Читать книгу A Cowboy Worth Claiming - Charlene Sands - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Wasn’t too awful,” Lizzie muttered, closing her bedroom door and heaving a big sigh in the privacy of her room. After an uneventful dinner listening to her grandfather and Chance talk quietly about cattle prices and the upcoming trip, she’d made fast work of cleaning the kitchen and excusing herself. She had nothing to say to the stranger. He’d said all there was to say in the bunkhouse and Lizzie had no choice but to make the trail drive with him and hope the time on the road would pass quickly.

In her room, she sorted through her sewing basket hoping to find enough leftover material to make at least one doll. That doll would go to Sarah Swenson, the sickly little girl who hadn’t been strong enough to attend church lately. Sarah’s parents had asked Lizzie to make it bright, with flowery material and pretty yellow yarn hair to cheer their daughter up. But all Lizzie could find were scraps of dull colors, browns and blues that she’d intended to stitch onto the feet for the doll’s shoes.

Lizzie had made a promise to deliver the doll today and the circumstances preventing her from keeping that promise knotted her stomach and made her feel miserable. After the trail drive, she’d have money enough to buy new materials and honor her orders, but Lizzie couldn’t forget Sarah’s eager face, her sweet smile when the promise was made. Lizzie knew something about disappointment and how a little girl’s dreams could shatter in an instant. Lord above, she’d felt that way more than a time or two in her own life.

Lizzie sank down on her bed and glanced at the doll with brown button eyes and a white lace pinafore, pigtails of yellow yarn hair and a small stitched smile sitting atop her pillow. She’d taken extra special care of the cloth doll her father had given her right after her mama passed away. Together, they’d named the doll Sally Ann, in remembrance of her mother, Annette.

A few years ago, she began copying the doll with her own sewing technique and creating fashions that compared to no other. What set her dolls apart was her attention to detail, the intricate patterns of dress, the lacy sleeves and tiny buttons down the back, the pinafores with delicate ribbons and shoes that laced. The doll’s creation warranted great time and effort on her part as each one had their own unique personality, their own style of dress. How many hours had Lizzie spent creating new fashions or enhancing those she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar?

Lizzie put her materials back in the basket, knowing it was fruitless to try to sew a doll for Sarah out of her remainders. Plain and simple, she didn’t have what she needed. But she did have another idea and though it would pain her, she knew she could do at least that much for Sarah Swenson.

After undressing down to her chemise, Lizzie slipped into bed, fatigued and anguished from a day that had brought many unexpected surprises. She glanced at Sally Ann one last time before closing her eyes to tears, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day.

When morning dawned, an early glow of gold peeking up from the horizon gave Lizzie hope and a newfound rejuvenation. She’d always found faith in the new day and thought that all things were possible in that moment. She rose from bed and washed from a blue porcelain basin on her dresser. The rose-scented water refreshed her. She combed her unruly hair, a chore that took time and great effort. She wasn’t one for fixing up, so once her hair was free from snarls, she tied it back with a strip of leather then dressed in a light blouse and gray skirt.

She moved quietly through the house, peering into her grandfather’s room. He was still asleep. It seemed each week their breakfast came later and later as she waited for him to rise. She entered the kitchen and slipped her head into an apron, tying it into a bow at the back. After setting the coffee to brew, she walked outside and headed toward the chicken coop to collect today’s batch of eggs. Spring sunshine warmed the morning air and heated her insides just right.

As she rounded the bend behind the barn, she came upon Chance Worth with his back to her, washing his face over the water barrel. Rays of sunshine caressed his bare shoulders and streamed over thick cords of muscle—the beckoning dawn revealing his beautiful upper body to be as strong and sturdy as the Red Ridge Mountains themselves. Without knowledge of her watching, he scrubbed his face and shook the water from his dark hair. Droplets landed on his back and forged down his spine to tuck inside the waistband of his pants.

