A Marriage By Chance

Chloe perked up at this bit of news. This was the first time she’d heard one word about his background. He’d insidiously wormed detail after detail from her about the running of the ranch, about Peter’s affinity for poker and about the sudden attack that had brought her father to his knees.

She’d relived that afternoon with barely concealed tears as she spoke of John Biddleton’s death. She’d told of his gasping for air as his skin took on a bluish cast and his breathing became tortured, and J.T. had halted her before she reached the final part of her story. Reaching to place long fingers on her forearm, he’d squeezed gently to get her attention, then shook his head to halt her words, seeming to understand her pain.

And now, from that silent, closemouthed man, Aunt Tilly had managed, with blunt queries and canny insight, to learn more in two minutes than Chloe had gotten from him in almost two weeks. She leaned toward him. “Where do your parents live?” she asked. “Still in the South?”

His eyes met hers and she felt his withdrawal even as she finished her question. “They’re buried on the home place,” he said shortly. “The house caught fire and neither of them got out.” He picked up his cup and drank deeply of the hot coffee, seemingly immune to the scalding heat.

“How old were you?” she asked quietly.

“Old enough to be on my own,” he answered. “It was a long time ago. No sense in raking up the past, to my way of thinking. I’ve traveled a long way from that life.”

And that was probably all she’d ever hear about it, Chloe thought, totaling up her scant store of knowledge. The man was a gambler, and he knew horseflesh. Beyond that, and the small addition of facts he’d just offered, he was a puzzle. His dark eyes held secrets, and his long, lean body bore muscled strength. Sharp featured and equally sharp spoken, he was arrogance in its finest form, she thought ruefully.

And more of a man than she’d ever come across in all her twenty-two years of living. The thought of his hands against her skin, or his mouth touching hers, was enough to bring her to a level of anticipation she refused to consider. Even during the dark hours before midnight, when she tossed restlessly in her bed, reliving the single kiss that burned in her memory, she’d been aware of the insidious attraction of his presence.

Foolishness on her part. He was her partner. And didn’t seem inclined, as far as she could tell, to press her into a more intimate situation.

“You ever been married?” Aunt Tilly’s words caught Chloe unaware and she stiffened, certain that J.T. would take umbrage at the bold query.

Instead he grinned, an expression that totally changed the stern lines of his face. “A man who keeps on the move doesn’t need to tote a woman along with him.”

“You’re not on the move anymore,” Tilly pointed out. “Seems like a fella who owns half a ranch ought to be thinking about putting down roots and looking to the future.”

Chloe choked on a half-chewed piece of beef and pushed her chair back from the table. Coughing and gasping, she headed for the back door, aware of J.T.’s chair scraping across the floor. She bent over the porch railing, catching her breath and felt his warm hand against her back.

“You all right?” he asked, concern mixed with amusement as he bent to peer into her face. “I think your aunt kinda threw you there, didn’t she?”

“I can’t believe she was so brazen,” Chloe managed to gasp. “The next thing you know, she’ll be arranging a wedding for you.”

“Nah,” he said, drawling the word in a teasing tone. “When I decide to tie the knot, I’ll do my own arranging, partner.” His hand slid up her back to rest against her shoulder, and he squeezed lightly. “And trust me, Miss Chloe, you’ll be the first to know.”

Chapter Four

“There’s a dozen or so cattle missing, boss.” Shorty Kendrick swung down from his horse and stood before J.T., his fists clenched, one still holding his reins. Aware that Shorty still considered him an unknown quantity, and unwilling to spew his anger on the unwitting messenger, J.T. received the news with barely a show of emotion, only gritting his teeth against the fury that welled up within him.

“From the range beyond the far pasture?” he asked tersely. “You sure of the count?” Not that Shorty couldn’t be depended upon. He was probably the best all-round cowhand on the ranch. Hogan and Lowery’s talents leaned toward the training of horses, but when it came to cattle, Shorty was tops.

“Pretty much so. We’ve been keepin’ a good eye on them, what with calves droppin’ right and left.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I left Tom and Corky out there last night at the shack, but they said they didn’t hear anything.”

“How reliable are they?” J.T. asked, wishing he’d made it his business to know the answer to that question sooner.

Shorty’s mouth twisted as he shrugged again. “About as reliable as any other two roving cowboys. They’ve only been here for the winter. Chloe took them on when the weather got bad, and they’ve been workin’ for keep and five dollars a month.”

“Hardly enough to make it worth their while.” And maybe incentive enough to steal a few head of cattle, figuring they had the right.

“Winter wages are always low. And Chloe’s fair. They didn’t complain none, but then, they knew she’d up the ante once work picked up.”

