The Rancher's Mail-Order Bride Page 8

  “But she knows now that you didn’t run the ad, doesn’t she?” Ethan asked.

  “Yeah. She was embarrassed, and her little kid was devastated. I couldn’t let them leave.”

  “So maybe something will work out after all.” Stony commented.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Not with me. But I figured I could introduce her around, find her a decent husband.”

  Both Ethan and Stony jerked to attention as though they’d been goosed by a red-hot cattle prod. “Don’t look in my direction,” Ethan said.

  “Get real. I wouldn’t let her marry you.”

  About to relax, Ethan decided he’d been insulted and should object on principal. “Why not?”

  “Because you’ve got more looks and money than God and you’re a flighty playboy.”

  Ethan shrugged, relaxing once more. “Sounds like some pretty good attributes to me.”

  Stony snorted, but kept silent, obviously thinking if he didn’t speak he wouldn’t become a candidate for husband.

  “I’m going to give the matter some careful thought,” Wyatt said. “In the meantime, Hannah and Ian will be staying at my place. Ian’s tickled with the animals and Hannah’s looking to plant a garden.”

  “A garden?”

  Wyatt ignored the speculative looks on his friends’ faces. “It’s just a few seeds and some dirt. It’s not permanent.”

  Ethan grinned. “Well, better you than me, buddy.”

  “Don’t get too smug—either of you,” Wyatt said. “Ozzie and the guys ran ads in several of the big-city papers inviting women to come on over to Shotgun Ridge. No telling what they have in store for the two of you.” Pleased with the look of horror that crossed their faces, Wyatt tossed his paper plate in the trash barrel.

  “There’s a piece of chocolate cake over there that’s got my name on it. Anybody else want some?”

  “Might as well get it before your cowhands hog it all.”

  Trevor, Steve and Brant were standing around the dessert table. “Looks like they’re all a little awestruck with your bride-to-be,” Stony commented, his deep voice soft and causal.

  “She’s not my…” Wyatt followed their line of sight—right to Hannah.

  And just as Stony had said, all three of his wranglers were looking like lovesick puppies.

  He’d have to nip that right in the bud. Those boys lived on his ranch. Hannah needed a place of her own. He couldn’t let her take up residence in the bunk-house, for crying out loud.

  And he couldn’t stand the thought of her being with another man and him having to see it every day.

  That worried him. He shouldn’t care. Caring was a dangerous thing. You never knew when the ones you loved would be snatched away. And to care deeply and have that happen was too much to bear.

  He knew that better than most.

  Chapter Six

  Hannah had corralled Ian and Nikki and redirected them to expend their energies outside, thus saving the platter of vegetables and artichoke dip.

  She’d been stopped by just about everyone in the room, and repeated the same story over and over.

  “So, you’re from California?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how old is your little boy?”

  “Four.”

  “And the baby?”

  “She’s due in August.”

  “Ah, a little girl. So sweet. So, how do you like Shotgun Ridge?”

  “I’ve not seen much of it, but Montana is very beautiful.”

  “That it is. And a better man you won’t find than Wyatt Malone.”

  “That’s nice to know.”

  “Sure was surprised to hear he’d advertised for a bride.”

  “Mmm.”

  Several times she’d caught herself before she’d said that Wyatt was surprised, too.

  At first she hadn’t known how to take the questioning, then realized it was simply their way. They were friendly and happy to welcome a newcomer into their fold. Thus, they’d want to exchange as much information as was humanly possible in the space of several minutes.

  Her mind was spinning a bit, because, not only did Hannah give information, she’d received plenty of it, as well.

  She’d learned that Henry Jenkins ran the feed store in town and Vernon and Vera Tillis owned the general store where folks bought their groceries and just about everything else a body could think of. Both Henry and Vern claimed to be older than dirt but were happy to report that they had all their teeth. Vera called them goats and advised Hannah to pay them no mind.

