Winning Over the Wrangler

by Linda Ford

  “I’ll join you.” Mercy fell in at her side. “Unless you prefer I didn’t come along.” She nudged Sybil.

  “Now, why wouldn’t I want your company?” Except her friend was right. She’d hoped to be on her own.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you want to spend time with a certain cowboy.”

  Mercy was far too perceptive, but Sybil wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of letting her know it.

  “I wonder what Jayne’s doing,” Sybil said.

  “I expect she’s enjoying time with Seth. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “It’s nice of you to say so.” Mercy directed their steps away from the ranch house and up the hill, until they could view the road to Edendale. “It’s been a long while since we went to town. Do you think we could persuade Linette it’s time for a trip?”

  “What do you need in town? It seems the ranch has everything you could want.”

  Mercy sighed. “Not everything.” But she didn’t elaborate. She stared in the direction of Edendale and sighed again.

  Sybil recognized her friend’s restlessness. But she didn’t share it. “Let’s go back.”

  “Why? There’s nothing back there. Everyone has someone to spend the afternoon with.”

  Sybil tucked her arm around Mercy’s and pulled her close. “We have each other.” She couldn’t leave her friend alone in this mood. “Let’s walk along the river.” That was one of their favorite pastimes.

  Mercy shrugged. “We’ve done that a hundred times.”

  “So let’s do it a hundred and one.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  Sybil knew Mercy agreed only because she could think of nothing else to do. They wandered along the river for a bit.

  “This is pleasant.” Sybil pointed out the birds in the trees nearby. “They sing so nicely, don’t they?”

  Mercy shrugged. “They’re just birds.”

  They reached the bridge and saw Seth wave as he headed to the barn.

  “He’s going to do chores,” Sybil said. “Let’s go visit Jayne.”

  Mercy let herself be shepherded toward the cabin.

  “Come on in and help me arrange these flowers.” Jayne had a basket of golden gaillardia, white daisies and branches with clusters of red berries. She handed Sybil a blue pitcher and Mercy a tall red tin. She had a glass vase. “I love to brighten up the place.”

  Would the Sunday activities never end? But Sybil tucked away her impatience, chose her flowers carefully and cut the stems in various lengths. She envisioned a full, well-shaped bouquet.

  Mercy grabbed an assortment of flowers and branches and stuck them in the tin, then stepped back. “I like it wild and free like that.” She moved toward the door. “I’m going to practice my roping. I’ve got to get it down to a fine art if I’m going to catch a man that way.” She laughed merrily as she closed the door behind her.

  Sybil stared after her. “You don’t think she really means it, do you?”

  Jayne shrugged. “I can name at least two cowboys who would willingly let her rope them.” She chuckled. “Not that she’d need to.”

  “I hope she doesn’t make a foolish mistake and fall in love unwisely.” Sybil paused, then added, “I can see her seeking someone wild and untamed. Wouldn’t that make for a fine pair?”

  Jayne held a branch of red berries and considered Sybil. “You mean like Brand?”

  It was exactly what she thought, but she didn’t want to admit it to either herself or her friend.

  Jayne didn’t wait for her to answer. “He’s certainly wild and untamed, but I don’t sense any spark between him and Mercy. Not like I do with you.”

  Sybil pushed her thoughts into submission. “What do you mean? I’d never be interested in someone like him. Why, he never stays in one place.”

  “He might if he had reason enough.”

  “He’s running from something.”

  “Probably. But sooner or later, don’t people have to stop running? I had to stop running from my fears. You need to stop running from yours. So does he. There comes a time when we need to trust God for those things.”

  “Me? I’m not running. What on earth do you mean?”

  Jayne gave a tender smile. “You run—or maybe hide—from change. You think it’s the same as danger.”

  Sybil drew back, her upper lip stiff. “I left home and crossed the continent to get here. That’s a lot of change. And a lot of danger. So you are wrong. So very very wrong.”

  Jayne shrugged, her smile never fading. “Would you ever consider following a man like Brand into the wilds?”

  “No.” Her lungs clenched so, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t leave the safety of her life. Certainly not to follow a man who would surely ride away one day and leave her on her own.

  Her friend nodded, then leaned forward and caught Sybil’s arm. “Don’t be so careful you rob yourself of the very thing you seek.”

  “Of course I won’t.” She said the words automatically, not sure what Jayne thought she sought. Thankfully, Jayne didn’t ask, because Sybil couldn’t have answered honestly. Nor could she stop her errant heart from seeing Brand as the answer to the question. Brand riding a rank horse. Brand, his leg hurt, but revealing no pain. Brand building a swing to remind her of the sweetness of time with Suzette. Brand with his injured dog cradled gently in his arms. Brand sewing up the same dog, his jaw clenched as he forced himself to do something very difficult.

  “I think he’s a man a person could count on.” Jayne patted Sybil’s arm and returned her attention to arranging her flowers.

  She had voiced the very thing Sybil knew was impossible. The only thing she could count on from Brand was that he’d leave.

  She took her time finishing her own flower display. Rearranged it several times even after she was satisfied. Fussed with a dry leaf, all the while knowing she did it to keep from hurrying back to the barn to check on Dawg. And Brand.