Obviously the men, other than Hogan, weren’t aware of Chloe’s dearth of funds. From what the foreman had had to say, there was but a scant supply of money beneath her mattress. She’d probably scraped up their five dollars a month from there.

“I’ll take a ride out and look things over,” J.T. said. “We’ll need to be culling the herd anyway. Might as well start right now.”

“You plannin’ on doing something with that stud today?” Shorty asked, his eyes flickering to the corral where the new stallion was pacing the barriers to his freedom.

“You’re a cattle man,” J.T. said with a grin, his mind captured for a moment by thoughts of the horse. “What do you care about my new stallion?”

“He’s gonna throw some dandy colts, I’ll bet,” Shorty said with enthusiasm. “I’m plannin’ on being around to ride one of them. I’ve heard some tall tales about paint ponies. One fella said they can turn on a button and be headin’ back in the other direction before you can bat your eyes. I’d sure like to see that critter in action.”

“Why don’t you saddle my horse and we’ll take a look at the herd first,” J.T. said, “and then we’ll decide about the stud.”

“What’s going on?” The crisp tones of Chloe in a snit echoed from the open doorway, and J.T. turned to face her.

“Got a problem beyond the far pasture. Shorty says there’s a few head missing.”

She frowned, and J.T. saw her eyes take on a calculating gleam. Depend on the woman to be subtracting dollars from her profit, right off the bat. “How many?” she asked briskly, heading for the tack room.

Probably lifting her saddle down right now, he decided, following in her wake. “I’ll handle it, Chloe,” he said quietly, closing the door behind himself as she turned to face him, setting the big saddle on end in front of her.

“They’re my cattle. I’ll ride along,” she said, tilting her chin in a defiant gesture.

“No need,” he said easily. “I’m going to check the fence line for breaks and talk to the two men who spent the night at the shack, see what they might have heard or seen.”

“Who’s out there? Tom?” She reached for a bridle and he grinned.

“You’re a determined woman, aren’t you, partner?”

“It’s my ranch, and if we’ve got cattle missing, it’s hurting my profit, pure and simple,” she said harshly.

Her gaze clashed with his, and he watched as blue eyes took on an icy gleam. Color streaked her cheeks, and he considered its source. The woman was mad, feeling betrayed or invaded, or both, and he couldn’t blame her. And yet, should there be trouble with the two men he planned to confront, he didn’t want her in the vicinity.

“Why don’t you let me handle this?” he asked, tempering his need for action with soft words meant to pacify her.

“I’m not a child, J.T.,” she said curtly. “I know how to use a gun, and I can ride as well as a man. If there’s a problem on my ranch, I need to be on top of it.”

He reached out for her, and silently cursed the saddle standing between them. “I know,” he said, one hand touching her cheek. “But I don’t want you getting in the middle of a fuss.” His other hand gripped her shoulder and she flinched from his callused fingertips.

“Don’t treat me like the bad guy, Chloe,” he told her, dropping the offending hand to circle her other shoulder. “I just don’t want you hurt.” His fingers tightened, and with a surge of strength, he lifted her away from the restricting presence of the saddle.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened as she was settled, with a lack of ceremony, in his embrace. Encircling her, his arms were bonds she stood no chance of breaking, and as if she understood that fact, she was immobile in his grasp. Small, yet defiant, she looked up at him, her eyes narrowed and challenging.

“Let me go, you big bully. The only man around here who’d dare put his hands on me is right in front of me,” she muttered, lips taut with anger, yet trembling.

“I’d never put a bruise on you,” he said quietly. Yet his fingers loosened their hold as he considered his grip. She was soft, her skin smooth beneath the cotton shirt she wore, but the muscles were there, beneath his hands, making their presence known as she wrenched from his grasp. And somehow, that feminine strength drew him, attracting him more than did her flashing blue eyes or the shapely form he’d held against himself.

Chloe backed away awkwardly, and stumbled. With one long step he was on her, taking hold anew, this time his arms circling her back, as he succumbed to temptation. His head bent low, seeking the soft, lush fullness of her mouth. She murmured beneath her breath as he found his mark, and he inhaled a hint of sweet tea.

“Don’t fight me, honey.” His voice was a rasping, grating sound he barely recognized, and his heart pounded forcefully as he felt soft curves brush against his chest. His tongue touched the tender surface of lips that moved tentatively against his, and a groan of satisfaction echoed from deep in his chest.

As if that sound triggered opposition to his will, her teeth clenched, refusing his entry, and she was, at once, a taut bundle of female resistance in his arms. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the firm outline of her mouth, and for now that was enough, he decided. Her flavor was delicate and he savored it as he inhaled the scent of woman that rose from her small, compact body.