A Marriage By Chance

by Carolyn Davidson

  It settled on the stove with a thump, and Chloe bent over the wood box, sorting out small chunks that would burn quickly. She turned with her hands full, and Tilly lifted the stove lid, watching as Chloe placed the wood atop the banked fire.

  “You’d better tie back your hair, girl,” Tilly advised, a crooked grin making her eyes crinkle at the edges. “Looks to me like you forgot to braid it before you crawled in bed.”

  Chloe’s hands flew to the untamed waves on either side of her face. “J.T. asked me to leave it down,” she muttered, pulling the dark length over her shoulder and plaiting it with practiced movements.

  “Men are like that, as I recall,” Tilly observed, and then her face softened and she lifted a roll of string from the buffet, cutting a length and handing it to Chloe. “Kinda ruined your wedding night, with all that upset out there.”

  Chloe twisted the string around the tail of her braid and tied it tightly. “I guess you could say that. But what there was of it was…” Her eyes flew to meet Tilly’s knowing look. “I didn’t know a woman could feel such things,” she said quietly. “No one ever told me what to expect, and J.T. kinda had to play it by ear.”

  “I should’ve talked to you, I suppose,” Tilly said with a sigh. “But, I kinda figured J.T. would take good care.” Her gaze sharpened on Chloe’s face and her words were harsh. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

  “I still don’t know a whole lot about being married,” Chloe admitted, “but if the rest of it’s as—” She broke off, and felt a blush stain her cheeks. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, should I?”

  “I don’t know why not,” Tilly said amiably. “I’m probably as close to a mother as you’re gonna get at this stage of the game.” She turned back to the stove and lifted the lid to check the fire, then turned the damper a bit. “Might as well fix us a pan of cinnamon rolls for when those men come back,” she decided. “They oughta have time to rise before dawn.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to face Chloe.

  “And then we’re gonna sit down and talk a little bit.”

  Sunup found the cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, their aroma filling the kitchen. Chloe tramped to the back door again, stepping out on the porch this time, peering toward the north where the men would most likely come from.

  “You’re not gonna get ’em here any sooner straining your eyes thataway,” Tilly said from the kitchen table. “Come on in here and have a roll. It’ll make you feel better.” With an unmistakable sound, her chair was shoved across the kitchen floor, and Chloe turned to watch as her aunt slapped an enormous skillet atop the range.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, casting one last look over her shoulder as she pulled open the screen door.

  “Making a panful of sausage and gravy. Those men will be hungry when they show up here. Why don’t you come on and mix up a batch of biscuits. Keep yourself busy.”

  Tilly was right, Chloe decided as she gently kneaded the biscuit dough, then patted it into a rectangle that covered the end of the table. With a table knife she quickly cut it into squares and transferred them to greased pans. She was better off venting her spleen on work than fretting and marching around the kitchen on her sore foot.

  Already, her toes had begun to bruise from her episode with the rug in the hallway, and she could only hope her foot would slide into her boot. Opening the oven door, she slid the pans inside. “I hate not being in the middle of things, Aunt Tilly. I’m not sure telling God and everybody else that was here, right smack in the middle of that ceremony, that I’d obey J.T. was the smartest thing I could have done.”

  Tilly laughed at her grumbling, a hearty sound that must have reached through the open window and past the porch. Within seconds a voice boomed out, and even as Chloe watched, Tilly’s cheeks bloomed with pink color.

  “What’s so funny in there? I’ve been called out of bed and hauled clear across the range to hunt down some low-life, and you women are havin’ a party.” A horse neighed loudly and Chloe bent to look out the side window, just in time to see Micah Dawson’s form ride past.

  “The town constable’s here,” she announced, and eyed Tilly’s rosy complexion. “Not that you care.”

  “Always glad to have a man of the law drop by. Kinda like having a man of the cloth do the same,” Tilly said jauntily. “Don’t get sassy,” she warned Chloe. “You always want to treat the constable nicely. You never know when you might need his help.”

