A Cowboy Worth Claiming

by Charlene Sands

  Good Lord, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Had that been the trade-off, he’d repay his debt by marrying her?

  For the past year, her grandfather had been matchmaking, inviting every eligible young man in the territory to the ranch. Not that she’d gotten a single proposal. And that’s how it would stay. Still, she smarted from the stranger’s outright amusement when she’d refused to marry him.

  Your grandfather’s got more sense than that. The man’s declaration after his laughter had died down made her stomach knot.

  Lizzie wasn’t a beauty. She wasn’t graceful or poised like the other females in town. She wasn’t buxom or curvy. She looked younger than her eighteen years. She knew that she’d rightly die a spinster one day, but that didn’t give the stranger call to rub her nose in it. Embarrass and offend her.

  Hurt her.

  She had a mind to retaliate with harsh words, but she’d gotten an eyeful of the cowboy, stripped naked from the waist up, after he’d pulled her out of the lake. She couldn’t say that his jaw was chiseled a little too deep. Or his shoulders were spread a little too broad. Or the muscles that bulged on his arms were too darn big. If Lizzie was one thing, she was honest. Her rescuer with deep brown eyes and golden skin was about as perfect as one man had a right to be.

  And thinking him perfect after the insult he’d bestowed upon her just made her angry.

  “How is Edward?” he asked, his voice soft against her ear.

  A tingle trailed down her neck. She willed it to stop and concentrated on the question. Her body’s response to this man annoyed her. “He’s struggling some, but we’ll make do. We always do.”

  “Struggling?” he asked.

  “Some.”

  “You care to elaborate.”

  “Isn’t your business, is it, Mr. Worth?”

  “Hmm, if I had to guess, I’d say having a stubborn, sass-mouthed granddaughter would make just about any man struggle.”

  She spun around so fast, her damp hair whipped at her cheekbones. “That’s not fair! You don’t know what we’ve been through. Cattle rustlers, drought that starved our herd two years ago, disease that came later. We’ve worked hard to keep the ranch from drying up, to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs. My grandpa would throw you off his property, hearing you speak that way to me.”

  His lips twitched. “That so?”

  She glared into mud-brown eyes lit with amusement. He wasn’t really perfect after all, she decided.

  “Turn around, before you fall off.” His voice firm, he scolded her like a child. He wasn’t that much older than her. Couldn’t be more than ten years that separated them.

  “I’m not going to fall off. I’ve been riding since before I could walk. I could outride any of the boys in town. And I—”

  He clucked his tongue and the sorrel took off in a fast trot. Lizzie bounced up and her world tilted to the left. She began falling at an angle, her body hinged sideways. She was on a collision course with a prickly blade of saguaro cactus before a big hand pulled her upright to safety. Chance set both hands firm on her shoulders and turned her to face forward on the saddle.

  “You did that on purpose.” She bristled.

  He slowed Joyful to an easy gait. “You got a vivid imagination, Lizzie.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “I think I liked you better in the lake.”

  “When you thought I was drowning?”

  “When you were quiet.”

  “You’re the one asking questions.”

  “And you’ve given such ladylike answers.”

  She whipped around again, showing him the point of her chin.

  “For pity’s sake, turn around and stay put.” His voice held no patience. “You’re tiring yourself out.”

  Leather creaked as she took her time twisting back in the saddle.

  And just like that, he pulled her closer, his hand splaying over her stomach, his fingers teasing the underside of her breasts. She’d never had a man hold her so tight, in such a way. She held her breath. A warm thrill coursed down past her waist. Her breasts, small as they were, tingled. “W-what are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer. His iron grip said it all.

  Lizzie sighed. She’d made a mess of things for certain. She’d been a fool, though she wouldn’t admit it to the man whose knees cradled her. She’d been so eager to deliver her dolls and collect the money owed her, that she’d taken the shortcut, across the lake, rather than walking the extra two miles to town. She should’ve been more careful with her dolls, more cautious about that rickety ole boat. Now, she had nothing to show for one month’s solid work. They had little cash left and were overextended on loans from the feed store and the mercantile. Her grandfather hadn’t said as much, Edward Mitchell being a proud man and all, but he’d been relying on that cash to buy supplies in town.

  Elizabeth’s folly let him down.

  Tears she’d held back, threatened again. She wouldn’t let the stranger see her cry. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “You’re tensing up again. Just lean against me and be still, Lizzie.”

  It was fruitless fighting him. And he was right. She was fatigued. More than she’d thought. And now he offered her his chest to lean back against. No harm in that, she thought, as the relentless sun spilled down. The heat burning through her wet clothes warmed her chilled body and soothed her sour mood.

  * * *

  A majestic view of crimson hills jutting up against a blue sky gave Chance pause as he neared the Mitchell spread. Rocky peak formations appearing close enough to touch created instant patterns in his mind. The one directly in front of him seemed to spread out like a soaring eagle in flight, the formation to his left was shaped like a tall bowler hat, the kind a gentleman from the East would wear, and the crest of another mountaintop off in the distance looked like a tipped coffeepot. The sun played with the deep earth hues of those mountain peaks, illuminating Mother Nature’s most fascinating ornaments in blazing light.

