A Cowboy Worth Claiming

He sighed and walked away from her. After a time, his footsteps faded and the door squeaked closed behind him. Marching to the window, she pulled aside the curtains and watched him stride into the barn, readying to settle on the ranch and barge into her life.

She wished Grandpa had never sent for him.

It was one of a long list of wishes that Lizzie hadn’t seen come true this year.

* * *

Chance strode into the barn to check on Joyful and retrieve his saddlebags. The sorry sorrel he’d noticed earlier snorted quietly as he walked by. The slight effort seemed laborious for the animal that looked weary and old enough to have seen war days. Wasn’t a wonder why Lizzie chose to walk into town today—the mare wouldn’t have hastened her trip at all.

It was hard to believe that Edward had kept the ranch running this long. Chance was damn glad he showed up when he did, though he wasn’t looking forward to having Lizzie along on the cattle drive. Without a crew and a string of horses to switch out, she’d have to put in long hours and eat her share of dust on the trail. Good thing they only had a hundred miles to travel to the railhead.

Chance wouldn’t let Edward down.

Leastways not with the short trail drive.

Finding Lizzie a husband was another matter.

He approached his mare, muttering, “The old man’s worried over his granddaughter and I’ve got to find her a man.”

Joyful turned to the sound of his voice, her brown eyes on him. Chance stroked her mane, running his hands along the length of the coarse hairs and then gave her a pat as thoughts of Edward’s quickly laid-out plan came to mind. Chance wasn’t too sure it would work. His old friend explained the situation—so far Lizzie had pretty much shooed away any of the would-be suitors that Edward had brought out to the ranch.

Can’t say as he blamed the men from turning tail and running. As much as he’d seen of her, Lizzie lacked female wiles and didn’t have enough charm to entice a stray pup to Sunday supper, much less a would-be husband.

Chance grabbed his saddlebags and bedroll and entered the bunkhouse. Cobwebs crisscrossed the ceiling above his head and a layer of red dust kicked up as he moved into the space, yet the place wouldn’t be the worst he’d lived in. He scanned the six bunks across the far wall deciding one was no better than the other, worn blankets and all, but they were sturdy enough for a man his size. He tossed his gear on the floor, took off his gun belt and sat down on the nearest bunk testing the thin mattress. It was a far cry better than hard ground. He laid his head back, setting his hat low to cover his eyes, and adjusted his body on the bunk, hanging his boots off the edge.

He’d barely had a few minutes of respite before he sensed a presence hovering over him. On instinct, he reached for his six-shooter and cocked it, hinging his body up so fast his hat went flying from his head.

“Oh!” Startled, Lizzie backed up, her eyes trained on the gun.

He glared at her. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Her usual bravado gone, she lowered her voice. “I…wasn’t.”

He set the gun down on the bed. “You weren’t? Funny, but I didn’t hear you knock.”

“The door was open. I came looking for you. Supper’s ready.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he thought she’d go, she continued to stand there, carefully studying him. “You got something else to say?”

“What are you afraid of, anyway?” she asked, her brows furrowing together. “You grabbed your gun so fast, I thought I was going to meet my maker years before my time.”

“Scared you, did I?”

She paused, her expression tightening. She didn’t like to give in, that much he’d already found out about the Mitchell girl. She raised her chin and nodded. “Maybe.”

“It’s good if I did and a valuable lesson to learn, Lizzie. You’ve not seen the world the way I have. You got to be on your guard every second of the day. Being alert has kept me alive and you’d best learn early that you can’t trust everyone.”

“Does that include you?”

He caught her stare and thought for a moment before giving her an answer. “Your grandfather trusts me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Now she was being just plain argumentative. Her chin lifted another inch and he noticed the feminine lines of her jaw, the slender length of her throat. “You don’t have to trust me, Lizzie. In fact, it’d be better if you didn’t.”

She blinked as his words sank in. Then with a sharper tone, she continued, “You didn’t answer my first question. Why are you sleeping with your gun?”

“Stupid question.”

“Stupid or not, I’d like an answer. Is someone after you?”

