The Rancher's Mail-Order Bride Page 2

  A potent, dangerous combination.

  He took a deep breath and tried counting to ten. It didn’t work. It still felt as though his life had just slipped out of control like a flatbed hay baler without brakes. “What’s not right, Ozzie?”

  “The way all you boys around here have ignored your duty. It’s a crime against the good Lord, I’m telling you. Shotgun Ridge is dying out. That’s why we put the ads in the papers, you bet.”

  “Ads? My, God, are there more coming?”

  “Not for you, so calm down.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” A man would have to be dead to be calm in a situation like this.

  “We ran ads in the papers inviting women to come to town. The ad in the fancy magazine with your picture was the only one for a bride.”

  His ego reared up in fine form. “And only one woman responded?” Not that he cared he told himself. He wasn’t going along with this nonsense.

  “Of course not,” Ozzie said, giving him a look that suggested he wasn’t overly bright. “But me and the boys screened them all and—”

  “You screened them? Not very well, apparently. Ozzie, in case you hadn’t noticed, Hannah Richmond has a kid and she’s in the family way again!”

  “I know that, Wyatt. And I’m surprised to hear you take that tone. You’re the least judgmental man I know.”

  “I’m not judging anybody.”

  “That’s a fine thing to hear. Because the way we see it, this town’s in a mess and it’s high time somebody did something to rectify matters. There’s too much concentratin’ on breedin’ cows and horses and not enough on breedin’ young ’uns!”

  “So you brought Hannah Richmond here to have her baby.” Well, that wasn’t too bad, he thought, relaxing some. Perhaps he’d misunderstood. Perhaps they just wanted her to have her baby here and increase the population.

  “And other babies…providing the two of you suit that is.”

  Tension shot his spine rigid once more, the image of that insinuation punching Wyatt in the gut. Even after all these years, the pain was still raw. He dismissed it, looked at Ozzie, tried like heck to stand his ground. “Other—?”

  “You bet.” The old man nodded his head. “We’ve got an unbalanced situation with a town full of bachelors.”

  “Oh, now Ozzie, you’re exaggerating. You make it sound like there are no females in Shotgun Ridge when there surely are. One of them comes out to clean my house twice a month. And Miz Parnel over at the beauty shop does a good enough business.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My mom patronizes Arletta’s shop, so obviously the doors are still open for female business—”

  “And did she run right home and tell you there were young, eligible women getting permanents and hair dyes?”

  “No—”

  “I rest my case.”

  Wyatt could taste frustration in the back of his throat. Communicating with Ozzie Peyton often felt like trying to herd a bull backward through a squeeze chute. “Why would my mother come home and tell me about the customers at the beauty shop?”

  “She’s a mother wanting grandbabies in her lifetime. That’d make her a natural matchmaker. She’d a told you.”

  He started to snap that Mary Malone had a grandchild. Just because his son was resting in the family plot didn’t make him any less of a Malone family member.

  But Wyatt didn’t have the energy to bring up the argument. Apparently, he had bigger problems on his hands.

  “So, since Mom’s in Florida, you four old guys are matchmaking?”

  “After a fashion, you bet.”

  Wyatt ran his hand down his face. “And you’ve corresponded with that woman over there and led her to believe I’ve invited her here to be my bride?”

  “That about sums it up, you bet.”

  Tonight, Ozzie’s distinct habit of tacking on “you bet” to his sentences grated on Wyatt more than usual. “And she’s expecting to go home with me?”

  Ozzie nodded.

  Wyatt turned his full attention to Lloyd Brewer who was watching him in silence, polishing the same glass he’d started on five minutes ago. He was about to rub the shine off it.

  “You’re in on this Lloyd?” he asked quietly. “My own father-in-law?”

  “Becky and Timmy are gone, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt’s jaw tightened and his stomach churned. “I think about that just about every day, Lloyd. I don’t need the reminder.” When he saw the older man wince, he regretted his tone. Lloyd had taken his daughter’s death hard. Still—and because of that—he was surprised that Lloyd would be a party to trying to marry him off to another woman. A stranger.

