Wyoming Brave

“You, too,” she said.

“Drive slowly,” Delsey said, shaking a finger at him. “No more speeding tickets!”

“Dreamer,” he chided. He winked at her as he left.

* * *

DELSEY SHOWED MERRIE to her room. “I’ll have one of the boys bring your luggage up. It’s still sitting in the hall where Randall left it.” She paused. “Don’t let Ren upset you,” she added gently. “He’s hard on people he doesn’t know. Especially women. He had a bad experience. It’s made him cold.”

“I won’t bother him,” Merrie promised. “I brought my sketchbooks and my knitting. I’ll keep busy.”

“Good. If you need anything, I’m usually in the kitchen or somewhere in the house. There are helpers who come on certain days to help me with the heavy stuff. I’m feeling my age a little, but Ren likes the way I cook,” she said with a laugh.

Merrie drew in a long breath. “Our housekeeper, Mandy, taught me to cook. She even taught me how to cut up a chicken and field dress game.” She laughed softly. “I love being in the kitchen, too.”

“I’ll let you help, after you’ve been here a bit.” Her wise dark eyes searched Merrie’s. “It’s a stalker, isn’t it? Randall told me.”

Merrie hesitated. “I don’t want to put anyone in harm’s way...”

“Ren has this place protected like it was Fort Knox,” Delsey told her. “Nobody gets in here without security clearance. Did you notice the cameras at the front gate when you came in?” Merrie nodded. She continued. “We even have facial recognition software. It tracks people.”

“Wow,” Merrie said softly.

“Sadly, it didn’t work on the cowboy who beat that poor horse.” She winced. “Hurricane was the sweetest gelding on the place. It breaks my heart to see what that man did to him.” She drew in a breath. “If he keeps this up, they’ll have to put him down.” She bit her lip, then forced a smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack.” She looked out the door and peered over the banister. “Brady!” she called. “Can you bring those bags up here?”

“Sure thing, Miss Delsey,” the cowboy said with a long drawl.

He brought the bags up the staircase to Merrie’s room.

“Thanks,” she said softly, with a smile.

Brady tipped his hat. He was Delsey’s age, but was wiry and tough and apparently very strong. He grinned at Merrie. “You Mr. Randall’s friend that come to stay awhile?” he asked.

“Yes, I am. I’m Merrie. Nice to meet you, Brady.”

“Nice to meet you, too, miss.” He turned to Delsey. “Willis wants to know if you’ll make the men a cake.”

“I will,” Delsey replied. “What kind do they want?”

“Chocolate, with that white frosting you make.”

“I’ll start on it right now.” She turned to Merrie. “Have you had lunch?”

“Yes, thanks,” Merrie told her. “Randall got me a cheeseburger and fries on the way here.”

“Okay, then. Supper’s at seven. Ren keeps late hours. Sometimes he doesn’t even show up for supper. Like tonight. He told me to leave cold cuts in the fridge, which means he probably won’t get home until bedtime.”

“Ranching is hard on schedules,” Brady said with a chuckle. “Especially for boss man. He has to be everywhere before the bad weather coming.”

“I called that contractor,” Delsey added to Brady. “If you see Ren, tell him the man’s coming tomorrow morning to see what work needs doing.”

“I’ll tell him.” He tipped his hat again. “See you girls later.”

Merrie grinned. Delsey just laughed.

“He’s nice,” Merrie said.

“They mostly are. But we have a few who work security here,” she added solemnly. “One of them is dangerous. He came to us from Iraq, where he’d been training policemen. We don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself most of the time when he’s not watching the livestock.”

“Who is he?” Merrie asked curiously.

“They call him J.C. Nobody knows what the initials stand for.”

“I’ll stay out of his way,” Merrie promised. She stretched. The gold chain around her neck chafed a little. She pulled out the pretty filigree gold cross she wore and dangled it on her sweatshirt.

Delsey grimaced. She wanted to warn the girl, but she didn’t want to make her more nervous than she already was. Ren wouldn’t like that cross. It would prod him, like waving a flag at a bull. But maybe he wouldn’t see it.

She smiled at Merrie and left her alone to unpack.

* * *

MERRIE CAME DOWN for supper, silently hoping Ren wouldn’t be at the table. She really didn’t want to antagonize him any more than she had by just walking into his house.

“It’s a big place,” Merrie commented as she ate the delicious beef stew and homemade rolls Delsey had made.

“Very big. It’s too much for me to keep by myself, which is why we have others come in to help out,” she said with a laugh. “Most of them are wives of the men who already work for us. It’s a way for them to make a little more money to supplement their husbands’ incomes. Some of them keep chickens and sell eggs. Others raise garden crops and sell the excess in summer. We have a good life here.”

“The house is so beautiful,” Merrie said softly.

Delsey frowned slightly. “You’re the first woman Randall brought here who ever said that.”

“But, why?”

Delsey shrugged. “Well, it’s rustic, isn’t it?” She looked toward the living room with its big chairs and long sofa, all done in burgundy leather with cushions that had a Native American look. The rugs on the floor were the same. There were crossed swords above the mantel and an antique rifle perched on a stand.

“It looks like him,” Merrie said absently. “It’s sturdy and quiet and comforting.”

Delsey was lost for words. She knew that the girl was talking about Ren, but she was surprised that she was so astute. Sturdy and quiet and comforting. She just hoped Merrie wasn’t in for too big a surprise when Ren disapproved of something she said or did.

* * *

REN CAME IN very late. Merrie had gone downstairs, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, to ask Delsey about an extra blanket. It was kept cold in the house and she was used to warmer temperatures in Texas.

She stopped on the staircase when Ren spotted her, and his hard face grew even harder. He was looking pointedly at the front of her sweatshirt. For a minute she wondered if she was wearing something with writing on it. Then she remembered, it was just gray and plain. She swallowed hard. Surely he wasn’t looking at her chest!

“Why the hell do you wear that?” he asked shortly.

She was taken aback by the venom in the question. “I... I like sweatshirts,” she began.