  * * *

  She wouldn’t return. It was best if she didn’t. But every time the door opened or the floor squeaked, Brand jerked his head up. Eddie came by twice. Slim brought Brand a cup of coffee and plate of food from the cookhouse. A couple other cowboys he didn’t recall the names of stopped at the gate and grunted when Dawg growled at them.

  Brand waited until they left to scold Dawg. “You gotta stop scaring everyone away.” Guess it was Brand’s fault the dog did so. He’d kind of encouraged it. Made it easier to move on if he kept everyone ten feet away.

  The door opened and he knew it was Sybil even before Dawg whined in anticipation. Brand’s heart took off in a wild leap, like a horse bucking. His nerves tingled. All because her quiet entrance informed him of her presence.

  In the few seconds it took for her to reach the pen, he gave himself a serious scolding. Letting anyone get close to him put them in jeopardy. He would disappear into the wilds before he brought any danger to Miss Sybil. He needed to—

  But before he could decide what it was he ought to do, Sybil cracked open the gate and stepped inside.

  “How’s he doing?” She nodded toward Dawg.

  Dawg opened his eyes, but didn’t lift his head.

  Sybil sank down at the dog’s side. “Cookie gave me some beef broth. It will give Dawg strength.” She gently lifted his head and held the tin bowl to his muzzle.

  Dawg whined a protest.

  “Come on, try it. You’ll like it. It will help you.”

  Brand figured Dawg lapped at the liquid simply to please Sybil. But four laps was all he managed.

  Sybil lowered his head. “Good boy.” She stroked him. “You’re doing just fine.” She leaned back against the wall next to Brand, where he sat with his knees drawn up. “How are you doing?”

 
“Me?” He almost jolted at her question. “I’m not the one hurt.”

  “But he’s your dog. I know how fond you are of him.”

  “He’ll survive.”

  “You’re right. He’s tough.”

  Brand chuckled, though he felt no mirth. “He’s mean. Too mean to die.”

  She patted his hand where he pressed it to his knee. “You’re talking like that because it hurts to think of him injured.”

  Brand stiffened. Did she have any idea how her touch flooded his insides with warmth and something sweet as honey on fresh bread? But he must resist such notions. “Says who?”

  She squeezed his hand, an action that likewise squeezed his heart until he grew light-headed. “If you didn’t care you wouldn’t have come back and sewed him up yourself.”

  “A man has to take care of his beasts.” No way would he admit to deeper feelings. He was Brand. A nameless, homeless cowboy who never showed a speck of emotion. He must maintain the illusion.

  She laughed, the sound dancing through him. “You’re more than you want people to see.”

  The truth of her words melted his resolve. How he longed to be more than he could allow. But it was impossible. Nothing would change the fact he was a Duggan.

  Female voices came down the aisle.

  Sybil glanced up. “That’s Jayne and Mercy.”

  When two women peered over the gate of the pen, Sybil introduced Jayne.

  “I heard about your misfortune,” Jayne said. “So sorry.”

  “You’d be the other young lady who recently came from England.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Mercy gave a teasing grin. “She’s already married, though she had to shoot Seth to catch him.”

  “Mercy, at least tell the truth.” Sybil’s voice held shock. “I can’t get over how you make things seem other than what they are.”

  Brand swallowed the accusation. Wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? She’d be just as shocked to learn the truth he hid.

  Mercy wrinkled her nose. “It is the truth, isn’t it, Jayne?”

  “It’s sort of true,” Jayne confessed. She fixed Brand with her confident smile. “I did shoot him, though it was an accident.”

  Brand chuckled. “I think the three of you might put all the young men in the area at risk.”

  Mercy grinned. “I’d never shoot a man to catch him, but I might rope him.” She swung her arm to illustrate. “I’ve been practicing.”

  Sybil sighed. “Have you got someone in mind?”

  Her friend appeared to study the question. “I’ve got it under consideration,” she finally said.

  “I would never stoop to such things.” Sybil’s voice was filled with caution. “I’m content to let God do the work for me.”

  Well, that left Brand out—if he’d ever considered he was in. God would not be working out anything, not even an accidental shooting, or a roping. He grinned at his foolish thoughts.

  “Sometimes God expects us to do a little work ourselves,” Mercy replied.

  “Well, I’ve no intention of shooting a man nor of roping him.”

  Mercy and Jayne both considered Sybil with determination in their eyes. She shifted and studied a board at the bottom of the gate as if it held important information.

  The two other women turned to each other.

  “There are equally effective, gentler ways, don’t you think?” Jayne said.

  “Oh, indeed. Some men are best caught by kindness. You know—” Mercy tipped her head toward the dog “—like helping out in a tough situation.”

  Sybil bolted to her feet, her cheeks red enough to ignite the hay on the floor. “I’m only...” She lifted her skirts and prepared to depart. But she hesitated at the last moment, as if reconsidering. “I’ll be back to check on Dawg.”

  She accompanied the others down the aisle.

  Brand chuckled softly. Seems her friends thought she might be a little interested in him.

