A Marriage By Chance. Carolyn Davidson

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      “I get sick of beef,” she said shortly. “And today, I’m totally fed up with everything attached to owning a cattle ranch.”

      “I gave her a biscuit left from breakfast,” Corky said from his perch on a stump.

      “Well, I guess you won’t starve then,” J.T. allowed, tucking into his makeshift meal. He wiped his mouth with his bandana and slanted a glance at her. “First time you’ve lost cattle to rustlers?”

      “First and last, I hope,” she told him. “It makes me angry to have something stolen that I’ve worked so hard to tend to.”

      “We’ll have to bring the herd in closer and keep a weather eye out,” he said, biting into his bread.

      “Damn it, anyway. We shouldn’t have to be looking over our shoulder.” She glared at him as if it were somehow his responsibility that such a thing had come to pass. “If I had my way, I’d string the thieves up on the nearest tree,” she said bitterly.

      “That’s been done before,” he said agreeably, “but we’ll have to catch them first. On top of that the constable would probably rather we let the law handle it.”

      “My pa always said his gun was the law on this ranch.” Her gaze moved to the shotgun slung behind her saddle. “I think he may have had the right idea after all.”

      J.T. chewed slowly, then swallowed. “You didn’t always agree with his theory?”

      She shook her head. “No. I was all for law and order.” Her eyes flashed anger again and he recognized her frustration. “That was before it happened to me.”

      “Yeah, that does make a difference in viewpoint,” he said obligingly. The last bite was gone, and he rose, a single, smooth movement that caught her eye. He offered his hand. “Come on, Chloe. Might as well head back home. There’s not much we can do here. I’ll send Willie and Shorty out this afternoon. Between the four of them, they should be able to round up the best part of the herd and head them toward the north pasture, closer to the house.”

      “All right.” She took his hand and allowed him to tug her to her feet. He was beside her horse, tightening the cinch before she could tend to it herself, then circled to where his stallion was tied to a crude hitching rail.

      She held the reins in her left hand, eyeing the stirrup that would require an awkward mount. And then he was behind her, and she was lifted, her waist gripped between wide hands as she grasped the pommel and slid her leg over the saddle. J.T. stood at her knee, tucking her boot into the stirrup.

      “You need a shorter horse, ma’am,” he said, his grin reminding her of the words he’d spoken in town.

      “I can mount without help if I have to,” she said defensively, and then softened. “There’s something about this mare that appeals to me. She’s a little bit ornery, but I know her well. Her mama died when she was born, and I raised her with a bottle till we could get another mare to accept her. Besides, Hogan trained her well for me. She’s a good cow pony.”

      “A little bit ornery, huh?” J.T. mounted his stallion and his eyes surveyed the prancing mare and the woman who rode her. “I’d say you nailed that about right.”

      Micah Dawson wore a silver star pinned to his pocket, a star that hadn’t been polished in a very long time, J.T. decided. But the man who’d pinned it there didn’t appear to hold much with fancy fixings.

      “We’ve hung more than one rustler in Ripsaw Creek, back in the old days,” he said mildly, but the hard look he turned on J.T. was not that of a pushover. His gun looked to be well cared for, and his horse was sleek and well tended. The man who hoisted himself into the saddle knew what he was doing, if Flannery knew anything about men in general, and lawmen in particular.

      “You find tracks?” Micah asked, his horse setting a quick pace as the two men headed from town toward the Double B.

      “Not much to go on,” J.T. said. “They cut across rocky ground, and by the time I got to the other side of the patch there were all sorts of prints. Hale Winters runs his cattle pretty close to the boundary line, same as Chloe and her father have for years.”

      “Wonder if Hale’s missing any stock?” Micah’s eyes scanned the horizon as they rode, his hat pulled low to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You know this running around is makin’ me miss my supper, don’t you?” he asked, casting a glance at J.T. He cleared his throat and adjusted his seat in the saddle. “Heard that Tilly was back at the ranch. Suppose she’s fixin’ fried chicken tonight?”

      J.T. grinned, and after a moment allowed it to turn into a chuckle. There wasn’t any grass growing under the lawman’s feet. “I take it you’ve had your feet plunked under Tilly’s table more than once,” he said. “And,” he added, “as a matter of fact, I saw her killing two chickens this morning.”

      “She’s a fine woman,” Micah said. “I hope John Biddleton’s resting easy in his grave, knowing that Tilly’s lending a hand at the ranch.”

      “You’ve known her a long time?”

      “She lived hereabouts when she was first married. Whole family came in on a wagon train. And then after she got her a husband, she moved south a ways. Hated to hear she was a widow lady, but—” his eyes warmed as he met J.T.’s gaze “—I can’t say I’m sorry she headed back this away.”

      To the north, a rider appeared on the horizon, lifting a hand in greeting, and Micah muttered beneath his breath. “That’s Hale Winters now,” he said. “Something’s goin’ on. I’ll lay money on it.”

      Across the wide expanse of open country, the rider traveled at an angle, the paths of the three men converging as they neared the long lane leading to the Double B Ranch. “Hey, Micah.” Chloe’s neighbor was a big man, hearty and good-natured, but if his scowl was any indication, his mood was anything but cheerful this afternoon.

      “You got a problem?” Micah asked, pulling his mount to a halt as Hale left the stubbled field to join the two men.

      “Damn rustlers made away with nearly twenty of my best cattle, and it looks like they did it in broad daylight.” He pulled his horse to a halt, and snatched his hat from his head, slapping it against his thigh. Beneath it his hair had matted against his skull, and he ran long fingers through its length. “I about sweat up a storm, tryin’ to chase them down. Lost them in the foothills, and I suspect they’re holed up in a canyon. Would’ve been stupid to make a target outta myself, riding in there.”

      Micah frowned. “How’d you figure out what happened?”

      “My men had ’em all rounded up, ready to cull ’em out and start in branding. Then some fool fired a gun and started ’em milling around and they scattered, some headin’ for the river, and my boys split up six different ways, trying to get things back in order. By the time they got things settled down, somebody noticed the count was down.”

      “How many head you got out there?” J.T. asked.

      “Couple hundred in that bunch, give or take. We already brought in the calves and yearlings. My breeding stock’s dropped pretty near fifty calves already. What those crooks got was prime beef.”

      “Hell, so much for fried chicken,” Micah grumbled. “We’d СКАЧАТЬ