Lucky Bride

“Just one foot after the other,” he said under his breath. One tenderfoot after another, he silently corrected, remembering his encounter with Max. He grinned in spite of himself.

Chapter Two

“Papa must be a-rollin’ in his grave to see me like this,” Susannah said with disgust, tearing off the oversize gloves and looking at her chapped hands. “My skin’s going to be as tough as shoe leather.”

“People don’t roll in their graves,” Molly replied. “Once they’re dead, they’re dead.”

“Can’t we go back now, Molly? I’m half-froze.”

Molly pulled off her own gloves and huffed on her numb fingers. The storm was getting worse, and if they hadn’t found the blamed mule by now, they probably weren’t going to. They could only hope that the poor nag had found a place to take shelter. Beatrice was too old to weather a storm like the one kicking up just to the west of them. Too old to be of much use around the ranch, either. She’d been their father’s favorite—the only animal he could afford when he’d first come West back in ‘50. He’d been on his way to join the California Gold Rush, but had fallen in love with the wide open skies of Wyoming and had never left. Molly still felt the pain like a piece of glass in her throat every time she thought about him. She reckoned she owed it to Papa not to let Beatrice freeze to death alone in a snowstorm.

“We’ll look along the canyon,” she told her sister. “If we can’t see any sign of her there, we’ll have to head back.”

Susannah wheeled her horse toward the west. She was actually the best rider of the three sisters, but she played down her skill, not wanting Molly to assign her more tasks around the place. “Hurry up with it, then. That’s a blizzard coming,” she called back to her sister. “I don’t see what’s so all-fired important about an old mule. She won’t even let any of us ride her.”

“She misses Papa, just like the rest of us. One of these days she’ll calm down.”

Susannah frowned and let Molly pull up alongside her. “You talk about her as if she were a member of the family.”

“Don’t be stupid. You and Mary Beth and I are the family. The only family we have left.”

They’d been riding toward the edge of Copper Canyon, an unexpected gap that opened up in the middle of the prairie like a crack in a smooth pan of cake. It was named not for any particular mineral content but for its burnished red color when the sun hit it right. Susannah reached the edge first and pulled up, holding her hat down on her head as the wind tore into her. “She’s not going to be down here, Molly,” she hollered. “Papa never took Beatrice into the canyon.”

Molly squinted to keep the snow from her eyes. The big flakes were coming down harder, and it was becoming difficult to see. She flipped her horse’s reins over its head and handed them to her sister. “Hold on to Midnight. I’m going to take a look.”

“I don’t think…”

Before Susannah could finish her protest, Molly had jumped from her horse and was walking toward the edge of the cliff. As she reached the rim, her heart gave a little jump. Through the snow she could make out the distinct shape of an animal, just a few yards down into the canyon. “She’s here!” she yelled to Susannah as she scrambled over the side.

“Be careful. The ground’s slippery,” her sister warned.

In fact, the footing was more treacherous than Molly had anticipated. The snow had formed an icy coating over the rocks. She turned around and began to climb down backward, holding to the side as she went. From beneath her came a gentle whinny. She straightened up in surprise and looked over her shoulder. She knew the mule’s throaty sound. The animal below her was not Beatrice.

Her body sagged a moment with disappointment, then she straightened her back. It was someone’s animal, and it didn’t belong stuck here on the side of a canyon. She faced the rocks once again and continued down until she reached the horse. Close up, it didn’t look as if it was worth saving, but there was a fancy tooled saddle on its back and bulging saddlebags.

She looked around. Where in blazes was the rider? The gale tore at her, threatening to blow her off the side of the cliff. She clutched at the horse for support. “What are you doing here, you old nag? Where’s your owner?” The animal tossed its head and gave another whinny of complaint.

Molly twisted around to survey the surrounding area, but the canyon was fast turning into a sheet of white. She could barely see the ground right next to her own feet. She started to feel an ominous cold from the inside out. If the owner of this horse was lying hurt or wounded somewhere near here, they might not find him until after the storm, and by then it would surely be too late.

“Susannah, come help me!” she shouted.

