Wish Upon a Cowboy (12 page)

The older man half turned as she approached. He nodded at her, then turned his attention back to Jonas. "You don't have to do this today," he said.

"As good a time as any," Jonas told him as he caught a glimpse of Hannah and lowered his head to his task.

"What's going on?" she asked as she stepped up to the corral fence and rested her hands on the highest rail.

"This durn fool's gonna break his neck," Elias muttered.

"What I'm going to do is break this horse before roundup." Jonas tightened the cinch strap, then flipped the stirrup down and into place. Grabbing the reins, he led the horse into the center of the corral.

The big black animal tossed its head and rolled its eyes. Snorting and sidestepping, it looked as though it had no intention of being ridden anytime soon.

Hannah felt a catch in her chest and stepped up onto the bottom railing. In the sunlight, Jonas's bruises looked appalling. His jaw was purple, his split lip still swollen, and his right eye was nearly closed.

"Isn't this dangerous?" she asked quietly.

She felt, rather than saw, Elias's gaze shift to her. "Damn right. Even when a man's got a clear head, it ain't easy," he raised his voice slightly. "A hangover'll only make it harder."

Jonas ignored him.

"Why is he doing this?" she asked herself aloud.

"Because it needs to be done," Elias answered.

"But he's hurt," she said, her gaze locked on Jonas. A part of her admired him for doing his job even when he was obviously in no shape for it.

"Yeah," Elias said on a grunt. "From what I hear, it was a beaut of a fight."

"You didn't go into town, then?" She turned to look at him.

"I got better things to do," he said, then raised his voice pointedly. "Even if some folks don't."

Jonas ignored him.

"He came home drunk," Hannah commented.

"Usually does." The older man's gray eyes narrowed as he watched the younger man in front of him.

She shifted her gaze back to where Jonas was stabbing his left foot into the stirrup and grabbing hold of the saddle horn with both hands. Frowning, she asked, "Usually?"

"Every damn Saturday night," he said, his voice thick with concern. "For years, now."

Why? she wondered, but couldn't bring herself to ask. What could drive a man like the Mackenzie to seek solace from a liquor bottle'? A man with all the power of the universe at his fingertips. A man who, with the snap of his fingers, could unleash a stream of energy strong enough to rival the white-hot ferocity of a thousand lightning bolts.

She studied him through eyes looking to see beyond the surface and into the soul. The heart. Once again, she remembered the night before, when he'd looked at her and asked, Why can't I make you disappear?

The pain of that moment lessened only when she reminded herself that if he'd really wanted her gone… she would be.

He pulled himself into the saddle and with his abrupt movement, the horse began a dance designed to dismount him. All four feet left the ground as the huge beast arched its back, lowered its head, and snorted in frustrated fury.

Hannah held her breath and watched as Jonas leaned back in the saddle, straightening his legs, locking his knees as he pitched back and forth with the animal's crazed flight. His left hand high over his head, his right hand kept a firm grip on the reins he'd wrapped around the saddle horn.

Seconds became hours, and minutes, days.

The only sound she heard was the frantic pawing of hooves against hard-packed earth and the whoosh of Jonas's breath rushing in and out of his lungs.

Her own breath was trapped in her chest. She felt her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She felt the man beside her stiffen when Jonas suddenly flew from the saddle to land in a heap, up against the corral fence. And there he lay, still and quiet.

"Damn it," Elias muttered.

Fear tore at her throat, making it impossible to draw breath. Before she knew what she was doing, Hannah was clambering between the rails of the corral fence, barely aware that Elias was keeping pace with her. She ran across the paddock to Jonas while the older man caught the horse's reins and led the animal a safe distance away.

*  *  *

The sun stabbed at Jonas's closed eyelids, increasing the pounding ache that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The blinding hangover that had been with him for hours was now joined by the assorted stabs of pain that seemed to attack every inch of his body.

Groaning tightly, he rolled to one side and cautiously opened his eyes. Silhouetted against the sun, she stood over him. Her face in shadows, she seemed haloed by a golden light that reminded him eerily of the night before. Drunk he might have been, but he dimly recalled having a conversation with an angel, of all things. An angel that had made him yearn for heaven and suffer in the hell of not having her.

