Love Is Patient Romance Collection

by Vetsch, Erica; McDonough, Vickie; Barton, Janet Lee

  She tucked her lower lip in and studied the horizon, clearly bemused. He smiled. She was so adorable, he wanted to kiss her again, just to fluster her.

  He picked up the bucket she’d dropped. “I best be getting into the house. I’ve got some paperwork to finish. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s keeping track of the accounts.”

  “What kind of accounts?” Her voice sounded distracted, as if she was having a hard time gathering her thoughts.

  He shrugged. “Wages, expenses, taxes, herd tallies, bills, sales receipts. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in paperwork. My father was the one who used to take care of it all, but over the last year, it’s fallen to me.” They walked up the path, and he could almost imagine she really belonged here.

  “There’s so much more to running a ranch than I ever thought, especially one as prosperous as this place appears to be.” She paused halfway up the ramp and put her hand on his arm. “I’m pretty good with figures. If you’d like, I could help you.” She turned the full force of those blue eyes on him. Her lips parted, expectant.

  He glanced down at her hand on his forearm. Warning bells jangled in his head, and he flashed back to another time, another woman. A woman who barged into their lives and destroyed so much. A woman with a powerful attraction, who used her feminine wiles to trap and disarm. A woman who had caused catastrophic harm.

  A woman who had offered to help with the bookkeeping.

  Plucking her hand from his arm, he hardened his features. What a fool he’d been, letting her charm him, lowering his defenses, letting history repeat itself.

  “The finances of this ranch are none of your affair. You can forget whatever notion you have of getting your hands on any Circle P property, and that includes me.”

  He dropped the bucket onto the dirt and stomped into the house. Brushing off Betsy’s cheerful greeting, he marched to his room.

  Gwendolyn stood still, as shocked as if he’d struck her. A chill rippled across her skin, followed hard by a wave of anger. Her hands fisted. How dare he? How dare he kiss her one moment and accuse her of trying to steal from him the next? Of all the hardheaded, mule-stubborn, moody men, he took the biscuit.

  Her breath came fast, and her heart thundered in her ears. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to give vent to the frustration raging inside. Knowing she couldn’t go into the house, couldn’t face him until she got her feelings under control, she turned toward the gate. Halfway there, she stopped and went back to the door.

  “Betsy,” she called through the screen, “I’m going for a walk.” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant and light, though she couldn’t quite hide a tremor. “I’ll be back.”

  The crooked branches of the stunted cottonwoods along Sagebrush Creek beckoned her, and she strode toward them, arms swinging, feet hitting the dirt with force, trying to expel the anger Matt’s accusations had aroused. As she walked, she fought a mental battle with him, crossing verbal swords. His behavior was inexcusable.

  But, oh my, how he could kiss.

  She touched her lips, still sensitive, and tears pricked her eyes. Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to cry over that despicable louse. From this moment on, he isn’t the only one counting the days until Reverend Cummings returns to free you from this untenable situation. Matthew Parker is no knight in shining armor. He’s a dragon, through and through.

  She waded through the waist-high grass until she reached the stream bank and the cottonwoods there. She leaned against the rough bark of a tree trunk. The water flowed slowly here, sluggish and sleepy in the growing dusk. A bird called from the tall grass on the far bank, and the wind skittered through the leaves, as unsettled as her thoughts.

  The anger trickled away, leaving her tender. An overwhelming rush of loneliness, of longing to see her sisters, swamped her, and she slid down until her back rested against the tree and she could draw her knees up. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pressed her forehead into her knees.

  Lord, where do I go from here? I don’t understand any of this. You led us to Wyoming Territory, You gave us all husbands, except me. I have no family, no husband, no home, nothing. I have nowhere to go when I leave this place. I can’t trust anyone or anything here, not even my own feelings. What can I do?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and a memory flashed across her mind. Jane’s cross-stitch sampler that had hung in the parlor at home, stitched with her favorite Bible verse:

  The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.

