Miranda And The Ranch Hand (Domestic Discipline Romance)

by Coleen Singer

  “Wait a minute. She’s not…” Dylan couldn’t get a word in—he was trying to be polite and laugh along, but he was getting angry. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but he was not going to let these men talk down his wife.

  “She’s a good kid, but animal tending and healing is a man’s job—and that little spitfire just doesn’t get the message.”

  Miranda had heard enough. She turned and ran into the house, tears streaming down her face. Why wasn’t Dylan defending her? Didn’t he want her to open her clinic? Did he really agree with those narrow-minded men? How could she have been so wrong about the man she loved? She felt as if she was going through college all over again—with a man who didn’t respect who and what she was. But this time her heart was caught in the middle—and the hurt cut right through it.

  She stumbled upstairs to her room and slammed the door. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed. This was supposed to be their special night, and now it was ruined—her life was ruined. She was married to a man who didn’t believe in her dream.

  By the time Dylan came up an hour later, some of the hurt had been replaced by anger, and she was in a fine temper, pacing the room, cursing his name. He knocked softly and went to open the door surprised to find it locked.

  “Mrs. Wrightman? I like the sound of that,” he said almost to himself. He knocked again, “Mandy, let me in, honey.”

  He jumped back startled at the sound of something crashing into the door and shattering. “When hell freezes over! You can sleep in the barn for all I care. And as of tomorrow, there will be no ‘Mrs. Wrightman’! I’m getting this marriage annulled!”

  Dylan was too stunned to speak for a minute. What in the world had happened? “Miranda, what’s wrong, what happened? Open this door, so we can talk.”

  “The snake showed his true colors. That’s what’s wrong. Go away!”

  Now Dylan was getting angry and frustrated. “Miranda, open this door now, or I swear, I’ll bust it down, and you’ll spend your wedding night with one very sore bottom!”

  Miranda sat on the bed, her arms crossed and glared at the door. Should she let him in so she could really give him a piece of her mind? No, he’d overpower her in seconds. But her heart said yes, let him in. While she fought with herself inside, Dylan stood with his arms similarly crossed waiting outside. He didn’t wait long though. He backed up and was about to kick the door in, when Miranda opened it. The momentum of the force he was about to inflict on the door sent him tumbling into the room headfirst, and thump, flat on his face on the floor.

  Miranda couldn’t help herself—she started to laugh.

  “That will cost you dearly, brat!” He got up and brushed himself off. “Now, just what’s this all about, wife?”

  Miranda’s smile faded and tears filled her eyes. “I heard you… out with the guys. You want to keep me locked up in the house—you don’t want me to be a vet. You think I should stay barefoot and pregnant!”

  The hurt in her voice was almost more than he could bear. He was across the room in two strides and gathered her into his arms. He said softly, “If you’re going to eavesdrop, you should stay and hear the whole conversation. You obviously left before I told those idiots off.”

  Miranda pulled back to look up at him. “You did?”

  “Of course I did! I took about as much as I could without causing a scene, and then I told them in no uncertain terms they were all fools if they didn’t come to the best damn animal doctor in the Republic!”

  “Oh, Dylan—how could I ever doubt you?”

  “My question exactly, young lady! Now, I think it’s time we went to bed.” And with that he swung her up over his shoulder. “There will be no more temper tantrums out of you tonight!” He landed two good stingers to her bottom and then tossed her on the bed.

  “Ow! That’s no way to treat your wife on her wedding night!”

  “Oh, and I suppose locking your husband out, cursing him and throwing things is appropriate behavior? Just be glad I didn’t decide to give you the real spanking you deserve.”

  Dylan undressed quickly and joined her in bed. He slowly removed the chemise and bloomers she still wore, and gazed longingly at her naked body. She blushed from head to toe at the intensity of his look. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Dylan… I…”

  “Sh, let me show you pleasure tonight. There will be some pain when I first come into you, but after that, I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”

  Miranda couldn’t resist. “Gee, I guess that means no more spankings!”

