The Bride Wore Spurs

Inside the dining room, candlelight flickered, shimmering in the high gloss of the tabletop. The silver serving pieces, possessions her mother had brought west, looked out of place in the rustic room’s whitewashed walls and dark beamed ceiling.

At the table, Matt’s parents sat talking to her father. Papa looked even more frail beside the Walkers.

Robert Walker’s hair might be streaked with silver, but he possessed the same broad shoulders and dark brown eyes as his son, no doubt the picture of how Matt would look when he aged.

Were father and son preparing to acquire the Lazy P?

Ashamed of her suspicion, Hannah cringed. Just because Matt helped on the ranch, like any good neighbor would, didn’t make him underhanded.

Victoria Walker, tall, big-boned and pretty with soft blue eyes and silvery hair, wrapped Hannah in a hug. A strong woman with a contagious laugh and good heart, Victoria could have a sharp tongue. Or so Hannah had heard. A trait that had surely come in handy raising three ornery sons, one son in particular.

Wrapped in a clean apron, Rosa waited, ready to serve from a table laden with steaming platters and bowls emitting enticing aromas. “The food looks and smells wonderful, Rosa. Thank you.”

“I cook your favorites, Hannah.”

Once they’d taken seats, Papa said grace. Everyone sampled the food—steak, corn pone, mashed potatoes and gravy—and declared every bite delicious. Smiling, Rosa returned to the kitchen.

“A father couldn’t be more proud of a daughter than I am of you, Hannah.”

“You’re a wonderful father.”

Papa cleared his throat. “A picture of your mother, you possess not only her beauty but her spirit.”

Fleeting flashes of gentle hands, a loving smile, a nine-year-old girl’s memories of her mother. The portrait hanging over the fireplace mantel a reminder that Melanie Parrish had been a lovely woman. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Martin’s right,” Victoria declared as she buttered a bite of cornbread. “For an instant earlier, I thought I was seeing Melanie. Gave me quite a start, too.”

“Hannah wasn’t eager to go to Charleston, but I wanted her to visit the city where her mother and I fell in love.” Papa smiled. “High time she got acquainted with her mama’s kin, too.”

Finishing school wouldn’t help her work a ranch, but Papa had been insistent, as unbending as steel.

“Growing up surrounded by cowhands and cattle wasn’t fair to you, Daughter. I wanted to give you the social graces your mother would’ve taught you had she lived.”

Etiquette might mend fences, but not the sort made of barbed wire. Still, Papa had good intentions, always thought of her first. Hannah squeezed his hand.

“So, Daughter, tell the Walkers about Charleston.”

“The city’s beautiful. The grand piazzas and private gardens tucked behind ornate wrought-iron gates are charming.”

Victoria put her hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Surely the gardens aren’t prettier than our fields of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush?”

“Nothing is prettier than Texas wildflowers.”

“Spoken like a true Texan,” Victoria said.

Robert ladled gravy on his potatoes. “South Carolina could never overshadow the great state of Texas.”

“True, but with my eight cousins and their friends coming and going, I loved Aunt Mary Esther’s garden, the one place I could find solitude.”

Matt cut into his steak. “Any damage remaining from the earthquake of ’86?”

“The brick buildings that survived have been stabilized with iron bolts. Otherwise I saw few signs of the quake.”

Victoria’s brow puckered. “Was your aunt’s house damaged?”

“Yes, they had to rebuild, as did most people. The city’s done an amazing job of restoration.”

“After the hectic pace of Charleston, Bliss must seem dull.” Matt’s tone issued a challenge.

“Hardly.” Dull was hours spent practicing stitching, drawing and elocution, but she wouldn’t disappoint Papa by saying as much. “I botched needlework and painting. My poor aunt struggled for something charitable to say about my pitiful efforts.”

“Your cousins would find working on the Lazy P equally difficult,” Victoria said.

Hannah chuckled. “I can’t imagine Anna Lee and Betty Jo riding astride, cutting calves or mending barbed wire.”

“Do you plan to teach those fancy manners to the young ladies in town?” Robert said. “Maybe start a school?”

“No, I’ll work on the ranch as I always have.”

Matt turned dark censorious eyes on her. “The work is hard, even dangerous. Not the place for a lady.”

