The Cowboy Imports a Bride(The Cowboys Of Chance Creek #3)

by Cora Seton

  "Fine." Rob opened the bedroom door and walked out into the living room again in order to consult with Morgan. She was still eating her cereal, and raised her eyebrows at him. "We have to get married on the ranch," he told her. "How about two weeks from Saturday?"

  "A week after Claire and Jamie get married?" Morgan asked. "Will they even be back from their honeymoon?"

  "Shit."

  "Those Cruzes are having a wedding in a week or so," Holt was saying in his ear, echoing Morgan's words. "Can't have two weddings in a row. You'd better wait a month." He heard paper shuffling on the other end of the phone. Holt must be consulting one of his many calendars. He got them free from local banks and feed companies each year, and posted one in every barn and outbuilding on the spread. "October eleventh. Might be chilly. We'll have to prepare for bad weather. I'll leave that up to your mother to sort out."

  "October eleventh? That's…" He turned a pleading expression on Morgan.

  "That's perfect," she said, and to his surprise she actually seemed happy. Maybe she hadn't been as thrilled at the prospect of a quick, civil wedding as he was. Women never were. She probably wanted all that dress and flower stuff.

  "What if Jake or Ned or Luke decides to get married before I even get home?" he asked his father.

  "Nah – you've staked your claim," Holt said. "I'll put you on the phone with your mother next. If you tell her she can start planning that wedding, then I won't let no one else jump the line ahead of you until after October eleventh. If you call the wedding off, though, the field's wide open again."

  "Okay, well…all right. As long as they can't pull a fast one on me. I'll have Morgan home tomorrow night. Wait…she's trying to tell me something."

  "I can't leave tomorrow – I have to give some notice at work and pack. I've already got tickets for September second, the night before Claire and Jamie's wedding. That's when we'll go."

  Rob thought about arguing with her, then decided against it. He spoke into the phone again. "Morgan needs time to tie up some loose ends here, so we'll be home next Friday. Put Mom on. I'll let Morgan talk to her."

  "All right. But don't expect your mother to waste her time planning a wedding until you and your bride actually roll into town. We know your track record. You don't have a chance in hell at pulling this off."

  "Thanks a lot for that vote of confidence, Dad," he said, his anger finally getting the best of him. "Don't worry about tracking down Mom. I'll call her cell directly." He hung up with an oath.

  "What did he say?" Morgan, finished with her breakfast, approached him, concern in her gaze.

  "He can never let me do things my way," he finally said. "Not even my own damned wedding. He says it doesn't count unless we get married at the ranch. The whole town has to be present, too, and since Claire and Jamie are getting married on Labor Day we have to wait at least a month afterwards. That means October 11th. That's six weeks away!"

  "That's not too long." Morgan looked pleased at the chance for a ranch wedding.

  "Six weeks for my father to think of other ways to screw with me," Rob said. "Mark my words, he'll figure out some way to back out of giving me that land."

  "Giving us that land, you mean," Morgan said, glancing at her watch and heading toward the bedroom. "You're not giving up, are you? Do you want to call it off?" She hesitated by the door.

  "No." Rob's quick and vehement answer surprised himself as much as her. "My brothers and mother all heard him say he'd give the land to the first son to get married. There'll be five of us against one if he pulls something. Almost a fair fight. I'm supposed to call my Mom and let her know what's going on. She'll want to start to plan the wedding."

  "I have to get going or I'll be late for work. How about we call her tonight?"

  * * * * *

  Morgan sat in her tiny office at Cassidy Wineries, wondering if she could stay in it throughout the next week. She had handed in her resignation and Elliot was simply furious. So far she'd avoided Duncan, but she knew that couldn't last. He often didn't get to work until late in the morning, so any minute now he'd knock on her door and launch into his latest idiocy. She should have quit point blank and left for Montana a week and a half early, but her prudent side – the side that had seen her through a lifetime of needing to watch her own back, since no one else would watch it for her – dictated that she give her employer some notice to find her replacement. Best not to burn every bridge she currently had in the wine industry, in case things went sour with Rob and she found herself back here looking for a job. Besides, in four nights the winery was celebrating the launch of her vintage.

