onto the soggy grass and reached the edge of the south woods.

“Has the railroad ever talked about coming through here?” he asked.

“Oh, they’ve been talking about it for years, but it hasn’t happened. Besides, if there were plans for a railroad, everybody would be chattering about it.”

She had a point.

As he reached the edge of the trees, she caught up to him.

“Do you really think you’ll find anything in there?”

“I don’t know.” He was checking anyway. He’d promised Smith.

“The rain will have washed away any footprints,” Ivy said.

“True, but there might be other signs that someone has been around.”

“Like what?”

“The remains of a fire, maybe, or a shelter or something.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming, too.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“Okay.” He led the way into the dark denseness. Thick branches still dripped with rain, and wet pine needles slid beneath his feet.

After several minutes of walking through the damp air, Gideon had found no sign of anything except rain. He wanted to find the spot that would give him the view shown in those drawings.

Looking over his shoulder, he could see daylight through the wall of trees at his back. “What’s beyond here?”

“More pasture.”

He watched as she began walking into the wooded area that faced her house. Ahead of her, between the trees and bushes, he saw a wedge of light.

He followed. At times he would see her white frame home, then it would vanish as if the branches closed up. A trick of the shadows, he realized.

As he came within a foot of Ivy, he could clearly see her house through two stubby pines. Without warning, she stopped cold. To keep from running her over, he clamped his hands on her waist. She jumped, unbalancing them both for a second. He steadied them then released her.

“Look,” she breathed, pointing at something in front of her.

He dragged his attention from the taut curve of her waist and followed her gaze to the patch of ground she indicated.

Sunlight filtered through the thickness of the trees, falling on a blackened pile of sticks. Gideon stepped around her and knelt over the remains of a campfire.

“Someone’s been here.” He touched the soggy wood. Because of all the rain, he couldn’t tell how recently.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” She moved closer, her skirts brushing his arm.

He stood. “If it’s the person causing trouble, yes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the forest surrounding them. “Do you think someone is here right now?” she asked in a low voice.

He glanced down, seeing a flare of alarm in her eyes. She hid it well, but she was worried. He wanted to reassure her, which made him snort. He was hardly made for that.

Still, he tried. “It’s so quiet that I think we would hear if anyone else was nearby, and I haven’t heard anything.”

She nodded, but her gaze darted around.

He focused again on the slant of light through the trees and stepped to the left, completely concealed behind a thick pine. From here, he could see Ivy’s house clearly. Everything, including the barn, the corral, the road leading to her home. Just like the drawings.

It was a perfect spot to observe the farm and matched the view of the illustrations.

Nerves taut with the same instinct that had kept him alive in prison, Gideon studied the ground then bent to pick up a broken pine branch. With his boot, he cleared a spot on the soft ground then laid the branch next to the tree where they stood.

“What are you doing?”

“If someone does come back, they’ll likely build a fire here again.” He anchored the wood on either end with small rocks. “Not only because it’s a perfect place to watch your house, but also because I doubt they’ll risk marking another spot.”

He checked the other side of the tree, pleased to discover the Powell farm wasn’t visible from there. “When they get in place, they’ll break the twig.”

“That’s smart,” she murmured, “but an animal could break it.”

“Yeah, but if a person does it, there will be some other sign of that. A boot print, marks on the tree maybe.”

“That means you’re going to have to check here every day.”

“Right.”

“We can take turns.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I can help.”

“Miss Ivy, your brother sent me here to do this job.”

“I’m helping,” she said baldly.

She might look softer than velvet and be a whole lot prettier than Smith, but she probably had every bit as much grit as her brother. And she might need it.

The dead horse and the campfire remains proved someone had been here. To frighten Ivy? Or for something worse?

Gideon had to find out. Which meant he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how badly Ivy might want him to.

Chapter Two

Gideon Black’s face had gone from blank to grim upon seeing the remains of that campfire.

By the time they sat down to lunch, Ivy was impressed with the man, though she didn’t want to be. For whatever reason, she hadn’t thought to look in the woods for signs of the person causing her trouble.

