The Bridal Contract

Her brain was in shock, and her heart all but bled with longing to hear those beloved voices again.

Had she lost her mind? The question burst into her consciousness, bringing a new torment. Her heart was pounding hard enough to make her chest ache as her thoughts ran crazily for an explanation. She knew her brothers’ voices and always would, but to hear them so clearly, and to feel that otherworldly touch…

Fay loosened the sorrel’s reins, still straining to hear their voices, but suddenly a little afraid she would. Maybe going crazy and hearing voices was the next turn in the downward spiral she’d been on, and the idea shook her up even more.

She couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t cope. The knowledge that she’d reached her emotional limit sent anxiety pumping through her. She urged the sorrel into a trot away from the fence in the rain-slick grass in an instinctive need to flee what she couldn’t understand, but just as she signaled him into a gallop, the air suddenly went blindingly white. The simultaneous boom of thunder sent the sorrel shying hard to the side, taking Fay so by surprise that she lost her balance and clung to the side of the saddle.

A second flash and boom, even more blinding and deafening than the first, made the sorrel lunge the other way, literally pitching her from one side of the saddle to the other. At the same instant, his back hooves slipped and his backside started to go down. Fay managed to yank her left boot from the stirrup to keep from getting a foot trapped, but the sorrel caught himself and lurched awkwardly to his feet.

He barely got all four hooves solidly beneath him before he rocketed away, breaking her hold, and the hard, wet ground leaped up to slam the breath out of her.

Fay Sheridan had been different when her brothers were alive. Energetic, full of fun, her never-met-a-stranger personality had made her a stand out. Her younger twin brothers, Ty and Troy, had been a lot like her. Handsome, competitive, but in their cases, always up to something. Fay had handled them good-naturedly, tough and strict when they’d needed it, but managing to walk that precarious line between proud big sister and parent after their momma and daddy had died five years back.

Then a year ago, the world had tragically changed for Fay, robbing her of her brothers, but also stealing away the happy, vital young woman that nearly every single male in that part of Texas had taken note of. She’d become something of a hermit after those first weeks, exiling herself from the ranch community in general, old friends in particular, and neighbors when she could. For the past year few people, other than her housekeeper and ranch hands, got more than a fleeting glimpse of her.

Chase Rafferty had been one of the few, regularly pushing his way into her life and into her business. That’s why he was driving to the boundary fence late that afternoon. One of his men had seen Fay out this way, and since the weather service had issued multiple storm watches and warnings, Chase had decided to see if she was still out here. He didn’t trust that she’d ridden on home.

The moment he’d seen the slim female atop the sorrel, he’d known he was right to investigate. The storm was almost on top of her, but instead of sensibly making tracks to shelter Fay was watching the clouds, frittering away precious minutes that could have ensured she safely reached home. It was foolish to gawk at a storm while she was so exposed to the danger of lightning, and in the case of this storm, it was suicidal.

And that’s the real reason he was here. Fay Sheridan had lost her way and, despite the stubborn front she put up, he’d sensed the recklessness in her. Now he was seeing it, and he shoved down on the truck’s accelerator to intervene as the big raindrops on his windshield changed to a wind-lashed deluge.

A bright flash of lightning and cannon shot of thunder was quickly followed by a second flash that struck close. The almost instantaneous explosion of thunder set the sorrel off and Chase watched through the rain-sheeted windshield as the horse started to go down, scrambled for footing, then bolted away without his rider.

The gate between Rafferty/Keenan and Sheridan land was more than a mile away, so he steered his big truck toward the fence. The impact of the truck against four strands of taut wire was minimal, but he felt a moment of resistance before the wire gave way. Once the truck was clear of the wire, he cranked the wheel to the left and circled to find where Fay had landed.

Now that he was facing the storm, the wind-driven rain made it all but impossible to see through the windshield. Wary of running her over, Chase levered the door open a little and leaned out in time to see Fay rise to her hands and knees.

The little idiot was alive.