  She should march back into Elliot's office and tell him exactly what had transpired last night, but what did she expect Elliot to do? He'd make another excuse, pat her arm like a compassionate uncle and sweep the whole affair under the rug. Duncan was his son, after all.

  Unable to hide any longer, she slid her door open a crack and stepped into the distillery room, hoping against hope Duncan would stay away.

  Nope. He must have been waiting for her.

  "Morgan!" he called from behind one of the massive vats. "Vineyard. Now."

  She sighed, slowing her pace to a crawl as she followed him outside.

  "I spoke to your father this morning," she told his back.

  "I hope for your sake you didn't tell any tales out of school, Tate."

  "I handed in my resignation."

  He stopped short and turned around. "Resignation? Where do you think you're going? No one's going to hire someone as insubordinate as you."

  Just as she thought; he would do whatever it took to undermine any job search she made locally. Thank God she didn't have to – yet. "I'm not looking for another job."

  "Oh yeah? What are you doing?"

  Caution warred with the desire to see him squirm. "Getting married."

  She stalked past him toward the vineyards, unprepared for how freeing that revelation felt. For once she didn't care what Duncan was doing behind her back. She didn't care if she was headed in the right direction or what he would tell her to do next. In a sudden surge of excitement, she realized she didn't have to do a damn thing he said for the rest of her time at Cassidy Wineries. What was he going to do – fire her?

  She walked down the first long row of grapevines she reached, knowing that she would miss them, even if she didn't give Duncan another thought once she left Victoria. She knew these fields well, even if the bulk of her time was spent indoors. She didn't dislike overseeing the growth of the grapes; you couldn't be a vintner without a love of the fruit itself. But she far preferred the precision and science of the distillery. Duncan knew that, and he always tried to tear her away from the things she loved.

  She figured he planned to get his revenge for last night's escape by marching her up and down the rows of perfectly developing grapes instead of letting her monitor the giant machinery that turned the humble fruit into the nectar of the gods.

  He probably also wanted her out here to get time alone with her. Normally when they worked the fields, he took every opportunity to accidently brush by her, or take her hand to lead her, or wrap an arm about her as they surveyed the magnificence of the vines heavy with their fruit. Today he'd better not try any of those tricks.

  Morgan pushed her heavy, dark hair away from her face. It was hot and dusty in the fields. She already felt sweat trickling down her back under the crisp material of her blouse.

  "This could have been ours someday, you know," Duncan said, leaning in close. He touched her arm. "The old geezer won't last forever. I'll inherit everything. Whoever you're marrying doesn't have anything to compare to this."

  "He's got plenty," Morgan said, moving away. "And it's morbid to wait around for your father to die."

  He pursued her. "It's practical. You love this vineyard and you've been working here forever. Marry me and you'll own half of it."

  "I'm engaged." She waggled her ring in his face. "So drop it already."

  "Come off it, Mo
rgan – you know you're trying to make me jealous…who the hell is that?"

  She turned to look in the direction he was facing and saw a tall man making his way along the row of grapevines towards them. A tall man in a cowboy hat.

  Her heart thrilled, then sank. She didn't want Rob here.

  Rob stopped to play with the winery's two dogs that raced out to see who this stranger was. In an instant he had them frolicking and bounding like puppies and she felt the corner of her mouth turning up. Animals loved Rob and he loved them back – she'd seen that on the Cruz ranch. She envied his easy comfort with them.

  "Do you know him?" Duncan demanded, already moving forward. Morgan hustled after him. Visitors weren't allowed to walk in the fields. No one was allowed in the fields without the express permission of one of the Cassidys.

  "Yes – that's my fiancé. He's visiting from Montana. He must have gotten bored back at my apartment."

  Duncan stopped in his tracks and she nearly walked into him. "You're serious, aren't you? You've got a fiancé? And you went out with me last night? How come you never mentioned him?"

  "I didn't want to go out with you last night. You told me your father had called a meeting, remember?" She wasn't going to explain to him just how short a time she'd actually known Rob.

