A Marriage By Chance

by Carolyn Davidson

  J.T. watched her, invigorated by the quick-witted responses she gave, the sharp working of her mind. She’d only get mad again, but he might as well have it over with, he decided. “I put money in your account.”

  She was pale beneath the freckles, and her jaw flexed as though she gritted her teeth against angry words. And then she spoke, and her voice held more than a trace of the frustration she battled. “You’re putting me in a hole, J.T. What if I can’t get out? What’ll you do next? Just take over the whole place?”

  He reached for her hand, enclosing it within his palm, reaching out for her understanding in the small intimacy of flesh against flesh. “I knew you’d take it that way, Chloe. And that’s not what I intend. I figured we can’t expect these men to stay on here much longer if we don’t pay them. It’s not fair, and you don’t want to take a chance on losing Hogan, or Lowery or Shorty, either, for that matter. The others you could replace if you had to, but not those three.”

  She nodded, accepting the warmth of his fingers enclosing hers. There seemed little to say. No doubt he was right, but her independence was threatened more each day, simply because he was there, with his influence reaching to every area of her life.

  Including her awareness of herself as a woman. And at that thought she felt a nudge of apprehension. He’d kissed her once, a week ago, and then as if it had never taken place, ignored the episode, not in any way referring to it again.

  Until now. She retrieved her hand from his, clenching it in her lap as her mind replayed the words he’d spoken in that dark, rasping tone. You look soft in all the right places, Chloe…. There’s something about you that brings me to attention. He’d bewitched her with his flattery. That was all there was to it, she decided. Pure and simple flattery, designed to throw her off guard. She clenched her jaw as he spoke again.

  “Chloe? Are you going to give me a hassle over this? Can we just agree to let things ride for a while, at least until we sort through the herd and decide which animals you want to sell off?”

  “What?” His query caught her unaware. Her mind had traveled far from the discussion over wages and hired hands, and for a moment she faltered, willing herself to concentrate on his words. He was making plans, while she was still dithering over his foolish talk.

  “I’m not trying to push you,” he said quietly. And perhaps he wasn’t, she thought. Yet, to her discerning eye, he was poised for action, impatiently absorbed in his plans, and she knew a sense of disquiet. For one thing, she was ignorant when it came to a breeding program such as the one he spoke of.

  One hand lifted, as if to assure him of her compliance, and she gathered her wits. “I’d rather talk about this later. Maybe after supper tonight.” To give in so readily was against her nature, but he’d boxed her into a corner and the need to regroup was foremost in her mind.

  A look of pure relief erased the frown lines he wore, and his mouth curved slowly. “Whatever you want,” he said agreeably. “Hogan should be here right soon, and I’ve got to get a stall fitted up for the stud. We’ll keep him in the corral for a day or so, till we decide which mares we want him to cover, and then go on from there.”

  Excitement filled his voice, and Chloe nodded, his exuberance contagious. “I want to come out with you.”

  “All right. There’s not much for you to do, but you need to take a look at him anyway.”

  Perhaps she’d expected a creature of majestic size, or at least an animal more impressive than the painted horse that followed behind Hogan’s gelding an hour later. “He’s not very big, is he?”

  “Big isn’t always better, not when it comes to a good cow pony,” J.T. said, intent on passing his hands over the side and flank of the black-and-white spotted stallion. He lifted one hoof after another, and Chloe watched as shivers rippled the smooth coat, the stud sidestepping from J.T.’s touch.

  “He looks all right,” he told Hogan. “Give you any trouble?”

  “Not on the end of a rope,” Hogan answered. “I’m waiting for the chance to get on his back. Fella at the auction said this one’s the best cutting horse he’s ever seen.”

  J.T.’s eyes lit with satisfaction. “You’ll get your chance, come tomorrow morning. I thought we’d just handle him for now, feed him good and let him settle in.”

  Chloe could barely hide her disappointment. Having reconciled herself to the plan, she was filled with misgivings now. She watched as Hogan led the horse into the barn, and then, as she turned away, she heard the shrill sound of his trumpeting. From the near pasture a mare returned the challenge, and she spun around in time to see Hogan gripping the lead line, even as he dodged the stallion’s tossing head.