Fay managed to stay conscious but couldn’t breathe. She instinctively rolled to her side then to her stomach to pull in enough air to relieve the pressure in her chest. Her head was spinning and she was nauseous, but she made it to her hands and knees and panted while she waited for more strength. Her clothes were soaked, her shoulder, hip and knee were throbbing, and she had the headache of her life. She tried to get up, but couldn’t do it yet, so she settled for moving a hand around until her fingers came in contact with the brim of her Stetson and dragged it close.

She thought she heard a pickup engine over the sound of the storm, but her ears were ringing so she wasn’t sure. Anxiety went through her at the idea that she was still hearing things that weren’t there, and the chill the thought left in its wake made her tremble. She didn’t hear the heavy tread of man-size boots until just before someone caught her around the waist and lifted her to her feet.

Fay cried out against the pain and surprise of the sudden move, helpless to do anything but bite her lip to stifle another embarrassing cry as she was all but dragged to the open door of a white pickup. At least this was real, and her anxiety eased. Her rescuer gathered her up and lifted her to the driver’s seat so suddenly that she had to close her eyes against the dizziness. She tried to move across the bench seat under her own power, but a pair of strong hands shifted her out of the way as easily as if she was a child.

Her rescuer climbed in after her, his big body bumping solidly against her bruised side, but Fay was too rattled and disoriented to move even an inch away from it. Besides, the heat of the shoulder to knee contact felt good, though the warmth set off another wave of the icy shivers that racked her.

A volley of hail hit the pickup roof, and the truck door banged shut. The engine revved as the pickup lurched backward, swinging around and nearly pitching her off the seat. The driver’s hard arm kept her from falling.

Fay reflexively reached for it, but the arm jerked down to shift gears as the pickup abruptly stopped then shot forward into a bumpy, fishtailing ride. Her nausea came back in direct proportion and she grabbed urgently for the driver’s arm.

“Slow down!” she panted, too weak to do more than hang on to him with her good right hand. She was so dizzy she had to close her eyes again.

The low voice that shot back was blunt and offensively descriptive.

“We gotta funnel cloud about to blow up the tailpipe.”

Fay felt a fresh surge of nausea as she recognized the voice. She made herself let go of his arm as he went on.

“Not that you’d care if a tornado dropped down on your head, but some of us would rather die of old age.”

The sarcasm cleared her brain and she managed to focus briefly on Chase Rafferty’s grim profile before she faced forward, her insides twisting with shame. And resentment.

Rafferty. Chase Rafferty, the biggest bull in the pasture, who regularly charged in where she didn’t want him to be. Good fences and closed doors meant nothing to him. In all these months he’d been the one person she hadn’t been able to keep away, the one person who hadn’t allowed her to come to grips with the loss of her brothers in solitude.

Everyone else had gotten the message that she needed time alone and didn’t feel like seeing anyone she didn’t have to, but Chase always found a reason to butt in. The worst had been during those first weeks after the double funeral, when he’d come over at 7:00 a.m. four mornings in a row, pounding on her bedroom door to inform her that it was a workday and she had men standing around waiting for her say-so.

And of course he’d hung around in her kitchen long enough to see her after she’d got dressed and come down for a quick breakfast. He’d been able to tell she had a hangover, but he’d waited until she’d finished eating to lecture her about the dangers of crawling into a bottle to numb her grief.

On the third morning, she’d come down to the kitchen after another loud awakening and threatened to do him bodily harm if he said anything more to her than “Good morning.” That was the last hangover she’d had though, because she’d stopped drinking herself to sleep. When he’d come by at 7:00 a.m. on the fourth morning, she’d already gone out, working away from the headquarters so she wouldn’t have to see him.

A few weeks later, he’d taken to phoning at the noon meal, wanting to know if she was going to show up for a cattlemen’s meeting that night or if she had plans to go to some local event or social gathering that weekend. His message was clear: Get back to living. Her message to him, after she got a caller ID and stopped answering his calls or returning them, was: Leave me alone.

