A Marriage By Chance

“No,” she answered sharply. “I’m just looking for Hogan.”

“He’s out back, talking to Lowery.”

J.T. watched, noting the appraising look the boy cast on Chloe’s backside, bristled as the grin reappeared once she was out of sight and inhaled sharply. His fist clenched as he stepped noiselessly from the tack room. Willie glanced in his direction, and the grin vanished. “You need me, J.T.?” he asked smoothly. “I was just fixin’ to clean the stalls.”

“Sounds like a good job for you,” J.T. answered. He watched as Willie snatched a pitchfork from the wall and turned to the closest stall. “I’d suggest you remember your place, young’un. I’ve watched you for three days.”

Willie looked back over his shoulder. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Defiance edged his words.

“Miss Chloe is the owner of this spread. She’s way out of your class.”

A sly grin curved one corner of Willie’s mouth. “Can’t help it if I admire a good-looking female, can I?”

“You make any move toward my partner, son, and you’ll be in more trouble than you can imagine.”

“Kinda slick, the way you rode in here and took over, mister,” Willie said, leaning indolently on the pitchfork.

“I’m legally half owner of the place. You want to challenge my authority here?” J.T.’s voice deepened, and his clenched fist opened against his thigh. Poised, he ached for the younger man to dispute his words. But it was not to be. The boy’s gaze wavered and he shook his head, sliding the pitchfork beneath a section of soggy straw.

A nearby wheelbarrow received the load, and Willie turned back to his chore.

J.T. strode past him, catching a glimpse of Chloe’s checkered shirt beyond the far doorway. Two men stood before her, arguing heatedly, and J.T. grinned, surmising the dispute in progress.

“Hell, I’ve worked with worse than this,” the redheaded cowhand thundered, waving a bandaged forearm in the air.

“Not for me, you haven’t,” Hogan countered, his jaw thrusting forward.

“How about some light duty?” J.T. asked, approaching the trio.

Chloe’s mouth closed with a snap, and her eyebrows lowered. “I can handle this.”

J.T. shrugged negligently. “I imagine so, ma’am. Just thought I’d mention that the tack room needs some attention. Enough work to keep a man busy for a couple of days, I’d say.”

“I earn my keep,” Lowery said, pale beneath his freckles. Frustration rode each syllable, and J.T. nodded agreeably.

“I’ve heard that,” he said, a bold-faced lie, to be sure, but one he didn’t think either Chloe or Hogan would dispute. “Nobody’s saying otherwise, Lowery. Just makes sense to me to let the thing heal properly, give the cut a chance to mend.” He tilted his hat back and faced the man head-on. “Every job on a ranch is of equal value, far as I can see. It takes well-tended tack to work with horses, and clean stalls to keep them healthy.”

His shrug was offered to Chloe. “What do you say, partner?”

Her eyes still glittered with subdued indignation, but she stifled it, earning a grin. “I won’t argue with that,” she replied, then turned back to Hogan. “Are you picking up more hay from the Winters’ place today?”

His glance encountered J.T.’s as he hesitated. “Thought maybe you might want to talk to him. If you take the wagon, he’ll have his men load it for you.”

“Why don’t I go with you?” J.T. asked smoothly, taking her arm and leading her back toward the barn. “Do we pay cash on the barrel, or wait till the next trip into town?” It seemed not a subject to discuss in front of hired hands, even though Hogan was obviously privy to financial dealings.

“He’ll wait,” Chloe said quietly, snatching her arm from his grasp. “I don’t care if you go along. You might’s well know the bottom line, anyway.” She turned to face him, and a glance over her shoulder told him that Willie stood just inside the door.

“Let’s take a walk,” J.T. said, his glare sending Willie into motion.

“All right.” Chloe set the pace and they headed for the corral fence, climbing in unison to perch on the top rail. Before them, three young steers moved aimlessly within the confined area. “How much you think they’re worth?” Chloe asked as J.T. settled beside her.

“How much do you need?” he countered, placing his hand careful inches from hers.

“Right now, enough for a couple loads of hay. I can sell these three in town.”

“That’s not good business,” he said flatly.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But I won’t take advantage of a neighbor.”

