Debra Cowan - The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride

Ivy looked up, eyes still wet from her tears. “Maybe you were right about him finding a lady friend at some point and this is his pup?”

“Maybe so.” Gideon went to his haunches, pointing at the animal. “Or maybe he didn’t come home because he was hurt. His right back leg is at an odd angle.”

“No. That was broken the night Tom—” She stopped. “That was broken a while back.”

What had she been about to say? Maybe that Tug’s leg had been broken the night her husband died? Gideon could see how that would be a painful memory.

“Was he in the wagon with your husband and thrown out, too?”

“No,” she said tersely.

He could’ve sworn he saw guilt flash across her delicate features, but he must have read that wrong. Why would she feel guilty about a dog’s broken leg?

She didn’t seem inclined to give details, and he wondered why not.

The pup whimpered, and its eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ivy gently examined the animal. “It’s a female. Do you see any more pups?”

Gideon stood and searched the nearby area. “No. Don’t see a mother, either.” He returned, noticing the sharp points on the pup’s ears. “This baby is half wolf.”

Ivy glanced around. “If the mother were alive, she would be taking care of the pup. Something must’ve happened to her, too. Maybe that’s why Tug has the pup.”

“Maybe.”

Ivy rose, lifting the pup to eye level. “See the black stripe up the middle of her muzzle? Tug has one just like it. I think he sired this pup. She looks like she might not make it.”

“If we get some food in her, she might surprise us.”

Ivy’s gaze shifted to the adult canine. “I want to bury him near the house. I’ll bring the wagon down later to get him.”

“I can carry him back right now.”

“Would you?” The relief and gratitude on her face did something strange to Gideon’s insides.

Going down on one knee, he leaned in and gently pulled the dog from the hollow. A few minutes later, he had the big animal in his arms and was walking with Ivy back through the pasture to the house.

“Do you think someone killed him?” she asked quietly.

He figured she had been wondering that since they’d spotted the dog. He had, too. Now that he had the animal in full sunlight, he could see blood on his coat along with the mud. And a knife wound just like the one he’d found on the dead horse.

Anger blazed inside him. “He has a stab wound in his neck.”

“It’s likely that the same person killed Tug and the horse.”

He nodded.

Ivy’s throat worked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you think Tug died trying to protect the pup?”

“It’s possible.”

“Who would do this to my dog? Why?”

Gideon wanted to know, too. Thanks to the rain, there were no signs of who might’ve killed the animal.

Ivy glanced over at her lifeless pet, saying wistfully, “Tug was the runt of the litter, but he didn’t stay that way, as you can see.”

The dog was huge. And heavy. “What breed is he?”

“I don’t know. Just a mix.”

He could see stark pain in her midnight eyes. “How long did you have him?”

“From the time Tom and I married.”

The animal had been with her through her entire marriage. And her husband’s death. Now she had another loss to deal with. Gideon didn’t know anything about relationships of that duration. Smith was his longest association, and that added up to a sum total of two years.

They stopped at a grouping of mature pecan trees where Ivy said she wanted to bury the dog. When she started to go for a shovel, Gideon stopped her.

“I’ll do it.” He wasn’t letting her dig dirt or bury her animal.

In short order, the dog was resting in the soft ground. Ivy still held the pup, staring down at the fresh grave with a broken look on her face.

Gideon felt as if he were intruding. “I’ll feed the pup if you want to take some time here.”

“Thank you.” She carefully handed over the little female.

“Milk in the pitcher?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Grasping the shovel in his free hand, he started past her.

Ivy touched his arm. “Thank you for carrying Tug and for putting him to rest.”

“You’re welcome.” He left her with her pet and her memories.

Once, he glanced back. She sat next to the grave, her head bowed. She looked slight. And alone. Gideon wanted to return to her. And do what? he jeered at himself. Comfort her?

He needed to watch his step with that. Earlier, he hadn’t been able to turn away from her suffering. He’d first gotten tangled up with Eleanor for the same reason.

He was here to protect Ivy. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by her.

Chapter Three

Gideon fed the pup what little milk she could eat, then made a doghouse for her out of an empty apple crate and added a nest of fresh hay. He put her in the box and set her next to his bunk. For the next couple of hours, he was in and out of the barn, keeping an eye on the whelp.

After pumping the horse trough full of fresh water, Gideon stepped back inside the barn to check on the dog. She was awake, dark eyes watching him warily.

He carefully scooped her up, running a finger lightly over her head. She mewled weakly as he turned for the barn door, intent on getting more milk from the house.

“Mr. Black?”

He looked up to see Ivy walking toward him carrying a small chipped porcelain bowl. She still wore those infernal trousers. His gaze slid over her full breasts and nipped-in waist to her slender hips.

Lust punched him square in the gut, and his whole body went hot. With all he could see of her shape, it didn’t take much to imagine her naked. She must’ve read the expression on his face because her step faltered.

Trying to blank his face, he bit the inside of his cheek. He hoped she wasn’t going to wear those britches all the time. The last thing he needed was her coming around looking like...that. He wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

Ivy’s gaze skittered from his to the pup. “How’s Thunder doing?”

“Thunder?”

“We found her after that storm. The name seems appropriate.”

He frowned down at the animal. “She’s a girl.”

“What would you call her?” Ivy asked lightly. “Princess?”

Was she teasing him? “Pup sounds just fine to me.”

“She needs a real name.”

“All right.” He held the whelp up to eye level. “Thunder’s ready for her second feeding.”

Ivy gestured to the crockery she held. “I brought milk.”

“She doesn’t have the strength to lift her head so I had to hand-feed her before.” Gideon eased down onto his bunk and offered Ivy a square of red flannel. “I dipped a rag in the milk, and she sucked the liquid out.”

Ivy took the soft fabric, then moved between his legs. So close that the heat of her body teased him.

She rolled the cloth into a tube and dunked the end in the milk then held it to the pup’s mouth. The animal lay listless, eyes dazed. Ivy rubbed the wet fabric lightly against Thunder’s lips, but she didn’t suck.

Gideon tried, with the same result. He then stuck the tip of his pinkie finger in the liquid and put it to the pup’s mouth. A little tongue swiped against his skin.

“There ya go,” he murmured, glad to see the animal was holding her own.

He dipped his finger again and offered it to her. When she licked off the liquid, he continued to feed her slowly. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t concentrate fully on the young dog because Ivy was still standing between his legs.

She might be dressed like a man, but she sure didn’t look like one. Or smell like one, either. Her skin was dewy from their earlier exertion, and her sweat smelled clean. Beneath that, he caught a hint of magnolia.