  “It’s time to get on with your life, Wyatt.”

  His fist tightened around the coated paper printed with his picture. “I’m happy with my life just the way it is.”

  Ozzie and Lloyd gave him a pitying look.

  He ignored it. “You all said it before. We’re a town of bachelors. Why me?”

  “We took a vote,” Ozzie admitted uneasily. “It was between you and Ethan Callahan and Stony Stratton.”

  “Just the three of us?” His tone held a bite but he couldn’t help it. This was absurd. “What about the sheriff and the doc? They’re young and single. For that matter, so’s the preacher. And Ethan’s brothers.”

  “It’s a done deal, Wyatt…well, sort of.” Ozzie glanced across the room at Hannah. “Give her a chance. Get to know her and see what happens.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, and you both know it. I had my chance at family and lost it.” He looked at Lloyd, then at Ozzie. “Now I just have to figure out how badly you’ve messed with Hannah Richmond’s life and how to let her down easy.”

  “Don’t make too hasty a decision, Wyatt.”

  He stood, smiled at Hannah who was now looking at him with uneasy questions in her pretty green eyes. Maedean was on her way back to the kitchen, obviously armed with Hannah’s order and plenty more….

  Like enough information on mail-order brides to entertain the entire population of Shotgun Ridge.

  “Bring me one of those messy cheeseburgers, would you, Maedean?” he called, his voice raised above the Friday night crowd and the music.

  “You got it, honey.” She gave him a bawdy wink.

  He sent the gesture back as though nothing in the world was amiss, as though a pregnant woman and little boy weren’t waiting for him to come back and jerk the rug right out from under them.

  The jukebox was belting out a Shania Twain tune admonishing folks not to be stupid, and two older couples were doing a cowboy waltz across the floor. Glancing around the room, Wyatt realized that what Ozzie said was pretty much true. The men outnumbered the women five to one. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Because he hadn’t been interested. Since Becky and Timmy’s deaths, he’d concentrated on his ranch and his friends and parents.

  Still, a lack of young women was no excuse for the old geezers to run a crazy advertisement in a magazine.

  And neglect to tell the beef on the hoof—him—about it.

  He slid into the booth opposite her. “Did you put in your order?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Ian crawled under the table and climbed up on Wyatt’s lap.

  “Are we g-ga-gonna be your family?”

  Wyatt felt as though somebody had reached a fist into his chest and squeezed his heart. The boy was looking at him with solemn eyes filled with hope. No kid this little should hold that much seriousness in his eyes. Before Wyatt could answer, though, Hannah spoke.

  “Ian, honey. Remember, we said we’d see?” She looked at Wyatt. “I know my agreeing to come here takes you off the market, but I do want to be cautious.”

  Off the market? As far as he’d known, he hadn’t been on the market to begin with. He was beginning to feel a real affinity with his cattle.

  “Uh, being cautious is always smart,” he said, and nearly swallowed his Adam’s apple when Ian’s head pre
ssed against his shoulder, little boy breath puffing against his neck.

  Maedean came back to the table bearing red plastic baskets filled with steaming French fries and paper-wrapped cheeseburgers. Ian lifted his head to have a look.

  “There you go, hon,” Maedean said, cupping Ian’s cheeks with grandmotherly affection. She frowned, and pressed the backs of her fingers to his forehead. “This little guy’s feeling a bit warm.”

  Hannah was out of the booth and reaching for her son before Maedean had even finished the last syllable. With one knee braced against the vinyl seat right at Wyatt’s hip, she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, then checked for heat in her son’s face.

  Her full breasts were aligned perfectly at mouth level; she smelled like a sun-drenched orange grove.

  Wyatt’s appetite went right over the top, and it wasn’t for cheeseburgers.