  Tail swishing and hind legs bent, the stud seemed intent on freeing himself from the man holding him, and J.T. moved quickly. His laugh rang out as he came from the far side to grasp the horse’s halter. His considerable weight pulled the stallion’s head to meet his chest, and then J.T.’s voice became soothing, his words soft as he strove to quiet the animal.

  “Well, he seems to know what he’s here for, don’t he?” Hogan asked, breathless from his efforts. His grin flashed in Chloe’s direction, and then as though he reconsidered his words, he turned his head aside. “Sorry, ma’am,” he murmured politely, but Chloe heard the amusement beneath the muttered apology.

  Unused to such blatant masculine emotions, whether they be from man or beast, she felt a quickening as she thought of what would take place here in the next weeks. The process of breeding had always been confined to the pastures, at the discretion of both mares and stallion, and with no set purpose, only the intention of new life each spring.

  Now it seemed there would be a scheduling of those events, and as she turned from the barn and headed with haste toward the house, the realization of change became a fact. J. T. Flannery was about to set out upon a path that would make mockery of her father’s haphazard operation. And she had given him the go-ahead to do just that.

  The table was set for three when J.T. entered the kitchen hours later, and he tossed Chloe a quizzical look. “You expecting company?”

  “Not really. Just Aunt Tilly. She arrived an hour ago. Howie Henderson brought her out from town and dropped her off.” Chloe opened the oven door and pulled a roasting pan from its depths. “She’s upstairs, settling in.” Her grin was quick as she glanced his way. “She asked about you.”

  “Me?” He pulled his chair from beneath the table and eased himself onto the seat. Muscles well used over the past couple of weeks were protesting, and getting dumped in the dust of the corral by a half-broke horse hadn’t helped any. “How’d she know about me?”

  “Howie gave her all the details about my new partner on the trip out from town,” Chloe said.

  J.T. watched her as she dealt with the contents of the roasting pan. The woman was adept at more than just riding and tending to ranch business. The pot roast, surrounded by potatoes and carrots, was a tempting sight, and he hoped fervently that Aunt Tilly was at least as handy in the kitchen as Chloe.

  “And does she approve of your new partner?” he asked, aware of footsteps approaching from the front hallway. The scent of lilac preceded the woman as did her voice, its tones sharp, her words cautious.

  “If he turns out to be a scalawag like the last one, I’ve got a shotgun that’ll guarantee he won’t last long.” Iron-gray hair, curled and crimped into an abundant mass, topped the sturdy figure in the doorway. Eyes the startling color of a bluebird’s back scanned him thoroughly, as if she sought out every possible defect and scar on his miserable hide. From where he sat, Tilly looked to be nearly six feet tall, altogether a woman to be aware of. A brilliantly flowered house dress covered her ample frame, and sturdy black-laced oxfords, surely made to fit a man, carried her toward him.

  J.T. rose, bowing his head just a trifle in greeting. “Ma’am?” he said politely. “I’m the fella you’ll be gunning for, should I not come up to snuff.” It took all his control not to smile at the picture she presented, b
ut he managed to subdue his humor.

  Aunt Tilly halted several feet from him, and he waited as she scanned him from top to bottom. A flash of approval from brilliant blue eyes, and an abrupt nod that barely disturbed her curls, told him she’d completed her appraisal, and he moved to pull a chair from beneath the table.

  “Won’t you sit down, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  She shook her head. “I’ll give Chloe a hand first.”

  “I’ve got everything ready,” Chloe said quickly. “Just sit, Aunt Tilly.” The platter centered the table, steam rising from its contents, and beside it were bowls of applesauce and some sort of greens J.T. didn’t recognize. “I just need to pour the coffee.”

  Tilly sat down, allowing J.T. to play the gentleman, and he held her chair with a flourish, earning a sharp look as he smoothly seated her.

  “Where you from, boy?” she asked bluntly. “You’re pretty slick with the manners, seems to me.”

