The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (2 page)

Ivy closed the door, her chest tight, her nerves tingling.

Her visitor wasn’t bent on harming her or her animals, but he made her feel things she hadn’t wanted to ever feel again. Man-woman things.

She
would figure out who was causing problems on her farm. The sooner she did, the sooner she could send Gideon Black packing.

* * *

She didn’t want him here. Not that it seemed to matter much to his brain.

Gideon couldn’t get the woman out of his head. Just like the first time he’d met Ivy Powell, the sight of her last night had put a hitch in his breathing. And again this morning.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her features were strong yet undeniably feminine. A stubborn jaw set off by a pair of plump pink lips, delicate winged eyebrows over shrewd midnight eyes. Lush breasts, gently flared hips.

He’d woken up hard and hurting, and he didn’t want to spend another night like that. Hell, he didn’t want to spend another night here period, but he had promised to find out what, if anything, was going on. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could get back to the Diamond J.

No thunderclouds in sight today. It was bright and sunny. After a breakfast of ham and the best biscuits he’d ever had, Gideon helped Ivy with the chores—milking the cows, gathering the eggs, checking the shoes on her herd of horses.

Now he stood beside her in what had been her husband’s office. The room with its front-facing window easily accommodated a standing desk and leather chair as well as a waist-high cabinet holding a lamp.

The back of the desk was raised with a set of pigeonholes across its top for filing. The lower part of the desk had drawers down both sides and one in the middle, which Ivy opened.

Her pale blue skirts brushed against his leg. Sunlight streamed in from the window behind them, gilding her raven-dark hair. Again, she wore a single braid, which revealed her elegant neck. And there was no escaping her soft magnolia scent, potent enough to knot his gut. Her skin was as fine-grained as satin. Gideon bet it felt like satin, too. Her lashes and eyes were as dark as her hair, setting off her refined features. And her mouth...

Beside him, she shifted, jerking his attention to the paper in her hand.

“Here’s the last one.” She handed him a drawing similar to several she’d already shown him.

Blood humming, he took the paper. This illustration of her house and farm was even more detailed than the others. The first sketches left on her porch had shown the property from the front in broad charcoal strokes—the trees around the sprawling white frame house, the edge of a long chicken coop that ran parallel to the east side of the structure, the corral and barn on the west side.

In each successive drawing, the view moved closer to the house. The likeness grew more detailed. The etchings had progressed from pleasing to almost...obsessive.

In this latest one, Ivy’s bedroom was shown in stark detail from the large bed near the window to the half-open wardrobe that revealed a few dresses down to the star pattern of the quilt on her bed.

“Is this an accurate picture of your bedroom?”

“Yes, right down to the quilt,” she answered tersely.

Gideon wondered how long the “artist” had been at her window. Had Ivy been in her room at the time? Anger flared that someone had gotten so close to her private space.

Beside him, she drew in a shaky breath. “What do you think?”

Her bedroom was located on the west side of the house, which gave Gideon pause. Why the change from the front view? “Do you know anyone who draws this well?”

“No.” She looked surprised. “It never crossed my mind to wonder. Do you think someone I know is doing this?”

“Could be.” The worried expression on her face bothered him, but there was no help for it. “What else has happened?”

“My chickens are disappearing.”

“That could be due to coyotes or wolves.”

“Yes, but if an animal were responsible, I think I would’ve found at least a feather or some blood in the henhouse. There’s been nothing.”

“You think a person took your birds?”

“It’s possible.” Her mouth tightened. “I wish I knew what this person wanted.”

Gideon turned around to look out the window across the grass of her yard to the red mud and puddles of the road beyond. “Have you thought about getting a dog?”

“I had one. Tug.” Ivy eased up beside him, bringing that damn scent with her, causing his nerves to twang. “He disappeared a couple of days ago.”

Needing to escape the barely there touch of her body against his, he stepped toward the door. “Let’s walk.”

He waited for her to precede him, then followed her through the front room and outside. They moved down the porch steps, angled toward the barn. Her braid hung to the middle of her back, drawing his eye to her small frame, the sharp tuck of her waist before her hips flared slightly.

Coming up beside her, he took in the corral and barn. The fence that ran around the property could use a fresh coat of whitewash, but everything was in good shape.

Gideon moved toward the back of the barn, shortening his stride so Ivy could keep up. “Is it possible your dog ran off?”

“I don’t think so. Tug roams during the day, but always returns at night.”

“Maybe he found a lady friend.”

“Maybe, but even if so, something else has happened or he would’ve come back.”

White clouds floated against a pale blue sky. As they reached the barn, red mud squished around Gideon’s boots. Ivy picked up her skirts and tiptoed through the muck. A bit of petticoat flashed beneath the hem of her practical blue day dress.

Shifting his gaze from her, he studied the fence that ran from the side of the house and around back to encompass the outbuildings. He spotted a couple of rotten wood slats, but no other signs of disrepair.

Beyond the back fence, several Holsteins milled about, grazing on alfalfa. Gideon had already seen the black-and-white-spotted animals this morning.

He and Ivy stepped through the back door of the barn and moved inside. The door at the other end was also open, and a fresh breeze blew through the sturdy watertight structure. Oats and bits of hay scattered across the dirt floor. The odors of animal flesh and earth hung on the air.

Gideon had been here earlier checking the horses’ shoes. “Where’s the horse you found?”

“I towed him to a gully using another horse.”

“Could you show me?”

She led him past the house and through the back gate around the cows. Alfalfa blanketed the field in green as far as he could see. As they walked down a slight hill, he spied the glitter of a fast-running creek cutting through a grove of pecan trees. Beyond was a line of thick timber, just like the woods in front of Ivy’s house that ran along the road that was part of the old military trace between Fort Towson and Fort Jesup in Louisiana.