J.T. nodded, judging the weight of the animals Hogan had penned. He looked down, considering his options, his fingers gripping the rail he perched on. His quick gaze noted the hand beside his own, and measured the contrast, hers narrow, tanned, yet feminine, his own broad and scarred from numerous encounters. One slash, from a broken bottle swung in his direction, had merited a line of stitches. Another pale nick told of a knife blade that he’d barely escaped.

She lifted her hand, and her index finger lightly traced the raised scar, its ragged edges pale against his bronzed skin. “You’ve been pretty battered in your time, haven’t you, cowboy?”

“Never had anybody like you around to mend my bruises,” he said with a grin. “Old Lowery doesn’t know how lucky he is.” And then his mouth firmed. “I’m not a cowboy. Maybe a sometimes gambler, and I’ve spent my share of time on the range, riding herd when I needed a grubstake. But never a cowboy.” Spoken aloud, he gave the word a distasteful sound.

“Didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. “I just figured you’ve been riding for someone, somewhere, to come up with the usual assortment of scars a man collects.”

His look was long, and she glanced aside. “How much do you need?” he repeated.

“I told you. Enough for a couple loads of hay.” Her hand lifted to rest atop her thigh, and he mourned its absence. He’d enjoyed its presence, basked in the warmth of soft flesh against his callused skin, there for a moment.

“Seems like a pity to sell off a steer that doesn’t have enough weight on him to bring a good price.”

“Think I don’t know that?” Her words were sharp-spoken. “We all do what we have to, Flannery.”

“Well, you don’t have to raise money that way, Chloe. I’ll spring for the hay, and we’ll settle up later. I’ve got a bit of cash on hand.”

Her lips compressed as she concentrated on the young beef cattle before her. “I’ll set up a page in my record book,” she answered grudgingly. “I won’t cheat you.”

He nodded. “Another thing, Chloe.” Silently, he waited for her to respond.

She sighed and turned her head, offering him a patient look from blue eyes. “What now?”

“I’m not real fond of Willie-boy.”

“He’s all right,” she said after a moment. “Young and a little arrogant, but his mama needs the money his pay brings in.”

“He’ll either stop looking you over like you’re on display for his benefit, or he’ll be looking for another place to work.”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

His laugh was harsh. “Either you’re more innocent than I thought, or—”

“I’m not a child, Flannery. I can handle Willie.” She eased down from the fence and tugged her pant legs in place over her boots. “If that’s all for now, I’ve got a meal to put together before I hitch the wagon and pick up my hay.”

“You get the meal together and I’ll hitch the wagon,” he countered smoothly. “If I’m paying for the hay, I want to see it first.” She stalked away and he watched her, admired the rounding of her hips beneath the denim pants, and privately agreed with Willie that she was, indeed, a good-looking female.

“I’ve been thinking,” Chloe said, watching as J.T. picked up the reins. The horses moved out at his bidding and she half turned to face him. “Maybe we need to hammer out an agreement.”

“Thought we’d already made some progress at that,” he said, lifting one booted foot to rest against the frame of the wagon. His trousers were snug, outlining his thigh, and Chloe tore her gaze from the sight.

“Hogan’s a good man. I want you to leave him in charge.”

He nodded. “All right. Up to a point.”

“A point?” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

“He’ll carry out my orders, and see that the men do as they’re told.”

“What about my orders?” she wanted to know. “I’m in the habit of meeting with Hogan every day, keeping up with things. Lots of days I ride with the men, work alongside them.”

“Not anymore,” he said shortly. “You’ve branded your last calf, lady. I caught sight of a scar on your hand that shouldn’t be there.”

She turned her hand over and examined it briefly. “I’ve got several. It comes with the job.” She outlined one that formed a neatly imprinted B on her palm. “I did this when I was sixteen. The first time Pa let me help in spring roundup.”

“You won’t wear another brand like that,” he said harshly. “You’re a woman, not a cowhand.”

“I’m a ranch owner,” she reminded him. “I won’t be treated like a fragile flower, Flannery. I can get banged up just as easily in the kitchen.” Her hand lifted to press against her stomach, and his eyes followed the gesture.

“Did you blister?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t think the coffee had drenched your shirt. Was I wrong?”

