Toby dipped his chin. For a firing, this was the nicest one yet. He turned and walked to the door.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Toby’s gut wobbled like a newborn calf. He turned back around. “Yes, sir.”
Miller leaned against the desk, rubbing his jaw. “Say good-bye to Sadie before you go.”
Two days later, the sandwiches were gone, and Toby’s stomach ached from hunger instead of the horrendous parting with little Sadie Miller. He rubbed where her tears had slid down his collar. She’d begged him to stay, begged to come with him, begged until her father wrestled her arms away from Toby’s neck.
He touched his spurs against Blaze’s flanks. The horse leaped to a gallop. Fingers lax, Toby let Blaze run until he’d worked out the restlessness in his gait.
A shack loomed in the distance. No smoke came from its chimney. Toby pulled Blaze into a trot and kept a lookout for people. Most folks were right friendly and invited you in for the night. A few, though, brought their rifles out to greet a body first.
Toby guided Blaze into the yard. “Hello. Anyone home?”
No one answered. He trotted around the perimeter repeating his call several times before dismounting near the door. He tied Blaze to the hitching post and knocked. No one answered, so he opened the door, leaned in, and looked around. “Howdy?”
The place was empty.
Good. He wouldn’t have to talk.
He backed up, closed the door, and tended to Blaze. Once the horse was brushed, watered, and settled where he could graze his fill, Toby checked the garden. Small leaves pushed through the soil but offered nothing edible. He returned to the cabin, opened a tin of sardines, and brewed coffee. As he ate, he read through a stack of newspapers. An advertisement grabbed his attention.
FOREMAN NEEDED
DOUBLE L CATTLE RANCH
FANNIN COUNTY, TEXAS
Position to be filled by the winner of a Cowboy Competition beginning April 7, 1848. Events will include Calf Roping, Team Roping, Team Penning, Cow Tailing, and Horse Racing. In addition, cowboys will be asked to judge horseflesh, diagnose and treat common cattle diseases, and offer opinions about breeding stock. No horses will be supplied; each cowboy must bring his own. Ranch owner reserves right to judge each cowboy’s character before selecting the competition winner.
The newspaper slid to the dirt-packed floor. The Double L. Why’d it have to be the Double L?
Anywhere else—anywhere—and he’d be the first competitor.
He eyed the fallen newspaper. He’d be a good straw boss, treat the men fair, teach them all the roping tricks he’d picked up from one side of Texas to the other. And he’d finally—finally—be the one questioning a man’s past instead of the other way around.
Toby crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled through rounded lips.
The Double L.
He was never going back there.
Nope.
Never.
Chapter 2
Nia Lindley marched into her father’s office. “Why do we need a new foreman?”
Her father set down his glass of water near the open ledger and picked up a feather pen. “Rusty is heading to California to be near his daughter.”
Nia slapped dust off her leather chaps, resigned to another of Mrs. Lambert’s lectures about traipsing dirt and grime through the house.
Papa scratched numbers into a column. “And none of the cowboys out there have the brains or gumption to be a straw boss.”
“True.” Nia rubbed her forehead where the hat chaffed. She’d pretended she knew all about the cowboy competition in front of the men, but despite what they thought, Papa rarely consulted her before making decisions. “Some of them aren’t happy about it. Davis, in particular.”
“Davis is a gambler. I’ll suffer it in the men, but not in a boss.” He set the pen back in its stand and eyed her across the massive desk. “Sit down, Petunia.”
Nia plopped onto the chair. Why did he insist on calling her Petunia when he knew how much she hated it?
“We need to talk, you and I.” Papa leaned forward, his elbows resting on the papers scattered across the desk. “With Marigold engaged, it’s time to decide how to divide your inheritance.”
Her scalp prickled. “But… we have years before then.”
“No man knows his days or hours. Your mother’s death taught me that.” He took a sip of water. “Marigold has no love for the Double L. She’s too eager to become a fine society hostess.”
Mama had hosted parties two or three times a year. Since her death, there had been two balls at the Double L, one for Nia’s sixteenth birthday—she shuddered at the memory—and one for Mari’s. Like Mama’s prize roses, Mari was withering from lack of nourishment.
Papa scratched his graying sideburns. “I’ve had an offer for the Double L. It’s a good one.”
“What?” Nia gripped the armrests and rose a couple of inches. “Sell the ranch? Why?”
“I’m not well.” He coughed into his hand. “Doc says I have a couple months left.”
“What? H–how?” She fell back into the chair, strength gone.
He pierced her with a fierce gaze. “The details don’t matter. There’s nothing can be done but accept what’s coming.”
Nia held her ribs to keep her heart from shattering. “I refuse to believe that.”
Her mother’s death stabbed as keenly today as when it happened eight years ago. It was too much to think of her father dying. But she’d seen the signs and, in her fear, tossed them aside like soiled hay.
“What you believe doesn’t make something less true, Petunia.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “It’s time to make final arrangements so I can go to my grave knowing you and your sister are settled. Marigold will have Humphrey to look after her.” He twirled his thumbs. “He’s a good man, but he’s a banker. The Double L would suffer with him in charge.”
“Then leave it to me.” The words felt like a betrayal. Like she was hastening her father’s demise by saying them aloud.
“I thought of that. You’ve done well with keeping the books and tracing stock, but—as you know—we’ve had a little trouble with your judgment where men are concerned.”
She jerked back. What more could she do to make up for her past? She’d sworn off men, stayed home when Mari went to visit Aunt Minnie in Dallas County, and avoided local shindigs. She worked like a man, dressed like a man, and rode a man’s saddle. The only thing she’d not forsaken was her love of poetry. Besides, what did her judgment in men have to do with running the ranch?
“I’m concerned that, after I’m gone, you’ll fall prey to shysters and their ilk.”
Would he never forgive her for the dancing master or her sixteenth birthday? She was twenty-four. Childish dreams of finding a prince charming died long ago. “I’m a much better judge of character these days.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Are you?”
“Yes.” Her fingers dug bruises into her ribs.
His blue eyes brightened. “If I could be assured of that, I’d be willing to leave the Double L to you and settle a commensurate amount on Marigold and Humphrey.”
Nia wanted to run. Be anywhere but here. Discuss anything but how to carry on after her father died. “I… I don’t know how to prove it to you.”
He squeezed his chin between his thumb and index finger. “My advertisement for the cowboy competition says I reserve the right to make my selection based on character. What if you help me judge? You show me you’re no longer susceptible to sweet-talkers, and I’ll leave the ranch to you. Otherwise, I sell it and split the money between you and Marigold. Agreed?”
She hated the idea but couldn’t lose her home. Not on top of everything else. “Agreed.”
Chapter 3
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?”
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 45
