The Rancher's Bride

“I know what the Murdock place looks like,” Emily said with a toss of her head.

“If that’s the way you feel about it,” Harlan said to her, “then I expect you to have this kitchen clean by the time I get back.”

The bored look on the girl’s face suddenly turned indignant. “But, Daddy,” she protested. “I’ll miss my program and—”

“No buts. You didn’t want to go, so stay here and make yourself useful. And turn that darn TV off. If I come back and hear it on, it’s going to stay off for a week.”

Turning to Rose, he nodded toward the door leading to the back porch. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”

Rose looked at the teenage girl. “Goodbye, Emily. I hope we meet again, soon.”

For a moment, Rose thought Harlan’s daughter was going to rebuff her but then a faint smile crossed the girl’s thin face.

“Goodbye, Rose.”

Once the two of them were outside the house, Harlan said, “I hope you’ll overlook Emily’s rudeness. She’s been in one of her moods lately.”

“I used to be a schoolteacher, so I’m accustomed to teenagers’ moods,” Rose replied.

They rounded the house and Rose was relieved to see that Pie was only a few steps away from where she’d left him. She reached for the horse’s reins, but Harlan immediately took them from her. As he led the horse toward the barn Rose followed him. The sun was already down and shadows were lengthening on the dry, cracked ground beneath their feet. While they walked, Rose kept her eyes on the dusty toes of her boots.

“You say you were a teacher. Does that mean you’ll not be teaching when school begins in September?”

“The ranch needs me now,” she said frankly.

Harlan glanced over at her downcast head. Things were obviously much worse at the Bar M than he’d expected and that worried him for more reasons than one.

A few minutes later they were traveling west across Flying H land. The evening air was beginning to cool. Rose removed her hat so that the breeze coming through the open cab would blow her hair.

As the ranch house disappeared behind them, Rose couldn’t help but wonder if Harlan’s daughter was cleaning the kitchen or watching TV. Did her daddy spoil her, misunderstand her, love her? The questions pestered her until she finally said, “It must be a very quiet life for Emily during the summer months. Does she do any activities with friends her age?”

“Sometimes. But it’s not exactly easy for me to drive her into Ruidoso for entertainment.”

“I understand. We live a long way from town, too, you know.”

She was hugging the door. Her hands were folded primly on her lap, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Each time Harlan glanced her way she remained as stiff as when they’d first left the house.

“I don’t think Emily’s problem is all boredom. The way you saw her is pretty much how she’s been for the past year. At first I thought it was her age. But now I’m not so sure.”

Rose never encouraged conversation with single men. She found it usually led to awkward situations. Especially when the man insisted on getting personal. But she couldn’t remain indifferent to Harlan. With his long, lean body sitting only inches away, his earthy, masculine scent swirling around her, she was more aware of him than she could ever remember being of any man.

“How long has your daughter been without her mother?”

A grimace marred his face. “You know she doesn’t have a mother?”

Rose nodded, then quickly explained, “When I came to your house I asked Emily if I could speak with you or her mother. She told me she didn’t have a mother.”

“She can be blunt at times.” Harlan downshifted the truck and stopped as the dirt road they’d been traveling intersected with the main highway. Glancing at her, he added, “Karen died when Emily was going on seven years old. She’s thirteen now.”

Pulling onto the oozy asphalt, Harlan headed west toward the foot of the mountains and the Bar M ranch.

Three miles passed before Rose could think of a reply. She said, “That’s a long time for a child to be without a mother.”

Harlan let out a snort. “I damn well didn’t choose it that way.”

The sharpness of his voice swung Rose’s gaze around to him. His profile was hard and unmoving, making it obvious to her that he was still bitter over losing his wife.

But that wasn’t her problem, Rose quickly reminded herself. Nor was his sullen daughter. The Bar M was drowning in debt, and if he had a mind to, this man sitting next to her could push her the rest of the way under.

Dear God, how was she going to tell her sisters, Chloe and Justine, and her Aunt Kitty that Tomas had borrowed several thousand dollars and put the ranch up as collateral? Just thinking about it left her numb with fear.

“I’m sure you didn’t choose to lose your wife,” Rose said quietly.

Harlan rubbed a hand over his face. “I thought you meant—” He turned his head and his eyes searched her face. “Some people think I’m being cruel to Emily by not marrying again. I figured you were thinking the same thing. Were you?”

Rose couldn’t believe they were having this discussion. She didn’t even know this man. She didn’t want to know him. But each passing minute seemed to be showing her another slice of his personality.

A faint frown drew her dark auburn brows together. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to advise you about your family life, Mr.—Harlan.”

A quirk of humor moved his lips. “I wasn’t asking for your advice. I was asking what you thought.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

He’d mentioned east Texas and from the sound of his drawl, Rose figured he must have grown up in that part of the country. She couldn’t deny the soft lilt of his voice did pleasant things to her senses.

“Why do you want to know what I think? You don’t even know me.”

Shrugging, he fixed his eyes on the darkening highway. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to a woman and since Emily is a girl, well, I sometimes wonder if I can see things the way you females do.”

“Have you met a woman you’d like to marry?”

He cast her a dry glance, then suddenly burst out with a short laugh. “Rose, there isn’t a woman on earth I’d want to marry.”

His mocking attitude stiffened her spine to a rigid line of indignation. There wasn’t a man on earth she’d want to marry either, but she didn’t go around telling any of them such a thing. She didn’t like men, but that hardly made her want to insult them.

“Then I think it best you stay single and—forget about what your friends say.”

The little grin he gave her said she’d spoken the very words he’d wanted to hear. “You know, Rose, I think you’re gonna be my kind of woman.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Rose was back home on the Bar M unsaddling Pie in the dimly lit stables. As she jerked on the worn latigo, Harlan’s words continued to gnaw at her craw.

His kind of woman.

She’d wanted to reach across the seat and slap his face. She, who had trouble bringing her boot down on a scorpion, wanted to commit an act of physical violence against another human being! What had come over her?