  “My mama raised me to be polite,” he said, allowing a smile to appear. “I know enough not to wipe my mouth on my sleeve, and I learned how to ask nicely when I want a favor.”

  “Well, that says something for you,” she answered, watching as Chloe sat down across the table. “You make biscuits, girl?”

  “No, but there’s bread from yesterday,” Chloe told her.

  “You can get some out after we bless the food,” Tilly said, and immediately bowed her head, booming words of thanks to the Almighty for the supper Chloe had prepared.

  J.T. leaned back in his chair, amused by Chloe’s quick movements as she unwrapped a fresh loaf of bread from its dish towel and quickly wielded the knife. Four slices were deposited on a plate and she brought it to the table. “There’s fresh butter, Aunt Tilly,” she said, uncovering the glass dish.

  It was easy to see who was in control here, J.T. decided. The kitchen was suddenly Aunt Tilly’s domain, and Chloe bent to her will in a way he hadn’t expected. And then the older woman paused midway in the process of buttering her slice of bread to cast her eyes on her niece.

  “You’ve taken off a few pounds, girl. Been working too hard, I’ll warrant.”

  Chloe laughed aloud. “I could take off a few more, Aunt Tilly. And once I get you back in charge here, I probably will. I need to be out with the men, working with the new foals. Hogan says we’ve got a dandy crop of calves already.” Her enthusiasm seemed to be generated by the thought of being relieved of kitchen duty, J.T. decided.

  “You’re turning out to be a good cook,” Tilly decreed, tasting the beef roast and savoring the flavor. “You use bay leaf in this?”

  Chloe nodded meekly, though her eyes glittered with good humor. “Just like you told me, ma’am. And I picked the dandelion greens early this morning while the dew was still on them.”

  J.T. stopped chewing, his mouthful of greens suddenly losing their appeal. “Dandelions?” he asked dubiously. “I’m eating dandelions?”

  “Just the greens,” Chloe said patiently. “They’re good for you.”

  “Whatever happened to turnip greens or collards?”

  Chloe turned patient eyes on him. “It’s too early for them.” She waved her fork in the direction of his plate. “That’s good spring tonic. Even the Indians eat them.”

  “I’m not sure I need a spring tonic, whatever that is,” he told her, forking up another mouthful. “My mama used to give me a dose of castor oil when the trees started leafing out.” He chewed a moment, then swallowed the greens dutifully. “But only one dose, mind you.” His fork stirred the green mass on his plate. “Do I get to eat these every day?”

  “I could probably locate a bottle of castor oil, if you’d rather,” Tilly said helpfully, obviously amused at his dislike for Chloe’s chosen vegetable for this meal.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’m a big boy now. I’ll do just fine without.”

  “That you are,” she agreed. “Came from south of here, didn’t you?”

  He hesitated. Giving details about his background was something he steered clear of usually. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  Tilly nodded. “When I arrived on a wagon train from Saint Louis and met my husband for the first time, he said he’d always wanted a Southern belle to grace his table.” Her laughter rang out. “He was looking for a dainty little creature with curls and a sunbonnet to keep her skin all nice and pale. Instead he got me, with my Georgia tan and a body almost six feet tall.”

  “I’ll bet he wasn’t disappointed,” J.T. ventured, enjoying the tale she wove.

  “Not after a week or so,” Tilly admitted with a grin.

  “Bless his heart, he decided I was a lot of woman, just what he needed. And he gave me three handsome boys and a pretty baby girl, about half my size, once she got to be full grown.” She eyed J.T. intently. “If you don’t have specks of y’all hidden under that nice Western drawl of yours, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “You may be right,” he conceded. “My mama was a Southern lady.”

  Chloe perked up at this bit of news. This was the first time she’d heard one word about his background. He’d insidiously wormed detail after detail from her about the running of the ranch, about Peter’s affinity for poker and about the sudden attack that had brought her father to his knees.

