The Bride Wore Spurs

He turned to the cowpoke working beside him. “If I’m lucky, I’ll only be a minute.” He released a gust of air. “More likely you’ll have time for a siesta.”

“Sounds good. Looks mighty good, too.” He winked. “If you need help, holler.”

“I’ll manage.” Though when it came to women, his past had taught him to curb expectations.

Matt strode to where the feisty female stood. Chin sky high, arms folded across her chest, she started yammering at him before he reached her.

He held up a palm. “Now slow down, little filly.”

Hannah stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’s wrong with filly?”

“I remind you of an awkward young horse?”

“Way back when, you reminded me of a newborn foal, all legs, yet I knew you’d be a beauty.”

Who could help noticing the red highlights in her auburn hair shooting sparks in the sunlight. Without thinking he lifted a hand to a tendril coiled along her jaw.

As if his touch branded her, she jerked back, but then gathered her wits and anger and leaned toward him.

You’re in for it now, Walker.

“Thanks to your meddling, our drovers are accustomed to taking orders from you and won’t listen to me.”

“Martin’s not up to running the ranch. A foreman needs someone looking over his shoulder, making sure the ranch operates efficiently. I stepped in because I had to.”

Those sky-blue eyes of hers narrowed in a vise of disapproval. “Isn’t it more that you want to take over the Lazy P?”

He snorted. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve got more work than I can handle here.”

“Good question. The only answer I can come to—you’re in it for the financial gain.”

Those were fighting words. If she’d been a man, her implications would’ve raised his fists. “If you knew anything about ranching, you’d know that profits are at a record low. I’m not earning a dime from the Lazy P.”

She harrumphed, as if she didn’t believe a word.

“Examine the books,” he ground out. “You won’t see any mysterious loss of funds. Your father is overseeing the accounts. Talk to him.”

“I will.” She whirled to go.

Why had he said that? “Wait, don’t. Leave him be.”

“My father has a right to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” Matt let out a breath. “He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.”

Alarm sprang to her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“That you’re going to ruin that land you love with your confounded stubbornness,” he said, edging away from the truth.

Martin was dying. Nothing she did, nothing Matt did could turn that tide.

The alarm faded, replaced with a stony stare. “I want you to talk to our hands. Tell them I’m in charge of our ranch.”

“I told you that cowpokes resent taking orders from a woman, especially one as young as you. That’s got nothing to do with me.”

“So you say, still I want you to make clear that I’ll be giving the orders until my father’s health improves.”

“Hannah, you need every ranch hand to keep things running. Cowboys are an independent bunch. If you get them riled, they’ll quit.”

A flash of doubt traveled her face, but then she squared her shoulders. “I’ll hire more.” She planted gloved hands on her hips. “Set them straight today. If you don’t, I’ll suspect you of malicious intent.”

“Get this straight, Miss Parrish. I’m not your lackey. I’ve got a ranch to run.”

“Then stop trying to run mine!”

He crossed his arms, stepping toward her until the toes of his boots touched her hem. “You’re one stubborn woman. I’ll enjoy watching you run your ranch into the ground.”

She looked stunned, as if he’d slapped her. His stomach gnarled with regret. Before he could apologize, she stomped to where Star grazed. With a swish of skirts, she mounted, then glared his way. “I can’t understand how good people like your folks got saddled with a son like you,” she said, then rode off.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been told off by a woman. He wasn’t partial to it, especially when he’d spent months slaving for her ranch.

Still, he’d let his temper get away from him.

Hannah might not believe it, but Tom would have no difficulty getting another position if he rebelled against a female boss. He couldn’t let her run the Lazy P into the ground. He owed Martin that much.

He’d talk to her. Apologize.

If the words didn’t stick in his throat.

* * *

Hannah rode hard for the Lazy P, every muscle tighter than a well-strung fence. She could’ve slapped Matt’s face for suggesting she’d run the ranch into the ground. That he’d enjoy seeing her fail. What cruel arrogance.

She’d accused him of swindling.

A sigh slid from her lips. Forgive me, Lord.

She didn’t really consider Matt a crook. Yet every word out of his mouth raised her hackles. Why, he’d even forbidden her to talk to her father. He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.

A shiver slid through her. What was Matt keeping from her?

On Parrish land, Hannah hauled on the reins and reversed direction. She’d ride to town. Visit Doc Atkins. Ask him what ailed her father.

The decision made, Hannah’s limbs and neck relaxed as she and Star soared over the familiar terrain. Horse and rider blending as one, the miles melted away. The freedom and exhilaration of the ride filled her with hope. Surely, nothing was terribly wrong with Papa.

On Main Street, Hannah tied Star to the hitching post and strode onto the walk, passing the weathered sign, Earl Atkins, M.D.