Bushedwhacked Groom (9 page)

Cole shrugged. “0h, a variation of the truth should
work—you know, that he was passing through and
took a fall off his horse.”

“And what a fall,” she added drolly.

He tenderly caressed her cheek. “We didn’t tell any
one the truth about you when you came here, and we
shouldn’t about Lucky now. We’ll need to keep our
own counsel, especially when it comes to the folks in
town.”

“Amen,” seconded Jessica. “If we spilled the beans in
Mariposa, we’d be locked up in the loony bin, and
they’d throw away the key.”

“And you know,” Cole added wryly, “our guest from
the future would agree with them completely.”

The two fell into gales of laughter, ending in a
kiss . . .

Chapter Six

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Amazingly, Lucky awakened in something less than
agony, to the slow ticking of the ornate bronze clock on the dresser. How long had he been passed out this way? A glance at the window revealed the first rosy
rays of dawn filtering through, with a sweet breeze ruf
fling the lacy white curtains. He’d pretty much slept
around the clock then, thanks to Grandma and her po
tion. And if he’d had any hope of awakening back
where he’d come from—awakening to
sanity
—it was
dashed now. He was still stuck in the same wacky
limbo in which he’d fallen asleep.

With a pained grunt, he crept out of bed and put on
the strange clothes he’d been given yesterday—the odd
jeans with the button fly, the long-sleeved, green-checked shirt that looked homemade. He slipped on
his own well-worn brown cowboy boots and made his
way out the door, across the porch and to the necessary.

He emerged in the morning briskness to the sight of a glorious
Colorado
dawn, with mule deer grazing in
the valley beyond and hawks soaring overhead,
against a rugged
Rocky
Mountain
backdrop. He could
hear the calls of horned larks and mourning doves.

What he didn’t hear were any sounds of civiliza
tion—at least not the civilization he remembered. Not
a truck engine revving up or a tractor groaning its way
across a field. Not the distant blare of a stereo or the
hum of an AC unit. This place truly seemed sus
pended in time. Though Lucky wasn’t a technology
buff, he actually found himself missing the comforting
drone of CNN in the background and the binging of
the microwave.

Where in hell
was
he? Nothing about the terrain or
the house looked familiar. Even more critical, how
would he find his way home? If what these people said
was true, he was not only miles distant from home but
nearly a century away.

This last he refused to believe. These fruitcakes must
be lying to him. Even this Jessica person, though she
had her motherly appeal, was ultimately too far
fetched to be believed. He needed to get the hell away
from these crazies, find some folks who had their
heads on straight and could direct him back to the Fly
ing T . . .

He was hobbling around toward the front of the
house to get a better look at the farmstead when the
sound of
“Chee, chee, chee!”
interrupted his musings.
Out in the barnyard he spotted his lovely nemesis feeding the chickens. Again she looked too pretty for words in a low-cut, pink muslin gown that did nothing to hide
the lush contours of her breasts and the trim lines of
her waist. She was throwing seed to an attentive flock of chattering hens.

Lucky was about to duck around toward the front
porch when she spotted him. Dimpling charmingly,
she called out, “Morning, Handsome.”

“Morning,” he grumbled back, about ready to give
up on trying to rid her of her obnoxious habit of call
ing him “Handsome.” He strode closer and found even
the strong barnyard odor could not dampen the effect
on his senses of seeing this vision of femininity—
damn her little hide!

“How you feeling?” she asked.

“Better, no thanks to you.”

She glowered. “Hey, I’m the one who rescued you
yesterday—”

“And half killed me on the ride back here.”

“Well, you couldn’t have been too messed up, since
you’re already up and rambling about.” She regarded
him slyly. “Were you hoping to give me the slip?”

Lucky ground his teeth; that notion had certainly
crossed his mind numerous times. “You think I’m
gonna steal one of your daddy’s horses?”

“He’d shoot you if you did.”

“How hospitable of him.”

She gave a shrug. “You up to getting hitched today?”

Lucky’s glare was eloquent.

She rolled her eyes. “I see you’re just as ornery as before
.”

“Yeah, that pretty much happens every time I get
shanghaied by a crew of psychopaths . . . and it takes
some time to pass.” He rubbed his unshaven jaw.
“What’s got you up so early, anyhow?”

“
This is a farm—or have you already forgot? Someone has to scatter feed to the chickens.”

“
If anything’s scattered, lady, it’s your brains.”

“You think I don’t have chores around here?” she
demanded.

He laughed. “All gussied up in pink muslin? Tell the truth, now. You got up early and got yourself dolled up
just hoping you could entice me so I’d go along with
your crazy scheme.”

“Cowboy, you can’t think I’m that conniving,” she flirted with a grin.

“You and Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Scarlett O’Who?”

“Never
 
mind.”

She sashayed closer, tempting him with her bright
green eyes and smiling, rose-hued lips, and despite
himself, Lucky drew in a harsh breath. As he watched
in fascination, she drew a teasing hand down her lacy
bodice—puckering a nipple in the process—then trail
ing her shapely fingers past the trim lines of her waist to the tempting folds of her skirt.

Lucky’s privates twinged painfully and he almost
groaned out loud. Her gesture was blatantly sensual
yet enticingly naive.

She spoke in a low purr. “Handsome, do you really
think I’d wed you in this here pink, rather than virgin’s
white?”

“Virgin, eh?” Lucky gulped, unable to help himself. He was riveted.

