How to Lasso a Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas

  “Evenin’,” came a low voice from the shadows. Spurs jingled as a man stepped into the faint light coming from the barn door. “So, we meet again.”

  It had been almost a year, but Mary knew the stranger’s voice. She’d heard it last in the darkness of the store.

  She couldn’t breathe as the man moved closer. The feel of his hands gripping her arms, his hot words shouted in her face, the smell of whiskey, all flooded her mind. He had been so polite, so nice that afternoon, but in the shadows, anger twisted his words.

  “Adams will be back in a few minutes with his men,” Miles threatened as he stepped in front of Mary. “You had better be gone before he returns.”

  The intruder pulled a long Bowie knife from his boot. “Don’t try to fool me, Yank. He won’t return for hours. He and every man for miles around will be chasing shadows tonight.”

  “I’ll not let you take the colt.” Miles stood his ground.

  The man laughed. “How do you plan to stop me? If you had a gun it would already be pointing in my direction and you’d be no match for me with a knife even if you had one.”

  “Kill them and be done with it, Len.” A man on horseback rode out of the blackness. “We ain’t got all night.” His gruff voice rattled across the damp air.

  Mary recognized him as one she’d heard earlier during the dance. The planner.

  “Now, wait a minute, boss. You don’t know who we’re dealing with. This Yank won’t fight. It ain’t no fun killing a man who won’t fight back.” Len moved a step closer and pointed with his knife. “But the woman, she screams and fights like crazy. I’ll have to slit her throat, before I let the Yank die a little at a time.”

  “Do what you have to do,” the leader said calmly as if they were of no importance to him. “The kid backed out on us. I’ll need your help rounding up the colt. Get rid of the witnesses.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  COOPER YELLED ORDERS for his men to guard the herd and let the others worry about chasing rustlers as he turned the midnight mare toward home.

  “But, boss?” a ranch hand yelled over the thunder of hooves. “Don’t you want in on the ride? They couldn’t outrun us.”

  Cooper didn’t bother answering. Three times the men required to round up a half dozen rustlers were riding north at full speed. The county marshal took the lead, much more at home than he’d been on the dance floor. Cooper wasn’t needed in Echo Canyon. Something about the call to arms gnawed at him. Why would men try to steal a herd the night before a drive began when every able-bodied cowhand was camped out, waiting to get started, or at the dance a few miles away? And if they’d moved that many cattle, why hadn’t someone heard? Cooper might have been occupied, but Duly had maintained a residence on the porch all night. The old cook could smell rain before a cloud formed. Cooper couldn’t remember the number of times he’d seen Duly start thinning the gravy before anyone else even heard riders arriving for supper.

  Pushing his horse harder toward home, Cooper tried to make the pieces fit.

  Mary’s last words haunted him. She’d said his future was in danger. Even if the cattle he put into the drive were stolen, the ranch would stand the loss. Didn’t she understand that he was solid enough to survive?

  He figured the cattle, even the Steeldust colt, could disappear and they’d still make it as long as she was by his side. He had to tell her that his need for her was more than an ache deep inside. He’d built the ranch for nothing if he didn’t have her to share it with. These past years he’d worked thinking he would be happy, when all he needed was to find her.

  She must know that she was his future. The last few minutes they’d been together before the shouting started had left no doubt how he felt. She was his future, the only future he wanted. Why would she think she was in danger? Mary would be safe with his sisters and the other women.

  Cooper didn’t slow until he spotted the house. The pale moon offered him little help as he neared. He heard women’s voices braided with laughter. He breathed for the first time since he’d turned the mare around.

  Whatever frightened Mary had been only in her mind. He’d have to learn that about her if he planned to cherish her for the next fifty or so years. She was gentle and kind and intelligent, but not brave. He would be brave enough for them both.

  Cooper grinned as he stepped onto the porch. If he’d wanted brave, bossy, and absentminded he would have looked for a woman like one of his sisters. But he wanted Mary, who needed him to take care of her and protect her and love her.

