Will he choose duty or desire?

Cowboy Chance Worth gets more than he bargains for when he saves damsel in distress Lizzie Mitchell. He has come to Red Ridge, Arizona, to rescue her family’s failing ranch and find Lizzie a suitable husband. Too bad it wouldn’t be honorable to keep the little spitfire for himself!

Lizzie may be innocent, but she’s not naive. Fully determined to find her own way in life, she doesn’t welcome Chance’s intrusion. But when he plans to leave she realizes she may not be ready to see the back of him just yet!

“Lizzie, don’t tempt me like this.”

She gazed into his eyes and he seemed lost, searching. She feared he would reject her. But his hand tightened in her hair. He lifted her face ever closer, then bent his head. He inhaled a sharp breath as his lips bore down on her mouth.

Kissing him this way seemed natural. It seemed right. Instincts took over and her body surrendered to Chance. She would give him anything he asked.

His lips moved along her shoulders, moistening her bare skin. Pleasure shot clear through her. “Oh…Chance,” she whispered, her throat barely working. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He froze. He appeared to have come out of a daze. He stepped back quickly, as if she’d lit him on fire.

“Chance?”

There was the slightest shake of his head, a quick dismissal. Lips that had greedily taken hers tightened to thin lines.

“It was my first kiss,” she said quietly.

“It was just a kiss, Lizzie. Consider it one more lesson I’ve taught you on the trail.”

* * *

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Red Ridge!

It’s been a blast creating the Worth brothers for my Harlequin Desire series. You may have already met Taggart Worth in the USA TODAY bestselling romance Carrying the Rancher’s Heir. Taggart is a loner, a man hell-bent on never falling in love again, much less falling for the enemy’s daughter.

Then there’s Clayton Worth in The Cowboy’s Pride. He’s a one-time country music superstar who has returned to Red Ridge to honor a deathbed vow he’d made to his father. Trouble is, his soon-to-be ex-wife has something to say about that, and the adorable baby she brings to the ranch only complicates Clay’s life even more. Poor guy. He should have stayed on the road!

Jackson Worth’s story is still cooking and you’ll meet him this October in Worth the Risk, the final contribution to the Worth family romance!

But if you’ve read my Westerns you know I love history and I love true cowboys, too, so I thought it fitting and proper to let you in on how Worth Ranch got its start. We’ll travel back in time to the 1880s to Red Ridge, Arizona, where you’ll meet bad boy Chance Worth, the man who started it all, and the feisty young woman who might just soften his hardened heart. Oh yeah, as an added bonus, you’ll learn the legend of the ruby necklace and a few other surprises.

I hope you love “beginnings”!

Stories WORTH reading from yours truly,

Charlene Sands

A Cowboy Worth Claiming
Charlene Sands

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Dedicated to my dear sweet friend Geraldine Sparks.

You are truly a “Friend Worth Claiming”

and a joy in my life.

With love,

Charlene

CHARLENE SANDS

Award-winning author Charlene Sands writes bold, passionate, heart-stopping heroes and always…really good men! She’s a lover of all things romantic, having married her high school sweetheart, Don. She is the proud recipient of a Readers’ Choice Award and double recipient of a Booksellers’ Best Award, having written more than twenty-five romances to date, both contemporary and historical Western. Charlene is a member of Romance Writers of America and belongs to the Orange County and Los Angeles chapters of RWA, where she volunteers as the Published Authors’ Liaison.

When not writing, she loves movie dates with her hubby, playing cards with her children, reading romance, great coffee, Pacific beaches, country music and anything chocolate. She also loves to hear from her readers. You can reach Charlene at www.charlenesands.com or P.O. Box 4883, West Hills, CA 91308. You can find her on the Harlequin Desire Authors Blog, and on Facebook, too!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Red Ridge

Arizona

1884

Chance Worth bent down on both knees and leaned over, splashing lake water onto his face. Refreshing drops sprayed his bare shoulders and chest as two-day-old dust melted away. The cleansing felt damn good.

He’d been careful treading through the foothills looking out onto the Red Ridge Mountains. He’d left Channing, Arizona, in a hurry, making sure he wasn’t being followed. Only thing that ever could trail him was trouble and it seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Narrowing his eyes, he searched the perimeter of the lake, taking in every detail, every bush, shrub and tree in the distance. Nothing stirred but his horse, Joyful. The mare was feeding on tall grass by a copse of trees.

Glistening waters tempted him like a whore’s beckoning smile. “What the hell.” He unfastened his gun belt and folded it into his shirt. His boots were next. Then he tucked it all in a hollowed-out patch under a boulder. Without further thought, he dove into the lake and pure heaven, cool and inviting, burst against his skin, soaking him through and through and washing away the remainder of his grime. Holding his breath, he swam underneath the smooth surface until his lungs burned.

He shot up out of the water gulping air and grinning like a kid who’d found a five-dollar gold piece. He remembered river runs with his friends at the orphanage. Taking turns jumping off mesquite branches into the rushing river and living to speak about it afterwards.

Lifting his face to the sun, he shook his hair out, splattering water in his wake. The heat seared his skin and for a moment, he enjoyed the warming from where he stood in the lake.

A noise broke his respite and instincts took hold. He reached for his gun then groaned. A quick glance at his clothes sitting on the bank, thirty feet away and housing his Peacemaker brought a curse to his lips. He lowered down, water up to his neck, and listened closely.

A female’s scream pierced his ears and he focused his gaze in that direction, but the bend in the lake obstructed his view. He dove in and swam toward the source of the sound.

When he came up from the water he spotted a girl flailing her arms in a sinking rowboat. The straw hat she used to scoop out water wasn’t emptying nearly fast enough. It was clear as day her efforts were useless as the boat made a slow descent under the water. But she continued to scream and scoop, scream and scoop until the boat’s top lip met with the water’s edge. “Just jump in and get it over with,” he muttered.

