Janet Dean - The Bride Wore Spurs

“Nope.” He guffawed. “Appears you ain’t either.”

Hannah stepped around him. Inside she found Papa at his desk, dressed and freshly shaven.

“Morning, daughter. Have a seat.” He looked at his hands, instead of meeting her gaze. “We need to talk.”

With an arrowed spine, she sat across from him, her hands knotted in her lap.

“A company back east is buying up land in the area. No reason they won’t buy our spread. Without the responsibility of the Lazy P, you’ll be free to return to Charleston.”

Never. But she wouldn’t upset him with a refusal.

“Papa, can we discuss this later? I just talked to Tom. He claims you don’t want a well dug on the south range.”

Martin motioned to the books spread in front of him. “That was the plan but we’ve had a tough year. Last year’s low beef prices and high costs have put the ranch in jeopardy.”

Why hadn’t Papa told her all this? Did he see her as some fragile female unable to face realities?

“I’ve curtailed expenses. Had to let two hands go.”

“If I’d known about our financial trouble, I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in front of Tom.”

“What Tom thinks doesn’t matter.” The steely determination in his eyes, something she rarely saw, stabbed into her. “What I think does. Denims aren’t fitting for a lady. Change into one of your dresses. If you want to help, help Rosa in the kitchen.”

With roundup a few weeks away, how could Papa relegate her to the kitchen? If this drought didn’t end soon, they risked overgrazing the land and would need to thin the herd. That meant punching cattle to Fort Worth right after roundup. With only two drovers and Tom, she’d need to lend a hand.

Besides, what if Rosa resented the interference? Years of managing the house had proved she didn’t need help.

Roundup wasn’t the huge undertaking it had been when cattle freely roamed the range. Still, how did Papa expect to handle branding the calves without her? Or if rain didn’t come, driving cattle to Fort Worth to sell without her?

Her breath caught. Was Papa too ill to grasp the work that loomed? “Papa, with few drovers, what’s your plan for handling roundup?”

“Matt and I were talking about that this morning. He’ll bring a couple of the Circle W hands. We’ll get by.”

“Why isn’t the Walker ranch struggling, too?”

“Things are tight, sure, but they’re a bigger operation. Better set financially.”

Were the Walkers hoping to pick up the Lazy P for a song?

She wouldn’t sit back and twiddle her thumbs. If dresses pleased her father, she’d work in dresses. She’d ride astride in dresses. She’d run this ranch in dresses. But she wouldn’t turn over their ranch to anyone.

In her room, she changed into one of the simple dresses she’d owned before Charleston, then joined her father in the kitchen for breakfast. Rosa had prepared hotcakes, eggs, steak, biscuits and gravy—food to keep a working man and woman going.

Throughout the long day, she tested the corral, the gates, then rode fence, assisting with repairing barbed wire, as she had before she left for Charleston. The cowpokes tipped their hats and spoke politely, treated her like a lady.

But, when she gave instructions, they played deaf or openly rebelled. By the day’s end, she’d seen and heard enough to know their hands and foreman were used to taking orders from Matt, but refused to listen to her.

Matt had used the pretense of helping her sick father to worm his way into running the Lazy P. Why would he do that? Did he expect to benefit financially?

She saddled Star and rode for the Circle W, determined to have it out with the man.

Chapter Three

Trouble in a skirt was heading Matt’s way. Trouble he’d tried to avoid by doing exactly as Hannah asked. Except for helping Martin dress and shave, he’d kept his distance from the Lazy P. So why the long face?

Unless—

His heart skidded. Had Martin taken a bad turn?

No, by the looks of that ramrod posture, the no-nonsense set of her shoulders and those flashing eyes, the filly was out for blood.

His.

As if she were a bounty hunter and his face topped a Wanted poster, Hannah had tracked him to the far border of the Circle W. Not that she looked like any bounty hunter he’d ever seen. Her feminine dress was hiked to reveal dusty-toed boots in the stirrups. Her black Stetson slung low completed an enticing mix of female and rancher that would’ve held an appeal, if not for that bloodthirsty look in her eyes.

He removed his hat, swiped the sweat off his brow and then arched his back, stretching achy muscles. With his pa slowing down, Zack a big-city lawyer and Cal overseeing his in-laws’ spread, Matt barely kept up with the work. He slapped his hat in place. Now he had to take time to deal with an irate female.

She dismounted, standing there waiting.

He turned to the cowpoke working beside him. “If I’m lucky, I’ll only be a minute.” He released a gust of air. “More likely you’ll have time for a siesta.”

“Sounds good. Looks mighty good, too.” He winked. “If you need help, holler.”

“I’ll manage.” Though when it came to women, his past had taught him to curb expectations.

Matt strode to where the feisty female stood. Chin sky high, arms folded across her chest, she started yammering at him before he reached her.

He held up a palm. “Now slow down, little filly.”

Hannah stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’s wrong with filly?”

“I remind you of an awkward young horse?”

“Way back when, you reminded me of a newborn foal, all legs, yet I knew you’d be a beauty.”

Who could help noticing the red highlights in her auburn hair shooting sparks in the sunlight. Without thinking he lifted a hand to a tendril coiled along her jaw.

As if his touch branded her, she jerked back, but then gathered her wits and anger and leaned toward him.

You’re in for it now, Walker.

“Thanks to your meddling, our drovers are accustomed to taking orders from you and won’t listen to me.”

“Martin’s not up to running the ranch. A foreman needs someone looking over his shoulder, making sure the ranch operates efficiently. I stepped in because I had to.”

Those sky-blue eyes of hers narrowed in a vise of disapproval. “Isn’t it more that you want to take over the Lazy P?”

He snorted. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve got more work than I can handle here.”

“Good question. The only answer I can come to—you’re in it for the financial gain.”

Those were fighting words. If she’d been a man, her implications would’ve raised his fists. “If you knew anything about ranching, you’d know that profits are at a record low. I’m not earning a dime from the Lazy P.”

She harrumphed, as if she didn’t believe a word.

“Examine the books,” he ground out. “You won’t see any mysterious loss of funds. Your father is overseeing the accounts. Talk to him.”

“I will.” She whirled to go.

Why had he said that? “Wait, don’t. Leave him be.”

“My father has a right to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” Matt let out a breath. “He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.”

Alarm sprang to her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“That you’re going to ruin that land you love with your confounded stubbornness,” he said, edging away from the truth.

Martin was dying. Nothing she did, nothing Matt did could turn that tide.

The alarm faded, replaced with a stony stare. “I want you to talk to our hands. Tell them I’m in charge of our ranch.”

“I told you that cowpokes resent taking orders from a woman, especially one as young as you. That’s got nothing to do with me.”