  Ozzie Peyton was the mayor of Shotgun Ridge and owned a small but respectable ranch on the outskirts of town. He’d lost his wife Vanessa a few years ago and still keenly felt the loss.

  They were all very glad Hannah and Ian had chosen Shotgun Ridge, and they were all very interested to know if she’d spoken with Iris Brewer yet, but oddly reluctant to expand on why they found that question so stirringly important.

  Feeling as though she were about to enter a mine field, she finally made her way across the room to the kitchen where Iris was washing up the dishes.

  “I understand you made the potato salad?”

  Iris smiled, her pretty blue eyes filled with warmth. Nothing awful there. So, why was everyone so concerned about them meeting up?

  “Yes. The egg gives it a different flavor. Plus I mix a few spices in with the mayonnaise. I’ll write down the recipe if you’re interested.”

  “Oh, I am. I’m Hannah Richmond.”

  “Yes, I know.” Iris scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the pan, then stopped, her head lifting, her mouth curving into a smile of chagrin. “And I’m Iris Brewer. I forget that…well, everyone knows me. Lloyd and I run Brewer’s Saloon in town.”

  “I’ve been there. Great cheeseburgers.”

  “Thank you.” Iris wiped her hands on her apron, glanced through the opening that separated the kitchen from the church hall. “It’s probably hard to tell so soon, but are you settling in all right? With Wyatt, I mean.”

  Hannah sighed and leaned against the counter. “I’m afraid there are some problems there.”

  Iris nodded.

  “You know?”

  “I know that Ozzie and his cronies got it in their heads to play matchmaker. I’m a little surprised that my Lloyd went along with it.”

  Hannah frowned. “Why?”

  “Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Becky was our daughter. She was married to Wyatt.”

  Hannah felt hot and sick to her stomach. The clutch of guilt and embarrassment was quick and scalding. “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. And Wyatt doesn’t want me.” That came out wrong. But she didn’t know her own thoughts at the moment. She felt like an intruder. Especially where this sweet woman was concerned.

  “Now, dear, I’m not so certain that’s true. I’ve watched him, and he looks at you with longing in his eyes.”

  “He doesn’t even know me.” Never mind the same was true for her and she felt a lot more than longing. She’d had several weeks of tracing his picture, of building dreams.

  “Sometimes you don’t have to know someone very long.”

  “This has got to be difficult…awkward for you. Because Wyatt’s your son-in-law.”

  “I’ll admit at first I had a twinge. But it’s been four years.”

  “She must have been very special,” Hannah said softly. “I can’t imagine losing a child. If I lost Ian…” She took a breath, swallowed the immediate, uncontrollable lump that rose in her throat. “I don’t think I could go on.”

  “Yes, you could. You do what you have to.”

  “I wouldn’t want to.”

  “Your Ian is precious. I look at him and think this might be what Timmy would look like now. He would have been five this month.”

  Hannah reached out, took Iris’s hands, yet didn’t speak. There was nothing she could say. Nothing she knew how to say.

  “I think you and your children will be good f
or Wyatt.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s going to work out.” She looked into Iris’s eyes. “My husband wasn’t a very good man. It’s a long story, but the short of it is, I need to be loved. I can’t and won’t settle for less. At this point, I don’t know if Wyatt’s capable of giving me that.”

  “But you’ll work on it.”

  “Yes. I do intend to.” She said it softly, gently. She’d come here believing that love was possible—based on the letters she’d thought were from Wyatt. She wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Are you sure my being here doesn’t bother you?”

  “No, dear. Truly, it doesn’t. And I’m probably just as surprised as you to realize that. Tell me about your family. Your mother.”

  “I lost my mother and father three years ago.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. You must miss them.”

  “Terribly. Every day I wonder if I’m making the right decisions, and I start to pick up the phone, then I remember. They say it gets easier. I haven’t really found that to be true.”

