The Courting Cowboy

by Tara Janzen

  Unlike her years buried in scholastic endeavors, ranch life had an immediacy she found exhilarating, especially with a twelve-year-old boy on the premises, and a man who was equally energetic. After ten years of lifting teacups and tomes, she found watching father and son labor with hay bales, and cattle, and horses, and fence posts refreshing. Watching from deep in her lover’s arms the sun come up across the prairie was as close to heaven as Victoria had ever been.

  She didn’t want it to end, and in her heart of hearts she knew Ty felt the same way.

  Saturday afternoon was waning toward dusk by the time they finished up their last chores. Ty sent Corey inside to help Lacey with dinner. Victoria stayed with Ty, watching from the gate as he followed a paint gelding around the corral, swinging a loop of rope in lazy circles above his head. The loop picked up in speed and in the next instant floated over the horse’s head, landing around its neck. Ty slowly approached the animal, talking in soothing tones and shortening the rope.

  “Take it easy . . . easy, and we’re gonna get along just fine. We’ll try a saddle on you first, see how you like it awhile. There’s nothing tricky about saddles, boy. Come on over here and let’s have a look at you.” He stopped next to the horse and slipped a halter on the animal’s head. Still talking softly, he led the horse partway around the corral and over to the fence, where he tied the rope to the rail next to Victoria.

  “I’d say you’re looking pretty good for being such a mean old cuss,” he said to the horse.

  Victoria silently agreed. The animal was beautiful, a creamy ivory color with markings in two shades of tan and dark brown spilled over its coat like its breed’s namesake. Remarkably, the horse’s mane and tail had the same colors running through them. The horse had been delivered on Friday by old man Harper, who was very unhappy with his latest acquisition. He’d traded a perfectly good pair of greyhound bitches for the Paint, he’d told Ty, and hadn’t gotten so much as a blanket on the damn animal, let alone a saddle or his body. He had hired Ty as his last resort, though “hired” was too formal to describe a conversation that had revolved around Harper cussing about the “mean old cuss” of a horse he’d been gypped into trading his greyhounds for, and Ty saying that he wouldn’t mind giving the horse a try. Money had eventually changed hands, sealing the deal.

  “Maybe it’s just Harper you don’t want to take up with,” Ty said, running his hand down the horse’s sleek neck. “Can’t say as I blame you for showing a little discrimination.”

  Victoria tried and failed to stifle a laugh. Ty had said as much to Harper, and after meeting the man, Victoria understood why Glen Frazer had made such an issue of Ty escorting her to the dance. If she’d had a dog, she wouldn’t have let it get in Harper’s truck either. His pickup redefined the word “rattletrap.”

  “The lady is laughing at us, Pistol,” Ty said. “What do you think of that?”

  The horse nickered and nudged his arm for another nose rubbing.

  “Yeah,” Ty said, feigning a conversation with the animal. “I’ll agree she’s pretty, but that’s no reason to let her take us for a couple of fools.”

  He reached over to where he’d put a blanket on the fence and slowly lifted it onto Pistol’s back. The horse shied away, but the rope kept him from getting very far.

  “Whoa, boy,” Ty said, running his hand over the horse’s withers. “When they’re pretty, the whole idea is to run after them, not away from them. I could teach you a few things on that score.”

  Pistol rolled his eyes and blew air through his nostrils, and Victoria laughed out loud.

  Ty grinned and kept talking about the delights of chasing after pretty women, one in particular, until Victoria’s cheeks were burning. He adjusted the blanket on Pistol’s back and reached for the saddle hanging on the fence rail.

  Victoria watched the horse shift his weight around and swish his tail. “You ought not to tell him such things, Ty,” she admonished him.

  “Why don’t you talk to him, then? You can tell him I chased you all over the county until I finally caught you in the barn.”

  Victoria laughed again, despite her burning cheeks. “I can’t tell him that. Why, he’d tell Harper, and the next thing we’d know, the whole town would be talking.”