She could barely hear her sister’s reply over the wind’s howl, and she could no longer see to the top of the cliff. She grabbed the horse’s reins. The leather was frozen stiff. “Halloo! Is anyone there?” she called out.

The snow blew into her mouth and stung her eyes. Leading the horse, she started to climb down into the canyon. She sensed that someone was in trouble out here, and helping people out of trouble was her specialty. But for once she was plumb out of ideas as to what to do.

Her boots slipped on the glassy rocks and she slid several feet, landing with her back against the sharp edge of a cracked boulder. The horse skidded along behind her. “Sorry,” she said to the animal as she scrambled back to her feet, ignoring the pain where the jagged rock had bruised her ribs. She took another look around. The world was utterly white. In just a few short minutes the snow blanket under her feet had become over an inch thick. Soon it would be blowing into immense drifts up on the plains.

She leaned back against the rocks. Her fists tightened in frustration as she tried to decide what to do. After all, she didn’t know for sure that the animal’s owner was in the canyon. The horse may have run away and left its rider miles from here. And with the progress of the storm, she and Susannah would be lucky to find their own way back to the ranch. To stay out here any longer would risk both their lives. Reluctantly she turned around once again and started up the cliff.

She almost fell on top of him. The horse pulled her to the left and she stumbled down a crevice, catching herself just before she slid right into him. Molly’s first thought was that he was dead. His body was twisted in an unnatural heap and his skin was totally white.

“Molly, are you hurt?” Susannah was climbing down toward her. She sounded terrified.

“I’m fine. But there’s someone here. He’s hurt…or worse.”

The storm seemed to abate for just a minute as the two sisters stared down at the frozen man.

“It’s that stranger—the one we saw in town yesterday. The gentleman,” Susannah said.

Molly gave a snort of disgust. “Maybe he is a gentleman if he’s blamed fool enough to try to cross Copper Canyon in this kind of weather.”

“What are we going to do?” Susannah asked, her eyes wide.

“We’ve got to get him up on his horse so we can take him back to the ranch.”

“We can’t lift a big man like that,” Susannah protested.

“It’s either that or he dies. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Susannah was silent, but she bent to help as Molly tugged at the man’s boots, trying to straighten out his body.

“You take the legs and I’ll take the shoulders—they’re heavier,” Molly ordered. Susannah was taller than Molly, but there was no question about who had the greater strength. They maneuvered the horse so that it was slightly below them on the cliff, leaving less distance for them to lift their burden. “On the count of three. Use all your strength, now,” Molly urged. “You can do it, Susie girl. One, two, three!”

They half lifted, half rolled the inert form over onto the saddle. Thankfully, the horse seemed too cold to protest and stood stock-still.

“We did it!” Susannah cried in triumph.

“Good job, sis,” Molly said, her entire chest filling with relief. Now all they had to do was find their way back home through a blinding snowstorm. “You lead the horse up and I’ll hold him on the back. We’ll tie him down when we get back on top.”

They struggled, pushing and pulling the reluctant mount up the rocks and onto level ground. Both girls were wheezing with the effort by the time they were at the top, and they threw their arms around each other in a victory embrace. “We made it,” Susannah gasped.

Molly was more reserved. “We can’t rest now. We’ve got to get started home.” She pulled a rope from her own horse and began to tie it around the inert man. There was no movement from him.

“You don’t suppose he’s dead, do you?” Susannah asked warily.

Molly brushed the snow from her face so that she could see the knots she was tying. “After all this trouble,” she said grimly, “he wouldn’t dare be dead.”

For several hours after they arrived home it looked as if the stranger they had rescued might indeed dare to die. His skin was completely cold to the touch, and his breathing was so shallow that at times it seemed to disappear altogether.

An anxious Mary Beth had greeted them at the big oak door of the ranch house, exclaiming over their tardiness in arriving through the storm. When they told her of the man, still tied to his horse out front, she ran to the kitchen to get Smokey. The bewhiskered old man was a roundup cook who had stayed on one spring years ago and had become a fixture at Lucky Stars.

“Where will we put him, Miss Molly?” Smokey asked as he helped her drag the stranger into the house.

“We’ll take him up to Papa’s room,” she answered after the briefest pause.