Lizzie forgot to breathe. Unnerved at the sight of him half dressed, the skin on her arms prickled and a slow burning heat built in her stomach. She backed up a step, ready to turn away and ignore the gripping sensations. But she talked herself out of running. Tomorrow, she and Chance would set out on a journey where they’d spend days upon days together. Alone. It was better to face this confusion now. Clearly, she couldn’t stand the man, so what she was feeling had to be something aside from complete awe. She’d never come upon a man who’d created such unfamiliar and unwanted yearnings in her.

She’d only known boys. Many of whom she’d bested in school and some she’d rejected outright when they’d come calling. The only boy she tolerated at all was her best friend, Hayden Finch, who wasn’t living in Red Ridge presently.

But no boy ever made her belly so queasy or got her heart pumping so fast.

Lizzie inhaled deeply and said, “Mornin’.”

Chance took his sweet time turning around, and Lizzie caught a glimpse of pure naked flesh ridged with muscles as he moved to face her. She forced her gaze from his chest, praying to the Almighty that he hadn’t seen her ogling him. A lazy smile graced his face. “Well, mornin’ to you, Lizzie.”

“I’m going to the henhouse,” she said, annoyed at the flurries in her belly. “Didn’t want to get shot collecting eggs.”

He wiped himself down with a towel and then shrugged his arms into a blue shirt, eyeing her carefully. “No chance of that. I knew you were there.”

“You did not.”

His lips twitched and he began buttoning his shirt. “Sure I did. Heard you coming. Sort of wondered when you were gonna announce yourself.”

He couldn’t have known she was there, not with his head down, splashing water on his face. “I shouldn’t have to announce myself. This is my ranch.”

“But you did. Shows you’re learning.”

Lizzie prayed for patience. She walked past him and just before she entered the henhouse, she stopped and turned. “I’ll be going into town with you today. Just so you know. I have something I have to do.”

“I’m leaving directly after breakfast.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t suppose you got a wagon anywhere on the ranch?”

She peered at the two wagon wheels leaning against the barn wall, one with broken spokes and the other growing wildflowers from its base. “That’s what’s left of it. The winter was hard. We used the wood to keep warm.”

He tucked his shirt into his pants and adjusted his gun belt. His Colt .45 sat low on his hip, cradled in the holster. “Shouldn’t be a problem packing our horses with supplies. We don’t need that much.”

She nodded and paused, contemplating. This trip wasn’t going to be like any trail drive she’d ever taken. She continued to stare at him until his deep voice broke into her thoughts.

“Breakfast is going to be late if you don’t get to those eggs.” He turned and just like that, dismissed her, as if he was the schoolmaster and she, the pupil.

She marched into the chicken coop, her blood boiling. She didn’t look her eighteen years, but Chance Worth would soon find out that Lizzie Mitchell wasn’t a child but a woman with smarts and enough grit to match him stride for stride.

* * *

“We could have taken Juniper. She’s stronger than she looks.” Lizzie didn’t really believe so. Their one remaining mare was comfortable on the ranch, but wasn’t fit for carrying a rider packed down with supplies. Now, she sat on Joyful’s saddle in front of Chance, his arm slung around her waist and wished the trip into town would hurry up.

Smug, he asked, “Then why didn’t you take Ole June into town yesterday?”

“I left her for Grandpa. He was planning to ride out and check on the herd.” Chance thought he’d won his point, but he didn’t know everything.

“He do that much anymore?” he asked.

Lizzie replied with honesty. “Not too much.”

Every day her grandfather had intentions of working the ranch the way he used to, but ultimately, he tired too quickly and she would take up the slack. This spring alone, she’d managed to pull half a dozen calves by herself, a task she’d learned from her father but one better left to someone a mite stronger. Yet, she was proud of her accomplishments and determined to rebuild the Mitchell Ranch doing whatever she had to do to gain that end. Even if it meant riding double on the saddle with Chance—even if it meant dealing with his all-too-sure ways and her queasy stomach.

“Good thing it’s a small herd,” he said.