  For the first time since he’d roped the horse, Ty was silent. He gave her a quick glance, then went back to busying himself with the saddle.

  “They’re going to be talking anyway,” he said at last. “Not much happens in Talbot that folks don’t know about.”

  He didn’t sound too happy with the fact, which made Victoria uneasy—until he spoke again.

  “You’re a fine woman, Victoria, and I have very strong feelings for you, very strong. I wouldn’t want to do anything to compromise you or your . . . uh, reputation. Other than what I’ve already done, I mean,” he added hastily. Then he went on even more hastily. “Not that I’d undo anything I’ve done. Having you here has been the best. Having you with me, just knowing you’re here, gives me the kind of peace and satisfaction a man—any man—wants to have in his life, his home . . . his heart.”

  The last words were drowned out by Ty cinching the saddle and Pistol snorting. Victoria wasn’t sure she’d heard them correctly, but if she had, Western americanus cowboyius was a far more romantic species than she’d imagined. He sounded like a man in love, like a man looking for forever and always—with her.

  He turned to her then and took a step closer. She instinctively leaned farther over the gate, without a thought in her head except that he’d come very close to saying he loved her. The knowledge was new, unexpected in its effect. The thought of true love with him made her head spin, made her heart open. When he slid his hand around her nape and opened his mouth over hers, she tried to tell him with her kiss how she felt, how much he’d given her, how much she was willing to give to him.

  Ty savored the sweetness of her response, reading into it all he wanted to hear. He’d come close, darn close, to asking her to be his wife, and she hadn’t shied away. Horses and women, he thought. He’d heard other men brag that they had a way with both, but for himself, Ty had counted only on his skill with the bigger of the two. But look at him now. The mean old cuss, Pistol, was standing pretty as a piece of pie next to him with a saddle on his back, and the women he loved was melting in his arms like honey on a hot day. Life, he thought, was looking good.

  * * *

  By Saturday night they were finishing up the exploits of Indiana Jones, whom Victoria was hard-pressed to label a scientist, though she gave him good marks for derring-do. Films had not been high on Charles’s list of preferred entertainments, but Victoria had discovered a real passion for them. She especially liked watching them with Ty and Corey. Lacey was hypnotized by the darn things, or so she said. Five minutes into the wildest adventure ever captured for the silver screen, she would be dozing off in her chair.

  “Popcorn?” Corey asked, lifting the bowl toward the couch.

  Ty and Victoria both grabbed a handful just as the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Corey jumped up and ran toward the kitchen. “Don’t miss this part, Miss Willoughby. It’s the best, the part about the snakes.”

  There were a lot of snakes in the Indiana Jones movies, and a lot of myth and history. She had had wonderful discussions with Corey after the movies, doing what her father had always done for her with books—tying together information, sifting fact from fiction. She’d promised to show Corey pictures she had of Petra, the fictional resting place of the Holy Grail in the movie, but an actual ancient city in Jordan. She was excited to share with him the Arthurian legends at the heart of the movie and the actual archaeology work being done in Somerset, the possible site of Camelot. The Crusades tied in with the movie, which brought her around to Robin Hood, which apparently was another movie they could watch.

  Education, history, science, literature. It was all so incredibly relevant to being alive on the planet. Victoria wondered how students could ever ask, �
��Why do we got to learn this?” She had never been allowed to question authority, and in this one respect, she was grateful.

  “Dad?” Corey peeked around the corner, holding the phone and covering the receiver with his hand. “It’s for you. It’s Mr. Frazer, the principal.”

  Ty groaned and rolled off the couch.

  “I just want you to know, Dad,” Corey said, still holding tightly to the phone, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything!” He hesitated, thinking for a second, then added, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

  Ty tousled the boy’s hair as he took the phone. “Glen? Ty here. What’s up?”

  Victoria’s attention was thoroughly on the movie until she heard her name.