  He let the notion flit about in his head like a sun-struck bird, then shot it down.

  Even if he hadn’t been a Duggan, he had nothing to offer a fine woman like Sybil.

  “You and me will do just fine together,” he told Dawg, who fluttered his eyelids in acknowledgment. Or was it in disagreement? Dawg had made it clear he didn’t want to leave the ranch. In fact, if it wasn’t so far-fetched, Brand might think Dawg had challenged the cougar so they would be forced to return.

  His dog wasn’t that stupid.

  And Brand wasn’t dumb enough, nor reckless enough, to consider staying.

  Chapter Nine

  The next few days fell into a sort of pattern. Brand stayed at Dawg’s side at night. During the day, he worked on the few horses left to break. If not for Dawg, Brand would have joined the other cowboys at the cookhouse for his meals. Or so he told himself. And tried to believe it.

  Well, he might have if it wasn’t his habit to stay away from human company as much as possible.

  And—he tried to ignore the real reason—if Sybil didn’t bring him supper most nights.

  He was seven kinds of stupid for looking forward to her visits. Ten kinds of reckless. Should Pa or Cyrus learn of his friendship with her—

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  But how often did he scan the horizon, searching for any sign of them? Or listen in the hours just before dark for a familiar sound?

  Each time he saw nothing, and heard nothing, he let his breath out slowly. Maybe this time they had decided to let him go.

  He shook his head. He dare not hope.

  The other cowboys had eaten and left the cookhouse. Eddie and Grady had disappeared inside the house some time ago. Brand waited at Dawg’s side, hoping against all reason that Sybil would bring him a meal.

  The time passed with all the reluctance of a winter sunrise. Maddeningly slow. Twice footsteps thudded toward the barn, but he knew they weren’t hers. Too heavy. He pulled in a breath and held it, sucking back disappointment that some cowboy headed his way with a piled-high plate.

  But the footsteps retreated without any offerings, and despite the growing pangs, he heaved a sigh that the cowboy didn’t make it to the pen where he sat with Dawg.

  And then soft footsteps approached and his heart rate picked up like a racing horse.

  She stood at the pen with a plate of hot food. “Sorry I took so long. Grady was upset, because he wants a dog of his own and Eddie hasn’t been able to find one, so I promised to make up a story for him.”

  “Wasn’t counting the hours.” Just the minutes. Brand took the plate. “Thanks.” He tried to concentrate on only the food, but how could he when Sybil sat so close, her fingers stroking Dawg’s head? And how could he envy the animal? It wasn’t as if he wanted to be all tore up and sewn back together. Though he suspected when he left, his heart would feel exactly like it had been ripped by cougar claws.

  Not that the knowledge should slow his departure. The sooner he left, the better. Only Dawg’s injuries kept him here. If he told himself that often enough, he might actually believe it.

  Sure, Dawg needed a few days to heal, but that wasn’t the main reason he stayed.

  Something else bounced around in his head. A welcome diversion to the insistence of his brain that he should be planning to leave. “You make up stories?”

  She studied him, her eyes wide. “Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you?”

  “Can’t say I do.” Sure, he sometimes thought of how things might be different. But that was as far as he got. “What sort of story did you make up for Grady?”

  She looked away, pink staining her cheeks. “Just a silly little boy’s story. It was nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Slowly, her gaze returned to his. “You’ll think me f
oolish.”

  “I doubt it. Tell me.” He longed to hear her story, hear her voice, enter into her imaginations. He’d love to take a story with him to warm his winter nights.

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “Not unless it’s funny.”

  “Once upon a time,” she began, her eyes darkening to deepest blue as she held him in her unblinking gaze, “there was a little boy, a big dog and a bird. They lived in a world full of flowers and mountains and rivers.”

  She spun a tale of a boy who did heroic things, a dog with extraordinary powers and a bird who talked. They encountered challenges. The bird insisted they must obey God even when it was hard. They solved their problems, overcame obstacles, all while helping each other and those around them, and never telling a lie.

  “And the boy climbed to the dog’s back, the bird perched on his shoulder and they rode into the mountains, where they would encounter more adventures. The end.”

  Brand blinked. “That was wonderful.” His food had grown cold as he listened, and he hurriedly cleaned the plate. “Have you ever considered writing the story down for others? Why, you could probably make a children’s book.”

  Her cheeks darkened. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? This is a story that both entertains and teaches. It’s not the first you’ve told, is it?”

  She shook her head. “I guess I have a vivid imagination.”

  “Why not share it?”

  “No one will publish stories written by a woman.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound right. Who told you that?”

  “An editor.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, fluttering in her lap like trapped birds. “He laughed me right out of the office. Besides, my parents wouldn’t approve. They said a lady’s name should not be public.” She brought her gaze to Brand’s. “Doesn’t God command us to honor our parents?”

  His throat tightened at the way her eyes filled with darkness. She wanted this so badly it hurt, but she feared rejection. He caught her fluttering hands. “Things aren’t always so easy and simple. Yes, we do well to obey God’s rules, but when it comes to man-made rules, they aren’t always in our best interests.” In Brand’s case, obeying his father would be to break God’s law.