The girl went under. He waited for her head to bob up. When she didn’t surface immediately, he squeezed his eyes shut and swore. He had a bad feeling about this. His next glance found no ripples in the water. The lake had swallowed her up.

Hell, he wasn’t anybody’s hero. But drowning wasn’t a pretty way to die.

He dove back under and swam with sure strokes, gliding across the lake quickly and reaching the area where the boat went down. He found the girl sinking down fast, her arms and legs tangling with her petticoats. She’d been under for less than a minute, he figured, but surely enough time to scare the life and breath out of someone who couldn’t swim.

He grabbed on to her and hauled her up against him, his arm draped around her chest. Her boots met with his shins in a frantic attempt to save herself. “Ouch, dammit!” He held on and swam backward, pulling her head above the water’s surface. Her arms and legs still flailed. “Hold on,” he ordered. “Don’t fight me.”

“Let me go!” she shrieked in a panicked voice.

He held her firm. “Stay calm and breathe slow.”

“No, let me go! Let me go!”

He’d never seen someone so intent on drowning. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Quiet down.”

His muscles burning, he dragged her to shore. She wasn’t but a little wisp of a girl yet her weight doubled from her dreary, soaked-to-the-bone clothes.

Once he got her to safety, he slid out from under her body and rolled away. His breaths came heavy and he took a few seconds to steady them, before he came up to kneel beside her.

Her eyes were closed and she’d gone real quiet. “Miss, are you alright?”

It was eerie how her eyes snapped open. They were sky-blue and a little hazy now, but it didn’t take him long to figure out they were the prettiest thing about her.

“My…dolls.” Her plea scratched through her throat.

“Did you say, dolls? Miss, if they were in that boat, they’re gone. Probably at the bottom of the lake by now.”

She turned away, a look of pain on her face. She fought tears, and he thought it the darnedest thing, seeing as she might have lost her life just a minute ago. Seemed all she cared about was her dolls.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” he told her.

She shook her head, her lips trembling.

“What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer.

He repeated, “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Okay, Elizabeth. You just hold on and wait here. I’ll be right back.”

The girl didn’t respond.

He took off at a run along the lake bank, swearing an oath every time his bare feet hit a rock or a spiky twig.

I ain’t anybody’s hero, he kept repeating in his head. Didn’t do a damn bit of good, thinking it, though. His daddy would say, “Thinking it ain’t doing it, son.” It was one of only a few memories he had left of his father.

He found his clothes and dressed quickly. Swinging his legs into the saddle, he rode Joyful hard along the lakeshore, retracing his steps until he reached the girl again. To his relief, she’d sat herself up though she appeared white as a sheet. Her clothes were stuck to her skin, looking like they’d need a good peeling to get them off her.

Not that he would suggest that. She’d have to be satisfied with the wool blanket he’d untied from his bedroll to keep her warm. Lucky the sun still shone bright in the sky.

He squatted beside her and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t look at him. Her gaze, directed at the lake, was filled with yearning.

“This should warm you up.”

She let the blanket hang from her body.

“You’re trembling. Gonna catch a chill. Lake water’s pretty cold.”

Finally, she looked at him, her voice quiet and quivering, “They’re ruined now. All of them. You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

His brows furrowed. “You got yourself a death wish?”

Her eyes dimmed with disappointment.

He sat down next to her. Bracing an arm on his bent knee, he gave her a moment of peace and absorbed the quiet of the lake, the heat of the sun.

After a few moments, he turned to her. “I’m no expert or anything, but that boat didn’t look all too sturdy. Went down pretty fast. And clearly, you can’t swim.”

She snapped her eyes at him. “I can swim… I just got tangled up in my skirts.”

“Yeah? That’s not how I saw it.” He plucked a thin blade of grass from a small patch growing nearby. The girl was acting as if he’d done her a disservice by saving her life.

“I wish you hadn’t come along. I needed those dolls. I would have found them.”

What in tarnation? The ungrateful girl didn’t appreciate what he’d done for her. She’d interrupted his peaceful time at the lake with her screams and she didn’t have the good grace to utter a thank-you when he came to her rescue.

“You would’ve drowned looking for them, your swimming abilities being such as they are.”

She sent a look of dire misery toward the water. Then she spun her head his way. Fire snapped in her eyes. “I was coming up for air, then going back down again. I didn’t need your help. Now, my dolls are gone! And we’re going to lose the ranch…” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off in despair.

Things with her must be mighty grim, he thought. She’d risked her life for those damn dolls. He didn’t quite understand how her dolls would save a ranch. His knowledge of ranching was obviously lacking. Then it hit him. Elizabeth…could she be Lizzie? The same Lizzie that Edward Mitchell had written to him about?

He dug into his shirt pocket and unfolded the square parchment, reading the letter his older friend had written.

I’m asking a favor of you, boy. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. Need some help pretty quick. It’s not for me, but for my granddaughter, Lizzie. Come to Red Ridge if you can and I’ll explain.

Edward Mitchell

He stared at her. “You’re Lizzie Mitchell?”

She whipped her head toward him. “How’d you know that?”

He pursed his lips, amused at the coincidence. “I’m Chance Worth. Your grandfather sent for me.”

She jumped up with more vigor than he thought she could muster, being that she’d just nearly drowned, regardless of her claims otherwise. Her dark curly hair was plastered to her head, her face dull as his old scratchy blanket, her body covered throat to ankles with stuck-on wet clothes. Only things that glistened, bright as the lake that almost took her life, were her startled blue eyes. “You’re Chance Worth?”

“Yeah, Lizzie, you heard me right.”

