EMMA HAD THE HORSE OUT of the stall and saddled in record time, so angry she was on the verge of tears. A hard tug on the cinch gave evidence of her indignation. “I swear, Midnight, if one more cowboy rides up and says he wants to marry me, I won’t be responsible for what happens.” She grabbed up the reins, loped out of the barn and turned west but stopped when hailed by one of the hands.
“Ever’thing all right, Miss Emma? Where you off to in such a hurry?”
“I’m fine, Leo, just taking Midnight for a quick ride.”
“Ain’t the new foreman gonna be here today?”
“I won’t be gone long.” Gentle pressure to the horse’s flanks sent the mare into a gallop before Leo could say anything else. She had to get away before she exploded, or worse, broke down in front of the men.
Once out of sight, tears flowed freely, their salty trails drying as Midnight’s powerful legs ate up the ground. She reached the edge of Cherokee Creek three miles from the ranch and pulled to stop under the shade of a massive live oak. Her legs shook as she dismounted, sank to the ground, and cried until only soft hiccups remained.
Drained, she sat up and patted the nose pressed to her cheek. “How could he put me out there like a prized heifer for sale to the highest bidder?”
The horse snorted and nudged again.
“He put up posters, Midnight. Posters! All over the place. Even advertised in the Ft. Worth paper.” Heat crept into her cheeks as she recalled the line of men, young and old, who had paraded through the house the last ten days, offering their services as a husband, among other things, which mortified her soul.
Hank Walker topped the list.
She still trembled at the thought. He made her uneasy, though she couldn’t pinpoint the precise reason why. On the surface he appeared cordial and polite, and while not handsome, he wasn’t bad. But a look appeared in his dull, brown eyes from time to time that made her skin crawl.
There were others after him, some shy and embarrassed, others blatantly masculine and overbearing who became angry when refused. Which explained the holstered Colt on her thigh. Whether coincidence or by design, one of her regular hands was always nearby when a new suitor came to call, and she appreciated their concern and show of support.
For her, marriage to anyone, especially those who called on her these days, meant the loss of the one thing she would never give up – her independence.
A life where she lacked the freedom to ride where and when she pleased, work with the cattle, sleep under the stars, and work side-by-side with men who respected her as the boss was completely unimaginable. Her father wanted her to believe they only obeyed because he still lived, but she knew better. The road to respect and acceptance was hard and long, but she’d made it to the end, and would never give it up…even if it meant spending the rest of her life alone.
She loved her father, would do anything for him, but this was too much to ask. She simply didn’t understand why he would force her to do something so repulsive. How could he expect her to marry someone she did not love; someone who didn’t love her? Hell, some of these cowboys she had never even met before they showed up on her doorstep with professions of love and devotion.
They wanted the ranch. Not her, though he didn’t seem to agree.
A lot of people in town laughed at her behind her back. She heard their snickers and snide remarks, but ignored them. She had only two friends, both of whom were married. Mable Barker at the general store, and Sally Owens from the Lazy O, with whom she had been friends since childhood.
Mable, older than Emma by ten years, and a mail order bride herself, quickly gave advice, solicited or not. “You wanna get a man, Emma, you gotta trade them britches for a skirt.”
Emma insisted she did not want to get married and if she did, the man must accept her as she was, britches and all.
“A man don’t want a woman who looks like a man. You’re beautiful when you get gussied up. I don’t see why you hide it.”
She shook her head at the disquieting memories and lay on the cool grass, enjoying the balmy spring breeze. Her lips curled up in soft smile as one last thought swept through before sleep overtook her - I wonder if Grey Eyes needs a wife?
Ty took a less direct route to the ranch arriving from the north to get a feel for the lay of the land. He reined Diablo to a stop near the top of a small rise and surveyed the awe-inspiring expanse of rolling green hills divided by the rushing waters of Cherokee Creek. His beautiful Eden’s Garden plantation once overlooked such a vista. Don’t go there; Eden is gone.
Most days the abysmal hole in his heart went unnoticed, the pain as much a part of him as an arm or leg, but every now and again, a reminder of life before that horrible war popped up; his family, his fiancé, and the pain rushed in anew, taking his breath away. He clenched his teeth and with much effort, pushed it back to the darkened corner of his mind where it belonged.
He nudged his mount into a slow walk while he studied the range he would soon be responsible for, at least temporarily. From what Henry said, it was a prized spread, and based on what he saw to this point, he agreed. Verdant pastures sprinkled with Longhorns and sturdy mustangs as far as the eye could see, dotted with massive oaks, pines and assorted Texas foliage. Cypress trees hugged the banks of the creek, which looked to be roughly twenty-feet wide, and patches of early wildflowers added vivid splashes of color. The creek disappeared behind another rise off to the left, and he headed toward it.
He stopped short when he saw her lying on the ground.
