Winning Over the Wrangler

by Linda Ford

  “And what?”

  “Everything that goes with it.” What was the point of going into details? He had nothing. She deserved everything.

  “You don’t think I deserve love?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Doesn’t everyone?” Her voice was low, challenging.

  Oh yes. He wanted to believe everyone did. Even a Duggan. “I’m just a cowboy,” he said again.

  “And I’m just a girl.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “Do you want it to be?” She continued to watch him. Even in the silvery moonlight, her gaze probed until he had no defenses.

  “Yes.” He pulled her against his shoulder again and tilted his head to rest his cheek on her satiny curls.

  She sighed. He imagined a pleased look on her face. One that would match his own.

  A fire lit in his heart, warm and bright. But he must take her home before he gave people cause to talk about her. He didn’t care what they said about him. All his life he’d been talked about. But Sybil would never bear that stigma if he had anything to do with it.

  He pulled her hand around his elbow and pressed it to his side.

  They walked up the hill and paused before the door. She turned, lifted her face to him, her invitation clear. He needed no more and caught her lips in a gentle, chaste kiss, then broke away.

  She stepped toward the door. “Good night, cowboy.”

  He grinned. “Good night, English girl.”

  Not until he reached the bunkhouse did he force the smile from his lips.

  It threatened to return the next morning even when he went to work. Eddie asked him to check all the gates, a job that gave him plenty of opportunity to watch the big house.

  Twice he saw Mercy carrying water, but he couldn’t see the back of the house until he went to the wintering pens. Then he was able to watch Sybil hanging laundry on the line. The wind billowed her dark blue skirt around her legs, puffed out her white top and pulled pins from her curls until they rioted around her head.

  He leaned back on his heels and watched.

  She emptied the basket and looked about, scanning the yard to his right.

  He waited, wondering if she’d search further. She did, until she found him.

  The distance was too great to see her expression, but he didn’t need to. His heart leaped in greeting.

  She waved.

  He waved back.

  Neither of them moved. For sure, he wasn’t going to be the first.

  Something caught Sybil’s attention and she turned toward the house, nodded, then picked up the basket, glancing again in his direction before she disappeared out of sight.

  At that moment he made up his mind. He’d ask her out for a walk this evening and tell her he loved her.

  He was ready to take the chance.

  It was midafternoon when he finished his job. “All the gates are in good repair,” he told Eddie. “What do you have for me to do now?”

  “There’s no point in starting another job this late in the day,” the rancher said. “You’re free to do whatever you like.”

  “Okay, boss.” There was only one thing he wanted to do. He’d seen Sybil leave the house half an hour ago, headed in the direction of his old campsite. It seemed to be where she liked to go to be alone...where she read and wrote.

  He washed up reasonably well, left Dawg in the barn and headed for the spot. This time it was about him and Sybil. He did not want Dawg to be part of what he had to say.

  She sat against a tree, the golden leaves a bright backdrop. More leaves danced across the ground, fluttered in the air. She distractedly brushed one from her hair, lost in concentration as she wrote furiously.

  He stood in the shadows, content to watch.

  Her hand paused. She lifted her head, listening, and then glanced about.

  He stepped forward so she wouldn’t be alarmed. “Howdy.”

  She smiled, her cheeks rosy and her blue eyes glinting. “Howdy, yourself.”

  He crossed the clearing to her side and sat down. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t planned how he’d do this. It didn’t seem right to blurt out “I love you.” Seemed something that important should be done properly. “What are you doing?”

  “Yesterday when you talked to the boys about learning to ride wild horses, I thought of another story.” She kept her head down.

  “Why are you embarrassed?”

  There was a beat of silence as she considered his question. “I suppose because my writing means so much to me.”

  “Are you going to get your stories published?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Because you’re still afraid of how people will react?” If the opinion of others mattered so much, how could he tell her how he felt? People would likely say unkind things if her name was linked to his. Would she let them influence her? He swallowed. This was harder than riding a wild horse.

  “It’s not so much that.” She paused a moment, then went on. “Being published means someone has to be willing to publish my stories.”

  “And you wonder if anyone would be?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never tried to publish fiction.”

  “Can I read your story?”

  She handed him a handful of papers.

  The story began well. Two daredevil boys with more guts than common sense decided to ride a wild mustang. He chuckled a few times as he read. He reached the end of the page and turned it over.

  But the second page didn’t seem to follow.

  He was known only as Cowboy. He never did give a last name before he rode into the sunset. He didn’t welcome any questions about his true identity. But he was the best bronc buster in the territory. A reputation well earned.

  It began when he was ten...

  This wasn’t the same story. It wasn’t about children. It was about a grown man who broke horses, a loner with no name and an ugly, but loyal, dog.

  This was his story.

  Brand stared at the pages. “Have you had other things published?” The words felt like blocks of ice on his tongue.