“If it were bigger, we wouldn’t be in such a dilemma.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“I do think so.” For half a dozen reasons, but mostly because they’d have sold off more cattle and earned enough cash to see them through hard times.

“I guess you’re right.”

It was the first time Chance admitted she was right about anything and she took a measure of satisfaction in that.

With him being so near, Lizzie had trouble thinking at all and every time his breath tickled her neck, she squirmed in the saddle. So much so, that Chance didn’t hold back his complaints, so she willed herself to settle down.

He’s just a man.

Nothing to squirm over, she thought. The scenery’s more interesting than him. To prove it to herself she glanced around, taking in the view from atop Joyful, as the mare ambled down the road leading to Red Ridge. Winter rains had left tall grass and trees that flourished with greenery. The contrast in hues on this land always made her glory in the day; red earth, blue sky and vegetation that stole from a rainbow of colors. She loved living at Red Ridge, loved ranching, but she didn’t love the hardships that had befallen them lately. She hoped to earn money enough on the drive to get her grandfather the true doctoring he needed. Maybe take him to an infirmary where he could be properly treated. He’d put up a fuss about it and refuse to go, stubborn as he could be at times, so Lizzie had never revealed her secret hopes to him.

They reached the edge of town half an hour later, coming upon the Swenson homestead. “Please stop here,” she said as she gazed at the small cheerful house surrounded by a whitewashed picket fence.

“Here?”

She nodded, turning part way toward him. “Yes, there’s something I need to do.”

“That something have to do with what’s in the package you tied behind the saddle?”

“Yes,” she said and as she turned back around, she saw Greta Swenson outside sweeping dust from her front porch.

The woman noticed her and set her broom aside to give them both a wave of welcome. She had the kindest eyes and Lizzie wondered if her mama would’ve looked upon her visitors with the same sort of friendly invitation.

“Hello, Mrs. Swenson,” she called out.

“Mornin’, Lizzie. It’s good to see you today.”

Chance reined in Joyful in front of the house. He dismounted with his usual grace and ground tethered his mare. He stood close and peered into her eyes, waiting with arms outstretched to help her down. Grudgingly, and knowing Mrs. Swenson was watching, Lizzie accepted his gallantry, shaking off another bout of jittery nerves as he held her close and lowered her from the saddle. Once her boots hit solid earth, he released her and she averted her gaze, afraid of what her eyes might reveal. She moved away from him and made quick work of releasing the ties that held the package in place.

With the package tucked under her arm, she turned to Chance. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

But instead of staying put by his horse, Chance surprised her by falling in step beside her as she walked up the path to the house.

“Well, now, we expected you yesterday, but I’m happy to see you today.” The woman with dark blond hair, graying at the temples, wore a gracious smile. “And who is this you brought with you?”

Chance tipped his hat cordially, then removed it. “Chance Worth, ma’am. I’m working at the Mitchell spread now.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Worth. We’re always pleased to have newcomers in Red Ridge. I’m Greta Swenson.”

“He’s with the ranch temporarily,” Lizzie explained.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be a big help to you and Edward.” The woman opened her front door. “Please come in. I’ll get you both a glass of cider.”

“That’d be nice,” Chance said, waiting for the women to enter, before following behind.

They were ushered into her parlor and stood there for only a second before she rushed her explanation. “I came to visit Sarah, but I’m afraid I don’t have the doll you ordered. It’s a long story and I apologize for not honoring my word. If you’d kindly get Sarah, I’d like to explain it to both of you.”

“Of course, Lizzie.” Mrs. Swenson showed no disappointment. She was too nice to make anyone feel badly about anything, but Lizzie was certain she felt bad enough for all of three of them. “My daughter is resting, but I’m sure she’d love to see you. Please, have a seat in here and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get your refreshments.”

They took their seats, one on either end of the soft, melt-into-the-cushion sofa and waited, Lizzie refusing to meet Chance’s steady gaze. Mrs. Swenson came back into the room with two cranberry tumblers, handing one to each of them cordially before excusing herself to dress her daughter for company.

