by Jodi Thomas
Before he had toweled away the last of the water on his skin, men’s clothes flew like missiles through the curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. The jeans were big, but he cinched them in with a worn leather belt. The gray flannel shirt pulled across the shoulders, but otherwise fit. Josh wondered if some other unsuspecting male had stumbled into this nest of women and left so fast he plumb left his clothes behind. He could understand it.
“Are you dressed?” Rosie’s voice asked from the other side of the curtain.
“Yeah. Come on in.”
Rosie flung the curtain aside and stood for a moment to regard him appreciatively. “You don’t look so bad when you’re not swaying like a drunken mule.”
“Uh . . . thanks. Where should I empty the water?”
“Oh, I’ll do that.”
Josh couldn’t imagine letting a woman carry the heavy tub of water while he stood around and watched. “No, ma’am. Just tell me where to dump it.”
A slow smile softened her face. She had a pretty face that had seen a lot of wear. The smile called up remnants of a fresh girl, though.
“Take it out back. This way.”
He picked up the tub and followed her out.
“Colin’s clothes fit you fine. Though I could let out the shoulders of that shirt.”
“I won’t be around long enough for you to bother, ma’am.”
“Tess said you’d be staying a few days.”
“That’s yet to be settled.”
“You can’t leave while Sean is still sniffing around. He’d be on to Tess for sure. He doesn’t deserve this ranch. Not any part of it.”
“I’ll take your word for it, ma’am.”
“You don’t have to. Ask Miguel. Ask any of the hands who’ve worked here since before Sean left. It wasn’t that he was a bad boy, just lazy. That boy spent more energy dodging work than anybody I’ve ever known.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Josh emptied the tub and hung it on a nail on the back wall. Everything here had its place, he noted. No clutter messed up the yard. What Rosie called the “back” was actually a courtyard, where a five-foot adobe wall connected the main house with a smaller building constructed in the same style—single-story adobe with few windows that could be quickly shuttered in case of foul weather or Indian attack. Though the Apaches hadn’t given anyone much trouble for the better part of two decades, Arizonans had long memories.
In the courtyard was a hearth for outdoor cooking, a couple of worktables, a scattering of stools for those who wished, maybe, to sit outside on a mild evening and whittle or swap tales. The hard ground was swept clean of dust and debris.
Beyond the courtyard wall Josh could see two corrals, a barn, bunkhouse, chicken house, toolshed, and smokehouse, all in good repair. Grass already sprouted green between the mesquite, piñon, and cedar, and in the near distance wound the San Pedro, which carried precious water to give life to a land that would otherwise be parched. Fat, healthy-looking cattle grazed the river bottom, and on the crest of a nearby hill, a herd of horses stood in silhouette against the setting sun.
The people here had good reason to value this ranch. Many a man’s dream centered on having a place like this. A woman’s dream could rest here as well, Josh figured.
Rosie had noted his visual survey. “The Diamond T isn’t like the grand rich places that run thousands of head, but it’s a good ranch. Colin McCabe, God rest him, was a hardworking man. He knew cattle, and he knew horses.”
He heard words left unsaid, maybe that Colin McCabe should have known his children as well. But this wasn’t his problem, Josh reminded himself.
Miguel came out of the barn, spied them in the courtyard, and wandered over. “Woman,” he said to Rosie, “haven’t you got nothing to do but stand around and talk?”
Rosie snorted, but her eye had softened, Josh noted, when the man walked up. “Old man, you should keep your nose to your own work and not bother about mine. Have you seen Tess?”
“Chopping wood for the stove.”
“Tell her dinner is in half an hour. Luis and Henry too.”
With that, she turned up her nose and marched inside. Miguel’s eyes followed her, and a wry smile pulled at his mouth, but all he said was, “You’ll like Rosie’s cooking. But if you know what’s good for you, don’t ever eat anything that Tess fixes. That girl can shoe a horse and ride a herd, but she sure can’t cook.”
“I won’t be here long enough for her to poison me,” Josh reminded him.
