Bodie Farnham loved his mother; he did, but for the love of heaven, the woman tried his patience. He was 28 years old, had been on his own since he was 19, had built Two Forks, one of the finest ranches in all of Wyoming, and she deemed him a failure, apparently, because he was still a bachelor. Oh, and he was not an attorney. His twin sisters had died as toddlers from cholera, and he understood he was the only egg in her basket, her only opportunity to provide grandchildren and a vicarious sense of accomplishment. This was not medieval England, however; he did not have a title to pass on or need an heir to secure historic lands. And his choice of vocation was his own.
He surveyed his land as he rode the south fence line, looking for breaches. He had started with 100 acres, using a large portion of his inheritance from his father to stock it with horses and cattle and then expand the operation over the years. Not every year had been profitable; cattle and crops were subject to the whims of nature, including blizzards, droughts, fires and floods. One year he’d had a problem with rustlers. Ranching was challenging. It also was so much more satisfying than a career in law, which is what his mother had assumed he would pursue. In truth, she was waiting for him to give up this “folly” and finish law school.
How could she raise him and know so little about him, that he would suffocate in an office? He glanced down at his blue plaid shirt, leather vest and denim trousers and smiled. He was about as far from an attorney as he could be and glad of it. As for women, he liked them. He had courted Melinda Cotton for over a year and planned to propose the week she ran off with a traveling jewelry salesman. Then there was Julia Evans. That was six or seven months, until she became too clingy and moody. And there were a few others of even shorter duration before he decided to give it a rest. Perhaps he was meant to be a lifelong bachelor. He would never want a woman who saw the ranch, or his background, as a stepping stone to something else. Or one who was overly dramatic. Or simpering.
He would not remain unmarried if his mother had anything to say about it, of course. He stopped his stallion along the fence line and pulled out the letter he had stuffed in a pocket. Yes, unfortunately, it said exactly what he thought it said. His mother, Auralee Farnham, was traveling from Omaha and bringing Miss Caroline Cutler, a “lovely, refined woman from a prominent, upstanding family,” with her. They should arrive in less than a week. He wanted to scream. Even before he left home, she was plying her matchmaking skills to throw at him any number of lovely, refined women who did not interest him at all. He would never settle down with any woman who did not have…he didn’t know what, exactly. Personality, charm, intelligence, independence. No clinging and no coyness. No agreeing with him no matter what he said.
Truth be told, he wanted someone who would tell him he was being a jackass when he was being a jackass. Just the fact that his mother had chosen this woman told him she would not suit him. They had diametrically opposed views on what his mate should be. And what of the woman? What was she thinking? Why would she travel from Nebraska to Wyoming when she had never even met him? That they were already betrothed, that the proposal was just a formality? He knew his mother would not answer if he sent her a telegram. She was stampeding toward him from Omaha with Caroline whatever-her-last-name-was, and there was no stopping her. He wanted to bellow. Or hit something.
It was hard enough to meet women when Two Forks, named after a creek that split twice on the property, was nearly 12 miles outside of Medicine Bow. He went to the socials, barn raisings and what-nots occasionally and knew the women found him attractive in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, he supposed. He was not a dandy and had never aspired to be one. He suspected they found his wallet even more attractive than his person. He was a successful rancher, after all. He sighed, taking off his hat and running a calloused hand through his light brown hair, which was flecked with gold, especially in the summer. It was mid-July and hot. He looked around at his property, now totaling nearly 12,000 acres, and felt his heart swelling with pride. He had a foreman, six ranch hands and Mrs. Glines, who did the cooking and housekeeping for him and treated him like a son.
He was about to turn around and head back to the ranch house when he thought he spied something in the distance. It was on the ground and dark. Was it a bear? An elk?
“What the…”
He spurred Laredo on slowly, not wanting to spook whatever it was, even though it looked to be half a mile away. As he trotted closer, he realized the thing was dark blue, so it wasn’t a bear or an elk. Slowing his horse to a walk, he approached the object cautiously. He could see now it was a person and was aware of the Indian trick of pretending to be unconscious and then attacking a person who comes near. He dismounted and pulled out his pistol. Laredo wouldn’t stray far unless he had to fire the gun, and even then he would most likely return if Bodie whistled.
Now that he was off the horse and closer to the figure, he could see that it had to be a woman or a child. Still, he could not help but be cautious. Holding the pistol at the ready, he carefully turned the figure over with his boot and drew in a breath. It was a woman. Was she even alive? He knelt down and put an ear to her chest and was relieved to feel a faint heartbeat. Even in her condition, with swollen and split lips, bruises and cuts all over and a wound bleeding through a bandage on her side, he could see that she was pretty. Her reddish-brown hair, which had mostly come undone from some kind of configuration on the back of her head, transfixed him for some reason. Before he could act on an insane impulse to run his fingers through it, he replaced his pistol in the holster and hurried back to Laredo, retrieving his canteen.