  “A few nonfiction articles, but not under my own name.”

  He faced her, his eyes burning. “Is this one of those you’ve had published?” He shoved the pages toward her.

  She glanced at them and gasped. “How did this get in there?”

  He jerked to his feet. “So all the questions, all the interest was merely so you could write a story about a nameless cowboy?”

  She scrambled to her feet. “No, Brand. Well, maybe at first. But—”

  “I should have known. A fancy English miss and a nameless cowboy. Of course you had to have another reason.”

  She reached for him.

  He stepped away.

  “Brand, I never sent the story to the editor. I couldn’t.”

  He slammed his hat on his head. “Well, don’t let me stop you. I’m sure it’s worth more than—” He would not say what he’d intended. Me. “I hope it earns you a lot of money.” He strode away as fast as he could. He would not run, though his muscles twitched to do so.

  “Brand, wait.” She trotted after him.

  He ignored her call and easily outdistanced her with long, hurried strides. He felt as if she’d snatched the ground from beneath his feet. All her attention had been so she could get a story. How could he trust anything he’d believed about her?

  Eddie was in front of the barn. Good. That would save him from finding the man.

  “Eddie, I have to leave.”

  “Leave? Now? Is something wrong?”

  Everything. He’d been a blind, stupid fool. “I have to go. I have my reasons.”

  “You’re sure about this? I can’t change your mind?”

 
“My mind’s made up.” Brand grabbed his saddle and strode toward his horse.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll run up to the house and get your wages.”

  Brand didn’t want to wait, but he would need the money to buy supplies. “I’ll be at the bunkhouse collecting my things.”

  Eddie opened his mouth to say something more, then thought better of it and jogged away.

  Brand finished saddling up, and whistled for Dawg. The dog wriggled in anticipation. Guess he was ready to move on, too. Brand led the horse from the barn.

  But Sybil stood in the roadway. “Brand, please.”

  He pretended not to hear. Dawg hesitated, turned toward her and whined. Brand whistled and the dog trotted after him.

  At the bunkhouse, Brand stuffed his things into his saddlebag, rolled up his bedding and left the place without a backward look.

  Eddie waited outside and counted out his wages. “I don’t know what happened, but I saw Sybil with tears streaming down her face.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Perhaps not, but there is obviously a misunderstanding that can’t be resolved if you ride away.”

  “The misunderstanding was wholly on my part.”

  “Still.”

  Brand didn’t reply.

  Eddie shook his head. “If you change your mind, you’re always welcome here.”

  “Thanks, but I won’t be back.”

  Eddie held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Brand shook the rancher’s hand, wishing he could say the same, then mounted up. Dawg followed.

  Not until he was beyond sight of the ranch did Brand stop, turn around and look back for a long time. Regret scratched through his veins. Another chapter over. Another lesson learned.

  He headed down the trail. Dawg stood looking back until Brand called him.

  * * *

  Sybil hadn’t been able to hide her tears from Eddie as she rushed to the house.

  Linette saw her as she burst through the door and dashed down the hall, hoping to reach her bedroom before she collapsed.

  “Sybil, what’s wrong?” her friend called. When she didn’t answer and continued her headlong rush, Linette hurried after her.

  Sybil turned the corner and ran into Mercy.

  “Whoa.” Mercy grabbed her arms and steadied her. She looked at Sybil, saw the gushing tears. “Sybil, what’s the matter?”

  The only sounds she could make were the sobs she fought to stifle.

  Linette wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

  Sybil shook her head. Yes, she was hurt, but how was she to explain a pain without physical cause?

  “It’s Brand, isn’t it?” Mercy sounded disgusted. “What did he do? Tell me. I’ll find him and make him pay.”

  Sybil hiccuped and again shook her head. “He...didn’t...” She swallowed back tears. “It’s all a mistake.”

  “Then tell him. Whatever it is.”

  “I can’t,” she wailed. “He left.”

  Mercy held her at arm’s length. “You mean he’s gone? Ridden away?”

  Sybil nodded.

  Linette sighed. “Eddie will be disappointed. He liked Brand.”

  “Eddie’s disappointed?” Mercy grunted. “What about Sybil?”

  Sybil broke away from them and rushed to her room, buried her face in her pillow and wept.

  Her friends followed her.

  “I’m sorry,” Linette said. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” Her footsteps tapped away down the hall. But not Mercy’s.

  Sybil wished she would go away and leave her to wallow in her misery, but instead Mercy sat beside her. “What happened?”

  Sybil sat up and wiped her eyes. “I made a foolish mistake.” She pointed at the notes about Brand.

  Mercy barely glanced at them. “So?”

  “He found these pages by accident. I meant to show him a story I had written about two little boys wanting to break wild horses. I don’t know how these papers got mixed in. How could I have been so careless?”

  “You’re saying he wasn’t happy about it? Why not? I’d think he’d be flattered.”