Someday, he was going to have a place like this.

Realizing he’d quickened his pace, Gideon slowed, waiting for Ivy. She reached him, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. He had a sudden image of other things that might make her breathe hard against him.

Inhaling her scent mixed with spring air, his gaze involuntarily went to her mouth. He wanted to know how she tasted and... He bit back a curse.

He hadn’t had a woman since he’d gotten out of prison. A visit was long overdue.

He didn’t understand this fascination with Ivy, this infernal awareness. Yes, she was beautiful, but his experience with another one like her had cost him five years of his life. Then, as now, he’d been trying to protect a woman, and it had left marks.

Deep, soul-scarring marks. He had no intention of getting more.

He glanced away from the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Reminding himself that he was there for her brother, he asked, “Do you own this land?”

“Yes.”

Gideon knew Tom Powell had died about a year and a half ago. “What about your late husband?”

“What about him?” She cut him a sharp look.

“Smith said he was killed when he was thrown from a wagon.”

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“How do you get along with his family?”

“Fine, though I rarely see them. Tom’s grandmother is his only living relative. She’s in Chicago. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out if anyone would want your business.”

She shook her head. “She has no interest in that or in living here.”

“I’m also trying to decide if anyone has a grudge against you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about suitors?”

She stopped, staring blankly at him for a moment. Then a look of horror crossed her features. “No one is courting me! No one is even interested.”

Gideon found that hard to believe. “Did your husband leave any debts unsettled?”

“No.” She shifted her gaze to the pasture.

Several yards away, Gideon saw a gully, its red mud walls carved out of the pasture’s earth. Overhead, ravens circled with a raucous call.

Beside him, Ivy muttered something under her breath, wrestling with her blue skirts now damp from the wet grass.

Gideon slowed. “How does your arrangement with the stage line work?”

“The mayor of Paladin has a contract with them, and he sublets the farm from me to use as a stage stop. He pays me a monthly stipend for the food I provide the passengers and for the horses I board for the stage line.”

“Does the stage change teams every time it stops?”

“Usually, not always.”

“How many of those horses in your corral belong to them?”

“Ten. The other three are mine.”

Her answers were short, brisk. Because she didn’t like that he was asking questions? Or because she could sense how she affected him?

Beneath the scents of grass and earth, he caught her musky floral fragrance, and it pulled his muscles taut. He put a little space between them. “Do you have any passengers who come through regularly?”

“A couple.”

“Have any of them ever made threats? Been unhappy with anything?”

“No.”

She lived out here alone. She’d received the poems and drawings. Her dog was gone, some of her chickens had disappeared and she’d found a dead horse, which he had yet to see. All those things had spooked her enough to prompt the wire to her brother.

They reached the edge of the gully, which looked to be six to seven feet deep. A sour, overwhelming stench reached them, and Gideon pulled his bandanna over his nose, noticing that Ivy pressed a handkerchief over hers.

The horse lay at the bottom in several inches of muddy water. The animal was stiff, its brownish-red hide chewed from neck to rump. The black tips on its ears, mane and tail identified it as a bay.

Beside him, Ivy made a soft, distressed noise, but when he glanced over, she was composed, calm, albeit pale.

“Wait here,” he said. “I want to take a closer look.”

She nodded, staying where she was as he carefully maneuvered his way down the slippery mud walls. Birds and other varmints had picked away at the horse’s flesh.

Gideon could see now that the bay was a gelding. There were no broken legs, no broken bones anywhere that he could find. After thoroughly examining the animal, he returned to study its chest. The long gash from the base of the bay’s neck to the top of his chest looked to have been caused by a knife. A large knife.

He made his way back up the slick slope, struggling to keep his footing a few times. Finally, he stood beside her, the knees of his trousers covered with red mud. He took off his hat and drew his arm across his sweat-dampened forehead.

Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced over.

She shifted her attention to the dead horse. “Who could do something like this? And why?”

“I don’t know.”

She exhaled heavily, clearly vexed.

“What will happen when the stage line finds out about their dead animal?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible they won’t trust me with other animals or even their business.”

“There was nothing in the contract about things like this?”

“My husband signed it, and I’ve never read the whole thing,” she said tiredly. “It’s somewhere in his desk. I’ll look for it when we return to the house.”

He nodded. “And your missing chickens? Does that significantly affect the meals you offer?”

“Yes.”

Staring at the horse, he thumbed his hat back. “Considering the chickens and the bay, this could be directed at your business. It makes you look bad to the stage line and to the mayor who subcontracted you.”

“What about Tug? And the drawings, the poems? Those seem personal, not business.”

True. “You say no one has a grudge against you. Maybe you have something they want.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Your contract with the stage line?”

“No one else around here spoke up when the mayor asked who was interested in contracting with him for the job.”

“Maybe someone wants your land?”

“That makes no sense. I’ve worked hard to make this a nice place, but it isn’t sitting on top of a gold mine. And no one’s approached me about buying.”

Something was going on. Gideon just wasn’t sure how threatening it was. Except for the drawing of her bedroom. That weighed on him.

Turning in a slow circle, he examined every angle from the house. Only the barn roof could be seen from here. His gaze slowly swept the line of fence, the lush alfalfa rippling across the pasture. He paused at the thick line of trees running along the back of her place.

After a moment, he realized what bothered him. “I’d like to take a look at the woods in front of your house.”

“All right.”

Retracing their steps, they reached her house several minutes later then cut across the wet yard and out the gate to the road.

She hurried along beside him, her cheeks flushed. “Why are you interested in the woods?”

“None of those drawings showed the rear view of your property.”

Realization flashed across her face. “Except for the one of my bedroom, they were all from the woods bordering the road.”

“Yes, and there might be some sign that someone’s been lying in wait.”