When he gently lifted her head so she could drink, she moaned softly but did not open her eyes. But she started to gulp the water and started choking.
“Easy now,” he said. “One more little drink and then we’ll get you on my horse.”
She drank a little more, but most of the water dribbled down her chin as she slipped into unconsciousness again. He noticed then how pale she was and worried her life would slip away before he could get her back to the ranch. He hung the canteen back on Laredo and pulled a dry cloth out of his saddlebag. The best he could do was fold up the cloth and place it under the blood-soaked strip she or someone had tied around her waist. Then he gently lifted her. She moaned when he jostled her, and he saw how swollen her wrist was.
“Nothing I can do about that,” he muttered.
She was so light he was able to hold her on his hip and mount, albeit awkwardly. He settled her sideways in front of him, holding her around the hip with his right hand, so as not to disturb her wound, and the reins in his left as he kneed the stallion into a canter. It was a good distance back to the ranch house, some of it hilly and a little rough. He tried his best to keep from jostling her. About halfway back, he ran into one of his hands, Jess, who was driving the buckboard back from town with supplies.
“Unhitch the horse and ride back to Medicine Bow,” Bodie instructed. “Send Doc Greene to the ranch right away. If he’s not available, try that lady doctor. You can pick up the supplies on your way back.”
Jess looked at the woman, obviously puzzled, but Bodie had no answers for him. Before the cowhand had finished unhitching the horse, Bodie had cantered off. For the half-mile back to the ranch, he had time to wonder about the woman. What was she doing wandering around his land, especially in that condition? What caused the wound in her side? Who was she? She did not look familiar, although Medicine Bow was growing and new people were moving in all the time. He had heard the Cotton Ranch had sold recently, purchased by some English baron or count or something. Maybe she was English royalty. He smiled at that. Her blue dress was torn and filthy—had she laid down in mud at some point?—and she looked anything but royal at the moment.
He reached the two-story log ranch house, relieved to see her chest expanding just enough for him to know she was still breathing. As he rode up, his foreman, Dex, walked out of the barn, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He rushed over to Bodie, wiped his hands on his tan chinos and held out his arms. Bodie carefully handed the woman down to him, dismounted and tied Laredo to the hitching post.
“I’ll take her,” he said, feeling proprietary over her. “I sent Jess for the doc. Could you rub my boy down and feed and water him?”
“Sure, boss.”
As Dex headed off to the barn, looking over his shoulder once or twice, Bodie carried the woman up the steps, struggling to open the solid oak door with one hand. Once inside, he headed for the stairs, calling for Mrs. Glines as he took the stairs by twos.
Mrs. Glines, her ample body covered in an apron and a dash of flour on her chin, answered him from the bottom of the stairs as he reached the top.
“I found her a couple of miles from here. She’s hurt and unconscious. I’ll put her in the middle bedroom. She needs a bath, and you should probably be the one to undress her.”
Another housekeeper might cluck or swoon or complain. Not Mrs. Glines. She was tougher than an Army sergeant and had a heart of gold. “Let me get my cookies out of the oven, and I’ll be right up.”
He kicked open the bedroom door, which was ajar, and entered the room. He couldn’t figure out where to put her, though. He didn’t want to put her on the bed when she was so dirty, not because he cared about getting his mother’s quilt dirty but because he did not want to put her in a dirty bed once she was clean. Instead, he laid her painstakingly onto the fluffy brown rug near the fireplace. Then he went to the bathing room next door and started her a bath. As it ran, he went back into the bedroom and started the fire, which was already laid out.
Bodie was considering undressing the young woman himself when Mrs. Glines walked in.
“Who is she?”
“I have no idea. I found her out near the south pasture.”
“She doesn’t look very good,” the middle-aged woman said as she gently turned Jenna over and began unbuttoning her travel dress.
“I know. I sent for the doc.”
“You’d best see to the bath.”
Bodie could not help but notice the creamy white skin on the young woman’s back as his cook/housekeeper unbuttoned her frock. The dress might have been stylish when she put it on. Women’s fashion was a bit beyond him.
“Go,” Mrs. Glines said again and he did, embarrassed at being caught staring at the little waif.
The bath was hot but not too hot. He probably should have poured in a little lavender or something. He was a man, though, and didn’t own any of that frilly feminine frippery. You should try to say that three times fast. He chuckled. He had to get his mind off female bath water. He turned off the spigot and grabbed a green towel from the shelf. He also pulled over a little stool, where Mrs. Glines could sit as she tended to the young woman.
“Bodie, I’m not as strong as I used to be. You’re going to have to carry her and put her in the bath.”
Oh, Lord.