Nobody double-crossed Alistair Dunston and got away with it. Chance had left the man riled about him leaving the Circle D Ranch but it wasn’t as if he’d committed a crime or anything. Yet, he was in rare company defying the powerful man’s wishes, so Chance figured to keep his guard up. It never hurt a man to be smart. “Nope. A lot of men sleep with their guns. Keep that in mind and don’t go stealing into rooms unless you’re tired of breathing.”

“And you might try not shooting my head off when I announce supper,” she snapped.

He glanced at her pinched-tight lips and thought Lizzie needed lessons in manners. “You have a sass mouth.”

“You’ve told me that already. I doubt that’s going to change.”

“It’s gotta change, Lizzie. Just remember what I said about the trail drive and we’ll get along just fine.” He rose from the bunk and, towering above her, stared into her eyes. “You’re no match for me.”

Her expression faltered for a second, then filled with dawning realization. His attempt to instill fear in her hadn’t worked as planned. Lizzie set her chin stubbornly and met his gaze head-on. “I just might surprise you, Chance Worth.”

With that, she lifted her ugly skirt, whirled around and hastily exited the bunkhouse.

A wayward thought popped into his head and he hoped to high heaven that the surprise Lizzie had in mind for him wouldn’t be arsenic in his beef stew tonight.

Chapter Three

“Wasn’t too awful,” Lizzie muttered, closing her bedroom door and heaving a big sigh in the privacy of her room. After an uneventful dinner listening to her grandfather and Chance talk quietly about cattle prices and the upcoming trip, she’d made fast work of cleaning the kitchen and excusing herself. She had nothing to say to the stranger. He’d said all there was to say in the bunkhouse and Lizzie had no choice but to make the trail drive with him and hope the time on the road would pass quickly.

In her room, she sorted through her sewing basket hoping to find enough leftover material to make at least one doll. That doll would go to Sarah Swenson, the sickly little girl who hadn’t been strong enough to attend church lately. Sarah’s parents had asked Lizzie to make it bright, with flowery material and pretty yellow yarn hair to cheer their daughter up. But all Lizzie could find were scraps of dull colors, browns and blues that she’d intended to stitch onto the feet for the doll’s shoes.

Lizzie had made a promise to deliver the doll today and the circumstances preventing her from keeping that promise knotted her stomach and made her feel miserable. After the trail drive, she’d have money enough to buy new materials and honor her orders, but Lizzie couldn’t forget Sarah’s eager face, her sweet smile when the promise was made. Lizzie knew something about disappointment and how a little girl’s dreams could shatter in an instant. Lord above, she’d felt that way more than a time or two in her own life.

Lizzie sank down on her bed and glanced at the doll with brown button eyes and a white lace pinafore, pigtails of yellow yarn hair and a small stitched smile sitting atop her pillow. She’d taken extra special care of the cloth doll her father had given her right after her mama passed away. Together, they’d named the doll Sally Ann, in remembrance of her mother, Annette.

A few years ago, she began copying the doll with her own sewing technique and creating fashions that compared to no other. What set her dolls apart was her attention to detail, the intricate patterns of dress, the lacy sleeves and tiny buttons down the back, the pinafores with delicate ribbons and shoes that laced. The doll’s creation warranted great time and effort on her part as each one had their own unique personality, their own style of dress. How many hours had Lizzie spent creating new fashions or enhancing those she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar?

Lizzie put her materials back in the basket, knowing it was fruitless to try to sew a doll for Sarah out of her remainders. Plain and simple, she didn’t have what she needed. But she did have another idea and though it would pain her, she knew she could do at least that much for Sarah Swenson.

After undressing down to her chemise, Lizzie slipped into bed, fatigued and anguished from a day that had brought many unexpected surprises. She glanced at Sally Ann one last time before closing her eyes to tears, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day.

When morning dawned, an early glow of gold peeking up from the horizon gave Lizzie hope and a newfound rejuvenation. She’d always found faith in the new day and thought that all things were possible in that moment. She rose from bed and washed from a blue porcelain basin on her dresser. The rose-scented water refreshed her. She combed her unruly hair, a chore that took time and great effort. She wasn’t one for fixing up, so once her hair was free from snarls, she tied it back with a strip of leather then dressed in a light blouse and gray skirt.