She folded her arms across her middle, jutted out her chin and hoisted her head like Queen Elizabeth of England. “Well, I won’t do it. Grandpa’s got no right sending for you! I refuse to marry you. And that’s final!”

* * *

“I told you I could walk home.” Lizzie kept her chin high and her body stiff. She sat upon this sorrel named Joyful, sharing the saddle with the stranger. His arm was wrapped around her middle and she tried not to think about how if she leaned back ever so, she’d be flush against his big body.

“I should make you,” he said. “Serve you right for taking that good-for-nothing boat across the lake.”

For all her bold talk, Lizzie probably would drop of exhaustion if the cowboy did make her walk back home. The spill in the lake robbed her energy and losing her dolls had destroyed her spirit. She was bone tired, but wouldn’t give the cowboy the satisfaction of that bit of knowledge. “You could leave me here right now and turn around. Tend to your business.”

“I’m tending to my business. Told you that once already, Lizzie.”

“It’s Elizabeth.” Her spine stiffened at the childlike name that everyone including her grandfather insisted upon calling her. Grandpa was forgetful lately, so she couldn’t fault him, but that didn’t explain why everyone else in Red Ridge saw fit to address her in that manner.

Chance Worth may have pulled her out of the water today but that didn’t give him the right to insult her. After she’d jumped up, declaring she’d not marry him, he’d given her a long narrow-eyed look, then burst out laughing. He might’ve busted a gut with all the cheer he’d spread over the quiet lake at the very notion.

It was the reason Grandpa sent him that letter. Had to be. Her gramps had told her the tale of the orphan boy whose life he saved and how the boy had clung on, fighting for his life, refusing to give up the one thing he had left of value. The robbers would have beaten him to death if her grandfather hadn’t been riding the back roads in Channing and heard the confrontation. Chance Worth owed her grandpa his life.

Good Lord, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Had that been the trade-off, he’d repay his debt by marrying her?

For the past year, her grandfather had been matchmaking, inviting every eligible young man in the territory to the ranch. Not that she’d gotten a single proposal. And that’s how it would stay. Still, she smarted from the stranger’s outright amusement when she’d refused to marry him.

Your grandfather’s got more sense than that. The man’s declaration after his laughter had died down made her stomach knot.

Lizzie wasn’t a beauty. She wasn’t graceful or poised like the other females in town. She wasn’t buxom or curvy. She looked younger than her eighteen years. She knew that she’d rightly die a spinster one day, but that didn’t give the stranger call to rub her nose in it. Embarrass and offend her.

Hurt her.

She had a mind to retaliate with harsh words, but she’d gotten an eyeful of the cowboy, stripped naked from the waist up, after he’d pulled her out of the lake. She couldn’t say that his jaw was chiseled a little too deep. Or his shoulders were spread a little too broad. Or the muscles that bulged on his arms were too darn big. If Lizzie was one thing, she was honest. Her rescuer with deep brown eyes and golden skin was about as perfect as one man had a right to be.

And thinking him perfect after the insult he’d bestowed upon her just made her angry.

“How is Edward?” he asked, his voice soft against her ear.

A tingle trailed down her neck. She willed it to stop and concentrated on the question. Her body’s response to this man annoyed her. “He’s struggling some, but we’ll make do. We always do.”

“Struggling?” he asked.

“Some.”

“You care to elaborate.”

“Isn’t your business, is it, Mr. Worth?”

“Hmm, if I had to guess, I’d say having a stubborn, sass-mouthed granddaughter would make just about any man struggle.”

She spun around so fast, her damp hair whipped at her cheekbones. “That’s not fair! You don’t know what we’ve been through. Cattle rustlers, drought that starved our herd two years ago, disease that came later. We’ve worked hard to keep the ranch from drying up, to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs. My grandpa would throw you off his property, hearing you speak that way to me.”

His lips twitched. “That so?”

She glared into mud-brown eyes lit with amusement. He wasn’t really perfect after all, she decided.

“Turn around, before you fall off.” His voice firm, he scolded her like a child. He wasn’t that much older than her. Couldn’t be more than ten years that separated them.

“I’m not going to fall off. I’ve been riding since before I could walk. I could outride any of the boys in town. And I—”

He clucked his tongue and the sorrel took off in a fast trot. Lizzie bounced up and her world tilted to the left. She began falling at an angle, her body hinged sideways. She was on a collision course with a prickly blade of saguaro cactus before a big hand pulled her upright to safety. Chance set both hands firm on her shoulders and turned her to face forward on the saddle.

“You did that on purpose.” She bristled.

He slowed Joyful to an easy gait. “You got a vivid imagination, Lizzie.”

“Elizabeth.”

“I think I liked you better in the lake.”

“When you thought I was drowning?”

“When you were quiet.”

“You’re the one asking questions.”

“And you’ve given such ladylike answers.”

She whipped around again, showing him the point of her chin.

“For pity’s sake, turn around and stay put.” His voice held no patience. “You’re tiring yourself out.”

Leather creaked as she took her time twisting back in the saddle.

And just like that, he pulled her closer, his hand splaying over her stomach, his fingers teasing the underside of her breasts. She’d never had a man hold her so tight, in such a way. She held her breath. A warm thrill coursed down past her waist. Her breasts, small as they were, tingled. “W-what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. His iron grip said it all.

Lizzie sighed. She’d made a mess of things for certain. She’d been a fool, though she wouldn’t admit it to the man whose knees cradled her. She’d been so eager to deliver her dolls and collect the money owed her, that she’d taken the shortcut, across the lake, rather than walking the extra two miles to town. She should’ve been more careful with her dolls, more cautious about that rickety ole boat. Now, she had nothing to show for one month’s solid work. They had little cash left and were overextended on loans from the feed store and the mercantile. Her grandfather hadn’t said as much, Edward Mitchell being a proud man and all, but he’d been relying on that cash to buy supplies in town.