They sat in silence, Lizzie sipping her drink slowly, letting the spicy liquid soothe her parched throat and refresh her while Chance gulped his down quickly.

A few moments later, Sarah walked in holding her mother’s hand. She wore a pretty dress the color of bright sunflowers with matching ribbons in her hair. Lizzie’s heart ached seeing Sarah’s weak, ashen body in those vibrant clothes. The contrast made the child appear more frail and sickly than if she wore plain unadorned garments.

Sarah gave the tall man sitting on her mama’s sofa a cautious look. But as she refocused her attention on Lizzie, her eyes brightened and a sweet smile spread across her face.

“Lizzie is here to see you,” her mother said. “And this young man is Mr. Worth.”

The shy six-year-old glanced his way and whispered, “Nice to meet you.”

Chance smiled a friendly smile, which seemed to convince the little girl he was not to be feared. “Hello, Sarah.”

She looked at her mother, then at Lizzie. “Go on, sit down next to Lizzie, honey.”

Sarah did so, taking up the space directly next to her. Though the child’s gaze kept shifting to the package on Lizzie’s lap, she remained silent, waiting with eager anticipation for Lizzie to say something.

Lizzie plunged right in. She hated her circumstances. And hated that she would have to disappoint the little girl, yet she owed her an explanation. “I’m sorry, Sarah. But I don’t have your very special doll today. I… There was an accident and—”

“You don’t?”

“No, I’m very sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah put her head down and Lizzie looked up just in time to see Chance’s eyes soften on the child.

Lizzie sighed and continued, speaking slowly to Sarah, while at the same time darting glances at Mrs. Swenson, her explanation meant for both of them. She didn’t elaborate about how she’d gone down in the water, fishing for dolls near the lake bottom until her lungs burned. No, she didn’t want to see the look on Chance’s face if she admitted that, but she did tell them about how the rickety old boat had failed her and how quickly the lake had swallowed up all the dolls.

“I’m sorry to say your doll and five others are sitting on the bottom of the lake out by my house.”

Sarah nodded, her head still down.

“Lizzie, I know how hard you worked on those dolls,” Mrs. Swenson said. “It must have been horrible to see all that work destroyed.” She lowered down on a flowery material-backed armchair adjacent to her.

“Yes, ma’am. It was.”

“Lizzie is mighty lucky she came away with her life,” Chance added, unnecessarily. He ignored her glare, speaking directly to Sarah’s mother. “The lake was about ready to swallow her up, too.”

She sent him a brittle smile, then shifted her attention to convince Sarah’s mother. “It wasn’t truly dangerous.”

Greta Swenson’s eyes widened with surprise and horror as she laid her hand over her heart. “Oh, Lizzie. Those dolls aren’t worth your life. I’m glad you got out of the lake safe and sound.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie said, giving up trying to convince anyone about anything. She was more concerned with Sarah. The little girl was crestfallen and still hadn’t looked up. She softened her tone. “Sarah, I know this isn’t what you were hoping for, but I have something for you. It’s something very special to me and I want you to do me a favor.”

Finally, Sarah lifted her face and cast her a round-eyed look as desolate as Arizona’s drought land. Lizzie prayed this would be enough to remove the disappointment from Sarah’s face. “A favor?”

“Uh-huh,” Lizzie said. “I have to go away for a little while. And, well, I thought that maybe you’d like to watch Sally Ann for me.”

She unfolded the package carefully, undoing the edges one corner at a time, until Sally Ann’s smiling face came into view. “She was a gift from my father.”

Sarah gasped, her body stirring with vitality. “She’s pretty.”

Not nearly as pretty as the doll Lizzie had fashioned for Sarah. But from the child’s expression of awe, she didn’t seem to notice the discolored clothes and slight tears in the fabric. “And old. I never let her out of my sight after…well, when I was a little girl. She went everywhere with me. I sure did love her. And now, since I’m going on a trail drive and won’t be able to replace your very special doll for a while, I’m hoping you can keep an eye on Sally Ann for me.”