  In a clearing not far away sat the sorely neglected Mitchell Ranch, its rundown appearance a direct contrast to the majesty of the Red Ridge Mountains. Chance pressed Joyful on, taking in broken fences along the border, barn walls in disrepair and the house itself, which was no more than a small wood cabin.

  The girl had fallen asleep against him. Her head was tucked under his chin, her lithe body cradled in his arms with her skirts draped down the mare’s sides. She was a little thing, to be sure, but feisty as hell.

  Chance grinned thinking about her mighty tirade. Marry her? Edward Mitchell could find a dozen better suitors for his granddaughter than him. Chance wasn’t anybody’s ideal and he certainly wasn’t the settling-down kind. Edward knew Chance had no dreams of a wife and family. Life had knocked Chance down too many times for thinking like that. No, that wasn’t why Edward Mitchell had summoned him.

  He spoke in Lizzie’s ear. “Wake up, Princess. You’re home.” Lizzie jerked back when she heard his voice. The back of her head met with his chin. “Ow!”

  Nobody’d call her graceful.

  She straightened and gazed at her home with trepidation.

  He dismounted first and reached up for her. In less than an hour, he’d had more contact with this gal than any other female in a month of Sundays. He’d had lifelong practice keeping away from Marissa Dunston, the young daughter of Alistair’s new wife. Marissa had been a troublemaker from the time she’d come to live at the Circle D Ranch. Chance wasn’t about to get stupid now. Not with Edward Mitchell’s granddaughter, that’s for damn sure.

  She peered down at him with tentative blue eyes, her brown hair still a messy bird’s nest of curls. She didn’t want to face her grandpa. That much he could read from her expression. He softened his voi
ce. “C’mon, Lizzie.”

  She leaned down and he lifted her from the saddle, her hands steady on his shoulders as her boots hit the ground. She stood facing him, all her life’s misery written on her face. Chance knew that look too well. But he hadn’t survived all this time by being mollycoddled. If things were as bad as he thought on the Mitchell spread, she’d have to toughen up to endure hardship.

  He stepped back and gestured to the house with a nod of his head. “Go tell your grandpa I’m here.”

  She chewed on her lower lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had transformed and a downright determined look settled on her features. Chance watched her pick up her soggy skirts and march right into the house. Then he led Joyful to the barn to unsaddle her.

  He hadn’t seen Edward Mitchell since the day he’d stepped in and saved his life. Chance had been twelve, fighting for what was his against three ruffians. They’d cornered him behind a cropping of trees outside of town. If Edward hadn’t taken that little-known side road to town, Chance would have been beaten to death for certain. Edward had intervened just in time, entering the fray and tossing off his attackers one at a time, taking several hard blows himself to save the bedraggled orphan boy.

  Chance remembered little else after that. When he woke up, he found himself in the care of the town doctor with Edward Mitchell by his side making sure Chance had proper medical treatment. Edward stayed until Chance had recovered enough to be adopted by the town’s wealthiest citizen, Alistair Dunston. The only thing Edward asked of Chance was to write to him in Red Ridge once a year.

  Chance never broke that promise. Fifteen letters over fifteen years. And Chance kept every one of Edward’s return posts. He’d read those long insightful letters over and over and taken Edward Mitchell’s words to heart. In a way, Edward was more a father to him than Alistair Dunston had ever been.

  “Well, look at you, boy.” Edward Mitchell stood under the patched overhang in front of his door as Chance approached. Age had not done him any favors, Chance noted. His shoulders were rounded from a slight natural curve of his back. He looked like he hadn’t seen a hearty meal in a decade; his arms and legs were stick thin. Yet, he wore a true smile, his brilliant blue eyes remarkable in a weary face that obviously had known suffering. “You’ve grown up.”

  “Tends to happen over the years.” Chance grinned and strode the distance to shake Edward’s hand. He was instantly struck by the frailty in the older man’s grip. This was hardly the same man who’d gone up against three younger men to save Chance’s life years ago. “How are you, Edward?”

  “Thankful that you honored an old man’s request, that’s how I am.” He patted Chance’s back several times as he ushered him inside. “Come in. Come in. Lizzie went to change outta her wet clothes. Poor gal, she’s beside herself with worry about her dolls.”

  Edward gestured for him to sit down on a settee upholstered with flowery material. Chance removed his hat and took a seat. Edward slumped in a blue-velvet tufted parlor chair. Chance took a moment to glance around the rest of the room. The furniture seemed far too grand and out of place for a small ranch house. There were two doors beyond the kitchen area that he assumed were bedrooms, and all in all the interior of the home held more warmth and refinement than he thought possible, considering the neglect to the exterior.

  “She told me what happened, boy,” Edward said with a strain in his voice. “Thank you for bringing my Lizzie home. I’ve told her time and again not to use that boat. Good thing Lizzie’s a swimmer or she might have drowned.”

  Not that good of a swimmer, Chance thought. She’d been a victim of her own foolishness using that unreliable rowboat to cross the lake. And then thinking she could retrieve her precious dolls from the lake’s bottom. Dang things were probably ruined anyways.

