The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan
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“Your brother wants me to stay and find out who’s behind your trouble,” Gideon said.
Ivy could figure that out for herself, but she knew her brother wanted to protect her, whether she liked the idea or not. “I’m not being threatened. Just my animals.”
“Even so, I’ll be stayin’, ma’am.” He took a step toward her, his features stony, forbidding in the amber light.
Ivy had done just fine on her own since Tom’s death, and she didn’t need a man around. She licked her lips, ignoring the way her visitor’s gaze went to her mouth. “Nothing has happened since I sent the wire.”
“But you’re spooked. You thought I was here to harm you.”
“Maybe I overreacted.”
“You said your horse was dead, ma’am.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a message of some kind.”
She agreed, but the thought of him staying rattled her.
“It can’t hurt to have another person here,” he said.
While that was true, he wasn’t just another person. The idea of his being so close made her shiver, and if she were honest part of that was due to excitement, not dread.
AUTHOR NOTE
Gideon Black and Ivy Jennings Powell were first introduced in my short story ONCE UPON A FRONTIER CHRISTMAS (part of the All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas anthology). From the moment Ivy held Gideon at gunpoint in her brother’s barn sparks flew between them.
After a marriage gone bad, Ivy has sworn never to trust another man. Gideon has his own misgivings about females, stemming from the time he served in prison as the result of a woman’s lies. When a series of escalating threats spooks Ivy into asking for help from her convalescing brother he sends Gideon.
Now this distrusting pair will have to rely on each other in order to determine who is trying to harm Ivy. But as the danger grows so do their feelings, and their relationship becomes something neither expects. Something neither of them wants.
One of the things I love most about writing historical romance is my research into the past, but sometimes getting even a kernel of information about a subject can be like pulling teeth. This was the case when I tried to find out specifically the date screened doors came into use. After much digging I found information that said wire screening was available in the US in the 1870s. There was no specific year given, so I took the liberty of having screened doors at my heroine’s house.
I hope you enjoy Gideon and Ivy’s story!
Happy trails.
The Cowboy’s
Reluctant Bride
Debra Cowan
Like many writers, DEBRA COWAN made up stories in her head as a child. Her BA in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel there was no looking back. An avid history buff, Debra writes both historical and contemporary romances. Visit her website at: www.debracowan.net
In memory of my grandmother, Lottie Warren, who passed on her love of reading to me.
Contents
Chapter One
Indian Territory, 1873
The next person who set foot on her property would meet the bad end of a bullet. Tightening her grip on the pistol, Ivy Jennings Powell paced from one side of her large front room to the other. She had been waiting, watching since she’d found one of her horses dead three days ago.
Lightning cracked the March air like a whip. Thunder rumbled. Outside her snug frame home that served as a stage stop, the storm howled.
When lightning struck again, it illuminated the massive oaks and pines swaying in the wind. After a short drumroll of thunder, the weather calmed somewhat. A steady rain drove against her roof and the rush of the wind quieted, though she could still hear the lashing of trees. A thud sounded on her front porch and her gaze shot to the window, its isinglass shade pulled down. She tried to identify the noise. An animal?
If so, it wasn’t one of hers. They were all shut up tight in the barn or the chicken coop. From the center of the long table against the opposite wall, a lamp spread soft amber light through the room.
Since the death of her husband a year and a half ago, Ivy had been alone in this southeastern corner of Indian Territory. She and the neighbors scattered miles apart lived just over the border from Texas and Arkansas.
A movement at the window had her going still in the middle of the room. Was that indistinct shape the silhouette of a man? After the past three and a half months, Ivy half expected it. She had wired her brother, Smith, about her troubles, but he hadn’t replied yet, and she didn’t think he would arrive unannounced. His home, Mimosa Springs, was a two-day ride west.
Today’s stagecoach and its passengers had come and gone. The Choctaw people who lived around her were a peaceful lot, and there had never been any trouble between them and whites.
The doorknob rattled, and Ivy’s mouth went dry. Even so, she marched to the locked door and yelled, “Who’s there?”
A muffled masculine voice answered. With the crashing of the storm, Ivy couldn’t understand a word.
Thumbing down the hammer on her revolver, she unlatched the door. Before she could swing it open, the wind nearly jerked it out of her hand. She aimed her gun at the visitor, barely aware of the door slamming against the wall.
A giant of a man stood there, hands in the air. In the wind-whipped shadows, she could see only the impression of a hard jaw and glittering eyes beneath the hat pulled low on his head.
Lightning slashed across the sky of churning gunmetal clouds, illuminating a scar on the man’s neck.
“Are