  As he walked into the house his gaze searched for her. From now on he’d find her here when he got home, he thought. She’d be the one who had supper ready, who waited for him, who bore his children, who completed his life.

  His house was, at present, full of every size and age of woman. They circled in small groups, busy visiting. Mary wasn’t among them.

  Johanna walked by with a plate of rock-hard cookies made by one of the Williams girls. “Forget something?” she asked when he refused her offer.

  “Still trying to pawn off those cookies?” Cooper barely glanced at her as he continued searching the room.

  “I have to. I don’t want to hurt poor Janice’s feelings. Having to take a full plate home, when most of the other desserts are gone, would injure her. It is my duty as hostess.”

  Cooper had no time for Johanna’s endless social considerations. “Have you seen Mary?”

  “No,” she answered as she slipped a few cookies into his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “They won’t crumble.”

  “Did she leave?”

  “Who?”

  “Mary.”

  “I don’t know. Winnie asked me a few minutes ago about Miles. Maybe they went home, though I’d think they would have at least said good-bye. A simple ‘Thank you for the invitation’ would have been appropriate.”

  Cooper moved through the crowd, leaving Johanna talking. When he spotted Winnie, he mouthed one word. “Mary?”

  Winnie shook her head and followed as he hurried out the kitchen door.

  The old buggy Miles had managed to get to the dance was still pulled up beside the barn.

  Cooper moved faster. He felt it now. Something was wrong. Mary hadn’t been simply frightened. She’d tried to warn him. But of what? No one would bother the women. The men were well armed. All seemed secure, but suddenly fear chewed its way through Cooper’s insides.

  “Something’s wrong,” Winnie whispered, her breathing coming out in a low whistle. “I haven’t seen Miles since the other men left.”

  They circled the house and headed toward the barn. At the sound of Mary’s voice just beyond the corral opening, Cooper froze.

  Winnie slammed into his back, almost knocking him to the ground. He steadied himself and motioned for her to be quiet, though he found it hard to believe those ahead of them in the blackness couldn’t hear Winnie’s breathing. She’d run so hard, she sounded like a teakettle at full steam.

  “What . . . is . . . it?” she said as she swallowed great gulps of air.

  But Cooper wasn’t there to answer her question. He’d already crossed the blackness and stood by the corral, his gun drawn. He could make out three figures circled by a lantern’s low glow.

  Miles’s voice sounded deadly earnest. “I’ll not allow you to harm my sister.”

  “And what are you going to do?” the man with his back to Cooper asked. “Kill me?”

  “If I have to. I’ve killed men before.”

  Cooper watched as Miles stepped away from Mary and toward the man holding a huge knife. Mary backed into the shadows, her dark clothes blending her from sight.

  “You see,” Miles sounded almost as if he were giving a lecture, “it’s not all that hard to kill a man. Sometimes, in life, the true challenge is trying not to end a life.” He continued moving toward the knife pointed at his gut. “Sometimes you have to weigh one life against another.”

  Still several feet away, Cooper pointed his we
apon to the center of the stranger’s back. If the armed man lunged toward Miles or Mary he’d be dead before he could do any damage with the knife. Cooper wished he were closer and could whisper to Mary that all was under control, but he wasn’t even sure where she was in the shadows.

  “Don’t move,” a raspy voice whispered from just behind him as Cooper felt the barrel of a gun press against his side. “Let’s just watch this play out without interrupting Len. I’ve heard he’s an artist of sorts at his craft.”

  Cooper didn’t take his eyes off the man with the knife. He didn’t need to see the stranger behind him. Cooper’s plan hadn’t changed. He would fire if the knife moved and take his chances with whoever stood behind him.

  A slight whistling sound rushed across the darkness. Len turned his head, listening.