  Dylan laughed. “Not on your life, brat!” Then he took her mouth in a hard, punishing kiss. She returned every bit of his passion. When he moved off her mouth and began feather-light kisses down her body, she thought she would explode. He moved all the way down and then gently inserted his fingers inside her, feeling her wetness welcome him. She shuddered with waves of deep pleasure.

  With only a thread of self-control remaining, Dylan entered her and was overcome by the power of his own passion. He kissed her deeply as he thrust through her virginity. She felt a sharp pain, and then was filled with the heat of his release. They moved in rhythm as one, reaching heights of pleasure neither had ever dreamed possible. It was hours before, exhausted by their newfound ardor, they slept, holding each other as close as they could get.

  Miranda woke first, noticing the sun was already high in the sky. She moved gently out of Dylan’s arms and turned to look at her sleeping husband. She smiled at the memory of their first night together. Nothing she imagined had prepared her for the explosive passion of their lovemaking. She quietly climbed out of bed, put on a dressing gown and walked to the window. Everything looked different, brighter and more vivid somehow. She supposed she ought to feel some shame or embarrassment at her body’s wild responses to Dylan’s touch, but with the pleasure they both felt last night, she couldn’t believe her feelings were wrong.

  Dylan came up behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned back into him. “That was quite a workout last night, Mrs. Wrightman. Are you very sore, honey?” he asked with concern.

  “Mm, a little, but it’s nothing a nice hot bath won’t cure, Mr. Wrightman.”

  “Coming right up, wife.” Dylan found his pants tossed on the floor and went downstairs to get the tub and hot water. Jenna was fussing in the kitchen and David was drinking coffee.

  “By the look on his face, you better fix a big breakfast for those two, Jenna. I’ll bet they’re starving!” David teased.

  Dylan winked at Jenna, who blushed as much at his bare chest as the comment, but all he said was, “I’ll never kiss and tell, especially not to Mandy’s big brother!”

  He hauled the tub upstairs and brought several bucket-loads of hot water. When the tub was full, he whisked Miranda off her feet and into the tub, and then joined her.

  “Dylan!”

  “Yes, wife? Don’t you want me to wash your back?”

  They laughed and frolicked in the water like a couple of kids, after which Dylan lifted her out, wrapped her in a towel and deposited her back in bed. They made love again. As they lay in each other’s arms, just enjoying the touch of their bodies, they heard a soft knock on the door.

  “There’s a tray of food out here, so you don’t faint away of hunger!”

  “Thanks, Jenna!” they called out and laughed at the fact that it was well after noon and neither of them had had even the slightest thought of food.

  Miranda and Dylan barely had two weeks to get used to married life before he got the word he was needed for an assignment in a small town about a day’s ride from Austin. A gang of robbers had hit the only bank in the town twice, as well as the stagecoach carrying a military payroll. They had shot and killed the sheriff, and now the town was defenseless. Dylan and two other Rangers were going to the town to restore law and order, and stop the gang from terrorizing townsfolk.

  “Mandy, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It’ll probably be at least a week.
I wish you’d reconsider and go with your brothers on the round-up.” Dylan put his arm around her, as they walked to the stables, his saddlebags packed and ready to go.

  “I just got used to having you keep me warm at night, and now you’re leaving. I’ll be so lonely—counting the nights till you return,” Miranda said seductively.

  “Don’t try to distract me with your womanly wiles, wife. I’m really worried about you being here on the ranch practically alone next week when most of the men head off for round-up.”

  “Dylan, I’ll be fine—no unnecessary chances, I promise. But you know I can’t go on the round up. We’ve got three cows with late calves coming anytime, plus there are two more over at the Townsend place. And since I was able to save those unborn calves at Towns End after their mothers were killed in a stampede, some of our neighbors are finally taking me seriously as a vet. John, Sr. actually brought one of his sick colts here to the clinic. To leave now would undermine everything I’ve managed to accomplish in the past few weeks. Besides, somebody’s got to do the chores around here while everyone’s gone.”