Hannah clamped her jaw to keep from sharing a piece of her mind with Matt, a piece that would not fit his image of a lady.

“Matt’s right, you’re a lady now.” Papa patted Hannah’s hand. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you marry and settle down with a doctor or lawyer, someone to take care of you, to give you a life of ease.”

“Zack’s a successful lawyer and single,” Matt reminded them, eyes twinkling.

A well-placed heel on his instep would wipe that smirk off his face.

“Zack would make you a fine husband, Daughter.”

“I’ve got two sons needing a wife,” Robert said, shooting Matt a pointed look.

Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. “I’m not looking for a husband.” She glared at Matt. “I’ve never been hurt working on the ranch.”

Papa patted her hand. “Wear those dresses you brought back from Charleston. Practice your stitching and painting. Leave the ranch to the men.”

The food in Hannah’s stomach churned. What had gotten into Papa? Before she’d left, he’d given her free rein. Now he insisted she conform to his image of a lady. Wear clothing that would impede her freedom and make ranch work difficult. She wanted to please him. But the thought of spending hours confined in the garments designed for the “weaker gender”—though any honest woman would admit the clothes took great fortitude to wear—chafed against every nerve.

“I’d like to know what all they taught you at that school.”

“I’d be glad to show you, Papa. I brought back paintings, needlework...”

“I heard from Mary Esther that you’re a master at elocution.” Papa’s gaze traveled the table. “Who’d like my daughter to recite a poem?”

Victoria smiled. “That would be delightful.”

“Oh, ah, maybe another night. I’m...tired from the trip.”

“I’d love to hear a poem.” Matt’s grin spread across his face. “Nice and loud.”

Hannah arched a brow. “Why don’t you sing for us, Matt? You’re certainly loud enough in church.”

“The evening is in your honor, Hannah, not mine. Besides, I’d enjoy listening to a master at elocution.”

“I would, too,” Robert said.

Papa slapped his hands together. “That settles it. Before Rosa serves dessert, rise and recite a poem, Hannah.”

All eyes turned on her. One pair filled with amusement. She wanted to run, but Papa wore a proud smile she couldn’t destroy.

She scrambled for a poem, a short poem. The only verse that came to mind was by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Hannah’s mind the perfect map of love. How could she recite a love sonnet with Matt nearby, no doubt laughing at her?

With Papa’s pat of encouragement, she struggled to her feet, hands cold, cheeks as red-hot as a horseshoe in a blacksmith’s forge.

Matt sprang up and pulled out her chair, then returned to his seat, watching her.

She glanced at each guest as she uttered, “How do I love thee?” First Robert, Victoria, then Papa. “Let me count the ways.” Her gaze landed on Matt. She jerked it away, focusing on the gilt-framed landscape over the fireplace. “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach...” The words flowed from her. “I love thee freely...I love thee purely...” If she ever fell in love—that if towered in her mind—she’d want this sweet, deep, true love. “I love thee with the breadth, smiles, tears, of all my life; and if God choose, I shall love thee better after death.”

Robert clapped heartily. “Bravo!”

For a second she’d forgotten the audience. Her legs turned to jelly and she plopped into her chair. If only the floor would open up and drop her clear to China.

“Lovely.” Papa’s pale face glowed. “Just lovely.”

Matt leaned in. “The way you were caught up in that poem, I have to wonder if you’re pining for some gangly boy back in Charleston.”

“Of course not!”

Rosa’s arrival cut off conversation. She carried a tray of delicate, amber flan, the dessert of her homeland and normally Hannah’s favorite. But her appetite had vanished.

The others dug in with abandon, discussing the drought and Cattlemen Association business while Hannah picked at the flan.

“This dessert makes me think, Matthew. Jenny Sample brought a cake by this afternoon. Said she had extra eggs and knew angel food was your favorite. That’s the second cake this month.”

A wide grin spread across Robert’s face. “Appears she’d like the job of feeding you permanently. Why, Jenny dangles her baked goods in front of your nose like bait on the end of a line. Fishing for a husband, I reckon.” He raised a brow. “You could do worse.”

A flush crawled up Matt’s neck. Amused at his discomfort, Hannah giggled. “One of those women you spoke of, desperate to marry,” she said, her tone as loaded with sugar as the dessert.

Something akin to a growl slid from his lips.