  Iris wrapped her arms around Hannah and simply held her. The hug was genuine, touching, and it was all Hannah could do to keep from sobbing into this wonderful woman’s shoulder. Baby hormones, she decided.

  “I think the good Lord knew what he was doing when he put us in each other’s path, Hannah Richmond.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I lost a daughter and grandson, and you lost a mother. Now here we are—the three of us. Perhaps we could stand in for one another to fill those gaping holes?”

  This time Hannah’s eyes did fill with tears. “That’s a beautiful thought, Iris. I’d like that very much.” Oh, here was the acceptance and warmth she’d been seeking when she’d left her familiar life behind for the unknown.

  Just then, she felt a lot more confident that she’d made the right decision in coming here.

  HANNAH SAT on the front porch in a wooden swing suspended by chains, the creek of wood and metal as soothing as the peppermint tea steaming in her cup, teasing her senses. As it turned out, Vera Tillis was a gourmet tea lover and stocked the general store with quite a variety.

  Wyatt had shown her around town a bit after church, but he’d been preoccupied, quiet and withdrawn.

  His mood made her nervous.

  She sipped her tea, inhaled the calming scent, her foot idly setting the porch swing in gentle motion. From here she could see the barn and the corral where Ian was frolicking like a puppy while Skeeter performed fancy rope tricks.

  Satisfied that her son was safe and happy, she looked out over the horizon. The visual stimulation was everything she’d hoped for. She could just sit for days and stare off into the sunset—a sunset that wasn’t shrouded in smog or hidden by houses and buildings and billboards.

  The view went farther than the eye could see rather than slamming into a brick wall.

  Here, there was peace.

  Here, a soul could sing.

  The call of a coyote carried on the wings of an evening breeze, raising the hairs on Hannah’s arms. Odd how she could feel the slight punch of unease and the peaceful feel of rightness at the same time. The vastness should speak of loneliness, yet it spoke of home.

  A cloud of dust drew her eye, and a horseman rode into the yard. Wyatt. Sitting tall in the saddle, his legs straddling the powerful animal, boots hooked in the stirrups, hat riding low over his forehead as though it were part of the man.

  Her heart pumped harder at the sight of him.

  Ian charged toward Wyatt and Hannah came up out of the porch swing, her heart now pounding with a mother’s fear. My God, he was just a baby. That horse could step all over him, crush his tiny body…Oh, stop it, Hannah.

  As she watched, Wyatt grinned and reached down just as Skeeter lifted Ian. Oh, he was going to give Ian a ride. She still felt nervous. And envious.

  She wished she had the fearless nature of her son. Where had she learned to have such chicken tendencies? Was it the fear of being hurt? Emotionally as well as physically? Of losing?

  She shook her head. She was no psychologist and shouldn’t be trying to act like one.

  Ian shrieked, his little face lit like the sun as Wyatt walked Tornado around the corral.

  Please, God, she found herself praying. Let it be right.

  With her arms wrapped around herself, she watched Wyatt Malone with her son. Even from this distance, she could hear Ian’s little voice going nonstop and she smiled. Nobody could stay immune for long in Ian’s presence. Her son was hard to resist, and it took mere minutes to fall in love with him.

  From the way Wyatt was looking down at the boy and grinning, it appeared that he was halfway in love with the child already.

  Now if only he’d look at her like that.

  Difficult to do if he was going to ignore her. She’d have to make sure she made him notice her.

  Pretty darn big goal seeing as how her stomach was stretched well beyond the snap of sexy jeans and unsuited to clingy silk.

  She’d just have to make him notice other things—like what an asset she could be to his life, his ranch.

  WYATT’S MUSCLES wept from the relentless beating they’d taken in the past two days. In an effort to keep his distance from Hannah, both emotionally and physically, he’d pushed himself hard, garnering frowns from his ranch hands.

  “Don’t know what bee’s in your shorts son, but when you push yourself like this, the men feel like they gotta work three times as hard.”