Elizabeth’s folly let him down.

Tears she’d held back, threatened again. She wouldn’t let the stranger see her cry. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“You’re tensing up again. Just lean against me and be still, Lizzie.”

It was fruitless fighting him. And he was right. She was fatigued. More than she’d thought. And now he offered her his chest to lean back against. No harm in that, she thought, as the relentless sun spilled down. The heat burning through her wet clothes warmed her chilled body and soothed her sour mood.

* * *

A majestic view of crimson hills jutting up against a blue sky gave Chance pause as he neared the Mitchell spread. Rocky peak formations appearing close enough to touch created instant patterns in his mind. The one directly in front of him seemed to spread out like a soaring eagle in flight, the formation to his left was shaped like a tall bowler hat, the kind a gentleman from the East would wear, and the crest of another mountaintop off in the distance looked like a tipped coffeepot. The sun played with the deep earth hues of those mountain peaks, illuminating Mother Nature’s most fascinating ornaments in blazing light.

In a clearing not far away sat the sorely neglected Mitchell Ranch, its rundown appearance a direct contrast to the majesty of the Red Ridge Mountains. Chance pressed Joyful on, taking in broken fences along the border, barn walls in disrepair and the house itself, which was no more than a small wood cabin.

The girl had fallen asleep against him. Her head was tucked under his chin, her lithe body cradled in his arms with her skirts draped down the mare’s sides. She was a little thing, to be sure, but feisty as hell.

Chance grinned thinking about her mighty tirade. Marry her? Edward Mitchell could find a dozen better suitors for his granddaughter than him. Chance wasn’t anybody’s ideal and he certainly wasn’t the settling-down kind. Edward knew Chance had no dreams of a wife and family. Life had knocked Chance down too many times for thinking like that. No, that wasn’t why Edward Mitchell had summoned him.

He spoke in Lizzie’s ear. “Wake up, Princess. You’re home.” Lizzie jerked back when she heard his voice. The back of her head met with his chin. “Ow!”

Nobody’d call her graceful.

She straightened and gazed at her home with trepidation.

He dismounted first and reached up for her. In less than an hour, he’d had more contact with this gal than any other female in a month of Sundays. He’d had lifelong practice keeping away from Marissa Dunston, the young daughter of Alistair’s new wife. Marissa had been a troublemaker from the time she’d come to live at the Circle D Ranch. Chance wasn’t about to get stupid now. Not with Edward Mitchell’s granddaughter, that’s for damn sure.

She peered down at him with tentative blue eyes, her brown hair still a messy bird’s nest of curls. She didn’t want to face her grandpa. That much he could read from her expression. He softened his voice. “C’mon, Lizzie.”

She leaned down and he lifted her from the saddle, her hands steady on his shoulders as her boots hit the ground. She stood facing him, all her life’s misery written on her face. Chance knew that look too well. But he hadn’t survived all this time by being mollycoddled. If things were as bad as he thought on the Mitchell spread, she’d have to toughen up to endure hardship.

He stepped back and gestured to the house with a nod of his head. “Go tell your grandpa I’m here.”

She chewed on her lower lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had transformed and a downright determined look settled on her features. Chance watched her pick up her soggy skirts and march right into the house. Then he led Joyful to the barn to unsaddle her.

He hadn’t seen Edward Mitchell since the day he’d stepped in and saved his life. Chance had been twelve, fighting for what was his against three ruffians. They’d cornered him behind a cropping of trees outside of town. If Edward hadn’t taken that little-known side road to town, Chance would have been beaten to death for certain. Edward had intervened just in time, entering the fray and tossing off his attackers one at a time, taking several hard blows himself to save the bedraggled orphan boy.

Chance remembered little else after that. When he woke up, he found himself in the care of the town doctor with Edward Mitchell by his side making sure Chance had proper medical treatment. Edward stayed until Chance had recovered enough to be adopted by the town’s wealthiest citizen, Alistair Dunston. The only thing Edward asked of Chance was to write to him in Red Ridge once a year.

Chance never broke that promise. Fifteen letters over fifteen years. And Chance kept every one of Edward’s return posts. He’d read those long insightful letters over and over and taken Edward Mitchell’s words to heart. In a way, Edward was more a father to him than Alistair Dunston had ever been.

“Well, look at you, boy.” Edward Mitchell stood under the patched overhang in front of his door as Chance approached. Age had not done him any favors, Chance noted. His shoulders were rounded from a slight natural curve of his back. He looked like he hadn’t seen a hearty meal in a decade; his arms and legs were stick thin. Yet, he wore a true smile, his brilliant blue eyes remarkable in a weary face that obviously had known suffering. “You’ve grown up.”

“Tends to happen over the years.” Chance grinned and strode the distance to shake Edward’s hand. He was instantly struck by the frailty in the older man’s grip. This was hardly the same man who’d gone up against three younger men to save Chance’s life years ago. “How are you, Edward?”

“Thankful that you honored an old man’s request, that’s how I am.” He patted Chance’s back several times as he ushered him inside. “Come in. Come in. Lizzie went to change outta her wet clothes. Poor gal, she’s beside herself with worry about her dolls.”

Edward gestured for him to sit down on a settee upholstered with flowery material. Chance removed his hat and took a seat. Edward slumped in a blue-velvet tufted parlor chair. Chance took a moment to glance around the rest of the room. The furniture seemed far too grand and out of place for a small ranch house. There were two doors beyond the kitchen area that he assumed were bedrooms, and all in all the interior of the home held more warmth and refinement than he thought possible, considering the neglect to the exterior.