  Micah stood before the screen door and peered into the kitchen. “You ladies must’ve been up since before breakfast,” he surmised, “or else you hired a new housekeeper and she spent half the night bakin’ cinnamon rolls.” He grasped the doorknob and wiped his feet carelessly on the rug provided. “Don’t suppose you’ve got coffee to go with those.”

  “Depends,” Tilly answered with a grin. “You catch those rustlers?”

  “Hell, no,” Micah grunted. “They’re probably headin’ due south. They got a bunch from Hale Winters, too. He sent a man into town to get me. Woke me out of a sound sleep.” He pulled a chair from the table and settled into it. “I think we’ve got somebody on the inside makin’ it easy for this gang.”

  His quick look at Chloe apparently caught her gasp of surprise, and his brows lowered as he sought to reassure her. “Not your brother, honey. At least not from the beginning. I’m lookin’ at Corky myself. But then, J.T. may have other ideas. But I’ve felt all along that that fella’s too smooth talkin’ for a cowhand. He just don’t hit me right.”

  “You don’t think that Pete was involved?” Her voice lifted hopefully as Chloe scooted a chair closer to Micah and perched on its edge. “We couldn’t remember when he disappeared last night from the dancing. But I’m willing to bet my last dollar that J.T.’s convinced there’s a connection.”

  Micah lifted a big hand to clasp Chloe’s fingers. “Honey, your brother’s not bright enough to set this sort of an operation in motion. Now, I’m not sayin’ he’s not a part of it, but I’ll warrant these fellas are old hands at the snatch-and-run game.”

  He looked up as Tilly placed a mug of steaming coffee before him, and Chloe thought his eyes twinkled in a new way as he murmured his thanks. He bent to look past Tilly to where the pans of rolls rested on top of the warming ovens. “You don’t suppose I could snitch one of those, do you?”

  Tilly handed him a plate and knife. “Cut yourself one, Dawson, and you’d better make it quick. If I’m not mistaken, I just heard voices from beyond the corral.”

  “Well, hell’s bells,” he growled. “Guess I’m not meant to have any breakfast, am I?” With a quick sip of his coffee, he stood, striding to the door with agile movements Chloe thought were remarkable for a man of his years. “You gonna save me one of those?” he asked Tilly, and at her nod of agreement, he stepped onto the porch.

  “I think we’ve got trouble,” he said, his voice carrying to the kitchen. Chloe rose and followed to stand beside him. The sun had moved to hover over the treetops while they waited, and in its light, a string of horsemen rode past the corral and to the front of the barn. Three men she didn’t recognize rode with Hale Winters, and they dismounted and wrapped their horses’ reins around the hitching post, then, as a body, strode across the yard to join Micah as he left the porch.

  Tired, sweaty and madder than a hornet just about summed up their condition if Chloe was any judge. As were her own men. From the first to the last, they slid from weary mounts and her eyes sought J.T., who’d brought up the rear, leading a horse that carried a burden across the saddle.

  The animals were led into the barn, and men’s voices carried to the house, but J.T.’s was noticeably silent. She watched as he dismounted and grasped the reins of his stallion and the mount he’d led. As the bay turned to pass through the door, she caught a glimpse of sandy-colored hair topping the head of the man who was draped over its saddle.

  It’s not Pete. The thought flashed through her mind and a surging sense of relief propelled her from th
e porch and across the yard.

  “J.T.?” Her voice followed him into the barn, and she watched as he glanced over his shoulder and then lent his strength to lowering the unconscious man to the barn floor. Chloe was almost at the doorway when J.T.’s words halted her in her tracks.

  “Don’t come in here, Chloe.”

  Lowery stalked toward her and, had she not known she was safe in his presence, she might have flinched from the anger that set his jaw. “You don’t need to be out here, Miss Chloe. We’ll be haulin’ Corky there to town for Dr. Whitaker to fix up. Seems like a lot of mercy to waste on a fella who’d sell us out that way.” He grasped Chloe’s arm as she would have moved past him, and she looked up into blue eyes that had taken on the look of tempered steel.

  “Don’t be pushin’ J.T. right now, ma’am. He’s fumin’ to beat the band.” His hand refused to release her and she set her jaw.