  Without any hint or warning, Miles jumped toward the knife. The blade sliced across his coat sleeve before he knocked it from Len’s hand with expert ease. They struggled, but Len only fought when armed and wasn’t prepared for the force of Miles’s attack. Len’s mistake was in fighting to retrieve the knife and not defending himself. The seasoned Yank won out, pinning Len to the ground.

  Winnie rushed up, yelling, “He won’t hit you. Miles swore he never would, even though he had special training in the war.” She leaned down, only a few inches from the stranger’s face. “But I didn’t promise anything.” She doubled up her fist and slammed it into Len’s eye. “How dare you try to hurt folks!” Another punch pounded his nose. “Don’t you know better than to threaten people with a knife!” She hit him again. “You could have killed the man I’m going to marry.”

  Winnie paused in midstrike and turned to Miles. “Are you all right, dear?”

  Miles laughed. “I’m fine. The blade only sliced my jacket.”

  Winnie turned back to the stranger and let another blow fly. “That’s his good suit!” she yelled. “You should be more careful.”

  Len spit blood, struggled, and cried for help all at the same time, but Miles’s good knee pinned him down.

  Cooper would have joined the laughter, but a gun still dug into his side and he could sense frustration.

  “Tell them to stop,” the raspy voice whispered, suddenly angry. “Or you’re a dead man, Adams.”

  Cooper didn’t move. Like Miles, he’d been in enough battles to know to wait for just the right moment for action.

  Mary’s frightened voice came from somewhere behind Cooper. “Lower the gun, mister.”

  Cooper felt the man hesitate. “You won’t use that knife, little lady. Just because you may have found Len’s blade don’t make you killer enough to use it.”

  “Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Mary’s voice shook.

  When the stranger twisted to see Mary, he offered Cooper the chance he’d been waiting for. He swung around and flattened the man with one blow. The gun that had been digging into his ribs fired harmlessly into the night sky, bringing women and lanterns from the house.

  Cooper straightened and turned in time to catch Mary flying into his arms. He held her against his heart. “It’s all right, darlin’. It’s over.” He felt her body trembling. “You may have saved my life, you know.”

  He slid his hand along her arm, wanting to calm her. “That was very brave of you holding a knife on a man.”

  As the handle to her weapon fell into his hand, she stammered, “It wasn’t a knife, it’s a pie server. Johanna insisted I carry it.”

  Cooper laughed and held her close. His timid little Mary was far braver than he’d given her credit for being. “Don’t tell Johanna what you used it for.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not that brave.” Mary giggled in his ear.

  Miles hauled Len onto the porch while Cooper half carried the other man. Within a few minutes they were tied up and waiting delivery when the county marshal returned. Winnie continued to pound on Len until Miles gently pulled her away, swearing he planned never to make her angry.

  Despite all the women gathering around asking questions, Cooper managed to find Mary. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, kissing her soundly. When he finally straightened and faced the crowd, Miles was staring at him. For a moment, Cooper wasn’t sure what might happen, for he remembered Miles’s warning to stay away from Mary. Then the Yank smiled and Cooper knew there would be no more battles to fight tonight.

  Johanna’s voice rose above all the noise. “A thank-you would be enough, Cooper. Or of course, since she may have saved your life, a handshake might be proper.”

  He pulled an inch away and stared down at the face of the woman he would love for the rest of his life. “You didn’t answer my question, Mary. Will you marry me?”

  “More,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his.

  She didn’t have to ask twice. He’d propose again later; right now he had a promise to keep.

  Coming Home

  PATRICIA POTTER

  Chapter One

  TEXAS

  OCTOBER 1865

  HOME!

  From the brow of the hill, Seth Sinclair looked down at the ranch nestled in the valley. A suffocating sensation in his throat took his breath away.

  Four and a half years and a journey to hell since he had been there.

