The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride

by Debra Cowan

  “He didn’t pay me much mind until Tom died.” And he had certainly never made her feel halfway dizzy the way Gideon just had with only a look. “Do you think he might be behind this?”

  “I’m considerin’ the possibility. He wants you.”

  “Well, it isn’t mutual,” she said hotly. The idea made her shudder.

  Gideon turned and stepped off the porch, kneeling near the hitching post.

  Ivy followed him outside. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking his horse’s tracks.”

  So if he saw them again, he would recognize them, she realized. She should do the same. She moved behind him and to his other side. He wore his hat now, drawing her attention to the nape of his corded neck. Skirts brushing against his shoulder, she bent over to study the hoofprints, too.

  “Is there anything distinctive about them?” she asked.

  He pointed to the impressions in the mud. “His mount lists to the right. Like she has one front leg shorter than the other.”

  Too aware of the way his powerful thigh muscles pulled his trousers taut, she forced herself to look at what he was showing her.

  When he half turned to study the stage driver’s boot prints, she did the same.

  “I can’t tell anything about them,” she said.

  “Yeah, they’re just scuff marks in the dirt. I plan to keep an eye out for him. If something happens tonight, we’ll have some tracks to compare, and maybe we can start to figure out who’s doing these things.”

  She nodded.

  His gaze trailed over her almost impersonally, as if he were checking to make sure she was all right. He tipped his hat. “If you need me, I’ll be around the barn doing chores.”

  Conrad’s visit had almost made her forget what had happened at lunch with Gideon. The way she’d ambushed him with all those questions.

  “Do you want more coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “All right.” She watched him walk away, taking in the broad line of his shoulders. The way they narrowed to his lean hips.

  The reason he wasn’t coming back inside was probably because she’d opened old wounds with her questions. The information was a curiosity to her, but it was his life, his past. A clearly painful past he didn’t want to share.

  That was fine. Gideon Black could keep his secrets. And she would keep hers.

  * * *

  Now Ivy knew he’d done murder. Once she’d had time to absorb that he had killed a man, he’d see the familiar revulsion and wariness in her eyes that he saw in everyone’s, except Smith’s and Smith’s parents.

  Gideon eased out a breath. He didn’t like her stirring up the past, and he wasn’t having it. He would never tell her about the man he’d killed or the woman he’d killed for.

  He was living here, so she might deserve to know a few things, but she had no right to get inside his head. Inside him.

  She hadn’t liked that he wouldn’t answer every question she asked, especially about Smith. Too bad. There was no way he was telling her that he had saved her brother’s life after fighting off five men who were beating the hell out of him. He also wasn’t giving up to her how Smith had saved him after Gideon had been jumped and strung up by the neck in his own cell. And she wouldn’t be learning that he had other scars he’d gotten before going to prison.

  Ivy didn’t need to know any of that.

  He didn’t intend to answer any more questions. If she didn’t like it, she could send him packing. Or try. He wasn’t leaving until he figured out what was going on. Regardless of what Ivy did, he wouldn’t let Smith down. And he didn’t have to be her friend in order to protect her.

  He could do what needed to be done without taking his meals with her, although it would be difficult to walk away from good food after years of prison slop. Still, he’d done harder things.

  He’d keep to himself as much as possible. He was used to solitude. It was what he knew and understood. What he wanted.

  If Ivy had told Gideon before lunch that a man might be causing trouble on her farm in hopes that she would turn to him in her time of need, Gideon would’ve thought the idea was far-fetched. But after seeing Conrad with her, Gideon couldn’t dismiss the idea, no matter how downright addled it was.

  He hadn’t cared for the man’s manner at all, especially hadn’t liked how often he touched Ivy. Because of their business dealings, he understood why she hadn’t run the guy off her property at gunpoint, but that didn’t mean Gideon wouldn’t if he had cause.

  After replacing a cheek billet on a bridle then a worn cinch, he strode out of the barn and across the backyard in search of Ivy. When he didn’t find her at the garden or the chicken house, he circled around to the front porch.

  He knocked on the door. “Miss Ivy?”

  “Yes.”

  Gideon shaded his eyes to see inside, but she wasn’t in the front room.

  “What is it?”

  He opened the door and poked his head in. Still no sign of her. “I thought I’d look for your dog and also see if I could find anything that might help me figure out what happened to your missing chickens.”

  “I thought I might look again, too.”

  He turned toward her voice, coming from his left. Her bedroom. “Does Tug have a favorite spot?”

  “There’s a place on the river that runs through the woods beyond the back pasture.” She stepped into the large front room. His pulse jumped. It took his brain a second to register what he saw.

  Hell for breakfast.

  Ivy was wearing trousers. Ill-fitting and too large, but definitely trousers.

  A plain white blouse was tucked into dark pants that were cinched tight at her tiny waist. Though the pants weren’t tight, they shadowed the slender line of her thighs, the hint of her calves. Despite her petite frame, she was perfectly proportioned and all woman.