Susannah and Mary Beth exchanged a look. Since their father’s death the previous winter, his room had been unoccupied. When Susannah had once suggested that she would like to move there from her tiny corner room, Molly had answered her with a withering look and had gone upstairs to lock the door. It hadn’t been opened since.

Together the four of them carried the half-frozen man up the curving stairs and across the hall, then waited while Molly opened the door to the spacious bedroom. It was just as it had been when their father lived—his stand of pipes on the dresser, his old felt hat hanging from one corner of the clothes tree. But a groan from the unconscious man kept them from dwelling on the past.

“I’ve never seen skin so white,” Mary Beth said in a hushed voice as they laid him out on top of the high poster bed.

“Bring some coal oil, Smokey,” Molly directed. “We’ll have to rub it on him.”

Susannah and Mary Beth stared at her. “All over him?” Susannah asked.

“You girls ain’t rubbing no ‘all over’ on any shiftless cowboy,” Smokey said indignantly. “If he needs rubbing, I guess I’ll be the one to do it.”

Molly paused and looked up and down the stranger’s lean body. “I guess we could leave that part to you,” she told the old man. “But mind you’re gentle about it, or you’ll rub that frozen skin right off him.”

Smokey gave a little grunt. “I reckon I’ve unfroze my share of fingers and toes and ears in my time,” he muttered. “Now, you three can just skedaddle on downstairs.”

Molly set Mary Beth and Susannah to fixing supper and some hot soup for when their patient regained his senses, then she went back up to the bedroom with the coal oil. She hesitated at the door. Smokey had stripped off the stranger’s clothes, leaving his lower half covered by a blanket. She’d never seen a man’s naked chest close up. Papa had always said that any hand showing up around the big house without a shirt would be turned off the place. He’d guarded his daughters’ sensibilities as if they’d been princesses in a European castle rather than redblooded girls on a Wyoming cattle ranch.

She averted her eyes from the bed and held out the can of oil. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asked.

Smokey walked over and gave her cheek a little pat. “You go down and get something warm into your gullet, missy. Let me worry about him.”

“Do you think he’ll be all right?”

Smokey shrugged. “He looks pretty froze. But we’ll do the best we can for him.”

“I’ll come back up in a little bit and sit with him, so you can have your supper.”

“Take your time. He’s not going anywhere.”

But Molly found she could not rest easy downstairs without knowing about the stranger’s progress. After gulping a few bites of stew, she said, “Mary Beth, you do the washing up tonight so Smokey can help out upstairs. And Susannah, bring some more firewood up to his room. We’ll need to keep it warm in there all night long.”

Susannah’s lower lip came out slightly. “I can hardly move, Molly.”

Molly felt much the same way herself. The struggle at the canyon and then battling the fury of the storm all the way home had taken its toll. But she pushed herself up from the table and said, “You can haul the wood or wash the dishes. You two work it out between yourselves, just so it gets done.” She stalked across the dining room to the front entryway and the graceful curved stairway that had been her papa’s pride and joy. No other ranch house in the territory had one like it.

“You have to help, too,” Susannah retorted.

“I’ll be up with the cowboy.”

“I’m not sure that he’s a cowboy,” Mary Beth corrected shyly. “Parker, he said his name was. Parker Prescott.”

“Kind of a gentlemanly sounding name, don’t you think?” Susannah added.

“Gentleman or not, he won’t be anything but a corpse unless we keep him warm,” Molly said.

Susannah’s smile dimmed. “I’ll bring up the wood,” she said.

And Mary Beth added, “I’ll bring some, too.”

By midnight the man’s skin had turned red. He still hadn’t regained consciousness. Molly had sent Smokey to bed, but she was determined to sit by their patient’s side through the night. She didn’t know whether Mr. Parker Prescott was a gentleman, but he was a human being. And if he was going to die, she wasn’t about to let him do it alone.

She’d sat with her father through two weeks of restless nights before the pneumonia had taken him last year. And she’d had her share of sleepless nights ever since. Sometimes, usually at times like this in the darkest early-morning hours, the responsibility of it all would overwhelm her. Everything depended on her— the ranch, her sisters, even Smokey and poor Beatrice, both of whom were too old to find a place at any other spread. And now this stranger’s fate had ended up in her hands, as well.

