The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ “That settles it. Before Rosa serves dessert, rise and recite a poem, Hannah.”

      All eyes turned on her. One pair filled with amusement. She wanted to run, but Papa wore a proud smile she couldn’t destroy.

      She scrambled for a poem, a short poem. The only verse that came to mind was by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Hannah’s mind the perfect map of love. How could she recite a love sonnet with Matt nearby, no doubt laughing at her?

      With Papa’s pat of encouragement, she struggled to her feet, hands cold, cheeks as red-hot as a horseshoe in a blacksmith’s forge.

      Matt sprang up and pulled out her chair, then returned to his seat, watching her.

      She glanced at each guest as she uttered, “How do I love thee?” First Robert, Victoria, then Papa. “Let me count the ways.” Her gaze landed on Matt. She jerked it away, focusing on the gilt-framed landscape over the fireplace. “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach...” The words flowed from her. “I love thee freely...I love thee purely...” If she ever fell in love—that if towered in her mind—she’d want this sweet, deep, true love. “I love thee with the breadth, smiles, tears, of all my life; and if God choose, I shall love thee better after death.”

      Robert clapped heartily. “Bravo!”

      For a second she’d forgotten the audience. Her legs turned to jelly and she plopped into her chair. If only the floor would open up and drop her clear to China.

      “Lovely.” Papa’s pale face glowed. “Just lovely.”

      Matt leaned in. “The way you were caught up in that poem, I have to wonder if you’re pining for some gangly boy back in Charleston.”

      “Of course not!”

      Rosa’s arrival cut off conversation. She carried a tray of delicate, amber flan, the dessert of her homeland and normally Hannah’s favorite. But her appetite had vanished.

      The others dug in with abandon, discussing the drought and Cattlemen Association business while Hannah picked at the flan.

      “This dessert makes me think, Matthew. Jenny Sample brought a cake by this afternoon. Said she had extra eggs and knew angel food was your favorite. That’s the second cake this month.”

      A wide grin spread across Robert’s face. “Appears she’d like the job of feeding you permanently. Why, Jenny dangles her baked goods in front of your nose like bait on the end of a line. Fishing for a husband, I reckon.” He raised a brow. “You could do worse.”

      A flush crawled up Matt’s neck. Amused at his discomfort, Hannah giggled. “One of those women you spoke of, desperate to marry,” she said, her tone as loaded with sugar as the dessert.

      Something akin to a growl slid from his lips.

      Victoria glanced at Papa, took in his hunched shoulders, then laid her napkin beside her plate. “It’s gotten late. We should be going. We’ve had a lovely evening, Martin. Please express our thanks for the delicious meal to Rosa.”

      With both hands, her father pushed against the table, half rising to his feet.

      Hannah’s heart lurched. Why, the evening had tired him. “I’ll see our guests out,” she said.

      Papa flashed a grateful smile. “I’ll say good-night, then.”

      While Matt stayed behind, speaking to her father, Hannah accompanied Robert and Victoria to their carriage and waved as they pulled away.

      In the cooler night air, Hannah lingered for a moment, listening to the plaintive sound of a harmonica drifting on the breeze from the bunkhouse. In the moonlight, long pale shadows of outbuildings instilled the ordinary structures with a sense of mystery. She tilted her head back and studied the star-studded sky, bright as diamonds.

      God had created this land long before the Parrish family lived upon it. The land would remain long after they were gone. The permanence of the land and of its Creator slid through her, wrapping her in tranquility. In gratitude.

      Until Matt loped to her, leading his horse by the reins. From the smirk on his face, he’d come to taunt her. At the end of her rope, she hoped he had the good sense to keep his smart-alecky mouth nailed shut. Nothing would give her more pleasure than showing that naysayer she could run the ranch and run it well.

      * * *

      Matt chucked Hannah under the chin. He’d do what he could to encourage Martin’s wish to see his daughter settled in Charleston. “You gave quite a performance earlier. Proof you’re well suited for Charleston’s social life.”

      She swatted his hand away. “Stop trying to stuff me into a box labeled debutante. That’s not who I am.”

      “Kind of testy, aren’t you?”

      “I was enjoying the peace of this beautiful night before you came along.”

      The glint in those blue eyes gazing up at him had nothing to do with reflected moonlight and everything to do with an urge to wallop him. He had no idea why he’d been hard on her, especially with her concern for Martin. “Look, I’m sorry.”

      Her eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe her ears, then she gave a brisk nod.

      Surely on a night like this they could find a way to get along. He tilted his head, studying the starry expanse. “When I look up at that sky, at the number of stars and planets, I feel part of something big. Part of God’s creation.”

      “I know. I only caught snippets of the sky in Charleston, but here...” Her voice caught, then trailed off. “I love this land.”

      It was one thing they had in common. “Who wouldn’t?”

      Her gaze landed on him, intense, eager. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

      “Then you understand how much the ranch means to me. Why I have to take charge until my father’s on his feet.”

      “You’d be wise to set your heart on something else before you get it trampled.”

      At his words, the accord between them evaporated faster than dew on a hot Texas morning.

      Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “You’d be wise to keep your opinions to yourself, Matt Walker.”

      “I know these cowpokes—”

      “I’ve known most of our cowhands all my life. Why, except for Papa, I’m better suited than anyone to handle the job.”

      “You can mend a fence, move cattle, muck a barn, I’ll give you that, but operating a ranch is more than that.”

      She harrumphed. “You’re exactly like the men in Charleston. They treat women as if we are delicate porcelain or, worse, dim-witted. I can run the ranch as well as anyone.”

      How could he make her see reason? He doffed his hat and ran his fingers along the brim, gathering his thoughts. “You’re not fragile or dim-witted. I don’t doubt that you could learn to manage the financial end. But, truth is, cowpokes don’t cotton to taking orders from a female, especially СКАЧАТЬ