  He clamped his jaw tight to keep it from dropping.

  She must have noted his astonishment because she stopped in the middle of the room, angling her chin at him. “What? I’m not wearing a blasted skirt to look for my dog. The grass is wet, and that will weigh me down. Besides, we might have to go through some brush.”

  “Makes sense.” He had no problem with her wearing a garment that showed so much of her shape, though he was glad no other man was around to see her. “I’ve just never seen a woman in pants.”

  “Well, now you have.”

  Oh, yeah. And he liked it. But as much as he enjoyed the front view, he nearly swallowed his teeth when she turned away and he got a look at her backside outlined perfectly in the loosely fitted garment. His mouth went dry.

  “Let’s go out the back door,” she said.

  Unable to take his eyes off her, he followed her like a half-wit across the front room and down the hall. His gaze slid over her narrow shoulders, the sleek curve of her waist, and lingered on her hips. The urge to touch had him curling his hands into fists.

  How was he supposed to focus on anything when he was faced with that view?

  After plucking a wide flat-brimmed hat from a peg on the wall, she settled it on her head as she pushed through the back door. She started for the fence, and Gideon lengthened his stride to catch up to her. They headed toward the river he’d only seen from a distance.

  Bright sunlight and a clear sky gave no hint of last night’s storm. The ground was springy from the recent rain. The air was fresh and cool, filled with the smells of mud and grass and animals.

  He and Ivy called out several times for the dog. Branches and limbs were scattered across the pasture. There was no sign of Tug or the chickens.

  They topped a small rise, and Gideon saw the glitter of water through the trees ahead and to the left.

  Ivy gestured toward the spot. “This is the Kiamichi River.”r />
  “Little River is the one outside Paladin, isn’t it? Where the gristmill operates?”

  “Yes.” Her soft floral scent drifted on the air.

  During their few minutes of brisk walking through the damp grass, Gideon found his gaze on her more than he liked. Finally, they reached the river. The bank sloped gently to the water, slightly cloudy from being stirred up by last night’s rain. The river bottom was lined with flat rocks of all sizes.

  The cattle and horses had kept the alfalfa grazed near the ground. Here and downstream, mature pecan trees and oaks spread wide canopies of shade. Farther upstream, where the channel narrowed, limbs tangled and arced over the water, hanging so low it would be difficult to guide a canoe through without getting smacked in the face.

  Ivy pointed to a thick, scarred oak several feet away. “That tree has been here forever. There’s a hollow on the other side, and Tug likes to chase squirrels into it.”

  As they made their way over to it, Ivy called out, “Tug! Here, boy!”

  Birds flew out of the trees, and squirrels scurried across the branches.

  Gideon’s gaze panned the area as they neared the tree. Ivy tromped ahead through ankle-high grass and stopped on the opposite side of the oak.

  “Oh, Tug.” She braced one hand on the tree, her eyes troubled as they met Gideon’s.

  He closed the distance between them, then ducked his head to look inside the hollow.

  A large dog with dark, matted fur lay curled on its side, rigid and lifeless.

  Ivy knelt, touching the animal’s stiff body. “This is why he didn’t come home.”

  Her voice quivered, and tears slid down her cheeks.

  The pain in her voice lashed at him. She choked out a sob then another. And another. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a pet so he didn’t know how it felt to lose one, but he did know how it felt to be alone. She’d lost her husband and now her dog.

  She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  Gideon’s heart squeezed. Finally, tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

  She flinched, and he quickly drew back.

  After a moment, she straightened, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  For crying or for jumping like he’d taken a branding iron to her? “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “You startled me.”

  Gideon heard a faint whine and looked down at the dog.

  Leaning in for a closer look, he saw a pup nestled in the circle of Tug’s curled legs. “There’s a puppy.”

  “Oh, my.” Still on her knees, Ivy leaned in and carefully picked it up. “It’s so tiny.”

  “Looks like Tug was protecting it.” The whelp would fit comfortably in Gideon’s palm. Its coat, a mottle of black, brown and gray, was matted.

  Ivy looked up, eyes still wet from her tears. “Maybe you were right about him finding a lady friend at some point and this is his pup?”

  “Maybe so.” Gideon went to his haunches, pointing at the animal. “Or maybe he didn’t come home because he was hurt. His right back leg is at an odd angle.”

  “No. That was broken the night Tom—” She stopped. “That was broken a while back.”

  What had she been about to say? Maybe that Tug’s leg had been broken the night her husband died? Gideon could see how that would be a painful memory.

  “Was he in the wagon with your husband and thrown out, too?”

  “No,” she said tersely.

  He could’ve sworn he saw guilt flash across her delicate features, but he must have read that wrong. Why would she feel guilty about a dog’s broken leg?

  She didn’t seem inclined to give details, and he wondered why not.

  The pup whimpered, and its eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Ivy gently examined the animal. “It’s a female. Do you see any more pups?”