Here, he was willing to bet, was that angel.

Jesus, how had this happened to him? How did one woman show up in a man's life and in less than a week throw everything he'd known into turmoil?

She'd slipped up on him. Made herself a part of the place. Everywhere he looked, he saw her. She'd stepped right up to the challenge of feeding a dozen men three times a day and had managed to tame that same rowdy crew. He knew the men liked her… and damned if he didn't, too.

"Are you all right?" she asked and went down on her knees beside him.

He heard the concern in her voice and cringed inwardly. He looked away from the flash of fear he recognized in her eyes. He couldn't—wouldn't—be that important to another human being again.

Ever.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just banged up a little."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked with a shake of her head.

"It has to be done," he said and, wincing, tried to sit up.

Instantly, her arms were around him, supporting him until he was leaning back against the rail fence. Warmth rippled from her body into his. The scent of lemons wafted around him and he drew it deep into his lungs despite knowing he shouldn't indulge in even that small comfort. And then the memory of that brief, soul shaking kiss crashed over him and Jonas nearly groaned aloud.

She must be a witch, he told himself. Otherwise, she wouldn't have such a profound effect on him. His heart had turned to stone too long ago for any ordinary woman to be able to reach it. As for what her presence did to his body… hell, even a dead man would take notice of Hannah, he figured.

"There's an easier way," she said softly.

"Don't start with that witchcraft stuff again, Hannah," he interrupted her. "Believe me. I'm in no mood for it."

"For heaven's sake, Mackenzie," she said, her voice filled with the impatience that seemed to flow from her in waves, "this is a gift you've been given. Can't you see that?"

Tipping his head to one side, he studied her briefly. From the flyaway strands of blond hair that swirled about her head in the soft breeze, to her wide, green eyes, to the gently curved lips he'd dreamed of kissing again.

Disgusted with his own wayward mind, he snapped, "What I see is a woman keeping me from doing my job."

"Pretending it's not true won't make it so."

A quick spurt of anger shot through him as he grabbed one of her hands and squeezed it. "I'm not a witch. Hannah."

She shook her head and a few more strands of gold drifted free of her braid. "I don't know how to convince you."

"You can't."

"I have to try," she said and covered his hand with her free one. Heat collected at the spot where they touched, and Jonas had to fight against the urge to pull her closer. He suddenly wanted, desperately, to feel her body pressed tightly to his. To surround himself with the warmth and sunlight that seemed to be a part of her.

He'd been so long in the shadows.

Too long, he told himself.

Behind her, Elias stepped closer. Absently, Jonas noticed his old friend, but chose to ignore his presence in the effort to make Hannah understand.

"Don't you get it?" he demanded roughly and snatched his hand free before he could give in to the temptation to reach for more. "I don't want to be convinced. I don't want to be who you say I am."

"You don't get a choice Jonas," she said, and he thought he heard a wisp of sympathy laced with the firm conviction in her tone. "You are the Mackenzie. By birth. By right. It's not something you can make go away by turning a blind eye to it."

"Watch me."

"But why? Surely anyone would want what you have."

Not everyone, he thought. Not a man who carried around the image of a dead woman. A woman who died because he couldn't reach her in time. Because he'd left her alone when she needed him. Because his own damned ambition had been more important than her safety.

He couldn't believe Hannah's story.

If he did, then he would have to accept that he could have saved Marie if only he'd known. And he didn't think he could live with that. Not bothering to answer her, he pushed himself to his feet and stalked past Elias. Brushing himself off, he gathered up the stallion's reins and rejoined the battle.

*  *  *

A few days later, Hannah drove her carriage into the small town of Hat Rock. The long, narrow main street was crowded with weekday shoppers. A bit bigger than Creekford, the mountain town was tidier than she'd expected. Freshly painted buildings looked spruce in the cloud-scattered sunshine and there were even a few flower boxes lining the windows of some of the shops facing the one and only street.