  Anticipation replaced the deep exhaustion he felt from his six-month-long journey from a prison camp in the East. He had been ill and weakened from a fever, then had walked much of the way, stopping to work for food. He’d finally found a horse in nearly as bad shape as he’d been. The two had healed physically along the way, though he wondered whether his soul ever would.

  At least the ranch was still there. So much of the South had been destroyed. Homes. Farms. Plantations. Ranches.

  He continued to gaze below. He wanted to ride in. And yet . . . his heart ached as he remembered the day he’d ridden away to war with his two brothers. He was returning alone. He didn’t even know whether his father and last remaining brother knew of the deaths. Or his sister. She would be nearly seven now. She’d been only a babe in arms when he’d left.

  He absorbed every detail. The house looked the worse for wear. Some of the fences were broken. But the old swing under the one giant cottonwood moved with the breeze. The barn and bunkhouse appeared intact. So much the same as he had remembered, except there was little movement. No bustle of cowhands riding in to change mounts.

  Instead, it seemed as if all human presence had been removed. Maybe his brother and father were out tending cattle. Marilee would be with Trini, the family’s housekeeper.

  He urged his horse forward. He had written a letter about the deaths of Jason and Jared, the twins, but he had no idea whether his father had received it. It would break his heart.

  The twins had been the adventurous members of the family, and he knew they had been his father’s favorites, although Garrett Sinclair had tried his damndest not to show it.

  Seth closed his eyes for a moment: seeing the twins together again, racing the road, laughing. Always laughing and pulling tricks on one another and the other members of the family.

  Neither he nor his youngest brother had ever resented the place the twins had in their father’s heart. It would be impossible for anyone to resent them. They had been so full of goodwill, good cheer, good spirits.

  They had died together at the Wilderness, the same battle in which he had been taken prisoner. He had refused to leave them when his own men scattered after his unit was overrun. Thank God they died quickly. He could still hear the screams of the wounded as the fires advanced.

  He forced the memories away. No time to think of that, nor of the months of near-starvation that followed.

  He was home.

  First thing he would do was shake his father’s hand, hug his little sister, and take a bath. He hadn’t had a proper bath in years. It had taken every penny he could earn, steal, or borrow to get home. There had been no money for extras such as a hotel or barber or public bath.

  He would probably scare the
devil at the moment. He had stopped at a muddy stream to try to clean but ended up even dirtier. He had a beard and had cut his own hair. It was long and ragged, but what the hell. Trini could fix it for him.

  He leaned down and ran his hand along Chance’s neck. He’d named the horse Last Chance and in the last few weeks of traveling together, they had gotten to know each other.

  Even now if he tried to run the gelding for long, he would probably kill him. He took it slow and easy, savored the smell of grass untainted by blood, a sky so vast and blue it made him hurt inside, and a sun that looked close enough to touch it. Damn, he had missed that bold and brassy Texas sky.

  He stopped at the closed gate, leaned down from the horse and unlatched it, then rode through. He dismounted, closed it, and remounted. Something was wrong. Then he realized what it was. The Sinclair sign was gone.

  Still, he could look around and see that other structures needed repair. Perhaps this was far down on the list. Worry knotted in the pit of his stomach. That should have been one of the first things fixed.

  The ranch had been in Sinclair hands since before Texas was freed from Mexico. His grandfather had bought a Spanish grant from a family who’d tired of Indian raids. His grandfather had fought off Indians, Mexicans, outlaws. His father had done the same.

  The land was nourished by Sinclair blood as well as the river that ran alongside its west boundary. It was the river that made the land valuable.

  He reached the well and dismounted. Just then the whine of a shot echoed in the warm afternoon sun. Earth spit up just a foot away. Chance shied away and protested with a loud neigh.

  Instinctively, Seth dove behind the well and drew a pistol. He had stolen it from a northern farmhouse. It was the one item he’d needed above all else. For food. For protection in a land that was lawless in the chaos following war.

  He glanced around and saw a rifle protruding from a window.

  “What’s your business here?” came a woman’s voice.