Marry Me, Cowboy

“Depends,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts as she studied him. Deciding his offer was worth considering, she motioned for him to follow her. “I was just about to take a break, anyway, so you might as well come inside. We can discuss this over a glass of iced tea.”

Hat in hand, Harley followed her into the house and down the hall to the kitchen, trying to keep his excitement in rein. It wouldn’t do to let on how badly he needed her land. He looked left and right, wondering at the quiet. “Where are the kids?”

“Upstairs. It’s so hot I made them rest in their rooms for a while. Not that they’re resting,” she added dryly. “Jimmy’s probably playing Nintendo and more than likely Stephie’s knee-deep in dolls.”

Nodding, Harley took a seat at the table she gestured to, then watched in silence as she nabbed two glasses from the cupboards and filled them with ice. She set both on the table, then went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of tea.

Taking the chair opposite him, she filled each glass, then picked hers up. She tipped it in a silent toast and took a long drink. Mesmerized, Harley stared at the smooth column of her throat and the slender fingers that held the glass. On a sigh she set it back on the table and leveled her gaze on his. “How much?”

Giving himself a firm mental shake, Harley blew out a slow breath. He’d already given the price a great deal of thought and named one just short of fair.

Her eyebrows shot up at his offer. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

He leaned back, ready to dicker. “Well,” he said lazily, “the land’s in pretty bad shape. I’ll have to do some clearing before I can run any cattle on it. And the fencing will need some work,” he added with a regretful shake of his head. “It’s down in several places.” He offered her a conciliatory smile. “But don’t you worry. I can take care of that,” he offered as if he was doing her a favor.

“At whose expense?” she asked pointedly.

Harley frowned, then replied, “I suppose I can handle that.”

Mary Claire studied him a minute, then named a new price.

This time it was Harley’s eyebrows that shot up. “Why, that’s highway robbery!” he exclaimed.

Mary Claire leaned back in her chair, smiling smugly. She knew nothing about the value of the land, but judging by the surprised look on his face, it seemed she had been right on target when she’d plucked the sum from thin air. She lifted her tea glass and tapped it against her bottom lip as she studied him over its rim. “You said you wanted the land,” she reminded him.

“W-well, I do,” Harley stammered.

“That’s my best offer. If you’re not interested, I’m sure someone else will pay my price.”

Harley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew for a fact that at least one man would be willing to pay her price. Jack Barlow. And he could just see the smug look on Barlow’s face if he managed to lease the land right out from under Harley’s nose.

Harley huffed, then stood, jamming on his hat. “I’ll pay your price,” he growled.

“And you’ll do the repairs needed?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, I’ll do the damn repairs.” He strode for the back door, then turned. “But I want a five-year lease,” he added, pointing a finger at her nose. “Or no deal.”

“And whose name do I put on the lease?” she asked, obviously not wanting him to have the last word.

“Harley Kerr,” he snapped, then stepped outside and slammed the door behind him.

Two

“Whatcha doin’?”

Harley glanced up, then straightened when he saw the little Reynolds girl standing on the other side of the fence watching him. He lifted his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. She was a cute little thing with a little button nose and wide innocent blue eyes sparking with curiosity. “Mending fences. What are you doing?” he asked in return.

She dug the toe of her tennis shoe in the ground dejectedly. “Nothin’. Just watchin’ you.” She ambled closer, careful to place her hand between the barbs on the wire as she peered up at him. “Mama said I could watch you work as long as I didn’t get in your way. Am I in your way?”

He chuckled, hunkering down on one knee to put himself at eye level with her. “Now how could you be in my way when you’re on that side of the fence and I’m on this one?”

She screwed up her mouth like she had to think about that, then grinned. “So I can watch?”

“You can even help if you want.”

Her eyes brightened. “I can?”

“You betcha.” He stood and stretched his arms over the top wire. “Grab ahold and I’ll haul you over.”

Her arms laced with his and he lifted her clear of the barbed wire, then set her down at his side. He nodded toward a sack of staples on the ground at his feet. “You can hand me staples as I need them.”

He stooped and picked up his hammer. As he squatted down in front of the post again, he held out a hand, palm up. “Staple, please.”

Smiling proudly, she dug in the sack and dropped a staple on his palm, then watched as he positioned it over the wire. He swung the hammer, quickly burying the staple in the post in two strokes.

“Wow!” she said. “You must be pretty strong to do that.”

Harley shot her a wink. “Strength helps, but a careful aim is just as important.”

“Mama doesn’t aim so good,” she confided. “She smashed her finger a while ago.” She giggled and dipped her hand into the sack again. “She said an ugly word.”

Harley couldn’t help chuckling at the idea of Mary Claire letting loose on a cussword. “I’ve said a few myself when my aim wasn’t right. Hurts like hel—heck.”

Obviously unaware of his slip, Stephie sifted through the nails and let out a long sigh. “Mama and Jimmy are fixing that little fence that goes around our house. I wanted to help, but they said I was too little and would just get in the way.”

Harley heard the disappointment in her voice and remembered a time or two when his own daughter had suffered the frustrations of being too little to do things her brother was allowed to do. The memory made a cloud of sadness drift across his heart. “You’re helping me, though,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, I guess.” She crossed her ankles and sank down cross-legged on the ground, pulling the sack to her lap. She dug out another staple and handed it to Harley. “Do you have any little girls?” she asked, squinting up at him.

Harley froze, his fingers fumbling with the staple he’d just pressed to the post. “One, but she’s not so little anymore,” he murmured. “She’s sixteen.”

“Does she baby-sit? Mama was saying just this morning that she was going to need to find a babysitter for us when she starts working.”

Harley had to close his eyes against the pain. Even after ten years, it still hurt to think about his daughter and son and all that he’d missed in their lives. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. She doesn’t live with me. She lives in San Antonio with her mother.”

“You’re divorced?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Yeah. For about ten years now.”

“My mama and daddy are divorced, too. My daddy lives in Houston, but Mama didn’t want us living there anymore because it’s so dangerous.” She leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs out, pointing the tips of her tennis shoes toward the sky while she balanced the sack of staples on her stomach. “Jimmy got beat up on his way home from school and Mama cried. She said she couldn’t take it anymore, so she moved us here.”

Harley wanted to ask, “What couldn’t she take anymore? Houston? Jimmy getting beat up? Or living in the same city as her ex-husband?” But he decided it wouldn’t be right to press the child for information. “I’d imagine that’d be tough,” he said vaguely.

Stephie sighed again. “Yeah. I heard my mama’s friends talking, and they said guilt is what drove Mama to move.”

“Guilt?” Harley said before he could stop himself.

“Yeah. When Mama and Daddy were married, she didn’t have to work and she could stay at home with us. She told her friends that if she hadn’t divorced Daddy and had been at home like she was before, Jimmy wouldn’t have gotten beat up.”