The Bride Wore Spurs

He touched his hat. “You looking for me, Miss Hannah?”

“I want to thank you for keeping the ranch running smoothly.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Before I left for Charleston, my father and I discussed the need for a well on the south range. When I arrived yesterday, I noticed nothing had been done. I’d like you to get the digging underway first thing tomorrow. I’ll arrange for a windmill.”

Tom removed his hat and scratched the back of his head. “The boss didn’t mention nothing about another well.”

“With his illness, the plan must’ve slipped his mind.” She knew ranching. Soon Tom, the entire crew, would see that too, and give her respect. “Progressive ranchers don’t rely on nature to supply water to their herds.”

Tom shuffled his feet. “I’ll check with the boss.”

That was the last thing Papa needed. Hannah bristled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Ain’t no trouble.” The foreman tipped his hat, polite enough, but the sullen look in his eyes said otherwise.

As she watched Tom clomp to the house, an unsettling sense of foreboding gripped her, squeezing against her lungs. What would she do if Tom refused to work for her? How could she run the ranch? From the conversation at the table last night, the cows were dropping calves. That meant roundup was only a few weeks away, which was the reason she’d wanted to get the well dug now. Perhaps she’d been hasty in pushing the issue with the foreman.

Across the way, Matt emerged from the house, swung into the saddle and rode toward the Circle W. No one paid a social call at this hour. She sighed. More likely, he’d helped her father dress and shave. Thoughtful of him and easier on Papa’s pride than turning to her or Rosa for assistance.

Had Matt heard Tom question her authority with Papa? Perhaps, if she asked him to intervene, he’d set Tom straight. But she wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t build respect with the men if she didn’t handle things herself.

She strode to the house and met Tom coming out. The smug expression he wore steeled her spine.

“Ain’t going to be no well dug,” he said.

Was her father too ill to stick to his plan, to stand up to his foreman? “Do you think you’re running this ranch?”

“Nope.” He guffawed. “Appears you ain’t either.”

Hannah stepped around him. Inside she found Papa at his desk, dressed and freshly shaven.

“Morning, daughter. Have a seat.” He looked at his hands, instead of meeting her gaze. “We need to talk.”

With an arrowed spine, she sat across from him, her hands knotted in her lap.

“A company back east is buying up land in the area. No reason they won’t buy our spread. Without the responsibility of the Lazy P, you’ll be free to return to Charleston.”

Never. But she wouldn’t upset him with a refusal.

“Papa, can we discuss this later? I just talked to Tom. He claims you don’t want a well dug on the south range.”

Martin motioned to the books spread in front of him. “That was the plan but we’ve had a tough year. Last year’s low beef prices and high costs have put the ranch in jeopardy.”

Why hadn’t Papa told her all this? Did he see her as some fragile female unable to face realities?

“I’ve curtailed expenses. Had to let two hands go.”

“If I’d known about our financial trouble, I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in front of Tom.”

“What Tom thinks doesn’t matter.” The steely determination in his eyes, something she rarely saw, stabbed into her. “What I think does. Denims aren’t fitting for a lady. Change into one of your dresses. If you want to help, help Rosa in the kitchen.”

With roundup a few weeks away, how could Papa relegate her to the kitchen? If this drought didn’t end soon, they risked overgrazing the land and would need to thin the herd. That meant punching cattle to Fort Worth right after roundup. With only two drovers and Tom, she’d need to lend a hand.

Besides, what if Rosa resented the interference? Years of managing the house had proved she didn’t need help.

Roundup wasn’t the huge undertaking it had been when cattle freely roamed the range. Still, how did Papa expect to handle branding the calves without her? Or if rain didn’t come, driving cattle to Fort Worth to sell without her?

Her breath caught. Was Papa too ill to grasp the work that loomed? “Papa, with few drovers, what’s your plan for handling roundup?”

“Matt and I were talking about that this morning. He’ll bring a couple of the Circle W hands. We’ll get by.”

“Why isn’t the Walker ranch struggling, too?”

“Things are tight, sure, but they’re a bigger operation. Better set financially.”

Were the Walkers hoping to pick up the Lazy P for a song?

She wouldn’t sit back and twiddle her thumbs. If dresses pleased her father, she’d work in dresses. She’d ride astride in dresses. She’d run this ranch in dresses. But she wouldn’t turn over their ranch to anyone.

In her room, she changed into one of the simple dresses she’d owned before Charleston, then joined her father in the kitchen for breakfast. Rosa had prepared hotcakes, eggs, steak, biscuits and gravy—food to keep a working man and woman going.

Throughout the long day, she tested the corral, the gates, then rode fence, assisting with repairing barbed wire, as she had before she left for Charleston. The cowpokes tipped their hats and spoke politely, treated her like a lady.

But, when she gave instructions, they played deaf or openly rebelled. By the day’s end, she’d seen and heard enough to know their hands and foreman were used to taking orders from Matt, but refused to listen to her.

Matt had used the pretense of helping her sick father to worm his way into running the Lazy P. Why would he do that? Did he expect to benefit financially?

She saddled Star and rode for the Circle W, determined to have it out with the man.

Chapter Three

Trouble in a skirt was heading Matt’s way. Trouble he’d tried to avoid by doing exactly as Hannah asked. Except for helping Martin dress and shave, he’d kept his distance from the Lazy P. So why the long face?

Unless—

His heart skidded. Had Martin taken a bad turn?

No, by the looks of that ramrod posture, the no-nonsense set of her shoulders and those flashing eyes, the filly was out for blood.

His.

As if she were a bounty hunter and his face topped a Wanted poster, Hannah had tracked him to the far border of the Circle W. Not that she looked like any bounty hunter he’d ever seen. Her feminine dress was hiked to reveal dusty-toed boots in the stirrups. Her black Stetson slung low completed an enticing mix of female and rancher that would’ve held an appeal, if not for that bloodthirsty look in her eyes.

He removed his hat, swiped the sweat off his brow and then arched his back, stretching achy muscles. With his pa slowing down, Zack a big-city lawyer and Cal overseeing his in-laws’ spread, Matt barely kept up with the work. He slapped his hat in place. Now he had to take time to deal with an irate female.

She dismounted, standing there waiting.