Chloe shook her head. “Just left a red spot. Nothing to talk about.” She rolled her fingers into a fist and rested it on her knee. “When Aunt Tilly comes back, I’ll be free to work outside all day, instead of just piecemeal.”

His jaw tightened as she watched. “There’s some of the work I’d rather you didn’t tackle,” he said. “I expect you’re good at training horses, and that’s one thing. Now, roping steers is another thing altogether.”

“I’ll bet you’ve got in mind letting me keep the books, haven’t you?” Her words oozed sarcasm as she thought about being penned up in the big office, adding and subtracting lines of numbers and, more often than not, coming out short. At least, that had been the situation for the past months.

“Maybe,” he said easily, ignoring her tone. “We’ll go over them together,” he told her. “Then decide from there.”

“There’s not much to decide on, right now,” she admitted unwillingly. “You might as well know the whole story, partner. There aren’t any funds available. My brother cleaned out the bank account when he left town. We’ll be operating on the cuff until fall roundup.”

“I figured as much,” he said, lifting the reins to crack them with a sharp sound, sending the team into a quick trot. The harness jangled and the wagon wheels rode roughly over the rutted town road. Chloe grabbed the side of the seat, holding herself in place.

“Peter’s young,” she said quietly. “Maybe too young for the pressure I put him under, trying to make him into a man.”

“How old is he?” He turned a harsh look in her direction. “I’d thought you were pretty close in age.”

“We’re twins,” she said shortly. “Twenty-two our last birthday.”

“And he’s young, but you’re not?” Skepticism coated the words.

“He didn’t take well to responsibility,” Chloe said quietly. “Ranching wasn’t his first choice.”

“What was?”

She was silent, weighing her words. And then she laughed, a humorless sound. “Let’s just say that anything involving hard work didn’t come easily to Peter. He might have done well if Pa had sent him East to school and he’d been able to learn a profession.”

“Bankers and lawyers work hard, Chloe,” J.T. reminded her. “There isn’t a job in the world that doesn’t take some elbow grease of one kind or another to accomplish. I think you’ve been protecting Pete long enough. You need to take a long look at him and recognize his faults.”

“His name is Peter. And I’m aware of his faults, thank you.” She sat upright, forsaking her relaxed stance on the seat.

“A man his age should have outgrown a boy’s name. When he turns into Pete and makes his own way in the world, I’ll be able to respect him.”

“Well, there’s not much chance you’ll be running into him again, is there? I’ll warrant he’s nowhere near Ripsaw Creek.”

“He’ll be back one day, mark my words,” J.T. growled. “When his grubstake runs out, he’ll show up like a bad penny.” His eyes flashed darkly as he glanced at her. “There’ll be hell to pay when that happens, Chloe. He lost his share of the ranch in a fair game, in front of witnesses. And you’re not giving him another slice of the pot.”

“Damn!” She shot the word in his direction, and ground her teeth together lest another follow in its wake. “You don’t have Boss Man printed across your forehead, Flannery. And being my partner doesn’t mean you control my share of the ranch.”

“We’re gonna butt heads over this, aren’t we?” His look was measuring as he drew the wagon to a stop in the middle of the road.

“What did you expect?” she asked. “That I’d sit here and have you tell me what to do? I don’t think so, Flannery. You can just take your orders and put ’em—”

He grabbed her arms, stepping on the reins with one boot, lest the horses take it in mind to move. His grip was firm and unmoving, long fingers sliding up to wrap around her shoulders. Then he drew her closer and she lost her balance, falling against him. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as his glittering gaze scanned her startled face.

“Don’t say it,” he warned, his voice low, rasping against her hearing. “Don’t say one more word. Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Damn you!” The curse dared him, spurting in his direction from between clenched teeth, and he inhaled sharply, reaching further, his gaze on her full, lush lips.

“I said not another word,” he whispered, the sound seeming more hostile than a shout. And then his head bent, and she felt her eyes widen as he pressed his lips against hers. His mouth was hard, his lips firm, and she heard a low moan deep in her throat, an anguished cry that protested his touch.

“Hush,” he whispered, allowing her breathing space for a fraction of time that was barely long enough for her to inhale. And then his mouth was there again, softer this time, persuading her to his purpose, his lips warm and damp against hers.