  “All right, just try to stay out of trouble, and still be in one piece when I get back!”

  Miranda stuck out her tongue at him and he playfully swatted her behind. Then he saddled up Black Lightning and led him out of the stables. Before he mounted up, he turned to Miranda and kissed her as if she was the last oasis in the desert and he was determined to drink enough of her to last a while. When he pulled away she was breathless and weak-kneed.

  “Come home soon, my love,” she whispered as he rode off.

  Two days later, it was her brothers and a dozen ranch hands she was seeing off. Again, she promised more than once to stay out of trouble.

  “You know, I’m not nearly as wild as you all seem to think. I really can be responsible and take care of things around here, including myself!” she said indignantly.

  Marcus laughed and pointed out that it was actions, not words that counted.

  “Seriously, sis, I know we haven’t had any trouble since Dylan took down those renegades last summer, but I just have a bad feeling. There’s something unfinished there, and until we know for sure who was behind those raids, I won’t rest easy while we’re away from the ranch. Just be careful, and make sure you’ve got your pistol with you at all times when you’re away from the ranch house.”

  “Honestly, Marcus, I will be careful. Heck, Dylan will flay me alive if I have even a scratch when he gets back, so I’ve got plenty of incentive.”

  “Do anything reckless or impetuous, and you won’t have to wait for your husband to return. Marcus or I will tan your britches!” David threatened. Miranda once again stuck her tongue out, this time at her brother.

  “Keeping up your brat image, even as a married woman, I see,” he teased.

  “Only when provoked, brother dear! Now I do believe you’ve got some longhorns longing for your sparkling repartee. Perhaps they’ll actually find your jokes funny?”

  “I swear you two are worse than a pair of rams butting heads over territory. David, let’s hit it before we lose any more daylight. Mandy, you and Jenna take care. We should be back in a week or so.” Marcus turned on his horse and headed out to the south pastures where the trail crew and the longhorns going to market were ready for the cattle drive into Austin.

  “Good luck at market,” Miranda called out as her brothers left.

  Her brothers and the other cow pokes would meet up with wranglers from neighboring ranches, and they all would drive their herds across the river together, to the stockyards outside of town for the auctions. Double-R head always fetched a good price at market, and this looked to be another good year, despite the dozen or so cattle killed by the renegades.

  With Dylan and her brothers gone, Miranda worked hard from sunup to sundown side by side with the four hands left behind to tend to the cattle that didn’t go to market, as well as the horses and other chores around the ranch. In the evening Jenna would bring dinner down to the bunkhouse and Mandy would eat with the men. They teased her about married life and she gave it right back to them. Then after supper she’d ride up to her new home and work on it until she was too exhausted to think about anything but sleep. She was asleep most nights before her head hit the pillow—and before she could feel the emptiness in her bed and in her heart without Dylan.

  On the fourth night after her brothers’ departure, she was down on her hands and knees rubbing oil deep into the wood floors to bring out a shine. It was backbreaking work, but the resulting luster on the floors was worth it. She daydreamed about living here with Dylan, and having children to make this beautiful house truly a home.

  Suddenly her dream was shattered by the sharp crack of rifle fire. She stopped and listened—had she really heard rifle fire? Then it came again, and it was coming from the south pastures where the remaining cattle were grazing.

  “Oh God, please no, not again!” she prayed silently. The fear of that night more than three months ago came flooding back. She could almost feel the pain of being shot again. She knew she should stay put until the shooting stopped and she heard the renegades ride away, but the third shot galvanized her to action. There were no Rangers to stop the slaughter tonight. She grabbed her gun and her medical bag, which she always carried now, mounted Windfire and rode cautiously in the direction of the rifle fire.

  Before she got to the outskirts of the south pastures, she dismounted and made her way silently through the last few protective feet of trees and thicket. She could see three men with bandanas covering most of their faces. Two were still on horseback; the third one with the rifle was aiming at another cow. She crouched down out of sight, took aim herself and shot the bandit in the shoulder he had the rifle resting on. He dropped the rifle, screaming in pain. The other two pulled their guns and turned to fire in Miranda’s direction, but they weren’t sure where she was. As they drew, she now knew which arm and shoulder to aim at. She took out each of them in rapid fire. Only the third one even got a shot off and it went wild.