  Edward coughed from deep in his chest. Chance noticed the toll it took on his body. “She’s been brave, that girl. Trying to keep the ranch going.” He looked into Chance’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for coming, boy. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t essential.”

  “Tell me.” Chance glanced at the bedroom door. Lizzie was still busy in there and he knew Edward wanted to speak his mind while she wasn’t in the room.

  Edward leaned forward. “I should be offering you a bite to eat. Something to drink. Don’t mind my bad manners. I haven’t been right lately.”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “You’re eyes are hard, boy. You’ve known more misery in your life, haven’t you?”

  Chance had always had a roof over his head. He’d always had food to eat. He’d made a little money over the years. Yet, no matter how hard he’d tried to fit in and become an upstanding citizen, there were always people who’d judged him unkindly. Who’d tested him and who’d set him up to fail. They’d never let him forget that he came from the orphanage. He was the boy nobody wanted. When Alistair Dunston came along Chance thought his life would be grand. After all, the man had a big ranch, land that spread out for hundreds of acres. He had a wife that couldn’t bear children. Chance was to be their son. Only, Clara Dunston died unexpectedly, and Alistair began treating him more like a hired hand than his kin. Soon everybody else got that notion, too.

  “I’m not complaining, Edward.”

  The man smiled sadly. As if to say, there’s much more in life. Chance wouldn’t know about that. Edward rose from his seat and walked to a china cabinet displaying fancy blue and white dishes on the shelves. He opened a drawer from below and pulled out a small square box. He carried the box carefully as he shuffled over to him. “This is yours, Chance. It’s about time I give it back to you.”

  Chance gazed down at the walnut box carved with the letter W.

  “I had the box made when I arrived home from Channing.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Times were better then.”

  Chance knew what was inside. Taking a deep breath, he opened the lid and there, resting on the white silk lining, was a thin gold chain with a pear-shaped ruby pendant. The sparkling deep crimson gem was the size of a plum pit. He stared at his mother’s necklace—it was the only thing of value Chance Worth had ever owned. He was almost afraid to lift the chain, to touch the ruby. He remembered the day that he’d protected this necklace from three robbers who were intent on taking the one thing Chance valued above his own life. And after that beating, he realized he couldn’t hold on to the necklace. One way or another, he’d never reach adulthood with it in his possession.

  Take it, Mr. Mitchell. Take it and keep it for me.

  Chance had pleaded with Edward to keep the only remembrance he had of his mother. Losing his parents to marauders and then struggling to survive in an orphanage, he’d learned early on there weren’t too many people he could count on and trust. But Edward Mitchell with his kind eyes and generous spirit had been one of them. In a sense, Chance’s life had been whittled away to the sum total of that necklace and he entrusted Edward with its safekeeping.

  I’ll know it’ll always be safe. With you.

  Edward had agreed to keep the necklace until Chance could retrieve it. “Why are you giving this to me now, Edward?”

  The older man glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered his voice. Any minute now Lizzie would step out, and Chance noted his urgency to speak before she did.

  “I’m dying, Chance. I had to be sure to give this back to you.”

  Chance inhaled sharply. He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting this. The minute he laid eyes on him, he’d seen the weariness in the old man’s body.

  “I’m growing weaker every day. Lizzie knows, too, but we don’t talk about it. It’s easier for her to deny it.”

  “That’s why you sent for me.”

  “It’s one of the reasons. I’m trying to keep the ranch from failing. I need your help. If you’re
willing.”

  The necklace would have brought Edward Mitchell enough money to keep the ranch going for a time, yet he’d held on to it, saving it for Chance. Just like he promised. Chance’s throat got heavy with emotion. He hated the thought of the older man dying. There weren’t too many men on this earth of such honor and honesty. He took a moment to assemble his thoughts and conceal feelings he rarely showed anyone.

  On a shaky breath he said, “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.” He held up the jewelry box. “For keeping this safe. It’s the only thing I have left of my life before my parents were murdered.” Chance spoke with firm resolve. “You can count on me, Edward. I’ll do whatever you need.”

  Chance thought about Lizzie’s crazy notion that he was brought here to marry her. Now, it seemed possible that’s what Edward had in mind.

  “Thank you.” Relief crossed Edward’s features as he nodded. Chance could, at the very least, give him that much peace of mind. But then the old man’s face turned beet-red and he began coughing. Chance rose to help him, but he quickly gestured for him to sit back down. When his coughing fit ended, he leaned back against his chair.

  Once he’d caught his breath, he explained, “We’re in a bad way financially. Got barely enough to make it through the month. It’ll break Lizzie’s heart, but this here furniture, her mama’s furniture, is next to go. Won’t get all that much for it, that’s why I haven’t brought it up to Lizzie yet. That girl is dang upset about her dolls. She had orders and was rushing off to collect the money in town. Took her more than a month to sew those dolls and the girl feels she’s let me down.” He stopped. Squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. He was near tears. “Only, I’m the one letting her down. My granddaughter has calloused hands from working the ranch. She cooks our meals and at night, she fashions her dolls until she about collapses into bed.”