“She told me what happened, boy,” Edward said with a strain in his voice. “Thank you for bringing my Lizzie home. I’ve told her time and again not to use that boat. Good thing Lizzie’s a swimmer or she might have drowned.”

Not that good of a swimmer, Chance thought. She’d been a victim of her own foolishness using that unreliable rowboat to cross the lake. And then thinking she could retrieve her precious dolls from the lake’s bottom. Dang things were probably ruined anyways.

Edward coughed from deep in his chest. Chance noticed the toll it took on his body. “She’s been brave, that girl. Trying to keep the ranch going.” He looked into Chance’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for coming, boy. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t essential.”

“Tell me.” Chance glanced at the bedroom door. Lizzie was still busy in there and he knew Edward wanted to speak his mind while she wasn’t in the room.

Edward leaned forward. “I should be offering you a bite to eat. Something to drink. Don’t mind my bad manners. I haven’t been right lately.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re eyes are hard, boy. You’ve known more misery in your life, haven’t you?”

Chance had always had a roof over his head. He’d always had food to eat. He’d made a little money over the years. Yet, no matter how hard he’d tried to fit in and become an upstanding citizen, there were always people who’d judged him unkindly. Who’d tested him and who’d set him up to fail. They’d never let him forget that he came from the orphanage. He was the boy nobody wanted. When Alistair Dunston came along Chance thought his life would be grand. After all, the man had a big ranch, land that spread out for hundreds of acres. He had a wife that couldn’t bear children. Chance was to be their son. Only, Clara Dunston died unexpectedly, and Alistair began treating him more like a hired hand than his kin. Soon everybody else got that notion, too.

“I’m not complaining, Edward.”

The man smiled sadly. As if to say, there’s much more in life. Chance wouldn’t know about that. Edward rose from his seat and walked to a china cabinet displaying fancy blue and white dishes on the shelves. He opened a drawer from below and pulled out a small square box. He carried the box carefully as he shuffled over to him. “This is yours, Chance. It’s about time I give it back to you.”

Chance gazed down at the walnut box carved with the letter W.

“I had the box made when I arrived home from Channing.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Times were better then.”

Chance knew what was inside. Taking a deep breath, he opened the lid and there, resting on the white silk lining, was a thin gold chain with a pear-shaped ruby pendant. The sparkling deep crimson gem was the size of a plum pit. He stared at his mother’s necklace—it was the only thing of value Chance Worth had ever owned. He was almost afraid to lift the chain, to touch the ruby. He remembered the day that he’d protected this necklace from three robbers who were intent on taking the one thing Chance valued above his own life. And after that beating, he realized he couldn’t hold on to the necklace. One way or another, he’d never reach adulthood with it in his possession.

Take it, Mr. Mitchell. Take it and keep it for me.

Chance had pleaded with Edward to keep the only remembrance he had of his mother. Losing his parents to marauders and then struggling to survive in an orphanage, he’d learned early on there weren’t too many people he could count on and trust. But Edward Mitchell with his kind eyes and generous spirit had been one of them. In a sense, Chance’s life had been whittled away to the sum total of that necklace and he entrusted Edward with its safekeeping.

I’ll know it’ll always be safe. With you.

Edward had agreed to keep the necklace until Chance could retrieve it. “Why are you giving this to me now, Edward?”

The older man glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered his voice. Any minute now Lizzie would step out, and Chance noted his urgency to speak before she did.

“I’m dying, Chance. I had to be sure to give this back to you.”

Chance inhaled sharply. He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting this. The minute he laid eyes on him, he’d seen the weariness in the old man’s body.

“I’m growing weaker every day. Lizzie knows, too, but we don’t talk about it. It’s easier for her to deny it.”

“That’s why you sent for me.”

“It’s one of the reasons. I’m trying to keep the ranch from failing. I need your help. If you’re willing.”

The necklace would have brought Edward Mitchell enough money to keep the ranch going for a time, yet he’d held on to it, saving it for Chance. Just like he promised. Chance’s throat got heavy with emotion. He hated the thought of the older man dying. There weren’t too many men on this earth of such honor and honesty. He took a moment to assemble his thoughts and conceal feelings he rarely showed anyone.

On a shaky breath he said, “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.” He held up the jewelry box. “For keeping this safe. It’s the only thing I have left of my life before my parents were murdered.” Chance spoke with firm resolve. “You can count on me, Edward. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Chance thought about Lizzie’s crazy notion that he was brought here to marry her. Now, it seemed possible that’s what Edward had in mind.

“Thank you.” Relief crossed Edward’s features as he nodded. Chance could, at the very least, give him that much peace of mind. But then the old man’s face turned beet-red and he began coughing. Chance rose to help him, but he quickly gestured for him to sit back down. When his coughing fit ended, he leaned back against his chair.

Once he’d caught his breath, he explained, “We’re in a bad way financially. Got barely enough to make it through the month. It’ll break Lizzie’s heart, but this here furniture, her mama’s furniture, is next to go. Won’t get all that much for it, that’s why I haven’t brought it up to Lizzie yet. That girl is dang upset about her dolls. She had orders and was rushing off to collect the money in town. Took her more than a month to sew those dolls and the girl feels she’s let me down.” He stopped. Squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. He was near tears. “Only, I’m the one letting her down. My granddaughter has calloused hands from working the ranch. She cooks our meals and at night, she fashions her dolls until she about collapses into bed.”

“I have some cash saved up,” Chance said, wanting to spare the old man any more pain. He’d give him everything he had.

Edward shook his head. “I’m a prideful man. It was hard enough asking you this favor, I won’t take your money.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

“My last ranch hand quit a month ago. Can’t say as I blame him. Toby stuck around without pay for three weeks. Just as a favor to Lizzie and me. Fact is, I need to get my Longhorns to the railhead. We got thirty head that’ll bring a good price. But I got no one to go with Lizzie on the drive.”