  He got moving again, lengthening his strides until she practically had to run to keep up with him. They met Rob halfway down the row of grapes. Duncan stuck out his hand. "Hi – I'm Duncan Cassidy. My family owns this vineyard. Morgan says you’re her fiancé."

  Rob looked from one to the other of them, and met Duncan's handshake. "That's right. I'm Rob Matheson."

  Morgan wanted to hide her head in her hands. Dammit, why hadn't she told Rob he absolutely couldn't come here? If he got any whiff of the fact that Duncan had tried to kidnap her last night, she didn't know what he'd do. She'd seen him beat the crap out of one man – the guy who'd attacked her when she and Claire went after her stolen possessions. The result hadn't been pretty. If he did the same thing to Duncan, her reputation in the industry would be toast.

  But Duncan's fake smile of greeting broadened. "Rob – so good to finally meet you. Morgan's talked about you non-stop since she got back from her vacation."

  Rob's eyebrows shot up. "Really? What's she been saying?"

  "Something about you Montana boys putting us Canadians to shame." Duncan laughed heartily and clapped Rob on the shoulder. Morgan truly wanted to sink into the ground. She'd never said any such thing. Rob would think she was bragging about him. "What do you think of our operation?"

  Rob surveyed the field of grapes. "Haven't seen much of it. How old are these vines? Four or five years?"

  Duncan seemed surprised by his interest. "Six years, actually. Do you grow your own?"

  "Grapes in Montana? Now that you mention it, I'm not sure if they grow there." He glanced at Morgan, as if wondering if that might throw a kink in the works.

  "Actually, they do. There are a couple of wineries in the state," Morgan put in, happy to reassure Rob about that fact, and even happier to keep the conversation on a safe track. If she could get Rob away from Duncan before he did any more damage…

  "How about I give you a tour?" Duncan asked Rob.

  Rob settled his hat in a more comfortable position on his head. "Well, I was hoping Morgan might be up to that task."

  "Of course," she began, pushing past Duncan to stand in between them.

  "Unfortunately, Morgan needs to return to the distillery," Duncan said, easily elbowing her away. "She's working, you know, and we're only getting the benefit of her know-how for a few more days. I suppose you're the reason she's leaving, eh? As the owner, I love showing guests around our operation. We'll start outside and work our way in."

  "That's mighty friendly of you." Rob looked at Morgan and gave a little shrug, as if to say, "It's better than nothing."

  "I really don't have any pressing tasks in the distillery," Morgan tried again.

  "It's unusual to have guests drop by during work hours, Morgan," Duncan said in a steely voice that brooked no opposition. "It's lucky I'm here to take over as tour guide so you don't have to send him straight home again."

  "It is lucky," Rob said, seeming to grasp the situation fully now. "The last thing I want is to get Morgan here in trouble. You can't blame a man for wanting to be close to his girl, though, can you?" Rob persisted, nudging Duncan. Morgan thought she might keel over and die right then and there.

  "No. You definitely can't blame a man for that," Duncan said, shooting her a significant look. "Run along now, Morgan. Back to work. I'll take care of your friend, here."

  She was sure he would.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As Rob watched Morgan walk away, he had the feeling he'd made a big mistake coming to the vineyard. He should have gone sight-seeing like she told him to, but alone in her apartment he'd felt like the walls were closing in.

  Was he really ready for marriage and fatherhood? For starting a business and settling down? What if he failed? What if he screwed up with his kids?

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent an entire day indoors, and within an hour he was pacing in circles around the living room. Morgan's bookcases caught his attention for a short time. Her interests ranged from horticulture to anthropology, art history to beekeeping, and everything in between. But when he tried to sit down and read, he soon found himself on his feet again. He supposed he could have gone for a walk, but the concrete sidewalks and crowded buildings didn't call him at all.

  He wanted to be near Morgan. To touch her again. Needing to distract himself from that train of thought, he gestured to the grapes and asked Duncan, "How long has your family been in the business?"