  Gwendolyn raised her face, letting the breeze cool her hot skin, and contemplated the verse that had been a part of her life since she was a little girl. How many times had she flown past that sampler with only a cursory glance? And yet, the truth of the verse seeped into some hitherto unlit corners of her heart, illuminating her lack of faith in a God who had never failed her yet. Her heart might’ve been broken by Matthew Parker, but God had not abandoned her. He had a plan, and she could trust Him.

  Perhaps He had needed to remove from her all that was dear and familiar in order to show her how she needed to rely on Him. Perhaps that had been His purpose all along for each of the Gerhard girls. He wanted to be her high tower, her rock and refuge. He wanted her trust.

  Swallowing hard, she leaned back until her head rested against the tree. “All right, Lord. I choose to trust You. I don’t know what is going to happen to me, but I know nothing happens that is not in Your control. Nothing surprises You. If it is Your will that I not stay here, then I’ll go where and when You direct. If Matthew Parker isn’t Your will for me, then I accept that.”

  As hard as the words were to say, there was tremendous freedom in them as well. As stubborn and confusing as Matt Parker was, he was beyond her ability to sort out. She closed her eyes, listening to the murmur of the water and the sighing of the wind until she slipped over the edge of sleep.

  Chapter 6

  What is wrong with you? You’re as cranky as a badger with a blister.” Betsy dished up the half-burnt bacon and beans—her attempt at cooking the evening meal.

  Just like a woman to sulk and stay away. Matt poked at the food. Beans weren’t his favorite, burnt or not, and his appetite was nil, thanks to Gwendolyn’s duplicity.

  “I’m not cranky. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what? Maybe I can help.” Betsy wheeled her chair to her place and held out her hand for the blessing.

  He mumbled through the words and released her fingers.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He glanced at the clock and the angle of the shadows on the ground outside the back door. Gwendolyn should’ve been back by now. Where was she?

  “If it concerns you and Gwendolyn, then I think I will worry about it, thank you very much. You do realize you’re making more of a hash of your relationship than I made of cooking dinner?”

  “We don’t have a relationship.” Being chastised by his younger sister wasn’t on his to-do list this evening.

  “Perhaps that’s the problem. You’re like the man who got bitten by a mustang, and now he hears hoofbeats everywhere. Gwendolyn isn’t Edith.”

  “I never said she was.”

  “No, you just treat her like she is. I don’t know why she’d ever want to marry you with the way you act, so suspicious and snarly.”

  “I’m not snarly.” He paused, modulated his voice, and took a deep breath. “And who said she wanted to marry me? She’s waiting for Cummings to come back the same as I am, so she can leave. Until that time, I have every right to be suspicious. Do you know what she asked me? She asked if she could help with the bookkeeping.”

  “And?”

  “Do you remember what happened the last time we let an outsider look at the accounts? She fleeced us like a flock of sheep.”

  “How many times do I have to say this? Gwendolyn is not Edith. Her innocent offer of help was just that, innocent.
Did you know she kept the household accounts for her family for years, even though she was the youngest? She has a knack with ledgers and figures. It’s perfectly natural that she’d offer to help.”

  He wasn’t ready to let go of his wariness, though his sister’s logic and information put a dent in the wall of his suspicions. Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion? Had he misjudged Gwendolyn’s offer? Had he been wrong about her all along?

  If he had, if he’d kissed her and held her and then thrown her sincere offer back into her face … Shame wriggled through his chest. What kind of a beast must she think him?

  “Matt, I’m getting worried. She said she was going for a walk, but she’s never been gone this long before.”

  Glancing at the clock, he pushed back his plate. “Do you know where she might go?”

  Betsy shook her head. “She goes to the rise just east of the house sometimes. Pete and Mike put a bench up there for her. But I can see the bench from my bedroom window, and she isn’t up there. Maybe she needed to walk off her temper. She might’ve gone farther.”

  He rose and plucked his hat off the peg by the door. “You’ll be all right while I look for her?” Though what he’d say when he found her, he didn’t know.