She-sighed and walked over to the bed to examine him. Against the snowy white of the pillow his hair was a dark chestnut color—thick and wavy. He had the chiseled features of an Eastern blue blood, but the upper part of his body, which was not covered by the blanket, was as strong and well muscled as the loggers who came through town on their way to the north woods. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest for a few moments. His breathing appeared normal once again. And his skin tone was looking better. She reached out to lift one of his hands. Fingers were often the hardest hit by frostbite. But he’d been wearing thick leather gloves, and she could see no sign of the deadly white spots that would indicate frozen skin.

She held his hand for a long moment, wondering at her own fascination. She’d certainly bandaged enough banged-up knuckles and sprains among the cowpokes. But this stranger’s hand didn’t look like those of the cowboys she’d nursed. His skin was clean and soft, the fingers long. There were, however, calluses on his palm. He’d not been entirely idle, this gentleman of theirs.

With a little grimace she put his hand back. She reckoned the rest of the household was asleep by now, but she wasn’t about to have someone come in and see her musing over some stranger’s hand. She went back and sat in the rocking chair next to the fire. The important thing was that it appeared Mr. Prescott was going to recover. Which meant that soon he could ride on out of here and things would be back to normal.

“Oh, my!” Mary Beth’s voice from the doorway woke Molly from her doze. Through the shutter slats she could see that it was daylight, though the storm still raged. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then glanced over at the bed.

She saw at once the cause of Mary Beth’s exclamation. During the night the man had twisted the blanket around himself in such a way that only the barest portion of his naked body was concealed from view. Fortunately that portion included his most private parts, but it was still a shocking sight. One long, hairy leg was exposed to view clear up to his backside. Molly felt a bit queer in her midsection. She jumped up and walked over to the bed, intent on protecting her sister from seeing anything more.

“Oh, my!” Susannah’s exclamation came like an echo behind Mary Beth. Both girls stepped into the room and stood staring at the bed.

“You two can go on downstairs,” Molly snapped. “It’s not decent for you to be seeing him like this.”

“It’s not decent for you, either,” Susannah said, sounding more intrigued than shocked. She walked across the room, then made a slow tour around the end of the bed. “He’s surely a pretty thing, isn’t he?” she said with a low laugh.

“Has he woken up yet?” Mary Beth asked cautiously. She stayed put over by the door.

Molly grasped one end of the blanket, but it was so twisted around him that she couldn’t pull it free. “I must have dozed myself,” she answered. “But I don’t think he has. His color looks good, though.”

“More than his color looks good, if you ask me,” Susannah said with a little giggle.

“Susannah!” Mary Beth chided.

Molly grabbed a coverlet from its stand and flung it out over the entire bed, burying the patient. “You two ought to be down fixing breakfast,” she said again, facing her sisters with her hands on her hips.

“Smokey’s fixing it. He said we should come up and help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“We’ll just watch, then,” Susannah said with a wicked grin.

Molly gave a huff and went back to trying to free the twisted blanket, working underneath the coverlet. In exasperation she gave a forceful tug. The patient rolled, causing the blanket to come free in her hands and knocking her off balance. She ended up in a heap on the bed, not two feet from Parker Prescott’s wide open brown eyes.

“Hello,” he said mildly.

Molly pushed the hair out of her face and scrambled backward, making sure that the coverlet stayed over most of his body.

“Ah…hello,” she said.

Susannah gave one of her musical laughs. “You’re awake!” she said.

Parker turned his head toward the tall blonde standing next to the bed. He blinked a couple of times. “If this is heaven,” he said, “then dying was worth the price.”

Molly felt an odd mixture of relief, irritation and panic. She was pleased that the stranger had recovered his senses and was not going to die in their midst. But she was not pleased at the way he was eyeing her sister. Charlie Hanks had guarded his three daughters like a shepherd guarding a flock of sheep surrounded by slavering wolves, a comparison that, he always said, was being overly complimentary to the cowboys of Canyon City. When he’d died, Molly had simply taken over the guarding duty, as she had all the others. Now all at once she had one of those very wolves lying naked in her father’s bed. What was worse, Susannah’s eyes were sparkling with interest as she returned his gaze.