Victoria glanced at Papa, took in his hunched shoulders, then laid her napkin beside her plate. “It’s gotten late. We should be going. We’ve had a lovely evening, Martin. Please express our thanks for the delicious meal to Rosa.”

With both hands, her father pushed against the table, half rising to his feet.

Hannah’s heart lurched. Why, the evening had tired him. “I’ll see our guests out,” she said.

Papa flashed a grateful smile. “I’ll say good-night, then.”

While Matt stayed behind, speaking to her father, Hannah accompanied Robert and Victoria to their carriage and waved as they pulled away.

In the cooler night air, Hannah lingered for a moment, listening to the plaintive sound of a harmonica drifting on the breeze from the bunkhouse. In the moonlight, long pale shadows of outbuildings instilled the ordinary structures with a sense of mystery. She tilted her head back and studied the star-studded sky, bright as diamonds.

God had created this land long before the Parrish family lived upon it. The land would remain long after they were gone. The permanence of the land and of its Creator slid through her, wrapping her in tranquility. In gratitude.

Until Matt loped to her, leading his horse by the reins. From the smirk on his face, he’d come to taunt her. At the end of her rope, she hoped he had the good sense to keep his smart-alecky mouth nailed shut. Nothing would give her more pleasure than showing that naysayer she could run the ranch and run it well.

* * *

Matt chucked Hannah under the chin. He’d do what he could to encourage Martin’s wish to see his daughter settled in Charleston. “You gave quite a performance earlier. Proof you’re well suited for Charleston’s social life.”

She swatted his hand away. “Stop trying to stuff me into a box labeled debutante. That’s not who I am.”

“Kind of testy, aren’t you?”

“I was enjoying the peace of this beautiful night before you came along.”

The glint in those blue eyes gazing up at him had nothing to do with reflected moonlight and everything to do with an urge to wallop him. He had no idea why he’d been hard on her, especially with her concern for Martin. “Look, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe her ears, then she gave a brisk nod.

Surely on a night like this they could find a way to get along. He tilted his head, studying the starry expanse. “When I look up at that sky, at the number of stars and planets, I feel part of something big. Part of God’s creation.”

“I know. I only caught snippets of the sky in Charleston, but here...” Her voice caught, then trailed off. “I love this land.”

It was one thing they had in common. “Who wouldn’t?”

Her gaze landed on him, intense, eager. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Then you understand how much the ranch means to me. Why I have to take charge until my father’s on his feet.”

“You’d be wise to set your heart on something else before you get it trampled.”

At his words, the accord between them evaporated faster than dew on a hot Texas morning.

Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “You’d be wise to keep your opinions to yourself, Matt Walker.”

“I know these cowpokes—”

“I’ve known most of our cowhands all my life. Why, except for Papa, I’m better suited than anyone to handle the job.”

“You can mend a fence, move cattle, muck a barn, I’ll give you that, but operating a ranch is more than that.”

She harrumphed. “You’re exactly like the men in Charleston. They treat women as if we are delicate porcelain or, worse, dim-witted. I can run the ranch as well as anyone.”

How could he make her see reason? He doffed his hat and ran his fingers along the brim, gathering his thoughts. “You’re not fragile or dim-witted. I don’t doubt that you could learn to manage the financial end. But, truth is, cowpokes don’t cotton to taking orders from a female, especially one as young as you.”

“They will if they want to be paid.”

Matt stifled a sigh. How could he make her understand what was at stake? Cowhands saw her as the boss’s daughter, more capable than many perhaps, but still young and inexperienced, hardly prepared to run a spread like the Lazy P.

“It’s not about money, Hannah. It’s about respect. Something that’s earned, not bought.”

Alarm traveled her face. She sighed, clasping trembling hands in front of her. “You make a point. I’ll need to earn their respect and earn it fast.”

Respect wasn’t earned overnight. Nor were these men eager to give it. But to say more would get her dander up. “Let me handle things for now.”

“You’re no longer needed here.” She pinned him with a fierce, chilling gaze. “I don’t want your interference.”

If looks could kill, Matt would be a dead man.

How would Martin have managed if Matt hadn’t—as she called it—interfered? He’d call it lending a hand, being neighborly. How in tarnation did the dainty debutante think she’d manage roundup?

Not his concern. She’d made that abundantly clear.