After that, he’d gone back to stopping by from time to time, only he’d started asking if she had thoughts about selling out. Short of that, he was looking for land to lease, and since she’d sold off part of her herd, would she want to work out a deal to let him run some of his cattle on her range?

Those were the times that had annoyed her the most. As if she was some wimpy female who’d never be able to hang on to her heritage by herself. His offer had stung her pride at the time, but later that sting had begun to undermine her confidence and make her feel like a failure. After all, Rafferty/Keenan was a huge operation, and the man who ran it had a knack for spotting problems.

And the fact that it had been Rafferty who’d seen her get thrown off her horse just now, Rafferty who’d picked her up and stuffed her into his truck, and Rafferty who was racing across the range to outrun a dangerous storm, was bitter comeuppance for her foolishness with the lightning.

Even more bitter was the idea that he’d seen her moments of self-destructive daring before her fall, and would no doubt soon let her know he had. That’s why she’d started to hate the sight of him, and heartily wished she could target his Achilles’ heel as mercilessly as he had hers this past year. She hated even more that men like him didn’t seem to have any.

It was hard to remember now that there’d been a time—years actually—when she’d had a huge crush on Chase Rafferty. Even the idea that she might see him somewhere had given her a thrill. She would have loved to have his attention back then, though he’d seemed to be only marginally aware of her.

He’d had too many girlfriends, and she’d been a neighbor kid seven years younger, and far too inexperienced for an earthy man of the world like him. She’d worried for years that he’d marry one of his glamorous girlfriends, and when he hadn’t, her hope that he’d finally notice her and ask her out had become acute.

Then the boys had been killed and she’d lost interest in Chase along with everything else. Though he was still as ruggedly handsome as ever and remained the most sought after bachelor in their part of Texas, Fay was immune to him now.

And she was still nauseous from the rough ride. The longer the trip went, the more aches and pains made themselves felt, but she’d bite her tongue off before she’d complain. She couldn’t let herself get sick, either; that would be the ultimate shame if it happened with Rafferty around. Surely they’d reach the main house at her place soon.

They finally drove out of the rain and were now ahead of it. Chase turned onto one of the better pasture roads and the ride smoothed out. Soon the big pecan trees at the Sheridan headquarters came into sight, then the corrals and ranch buildings. Chase drove past them all as if he did it every day, then steered the pickup onto the lawn behind her house and drove across the stone patio to the back door, turning sharply at the last moment to position the passenger door of the truck closer to the house before he stopped and switched off the engine.

The windshield wipers stopped with the engine, and Fay saw it was only sprinkling here. The wind was gusting hard as she got her door open and tried to get out of the pickup before Chase could come around and help her. She’d barely got her feet out before Chase surged close and plucked her off the seat to carry her to the door.

Good thing he didn’t need her to put her arms around his neck, because he’d trapped her right arm behind him and she couldn’t lift her injured left one high enough to reach his shoulder. As soon as they were in the mudroom, he kicked the door closed to tromp into the silent kitchen, bellowing as he did.

“Margie? You still here?”

The shout startled Fay and she jerked in his arms, setting off every ache in her body. She barely managed to stifle a moan and tried to cover it with a quick, “She’s gone. Put me down.”

Her order didn’t slow Chase in the least as he walked into the hall then into the living room to sit her on the sofa. He left her briefly to grab the TV remote, switch it on, then surf through the channels to find weather coverage.

While his back was turned, Fay fought her way to her feet despite the dizziness that swamped her. Her head was pounding and her legs felt alarmingly weak, but she managed a couple of unsteady steps before Chase found a local weather bulletin and turned back to her.

“Sit down and let me see what’s hurt,” he said gruffly as he eased her back toward the sofa. “As soon as we see how bad the storm is between here and Coulter City, we’ll go to the hospital.”

Fay managed to pull from his grip, thankful it was her good arm he’d caught. “I don’t need a hospital.”

“The hell you don’t,” he growled. “You’re white as a sheet and movin’ like you’re a hundred years old. An’ you gotta knot the size of a goose egg in your hair.”