  “What happened to Corky?” she asked, her eyes focusing on the long fingers holding her captive.

  “J.T. beat the daylights out of him,” Lowery muttered. “We caught up with him just as he cleared the boundary to the north, tryin’ to catch up with the men he was workin’ with.” He glanced back into the barn, where J.T. was rubbing down his stallion with a dry sack. “The boss was on him like flies on honey. Took two of us to drag him off.”

  “Corky’s a big man, bigger than J.T. even,” Chloe said. “I’d have thought he could hold his own.”

  “Didn’t stand a chance once he opened his mouth. Made a choice remark about you right off the bat, and that was all it took.”

  “About me?” Chloe was stunned. She’d only ever treated the men with respect, and though Corky was the last man hired and, therefore, caught the brunt of teasing, she’d thought he was satisfied to work the Double B. “I’ve never done anything to him,” she protested, her gaze focusing on J.T.’s wide hands as they stripped the saddle from Corky’s horse.

  “Nah, it wasn’t you. He was just mad cause he’d managed to get caught,” Lowery told her, drawing her with him as he headed for Micah and the men gathered around him. Words were flying as Micah asked questions, and Hale Winters provided the answers he sought.

  “One of my men got shot up when he set off chasing them. He’s in town now at Doc Whitaker’s place.”

  “Will he live?” Micah asked.

  “Looks like it,” Hale answered. “Caught two bullets in his leg, but we got the bleeding under control before we sent him off.” Lifting his hat from his head, he slapped it against his thigh and his words were harsh. “They’d better line up a judge to sit in the courtroom, ’cause we’re gonna get this gang.”

  Micah nodded toward the barn where J.T. stood in the doorway, pulling off his gloves and tucking them in his back pocket. “What happened out there?”

  With a quick look in Chloe’s direction Hale hesitated, then chose his words carefully. “J.T. lassoed Corky from his horse just as he got past the northern boundary of Miss Chloe’s land. The fool shot off his mouth, cursin’ and carryin’ on, and then spoke unkindly about J.T.’s bride.” His mouth twisted wryly. “He won’t be talkin’ much for a while. I think J.T. broke his jaw with the first punch. Corky got in a few jabs, but he’s still out like a light.”

  “Well, the fool deserved whatever he got.” Micah’s eyes softened as he looked at Chloe. “These ladies have got a pot of coffee ready, and Tilly’s got food on the stove.”

  “I’ll go help Tilly,” Chloe offered as J.T. approached the house, his gaze fastened on her. Facing him in front of almost a dozen men was not her first choice this morning, and she retreated quickly. The biscuits were out of the oven and Tilly had begun breaking eggs into a bowl while butter sizzled in the second large skillet.

  “They’re all hungry,” Chloe told her.

  “I figured as much. We’ll have scrambled eggs in ten minutes and the sausage gravy is ready now.” She looked over her shoulder at the table they’d lengthened with a pair of leaves from the pantry. “Think there’s enough room for all of them?”

  “They can take their plates out on the porch if we overflow,” Chloe said, carrying plates from the buffet and shuffling them the length of the long table. “I think they’ll all fit, though. They can use the dining room chairs.”

  “Don’t let them past the kitchen with their filthy boots,” Tilly warned her. “Keep the mess in one place.”

  They managed to eat, elbow to elbow. Tilly emptied the gravy into her largest bowl, then set about making another batch. The cinnamon rolls were eaten and exclaimed over, and Micah found himself the possessor of the largest one, handed to him separately as he leaned back in his chair. “I believe I just may move my bedroll into your bunkhouse, J.T.,” he drawled, licking icing from his fingers. “If this is the kind of cookin’ you’re enjoyin’ here every day, I wouldn’t mind workin’ for you.”

  “Well, we’ll be on the lookout for another ranch hand,” J.T. said dryly, the first words Chloe had heard pass his lips since he’d entered the house. She poured a second cup of coffee, leaning past him, and his hooded eyes flickered over her face.

  “You all right?” he asked, the words so softly spoken they reached only her ear as she bent close.