Sarah began nodding eagerly, her eyes bright.

“I think you could do that, don’t you, Sarah?” Mrs. Swenson asked.

“Yes, Mama. I can.”

“Do you want to hold her?” When Sarah’s head bobbed up and down, Lizzie lifted the doll from her lap and handed her over. “Here you go.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around the doll and squeezed it tenderly as though it was the answer to all her prayers. She brought the doll’s body against her face. “She’s soft.”

“I know. All that stuffing,” Lizzie said, grinning.

Sarah chuckled.

“Will you take good care of her for me?” Lizzie asked.

The little girl’s voice was sweet to Lizzie’s ears and full of eager excitement. “Yes, I promise. I’ll sleep with her and everything.”

Lizzie fingered the doll’s braided brown yarn hair and whispered past the lump in her throat, “I was hoping you would.”

Sarah beamed with joy and a bit of youthful color tinged her sallow cheeks to a pink glow.

“When I get back from driving cattle, I’ll be sure to sew you a doll all your own. But for now, I sure do appreciate you doing me this favor.”

Lizzie glanced at Sarah’s mother and choked up all over again at the woman’s grateful expression. Mrs. Swenson’s voice softened as she managed the words. “She’ll take excellent care of her for you, Lizzie.”

“I know she will.”

Mrs. Swenson leaned over and brought her into a close embrace, whispering near her ear, “Thank you.”

Too overwrought with emotion to reply, Lizzie simply nodded.

After they waved goodbye to mother and daughter on the porch, Chance helped her up onto the saddle and then took hold of the reins, leading Joyful on foot. “You’re walking the rest of the way?” she asked.

“Can’t take all that fidgeting you do.”

“I do not fidget.”

“You do. And you’re good at it.”

“Well, at least you think I’m good at something.”

Chance glanced over his shoulder to gaze at her from under the brim of his hat. “You’re good at more than one thing.”

Her mouth dropped open and she was about to ask what he meant until his gaze shifted and she followed it back to the Swenson house. Sarah was still there, waving to them with one hand, while holding onto Sally Ann in a tight grip with the other and wearing a big smile on her face.

“Was a real nice thing you did just now, Lizzie.”

With that, he turned around and picked up the pace, walking at a steady beat toward town.

Lizzie remained in the saddle, speechless. Chance had paid her a compliment, and it felt better than a warm steamy soak in a bathtub. In truth, it annoyed her how much his flattering remark pleased her.

And if she wasn’t terribly careful, she might wind up actually liking him.

Lord, have mercy.

* * *

People gawked from the storefronts and sidewalks as Chance guided Joyful through Red Ridge with Lizzie atop the mare. He was used to being a stranger, to being watched, and he didn’t fault the town for being cautious. He’d been the outcast enough in his time to know when stares meant simple curiosity or when they meant trouble. Today, curiosity was in favor, so Chance met with their eyes with a nod of his head and a smile. As he took in the town, he made note of the wide sidewalks and pristine shops, the clean streets and orderly manner in which the town was laid out.

So unlike the booming cow towns he’d known where indecency and despair seemed the way of life. Where saloons outnumbered churches by five to one and where crime and debauchery were not only tolerated, but expected by the few fine citizens whose roots were so ingrained that leaving wasn’t a consideration, no matter how rowdy the town had become.

“Peter Roberson owns the livery,” Lizzie said, as the double wide barnlike establishment came into view. “His sons work there. You’ll find Earl an expert horseman and Warren as honest as a preacher at Sunday services.”

“Good to know,” Chance said.

When he reached the entrance to the livery, he turned to help Lizzie down from the saddle. She was light as a feather, a mere wisp of a girl, so it took no effort at all to bring her to steady ground. She had pretty eyes though and when leveled on him with a blue-as-sky stare, like she was doing right now, Chance got a little lost in them.

