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She wouldn’t leave the ranch. She couldn’t. Never.
With the strength of her will, she squared her shoulders. She and Papa couldn’t give up. She moved his blue-veined hand to her lips and kissed it. “You have plenty of time. Let’s talk about something else.”
“I have to know you’ll be taken care of after I’m gone. Please, hear me out on this. You can’t stay. This ranch is too much for a lone woman.”
Weary lines carving his face, Papa closed his eyes.
She tucked the blanket under his chin. “You’re right, Papa. Rest.”
“That’s my girl.” A smile curved his lips, yet his eyes remained closed. The smile eased, his breathing slowed. He slept.
Hannah slipped out of the room and headed for the stable. She had to give her father peace. But how?
Her mind churned with Doc’s diagnosis, the approaching roundup and Papa’s determination to sell the ranch. She needed the wisdom of God but with everything churning inside of her mind, she couldn’t hear His quiet voice.
A ride would clear her head. She threw a blanket and saddle on Papa’s horse. Lightning probably hadn’t been ridden much and needed the exercise.
She found Jake in the tack room. “I’m going to ride out to the north range.”
“Always do my best cogitatin’ on horseback.”
“Me, too.” She gave him a weak smile then led Lightning from the stable, mounted and headed north.
In her entire life she’d never carried the weight of responsibility she shouldered now. What if she couldn’t find the hands she needed? Most honest, hardworking cowpokes were employed. She didn’t trust those loafing around town.
She bit her lip. Matt had been right. She couldn’t handle things by herself. Not a camel back trunk, not a cattle ranch. Not her father’s death.
God, please, help me. Show me what to do.
Near the copse of cottonwoods alongside the creek winding through the Lazy P, Hannah slowed Lightning then stood in the stirrups. Her gaze scanned the herd dotting the landscape, a mix of breeding Hereford and longhorn, evidence of one of the many changes in ranching, along with fenced pastures, wells, windmills, earthen tanks and short drives to railroad heads. By fencing their cattle, they’d protected the land from overgrazing. Or so she hoped. Without rain they still faced that risk. They’d raised hay and saved half of their herd during the harsh winter of ’86 and ’87. Exactly why she couldn’t deplete their supply in spring.
She dismounted and the leather creaked, loud in the stillness. A fly buzzed near Hannah’s head then lighted on the horse’s flank. Lightning flicked his tail but the fly persisted.
Hannah shooed the pest, then walked the horse to a patch of shade, struggling to gather her thoughts and come up with acceptable options. Each alternative that paraded through her mind was worse than the last.
Her gaze roamed the pastureland she loved, settling on the prairie dogs playing tag across the way. The cattle lowing in the background was a sound she’d heard all her life. A few calves bunting each other brought a smile to her face.
How could she leave the ranch? She’d shrivel up and lose herself in Charleston. To remain on this land and give her father peace, she’d do whatever she had to do.
In the distance she spotted a lone rider. Even from here she could identify him and his horse. Matt. A man who cared about Papa and would understand her grief.
Papa trusted him. Matt had only been helping Papa, not trying for financial gain. He’d been right about the cowhands, but instead of listening to his advice, she’d suspected his motives. She’d misjudged the man. She had nothing to fear from Matt, a man she could lean on.
He loved the land. He’d help her find a way.
* * *
Matt had come to apologize. The fire he’d seen in Hannah’s eyes earlier had vanished, replaced with a gut-wrenching sorrow that slammed into him.
God help her, she knows.
Huddled on the ground in the shade of a cottonwood, she exhaled a shaky breath, turning her gaze to the pastureland beyond. Her shoulders sagged, as if the starch had left her spine.
“Papa’s dying,” she said, tugging on a weed that wouldn’t budge.
To hear the words from her lips, each word laden with anguish, knotted his throat. He sat back on his heels beside her. “I’m sorry.”
She stopped fiddling with the weed and folded her hands on her knees. “Me, too.”
“Your father doesn’t deserve this.” But then, who did?
“How long have you known he has...he was sick?”
“About a month, since I took him to the specialist in Dallas.” He took her hand. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She raised determined eyes to his. “But I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to leave this land.”
He’d seen Hannah as a nuisance, incapable of facing realities. Yet look at her now. Strong. Not falling apart as most women would’ve done. He bit back a sigh. Strong or not, she couldn’t run this ranch alone.
“Martin needs the peace of knowing you’re with family, back in Charleston. Best thing you can do for him is sell the ranch.”
“I’d do anything to please him.” Her voice broke. “Anything but that.” She rose and turned her back to him, swiping at her eyes. Yet that ramrod spine spoke of spirit and strength. Silhouetted against the horizon, small and alone, she had no one to turn to for comfort.
Except him.
Matt crossed the distance in two strides and gathered her into his arms. Something he’d do for anyone struggling with sorrow, for any one of his brother’s friends.
She laid her face against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. He cradled her close, his heart pounding like the hooves of a herd of wild mustangs. What was happening to him?
“I can’t run the ranch alone,” she said, lurching away. “I can’t handle the roundup without a crew. I can’t make Papa well.” She lifted glistening eyes rimmed with spiky lashes, eyes filled with desperation.
“I’ll help any way I can.” He wanted to ease her burden. Ease her heartache, but he didn’t have the power. God, help her.
As if deep in thought, she stepped away, eyes fixed on the horizon, filled with a faraway look. What was she thinking?
She turned to him, resolve on her face. “You’d help me even after the way I treated you earlier?”
“Yes, of course. I care about Martin. About what will happen to you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
She gave a nod, resolute blue eyes nailing him with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer shoeing a horse.
Something in her gaze made him take a step back, unsure he wanted to hear what was coming.