He jammed his Stetson on his head and swung into the saddle. Without a backward glance, he nudged Thunder in the flanks and rode in the direction of the Circle W, the peace of the starry night shattered.

Hannah Parrish had no concept of the trouble looming on the horizon. Trouble she’d bring on herself, as if she needed more.

She saw him as an enemy instead of an ally. Any action he took, she’d misconstrue. He’d warned her, it was all he could do. Except for checking on Martin and looking after his needs, Matt would stay clear of the little spitfire.

How long before her plan to run the Lazy P singlehandedly blew up in her face?

* * *

A rooster’s call pierced the muggy morning air drifting through the open window. Hannah stirred then opened her eyes, stretching languidly, relishing the pleasure of waking in her own bed.

A smile curved her lips. In the dream she’d had, a handsome cowboy, tall, dark, held her in his arms.

She reared upright. All the events of yesterday slid into her sleep-fogged brain, rousing her faster than a cold dip in a horse tank. Her stomach knotted, as she recalled Matt’s attitude toward women, and Papa’s poor health and sudden determination to make her a lady.

Lady or not, she had work to do. Last night she’d looked the part of debutante. Today she’d show Matt Walker, her father and the Lazy P cowhands she could run this ranch, if need be, wearing skirts. That ought to earn their respect. And wipe that smug smile off Matt’s face.

Hannah donned a pair of denims and a shirt, her hands trembling. What if she failed to earn the crew’s respect? What if they wouldn’t listen to her? What would she do then?

One glance around her room’s familiar belongings slowed her breathing. The quilt her mother had stitched, the rocker beside the open window, curtains rustling in the morning breeze. Peaceful, normal.

Her stomach clenched. With Papa ill, normal had fled faster than a calf freed after branding.

At the washstand, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then ran a fingertip over the chip on the blue-and-white ironstone bowl, the result of a carelessly tossed hairbrush years before.

Her possessions might not be perfect but this room was an oasis in a world flipped upside down. “Oh, please, God, don’t let Papa...” Her voice trailed off, the possibility too horrible to speak aloud.

Surely things weren’t as dire as they appeared. She took a calming breath. She’d see that Papa ate well and got plenty of rest. Whether Matt believed in her ability or not, she’d run the ranch, gladly taking the burden from her father and returning the operation of the Lazy P to its rightful owners.

She braided her hair, shoved her feet into scuffed boots, grabbed her leather gloves and Stetson, then strode out the door.

In the kitchen, Rosa removed a pan of biscuits from the oven.

“How’s Papa this morning?”

“Sleeping. You up with rooster.”

“I’m heading out to help with the chores.”

“I fix big breakfast when you finish.”

“Thanks.”

Hannah downed a hot biscuit and coffee, then strode to the stable. A few feet away, the pungent odor of manure and horseflesh teased her nostrils, softened by the sweet smell of hay, a welcome relief from the overpowering scents of potpourri and eau de cologne permeating her aunt’s house.

She stepped into the dim interior and a ray of sunlight dancing with dust motes lit a path to Star’s stall. As she approached, she spoke the mare’s name.

With a nickered greeting, Star poked her bronze head over the stall door, bobbing it in recognition.

Hannah pulled the mare’s nose against her shoulder, rubbing the white irregular shape that earned her name. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” Hannah murmured. “Later today I’ll take you out.”

Hannah grappled with the feed sack, watching the oats tumble end over end into the feedbox. A sense of peace filled her. Here in the stable, among crusty cowpokes, unpredictable livestock and her steadfast steed, she fit. This life filled her as she’d filled Star’s feedbox, to the brim, to overflowing.

Across the way, Jake Hardy lugged two buckets of water into the stable. Stooped and wiry, he’d worked on the Lazy P for as long as Hannah could remember. “Hi, Jake.”

“Well, welcome home, Miz Hannah!” Jake entered Star’s stall and tipped water into the trough. “Star missed you something fierce. Reckon lots of folks like me are glad you’re back, specially your pa.”

“Thanks, Jake. How’s that back?”

He grinned, revealing the gap between his front teeth. “’Bout what you’d expect for an old coot throwed too many times from breaking broncos.”

“Any news from your niece?”

The light in Jake’s gray eyes dimmed. “No idea where Lorna’s gone off to. I don’t mind telling ya, she’s got me worried. What kind of a woman leaves her child?”

