The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan
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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