  Her head nodded briefly, but she felt the flush climb her cheeks as his hand left his lap to touch her, fingers brushing against her pants leg as if he would reassure her of his concern. “Are you?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze. The hand holding his fork was bruised, the knuckles skinned, and she bit her lip, her curiosity at a peak. “Can we talk, later?”

  His nod was brief, and he lifted the fork to his lips, where dried blood edged the corner of his mouth. The signs of a battle were there, and she felt the residue of anger pulsing from his hunched shoulders and taut posture. The knowledge that this man was capable of protecting her and the ranch they shared was an assumption she’d made from the first. And his behavior now only reinforced her faith in him.

  An outpouring of emotion gripped her, and she turned away to settle the coffeepot back on the stove. The affection she’d felt, the attraction to the man she’d taken as her husband was magnified at this moment to an extent beyond belief. If what she felt toward the man behind her could be described as love, she wasn’t sure she was ready for it. Even now, she was swamped by heady sensations that were guaranteed to throw her life out of kilter.

  “Good food, Miss Tilly,” Tom said respectfully. Shoving his chair from the table, he rose and nodded his thanks, as Chloe turned to watch him walk toward the back door. “I’ll hitch the wagon and haul Corky to town, boss,” he told J.T. “Will we be heading back out today?”

  “I want those steers brought closer to the pastures,” J.T. told him. “It’ll take a couple of days to handle it, but we can’t afford to lose any more stock. Damn, we’d be better off to sell them at a loss than lose another bunch.”

  “I figure they got over a hundred of mine,” Hale said gloomily. “I’d like to have got my hands on that fella out there in the barn myself.”

  From the yard, Tom’s voice called out a summons. “One of you in there come give me a hand. Corky’s doin’ his best to get on a horse out here.”

  As one, J.T. and Hale rose, and Micah spoke quietly, but forcefully, as the two men broke for the door. “You get back here, the both of you. Shorty, go on out and see what needs to be done. We don’t need any more bloodshed today.”

  J.T. hesitated, but another long look from the lawman apparently convinced him of the wisdom being dealt in his direction and he returned to his chair. Within minutes, they heard the unmistakable sound of the wagon rolling from the yard. “Tied him up and tossed him in the back,” Shorty said from the doorway. “Thought he’d have better sense than to try gettin’ away. Stupid fool couldn’t even toss a saddle on the back of his horse. Don’t know what made him think he’d be able to ride out of here.”

  “Well, I’m headin’ back to town,” Micah said. “I’ll send a wire to every place south of here, tell them to be on
the lookout for anything with your brands on them. I’ll take my deputy and ride east and south a ways and see if we can find any more tracks.”

  “It’s probably a lost cause,” Hale said harshly. “Maybe they won’t be back anyway. This sort of thing usually happens in a quick series of hits and then they move on to greener pastures.”

  Nightfall found J.T. soaking away his aches and pains in the long tub. Installed before Chloe’s father died, it shared a room with scrub boards and copper wash boilers just off the kitchen. A pipe ran out the side of the house and drained off in a shallow ditch, eliminating the need to empty the bathwater by hand. He’d heated water on the kitchen range and carried the heavy wash boiler across the kitchen floor to fill the deep tub, then cooled it with pails of water from the pump.

  Chloe paused in the doorway, watching as he slid beneath the water. The room was unlit and she hesitated on the threshold, wanting to offer something that would ease his weary soul, yet hesitant.

  “Come on in,” he said, as if he sensed her presence behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and sat upright in the water. “Could I persuade you to wash my back?”

  “Of course. I was just wondering what I could do to make you feel better.” She bent to take the washrag and soap from his hand, and he tugged at her fingers, drawing her closer.

  “A kiss would help,” he whispered, a dry, husky sound that made her once more aware of the newly kindled emotion she’d been dealing with the whole day long. His head tilted back and his face was pale in the dim light, his eyes shadowed.

  She touched her mouth to his, and heard his murmur of pleasure as his lips opened beneath hers. The invitation was blatant and she edged her tongue between his teeth, still achingly unfamiliar with the love play he’d introduced in their bed only last night. This had probably been the longest day of her life, she decided as she knelt beside the tub, her mouth still on his.