Maybe because she was so tired. She’d barely slept last night for replaying the night of Tom’s death over and over. She’d managed to stop the memory, but not the guilt. As a result, she had slept poorly, and she couldn’t blame that on her guest.

Gideon gestured to the platter of ham and corn bread. “This is good.”

“Thank you.” Sitting across from him, her skin felt prickly.

And hot.

The man was the size of a mountain. He dominated the space, making even the table that could seat ten people look small. His face, rugged and strong, was weathered by the sun and life. Grooves cut on either side of his mouth hinted that he must’ve smiled a lot at one time. She’d seen no evidence of it.

Using the cloth napkin she’d laid next to his plate, he wiped his lips then took a sip of coffee. “When does your contract with the mayor end?”

So he was still trying to figure out why someone might want to cause trouble for her. “In a year.”

“Is there anyone who might want that?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She sighed. “The mayor will have to be told about the horse. I’ll need to drive into Paladin.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The thought of riding all that way in the wagon with him made her skittish. “It’s not necessary.”

“Still, I’ll go.”

Her own food sat untouched as he forked open another piece of corn bread and spread it with honey. Why had Gideon been in prison? Maybe it had been due to a mistake like her brother being wrongly identified as a train robber. A clerical error had incorrectly listed him as dead rather than as one of the prisoners transported to Leavenworth.

“Mr. Black?”

“Gideon.”

“Gideon. How long were you in prison?”

His head came up, those blue eyes burning into her. Wariness etched his features. “Five years.”

“Why were you there?”

He laid down his fork. A long moment passed. “For murder.”

She drew in a sharp breath. There was no need to ask if he was serious. His eyes hardened, squelching a brief flare of remorse and anger.

“And were you guilty?”

“Yes.” He watched her carefully, as if expecting her to order him to leave.

She wasn’t afraid of him. If Smith thought Gideon was dangerous, he never would’ve sent him.

Just as he took another sip of coffee, she asked, “Who did you kill?”

He shook his head.

“I think I have a right to know, Mr. Black. You’re living here.”

Looking pained and irritated at the same time, he set his cup down. “A rancher’s son.”

“Did you kill him in self-defense?”

“No.” His jaw tightened as he held her gaze, his entire frame rigid with tension.

She wanted to press him for more, but the raw bleakness in his face reached right into her chest and squeezed. She couldn’t do it. “Thank you for telling me.”

He said nothing, just resumed eating.

For a moment, the only sounds were the scrape of forks on the plates, the occasional call of a bird. The man clearly didn’t want to discuss himself. That was fine. She had other questions.

“Smith won’t talk much about his time in prison.”

Resignation chased across Gideon’s face, and he again set aside his utensils. His voice was flat. “He doesn’t want you to know.”

Because it had been horrible. Ivy’s throat tightened. Her brother was home. That was what mattered. Their parents and his wife, Caroline, were helping him heal. Who was helping Gideon Black? Did a murderer deserve help? Smith thought so. “Do you have any family?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No one at all?”

“No.”

His tone was polite, yet she could sense his agitation. “How did you and Smith become friends?”

After a longing glance at his food, he said, “There was a, um, misunderstanding between him and some other inmates. I helped straighten it out.”

His words were so careful, so deliberate that she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Was that when you saved his life?”

“Yes.” His muscles were drawn taut beneath his buff-colored work shirt, his shoulders straining at the fabric.

“Was that when his leg was broken?”

The jerky nod and coiled energy in his body warned her off, but she couldn’t help another question. “Is that how you got those scars?”

His face completely closed up. She’d never seen anything like it. His features turned to granite, blue eyes blazing, his mouth white with restraint. Angry color slashed across his sharp cheekbones.

He rose, his massive frame blocking out the sun. “Would you like me to take my meals somewhere else, Miss Ivy?”

“No.” She stood, too. Would he really go? Absolutely, she realized. There was no bluff on his face. “Please, finish your meal.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then started to sit. The sound of an approaching horse had them both turning toward the open screened door. A couple of chickens squawked and hustled out of the way of a brown mare, its hooves flinging red mud as it trotted toward the house.