  She’d relived that afternoon with barely concealed tears as she spoke of John Biddleton’s death. She’d told of his gasping for air as his skin took on a bluish cast and his breathing became tortured, and J.T. had halted her before she reached the final part of her story. Reaching to place long fingers on her forearm, he’d squeezed gently to get her attention, then shook his head to halt her words, seeming to understand her pain.

  And now, from that silent, closemouthed man, Aunt Tilly had managed, with blunt queries and canny insight, to learn more in two minutes than Chloe had gotten from him in almost two weeks. She leaned toward him. “Where do your parents live?” she asked. “Still in the South?”

  His eyes met hers and she felt his withdrawal even as she finished her question. “They’re buried on the home place,” he said shortly. “The house caught fire and neither of them got out.” He picked up his cup and drank deeply of the hot coffee, seemingly immune to the scalding heat.

  “How old were you?” she asked quietly.

  “Old enough to be on my own,” he answered. “It was a long time ago. No sense in raking up the past, to my way of thinking. I’ve traveled a long way from that life.”

  And that was probably all she’d ever hear about it, Chloe thought, totaling up her scant store of knowledge. The man was a gambler, and he knew horseflesh. Beyond that, and the small addition of facts he’d just offered, he was a puzzle. His dark eyes held secrets, and his long, lean body bore muscled strength. Sharp featured and equally sharp spoken, he was arrogance in its finest form, she thought ruefully.

  And more of a man than she’d ever come across in all her twenty-two years of living. The thought of his hands against her skin, or his mouth touching hers, was enough to bring her to a level of anticipation she refused to consider. Even during the dark hours before midnight, when she tossed restlessly in her bed, reliving the single kiss that burned in her memory, she’d been aware of the insidious attraction of his presence.

  Foolishness on her part. He was her partner. And didn’t seem inclined, as far as she could tell, to press her into a more intimate situation.

  “You ever been married?” Aunt Tilly’s words caught Chloe unaware and she stiffened, certain that J.T. would take umbrage at the bold query.

  Instead he grinned, an expression that totally changed the stern lines of his face. “A man who keeps on the move doesn’t need to tote a woman along with him.”

  “You’re not on the move anymore,” Tilly pointed out. “Seems like a fella who owns half a ranch ought to be thinking about putting down roots and looking to the future.”

  Chloe choked on a half-chewed piece of beef and pushed her chair back from the table. Coughing and gaspin
g, she headed for the back door, aware of J.T.’s chair scraping across the floor. She bent over the porch railing, catching her breath and felt his warm hand against her back.

  “You all right?” he asked, concern mixed with amusement as he bent to peer into her face. “I think your aunt kinda threw you there, didn’t she?”

  “I can’t believe she was so brazen,” Chloe managed to gasp. “The next thing you know, she’ll be arranging a wedding for you.”

  “Nah,” he said, drawling the word in a teasing tone. “When I decide to tie the knot, I’ll do my own arranging, partner.” His hand slid up her back to rest against her shoulder, and he squeezed lightly. “And trust me, Miss Chloe, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Chapter Four

  “There’s a dozen or so cattle missing, boss.” Shorty Kendrick swung down from his horse and stood before J.T., his fists clenched, one still holding his reins. Aware that Shorty still considered him an unknown quantity, and unwilling to spew his anger on the unwitting messenger, J.T. received the news with barely a show of emotion, only gritting his teeth against the fury that welled up within him.

  “From the range beyond the far pasture?” he asked tersely. “You sure of the count?” Not that Shorty couldn’t be depended upon. He was probably the best all-round cowhand on the ranch. Hogan and Lowery’s talents leaned toward the training of horses, but when it came to cattle, Shorty was tops.

  “Pretty much so. We’ve been keepin’ a good eye on them, what with calves droppin’ right and left.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I left Tom and Corky out there last night at the shack, but they said they didn’t hear anything.”

  “How reliable are they?” J.T. asked, wishing he’d made it his business to know the answer to that question sooner.

  Shorty’s mouth twisted as he shrugged again. “About as reliable as any other two roving cowboys. They’ve only been here for the winter. Chloe took them on when the weather got bad, and they’ve been workin’ for keep and five dollars a month.”