Toby pulled Blaze to a stop. He wouldn’t cross under the arching metal sign marking the Double L’s boundary.
Nope.
That was his limit.
Sure as sunrise, he’d be spotted and thrown off the property before he could even register for the competition. But he’d been edging closer to the ranch for two days, waiting for someone to point him out, and hadn’t been run off yet. Of course, a shaggy beard hid half his face.
Blaze snorted and shook his golden mane. There were cattle—lots of them—just ahead.
Toby licked his lips. “This is the most horndoodled idea you’ve ever had. You know that, right?”
Blaze nickered and stepped onto the Double L.
Prosperity blew like a breeze across the landscape. Fat cattle, split-rail fences, red barns—so different than he remembered. And the big house was something straight out of Ma’s Someday Journal. Painted white, it had a three-story turret on one end, a wraparound porch with scrolled posts, decorative cupolas, and real glass windows. It sat next to a willow tree towering over a shimmery pond where geese floated on the surface.
If there was any justice in eternity, Ma’s heavenly mansion looked just like this.
As he and Blaze plodded along, Toby counted potential competitors—fifty-seven before he found the registration table. A woman in a frilly, light purple dress that reminded him of bluebonnets in spring sat reading a book, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Toby dismounted and clicked his tongue three times commanding Blaze to stay. He removed his hat, approached the table, and cleared his throat twice. The woman didn’t budge. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m here to register—”
She snapped the book closed and looked up.
“—for—” Toby stopped breathing.
She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Blond hair, brown eyes, narrow-bridged nose, and a tiny cleft in her chin. A small mole drew attention to her lips, which were thin and straight. They started moving. Stopped moving.
“Did you hear me?”
Toby shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. What’d you say?”
She set her book down without taking her eyes off him. “It’s ‘miss,’ and I asked for your name.”
He wanted to tell her. He did. But the longer she looked at him, the tighter his tongue got.
Her brows arched higher, creasing her forehead. It reminded him of a teacher. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear, reinforcing the schoolmarm image.
Toby remembered little from his year of schooling except that last names came first on important papers. “Uh… it’s Lane, Tobias.”
She dropped her gaze to the table, withdrew a paper from the pile beside her right elbow, licked the pencil tip, and drew swirling loops onto a list. After tucking the pencil back in place, she slid a piece of paper out from under a different stack and thrust it toward him. “Your number is seventy-three. Keep this with you throughout the competition and hand it to the judges before each event so they can record your scores as you go along. The schedule will be posted in the morning. Any questions?”
Dozens, but he couldn’t get a single one past his lips.
“Good. Set up camp anywhere on the ranch, but don’t make a campfire. There are several already dug out and bordered around the property. Tonight, there’s a cookout on the lawn in front of the white house. Cookie will ring the dinner bell around six o’clock. All other meals you’ll need to provide for yourself.” She shook the paper at him.
He took it. “Yes, ma’am… I mean, miss.”
She smiled at him, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Welcome to the Double L, Mr. Tobias.”
The papers in his hand creased and buckled. He didn’t want to correct her because maybe, just maybe, changing his name would change his luck. Except lying wasn’t the best way to get God back on your side. “It’s Lane.”
Her pretty mouth turned down. “I don’t approve of calling people by their given names on such short acquaintance.” And with that, she took up her book again, snapped it open, and dropped her head so fast the blond curls bounced.
Well, he tried. No one—not even God—could say different. With two clicks of his tongue, he commanded Blaze to follow. He headed toward a group of cowboys milling around a corral and admiring a black stallion.
“… a beaut, no question, but he’s got a temper, so don’t get too close.”
“Aw, c’mon, Peltzer. Ya can’t bring a horse like that to somethin’ like this and expect us not to climb on his back.”
Peltzer looked the complainer in the eye. “You touch this horse and he just might kill you.” He laughed, but the sound didn’t have an ounce of humor in it.
Someone muttered behind Toby’s left ear, “I ain’t got a chance a winnin’ this here competition. None of us do.”
Peltzer’s lips lifted.
Toby moved on before he drew attention to himself. He felt rather than saw eyes follow him. Or maybe following Blaze, trying to figure out his breed. The horse wasn’t a looker, but he had heart and intelligence, traits not obvious until he got to working cattle. Peltzer’s horse was all show and no go with his nervous head tossing and shifting hooves. He might race well enough, but that was only one of the five events. Unless Peltzer had multiple horses, he wasn’t assured victory.
Since it was almost six, Toby set up camp quickly and made sure Blaze had a good patch of grass for grazing. The dinner bell clanged in rhythm before he pitched his tent, but his rumbling stomach took priority over shelter. The day was fine, no rain threatened on the horizon, and the scent of roasting beef made his jaw ache. As he approached the white house, he saw Peltzer leaning against a tree, talking with the pretty gal in the bluebonnet-colored dress who’d been at the registration table.
Toby didn’t like the cornered look in her eye, but he wasn’t one to rush to judgment. She hadn’t been too friendly to him, and he’d done nothing more than register. But, just in case, he headed past the serving line to the edge of the house, where he leaned against the wood slats. Then he took a step back. No one noticed. One step at a time, he backed up until he was blocked from view. He ran along the back side of the house and into the trees bordering the pond. They were taller and bushier than he remembered, providing cover as he snuck up on Peltzer and the gal.