  Gideon stood and searched the nearby area. “No. Don’t see a mother, either.” He returned, noticing the sharp points on the pup’s ears. “This baby is half wolf.”

  Ivy glanced around. “If the mother were alive, she would be taking care of the pup. Something must’ve happened to her, too. Maybe that’s why Tug has the pup.”

  “Maybe.”

  Ivy rose, lifting the pup to eye level. “See the black stripe up the middle of her muzzle? Tug has one just like it. I think he sired this pup. She looks like she might not make it.”

  “If we get some food in her, she might surprise us.”

  Ivy’s gaze shifted to the adult canine. “I want to bury him near the house. I’ll bring the wagon down later to get him.”

  “I can carry him back right now.”

  “Would you?” The relief and gratitude on her face did something strange to Gideon’s insides.

  Going down on one knee, he leaned in and gently pulled the dog from the hollow. A few minutes later, he had the big animal in his arms and was walking with Ivy back through the pasture to the house.

  “Do you think someone killed him?” she asked quietly.

  He figured she had been wondering that since they’d spotted the dog. He had, too. Now that he had the animal in full sunlight, he could see blood on his coat along with the mud. And a knife wound just like the one he’d found on the dead horse.

  Anger blazed inside him. “He has a stab wound in his neck.”

  “It’s likely that the same person killed Tug and the horse.”

  He nodded.

  Ivy’s throat worked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you think Tug died trying to protect the pup?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Who would do this to my dog? Why?”

  Gideon wanted to know, too. Thanks to the rain, there were no signs of who might’ve killed the animal.

  Ivy glanced over at her lifeless pet, saying wistfully, “Tug was the runt of the litter, but he didn’t stay that way, as you can see.”

  The dog was huge. And heavy. “What breed is he?”

  “I don’t know. Just a mix.”

  He could see stark pain in her midnight eyes. “How long did you have him?”

  “From the time Tom and I married.”

  The animal had been with her through her entire marriage. And her husband’s death. Now she had another loss to deal with. Gideon didn’t know anything about relationships of that duration. Smith was his longest association, and that added up to a sum total of two years.

  They stopped at a grouping of mature pecan trees where Ivy said she wanted to bury the dog. When she started to go for a shovel, Gideon stopped her.

  “I’ll do it.” He wasn’t letting her dig dirt or bury her animal.

  In short order, the dog was resting in the soft ground. Ivy still held the pup, staring down at the fresh grave with a broken look on her face.

  Gideon felt as if he were intruding. “I’ll feed the pup if you want to take some time here.”

  “Thank you.” She carefully handed over the little female.

  “Milk in the pitcher?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Grasping the shovel in his free hand, he started past her.

  Ivy touched his arm. “Thank you for carrying Tug and for putting him to rest.”

  “You’re welcome.” He left her with her pet and her memories.

  Once, he glanced back. She sat next to the grave, her head bowed. She looked slight. And alone. Gideon wanted to return to her. And do what? he jeered at himself. Comfort her?

  He needed to watch his step with that. Earlier, he hadn’t been able to turn away from her suffering. He’d first gotten tangled up with Eleanor for the same reason.

  He was here to protect Ivy. He couldn’t allow himself to
be drawn in by her.

  Chapter Three

  Gideon fed the pup what little milk she could eat, then made a doghouse for her out of an empty apple crate and added a nest of fresh hay. He put her in the box and set her next to his bunk. For the next couple of hours, he was in and out of the barn, keeping an eye on the whelp.

  After pumping the horse trough full of fresh water, Gideon stepped back inside the barn to check on the dog. She was awake, dark eyes watching him warily.

  He carefully scooped her up, running a finger lightly over her head. She mewled weakly as he turned for the barn door, intent on getting more milk from the house.

  “Mr. Black?”

  He looked up to see Ivy walking toward him carrying a small chipped porcelain bowl. She still wore those infernal trousers. His gaze slid over her full breasts and nipped-in waist to her slender hips.

  Lust punched him square in the gut, and his whole body went hot. With all he could see of her shape, it didn’t take much to imagine her naked. She must’ve read the expression on his face because her step faltered.

  Trying to blank his face, he bit the inside of his cheek. He hoped she wasn’t going to wear those britches all the time. The last thing he needed was her coming around looking like...that. He wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

  Ivy’s gaze skittered from his to the pup. “How’s Thunder doing?”

  “Thunder?”

  “We found her after that storm. The name seems appropriate.”

  He frowned down at the animal. “She’s a girl.”

  “What would you call her?” Ivy asked lightly. “Princess?”

  Was she teasing him? “Pup sounds just fine to me.”

  “She needs a real name.”

  “All right.” He held the whelp up to eye level. “Thunder’s ready for her second feeding.”

  Ivy gestured to the crockery she held. “I brought milk.”

  “She doesn’t have the strength to lift her head so I had to hand-feed her before.” Gideon eased down onto his bunk and offered Ivy a square of red flannel. “I dipped a rag in the milk, and she sucked the liquid out.”