A boy approached who appeared a bit older than Lizzie and a foot taller, but just as slender.

“Mornin’, folks.” He shot a quick glance at Chance with furrowed brows and then laid eyes on Lizzie and kept them there.

“Good morning, Warren.”

“Lizzie, it’s real nice to see you.”

Lizzie didn’t return the warm sentiment, but got right to business. “This is Chance Worth. He’s gonna rent us some cow horses for the cattle drive.”

They shook hands.

“Your grandpa and you going on the drive?” Warren asked, cheerful as the day was long. “Same as usual?”

The girl couldn’t hide emotion very well. She sent Chance a sour look. “No, Grandpa isn’t…he isn’t going, is all.”

“I’ll be driving the herd this time around,” Chance said, tipping his hat back.

Warren looked at Lizzie, blinking a few times. “You two plan on going together?”

“Yep,” Chance said, watching envy enter into Warren’s eyes. It was clear the boy was smitten, and Lizzie, true to form, wasn’t obliging Warren’s eager looks. The horseman could be the answer to Edward’s other request, an easy solution to Chance’s problem of finding Lizzie a suitor, if only Lizzie was willing. But she’d have to smile more and actually give the poor boy a little encouragement for that to happen. Wouldn’t be like Lizzie to make life easy for him, though. She was determined to be a pain in the ass, whether she was aware of it or not. “I’m helping Edward Mitchell at the ranch.”

Lizzie folded her arms across her middle. “No need going into detail. We need some horses, Warren. You rent horses. That’s why we’re here.”

The boy snapped to attention at Lizzie’s churlish manner. “Sure,” he said, his brown eyes dimming. “We got some real strong horses.”

After twenty minutes and a few arguments with Lizzie about which cow horses would suit her best, Chance rode out on Joyful, while Lizzie rode a gelding that was strong, sturdy and small enough to do the job and keep her safe.

The gal had a tongue on her and used it every chance she got. No matter what Warren offered, or what Chance said, Lizzie had a contrary response. Made a man want to scratch his head and paddle her bottom at the same time. But Chance was the boss on the drive and wasn’t shy about reminding her. He wasn’t about to let her dictate any terms, and they wound up with four horses overall that would serve their purpose well.

They entered the general store to buy supplies for the trail—coffee, flour, dry tack and cans of beans, among other items. Chance added a bit of his own money for some extra luxuries along the way. He had a sweet tooth and knew that after a long day of eating dust and pounding earth, something tasty and sugary helped soothe a weary cowboy.

Lizzie was still smarting from not getting her way at the livery when they’d walked out, loaded down with supplies. It took a bit of doing, but they packed two of the horses down, tying everything securely. Chance noticed that when set to task, Lizzie didn’t disappoint. She worked hard without complaint, and he hoped to high heaven that that would hold true during the week they’d be on the road together.

“You could’ve been nicer to Warren,” he said, plucking a licorice stick out from a nest of them in a brown sack. He waved it at her.

Her jaw set stubbornly. “I was nice enough to Warren.”

“Nice? You call that nice?” He dug his teeth into the licorice and it stretched easily as he pulled off a chunk. He began to chew, enjoying the strong sweet flavor as he contemplated. “A female’s got to be as sweet as this here licorice stick. You know, soft and delicate and definitely worth the wait.”

“The wait?” Lizzie’s brows furrowed as she watched him jaw a few more bites. “What on earth?”

“I haven’t had any licorice in a long time.”

“That’s evident.” Lizzie eyed the candy and shook her head. “You’re devouring it like your last meal.”

“A man needs some sweetness in his life.” He caught her befuddled stare. “Uh, from time to time.”

“I think the sugar’s gone to your head.”

Chance grinned. “Might be.”

He enjoyed teasing Lizzie, but he couldn’t forget who she was. An innocent. And here he was, making reference to things she surely had no knowledge about. His lack of sexual pleasure the past few months wasn’t ever going to be a topic of discussion with Edward’s granddaughter.