She passed the livery stable, a milliner, a bakery, the mercantile, and a barbershop. From farther down the street, she heard the distinctive ring and crash of a blacksmith's hammer. A few women carrying baskets over their arms hustled along the freshly swept boardwalk, herding small armies of children as they went.

Horses stamped restlessly at the hitching rails and a heavy dray wagon rolled past Hannah on its way out of town. The driver tipped his hat to her and grinned, and she gave him a distracted smile.

Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed this trip into town. A chance to see more of the new world she'd entered, a chance to meet some of the people who would become a part of her life once she and Jonas were married. And they would be married, she determined firmly.

However, she had been forced to the conclusion that she was going to need some help in bringing Jonas around to her way of thinking. She'd been at the ranch nearly two weeks and the man was no closer to falling in love with her than he had been the day she'd arrived.

In fact, since kissing her, he seemed more dedicated than ever to keeping his distance.

Gripping the reins tightly, Hannah kept one eye on the road while she searched for the telegraph office. And just before she reached the edge of town, she spotted it, sandwiched between Ellen Kay's Dress Shoppe and Wells Fargo. She stopped her carriage just outside, jumped down from the seat, and tied the reins to the hitching post.

Striding across the boardwalk, she opened the door, setting a small bell into a clanging dance of welcome.

"Mornin', miss," the tall thin man behind the counter said as he stood up from his chair. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," she answered, noting the scent of cigar smoke and an out-of-date calendar tacked to the bare plank wall. "I need to send a telegram."

"Then you come to the right place." He smiled at her and slid a stack of yellow forms toward her. "You just fill one of them out, and I'll send it right away."

Thoughtfully, Hannah picked up a pencil and, heaving one last regretful sigh that this was necessary, began to write. In just a few moments, it was done. She'd admitted to failure one more time. Eudora had been counting on her. Creekford had been counting on her.

And not only had her witchcraft failed her this time, she thought dismally, but so had her feminine charms.

Swallowing back that humiliating fact, Hannah paid the man, thanked him, and left the telegraph office. Standing on the boardwalk, she let her gaze sweep across the row of shops and decided to do a little shopping. After all, she thought with a frown, no sense in hurrying back to the ranch just so Mackenzie could ignore her again.

Before she'd taken more than a step, though, a gaggle of voices caught her attention. She turned her head and watched as a beautiful woman walked by, followed by a crowd of men, each vying for her attention. Tall and generously endowed, she wore a lovely red dress that sparkled in the midday sun. Her auburn hair was piled high on her head, and tucked into the fat ringlets were several lovely feathers that waved and dipped in the breeze.

Hannah looked again at the woman's admirers. Smiling and stumbling over each other, they were giving her the kind of attention Hannah had been trying to win from Jonas. Hmmm. She took another long look at the woman, letting her gaze stop on those feathers and the attractive way they swayed with their wearer's movements. A kernel of an idea took root at the back of her mind and blossomed. She smiled softly and told herself that just maybe, by the time Eudora arrived, the problem with Jonas would be solved after all.

Then her happy thoughts dissolved as a hand snaked out of the alley, wrapped itself around her upper arm, and dragged her back into the shadows.

Elias put one hand over her mouth and kept her moving until they were at the far end of the alleyway between the dress shop and the land office. He'd been waiting for days to catch Hannah Lowell alone. But the durn female was always just a step or two behind Jonas. Finally, today, when he'd seen her heading for town, he'd followed, determined to have a little chat with the witch from Massachusetts.

Releasing her, he took a step back and looked down into her wide, green eyes.

She released a pent-up breath and said, "Elias. You frightened me half to death."

"I'm sorry, missy," he said and meant it. He hadn't meant to scare her. She seemed a nice enough girl. For a witch. "That wasn't my aim. Only wanted to talk to you. Private-like."

Nodding, she asked. "About what?"

"About how soon you can leave" he said flatly, a , firm believer in not beating about the bush. He figured, if you want something, you say so. Directly. And what he wanted now was this little female the hell away from Jonas.