She moved quietly through the house, peering into her grandfather’s room. He was still asleep. It seemed each week their breakfast came later and later as she waited for him to rise. She entered the kitchen and slipped her head into an apron, tying it into a bow at the back. After setting the coffee to brew, she walked outside and headed toward the chicken coop to collect today’s batch of eggs. Spring sunshine warmed the morning air and heated her insides just right.

As she rounded the bend behind the barn, she came upon Chance Worth with his back to her, washing his face over the water barrel. Rays of sunshine caressed his bare shoulders and streamed over thick cords of muscle—the beckoning dawn revealing his beautiful upper body to be as strong and sturdy as the Red Ridge Mountains themselves. Without knowledge of her watching, he scrubbed his face and shook the water from his dark hair. Droplets landed on his back and forged down his spine to tuck inside the waistband of his pants.

Lizzie forgot to breathe. Unnerved at the sight of him half dressed, the skin on her arms prickled and a slow burning heat built in her stomach. She backed up a step, ready to turn away and ignore the gripping sensations. But she talked herself out of running. Tomorrow, she and Chance would set out on a journey where they’d spend days upon days together. Alone. It was better to face this confusion now. Clearly, she couldn’t stand the man, so what she was feeling had to be something aside from complete awe. She’d never come upon a man who’d created such unfamiliar and unwanted yearnings in her.

She’d only known boys. Many of whom she’d bested in school and some she’d rejected outright when they’d come calling. The only boy she tolerated at all was her best friend, Hayden Finch, who wasn’t living in Red Ridge presently.

But no boy ever made her belly so queasy or got her heart pumping so fast.

Lizzie inhaled deeply and said, “Mornin’.”

Chance took his sweet time turning around, and Lizzie caught a glimpse of pure naked flesh ridged with muscles as he moved to face her. She forced her gaze from his chest, praying to the Almighty that he hadn’t seen her ogling him. A lazy smile graced his face. “Well, mornin’ to you, Lizzie.”

“I’m going to the henhouse,” she said, annoyed at the flurries in her belly. “Didn’t want to get shot collecting eggs.”

He wiped himself down with a towel and then shrugged his arms into a blue shirt, eyeing her carefully. “No chance of that. I knew you were there.”

“You did not.”

His lips twitched and he began buttoning his shirt. “Sure I did. Heard you coming. Sort of wondered when you were gonna announce yourself.”

He couldn’t have known she was there, not with his head down, splashing water on his face. “I shouldn’t have to announce myself. This is my ranch.”

“But you did. Shows you’re learning.”

Lizzie prayed for patience. She walked past him and just before she entered the henhouse, she stopped and turned. “I’ll be going into town with you today. Just so you know. I have something I have to do.”

“I’m leaving directly after breakfast.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t suppose you got a wagon anywhere on the ranch?”

She peered at the two wagon wheels leaning against the barn wall, one with broken spokes and the other growing wildflowers from its base. “That’s what’s left of it. The winter was hard. We used the wood to keep warm.”

He tucked his shirt into his pants and adjusted his gun belt. His Colt .45 sat low on his hip, cradled in the holster. “Shouldn’t be a problem packing our horses with supplies. We don’t need that much.”

She nodded and paused, contemplating. This trip wasn’t going to be like any trail drive she’d ever taken. She continued to stare at him until his deep voice broke into her thoughts.

“Breakfast is going to be late if you don’t get to those eggs.” He turned and just like that, dismissed her, as if he was the schoolmaster and she, the pupil.

She marched into the chicken coop, her blood boiling. She didn’t look her eighteen years, but Chance Worth would soon find out that Lizzie Mitchell wasn’t a child but a woman with smarts and enough grit to match him stride for stride.

* * *

“We could have taken Juniper. She’s stronger than she looks.” Lizzie didn’t really believe so. Their one remaining mare was comfortable on the ranch, but wasn’t fit for carrying a rider packed down with supplies. Now, she sat on Joyful’s saddle in front of Chance, his arm slung around her waist and wished the trip into town would hurry up.

Smug, he asked, “Then why didn’t you take Ole June into town yesterday?”