  “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “The rise east of the house, you said?”

  “That’s the only place she’s mentioned walking before.”

  “I’ll start there.”

  Matt left the house, his long strides eating up the ground. Betsy’s assertion bored through his brain. Gwendolyn is not Edith.

  He supposed he’d best practice his apologizing.

  Gwendolyn awakened, confused at first, memory trickling back as she straightened and rubbed her stiff neck. The sky, no longer a pale, hot blue, now showed streaks of rose and gold and gray. The breeze had died away, and the stalks of grass and sage bushes stood still. She’d been gone way too long. Betsy would be worried.

  Scrambling to her feet, she brushed the dirt and grass from her skirts. A hank of hair slid over her ear, and she tightened a couple of hairpins.

  A rustle in the grass off to her right caught her attention.

  Jackson rose from the grass, grinning. “Hello, Gwendolyn.” Her name rolled off his tongue like syrup.

  Her heart quickened, as did her breathing. A glance over her shoulder told her no one from the ranch complex could see her here, down over the creek bank. She could just make out the roof of the house, a hundred yards away beyond the rise.

  She gripped the tree trunk behind her, the rough bark biting into her skin. Jackson had always had a too-familiar gleam in his eye, but now that gleam burned white-hot. Her mouth went dry. “I should be getting back to the house.”

  “There’s no hurry. It’s a nice evening.” He stepped closer, edging aside a sage bush, crushing the stems beneath his boots and releasing their herbaceous scent.

  “Really, I’m overdue. It must be well past suppertime.” She edged around the tree, hoping to put it between herself and Jackson, but he moved like quicksilver, his hand clamping down onto her wrist.

  “I said there was no hurry.” He loomed over her, the last rays of the sun glinting in his dark eyes. “Why do you skitter away every time I get near you?”

  Because you remind me of a snake? “I’m sure Matt and Betsy must be expecting me now.”

  “Why do you care about them? The cripple is useless, and Matt’s a real dog-in-the-manger. He doesn’t want you himself, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you.” He bared his teeth in a sneer. “I sure enjoyed sticking it to him on the roundup, digging at him about you.” Grinding the bones of her wrist together, he jerked her toward him. “He’s so almighty arrogant, walking around here like a little plaster saint, but I know better.” He laughed. “Bet you didn’t know he was cheating on his old man with his stepmama, did you?”

  Gwendolyn gasped. “No.”

  “Why do you think his dad killed himself?” Jackson flung his arm toward the creek. “Ended it all right here. Shot himself and landed in the water. Heartbroken.”

  “Let go of my arm.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve bided my time, but I’m tired of waiting.” He brought his face within inches of hers. “I saw you, you know. Out in front of the house. I knew you two had something going on, just like him and Edith. Those were some kisses you were giving him. I figure one man’s as good as another to you, just like one woman’s as good as another to him.” He shifted his hold on her, gripping her upper arms and hauling her up against his chest. She struggled, sucking in a breath to let out a scream, but before she could, his hard lips came down on her mouth, stifling any sound.

  The disgusting touch of his lips on hers made her want to retch. So different from Matt’s kiss. Jackson wanted to punish, to take, where Matt’s embrace had been safe, a giving and a receiving, everything a kiss should be.

  Pinned against the tree as she was, she couldn’t even draw back her leg to kick him. Her struggling seemed to fire him up, so she went limp in his arms, hoping to surprise him into dropping his guard long enough for her to break free.

  The instant she drooped, he raised his head, a triumphant laugh escaping him. “I knew you’d give in.”

  As he shifted his grip, she steeled herself to slap his face, but before she could raise her now-free arm, a roar split the air. Jackson was flung away from her, and the sound of a fist hitting a jaw cracked.

  Matt stood over Jackson’s sprawled form, gasping, his hands clenched. Without a word, he bent and grabbed two fistfuls of shirt, hauling Jackson to his wobbly feet. Another punch sent him reeling into the dirt, his lip split and his nose bleeding.