His hands slid from their firm grip to encircle her back, and she was drawn across the seat, to lie precariously against his chest. Her fingers clutched for purchase, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and she fought for balance, aware that only his strength kept her from sliding to the floor beneath the seat.

“Haven’t you ever been kissed?” he asked quietly, easing his mouth from hers, his dark eyes surveying her.

She shook her head, aware of the flush that rose from her throat to cover her cheeks. Her heart thumped within her breast, an uneven rhythm that caught her attention. His hands held her in place, and she felt the heat of his body, even through the layers of clothing separating them.

“I’ll do better next time, Chloe. I’d hate to have you think this was the best I can manage.” His touch softened and he lifted her, settling her on the wagon seat, straightening the collar of her shirt with gentle hands.

Next time? She shivered. If this was any example of the man’s skill, she’d do well to steer clear of another demonstration.

“I expect you want an apology,” he said, his mouth twitching at one corner.

“I doubt if I’ll get one, will I?” Her lips tingled, her vision was blurred with a mist of tears and her hands were trembling as she clenched them into fists. And then as she caught a shuddering breath she heard the apology she’d not expected.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said. “But I can’t say I’m sorry I kissed you, Chloe. I’m just wishing it had been for another reason than to get you calmed down and settled.”

Well, he’d certainly failed at that. Calm? And settled? She’d never felt so discombobulated in her life.

Chapter Three

For a week she steered clear of him. Keeping the books was a daily task, one she found more to her liking when being in the black seemed more of a possibility. But discovering a bill of sale tucked inside the cavern of her ledger brought her out of the desk chair with all flags flying.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered beneath her breath, setting off for the barn.

“What happened to being partners?” Chloe asked. Her anger held on a short leash, she faced J.T. down in the central aisle of the big barn. Lowery was in and out of the tack room, and if she knew anything about it, he was listening for all he was worth. Apparently J.T. shared the thought, for he only glared at her for a moment, then gripped her elbow and shuffled her toward the double doors.

“We’re not going to argue in front of the men,” he muttered between gritted teeth. “If you’ve got something to say, I’ll listen to it out here, without an audience.”

“If?” The single word was all she could manage for a moment, and she inhaled deeply. “You know damn well I’ve got something to say.” Her hand was fisted around a yellow slip of paper, and she released it, allowing it to flutter to the ground at his feet. “Would you like to explain just how you figured we could afford a new stallion right now? And what we needed one for, anyway?”

“I didn’t ask you to put out one red cent,” J.T. said calmly. “I bought him.”

“And I’m supposed to write that amount on your side of the ledger book, I suppose,” she hissed. “Which gives you the edge, having invested your own money.”

“Chloe, you’ve got mares dropping foals out there that aren’t going to amount to a hill of beans. They’re only good for pulling a buggy or carrying kids back and forth to school. Wait till you see this stud. You need new blood, or your herd is never going to be worth anything.”

“What’s wrong with using the stallion you rode in here with?” That his words were true wasn’t the issue. Her father’s stud was old, and he’d been interbreeding over the past several years. But buying a new stallion was a major investment, and now J.T. viewed the news of the horse’s imminent arrival as if Christmas were coming at the end of a lead line.

“I told you already. His bloodlines aren’t what we need. We’ll use him, too, but this new stallion is almost guaranteed to give us a herd of horses that will make some real money a couple of years down the road.”

“You planning on being here that long?” she asked tartly.

His jaw clenched, as did his hands, and she wondered for a moment if she might not have pushed him a bit too far. “Are you bein’ obnoxious on purpose?” he asked, “or is it just your natural disposition?” His hands were hard, callused and strong, and when he used one of them to propel her toward the house, she had no choice but to march beside him. He turned her around when they reached the back porch and deposited her on the top step.

“I don’t like being manhandled,” she told him, snatching her arm from his grasp and sitting down. “There’s not a man big enough to push me around and get away with it.” And yet it seemed he had. For the moment at least.

J.T.’s mouth thinned and twisted, his eyes sending sparks that should have warned her off. He stood tall before her, anger oozing from every square inch of his being. “I’m not pushing you around, and I didn’t leave a mark on you, Miss High-and-Mighty.” Bending a bit, he peered into her face. “But I’ll tell you one thing right now. You won’t give me orders when it comes to spending my own hard-earned money.”

