The Cowboy's Valentine Bride

“Sounds fair to me,” Brody muttered.

“Except Chet was using Andy’s land for pasture. In essence, Andy had nothing. He technically owned land that he couldn’t do anything with.”

“Then sell to his brother,” Brody said. “That’s what people do.”

“The developers could give him twice as much as the land was worth,” she said. “And he was faced with a chance to buy a business at the same time. He and Chet had this massive falling out, and Andy sold for twice as much money. If he’d sold to his brother, he’d still owe the bank for his business. He sold to the developers, and he owns his company free and clear.”

“Your point?” Brody asked testily.

“I’m saying, Andy isn’t as bad as you think. He and Chet are trying to patch things up, but I can see how complicated one ranch and two heirs can make things.”

“Tell you what, Dakota,” Brody said with a small smile. “You have my promise that I won’t do anything like that to you.”

“Dad’ll leave you the land, Brody,” she said simply. “It doesn’t matter what you and I agree to. Legally speaking, you’re going to inherit.”

“Maybe not,” he said with a frown. He’d always known that his dad intended to leave the ranch to his son, but Dakota was the one who wanted it so badly she could taste it. When Brody up and left for the army, he was pretty sure his dad’s plans would have changed, too.

“Give Andy a chance,” she said quietly. “He’s a good guy, and he’s paying for our irrigation system.”

“You sure about that?” Brody wasn’t the kind of man who counted his chickens too early.

“The money is in my personal bank account,” she said. “We’ll start the installation this spring.”

That surprised him. He’d expected Andy to make some big promises in order to win the Masons over, but he hadn’t expected him to back it up with cash.

“Where did he get that kind of money?” he demanded.

“He’s pretty good at making money,” she said, and he caught the flicker of pleasure in her expression. “His car dealership in Billings is making a steady profit, and he’s done some smart investing.”

“Okay...” Brody said with a nod, although he felt a twinge of discomfort. “I don’t like taking that kind of cash, though.”

“You aren’t taking it,” she said with a shrug. “I am. And he’s my husband, so I don’t feel badly at all. So you can stop worrying about that right now.”

Brody rolled his eyes. She knew him too well, apparently. Sisters had a way of figuring out your buttons quicker than anyone else. A smile crept over Dakota’s face and her eyes glowed in the soft flicker of the firelight.

“It’s so strange to be over there...working the Granger land like it’s my own.” A guilty look crossed her face. “I worry about Dad over here. I mean, I still help him with a lot, and Chet has sent some ranch hands to pitch in, but it isn’t the same.”

“He’ll hire more help,” Brody said pragmatically. “Things will pick up.”

“But you’re back now.” She fixed him with a pleading look.

And he was supposed to take up where he left off—ranching by his dad’s side. It wasn’t that he didn’t love this land, and it wasn’t that he didn’t love this work, but he and his father had never seen eye-to-eye about anything from politics to animal husbandry.

“I see where you’re going with this, Dakota, but Dad won’t give an inch on this place. His land, his rules,” Brody retorted. “So I’m supposed to act like a hired hand around here?”

“No, you’re supposed to act like the guy who’s going to run it after Dad’s too old to do the work.”

But even when his dad was too old to work, he wouldn’t be too old to complain, and that was part of what Brody had been so keen to escape. Working with his old man had never been part of the plan, no matter how much Brody loved ranching.

“Just think about it,” Dakota said. “A lot has changed around here. It might be better than you think.”

Was his sister right, or was she trying to appease her own conscience for getting married to the enemy next door?

“I’ve got to go work on a tractor,” she said after a moment. “It’s dripping oil something fierce. I’d better get out there.”

Whose tractor—the Grangers’ or their own? Maybe it didn’t matter as much as he thought. That was his sister, all right, the little grease monkey. If she wasn’t training horses, she was tinkering with engines. Andy had married a very able woman, but he was also getting a woman who could hold her own against an army if necessary. Granger might not know what he was in for, and that little thought was what made him smile to himself. Besides, she also had a big burly brother, who’d already knocked one guy around for treating her badly, and he’d be more than willing to do it again if Andy ever messed up.

He waved as she headed toward the kitchen and out the back door, leaving Brody in silence. The fire popped and the heat from the glowing wood felt good as it emanated against his bad leg.