“Lizzie? She drives cattle?”

Edward’s eyes lit with pride. “She’s been going on drives with me since she was a youngster. The railhead is in Prescott. Should only take five days to get there.”

His cough took hold again and plagued him for the next half a minute. Chance rose up as he’d done before, wanting to help, to give the man some aid, but once again Edward gestured for him to sit down. Each cough took more life from him, as if an evil force counted down the breaths until he took his very last one.

“Grandpa?” Lizzie called from the other side of the door.

Edward sat up and caught his breath quickly, hiding his true condition from his granddaughter. “I’m fine, Lizzie. Don’t fret.”

Chance questioned him. “She know what you got planned?”

He shook his head. “Nope. But we haven’t got much choice. She won’t put up much fuss once I explain.”

Chance had doubts about that. He’d seen some of Lizzie’s fussing. “Why not sell the steers to a neighbor? Have them drive the cattle.”

“I thought of that. They’d take too big a cut of the profits. Wouldn’t leave us enough to live.”

Chance didn’t like the idea of driving cattle with a female, but Edward wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think it necessary. And it wasn’t much of a drive. Hell, they’d be back in a week. “Then it’s settled. I’ll go.”

Edward leaned back in his seat and rested his head on the chair’s carved wooden backing, closing his eyes. His voice became a mere whisper. “Thank you, but there’s more. And this…this is going to be a mite more difficult.”

Chance braced himself. “You want me to shoot someone dead?”

The old man smiled. “Of course not.”

“Then how bad could it be?”

He opened his eyes and Chance was hit with the impact of the old man’s determined gaze. “I want you to find Lizzie a husband.”

Chapter Two

After she’d dried off and changed into a brown dress, Lizzie pushed through her bedroom door, keeping her misery close to heart. It wouldn’t do to have Grandpa knowing how desperate she was. She found him and Chance Worth sitting in the front room, head down, whispering, in obvious cahoots about something. The second they spotted her they clamped their mouths shut. What in heaven’s name were they up to? And why did her Grandpa see fit to summon him here in the first place?

“Lizzie, dear girl, come sit with us for a spell.”

“I will for just a little while.” She smiled at her grandpa and plopped down on the sofa as far away from the stranger as possible. She wasn’t afraid of him, no sir, but she’d been close enough to feel his warm breath on her throat, to feel his arms tug her close while riding his mare. Why, she’d practically seen him naked at the lake and didn’t like for one minute the warm sensations he’d stirred in her.

“That’s my girl.” Her grandpa leaned back in his seat and drew a deep breath. His cough was getting worse every day and it scared her to see him look so pale. She cooked hearty meals to keep meat on his bones, but even still, his shirts hung loose from his shoulders. Didn’t matter how much bread she added to the stew, or how much jam she spread across his biscuits, she couldn’t seem to build his strength and fatten him up. “You look nice and dry, Lizzie. Feeling better now?”

She couldn’t feel better. She’d lost their only means of income and just thinking about those dolls soaked at the bottom of the lake made her stomach clench. She looked down at her brown skirt and nodded. “Yes, a little bit.”

“It’s a lucky thing Chance coming along when he did, bringing you home. Course it’s been a while but I recall how cold that lake is. Would have been a mighty uncomfortable walk with you dripping wet. Did you thank him, Lizzie?”

She darted Chance a glance and found him watching her, his gaze flowing over the hair she didn’t bother to untangle, curling every which way now and tied back with a thin strip of ribbon. When their eyes met she found his filled with amusement. “I, uh—”

“She thanked me, Edward.”

She shot him a quick look and he arched his right brow. He’d done a good thing, covering for her, but somehow she still felt pinpricked. If he hadn’t come along, she might’ve had a chance at rescuing her dolls. Now, all was lost and she didn’t know what else to do but to try to replace them with new ones made from the scraps of material she had left in her sewing basket.

Her grandpa coughed again, and the pain she noted on his face made her turn away. Every day she witnessed how much strength his coughing sapped from his body. The doctor from Red Ridge had come out to check on him and gave him an elixir, which she prayed would help, but nothing seemed to do a lick of good.

“Edward, I’ll get you some water,” Chance said, rising from his seat.

“I’ll get it.” She bounded up quickly and rushed to the kitchen area.

“Get…some…for our guest.” Her grandfather struggled to get the words out between coughs.

She poured two glasses of water from a pitcher but by the time she returned, thankfully, his coughing spell was over. She handed the water to her grandfather. “Please, Grandpa, you need to drink more. The doctor says it’ll help.”

“All right, Lizzie.” She stood over him until he took a long sip. Then she turned to Chance and offered up the other glass.

“Don’t mind if I do.” His hand came out to accept the drink and when their fingers brushed, she was startled by the jolt and nearly jumped out of her skin.

Something powerful happened whenever he touched her. The stirrings were unexpected and…and downright confusing. Thankfully, Chance didn’t seem to notice her distress. She figured it’d be a good idea to keep her distance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be on the ranch too long. “I’d best start supper.”

“It’s early yet,” her grandfather said. “Sit down, girl. Take a rest.”

Lizzie did as she was told. Everyone seemed content to just sit there, comfortably, without uttering a word. She didn’t begrudge her grandfather the rest or her company, but when he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, Lizzie couldn’t help but steal another look at Chance. His throat worked as he finished off the water in his glass. Why did she find watching him swallow so darn fascinating?

“Chance is here to help.” Her grandfather spoke quietly, keeping his head back against the chair. “In case you were wondering, Lizzie. And I owed him something.”

