The Covington Ranch encompassed well over six hundred acres and four hundred head of cattle, and meant that ranching was a never-ending job, especially with only five ranch hands. “Boots” Williams helped Sam mend the fence and finally corralled their forty-five horses. During the summer and fall, their cattle grazed in the national forest on a sizeable allotment. But preparing for the winter months meant days on end cutting and stacking hay. As a result, Sam hadn’t seen his father or his brother, John, all day, though John had married years ago and had a home of his own for his family on the property—same as Emily—and Sam didn’t see him every day.
That was best, until he found a way to bridle his frustration.
He still fumed at himself for rejecting Miss Kirkland outright. If it weren’t for the argument he’d had with his father, he would have heard her out, at the very least.
Finished with his chores, he needed to wash up and entered the back of the sturdy log-cabin ranch house built by his father when he decided to settle in the valley several decades ago. They’d since added to the structure and made modern-day improvements over the last few years—electricity from a water-powered plant over at the canyon near Flat Creek. As for the necessary supplies for building and plumbing, they were freighted over the pass.
Even so, the ranch hands still had to use the privy out back since their quarters weren’t plumbed yet, if they ever would be. Sam’s father had dragged his feet when it came to progress, and Sam hadn’t been the only one surprised when the man had agreed to upgrading the plumbing—but Sam’s mother had a way with her husband.
Sam doubted he’d ever meet a woman who had the power to sway him like that, but if he did, he wasn’t sure that making her his wife would be the best idea. Then again, who better to be his wife than a woman who could persuade him when he needed persuading? Except he’d already tried that, and it hadn’t worked.
His mother appeared, pulling Sam from his melancholy. She’d changed into a fresh set of trousers and cotton work shirt, typical ranch-hand clothing. Years ago, his mother had started a finishing school for young ladies. She finally gave it up after Emily fell in love with dogsledding. The last few years, his mother began to prefer trousers over skirts.
Women in these parts worked beside their men, and just as hard. He wouldn’t even have thought about it except an image of Miss Kirkland in her fancy dress trotted across his mind. Did she think she would traverse the backcountry of the Tetons like that?
Admittedly, he’d been hard pressed to take her request seriously. So much for his progressive thinking—he should have been more open-minded. She wasn’t the first person from back East to arrive in unsuitable clothing. That fact had kept the Jackson Mercantile and Outfitters busy for years, especially during the cattle slump.
“I’ve been thinking about that woman you met—Miss Kirkland, was it?—all afternoon,” his mother said. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Sam grunted.
She squeezed his shoulder. “Sounds like the sheriff was determined enough to see this woman found a guide. Why don’t you go in to town in the morning and make an offer.”
“All the way into town?” He hated to think of that wagon ride years ago before his father had bought their first Ford truck.
He squeezed her hand. She was the only one on his side these days. He’d shared his hopes and dreams with her, and unlike his father, she’d listened. A man his age shouldn’t have to depend on his mother so much for moral support, but she’d started her own business at one point and understood his need.
“But I can’t agree to that without Pa’s approval. I work for him, remember? Taking a woman on a Sunday afternoon photographing jaunt isn’t exactly my idea of guiding big-game hunters.” Or even a first step in progressing to dude ranch status.
His mother sighed. “You have to take the opportunities the Lord sends your way. I can’t help but think that was it. You didn’t go seeking her out, she came to you.”
“I talked to the sheriff, told Bob, people know. So that’s not entirely true.”
He’d put the word out before talking it through with his father. Mostly he’d talked to people to gauge their reaction. See if they thought it was a good idea. He couldn’t help but think his father had been hurt that Sam hadn’t come to him with his idea first.
“I need to get supper on,” she said. “Let me take care of your father.”
Sam would never say it out loud, but he’d always had the feeling he was her favorite. Maybe that was because he was the youngest. But before he could consider it further, a plume of dust rose from the road leading to the ranch, drawing his attention through the front of the cabin. His mother stood next to him and peered through the window.
“Who do you suppose that is?” she asked.
Sam stepped onto the expansive porch held up by pine logs. The sun had already dipped behind the Tetons, though several hours of daylight remained. The white Hupmobile drew near. “The sheriff.”
How many times over the years had he looked out this same window to see a horse and buggy coming up the dirt drive to the ranch, or a horse and rider? Seemed strange that within the last few years, most folks drove motorcars—least in the summers. Winter? That was another story here in the valley.
“Looks like he has a passenger, too,” his mother said. “A woman. You’d think he’d be too busy trying to get a foothold on the bootleggers, gamblers.”