  "Three generations," Duncan said proudly. "My granddad bought this land. It's part of my blood."

  "Like my ranch back home. The Mathesons have lived there since 1848," Rob said. "Feels strange to be away from it."

  "So you and Morgan are getting hitched."

  "Yep."

  "Should have known there was someone in her life. Come on, let me show you around."

  Rob thought he'd find the tour annoying, since he'd really come to see Morgan, but to his surprise he found it fascinating. At first Duncan seemed to want to talk more about Morgan than about the grapes, and Rob had the sneaking suspicion the man had the hots for her, but after he'd asked a few pointed questions about the rootstock, irrigation and the kinds of pests they had to deal with, Duncan launched into explanations and couldn't seem to stop talking. Rob imagined he rarely had an audience that was actually interested in the minutiae of growing such a finicky crop, but he'd spent enough time around his mother to know what questions to ask, and to process the information he received in return.

  Most of the farmers he knew in Montana grew wheat. He'd never thought about the possibility of cultivating grapes. He itched to be back at Morgan's apartment, where he could look up the wineries she'd mentioned on the Internet and see if any were near to Chance Creek. Most likely not. He'd have heard of them, wouldn't he?

  Of course, he and his friends drank beer and whiskey, not wine.

  His parents had quite a cellar-full laid in, though. Maybe they knew more about it.

  "You must need a lot of workers to tend these fields," he said. Duncan raised a hand to shade his eyes and scanned the rows of grapes.

  "There." He pointed and Rob squinted against the glare. He saw a number of men bent over the plants some rows away. "Most of them come up from Mexico for the harvest."

  "Migrant workers?"

  Duncan shrugged. "A few of them have done such a good job we've hired them permanently. We were able to help them immigrate to Canada and become citizens. The rest come and go. Let's see how they're doing."

  Rob hung back when they approached the men hard at work. They all wore baseball caps to protect their faces from the sun. A few had tucked towels under their hats to hang down over their necks for further protection. They needed cowboy hats, he decided.
Maybe seeing his would give them the right idea.

  "Raoul, Thomas, Eduardo, meet Rob Matheson. He's visiting Victoria and I'm giving him a tour of the winery. Raoul and Thomas work for us permanently. Eduardo here is new this year."

  The men all murmured greetings. Thomas took Duncan aside and launched into a discussion about the grapes and the exact day he thought they would be ready to harvest. Raoul and Eduardo gazed at Rob expectantly. He searched for a way to carry on the conversation.

  "Do you like it here?" he asked.

  Both men shook their heads yes emphatically. "Living here is like living in paradise," Raoul said. "I can feed my family, house them, they have medical care."

  "Only thing is," Eduardo said, his accent more pronounced than Raoul's, "the food." He shook his head. "Very bad."

  Raoul laughed. "Not enough Mexican food in Victoria," he agreed. "We need more immigrants. Maybe your wife someday, eh?" he nudged Eduardo. "Eduardo hopes Mr. Cassidy will take him on permanently, too. Help him immigrate, like he did me." He turned to his friend. "You have to work, work, work! First here in the morning, last gone at night, like I did all those years." To Rob he said. "I proved I was the best vineyard worker. Mr. Cassidy couldn't bear to see me go."

  "You have to take time off, though," Rob said. "Live a little. Have some fun, right?" That had always been his mantra, anyhow.

  Raoul became stern. "Fun is for people like you, Mr. Matheson. People who have all they need already. Me and Eduardo, we work, work, work to survive. Fun is being alive another day."

  "Fun is food to eat at night," Eduardo put in wryly.

  Rob scratched the back of his neck. He always seemed to be saying or doing the wrong thing these days. "Do you like the work, at least?"

  "Work is work," Raoul said. "But yes, I like the growing things. I like to see the grapes reach the harvest. My muscle," he patted his arms, "my sweat – it is turned into food right before my eyes!"

  Rob smiled at that. He'd never thought of work that way – that sometimes the result of the labor could be so tangible. He supposed it was like that on the ranch, but since he only did a task here, a job there, he didn't take in the whole process.