  “Oh, you are hot. Come to Momma, sweetie.”

  Well, sure. He jerked, cutting off the thought and felt his ears heat when Hannah Richmond gave him a frowning look. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he concluded he’d been out on the ranch for too long and had completely forgotten his manners. Never mind that the breach was only in his mind.

  “Want me to rustle up a thermometer?” Maedean asked. “We could put it under his arm and get a quick reading.”

  “I think he’ll be okay,” Hannah said. “But thank you, Maedean.”

  Wyatt knew they were discussing the boy’s fever, but for the life of him, his overactive mind was placing other connotations on the conversation.

  “No thanks, needed, hon. You holler if you change your mind, hear?”

  Maedean left to attend to the other customers, and Wyatt leaned back, feeling it prudent to put an inch or so of distance between himself and temptation. When Hannah tried to lift Ian from his arms, he shook his head.

  “Sit. I’ll hand him to you. He’s probably too heavy for you in your condition.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look all that fine. When he finally got his randy thoughts under control, he noticed that her peaches-and-cream complexion was pale with exhaustion, her green eyes weary.

  There was a wholesome innocence to her that he normally wouldn’t have associated with a woman her age—close to thirty, he’d guess.

  He hated like crazy to tell her she had to turn around and go home, that there had been a terrible mistake, but it would be the kindest thing.

  Attempting to stand, he was thwarted by the tightening of Ian’s arms around his neck. The boy did feel warm. And the smell of French fries didn’t seem to tempt. That right there was a sure sign of a kid feeling poorly.

  “Don’t you want to go sit with your mom, partner? Have something to eat?”

  Ian ran his fingers over Wyatt’s chin. The rasp of whiskers reminded him that he hadn’t gone to a lot of extra grooming trouble before coming to town. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be confronted with a bride and a family all rolled into one neat package.

  But whether or not he’d shaved was the least of his troublesome thoughts.

  “Are you g-gonna be my daddy?”

  “Ian!”

  Trust a little kid to get right to the heart of matters, and give him the perfect opening to admit that there had been a mistake fostered by four old matchmaking geezers.

  But for some darn reason, he couldn’t make the words he needed to say come out. Sticky fingers poked at his Adam’s apple and a hard head clipped him in the chin. Fever or not, the kid still had energy to spare.

  Hannah Richmond was looking at him with both embarrassment and fragile hope.

  Ah, hell. Pregnant with a kid. And apparently prepared to put her future in his hands.

  “Why don’t we get you home and in a warm bed?” he answered Ian instead, feeling his insides go still at the relief that came over Hannah’s soft features.

  Relief and a flare of something else he was half afraid to speculate on.

  It had been a long time since a woman had gazed at him like he was her salvation, her knight in shining armor. He didn’t know why in the world she would do so.

  But his ego was just rusty enough to respond, his soul desperate enough to believe.

  Chapter Two

  “Where did you park your car?” he asked, still a little surprised he was actually going to take this woman and her son home with him.

  “It’s around the corner, and it’s probably got a ticket on the windshield by now. There weren’t any parking spaces that looked big enough and I’m not the greatest at maneuvering a trailer around, so I pulled it into a dirt lot down the way.”

  He shook his head, distracted. “You won’t have a ticket. The sheriff’s in the saloon.”

  She smiled, twisted her hands. “That’s a relief. I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot.”

  “You said a trailer?”

  She frowned. “It’s still okay for me to put my stuff in your barn, isn’t it?”

  Man alive, he was feeling more and more like he’d walked into the middle of a mystery and was lost in a maze. But he’d already committed himself to taking her home.

  “Okay, why don’t we leave Ian here with Maedean and the rest of the old boys while we go get your rig.

  No sense in him hiking through town if he’s running a fever or coming down with something.”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure…?”

  “He’s safe here, Hannah. I know every person in this saloon and I’d trust them with my life—and your son’s.” Plus he needed some fresh air and a few minutes alone with her to get his bearings as well as a better idea of what was going on here.