She stepped from the porch in a welcoming stance.
As the motorcar approached, Sam’s heart galloped. Lord, are You giving me another chance?
Relief swept through him that his father and John were still out working. He’d have to endure teasing otherwise. In fact, he’d be embarrassed if they were here to watch. Guilt slithered through him, longer and wider than the Snake River curved through the valley.
But he jumped to conclusions. He couldn’t know if she would ask him again, the way he’d insulted her at the grocery store. In the end, if he didn’t want to herd cattle or work the ranch under his father and brother the rest of his life, this could be his chance, as meager as it appeared. In that case, he should apologize and offer to guide her.
Sheriff Daniels steered his Hupmobile around the drive and stopped in front of the house. Before Sam could make it over and assist Miss Kirkland, she stepped out and produced a soft smile to go with her soft hair peeking from her hat. Now that he thought about it, her skin looked … uh … soft, too, against that pretty lavender dress. He rebuked the unbidden thoughts, but they reminded him of his initial reaction to her request—this wasn’t the place for her.
His mother stepped forward and introduced herself. Sam couldn’t help but compare the two women. They were both beautiful flowers, except his mother had proven that she could be a tough weed that could hold her own in this land, and Miss Kirkland looked like a dainty orchid, delicate and unable to survive in a harsh environment. At least she wasn’t decked out in the outrageously colorful western clothing of the dudes and dudines populating certain ranches. He wasn’t sure why, but that made him smile. Nor was he sure why he wished she would remove her hat so he could see more of her shiny hair.
The sheriff stood next to Miss Kirkland and cleared his throat. Sam realized he’d been staring.
He nodded. “Sheriff, Miss Kirkland.”
“Mr. Covington,” she said. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”
“You folks come inside,” his mother said. “I’ll make a pot of coffee, while I get supper on. You’re welcome to stay.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Thanks, Belle, but I’ve taken enough time assisting Miss Kirkland and need to get back as soon as possible. No time for supper. But a cup of coffee sounds good.”
Inside the cabin, the sheriff hovered in the kitchen with Sam’s mother, talking about days gone by. Shame flooded Sam that Miss Kirkland had spent the whole day looking for someone to take Frankston’s place, all because Sam had refused her.
He needed to remedy that and fast. He’d hoped they could finish with their business before his father got home, but the telltale sounds of his return resounded out back.
Ann sat on the Davenport sofa, a small lamp on the side table. Light spilled through the large front window that framed Grand Teton. To live in this house in the shadow of those mountains—Ann’s breath hitched. How very blessed this family was, the people living in this valley were.
She could stare at the view all day but tore her gaze from the window and took in the rustic decor and the walls covered in family photographs on one side, and both elk and moose heads on the other. Barbaric, if they asked her. But they didn’t. Regardless, the home was opulent, but in a completely different way from her father’s home in New York. Realizing she might look rude in her ogling of the eclectic style, she focused on her hands, pressing them into her lap to keep from wringing them.
The waiting was almost too much.
Coming all this way when the man had clearly rejected her hadn’t been her idea, but the sheriff insisted. He’d been kind to assist her in contacting various outfitters and guides throughout the day, as though he had no other matters to attend to. But all were occupied and there was no vacancy in the inn, as it were, though she’d never planned to stay where her father had forbidden.
And here she was reduced to begging. She couldn’t go back to her father empty-handed after this deed she’d done. No. She’d have to bring treasure with her to appease the man, and for that, she’d need to convince this cowboy of the importance of her purpose. The value in it, and how it could help him. The sheriff knew the family well and had coached her along the ride out.
She hoped he was right.
Frankston had, in fact, left her a refund she’d discovered at the very hotel where she was staying, for all the good that did her since she’d come all this way.
Oh, Lord, what am I doing here? Already the ambiance and nostalgia of the Old West drew her in, but she was an outsider. Sam Covington’s reaction to her plea would go a long way in giving her direction about whether or not she would be forced to return empty-handed.
Mrs. Covington appeared and leaned over Ann, setting a steaming cup on the coffee table. “Here you go, Miss Kirkland. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Her son, Sam, soon followed, looking as if he’d cleaned up, wearing a clean white cotton shirt and jeans. She might even say he looked spiffy. His jaw was strong and angular, and he’d combed his dark hair back, though she liked how it had curled every which way when she’d first met him in the grocery store. At the thought, she sucked in a breath and hoped he hadn’t noticed.