“Here,” he said, offering her some candy. “Might sweeten you up a bit.”

“I don’t need sweetening up, Chance Worth.”

“Fine, if you don’t want any.” He took back his offer but before he could close the sack, Lizzie put her hand in there, pulling out a piece.

She chomped down on the black confection, biting off a big piece. She chewed it like it was her last meal. Silently amused, Chance decided not to comment.

“I have one more stop to make. Over at Mrs. Finch’s Millinery.”

“You buying yourself a hat?” Chance glanced at her hair, pretty in curls down her back. Once she’d cleaned up from that rat’s nest yesterday and smoothed out the tangles, Lizzie’s long strands hung as rich and glossy as black ink. Chance imagined how fine it would feel free of the braid and flowing through his fingers.

She gave him a long suffering look. “Might just buy me two hats. No, make that a dozen.”

“A dozen?” A chuckle rose up from his throat and she greeted his amusement with a tilt of her chin. She huffed away, marching toward the millinery shop.

He followed with the horses in tow, watching Lizzie make her way down the sidewalk, the feminine sway of her hips catching his eye. She wasn’t without some female qualities. With a little coaching, a bit more manners and a sweeter disposition, Lizzie would be a desirable woman. His brows rose as he imagined her dressed in something less bleak, a gown of color with dainty lace around her small bosom and hugging her slender curves, making a man wish he had a right to draw her close and kiss her.

Chance tore his gaze from her backside and shook those thoughts free.

He came upon the decorated shop and looked at the storefront window displaying hats of every size, color and shape with feathers, leather, silver and plumes decorating the brims. How many social events did a town like Red Ridge entertain to warrant the womenfolk wearing such fancy hats?

His gaze traveled beyond those bonnets to Lizzie speaking with apology on her expression to the woman behind the counter. When the conversation was over, the woman gently embraced Lizzie. She came out of the shop, her lips downturned and a sour pout on her face.

If she would smile once in a while, a man might actually think her pretty. But Lizzie wasn’t happy right now and she walked past him and the horses, heading in the direction of the ranch.

Chance mounted Joyful, tying the other horses to the saddle horn, and headed in the same direction.

Lizzie kept up a brisk pace.

“You gonna walk all the way back home?”

Her shoulder lifted in a shrug and she kept walking.

“That woman upset you?”

Her head shook slightly.

“Lizzie?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chance understood that. There was many a time when his life just wasn’t worth talking about. Lizzie had it rough lately, he’d give her that, and if she needed a little peace right now, Chance would grant her silence.

Without her sass mouth doing any arguing, it would be two of the most pleasant miles he’d travel with her.

* * *

Lizzie’s feet ached and her stomach growled as they rounded the bend by the lake. She’d walked half the distance home so far, her feet moving beneath her rapidly as if they had a mind of their own. At times, Lizzie needed to walk off her remorse and her sorrow, but it wasn’t working out too well at the moment. She wasn’t alone and that was part of the problem. Chance was there, beside her, every step of the way. He’d been quiet on the way home from Red Ridge. Too quiet. It unnerved her and allowed her mind to fill with distressing thoughts.

Just when she was ready to make a comment about his silence, he began whistling a tune, out of tune. His carefree attitude grated on her even more. He had no cares in the world, it seemed, yet Lizzie had too much to care about. Too many troubles fogged up her brain and strong as she was, sometimes it all seemed overly much for her to take.

She stopped walking and turned to him. “What’s that awful sound?”

Chance pulled up on the reins and looked around. “I didn’t hear anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m talking about your whistling. Sounds more like two starving hawks fighting over a carcass.”

“Lizzie, you’re not hearing straight. Got something in your ears?”

“No, but cotton would be good about now.”

Chance grinned.

It infuriated her that he looked upon her time and again with amusement, as if to say, she wasn’t a woman to be taken seriously. She refrained from stomping her feet and marching off. Planting her hands on her hips, she stood her ground. “What’s that smile for?”

