A Marriage By Chance

“I pretty much expected a battle over that,” he said quietly. “You surprised me, Chloe.”

“I’ve learned there’s some things you’ve just got to live with,” she said. “It seems you’re on my list, J. T. Flannery.”

The youth named Willie was cocky. There was no other word to describe the toss of his head and the arrogant look he offered as Chloe entered the barn. “Ma’am?” His single word caught her attention and she turned at his bidding. “You need anything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping her length.

“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—”