His bright blue eyes warmed, making him appear much friendlier than she’d witnessed this morning. “Sorry for the wait, Miss Kirkland, but my mother won’t allow for polite conversation in her home until we’re washed up. We do have some culture in these parts.”
That news surprised Ann, considering Mrs. Covington wore ranch-hand clothes, the same as Sam. Interesting. But upon meeting her, Ann had instantly liked her.
“Mr. Covington, might we dispense with the formalities? I’d be pleased for you to call me Ann.”
Sam positioned himself across from her on the carved-mahogany sofa, catty-cornered to the Davenport. “Call me Sam then … Ann.”
The way her name sounded on his lips sent a flicker of warmth through her. Ann shifted on the Davenport.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I came all this way when you’ve already rejected my proposal earlier in the day—”
He drew in a breath to once again reject her, she was certain, and she lifted her palm to stop him. “Please allow me to finish.”
After a quick glance back to see Mrs. Covington and Sheriff Daniels caught up in their own conversation, Ann leaned closer. “The sheriff has informed me that it is your desire to start outfitting and guiding big-game hunters or those from the East that come to stay on the dude ranches. I’m not here to hunt, but I promise I can make this worth your while. You see, I work for a magazine in New York City and these photographs will likely grace the pages, and of course, I would acknowledge the man who made this possible. Don’t you see how this could benefit your business goals?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed before he leaned against the sofa back, his hand rubbing his mouth and chin. Was he contemplating her words? Or had she failed to convince him by saying too much? Maybe he didn’t want the kind of notoriety her offer could bring—and Ann didn’t deny she was making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. It all depended on her father’s reaction, and she felt confident he would be delighted, or else she wouldn’t have gone to the trouble. Then again, maybe she would have. Once she’d envisioned coming to Wyoming, she hadn’t been able to let the idea go.
“I want these photographs to be the most spectacular the magazine, and maybe even the world, has ever seen.” She was all in now, laying out her heart, and this man could very well tromp all over it, just like Tom had. The only difference, Ann wasn’t engaged to Sam Covington.
“Go on,” he said, light flickering in his eyes, encouraging her.
She inched to the edge of the sofa. “I’ve set my goals high, but not unlike other renown women photojournalists of our time. The sheriff, he made it sound like you’ve done some climbing and adventuring, and know your way around the mountains to places that others haven’t been.”
Voices resounded from somewhere behind. Sam’s eyes flicked over her shoulder then back to her. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, giving Ann a sense of urgency that in a few moments she would lose her chance to convince him. Sitting so close, the clean smell of his soap wafted over her.
She drew in a breath to give this one more try in her most persuasive tone, but Sam held up a hand. Ann’s hope died.
“My turn, now.” He flashed her the hint of a smile, all while monitoring the activities behind her. “Let me extend my apology for turning you down earlier. I’m agreeable to your proposal, and I would have made the offer the minute you stepped from the sheriff’s vehicle, had you allowed me. Unfortunately, there is the matter of convincing my father of my new venture. I work for him, too.”
Ann contained the squeal inside. She could hardly believe her good fortune. “You mean you’ll do it? If you can, that is?”
Sam tensed and rose to face whom she presumed must be his father.
“And who have we here?”
Ann turned to see the face belonging to the deep voice and immediately saw Sam’s resemblance to his handsome, much older, silver-haired father.
“This is Miss Kirkland,” Sam said. “Sheriff Daniels brought her out to talk to me.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sam’s father, Zeb Covington.” Broad-shouldered and smelling of horses, cows, and hay, the man’s smile deepened. “And this is Sam’s brother, John.”
Another cowboy stepped forward and nodded. He looked more like Sam’s mother. “Howdy.”
“John, I need to have a word with Sam and Miss Kirkland.”
John nodded. “I’ll head on home, then, and check on Lucy and the girls.”
When John was gone, Mr. Covington’s smile dimmed, if only a little. “What business do you have with my son?”
Mrs. Covington sauntered up to her husband and squeezed his arm. “Now, Zeb, you should get cleaned up, too, before you bother this young woman. See to it now.”
He bristled, unwilling to back down. Ann almost felt like she was facing off with her own father. It was clear Sam wouldn’t fare well in this conversation.
“Allow me to dispel your concerns. I’m proposing to hire your son as a guide. I work for View Magazine in New York.” She added that tidbit to garner his respect.
Ann held her breath. She understood Sam’s dilemma in working for his father, his need to branch out on his own all too well.
Sam’s father stared him down, sending Ann’s hopes plummeting.