  Wyatt took off his hat and swiped the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead. He started to speak when a flash of pink caught his eye.

  Arrested by the sight of her, he watched as Hannah streaked across the yard toward the henhouse, skirting the shade of the cypress as though it were alive.

  He shook his head, grinned despite himself.

  “Most peculiar thing,” Skeeter said. “She got something against shade? The boys are starting to think they got B.O. Sun goes behind the clouds and she backs up, regardless of who’s standin’ there talking to her.”

  Amusement licked at his insides. He had an idea why she did it, but he wasn’t sure.

  The startled, one-note feminine scream had him jamming his hat back on his head, his boots digging into the earth as he charged across the yard, Skeeter hot on his heels, Trevor and Steve coming from the opposite direction.

  She ran out of the wooden coop, and he only had a split instant to note the waxen pallor of her skin before she literally climbed right up his body and into his arms.

  With her legs wrapped around his hips this way, his body reacted like lightning, but he dismissed it.

  “What is it?” He cradled her, tried to see if she was injured. He held her easily as she burrowed into him, her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath puffing against his skin in shallow pants as though she’d run a marathon and couldn’t quite catch her wind.

  “Snake.”

  She said it softly. Tersely. And despite the fact that she had jumped into his arms and her chest was rising and falling against his—giving him way too many improper thoughts—her voice didn’t tremble.

  “A snake?”

  “I hate snakes.” This time revulsion quaked her body and her voice.

  Wyatt stiffened, panic sweeping him like a freezing blizzard. “Did it get you?”

  No answer.

  “Sweetheart. Tell me. Look at me. Did it bite you?” He was trying to check now, but she wouldn’t let go of her strangling hold on his neck.

  She shook her head.

  “‘No’ it didn’t bite you, or ‘no’ you don’t want me to look?”

  “It didn’t bite.”

  He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He’d dealt with rattlesnake bites before, but it wasn’t pleasant. And to have it happen to a delicate woman—a pregnant woman—was unthinkable.

  “I’m okay now,” she said, loosening her arms.

  His still held her firmly.

  She unwrapped her legs from around hi
s waist and he allowed her to slide down the front of his body, barely suppressing the groan that fought to escape. There was no way in hell she couldn’t feel his arousal.

  She looked up at him. Where before her face had been sheet-white, now her cheeks bloomed like a spring rose. And in her eyes was a need that matched his.

  He looked away, noticing that Skeeter, Trevor and Steve were all watching with avid interest.

  “Where’s the snake?”

  A slight shudder now. She pointed behind her. “In there. Big black thing. I’ll have nightmares.”

  “Chicken snake.” He glanced up and without having to be told, Trevor and Steve went into the henhouse to deal with it. Skeeter backed away to give them some privacy, which was a good thing, because if she moved from in front of him, everyone would see the painfully aroused state of his body.

  “What the heck is a chicken snake?”

  He put his arm around her, turned her and headed her away from the coop so that she wouldn’t see what the men did with the snake. His mother had insisted he build the small structure so her hens would have proper facilities in order to sit or brood or produce, whatever their preference.

  He thought again of how his mother would like Hannah. “It’s a constrictor.”

  “Oh, Lord, those squeezing kind?”

  “Yeah. They like rodents and lizards and eggs. A nuisance, but not poisonous.”

  “And babies.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They eat babies.”

  His brows shot up. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I read about it. These people had a pet boa and it got the baby. Another got the neighbor’s little dog.”

  “Well, that sort of thing’s never happened around here.”

  “That you know of,” she muttered. “Do they get in there often?”

  She looked so forlorn he wanted to hug her. “No. This time of year, coming out of hibernation, I imagine they’re fairly hungry.”

  She sighed. “I thought gathering eggs would be a simple thing. Something I could excel at. Even King Tut is starting to give me a bit of room and respect. Which probably isn’t saying much since he appears to be senile.”