His thought at first she had fallen from her horse and might be hurt. Then she moved, stretched slightly, and he decided she was fast asleep. He dismounted and left Diablo back far enough not to disturb the woman or the horse, and walked forward, transfixed by the beauty in front of him.
Face turned toward the sun, one hand pillowed her head, the other rested on the grip of the Colt strapped to a shapely thigh. Although dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt, a woman’s body was easily discernable. His quickly noted long legs and well-rounded hips, moving up to a narrow waist, then to full breasts that strained against the buttons of the too-tight shirt. Chestnut hair caught with streaks of golden fire fanned out around her head like a bonnet. Sun-kissed complexion, delicately arched brows, and full lips, edges tilted up in a serene smile that made him wonder what she dreamed, completed the package before him.
If this woman is Emma Marshall, this foreman job just got a lot more interesting.
He considered waking her but discarded the notion. Certain the dirty smudges on her cheeks resulted from dried tears, he decided whatever she did here was personal and private, and he would not interrupt.
But that smile…what dream put it there?
She stretched out one leg and arched her back like a cat. Unwanted visions of those long legs wrapped around his waist blindsided him. He tried to look away but his gaze hit the top button of her shirt, dangerously close to popping open, and the effect hit him hard and fast. Before he did something really stupid, he spun around, and walked back to his horse.
He led the animal some distance away, then mounted, and headed for the ranch, vision clouded by a single button.
It was the very best dream ever, no doubt about it. She didn’t need to see his cool, grey eyes to know it was him atop a glorious stallion. He smiled, slow and sexy as he dismounted and walked toward her, his voice a deep, raspy whisper when he called her name.
Miss me, Em?
The tingle in the pit of her stomach became a throb and she arched toward him. You know I have.
Are you happy to see me?
Come here and I’ll show you.
He knelt down beside her and leaned over, his lips –
Midnight snorted and startled her awake.
She covered her eyes with her arm and groaned. “Aww, Midnight, why now?” She sat up and hugged her bent knees. A glance at the sun told her she’d been gone longer than she intended, but still she lingered.
This was her favorite place on the ranch; peaceful and secluded yet close enough it would be easy to get back fast, which she needed to do.
Icy water from the creek removed the smudges from her face, chased away the remnants of sleep, and the troubling dream. A crumpled red bandana pulled from the pocket of tight-fighting jeans, held the unruly curls together at the nape of her neck. She mounted Midnight and headed back to the ranch at a gallop.
“Aw hell,” she moaned upon seeing four horses tied to the rail in front of the house, Hank Walker’s big sorrel among them.
“Dammit!” Midnight’s ears twitched at the harsh expletive. “This day just keeps gettin’ better.”
Leo waited at the landing. “Miss Emma.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll take care of Midnight for you since you got more company.”
“Thank you, Leo.”
“Mr. Walker got here ‘bout the time the other fellers did and he took ‘em inside like he owned the place.” His pinched expression reflected dislike for Walker. He took Midnight’s reins and headed for the barn. “I’ll be around if you need anything, ma’am.”
A quick inhale brought with it the scent of fresh cut pine mixed with her mother’s roses and immediately revived her flagging spirit. Voices sent her down the hall to the office on the right. She stopped when she entered, hands fisted at her side when she saw Hank Walker sitting at the desk, two cowboys standing in front.
“Just so we are clear,” Walker pulled a cigar from his pocket and sniffed it. “If you are here about the posters, you can leave now. That situation has been handled.”
Situation? Handled?
Two long strides put her beside the desk. “What the hell are you doing?” Her sharp question was aimed at Walker but the force in her voice had the two cowhands stepping back. Walker’s lips curled into an indulgent smile.
Her temper shot up several degrees.
“I was merely telling these young men you are no longer in the market for a husband.”
“And what gave you that right, Mr. Walker?”
He rounded the desk, reached for her hands. “Emma, you need to stop this and marry me like your father wants.”
Instinct urged her to step back, but she stood fast, hands out of his reach. “And what about what I want?
His smile turned malicious. “A man knows what is best for his woman.”
His woman?
She teetered on the edge of an explosive reaction. How dare he!
The audience—and her immense control—were the only two things keeping her from telling him exactly where he could go. Her heart raced, fists clenched so tight nails bit into her palms. “Mr. Walker—”
“Emma…I thought we were past such formalities.” He reached for her hands again.
His patronizing tone sent her anger up another notch and she silently counted to ten. “I am Miss Marshall to you.” She faced him, back straight, shoulders squared and easily met his gaze since he stood only a few inches over her own five-foot-nine frame. “I’ve tried to be considerate, and spare your feelings. Obviously, I wasted my time. So let me be perfectly clear.” She spoke each word precisely. “I will not marry you under any circumstances.”
“Emma – ”
“I think the lady made her position pretty plain.”
She whirled toward the voice and her heart all but stopped before it kicked into a stampede.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t look away.
It was him. The man who haunted her dreams. Right there in front of her.