A Cowboy Worth Claiming

Finding Lizzie a husband was another matter.

He approached his mare, muttering, “The old man’s worried over his granddaughter and I’ve got to find her a man.”

Joyful turned to the sound of his voice, her brown eyes on him. Chance stroked her mane, running his hands along the length of the coarse hairs and then gave her a pat as thoughts of Edward’s quickly laid-out plan came to mind. Chance wasn’t too sure it would work. His old friend explained the situation—so far Lizzie had pretty much shooed away any of the would-be suitors that Edward had brought out to the ranch.

Can’t say as he blamed the men from turning tail and running. As much as he’d seen of her, Lizzie lacked female wiles and didn’t have enough charm to entice a stray pup to Sunday supper, much less a would-be husband.

Chance grabbed his saddlebags and bedroll and entered the bunkhouse. Cobwebs crisscrossed the ceiling above his head and a layer of red dust kicked up as he moved into the space, yet the place wouldn’t be the worst he’d lived in. He scanned the six bunks across the far wall deciding one was no better than the other, worn blankets and all, but they were sturdy enough for a man his size. He tossed his gear on the floor, took off his gun belt and sat down on the nearest bunk testing the thin mattress. It was a far cry better than hard ground. He laid his head back, setting his hat low to cover his eyes, and adjusted his body on the bunk, hanging his boots off the edge.

He’d barely had a few minutes of respite before he sensed a presence hovering over him. On instinct, he reached for his six-shooter and cocked it, hinging his body up so fast his hat went flying from his head.

“Oh!” Startled, Lizzie backed up, her eyes trained on the gun.

He glared at her. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Her usual bravado gone, she lowered her voice. “I…wasn’t.”

He set the gun down on the bed. “You weren’t? Funny, but I didn’t hear you knock.”

“The door was open. I came looking for you. Supper’s ready.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he thought she’d go, she continued to stand there, carefully studying him. “You got something else to say?”

“What are you afraid of, anyway?” she asked, her brows furrowing together. “You grabbed your gun so fast, I thought I was going to meet my maker years before my time.”

“Scared you, did I?”

She paused, her expression tightening. She didn’t like to give in, that much he’d already found out about the Mitchell girl. She raised her chin and nodded. “Maybe.”

“It’s good if I did and a valuable lesson to learn, Lizzie. You’ve not seen the world the way I have. You got to be on your guard every second of the day. Being alert has kept me alive and you’d best learn early that you can’t trust everyone.”

“Does that include you?”

He caught her stare and thought for a moment before giving her an answer. “Your grandfather trusts me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Now she was being just plain argumentative. Her chin lifted another inch and he noticed the feminine lines of her jaw, the slender length of her throat. “You don’t have to trust me, Lizzie. In fact, it’d be better if you didn’t.”

She blinked as his words sank in. Then with a sharper tone, she continued, “You didn’t answer my first question. Why are you sleeping with your gun?”

“Stupid question.”

“Stupid or not, I’d like an answer. Is someone after you?”

Nobody double-crossed Alistair Dunston and got away with it. Chance had left the man riled about him leaving the Circle D Ranch but it wasn’t as if he’d committed a crime or anything. Yet, he was in rare company defying the powerful man’s wishes, so Chance figured to keep his guard up. It never hurt a man to be smart. “Nope. A lot of men sleep with their guns. Keep that in mind and don’t go stealing into rooms unless you’re tired of breathing.”

“And you might try not shooting my head off when I announce supper,” she snapped.

He glanced at her pinched-tight lips and thought Lizzie needed lessons in manners. “You have a sass mouth.”

“You’ve told me that already. I doubt that’s going to change.”

“It’s gotta change, Lizzie. Just remember what I said about the trail drive and we’ll get along just fine.” He rose from the bunk and, towering above her, stared into her eyes. “You’re no match for me.”

Her expression faltered for a second, then filled with dawning realization. His attempt to instill fear in her hadn’t worked as planned. Lizzie set her chin stubbornly and met his gaze head-on. “I just might surprise you, Chance Worth.”

With that, she lifted her ugly skirt, whirled around and hastily exited the bunkhouse.

A wayward thought popped into his head and he hoped to high heaven that the surprise Lizzie had in mind for him wouldn’t be arsenic in his beef stew tonight.

Chapter Three

“Wasn’t too awful,” Lizzie muttered, closing her bedroom door and heaving a big sigh in the privacy of her room. After an uneventful dinner listening to her grandfather and Chance talk quietly about cattle prices and the upcoming trip, she’d made fast work of cleaning the kitchen and excusing herself. She had nothing to say to the stranger. He’d said all there was to say in the bunkhouse and Lizzie had no choice but to make the trail drive with him and hope the time on the road would pass quickly.