“I left her for Grandpa. He was planning to ride out and check on the herd.” Chance thought he’d won his point, but he didn’t know everything.

“He do that much anymore?” he asked.

Lizzie replied with honesty. “Not too much.”

Every day her grandfather had intentions of working the ranch the way he used to, but ultimately, he tired too quickly and she would take up the slack. This spring alone, she’d managed to pull half a dozen calves by herself, a task she’d learned from her father but one better left to someone a mite stronger. Yet, she was proud of her accomplishments and determined to rebuild the Mitchell Ranch doing whatever she had to do to gain that end. Even if it meant riding double on the saddle with Chance—even if it meant dealing with his all-too-sure ways and her queasy stomach.

“Good thing it’s a small herd,” he said.

“If it were bigger, we wouldn’t be in such a dilemma.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“I do think so.” For half a dozen reasons, but mostly because they’d have sold off more cattle and earned enough cash to see them through hard times.

“I guess you’re right.”

It was the first time Chance admitted she was right about anything and she took a measure of satisfaction in that.

With him being so near, Lizzie had trouble thinking at all and every time his breath tickled her neck, she squirmed in the saddle. So much so, that Chance didn’t hold back his complaints, so she willed herself to settle down.

He’s just a man.

Nothing to squirm over, she thought. The scenery’s more interesting than him. To prove it to herself she glanced around, taking in the view from atop Joyful, as the mare ambled down the road leading to Red Ridge. Winter rains had left tall grass and trees that flourished with greenery. The contrast in hues on this land always made her glory in the day; red earth, blue sky and vegetation that stole from a rainbow of colors. She loved living at Red Ridge, loved ranching, but she didn’t love the hardships that had befallen them lately. She hoped to earn money enough on the drive to get her grandfather the true doctoring he needed. Maybe take him to an infirmary where he could be properly treated. He’d put up a fuss about it and refuse to go, stubborn as he could be at times, so Lizzie had never revealed her secret hopes to him.

They reached the edge of town half an hour later, coming upon the Swenson homestead. “Please stop here,” she said as she gazed at the small cheerful house surrounded by a whitewashed picket fence.

“Here?”

She nodded, turning part way toward him. “Yes, there’s something I need to do.”

“That something have to do with what’s in the package you tied behind the saddle?”

“Yes,” she said and as she turned back around, she saw Greta Swenson outside sweeping dust from her front porch.

The woman noticed her and set her broom aside to give them both a wave of welcome. She had the kindest eyes and Lizzie wondered if her mama would’ve looked upon her visitors with the same sort of friendly invitation.

“Hello, Mrs. Swenson,” she called out.

“Mornin’, Lizzie. It’s good to see you today.”

Chance reined in Joyful in front of the house. He dismounted with his usual grace and ground tethered his mare. He stood close and peered into her eyes, waiting with arms outstretched to help her down. Grudgingly, and knowing Mrs. Swenson was watching, Lizzie accepted his gallantry, shaking off another bout of jittery nerves as he held her close and lowered her from the saddle. Once her boots hit solid earth, he released her and she averted her gaze, afraid of what her eyes might reveal. She moved away from him and made quick work of releasing the ties that held the package in place.

With the package tucked under her arm, she turned to Chance. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

But instead of staying put by his horse, Chance surprised her by falling in step beside her as she walked up the path to the house.

“Well, now, we expected you yesterday, but I’m happy to see you today.” The woman with dark blond hair, graying at the temples, wore a gracious smile. “And who is this you brought with you?”

Chance tipped his hat cordially, then removed it. “Chance Worth, ma’am. I’m working at the Mitchell spread now.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Worth. We’re always pleased to have newcomers in Red Ridge. I’m Greta Swenson.”

“He’s with the ranch temporarily,” Lizzie explained.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be a big help to you and Edward.” The woman opened her front door. “Please come in. I’ll get you both a glass of cider.”

“That’d be nice,” Chance said, waiting for the women to enter, before following behind.

They were ushered into her parlor and stood there for only a second before she rushed her explanation. “I came to visit Sarah, but I’m afraid I don’t have the doll you ordered. It’s a long story and I apologize for not honoring my word. If you’d kindly get Sarah, I’d like to explain it to both of you.”

