A Cowboy Worth Claiming. Charlene Sands
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for certain. She’d been a fool, though she wouldn’t admit it to the man whose knees cradled her. She’d been so eager to deliver her dolls and collect the money owed her, that she’d taken the shortcut, across the lake, rather than walking the extra two miles to town. She should’ve been more careful with her dolls, more cautious about that rickety ole boat. Now, she had nothing to show for one month’s solid work. They had little cash left and were overextended on loans from the feed store and the mercantile. Her grandfather hadn’t said as much, Edward Mitchell being a proud man and all, but he’d been relying on that cash to buy supplies in town.
Elizabeth’s folly let him down.
Tears she’d held back, threatened again. She wouldn’t let the stranger see her cry. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
“You’re tensing up again. Just lean against me and be still, Lizzie.”
It was fruitless fighting him. And he was right. She was fatigued. More than she’d thought. And now he offered her his chest to lean back against. No harm in that, she thought, as the relentless sun spilled down. The heat burning through her wet clothes warmed her chilled body and soothed her sour mood.
* * *
A majestic view of crimson hills jutting up against a blue sky gave Chance pause as he neared the Mitchell spread. Rocky peak formations appearing close enough to touch created instant patterns in his mind. The one directly in front of him seemed to spread out like a soaring eagle in flight, the formation to his left was shaped like a tall bowler hat, the kind a gentleman from the East would wear, and the crest of another mountaintop off in the distance looked like a tipped coffeepot. The sun played with the deep earth hues of those mountain peaks, illuminating Mother Nature’s most fascinating ornaments in blazing light.
In a clearing not far away sat the sorely neglected Mitchell Ranch, its rundown appearance a direct contrast to the majesty of the Red Ridge Mountains. Chance pressed Joyful on, taking in broken fences along the border, barn walls in disrepair and the house itself, which was no more than a small wood cabin.
The girl had fallen asleep against him. Her head was tucked under his chin, her lithe body cradled in his arms with her skirts draped down the mare’s sides. She was a little thing, to be sure, but feisty as hell.
Chance grinned thinking about her mighty tirade. Marry her? Edward Mitchell could find a dozen better suitors for his granddaughter than him. Chance wasn’t anybody’s ideal and he certainly wasn’t the settling-down kind. Edward knew Chance had no dreams of a wife and family. Life had knocked Chance down too many times for thinking like that. No, that wasn’t why Edward Mitchell had summoned him.
He spoke in Lizzie’s ear. “Wake up, Princess. You’re home.” Lizzie jerked back when she heard his voice. The back of her head met with his chin. “Ow!”
Nobody’d call her graceful.
She straightened and gazed at her home with trepidation.
He dismounted first and reached up for her. In less than an hour, he’d had more contact with this gal than any other female in a month of Sundays. He’d had lifelong practice keeping away from Marissa Dunston, the young daughter of Alistair’s new wife. Marissa had been a troublemaker from the time she’d come to live at the Circle D Ranch. Chance wasn’t about to get stupid now. Not with Edward Mitchell’s granddaughter, that’s for damn sure.
She peered down at him with tentative blue eyes, her brown hair still a messy bird’s nest of curls. She didn’t want to face her grandpa. That much he could read from her expression. He softened his voice. “C’mon, Lizzie.”
She leaned down and he lifted her from the saddle, her hands steady on his shoulders as her boots hit the ground. She stood facing him, all her life’s misery written on her face. Chance knew that look too well. But he hadn’t survived all this time by being mollycoddled. If things were as bad as he thought on the Mitchell spread, she’d have to toughen up to endure hardship.
He stepped back and gestured to the house with a nod of his head. “Go tell your grandpa I’m here.”
She chewed on her lower lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had transformed and a downright determined look settled on her features. Chance watched her pick up her soggy skirts and march right into the house. Then he led Joyful to the barn to unsaddle her.
He hadn’t seen Edward Mitchell since the day he’d stepped in and saved his life. Chance had been twelve, fighting for what was his against three ruffians. They’d cornered him behind a cropping of trees outside of town. If Edward hadn’t taken that little-known side road to town, Chance would have been beaten to death for certain. Edward had intervened just in time, entering the fray and tossing off his attackers one at a time, taking several hard blows himself to save the bedraggled orphan boy.
Chance remembered little else after that. When he woke up, he found himself in the care of the town doctor with Edward Mitchell by his side making sure Chance had proper medical treatment. Edward stayed until Chance had recovered enough to be adopted by the town’s wealthiest citizen, Alistair Dunston. The only thing Edward asked of Chance was to write to him in Red Ridge once a year.
Chance never broke that promise. Fifteen letters over fifteen years. And Chance kept every one of Edward’s return posts. He’d read those long insightful letters over and over and taken Edward Mitchell’s words to heart. In a way, Edward was more a father to him than Alistair Dunston had ever been.
“Well, look at you, boy.” Edward Mitchell stood under the patched overhang in front of his door as Chance approached. Age had not done him any favors, Chance noted. His shoulders were rounded from a slight natural curve of his back. He looked like he hadn’t seen a hearty meal in a decade; his arms and legs were stick thin. Yet, he wore a true smile, his brilliant blue eyes remarkable in a weary face that obviously had known suffering. “You’ve grown up.”
“Tends to happen over the years.” Chance grinned and strode the distance to shake Edward’s hand. He was instantly struck by the frailty in the older man’s grip. This was hardly the same man who’d gone up against three younger men to save Chance’s life years ago. “How are you, Edward?”
“Thankful that you honored an old man’s request, that’s how I am.” He patted Chance’s back several times as he ushered him inside. “Come in. Come in. Lizzie went to change outta her wet clothes. Poor gal, she’s beside herself with worry about her dolls.”
Edward gestured for him to sit down on a settee upholstered with flowery material. Chance removed his hat and took a seat. Edward slumped in a blue-velvet tufted parlor chair. Chance took a moment to glance around the rest of the room. The furniture seemed far too grand and out of place for a small ranch house. There were two doors beyond the kitchen area that he assumed were bedrooms, and all in all the interior of the home held more warmth and refinement than he thought possible, considering the neglect to the exterior.
“She told me what happened, boy,” Edward said with a strain in his voice. “Thank you for bringing my Lizzie home. I’ve told her time and again not to use that boat. Good thing Lizzie’s a swimmer or she might have drowned.”
Not that good of a swimmer, Chance thought. She’d been a victim of her own foolishness using that unreliable rowboat to cross the lake. And then thinking she could retrieve her precious dolls from the lake’s bottom. Dang things were probably ruined anyways.
Edward coughed from deep in his chest. Chance noticed the toll it took on his body. “She’s been brave, that girl. Trying to keep the ranch going.” He looked into Chance’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for coming, boy. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t essential.”
“Tell me.” Chance glanced at the bedroom door. Lizzie was still busy in there and he knew Edward wanted to speak his mind while she wasn’t in the room.
Edward leaned forward. “I should be offering you a bite to eat. Something to drink. Don’t mind my bad manners. I haven’t been right lately.”