  Sybil kept her gaze on the pages, afraid if she looked at Mercy she’d be reduced to a fresh flood of tears. “I guess he thought I only cared about him to get more information.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, of course not!” Then her defenses deflated. “Maybe a little at first, but just to start with.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She tossed the offending papers into her drawer. “I should have never come here.” Despite her pain, she couldn’t regret knowing Brand.

  “Oh, sure. You could still be living with Cousin Celia. My lands, child, why would you leave such a nice arrangement?” Mercy mocked Aunt Celia’s voice.

  Sybil shuddered. “I can’t imagine going back. And yet I was happy enough there.”

  Her friend patted her shoulder in a motherly way. “Only because you didn’t know how much more there was to life. You ought to send that.” She tipped her head toward the drawer where Sybil had tossed the pages. “Brand’s story is really good.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Mercy tsked. “This is a new world. We don’t have to be chained by silly old rules.”

  Sybil sighed. Let Mercy think it was about rules and proper behavior, but she couldn’t send Brand’s story out without his permission. It would only verify his suspicions. She had no intention of doing that. Even if he never knew one way or the other. Pain pierced her heart like a spear. To never see him again... How would she endure it?

  “Think about it.” Mercy patted her arm and left the room.

  Sybil stared toward the pages in the drawer. Yes, her editor would love the story, but thanks to Brand, publishing it was no longer what she wanted to do. She pulled out the children’s stories she’d written and looked through them.

  She wanted to publish a children’s book in her own name.

  But did she have the courage to do so without Brand to tell her it was the right thing to do?

  She fell back on the bed. Did she even want to do it without him? She turned over to stare at the wall. His leaving had taken the sunshine from her life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Brand made breakfast, Dawg whined and paced. Breakfast didn’t require a lot of work. Brand hadn’t replenished his supplies, so beans were the only choice.

  He offered a plateful to Dawg.

  The dog sat down, stared at him and wouldn’t eat.

  “When did you get so particular?” he asked. Dawg gave him a baleful look. “You can forget about the kids feeding you. We won’t be seeing them again.” The children had started bringing table scraps to the dog.

  Dawg lay down and put his head on his paws.

  “Suit yourself.” Brand ate the beans with the same pleasure he’d get from stabbing a fork into his thigh. Why had he let himself think he could be in love? Or maybe more accurately, why did he think Sybil’s interest in him meant she loved him?

  He threw away the last of the beans, downed the rest of the coffee, dowsed the fire and saddled his horse. If he rode hard and fast he could be...

  Where?

  He swung into the saddle and headed north, away from the ranch. The particulars of where didn’t matter.

  Dawg stayed by the cold campfire.

  Brand whistled for him. Dawg pushed to his feet with a decided lack of enthusiasm and slunk toward Brand.

  He again headed north. Dawg barked. Brand turned to see that the dog had not moved. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  Dawg picked up his feet and headed south.

  “Wrong
way, pal.”

  Dawg looked over his shoulder and barked.

  It was a standoff. Brand meant to go north and Dawg meant to go south.

  “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Dawg trotted away, pausing every few feet to look back and whine.

  “Go. Go back to her.”

  Dawg yapped and took off running. The last Brand saw of him was his crooked tail disappearing down the trail.

  What did a fool dog know?

  * * *

  Sybil had cried enough tears during the night to soak her pillow and leave her eyes puffy. She rose and washed her face. No more crying. She was done with tears. Knowing Brand had been a nice experience while it lasted. Now it was time to move on. She sighed. Words were easy and intentions were fine, but she’d never forget him.

  Linette had ironing to be done so Sybil gladly stayed in the kitchen, tackling the job, while her friend sat in the front room and tended to the mending.

  The stove was hot, to heat the irons, but she barely noticed the growing warmth of the room. The mindless task allowed her thoughts to constantly follow a trail north from the ranch.

  Where had Brand gone? Where would he stop? Maybe he’d change his mind and return, give her a chance to explain. Please God, send him back. She continued ironing, knowing God could change Brand’s heart, but only if Brand didn’t hold stubbornly to his anger.

  Outside, a dog barked, the sound urgent, demanding. Dawg? She ran down the hall, straight out the front door. “Dawg!” She fell on her knees and hugged the animal. He licked her face and wriggled from his nose to the tip of his crooked tail.

  She lifted her head and looked around. There was no cowboy on the path or in front of the door. She stood and turned full circle, but still did not see Brand. “Where’s your master?”

  Mercy and Jayne stepped from Jayne’s cabin, saw Dawg with Sybil and looked around. Then they climbed the hill to join her.

  “Where is he?” Mercy asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sybil squeezed her hands together so hard they hurt. “But Dawg wouldn’t be here without him.” Her throat closed off so she had to swallow twice before she could continue. “Maybe he’s hurt.”

  Mercy shrugged. “Or maybe he sent Dawg back.”