“La, sir,” Susannah said, her voice flirtatious, “we simple prairie girls aren’t used to such pretty talk.”

Parker looked from Susannah over to Mary Beth at the door, then more briefly at Molly, who had hastily pushed herself off the bed and was standing over him with a glower. Finally he turned back to Susannah and shook his head. “I can’t believe you girls don’t have every eligible cowboy in the territory swarming over this place trying to talk pretty.”

“A few have tried,” Molly said curtly. “We aren’t interested.” She glared at him as she folded the freed blanket.

“Speak for yourself, Molly,” Susannah retorted. “Mr. Prescott can talk to me all day long if he’s a mind.”

Parker looked from one woman to the other. It was almost impossible to believe that they were sisters. Susannah was regarding him with that special kind of male-female look that he’d forgotten how much he missed. Her older sister, on the other hand, was watching him as if he were some kind of poisonous lizard.

Making sure that he was decently covered by the quilt, he sat up. He closed his eyes briefly as a wave of dizziness hit him. When it passed, he said, “Perhaps before we go any further one of you would be kind enough to tell me how I came to be here in the first place.”

“We rescued you!” Susannah said, beaming. “You were near frozen to death.”

“We dragged you out of Copper Canyon in time to save you from that,” Molly added, pointing at the window where the snow still whipped against the glass. “What in tarnation were you doing out there in weather like that?”

Parker looked sheepish. “I…ah…didn’t know it was going to storm.”

“Haven’t you got eyes in your head, man?” Molly asked. “It was building up in the western sky since daybreak yesterday.”

“Maybe he’s not used to Wyoming weather, Molly,” Susannah told her sister in a tone of reproach. Then she turned to Parker. “Anyway, Mr. Prescott, the important thing is that we found you, and you’re going to be all right.”

“I reckon if you saved my life you better call me Parker, Miss Hanks,” he said with another of his justfor-the-ladies smiles.

“And I’m Susannah,” she said with a nod.

Suddenly Molly felt invisible. Parker and her sister were looking at each other as if the rest of the room had faded from view. That panicky feeling came back. Susannah was too darn pretty for her own good. And even Molly had to admit that the stranger was the handsomest male who’d come their way in quite some time. His eyes, gleaming now as they locked with Susannah’s, were nearly the same rich chestnut color of his hair.

Molly couldn’t blame Susannah for her interest. She’d have to act quickly to scare the man off before problems could develop. “The storm should lift by noon, Mr. Prescott,” she said loudly. “If you’re feeling all right, you can be on your way.”

Both Parker and Susannah looked over at her as if surprised to find her still standing there.

“Don’t be churlish, Molly,” Susannah chided. “We need to give Mr., ah, Parker—” she paused to flash him a smile “—time to recover.”

Molly’s frown deepened. “He’s looking pretty darn healthy to me,” she said. The coverlet had slipped down again, revealing their guest’s well-sculpted chest with its sprinkling of chestnut-colored hair.

“Actually,” Parker said slowly, “I was on my way out here to your place when I got lost in the canyon.”

“Out here?” Susannah and Mary Beth chimed in unison. Mary Beth had not moved away from the door.

“What for?” Molly asked curtly at the same time.

“I heard you might be hiring.” Parker turned to address Molly with his answer. Though he would prefer to continue looking at Susannah’s dazzling smile, it was obvious that the oldest sister was the one he would have to deal with on matters of business. Her sisters might talk sweetly and smile at him, but if he wanted work he’d have to convince the unsociable Miss Molly.

Molly looked down at him in disbelief. “Hiring what?”

“Hands. Cowboys,” Parker said, meeting her eyes with a steady man-to-man gaze.

“You’re a wrangler?” she asked with a scornful laugh.

Damn, but the woman had an abrasive way about her. He kept his voice even. “No, ma’am, I don’t reckon I am. But I can ride and I can shoot. When I’m not lying in bed after being half-frozen, I’ve got a strong back and two strong arms and I’m not afraid to work. I guess that qualifies me just about as well as any of the other men you got working here.”