“Are you insulting my maidenhood now?” she de
manded with a pout.

Lucky wasn’t sure how to respond to that, espe
cially since he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d
met a bona fide “maiden.” “Just tell me why you’re all
prettied up.”

“Well, truth to tell, my aunt Dumpling and uncle
Billy and their young’uns are coming for dinner today.
I know they’ll enjoy meeting my affianced—”

“I’m not your g’damned affianced!” he exploded.

“And Aunt Dumpling will just love helping me plan
my wedding,” she finished cheerily, ignoring his flash of
temper.

Lucky knew there was little point in arguing further. Muttering “Damn crazy woman,” he turned and strode
off for the house.

***

Lucky returned to his room to find shaving gear—an
old-fashioned, straight-edge razor, a basin of warm wa
ter, a crude bar of soap and a linen hand towel—laid
out on his dresser. Some kind soul—probably Jes
sica—had put the items there. Mumbling, “She’s got to
be kidding,” he tried his best to trim his stubble with the
antiquated equipment, yelping numerous times when
he nicked himself with the less than sharp blade. By
the time he finished, the smells of ham and strong cof
fee were enticing him toward the kitchen.

Rubbing his sore face as he stepped into the large,
stone-floored room, he spotted Grandma and Jessica,
both in homespun dresses and aprons, busy making
coffee, flipping flapjacks and frying ham and eggs at an antique
cast-iron stove. The other kitchen fixtures consisted of
a primitive drain board with a pump, two large pie
safes and a crude porcelain icebox, much like the an
tique one his grandparents had stored on the back
porch.

Lucky could only shake his head. Another scene
from a B western.

“Mornin’, ladies,” he greeted.

Jessica turned with a smile. “Lucky. Good morning
to you. You feeling better?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you find the shaving paraphernalia I left for you?”

He rubbed his smarting cheek again. “Oh, yes,
ma’am.”

Grandma guffawed. “Just look at him—all scratched
up like a rooster caught in chicken wire. Ain’t nobody
learnt you how to shave, sonny?”

“Not with a blunt object,” he replied dryly.

“Huh?” Grandma asked.

Jessica was laughing. “Sit down, Lucky, and I’ll bring
you some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

He took a seat at the long trestle table
and sipped the strong brew from a blue enamel cup.
Within seconds Cole strode in, dressed for the range in
jeans and a long shirt, followed in quick order by the
boys, who filed in one by one, well-scrubbed, from
the bunkhouse. They took their places, barely ac
knowledging him with stiff nods.

Lucky was astounded at the feast the two ladies
served up—flapjacks with hot syrup, fried eggs and
ham, biscuits with cream gravy. Although the fare was
definitely mouthwatering, Lucky was stunned at the massive amounts the other men consumed. He could
only watch in mingled fascination and disbelief as
Zach wolfed down five pieces of ham and at least as
many eggs, and Matt devoured four huge biscuits
soaked in gravy.

“Eat up, boy,” Cole directed him, heaping his own
plate with more pancakes. “You need to regain your
strength.”

“Sir, I’ve already had three of everything.”

“Pa, is he gonna ride with us today?” asked Matt.

“Naw. This boy needs a little more mending time before we show him the range.”

“Bet he’s a pure greenhorn,” jeered Vance.

Now Lucky felt compelled to defend himself. “I’ll
have you know I’ve been working the Flying T for three
years now, and rode my grandparents’ spread before
that.”

“Flying T?” scoffed Matt. “Never heard of it.”

“All right, boys, leave Lucky in peace,” scolded Jessica.

Matt was about to protest when Molly came dancing
in the back door with a basketful of flowers. “Ma, I got
done feeding the chickens early so I picked some
black-eyed Susans for you.”

A stunned silence fell as every member of Molly’s
family regarded her in amazement. “Daughter, what
are you doing all scrubbed and starched so early in the
day?” her father asked.

“Are you implying I don’t bathe?” she shot back impudently.

“Ain’t you coming with us to the range today?” Cory
asked his sister.

Molly preened, then winked at Lucky. “Naw. Now
that I’m an affianced lady, I’m gonna stay here and
help out the womenfolk.”

While Lucky muttered to himself, all of Molly’s broth
ers broke up laughing. “You, a lady with a fiancé!”
scoffed Zach. “Might as well be Vance or me putting on
airs and a frilly dress.”

“Do you boys have some peculiar notions you
haven’t told us about?” she mocked back. Amid chuck
les, she turned to her mother. “Ma, you and Grandma can
use my help today, can’t you? I mean, with
Uncle Billy, Aunt Dumpling and the cousins due here
at high noon.”

“Noon?” put in a confused Lucky. “I thought you said
those folks were coming for
dinner?”

Everyone but Jessica stared at Lucky in mystification. “Lucky, dinner here is at noon and supper at five
o’clock,” she pointed out tactfully.

“Ah, yes, dinner,” Lucky replied with a scowl. “Come
to think of it, I can remember my grandma sometimes
used to refer to lunch as dinner, too.”

“And of course you’ll join us, Lucky?” Jessica added
graciously.

“‘Course he will,” retorted Molly before Lucky could
speak.

“Molly” scolded Jessica, “let the man answer for
himself.”

While Molly scowled, Lucky smiled at Jessica. “I’d be
honored to join you for dinner, ma’am.”

“Wonderful,” she replied, turning to Cole. “And you
men bear in mind you need to be back by eleven-thirty
to scrub up.”