What else had Papa kept from her? “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“My sis is taking care of Lorna’s girl, Allie.”

Lord, help Lorna do what’s right. “I’ll pray for her.”

A smile crinkled his leathery face. “’Preciate it.”

If anything happened to Jake’s sister Gertie, Jake would have to take care of Allie. He wouldn’t know what to do with a seven-year-old girl any more than Hannah would.

Finished with the morning chores, Hannah glanced outside. “Do you know where I can find Tom?”

“I’ll fetch him.” Jake hobbled toward the bunkhouse, pitched forward from the waist, his legs curved as if permanently astride. Thanks to multiple injuries, Jake looked older than his years, but he was sinewy, his disabilities didn’t slow him down.

While she waited, Hannah checked the tack room. Oiled leather hung on the wall. The horses looked well cared for. Even with Papa’s poor health, the ranch appeared to be operating efficiently. How much credit was Matt’s? How much was Tom’s?

She wandered outside and spied the foreman rounding the corner of the corral, ambling toward her, his frame reed thin, a bandana around his neck, spurs jangling. She raised a hand in greeting.

He touched his hat. “You looking for me, Miss Hannah?”

“I want to thank you for keeping the ranch running smoothly.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Before I left for Charleston, my father and I discussed the need for a well on the south range. When I arrived yesterday, I noticed nothing had been done. I’d like you to get the digging underway first thing tomorrow. I’ll arrange for a windmill.”

Tom removed his hat and scratched the back of his head. “The boss didn’t mention nothing about another well.”

“With his illness, the plan must’ve slipped his mind.” She knew ranching. Soon Tom, the entire crew, would see that too, and give her respect. “Progressive ranchers don’t rely on nature to supply water to their herds.”

Tom shuffled his feet. “I’ll check with the boss.”

That was the last thing Papa needed. Hannah bristled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Ain’t no trouble.” The foreman tipped his hat, polite enough, but the sullen look in his eyes said otherwise.

As she watched Tom clomp to the house, an unsettling sense of foreboding gripped her, squeezing against her lungs. What would she do if Tom refused to work for her? How could she run the ranch? From the conversation at the table last night, the cows were dropping calves. That meant roundup was only a few weeks away, which was the reason she’d wanted to get the well dug now. Perhaps she’d been hasty in pushing the issue with the foreman.

Across the way, Matt emerged from the house, swung into the saddle and rode toward the Circle W. No one paid a social call at this hour. She sighed. More likely, he’d helped her father dress and shave. Thoughtful of him and easier on Papa’s pride than turning to her or Rosa for assistance.

Had Matt heard Tom question her authority with Papa? Perhaps, if she asked him to intervene, he’d set Tom straight. But she wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t build respect with the men if she didn’t handle things herself.

She strode to the house and met Tom coming out. The smug expression he wore steeled her spine.

“Ain’t going to be no well dug,” he said.

Was her father too ill to stick to his plan, to stand up to his foreman? “Do you think you’re running this ranch?”

“Nope.” He guffawed. “Appears you ain’t either.”

Hannah stepped around him. Inside she found Papa at his desk, dressed and freshly shaven.

“Morning, daughter. Have a seat.” He looked at his hands, instead of meeting her gaze. “We need to talk.”

With an arrowed spine, she sat across from him, her hands knotted in her lap.

“A company back east is buying up land in the area. No reason they won’t buy our spread. Without the responsibility of the Lazy P, you’ll be free to return to Charleston.”

Never. But she wouldn’t upset him with a refusal.

“Papa, can we discuss this later? I just talked to Tom. He claims you don’t want a well dug on the south range.”

Martin motioned to the books spread in front of him. “That was the plan but we’ve had a tough year. Last year’s low beef prices and high costs have put the ranch in jeopardy.”

Why hadn’t Papa told her all this? Did he see her as some fragile female unable to face realities?

“I’ve curtailed expenses. Had to let two hands go.”

“If I’d known about our financial trouble, I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in front of Tom.”

“What Tom thinks doesn’t matter.” The steely determination in his eyes, something she rarely saw, stabbed into her. “What I think does. Denims aren’t fitting for a lady. Change into one of your dresses. If you want to help, help Rosa in the kitchen.”