  “Miss Willoughby? Yes, Victoria is here . . . Uh-huh . . . I see . . . Sure, just a minute.” Ty turned to her, covering the phone. “Seems there’s a man asking about you all over Talbot. Some people got kind of concerned when you weren’t at home for a few days. Gossip must not be getting around quite as quick as it used to, or they’d have all known you were out here with us. The man’s at Glen’s house now, acting very official and like he knows your business.”

  “Who?” she asked, more curious than alarmed. Ty lifted the phone back to his ear. “What’s the man’s name, Glen?” He waited a moment, then laughed, and laughed some more. When he’d gotten some of the chuckles out of his system, he wiped a corner of his eye and told her. “Jeremy Geoffrey-John James the Third.”

  Victoria sprang to her feet. “J J. is in Talbot?”

  Ty saw the surprise and the delight on her face, then the facts struck home. Jeremy Geoffrey-John James the Third had been her personal secretary. Victoria had had a man as a secretary. He found the realization disconcerting and strange. He’d never met a male secretary. He didn’t think he’d ever even heard of a male secretary.

  Glen was talking to him again, and Ty forced his attention back to the principal. He didn’t like what he heard about Mr. James insisting on seeing Victoria, and how if she would come home he would meet her at her house. Ty quickly put together the facts that it was well past sunset and the nearest hotel was over an hour and half away, and that considering the delight on Victoria’s face, it wouldn’t be at all out of the question for her to ask this Jeremy Geoffrey-John to spend the night at her house.

  Ty was not jealous. He made that very clear to himself. He had no reason to be jealous. It was obvious Victoria was in love with him even if no words had been spoken. Besides, tonight was his night to propose, and he wasn’t about to lose his chance because some ex-employee of hers happened to pop into town from who knows where for who knew why.

  “Send him on out here, Glen. You know he can’t get lost. We’ll be happy to put him up, unless he’s got someplace else he has to be.”

  No such luck. Ty hid his disappointment and kept listening to Glen Frazer.

  “Sure . . . sure.” He held the phone out for Victoria. “He’d like to talk with you.”

  Five minutes later Corey was straightening up the living room, Lacey and Victoria were changing the sheets on Ty’s bed—Ty would bunk with Corey while J.J. took his bedroom—and Ty was wondering how in the world he was going to pull off a proposal in the middle of an invasion.

  One person wasn’t an invasion, of course, but more than a person was coming to the ranch. Jeremy Geoffrey-John James the Third would be bringing memories and the past. The noble past, Ty reminded himself. A past filled with wealth, servants, and world travels, with large estates in Kent and private secretaries. And hand-me-down clothes and boring brilliance.

  He wasn’t worried, he told himself. There was no reason to worry. Victoria had said she liked her new life better. She liked the independence, which she wouldn’t lose by marrying him. He wanted an independent woman. As for her secretary, there was no real reason to worry about him. What could a male secretary possibly be like? The word “wimp” came to mind. J. J. James was probably underfed and half blind, meek and overwrought, balding and timid. He was probably coming to beg Victoria for help, maybe even money. He probably hadn’t done very well for himself since he’d lost his job. Victoria, kind soul that she was, probably felt some responsibility for her ex-employee. Truth was, though, there was very little call for male secretaries in Talbot. The man would have to go elsewhere to find work.

  Ty felt better once he’d thought things through, and he kept feeling better right up until J. J. James arrived. The secretary and Victoria shared a warm welcome at the front door while Ty, Corey, and Lacey looked on from the middle of the living room, where they had all congregated at the sound of knocking.

  “Half blind” was the only thing Ty had guessed correctly. The man’s glasses were noticeably thick. So was the hair on his head, thick and neatly cut, and of a shade to match Victoria’s. He was most definitely not underfed. Athletic muscles gave his body an easy grace, and the classic clothes he wore defined that grace as elegance. As for meek, overwrought, and timid, Ty quickly replaced those adjectives with arrogant, intelligent, and fearless—considering how close Ty was to demanding J.J. release Victoria from an overlong, overly affectionate hug, or suffer the consequences.