“You had no right to—”

“I had every right,” he boomed. “The damn horse was on the auction block. If I hadn’t bid on him and bought him outright, I’d have missed the chance to get a stud like that. And like it or not, he’s exactly what your herd needs.”

“And what’s he going to do for my mares? Put thoroughbred fillies and colts in their bellies?”

J.T. shook his head. “Better than that, lady. We’ll have a pasture full of paints within five years, horses that’ll be known throughout the state once we get them trained. Do you know that any cowhand worth his salt will pay fifty dollars more for a paint than a solid-colored horse?”

A glimmer of interest nudged her as his words made inroads on her aggravation. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

“Because a well-trained paint is the best cow pony you can buy. The Comanches have been hunting buffalo with them for years. We’ll have buyers waiting in line.” He turned to sit beside her, enthusiasm vanquishing his anger, and she listened intently, excitement growing as he spoke.

“We’ll use the best of your mares for breeding, and concentrate on selling off the stock we don’t need. There’s always a buyer around for everyday mounts, and by the time we weed out the bottom of your herd, we’ll have a crop of foals dropping next spring that’ll really put a shine in those blue eyes of yours.”

“And when do we get to begin this breeding program you’ve come up with?” she asked. “I assume the horse is being delivered?”

“Hogan is bringing him home later today.”

“Hogan went along with it?”

J.T. had the grace to look chagrined, and long fingers raked through his hair. It fell in place, dark and wavy, touching his collar, catching her attention so that his words took moments to penetrate. “He told me you’d have a fit, and I’d better come home and get you softened up before he arrived.”

She stiffened at his words, her cheeks warming with a flush of anger. “And do I look properly softened?” Dark, assessing eyes measured her as his gaze swept her form, finally focusing on her face, and the silence was long, as though he contemplated several words before choosing to speak.

“You look soft in all the right places, Chloe, but I think you’re still madder than a wet hen.” His head tilted to one side and he allowed a grin to play about the corners of his mouth. “I can’t say as I blame you. I suspect I knew you’d have a hissy. I just didn’t think you’d cause a fuss in front of your hired hands.”

“I didn’t,” she protested, raking her mind. They’d been alone in the barn, all but for Lowery, coming in and out.

Apparently J.T. had the same thought. “Lowery was in the tack room, and Willie was right outside the back door,” he said quietly. “It won’t do to air our differences in front of them, and I couldn’t let you raise Cain with me that way. Not without having a knockdown battle right there in the barn.”

“They listen to you,” she said harshly, looking aside, unwilling to allow her hurt to show.

“I’m a man,” he said simply. “Men always respond better to another man. Except in some things,” he added softly.

She turned quickly, her mind snagging on his words. “Like what?”

“Like…” He hesitated, and she wondered at his loss for words. J.T. never thought twice before he spoke, as if the phrases he wanted were ready and available at the tip of his tongue. Now, he watched her warily, and she felt the rosy flush of anger recede, only to be replaced with a warmth generated by his slow appraisal.

“Like the way I react to you,” he said finally, and his mouth twisted wryly, as if he rued the words he spoke. “There’s something about you that brings me to attention.” He shook his head. “And isn’t that a fine thing to be telling my partner.”

“I bring you to attention? Well, whatever that means, I’d say there’s nothing about me that suits you,” she told him tartly. “And you aggravate me beyond belief. No matter what I do, you’ve got to have the last word. You’d think I didn’t know how this place operates.” Again she felt the threat of angry tears behind her eyelids and blinked them away, unwilling to waver before him as she defended herself. “What do you suppose I did before you got here?”

“Got along the best way you could,” he answered amiably. “And did a decent job of it. Hogan’s a good man, and you’re lucky to have him.”

He took the wind out of her sails. Just when she was working up to a good mad, he managed to be agreeable and she was left to bluster.

“By the way, I gave him a raise in pay,” J.T. said, eyeing her for a response.

“Well, twice what he’s getting this month is just about zero,” she said with an angry laugh. “I told you there’s no money for wages, or anything else, till we get some income. I barely paid the new men their wages the past three months. And I’m at rock bottom right now.”