She noticed the square walnut box sitting next to Chance on the sofa. She’d grown up seeing that box—it was as if it belonged here on the ranch. For as long as she could remember, that box had sat in the bottom drawer of her mama’s china cabinet.

When she was a young fanciful girl, she’d sneak into that drawer when no one was looking and ever so carefully open the box to stare at the blood-red ruby. Her imagination would run wild, thinking it a rare stolen treasure, a gem that was more beautiful than any she could ever fathom. Had it belonged to a princess from a faraway land, a pirate queen or a stately woman of wealth?

Lizzie never touched the ruby for fear her dirt-smudged fingers would mar the perfection of the stunning pear-shaped stone. Eventually, she came to learn the story about the ruby and how it had fallen into her grandfather’s possession.

The ruby she’d once secretly coveted belonged to Chance Worth. And her grandfather had summoned him here to return it. “I know now that you sent for him,” she said, “to return the ruby.”

Grandpa leaned forward and spoke with resolution. “And to help us, Lizzie,” he reminded her.

Lord knew, they needed help, but so far all the stranger had managed to do was to prevent her from rescuing her dolls and make things worse. She didn’t have a good feeling about this. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “How can he help?”

Her grandfather’s face brightened and it was a joy to see, so rarely did he smile anymore. “Now, Lizzie. I want you to think before reacting, okay?”

She nodded, wary. Usually when Grandpa said that, she didn’t like what came next.

“Chance has agreed to drive our herd to the railhead in Prescott with you.”

Alarmed, she shook her head. “But, Grandpa, you and I will drive the herd, once you’re feeling better.”

A flicker of sadness stole over his face and her heart dropped. There was something so resolute in that look, so final. “I’m not getting better, Lizzie. I’m weak and getting weaker every day.” The bleak reality struck her as he reached for her with cold, fragile hands. “I wish it weren’t so for your sake, dear girl. I wish I could go with you on the drive, the way we used to.”

“Grandpa, we could do it again. We could. The winter was harsh this year and I know that’s what made you sick, but it’s spring now. You’ll gain your strength back.”

Her grandfather peered at Chance and the two locked glances. “Chance knows cattle drives. He’ll make the trip without any difficulty and the two of you will be back shortly.”

Her body tensed. The emotions she’d kept at bay all these months were too much for her. Tears welled in her eyes. She rose and shook her head, lowering her voice, unable to hide the pain. “I don’t want to go without you.”

Her grandfather squeezed his eyes shut briefly then met her gaze. “We have no choice, Lizzie.”

She shot a glare at Chance and then marched out of the room so the stranger wouldn’t see the tears spill from her eyes.

* * *

Lizzie boiled up strips of beef in a big pot, added beans and potatoes to the mix for son-of-a-gun stew. It was a recipe she’d learned from the cookie, years ago, when she’d gone on cattle drives with her father and the crew. She’d been without a care in the world then—the ranch was thriving and those drives were an adventure for a young girl. But now, she had enough worries to fill the cookie’s chuck wagon and then some.

She’d had a good cry out by the barn minutes ago, trying to justify leaving grandpa all alone. She didn’t want to go on that drive. Not without him. And she surely didn’t want to drive cattle with Chance Worth. Why, he’d most likely mock her every step of the way and she’d hate every minute of it.

She stirred the stew and sniffled.

“Need some help?”

She whirled around to find Chance leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. “How long have you been there?”

He moved into the room, ignoring her question. “Your grandpa’s taking a nap.”

He did that, napped several times during the day. She’d find him looking fatigued and the next thing she knew, he’d be on the sofa, head at an awkward angle against the back cushion, sleeping. “He needs rest.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Well, mercy. I think you and I agree on something.” She rubbed her nose and sniffled again. She didn’t want Chance in the kitchen, hovering. He was too big. And he made her nerves stand on end. “Why don’t you get settled at the bunkhouse? There’s a few beds in there that aren’t—”

“I want to talk to you about the drive.”

She blinked. Then turned her attention to stirring the stew. “What about it?”

“We’ll go day after tomorrow.”

She nodded, lowering her voice. “I suppose if we have to,” she said, though she couldn’t bear the thought of Grandpa being alone for more than a week.

“And you’re gonna listen to me every step of the way. No tantrums, no arguments. We do things my way, Lizzie.” His eyes were hard, his voice gruff. “We need to make good time and I don’t want a female slowing us down.”

She dropped the wooden spoon in the stew and braced her hands on her hips. “My name’s not Lizzie, not to you. It’s Elizabeth. I don’t have tantrums and I won’t slow anybody down. I know more about drives than any other woman in the territory.”

He cocked half a smile, satisfied. “Good. Then you and me shouldn’t have a problem, so long as you realize I’m the trail boss.”

“It’s our herd and our lives at stake. Not yours. If I disagree with you, I’m gonna tell you.”

“You took a broken-down boat out in the lake and nearly got yourself killed. Hardly testimony to your clear thinking and good judgment. And don’t deny it. God knows you’re denying enough about your life.”

She stiffened at his curious remark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He walked toward her, the rowels of his spurs jangling as his boots scraped against the wood floor. He stopped inches from her, his gaze dark and direct. “You want to help your grandfather? Then you go on this drive without any fuss. Don’t make him feel bad. Give him some peace of mind.”

Peace of mind? What was he talking about? She’d done everything she could to help her grandfather. She’d worked all day and into the night to keep the ranch going, earning extra cash whenever she could. Could she help it that she’d rather go on the trail drive with her kin, than with a stranger whose uncouth ways were bound to rile her?

But what if he wasn’t speaking about that? What if he had something else in mind? Her mind reeling, she spoke softly now, suddenly unsure. “What do you mean ‘peace of mind’?”