They’d had a ranch hand who used to always sit with one hip toward the fire on cattle drives, and now Brody could understand that. He’d probably be doing the same thing from now on—taking advantage of heat to soothe away some aches and pains—because he couldn’t imagine this leg ever being 100 percent again.

He pulled out Nina’s envelope and looked down at the crinkled paper. It was addressed to him, care of Kaitlyn. She could have sent it to his house directly, but maybe she didn’t trust that he’d receive it—he no longer knew what lengths his family would go to protect his feelings, as dumb as that was.

He slipped a finger in the corner and tore the envelope open. There was a single sheet of paper inside, and as he pulled it out, he could see Nina’s back-slanted handwriting. She used to dot all her i’s with hearts when they were dating.

He could hear her voice in the words, and as his eyes flowed over the familiar script, he paused, the information sinking in and his anger simmering higher. This was the side of the story she hadn’t told anyone, the side of the story she’d kept private. He was glad she’d told him, though. It might sting, but honesty was better.

Not a single heart-dotted i. She’d done him the favor of not signing her full married name—Nina Dickerson. That would have stung more, even though it was implied. She was sorry, but—it was very much over between them. Maybe he’d been tricking himself thinking that by putting a ring on her finger he’d stay in her mind. That was bitterness talking.

He tossed the letter toward the fire, and a draft caught it and set it lightly down on the other chair.

Blast. He was going to burn that letter if it was the last thing he did. He closed his eyes as he pushed past the pain and rose to his feet. His crutches were within reach, but right now, he didn’t want to lean on them, he wanted to conquer something—anything!

He took a step forward, pain searing up from his thigh and into his groin, but he kept moving, thumping heavily back down onto his good leg. He couldn’t put much weight on the bad leg for long, but he was most certainly making progress across the floor toward the other chair.

He clenched his teeth as he took another step, relieved to find that his head wasn’t swimming the way it had this morning. Maybe it was the fresh medication in his system, but with a couple more steps, he reached the chair and bent just enough to grab the corner of the letter between two fingers. He tossed it toward the fire again, and this time it landed in the coals, and that back-slanted handwriting started to curl and blacken as the paper caught fire.

Standing there watching it burn, he glanced back at the chair he’d just vacated and realized that he’d walked about five feet on his own without any crutches. He felt a surge of victory. His victories seemed small these days, but he’d take them where he could find them. Kaitlyn would be impressed, too, he realized wryly. When was the last time he’d looked to impress a girl by walking five steps?

But he was a man who could endure pain and get through it. He’d keep moving forward. That’s what cowboys—and soldiers—did.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, as Kaitlyn bumped along the gravel road in the family pickup truck, her mind was on that letter. When she’d given it to him, she’d been relieved to relinquish responsibility and put it right back where it belonged—on Nina’s shoulders—but things felt different with some time to think. They’d all spent so much emotional energy trying to protect Brody that it was hard to stop now that he was home again.

“Nina has a good heart,” her father told her that morning. “Don’t be too hard on her. At least they weren’t married yet.”

Her father had always gone easy on Nina, as if life for a knockout beauty was somehow harder than it was for the rest of them. But as a father, Ron Harpe erred on the side of tolerance. Kaitlyn was pretty sure he still thought of Nina as a girl in pigtails—whether that was good for his daughter or not.

“We were going to keep the secret until he got back,” her father reminded her. “And now he’s back. He’s a grown man, sweetheart. Quit babying him.”

Her father had a point, but despite those bulging muscles and steely gaze, Brody was still fragile. He’d been through a lot. He’d nearly died out there, and he’d had some ugly surprises upon returning home. Her father saw the grown man, but she saw the vulnerable war vet. She could only hope she hadn’t made things worse. Nina’s conscience could have waited, for all Kaitlyn was concerned, but the deed was done.

Kaitlyn pulled up the drive and parked. When she arrived at the side door, she found the screen shut but the main door open and Mrs. Mason pulling on her gum boots. She tugged a hand through her graying frizzy hair and reached for a pair of work gloves.

“Good morning,” Kaitlyn said.

“Morning. I’m just heading out to check on a sick cow. Sorry for the rush.” She shot Kaitlyn a smile. Millie Mason was looking decidedly more relaxed now that her son was back from Afghanistan, and her eyes had a new sparkle. None of this had been ideal, but one mother’s heart was very full.