Miguel’s weather-lined face turned to granite. “You’ll stay until Tessie tells you to leave, and then leave when she tells you. And you show proper respect, hombre, with Tess and Rosie too. Likely Tess could whup you if you got uppity, but if she don’t, I will. You hear? That girl has a lot of friends, and you’re right in the middle of ’em.”
Josh raised one brow. “It’s a right friendly place, then.”
Rosie’s cooking proved to be all Miguel had boasted. Supper was fried chicken, corn, and apple pie. Everyone ate at the big table in the kitchen, including Luis and Henry. Luis, a rangy Papago Indian, was Miguel’s half brother, Josh discovered from the conversation. They shared a mother. Luis spoke little English, apparently, because both Miguel and Tess addressed him in Spanish. Henry, with ragged blond hair, pale blue eyes, and skin like leather, talked as much as he ate, and he ate a lot.
As they tucked into their supper, Tess waved toward Josh with a fork. “This here’s my new husband.”
Luis grunted something inarticulate. Henry eyed him curiously but said nothing. Apparently the men here attached as much importance to Tess’s marriage as she did.
Josh thought of the Double R, waiting in limbo until he could get back to settle David’s debt. A foreman and six hands depended on him coming back with six hundred dollars in his hand, and here he was, piddling away time on a second-rate ranch under the thumb of a crazy woman and her “friends.” What did he have to do to get her to give him his money and kick his butt off her property?
An idea occurred to him when Tess yawned and said good night, Luis and Henry ambled off to the bunkhouse, and Miguel cut half a loaf of Rosie’s bread to take with him to his bunk in the “little house” across the courtyard. “You can bunk with me,” Miguel told Josh. “Get some blankets from Rosie.”
“Nope.”
Miguel stopped halfway through cutting the bread. “Nope? What nope?”
“Nope means I’m not bunking on your floor with only a couple of thin blankets between me and the cold. I married the lady of the house. Seems I have a right to sleep wherever I want.”
“Like hell.”
But Josh had already reached the door of the room into which his “wife” had disappeared. He knocked. “You decent, sweetheart?”
The door instantly flung open. Regrettably, Tess still wore her jeans and shirt, though the shirt had been untucked and now hung loosely past her hips. Her unbraided hair cascaded in a dark, shining fall down to those same hips, and she gripped a hairbrush as if it were a club. Her eyes narrowed when Josh grinned.
“What?” she demanded.
“It’s been a full day, wife. I figure I’ll turn in.”
“Go right ahead. And you can forget the sweetheart and wifey talk.”
Miguel and Rosie regarded them uneasily from the kitchen doorway, Rosie wringing her hands and Miguel wearing an incredulous expression that was almost comical. Josh began to enjoy himself.
“Is that any way for a new bride to talk?” He pushed into the room. “Good thing the bed is big enough for two.”
“You’re crazy.” Tess tried to block the way, but had about as much chance as a reed standing against a rolling boulder. His chest collided with hers, and she retreated as if she’d been burned. Josh felt a bit singed himself. Tess McCabe, for all her mannish dress and habits, definitely boasted a woman’s charms.
Miguel clumped toward their little confrontation. “I’ll tear him apart, Tessie.”
> “I can fight my own fights.” Her tone stopped the man in his tracks.
“But—”
“Git, Miguel. When have I ever not been able to take care of myself?” She made the claim proudly, though her cheeks had turned pink. Josh’s grin grew wider. He would be out of here in no time.
While Tess watched Miguel and Rosie retreat, Josh sat himself on the bed and patted it. “Nice mattress,” he noted.
Tess whirled around in a one-woman tornado. “You are insane,” she hissed, low and dangerous.
He grinned nonchalantly. “I don’t know about that. I think I’m a fairly good judge of beds.”
She pointed toward the door. “Get out! Get out now!”
“A case of newlywed nerves, sweetheart?”
“Get. Out. Now!”
“It’s my understanding that married folks sleep together.”