  “Jackson, get up to the bunkhouse and draw your pay. You’re through here.” Matt’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands fisted at his sides.

  Gwendolyn clutched the tree for support for her shaky knees. Blinking, trying to catch her breath, she couldn’t help the rush of gratitude and something else, something stronger, that overwhelmed her. Matt stood there like an avenging angel … no, like a knight in shining armor, defending her honor against a scoundrel.

  She crossed to him, holding out her hand as Jackson scrambled to his feet and backed up. “Matt, thank you. I’m so glad you came when you did.”

  He turned cold eyes to her for a brief second before swinging back to watch Jackson’s retreat. “Are you? I don’t know why. I’d think you’d be disappointed, having your little rendezvous interrupted. I want you off this property, and I’m not waiting for Cummings to come back for you. You can either leave with Jackson, or I’ll take you to town first thing in the morning.”

  A strange, this-can’t-be-happening icy shudder rippled through her. He’d gone from knight in shining armor to fire-breathing dragon—again. She swallowed.

  “Matt, I didn’t have any rendezvous with that … that animal.” She pointed to a quickly retreating Jackson. “He caught me by surprise.”

  “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

  “Then you’re wrong. And if anyone should know what it feels like to be wrongly accused, it’s you.” Jackson’s taunts about Matt rang in her ears. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe them.

  “What are you talking about?” The question jerked from him, deepening his scowl. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He jammed his fists on his waist. “I almost fell for it. Betsy almost had me believing I’d made a mistake, that I’d misjudged you. I was all set to apologize, to ask you to stay.” A bark of mirthless laughter shot out. “What a fool I am.” He turned on his heel and marched up the hill toward the house.

  When Matt reached the house, he knew he couldn’t go in, couldn’t face Betsy’s questions until he got himself under control. Glancing over his shoulder through the growing dusk, he spied Gwendolyn approaching, bold as polished brass in the noontime sun. He ground his teeth. When was he going to learn that women were nothing but trouble from a man’s first breath to his last?

  The bunkhouse door opened and
Jackson emerged, saddlebags over his shoulder and a defiant set to his jaw. Melton edged out after him and, seeing Matt by the picket gate, strolled his way, hands in pockets. He came to a stop a few feet away, dug a toothpick from his pocket, and went to work on it, silent as usual.

  Gwendolyn didn’t come to the front yard, instead disappearing around the back of the house. The kitchen door slapped shut.

  Matt waited, watching Jackson head to the corral and lasso his horse, saddle up, and ride away. Though he should’ve been relieved, his heart felt like it had been replaced with a fistful of horseshoes, cold, heavy, lifeless.

  “Good riddance.” Melton slipped a rifle bullet from a loop on his belt and used the point to clean under his fingernails. “Madder’n a skunk-bit coyote. Busted nose, too.”

  Matt flexed his hand, wincing at his bruised knuckles. “He deserved it.”

  “’Magine so. Wanted to punch him myself a time or two. Had to hold the boys back just now. Wanted to tenderize his hide, spouting off about you and that girl. And Edith.”

  Matt flinched. “What did he say?”

  “Claimed you were dallying with that gal. And the real reason your daddy kilt himself was because he caught you and Edith together.”

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “It’s not true.”

  “Figured.”

  This must’ve been what Gwendolyn meant about him knowing what it was like to be falsely accused. But he’d seen what he’d seen. Her in Jackson’s arms, not struggling, not fighting him in the least.

  “Don’t usually give advice, but you and her need to talk. Deserves to know about Edith. And you deserve to be rid of Edith and her trouble. Weighing you down. Holding you back.” Melton placed the cartridge back in his gun belt and shifted the toothpick. “Plain she’s not like the other one and that you’re in love with her.”

  Matt’s mind rebelled at the thought, even as he embraced it.

  “If I had to believe Jackson or that gal, I reckon I’d choose the gal. Shame to let her get away.” With that, Melton turned and sauntered back toward the bunkhouse.