“Of course, Lizzie.” Mrs. Swenson showed no disappointment. She was too nice to make anyone feel badly about anything, but Lizzie was certain she felt bad enough for all of three of them. “My daughter is resting, but I’m sure she’d love to see you. Please, have a seat in here and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get your refreshments.”

They took their seats, one on either end of the soft, melt-into-the-cushion sofa and waited, Lizzie refusing to meet Chance’s steady gaze. Mrs. Swenson came back into the room with two cranberry tumblers, handing one to each of them cordially before excusing herself to dress her daughter for company.

They sat in silence, Lizzie sipping her drink slowly, letting the spicy liquid soothe her parched throat and refresh her while Chance gulped his down quickly.

A few moments later, Sarah walked in holding her mother’s hand. She wore a pretty dress the color of bright sunflowers with matching ribbons in her hair. Lizzie’s heart ached seeing Sarah’s weak, ashen body in those vibrant clothes. The contrast made the child appear more frail and sickly than if she wore plain unadorned garments.

Sarah gave the tall man sitting on her mama’s sofa a cautious look. But as she refocused her attention on Lizzie, her eyes brightened and a sweet smile spread across her face.

“Lizzie is here to see you,” her mother said. “And this young man is Mr. Worth.”

The shy six-year-old glanced his way and whispered, “Nice to meet you.”

Chance smiled a friendly smile, which seemed to convince the little girl he was not to be feared. “Hello, Sarah.”

She looked at her mother, then at Lizzie. “Go on, sit down next to Lizzie, honey.”

Sarah did so, taking up the space directly next to her. Though the child’s gaze kept shifting to the package on Lizzie’s lap, she remained silent, waiting with eager anticipation for Lizzie to say something.

Lizzie plunged right in. She hated her circumstances. And hated that she would have to disappoint the little girl, yet she owed her an explanation. “I’m sorry, Sarah. But I don’t have your very special doll today. I… There was an accident and—”

“You don’t?”

“No, I’m very sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah put her head down and Lizzie looked up just in time to see Chance’s eyes soften on the child.

Lizzie sighed and continued, speaking slowly to Sarah, while at the same time darting glances at Mrs. Swenson, her explanation meant for both of them. She didn’t elaborate about how she’d gone down in the water, fishing for dolls near the lake bottom until her lungs burned. No, she didn’t want to see the look on Chance’s face if she admitted that, but she did tell them about how the rickety old boat had failed her and how quickly the lake had swallowed up all the dolls.

“I’m sorry to say your doll and five others are sitting on the bottom of the lake out by my house.”

Sarah nodded, her head still down.

“Lizzie, I know how hard you worked on those dolls,” Mrs. Swenson said. “It must have been horrible to see all that work destroyed.” She lowered down on a flowery material-backed armchair adjacent to her.

“Yes, ma’am. It was.”

“Lizzie is mighty lucky she came away with her life,” Chance added, unnecessarily. He ignored her glare, speaking directly to Sarah’s mother. “The lake was about ready to swallow her up, too.”

She sent him a brittle smile, then shifted her attention to convince Sarah’s mother. “It wasn’t truly dangerous.”

Greta Swenson’s eyes widened with surprise and horror as she laid her hand over her heart. “Oh, Lizzie. Those dolls aren’t worth your life. I’m glad you got out of the lake safe and sound.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie said, giving up trying to convince anyone about anything. She was more concerned with Sarah. The little girl was crestfallen and still hadn’t looked up. She softened her tone. “Sarah, I know this isn’t what you were hoping for, but I have something for you. It’s something very special to me and I want you to do me a favor.”

Finally, Sarah lifted her face and cast her a round-eyed look as desolate as Arizona’s drought land. Lizzie prayed this would be enough to remove the disappointment from Sarah’s face. “A favor?”

“Uh-huh,” Lizzie said. “I have to go away for a little while. And, well, I thought that maybe you’d like to watch Sally Ann for me.”

She unfolded the package carefully, undoing the edges one corner at a time, until Sally Ann’s smiling face came into view. “She was a gift from my father.”

Sarah gasped, her body stirring with vitality. “She’s pretty.”