Miss Murray On The Cattle Trail

“Because.” He refilled his glass. “Because not only is Alexandra a newspaper reporter, she is, uh, as you’ve no doubt realized, my niece. Her mama is Alice’s sister.”

Zach said nothing for a long minute. “So?” he inquired at last.

“So,” Charlie said, “she wants to—”

“No,” Zach repeated.

Charlie reached for the whiskey decanter. “You want to keep your job, don’tcha, son?”

Damn, he hated to be threatened, especially by the man who had his financial ass under his boot heel. Zach sighed and refilled his glass.

“Well, hell, Charlie, can she ride?”

Chapter Two (#u7f29011c-f6ff-5395-84cf-b633a27f70d8)

Aunt Alice settled on the edge of Alex’s bed. Her aunt hadn’t lit the lamp, but the moonlight streaming through the multipaned window illuminated her usually serene face, which at this moment looked pinched.

“Alex, you simply cannot go through with this. Surely you—”

“Stop!” Slowly Alex pushed up on one elbow. “Aunt Alice, you don’t understand. My newspaper editor came up with the idea. He is very insistent.”

“But a cattle drive! Women just don’t go on cattle drives.”

“I know. It’s a far cry from my stories on horse racing. It’s a far cry from anything I thought I’d ever, ever do. But my editor pays my salary, and he is adamant.”

“Oh, Alex, why?”

“Back East people are mad for stories about the wild, untamed West.”

“I feel responsible for you,” her aunt said. “And a cattle drive is dangerous.”

“I don’t have a choice, Aunt.”

Alice snorted. “Of course you have a choice. Just tell your editor no.”

“I can’t. If I refuse, he’ll fire me, and I’ve worked too hard to risk losing my job. Eight long, grinding years I’ve spent working my way up from the proofreading desk to being a top reporter. I’m the only woman on the entire staff, and I won’t give it up. I can’t.”

Alex bit her lip and smoothed a crease in the top sheet over and over. Why, why did her job depend on the harebrained idea of a newspaper editor who’d never traveled west of his favorite restaurant?

Alice sighed. “Your mother would never allow this.”

Alex flung back the sheet and sat up. “Aunt Alice, my mother is dead.”

“Yes,” Alice said quietly. “I know. And you’re just like her. Bright. Beautiful. And...” her voice tightened “...bullheaded.”

Alex slid her arms about her aunt’s rigid form. “Mama always said you were the bullheaded one.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Alice snapped.

“Aunt Alice, you can’t stop me. You can’t keep me from holding on to my career as a newspaper reporter.”

“Oh, I know, honey. I just wish you’d—”

“Settle down and get married,” Alex finished. “That’s what Mama always wanted, too. But I’m twenty-six. On the shelf.”

Alice shook her head and blew out a sigh. “You will be careful, won’t you? At least try to?”

“Of course I will. Uncle Charlie says Zach Strickland’s the best trail boss in three states. I’ll be in good hands.”

Her aunt let out a long sigh and said nothing.

* * *

Zach stuffed his thumbs in his front pockets and watched Miss Newspaper Reporter trip down the porch steps ready to go cattle driving. She looked so bright and shiny it made his head hurt. And, Lord love little chickens, what her butt did to a pair of jeans was indecent.

“Good morning!” she sang.

“Mornin’,” he growled. “Got a lot of miles to cover today. Sure hope you can ride.”

“Why, certainly I can ride.” She rested her hands on her shiny new belt buckle.

“Yeah? Where’ve you ridden?”

“In the city park,” she said, her voice frosty. “On the bridle path.”

Zach resisted a snort, looked her up and down and unhooked his thumbs. “Those your ridin’ boots?”

She glanced down at the stylish, neatly laced leather boots. “Yes. What’s wrong with them? I bought them in Chicago and—”

“They won’t work.”

She propped her hands on her hips and peered more closely at her feet. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, Mister Knows Everything, would you mind telling me what’s wrong with them?”

He spit off to one side. “You won’t last half an hour in those fancy city leathers. Brand new and probably too tight. Go ask Alice for a pair of her old riding boots.”

For a moment, Miss Newspaper Reporter looked like she was going to argue, but he stared her down. Finally, she pivoted, stomped back up the porch steps and slammed through the front door.

Hell’s bells, she was a greenhorn. A ladyfied greenhorn, and one with a mouth on her. Charlie had just used up his last favor.

When Miss Fancy-Pants reappeared, she wore a pair of Alice’s well-worn riding boots and a sour look. Zach expelled a long breath and tipped his head toward the corral.

“Saddle up.”

“Oh, yes, sir, Mister Trail Boss.”

His jaw tightened. Gonna be a damn long day.

* * *