In her room, she sorted through her sewing basket hoping to find enough leftover material to make at least one doll. That doll would go to Sarah Swenson, the sickly little girl who hadn’t been strong enough to attend church lately. Sarah’s parents had asked Lizzie to make it bright, with flowery material and pretty yellow yarn hair to cheer their daughter up. But all Lizzie could find were scraps of dull colors, browns and blues that she’d intended to stitch onto the feet for the doll’s shoes.

Lizzie had made a promise to deliver the doll today and the circumstances preventing her from keeping that promise knotted her stomach and made her feel miserable. After the trail drive, she’d have money enough to buy new materials and honor her orders, but Lizzie couldn’t forget Sarah’s eager face, her sweet smile when the promise was made. Lizzie knew something about disappointment and how a little girl’s dreams could shatter in an instant. Lord above, she’d felt that way more than a time or two in her own life.

Lizzie sank down on her bed and glanced at the doll with brown button eyes and a white lace pinafore, pigtails of yellow yarn hair and a small stitched smile sitting atop her pillow. She’d taken extra special care of the cloth doll her father had given her right after her mama passed away. Together, they’d named the doll Sally Ann, in remembrance of her mother, Annette.

A few years ago, she began copying the doll with her own sewing technique and creating fashions that compared to no other. What set her dolls apart was her attention to detail, the intricate patterns of dress, the lacy sleeves and tiny buttons down the back, the pinafores with delicate ribbons and shoes that laced. The doll’s creation warranted great time and effort on her part as each one had their own unique personality, their own style of dress. How many hours had Lizzie spent creating new fashions or enhancing those she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar?

Lizzie put her materials back in the basket, knowing it was fruitless to try to sew a doll for Sarah out of her remainders. Plain and simple, she didn’t have what she needed. But she did have another idea and though it would pain her, she knew she could do at least that much for Sarah Swenson.

After undressing down to her chemise, Lizzie slipped into bed, fatigued and anguished from a day that had brought many unexpected surprises. She glanced at Sally Ann one last time before closing her eyes to tears, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day.

When morning dawned, an early glow of gold peeking up from the horizon gave Lizzie hope and a newfound rejuvenation. She’d always found faith in the new day and thought that all things were possible in that moment. She rose from bed and washed from a blue porcelain basin on her dresser. The rose-scented water refreshed her. She combed her unruly hair, a chore that took time and great effort. She wasn’t one for fixing up, so once her hair was free from snarls, she tied it back with a strip of leather then dressed in a light blouse and gray skirt.

She moved quietly through the house, peering into her grandfather’s room. He was still asleep. It seemed each week their breakfast came later and later as she waited for him to rise. She entered the kitchen and slipped her head into an apron, tying it into a bow at the back. After setting the coffee to brew, she walked outside and headed toward the chicken coop to collect today’s batch of eggs. Spring sunshine warmed the morning air and heated her insides just right.

As she rounded the bend behind the barn, she came upon Chance Worth with his back to her, washing his face over the water barrel. Rays of sunshine caressed his bare shoulders and streamed over thick cords of muscle—the beckoning dawn revealing his beautiful upper body to be as strong and sturdy as the Red Ridge Mountains themselves. Without knowledge of her watching, he scrubbed his face and shook the water from his dark hair. Droplets landed on his back and forged down his spine to tuck inside the waistband of his pants.

Lizzie forgot to breathe. Unnerved at the sight of him half dressed, the skin on her arms prickled and a slow burning heat built in her stomach. She backed up a step, ready to turn away and ignore the gripping sensations. But she talked herself out of running. Tomorrow, she and Chance would set out on a journey where they’d spend days upon days together. Alone. It was better to face this confusion now. Clearly, she couldn’t stand the man, so what she was feeling had to be something aside from complete awe. She’d never come upon a man who’d created such unfamiliar and unwanted yearnings in her.

She’d only known boys. Many of whom she’d bested in school and some she’d rejected outright when they’d come calling. The only boy she tolerated at all was her best friend, Hayden Finch, who wasn’t living in Red Ridge presently.

But no boy ever made her belly so queasy or got her heart pumping so fast.

Lizzie inhaled deeply and said, “Mornin’.”

Chance took his sweet time turning around, and Lizzie caught a glimpse of pure naked flesh ridged with muscles as he moved to face her. She forced her gaze from his chest, praying to the Almighty that he hadn’t seen her ogling him. A lazy smile graced his face. “Well, mornin’ to you, Lizzie.”

“I’m going to the henhouse,” she said, annoyed at the flurries in her belly. “Didn’t want to get shot collecting eggs.”

He wiped himself down with a towel and then shrugged his arms into a blue shirt, eyeing her carefully. “No chance of that. I knew you were there.”