Chance reached for her face, taking her chin in his large hand and forcing her eyes up to his. A moment ticked by as he studied her, unblinking, his nearness, the intensity of his gaze stirring her senses. They stood that way, facing each other, his grip tight yet gentle and when she thought he’d say what was on his mind, he seemed to think better of it. He released her and backed up. “I think you know, Lizzie.”

She put her head down, refusing to look in his eyes and whispered, “I don’t. I swear I don’t know what you mean at all.”

He sighed and walked away from her. After a time, his footsteps faded and the door squeaked closed behind him. Marching to the window, she pulled aside the curtains and watched him stride into the barn, readying to settle on the ranch and barge into her life.

She wished Grandpa had never sent for him.

It was one of a long list of wishes that Lizzie hadn’t seen come true this year.

* * *

Chance strode into the barn to check on Joyful and retrieve his saddlebags. The sorry sorrel he’d noticed earlier snorted quietly as he walked by. The slight effort seemed laborious for the animal that looked weary and old enough to have seen war days. Wasn’t a wonder why Lizzie chose to walk into town today—the mare wouldn’t have hastened her trip at all.

It was hard to believe that Edward had kept the ranch running this long. Chance was damn glad he showed up when he did, though he wasn’t looking forward to having Lizzie along on the cattle drive. Without a crew and a string of horses to switch out, she’d have to put in long hours and eat her share of dust on the trail. Good thing they only had a hundred miles to travel to the railhead.

Chance wouldn’t let Edward down.

Leastways not with the short trail drive.

Finding Lizzie a husband was another matter.

He approached his mare, muttering, “The old man’s worried over his granddaughter and I’ve got to find her a man.”

Joyful turned to the sound of his voice, her brown eyes on him. Chance stroked her mane, running his hands along the length of the coarse hairs and then gave her a pat as thoughts of Edward’s quickly laid-out plan came to mind. Chance wasn’t too sure it would work. His old friend explained the situation—so far Lizzie had pretty much shooed away any of the would-be suitors that Edward had brought out to the ranch.

Can’t say as he blamed the men from turning tail and running. As much as he’d seen of her, Lizzie lacked female wiles and didn’t have enough charm to entice a stray pup to Sunday supper, much less a would-be husband.

Chance grabbed his saddlebags and bedroll and entered the bunkhouse. Cobwebs crisscrossed the ceiling above his head and a layer of red dust kicked up as he moved into the space, yet the place wouldn’t be the worst he’d lived in. He scanned the six bunks across the far wall deciding one was no better than the other, worn blankets and all, but they were sturdy enough for a man his size. He tossed his gear on the floor, took off his gun belt and sat down on the nearest bunk testing the thin mattress. It was a far cry better than hard ground. He laid his head back, setting his hat low to cover his eyes, and adjusted his body on the bunk, hanging his boots off the edge.

He’d barely had a few minutes of respite before he sensed a presence hovering over him. On instinct, he reached for his six-shooter and cocked it, hinging his body up so fast his hat went flying from his head.

“Oh!” Startled, Lizzie backed up, her eyes trained on the gun.

He glared at her. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Her usual bravado gone, she lowered her voice. “I…wasn’t.”

He set the gun down on the bed. “You weren’t? Funny, but I didn’t hear you knock.”

“The door was open. I came looking for you. Supper’s ready.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he thought she’d go, she continued to stand there, carefully studying him. “You got something else to say?”

“What are you afraid of, anyway?” she asked, her brows furrowing together. “You grabbed your gun so fast, I thought I was going to meet my maker years before my time.”

“Scared you, did I?”

She paused, her expression tightening. She didn’t like to give in, that much he’d already found out about the Mitchell girl. She raised her chin and nodded. “Maybe.”

“It’s good if I did and a valuable lesson to learn, Lizzie. You’ve not seen the world the way I have. You got to be on your guard every second of the day. Being alert has kept me alive and you’d best learn early that you can’t trust everyone.”

“Does that include you?”

He caught her stare and thought for a moment before giving her an answer. “Your grandfather trusts me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Now she was being just plain argumentative. Her chin lifted another inch and he noticed the feminine lines of her jaw, the slender length of her throat. “You don’t have to trust me, Lizzie. In fact, it’d be better if you didn’t.”

She blinked as his words sank in. Then with a sharper tone, she continued, “You didn’t answer my first question. Why are you sleeping with your gun?”

“Stupid question.”

“Stupid or not, I’d like an answer. Is someone after you?”

Nobody double-crossed Alistair Dunston and got away with it. Chance had left the man riled about him leaving the Circle D Ranch but it wasn’t as if he’d committed a crime or anything. Yet, he was in rare company defying the powerful man’s wishes, so Chance figured to keep his guard up. It never hurt a man to be smart. “Nope. A lot of men sleep with their guns. Keep that in mind and don’t go stealing into rooms unless you’re tired of breathing.”

“And you might try not shooting my head off when I announce supper,” she snapped.

He glanced at her pinched-tight lips and thought Lizzie needed lessons in manners. “You have a sass mouth.”

“You’ve told me that already. I doubt that’s going to change.”

“It’s gotta change, Lizzie. Just remember what I said about the trail drive and we’ll get along just fine.” He rose from the bunk and, towering above her, stared into her eyes. “You’re no match for me.”

Her expression faltered for a second, then filled with dawning realization. His attempt to instill fear in her hadn’t worked as planned. Lizzie set her chin stubbornly and met his gaze head-on. “I just might surprise you, Chance Worth.”

With that, she lifted her ugly skirt, whirled around and hastily exited the bunkhouse.

A wayward thought popped into his head and he hoped to high heaven that the surprise Lizzie had in mind for him wouldn’t be arsenic in his beef stew tonight.

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.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.