  “Dad?” Corey nudged him with his elbow, silently suggesting his father do something before J. J. James ran off with his science teacher.

  “Yeah, Ty,” Lacey said. She obviously agreed with Corey, but with an added need for haste in her tone, as if she were all too aware of the potential combustion point when a man and a woman were stuck together like that for too long.

  Ty got both messages loud and clear and reacted with what he thought was appropriate action. He cleared his throat.

  Corey let out a ragged sigh of disappointment and buried his face in his hands. Lacey snorted.

  Ty didn’t know what else to do. He loved Victoria, but she didn’t belong to him. He had no right to tell her who she could and could not hug. He certainly didn’t have any right to monitor the enthusiasm of her greetings. The best marriage he’d seen had been his parents’, where two people had accepted each other for what they’d been, good points and bad, which to his way of thinking had often seemed like the same points.

  If Victoria was happy to see her old secretary, who wasn’t old at all, then he had to accept her happiness and not think it showed that he meant any less to her. Logic and reason, that was a man’s way.

  “Mr. James?” He stepped forward with his hand out, very illogically and with only one reason. “I’m Ty Garrett.”

  The embrace ended in a second with introductions given all around amid handshakes and smiles. The smiles were short-lived, though.

  “I’ve come to take her back,” J.J. said after they were all seated in the living room, with coffee and cookies graciously served by Lacey. “The Willoughby Institute is struggling for its very life, and quite frankly, the board and I believe Victoria is the only one who can save it. We all know how wretched Neville can get, and he’s quite out of hand. He wants all of Charles’s assets going to Wickham. He’d like nothing better than to see the institute dismantled and done away with. His own father’s life’s work, if you can imagine.”

  Ty knew just enough about wretched Neville, Charles’s eldest son, to easily imagine J.J.’s scenario. What he didn’t know was how much of it still mattered to Victoria. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “He has to be stopped,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. “The institute was Charles’s gift to future generations. It was part of the prime directive. The last ten years of his life were dedicated to leaving behind a funded and staffed independent research facility capable of—oh, J.J.” She suddenly reached out and touched her secretary’s arm. “What about the Charles Edward Willoughby the Fourth scholarships? Did they get awarded this year?”

  At the sad shake of J.J.’s head, Victoria withdrew her hand and fell silent for a moment. When she spoke, a hint of anger colored her words.

  “To cut me off without a cent is one thing. I’ve learned to live quite comfortabl
y. But I already have the best education money can buy, and for Neville to deprive the young men and women expecting their Charles Edward Willoughby the Fourth scholarships of their chance at the same education is untenable.”

  Ty had kept his silence, watching the atmosphere change from one of delight, to curiosity and concern, to fervent crusade. He noted the satisfied smile on J.J.’s face and the gleam of righteousness in Victoria’s eye, and he put his foot right in the middle of it.

  “Now, hold on here,” he said. So help him, it was his night to propose, and he wasn’t about to lose the proposee to some overly cultured, highbrowed male secretary. “Seems to me this whole thing is a lot more complicated than it looks. If the institute has a board of directors, shouldn’t they be the ones to clear up the scholarship mess?”

  “Under normal circumstances,” J.J. said, and Victoria nodded. “But—”

  “But I’m the co-founder of the institute,” Victoria interrupted. “Charles and I worked on it together, and because my name is still Willoughby, it puts me in a unique public position that none of the other board members can take advantage of. Victoria Willoughby campaigning for the survival of the Willoughby Institute is far different from a group of unrelated men trying to save someone else’s dream. I am the dream.”

  “You have a responsibility,” J.J. chorused, and Ty liked him even less than when he’d been hugging Victoria at the door. As for the part about her name still being Willoughby, well, darn it, that was exactly the part he was trying to change.

  “My name is on the charter,” she continued, unknowingly reinforcing his point for him.

  “You’re the only one who can save the institute and the scholarships,” J.J. reiterated. “Otherwise Neville will have it all. Neville and Wickham.”