“We are not that kind of married. And if you think that you are sleeping in this room, then you’re dumber than I first took you for. Out!”
And Tess McCabe was a good deal prettier than he’d first taken her for. Not to mention more interesting. With every furious movement her hair shimmered in the lamplight. Her face came alight with passion—cheeks aflame, eyes on fire. Not exactly the kind of passion a man likes to see in a woman, but still damned distracting.
He didn’t remove himself from the bed. “Not that kind of married, eh? I got the idea that wasn’t what you wanted the world to think.”
Those fiery eyes narrowed. She backed up a step. “That’s a threat, isn’t it?”
He just smiled. “I’m not such a bum to threaten a lady.”
“And I’m not enough of a lady to believe that load of horseshit.” But her tone became more cautious. “All right. You can sleep on the floor. In the corner.”
With deliberate insolence, he stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head. “Nope. I’ve had a hard couple of days. I fancy a night spent in a nice, soft, clean bed.”
He could almost hear her teeth grind.
“All right, rat bastard. You win. I can put up with almost anything for a few days.” She grabbed the quilt folded at the foot of the bed and jerked it from beneath his legs. Then she headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve slept in front of the fireplace.”
“That might look passing strange if one of the hands happens in.”
“I care how it looks?”
“Isn’t that what your whole scheme is all about? Looking married? Aren’t you the one willing to go to any lengths, cheating or otherwise, to get the family ranch?”
She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly and deliberately back toward him. “I do not cheat. McCabes are straight as an arrow and twice as honest.”
Those green eyes of hers could turn remarkably hard, Josh noted happily. He gave her his most infuriating smile. He knew it was infuriating because his sister had told him so at least a dozen times.
“And I am not letting some two-bit sot turn me out of my own place.”
That stung a bit, but Josh figured he might have had it coming.
Still glaring at him, she settled huffily in the room’s one chair and wrapped herself in the quilt. “Enjoy the bed,” she invited sourly. “Just don’t infest it with fleas.”
Chapter Three
TESS UNCURLED FROM her chair in the predawn, the smell of rain tickling her nostrils. Before she left the bedroom, she took a moment to observe her roommate, who snored quietly on the bed—her bed. She made a face. Beneath the covers—her covers—her “husband” looked warm and comfy, while Tess had spent an uncomfortable, almost sleepless night clutching the quilt around her, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the cold. Obviously the fellow was a slugabed, for the cock had already crowed. A lazy smile touched his mouth as he dreamed. The mouth, Tess couldn’t help but notice, was the sort of mouth a sculptor might carve on a statue, and its smile gentled the rugged face. His cheek with its morning shadow of coarse, dark beard, bore a crease from the pillow. Her pillow.
With broad shoulders, tousled hair, and that seductive mouth, the sot wasn’t all that hard on the eyes, Tess decided. Not that it mattered. The fellow could look like a billy goat for all she cared. Sean had better hightail it back to California soon, so she could boot her “husband” down the road. She couldn’t put up with this nonsense much longer.
Cautiously, Tess took her boots from the floor where she had dropped them the night before and tiptoed toward the door. She hoped the fool slept through breakfast. Going hungry would serve him right.
He didn’t sleep through breakfast. Ten minutes after Tess had grabbed a biscuit and a cup of strong coffee, her thorn-in-the-side husband strolled out of the house and over to where she talked with Miguel, Luis, and Henry at the corrals. He looked annoyingly fresh and chipper from a good night’s sleep.
“Good morning,” he said, cradling a steaming mug in his hands. “Nice morning.”
Tess nodded curtly. The men mumbled a greeting. Rojo quit giving the eye to the horses in the corral and bounded over to the newcomer with a friendly greeting. He scratched the cattle dog’s ears, and the dog melted in ecstasy.
Tess watched in disgust. Rojo didn’t show much taste when it came to people.
“Be careful of Rojo,” Tess warned curtly. “He’s a good cattle dog, but he doesn’t take to strangers.”
The bed-stealer gave her a lazy smile. “Most dogs know who deserves a show of teeth and who doesn’t.”