“If you mean that, marry me.”
Chapter Four
Matt held up his palms and took another step back, tripping over a tree root, but managed to stay on his feet. Barely. What the tarnation had just happened?
Assistance with the coming roundup he’d expected.
A helping hand on the Lazy P, sure.
But marriage?
Nothing could’ve been further from his mind. Hannah Parrish, that gangly girl from the neighboring ranch, his kid brother Zack’s tagalong, had proposed?
To him?
“Did you just say...marriage?”
“I did,” she said.
His gaze swept over her slender yet curvy frame, wide blue eyes, wind tossed red-brown hair. That gangly girl had grown into a fine-looking woman. Still, the idea of marriage was crazy. Why, Hannah could barely tolerate him.
Not that he hadn’t been at fault for raising her hackles. Since he’d laid eyes on her at the depot, he’d teased her about her finery, her debutante days in Charleston, her elocution. He’d done it to keep her attention on him and off her father.
He bit back a sigh. Why not be honest? He’d become an expert at holding women at arm’s length. He had no intention of falling for a woman, especially a female with an iron will.
A scowl on her face, Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “You look like a man sentenced to hang.”
An apt description considering his throat had constricted with the pressure of a squeezing noose. He took a step closer. Lifted a hand toward her. “I’m sorry, I...ah, you surprised me.”
She whirled out of his reach. “Forget it!”
“Wait.” He shot after her, taking her by the arm. “You can’t blame a man for being taken aback. A request for help doesn’t usually include a marriage proposal.”
“These aren’t usual circumstances.”
He released a gust of air. “No, they’re not.”
“I don’t want marriage any more than you do.” Her eyes flared. Then drifted in the direction of her house where disease and worry dwelled. “I don’t see another option.”
“Reckon marriage to me means you get help with your pa, an experienced cowhand and a husband all rolled into one.”
“Husband?”
“That is what you call the groom once you tie the knot.”
“I...” Her cheeks bloomed. “I hadn’t thought about a husband.”
“A husband does come with the wedding band,” he ground out.
That chin of hers shot up. He hadn’t meant to sound testy, but matrimony was sacred, not to be entered lightly. If they wed, they’d be hitched for life. With that stubborn streak of hers, marriage would feel like a life sentence, too.
Her gaze dropped away. She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. “We’re not in love so we’d, ah...well...”
“Have no proper marital...union, is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Yes.”
Why didn’t he feel relieved by her answer? If he married, a marriage without love was what he’d want. Even four years later, Amy’s death haunted him. He clamped his jaw. He’d never again risk that kind of anguish.
Tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes. Eyes filled with desperation. Disquiet. A host of emotions he couldn’t handle. A damsel in distress. How could a man look into those eyes without wanting to save her?
But, at what cost? “What do I get out of this marriage?”
Her eyes widened. Like the question surprised her. “You?”
“Yes, me. I’d be half of the man and wife.” He didn’t mention her opposition to a proper man and wife relationship, but the arrangement hung over them just the same.
“Well, you’d, ah, get a home. Good food. Rosa’s an excellent cook. And—” she wrinkled her nose that cute way she had “—you wouldn’t have to ride to the Lazy P twice a day to help Papa and...” Her words trailed off. “That’s not much.”
Without a doubt, Hannah wouldn’t have turned to him if she’d had another candidate for the position of husband. “What I’d get is another ranch to run.” He removed his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh, raising dust and his ire with each whack. “You’ve resented what you called my interference. Now you’re asking for it?”
She straightened her shoulders, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I’d prefer you not interfere. I’d make the decisions on how to run the Lazy P. I will work on my ranch. None of that nonsense about leaving the job to the men.”
Mercy, if he married her, he’d have to put up regularly with this spitfire. One thing he’d give Hannah, she had bravado, more like audacity, considering her lack of alternatives.
“All I need a husband for is...” Her brow furrowed, groping for the word.
“Respect,” he finished for her.
She nodded. “I’m seen as an upstart, not a boss. With a husband—” She shot him a defiant stare. “In name only, well...if you showed your support, the hands would listen to me, figure the instructions came from you.”
That much was true.
“Well, will you marry me or not?” She crossed her arms over her bosom, trying to look in control, but her lips trembled like a terrified toddler.
As long as he’d peered into those pretty, haunted eyes, how could he expect to make an intelligent decision? Could any decision be called intelligent that involved marrying a woman he didn’t love? And who didn’t love him?
Lord, I need the wisdom You gave Solomon.
“I’ll think about it. Pray about it. This isn’t an agreement a man enters into lightly.”
With that assertion, he plopped his Stetson on his head, strode to his horse and rode for the Circle W, leaving Hannah behind, from what he’d heard, sputtering. Had she expected his answer on the spot?
He needed time to wrap his mind around her proposal. He supposed marriage to Hannah would mean no risk of entangling his heart and no more of Jenny Sample’s cakes. And, marrying Hannah would allow him to care for a dying man he saw as a second father.
Amy’s death had killed his capacity to risk his heart. A marriage of convenience would work for him, but didn’t seem fair to Hannah. She deserved love. Even if he could love again, he didn’t deserve her, any woman.
If only—
He refused to let his mind travel to the day of Amy’s death. As much as he lived with regrets, nothing could change the past.
* * *
A bright, sunny morning didn’t fit Hannah’s mood. As she and Jake finished the last of the chores, she’d prayed for an answer to her dilemma. Never thinking God would put words in her mouth, she’d never have spoken if she hadn’t been desperate to give Papa peace. Marry me, Matt, she’d blurted out. Yet marriage was the last thing she wanted. If Matt agreed, would the solution bring even bigger problems? If he refused, she’d have no recourse but to sell.