His groaning stomach protested. The woman was in full view of hundreds of people, but Toby well knew you could be alone in a crowd.
Nia retreated a step and felt her hoop skirt collapse against the backs of her thighs. Tree bark dug into her shoulder blade through the flimsy cotton bodice of her lavender dress. After so many years of wearing pants and chaps, she’d almost forgotten how impractical dresses were.
“I can’t believe a pretty gal like you hasn’t been snatched up and carried off by now.”
“Why, Mr. Peltzer. You flatterer.”
The cowboy smiled like she’d given him a compliment. “If you give me half a chance, I’ll flatter you for the rest of your life.”
She held in a snort. A number of competitors showed up early and attempted to woo her into a hasty wedding. So far, their attentions had been as obvious as a two-headed cow. But what if there were others who could turn her to mush? Losing her head to an unworthy suitor would be ten times worse than choosing a bad foreman.
If only she were wearing her work clothes. Nia put her hands on her hips and hoped she looked threatening rather than ridiculous in the ruffled dress. “Why, now, two days’ acquaintance is a mite soon for that kind of talk.”
Marigold appeared over Peltzer’s right shoulder, her arm linked into Humphrey Tranton’s. “There you are, Nia. Papa sent me to find you. We have many guests needing attention. We can’t be monopolized by one cowboy, no matter how handsome he is.”
Peltzer turned. “I would protest, but how could I argue with such a vision?”
Behind his back, Nia rolled her eyes.
Marigold—her blond hair intricately braided, cheeks putting roses to shame, and sky-blue dress matching her eyes—lifted a gloved hand to her lips. “Why, sir, you don’t think to steal me from my fiancé, now do you?”
She was good! Slipping in the fiancé word like that. It would have been fun to see Peltzer’s reaction. If ever two people were a physical mismatch, it was Marigold Lindley and Humphrey Tranton. She, petite and stunningly beautiful; he, big-boned and saved from ugly by radiating kindness.
Peltzer begged forgiveness for monopolizing the lovely Miss Lindley. With a start, Nia realized he was talking about her. Though quite adequate looking, she paled in comparison to her sister.
Marigold batted her lashes and let go of Humphrey’s arm to lead Peltzer toward the food table. He followed like a sheep to slaughter. Nia’s pride suffered a slight pang, but at least the pest was gone.
The trees rustled behind her, propelling her into the crowd to avoid another unwelcome encounter.
Toby slipped behind a tree, stood sideways, and sucked in his stomach. A wild turkey sauntered past making enough noise for two birds. Toby shooed him along with a faint hiss. The turkey bristled its feathers and disappeared.
When no one came to investigate, Toby relaxed and peeked to see that the coast was clear. The smell of dinner had been cramping his stomach for going on thirty minutes, the last fifteen of them wasted on a gal whose greatest danger was a butter-mouth cowboy. Well, if she believed Peltzer’s slick words, it was her own fault.
Toby left the shelter of the trees and headed for the food. He got in the back of the line while his stomach folded in on itself in anticipation. After piling mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, baked beans, greens, biscuits, and a thick steak onto his tin plate, he joined a group of cowboys on the outskirts of the crowd who all looked as hungry as he was.
He downed the plate in ten minutes and went back for seconds. On his way for thirds, he noticed the table laden with fruit pies. He detoured and picked up a slice of apple and one of berry. The woman who’d been cornered by Peltzer came near and picked up a slice of apple pie. Toby nodded as a courtesy and returned to his place.
“What’d she say to you?”
This came from one of the cowboys just as Toby forked pie into his mouth. He swallowed in one gulp. “Who?”
Stunned expressions met his question. The oldest and crustiest cowboy, mashed potatoes staining his beard, tilted his head. “The rancher’s daughter in the purple dress, that’s who.”
Toby searched the crowd. She stood next to an older, distinguished man carrying on a conversation with several other suited gentlemen. “She didn’t say anything.”
The crusty cowboy squinted. “And you didn’t say nothin’ to her?”
A younger cowboy lifted his hat and smoothed back greasy hair. “Don’t care what you say, Geezer, no woman pretty as a painted wagon is gonna marry a cowpoke.”
Geezer ran a hand down his beard and licked off the mashed potatoes. “I talked to a couple of the boys who work here. Seems the gal likes cows so much she works ’em just like a hired hand. Plans on competin’, too.”
“No, what they said is they wouldn’t be surprised if she planned on competin’,” a skinny man to Toby’s left chimed in. “And just ’cause she works with cowboys don’t mean she’s like to marry one.”
Geezer tugged on his beard. “Wouldn’t be so all-fired sure of that, Needle.”
The confidence in Peltzer’s eye earlier and the conversation by the trees took on new meaning. Peltzer didn’t care who won the competition, he planned to win the rancher’s daughter.
Toby set down the pie, his appetite gone. Winning meant nothing. A foreman could be fired as fast as a hand. Security lay in being an owner. And if you couldn’t buy a ranch, you could marry into it.
He should leave before the Double L drew him back in, made him care too much. But it was too late. It had been too late the moment he recognized the hills, creeks, and cuts where thick prairie grass fell away to reveal red dirt and gray rock.
What he needed was to win the competition and keep the rancher’s daughter safe from scalawags like Peltzer because, even though this was where his family’s curse began…
It was still home.