Do You Take This Enemy?. Sara Orwig
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a clod of dirt, hating that she had to give Gabe’s words some serious thought.
She shook her head. It was simply a ploy by a Brant to get the Ryder ranch. Forget it and forget Gabe Brant. But she had never been able to do that in her life. She thought she had, giving him little thought when she’d lived in Chicago. Yet the moment he had stepped out of his pickup, her pulse had jumped. And when he had touched her, every nerve had quivered. She could still hear exactly how his voice had sounded when he had spoken her name.
“What’s the matter with me?” she snapped, speaking aloud. She lifted her hair off her neck. Even though it was only May, it was hot outside. On the porch she turned to look at the rolling land that was the Triple R. Tall live oaks sent long, graceful limbs out over the yard, giving much-needed shade in the hot afternoon. Beyond the barn and outbuildings were green pastures dotted by more tall oaks. The land was good. It was home to her, and she would fight to her last breath for it, but her dad’s life was more important. Then the memory of sexy dark-brown eyes mocked her and she took a deep breath. Why did she still respond to him? How could he turn her insides to jelly with just a look?
She crossed the porch and went into the kitchen that smelled of baking bread. A ceiling fan turned slowly above glass-fronted cabinets. A pitcher of tea sat on the walnut pedestal table and preparations for supper were spread on the white counter.
A stout, gray-haired woman stood by the kitchen sink. She turned to look at Ashley. “Are you all right?” she asked, her blue eyes filled with concern.
“Yes, it’s just hot out,” Ashley replied, hurrying across the kitchen. “I’ll be in my room.”
“You didn’t let that lawyer fellow get very far. I fixed a pitcher of tea because I thought you’d at least let him come sit on the porch to talk. You didn’t let him come near the house.”
“Nope. I didn’t want him wasting my time.” Ashley hurried out of the room. She’d tell Mrs. Farrin soon enough, but she had to tell her father first. And if Gabe Brant had come closer to the house, Mrs. Farrin would have recognized him.
Ashley thought about the blood-pressure medication her father took. She didn’t want to get him all worked up, but she knew she had to tell him about Gabe’s proposal, and when she did, he was going to raise hell.
That night, after Ashley and her father had finished supper and retired to the family room, her father sat reading a magazine. Seated near him on a leather sofa, she glanced around the room with its throw rugs and polished plank floor, Western art and shelves of books lining the walls. The quiet they were enjoying was about to be shattered—it was time to tell her father the news.
“Dad, I got a call yesterday from Prentice Bolton, a lawyer in San Antonio.”
Quinn Ryder lowered his magazine and looked at her over his half glasses. Brown-eyed and tall, Quinn was raw-boned, with thick black hair streaked with gray. He removed his glasses.
“That outfit represents the Brants.” Her father frowned. “Why would he call you?”
“He said he wanted to come out and talk to me about a business proposition. If I tell you, will you keep calm?”
“Why don’t you think I’ll keep calm?” her father demanded.
“I have to tell you something you’re not going to like. I don’t want your blood pressure going up,” she said. His shirt hung on his frame because of the weight he had lost. It hurt to see her father ailing; he had always been robust, a strapping giant to her when she had been a child.
“I’m going to have high blood pressure if you don’t go ahead and tell me.”
“The lawyer wasn’t the one who came out here. He was just a decoy, calling for someone else.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he waited. “Dad, it was Gabriel Brant,” she said.
Her father’s ruddy face drained of color and he stood. “Gabriel Brant was on our land?”
“Yes, he was. Now sit down, or I won’t tell you another word. I don’t want your blood pressure jumping.”
“Dammit, Ashley, he knows better than to set foot on our place. That son of a bitch on our land!”
“Dad, just keep calm. You don’t want to have a stroke because of a Brant.”
“I’m not going to have a stroke. What in blazes did he want? I know he wanted something and it must be a dilly.” Quinn told his daughter.
“He wants me to marry him.”
The explosion she expected came; Quinn stormed around the room, swearing and waving his hands. She let him rant for a moment and then stepped in front of him.
“Now listen to the rest. You know a Brant is not in love with a Ryder, much less a woman he’s never talked to before.”
“He wants the ranch. He wants this ranch, dammit!”
“He wants a paper marriage—a marriage in name only,” she explained. “He can run cattle on our ranch and expand a little because he knows we don’t use all our land.”
“The only way he can know that is if he’s been on our property. I will shoot that greedy son of a bitch if I catch him trespassing!”
“He could know that without getting on our property,” she said calmly, trying to stay calm herself to quiet her father. “Everyone in town knows you’ve had health problems.”
“Why in thunderation did he ever think you’d agree? Damn, he’s ruthless and greedy. There’s nothing we’d get out of it.” Quinn grumbled.
“According to him there is. We’d get his help running this ranch and his money backing it.”
Her father clenched his fists, his face growing more red. “Dammit. He just wants our land.”
“But his would be ours as much as ours would be his,” she argued.
Quinn shot her a searching look. Shutting his mouth, he went to the mantel to prop his elbow on it, and she saw that he was actually thinking about Gabriel Brant’s proposition. Her spirits sank a little because she had had to think about it herself.
“There have to be a dozen other guys around here who would marry you and work with me on the ranch.”
“No one has called and asked me out,” she answered dryly. “At least going out with Gabriel Brant might be interesting.”
“How do you know that? You don’t know the guy at all.”
“Of course, I do. I’ve been around him when we were growing up. I saw him at parties and football games. He was older, but he was always in the middle of things and sort of the life-of-the-party type,” she said. Back then she had thought he was incredibly sexy and handsome and wished he would notice her; wished that he was anything except a Brant.
Quinn turned to study her. “You’re not actually considering this, are you?”
“I have to think about it. It holds possibilities.”
“Hellfire. The guy’s a shark like his dad. He owns ranches all over Texas. He’s land-hungry and you can’t trust a Brant.”
“Maybe, but the marriage would still give us the same rights with his ranch that he would have with ours.” She gazed into the distance and frowned. “I thought he was married.”
“He was, but she died about three years ago. He’s really thrown himself into ranching since then. If I remember right, I think he has a little boy.” Quinn ran his hand over his head.
“A son?”
“Now don’t go getting soft because he has a motherless child. I know what a pushover you are about kids. Honey, if you’re thinking about his proposal, you’re doing it for me. Don’t.”
“I’m doing it for you, for me, for the baby, for the ranch. It’s for all of us,”