He shrugged and leaned over the saddle which made it easier to meet his piercing eyes. “Well, uh, Lizzie. You looked a little sad for some reason and I thought that my whistling might just brighten your day.”

Lizzie didn’t believe that for a second. “You’re not that kind.”

Chance glanced away, guilty, as if he’d been caught stealing from the church box. “You take pleasure in insulting me.”

Indignant, her voice elevated a bit. “I didn’t insult you.”

“Didn’t you? You don’t like my whistling and you don’t think I’m kind.”

She had said that, hadn’t she? “Well, I just meant that you could follow a tune more closely.”

“Uh-huh.” He tipped his hat back and she received the full force of his amused stare. “And the other?”

“You expect me to believe you wanted to cheer me up with your whistling?”

He heaved a sigh. “Maybe not exactly. I was gettin’ kind of bored with all the quiet.”

“So you thought to annoy me?” she asked.

“Did I?” He appeared hopeful.

“No. Yes. Like I said you can’t carry a tune and it’s a bit irritating.”

“Got you out of your doldrums, didn’t it?”

“I’m not having doldrums.”

Chance dipped his head low and shot her a serious look.

“Well, maybe I was. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

Chance granted her that much with a quick nod. At least he respected her privacy.

“Get up on the horse, Lizzie,” he said. “You’re starting to tire. You need to be in good form tomorrow for the drive.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to argue the point—Chance could be so bossy—but clamped it down just as fast. She was tired and Chance was right. She needed to be well-rested for their journey.

Chance didn’t budge a muscle to help her mount the dappled gray mare he’d saddled, so she fumbled with the stirrup and saddle horn and found her way up. Settling her derriere and adjusting her body, she took the reins and slid him a glance. He cast an approving nod her way and they took off down the road.

Within a minute, Chance began whistling again, this time the sound perfectly in tune, the song a harmonious blending of chords that rose deep from his throat. She peered at him and gasped from the perfect pitch and tone.

And then it dawned on her.

He had been kind.

In his own way.

He’d taken her out of her melancholy by sparking her indignation and annoying her. He’d gotten her mind off her troubles.

And just like that, the words started tumbling out and it felt good, oh so good, to relieve herself of the burden. “I hated disappointing Mrs. Finch today. She was kind enough to take orders for my dolls and she had customers waiting for them. She offered me the money I would have earned delivering those dolls. She tried to put cash into my hands and shoo me away. But I couldn’t take it, Chance. I couldn’t. And then she told me about Hayden coming home to Red Ridge soon. I should be happy, since he’s my very best friend in the whole wide world. Why, he’s like a brother to me. We’ve always been thick as thieves. But Hayden’s told me a dozen times that when he returned from his schooling, he’d be getting married. And then I’ll lose him. I’ll lose my best friend.” She swallowed hard and felt like a silly fool for rambling on to Chance like this, but she couldn’t seem to stop her heart from pouring out. “It just seems too much sometimes.”

Chance was quiet, and when she glanced at him, he didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead at the open pastures that were Mitchell land. His words came slow and easy, but filled with intent. “Pride’s a good thing, Lizzie. Most times. I probably would have done the same with Mrs. Finch. As for your friend, if he really is one, you won’t lose him, no matter what.”

She stared at him as his words sank into her soul. Something strange happened in her head and her belly when she took his advice as gospel. Pitying herself wasn’t a virtue and certainly disappointing people she cared about wasn’t, either. But the terrible distress that plagued her these past few days eased up a bit.

She felt better.

How could Chance make her see things clearly, when everything seemed so muddled in her own head? Before she could comment, though she hadn’t a clue what words would tumble out, Chance nudged Joyful and took off at a trot, the string of horses he’d rented following closely behind.

She closed her eyes to the sunshine, grateful that her heavy load was lifted this afternoon and another odd thing happened—the melodious sound of Chance’s perfect whistling filled her mind and she smiled.