  She wasn’t bragging when she had told Dylan she was a good shot. Her brothers had seen to that. But as angry as she was at the slaughter of innocent animals, she wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t bring herself to kill these renegades. She just prayed that taking out their shooting arms would scare them off, rather than fire them up to come after her. She held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest, ready to mount Windfire and run for her life, when she finally heard one of the varmints say, “Let’s get out of here—the boss will skin us alive if we get caught!”

  She watched as they rode off, heading north. Miranda was about to do the same, heading back to the ranch for help, when she noticed one of the cows they’d shot was one of her mothers-to-be. The calf was due any day, so she knew if she could deliver it right now, it might live. She didn’t have much time—the calf would die without oxygen and sustenance from its mother.

  Miranda whistled for Windfire, mounted and rode over to the dead cattle. She kneeled down by the dead cow. With tears in her eyes at the needless slaughter, she went to work. Taking her longest scalpel, she began to cut through the cow’s tough hide and then multiple stomachs to get to the womb. She could feel the calf kicking as its oxygen supply dwindled. She got to the little guy in minutes and pulled him free of his mother.

  She was working so feverishly to save the calf, she never heard someone come up behind her. As she was cutting the umbilical cord, she heard a deep voice dripping with sarcasm, “How touching!” She never had the chance to turn around and see who was there—she just felt a sharp pain at the base of her neck, then everything went black.

  Miranda came to several hours later to a thunderous pounding in her head. As she tried to sit-up and take in her surroundings, she was hit with more pain. Her ribcage felt like she had been sucker punched. She figured she was probably black and blue from being tossed over the saddle of a horse on her stomach to be brought here—wherever here was. She was in a dark room, on a cot. S
he could tell it was still dark outside and the door to the room was open slightly. Through the fog in her head, she heard angry voices.

  “You’re an idiot for bringing her here!”

  “Hey, I just thought if one ‘hostage’ was good, two would be even better—I know her brother’s supposed to talk to the legislature, too.”

  “This is why I don’t pay you to think—just to shoot. First of all, you seem to forget, I’m not really a hostage—we’re just going to make my father think I’ve been kidnapped. After we blackmail him into supporting the independence vote, and I’m supposedly released, I can convince him to keep quiet. Secondly, the reason the freedom fighters even care about my father’s support is because he heads the Cattlemen’s Association. Mandy’s brothers are powerful around here, but they don’t hold much clout statewide. Besides, have you forgotten, by taking her you’re bringing the wrath of the Rangers down on us again! For God sakes, she’s married to Dylan Wrightman, who took down my first crew!”

  “Geez... relax will ya! I’ll just take her back and dump her with the dead cattle.”

  Miranda was too stunned to hear anymore. As the second man talked, she was sure she recognized the voice. But her mind couldn’t accept it—she must be hearing things. Then he said the words that sealed his identity—his father was the head of the Cattlemen’s Association. Her lifelong best friend, John Townsend, Jr. was behind all the brutal killing and dismembering of the local ranchers’ cattle and horses!

  A third voice brought her out of her shock. “I’m afraid we can’t take her back now—she’s awake and I reckon she heard a good bit of what you just said, boss!” He turned to Miranda and she could see he was one of the bandits she had wounded. “So lady doctor, do you mend as well as you shoot? Cause there’s three men here with bullet holes, thanks to you! And I figure if you can’t do nothin’ to treat us, we ain’t got much use for you.”

  “Shut up, Wyatt!” John walked into the room with a look of concern on his face. He bent down to Miranda, “Are you all right, Mandy?” He reached around to the back of her head and gently felt the knot where she’d been hit with the rifle butt. “That’s a nasty bump there, kiddo. You’re going to have a hell of a headache for a few days.”