She held back a groan. “I wonder what he wants.”

Gideon strapped on the gun belt he’d shed for their meal. Plucking his hat from the peg beside the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “You know him?”

“Yes. It’s Conrad, the stagecoach driver. Neal Conrad, but he goes by his last name.”

“Didn’t you say he was just here yesterday?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.”

She stepped onto the porch, and her guest followed. An enticing mix of man and leather floated to her. She could feel the powerful width of Gideon’s chest at her back. While she appreciated the gesture, Conrad was an annoyance, not a threat.

The stage driver, a man with sharp features and flowing blond hair, jumped off his horse and whipped the reins around the hitching post. “I came as soon as I could.”

Giving Gideon a narrow-eyed look, Conrad reached her in two strides, arms outstretched.

She stepped back, managing to avoid contact. He was always touching her, and she didn’t like it.

His blue-checked shirt and dark trousers were clean. His eyes were deep brown, his features as perfect as a drawing and he possessed about as much substance as a piece of paper. He was trim and well built, a handsome man. And he knew it.

“What brings you out two days in a row, Conrad?” Ivy asked evenly.

“I came to check on you. See how you fared in the storm.”

“Just fine.”

He turned his attention to Gideon, his eyes hardening when he saw how close the other man stood to her.

“Who are you?” he asked sharply.

Ivy barely stopped herself from snapping that it was none of his business. Before Gideon could answer, she did. “Conrad, this is Gideon Black, a family friend.”

“Are you staying here or just passing through?”

As if that were any of his concern. Ivy fought the urge to order the stage driver off her property, but that wouldn’t be smart, businesswise. “He’s my guest, Conrad. He brought a message from my brother.”

The man scrutinized Gideon before his gaze swung to Ivy. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Gideon and I are just having a visit.”

The subject of the conversation had yet to say a word, but Ivy didn’t miss the shrewd glint in his eyes as he sized up the other man. She also didn’t miss the way he kept one hand on the butt of the revolver in his holster.

“I drive the stage,” Conrad announced unnecessarily.

“So Miss Ivy said.” Gideon folded his arms over that broad chest. With a scowl on his compelling features, he looked as approachable as a rattlesnake.

Seeming to dismiss Gideon, Conrad turned to her with a smile and took her elbow, towing her inside.

As he always did, he walked into her house without an invitation. Gideon followed them over the threshold, disapproval pulsing from him.

When Ivy pulled away, Conrad paused at the dining table, his smile still in place. “You were probably frightened last night. That storm really kicked up a fuss.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” she said stiffly.

“Maybe you’ve got some of that delicious coffee?” Conrad’s gaze fell to the two plates on the table. The two cups. Mouth tight, he sat in the chair next to hers.

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t need to upset the man who recommended her stage stop and was responsible for bringing passengers here.

Gideon remained at the door like a sentry. Tension arced in the room, and she thought she could physically feel him willing the stage driver to leave.

Conrad drummed his fingers on the table.

She took another tin cup from the cabinet that held the tin plates and mugs reserved for the passengers. Going to the stove, she wrapped the hem of her apron around the hot handle of the coffeepot.

As she poured, he said, “It would’ve been better if you’d been in town last night, not out here all alone.”

“I was fine.” Her words were short as she handed him the cup. She glanced at Gideon, noticing that his face hadn’t changed one bit. It still looked carved out of stone. Forbidding. Conrad was either blind or not intimidated.

“You know how I feel about you being out here all by your lonesome,” he said.

Yes, and she didn’t give two figs about it. It took effort to keep her voice level. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t leave my home.”

“You shouldn’t be running this place by yourself.” He sipped at the steamy brew. “You shouldn’t be running it at all.”

“Conrad,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been running it since Tom passed, and I intend to keep doing so.”

“Now, now, don’t get your back up.” He clumsily placed his cup on the table, liquid sloshing out as he stood and moved toward her.

Gideon took a step in her direction. Only one.

It was enough to stop the other man. Conrad blinked then turned to Ivy. “I’m only thinking of you. You need a man around here to help you.”

She certainly did not.

“She has one,” Gideon said.