Tess almost showed her own teeth. This fellow had a way of eating at the edges of her temper. What had happened to the woozy, boozy cowboy she had practically poured into Glory’s crib the day before? Or the self-conscious, confused fellow who had looked so ridiculous sitting bare and hairy in her washtub?
Now the man looked almost clean-cut. He had taken time to trim the steel and silver mustache, and his silver-shot-with-black hair shone in the bright sunlight. Her father’s old shirt stretched tight across axe-handle shoulders which whittled down to slim hips and long legs. The man stood at least a head taller than Tess, who looked eye to eye with Miguel.
“Nice-looking bunch of horses.” He pointed his freshly shaven chin toward the green broncs in the corral—two bays, a chestnut, a gray, and two blacks.
Miguel nodded. “We throw a saddle on these for the first time this morning. They are mustangs brought up from Mexico.”
“Sell them once they’re saddle broke?”
“Sí. Señora Bermudez at the Circle T has already said she will take the chestnut, and she likes the gray as well. She likes mustangs, because they are smart, strong horses that can work all day. And the army always buys from us. Some of the other ranches too.”
Tess scowled at Miguel. The stranger didn’t need to know their business. But Miguel didn’t notice. Once he got to talking about horses, there was no shutting him up. Her husband seemed to have a similar interest.
“You buck them out?”
Miguel shrugged. “If they have spirit, they will buck.”
The bum grinned. “Kinda like women, eh?”
Miguel looked cautiously from the newcomer to Tess, whose fists had clenched, and back again to her husband. When Tess had first walked out of the house, the foreman had given her a swift perusal, then nodded when he found her in one piece after spending the night in a room with her new husband. Now a small smile twisted the mouth beneath his mustache. “A man must know his horses, señor. Some will buck until they drop dead. Some will roll to crush the rider beneath them. There are some who should never be mounted, because they will never be gentled.”
“Have you known many to be that ornery?”
Miguel’s smile grew broader. “Not many.”
The stranger nodded. “On my place, we don’t break a horse, we gentle it. The process takes more time, but it results in a more dependable mount.”
Tess immediately bristled. “The horses we turn out are the best in the area. They’re loyal, s
mart, and still have plenty of spirit. Hell, they’ll go places even a mule won’t go.”
The uppity fellow just shrugged.
“What’s the matter,” Tess taunted, “are you afraid to buck out a horse? Afraid you’ll land on your tail?”
Luis and Henry leaned against the fence and grinned. Miguel tried to hide a smile.
The stranger met her eyes with an unruffled gaze. “I can stick a saddle as good as most others.” He crossed his arms on that broad chest. His eyes, almost green in the morning sunlight, twinkled with something that might be amusement, and that twinkle was the last straw for Tess.
“You can, can you?”
“Usually.”
“You want to put your bony backside where your mouth is, cowboy?”
He smiled. “You think you can stick a horse better than I can?”
“It’s likely.”
“That would be a surprise.”
“Then get ready to be surprised.”
Rojo whined, gave his new friend a sympathetic look, then trotted over to join the men, who looked on, grinning hugely. Even Miguel, usually more cautious, didn’t bother to hide his anticipation of a good time coming up. There was nothing a cowboy loved better than a good bronc-riding contest.
Well, they wouldn’t get to see much of a contest, Tess told herself smugly. There wasn’t a man on this place she couldn’t outride, and she expected to laugh long and hard when this uppity jackass left his butt print in the dust.
“Okay—what was your name, cowboy?”
That got his goat just a bit. Tess could tell.
“Joshua Ransom.”
“Okay, Joshua Ransom. I’ll let you prove how well you ride, and then we’ll let the men decide who’s got the upper hand when it come to horses. You game?”
His smile shone with confidence. “I’m game.”
“Good enough.” She grinned wickedly. “Henry, bring out Nitro.”
Miguel’s brows shot up. “Nitro?”
“We want to give our friend here a challenge, don’t we?”