  She turned to her son. “What do you say, Ian? Can you stay here for a few minutes while Wyatt and I go get the truck?”

  Ian went still and looked at his mom, suddenly appearing much older than Wyatt imagined he was. “You b-be okay, mom?”

  “Sure, pal. You go hop up on that bar stool over there and I’ll be right back for you.”

  Lightning quick, a smile wreathed the little boy’s mouth and he skipped away as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Warm cheeks, whether or not they signaled a fever, wouldn’t keep him down.

  “Sometimes I think my son is four going on forty.”

  Four years old. A year younger than Timmy would have been.

  Asking Maedean to wrap up the burgers to go, Wyatt put his hand on Hannah’s shoulder and led her outside. His pickup was parked in the diagonal space right in front of Brewer’s Saloon. Trucks took up most every other parking space on Main Street. No wonder she’d had to park a block away. It was Friday night, and the town—such as it was—was jumping.

  They crossed the street and started down the sidewalk in front of the darkened storefronts. He saw her shiver and he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  She jolted, glanced up at him. “Thank you.”

  Surprise filled her eyes and her tone. The lady obviously wasn’t used to gallantry.

  He wondered about her husband—surely it was an ex. Or was the man dead? That was something she’d have more than likely put in her letters.

  If he’d done the writing instead of Ozzie, that’s certainly one of the main questions he would have asked of an applicant for a wife.

  Hell.

  He didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to tell her that he hadn’t run the ad or written any letters. For some reason he couldn’t define—just a gut feeling, the kind of feeling he got when something wasn’t right with his herd—he didn’t want to hurt this woman. He didn’t want to burst her dream.

  And he didn’t even know what her dream was.

  But man alive, he liked the way she smelled—like a tangy spray of springtime citrus.

  And he had no business noticing or getting attached to her scent or anything else.

  He wasn’t keeping her. He was only going to be neighborly. After all, she’d driven halfway across the country on good faith. And although he hadn’t known a thing about
it, he felt responsible.

  He spotted the single-axle trailer attached to the S.U.V. in the dirt lot beside the bank. It was bigger than he’d expected; about the size of a horse trailer. It would hold quite a few possessions.

  She must have sensed his unease.

  “Wyatt. If you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay. We all do things on the spur of the moment, make decisions we end up rethinking in a saner frame of mind.”

  “Is that what you did? Acted on the spur of the moment?”

  “Answering your ad? Yes, I suppose I did. I never expected you to write back. I answered on a lark, and I was sure when you read that I was divorced and had a four-year-old son and was five months pregnant to boot you’d just laugh and toss away my letter.”

  She’d just handed him some of the information he was tiptoeing around. “So, what did you think when you got a letter back?”

  “That it was destiny.”

  She said it so quickly, so earnestly, he smiled. “Folks out in California put a lot of store in karma and fate and such, right?”

  She glanced up at him as though she’d forgotten he was there. “You’re making fun.”

  “No. Really. Just wondering what would make you travel across five states to start over this way.”

  She fiddled with her necklace, running the crystal pendant back and forth against the gold chain. “I’m tired of the rat race. I want a sense of community, family, a better place to raise my kids.”

  “Shotgun Ridge’s a good place to raise kids—or it was at one time. I hadn’t realized until it was recently pointed out, but we seem to have had a crop of boys—and they’ve all grown up. Most of ’em about my age, I guess.”

  “Yes. I saw the other ad—the one below yours that said, well…that women and babies were needed.”

  Wyatt imagined that if they’d had decent lighting he’d have seen her blushing. “So the old geezers in town seem to think.”

  “I thought you thought it, too.”

  He kept forgetting he was supposed to have been the one to run the ad. For a bride.

  He saw her pass a hand over her stomach and realized he was burning to ask a lot more questions. He wanted to know what kind of man divorced a woman when she was pregnant.