Bet You'll Marry Me (4 page)

Seconds later, a startled whinny pierced the air, and when Jenny looked back, Chandler was lying on the ground. He wasn't fool enough to try to go over the jump in a western saddle was he? Western saddles weren't meant for jumping. She didn't even know if the horse he rode knew how to jump. Starfire was the only one of her horses that had been trained in both English and western disciplines.

Slowing Starfire, she slid off his back and ran across the meadow to Nick's side. He wasn't moving.

Panic coursed through her limbs, making her tremble. She shouldn't have tried to race him, shouldn't have brought him out here. She knew he had been in no condition to ride after his work in the saddle all day. What if he'd suffered a concussion? Or broken his neck?

He lay face up with his eyes closed, and didn't appear to be breathing. She had trouble breathing herself as she pressed her fingers to his throat and checked for a pulse.

Thank God, he was still alive. She recalled the new medical guidelines she'd seen on the Internet and gave him thirty hard, fast chest presses to keep his blood circulating. Then she tilted his chin up and opened his mouth with her finger. Nothing seemed to be blocking the airway. She pinched his nose closed. Took a deep breath. Lowered her mouth to his to perform CPR.

She was about to blow air into his lungs when the world rolled over, placing Chandler on top, with a very dark, calculating look in his eyes.

Jenny thrust Chandler off to the side, pulled out her boot knife, and sprang to her feet. “You
faked
that fall!”

“And
you
,” he said, pointing to the crazed horse prancing about the field, “deliberately put me on that beast to torture me. What are you going to do now? Stab me?”

She followed his gaze to the tip of her boot knife, its sharp point glistening orange from the setting sun. What was she thinking?

“I—I'm sorry,” she said, and trembled as she sheathed the knife beneath the hem of her jeans. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“Oh, well, you know what they say,” Chandler said, pulling himself off the ground.

“What?” she demanded. Had the townspeople been talking about her again? “What do they say?”

“There's a fine line between love and hate.”

“In your case,” she said, hardening her expression, “that fine line is a brick wall.”

She walked away from him and headed toward a giant apple tree fifty feet away.

“Where are you going?” Nick asked, following her.

“The cemetery.”

There was no gate. Jenny swept her gaze over the names carved into the headstones, and knelt beside the newest, the one without any moss or age spots. The grave of her father, George O'Brien.

“There's so many of them.”

Chandler's voice was filled with awe. What did he expect from a family cemetery?

Jenny tossed away a few of the apples that had fallen from the tree above and landed on the grass beside the graves. Then she pointed to the oldest stone, which was also the smallest. “My great-great-grandfather Shamus O'Brien left Ireland in eighteen seventy-six with his wife and young son. He traveled across America to Washington State, built the ranch, and then died in eighteen eighty, during the area's second short gold boom.”

“The man with the gold,” Nick commented.

Jenny pointed to another grave farther to the right. “This is my grandfather, Sean O'Brien. When I was little, he sat me on his knee and told me the reason they buried family on the property was to ensure the land would never be sold—never slip into the hands of developers. He said he'd rest easy knowing the land would always belong to one of his descendants.”

“That's why you won't sell,” Nick said, and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, I won't sell,” Jenny said, and turned to face him straight on. “So if you think you can come here, and marry me, and sell the land out from under me, you can forget it.”

“What if I just want to ranch?” Nick asked. “What if I'm just so taken with your beauty that I'd like to stay here forever . . . with you?”

Jenny smirked and rolled her eyes. “I know you must have an ulterior motive for betting me the ten thousand. I also know how valuable the land could be, if I didn't owe so much debt. I've had offers from several large companies to buy the land.”

“Which ones?” Nick asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“N.L.C. Industries is the most bothersome.” Jenny scowled. “I'm beginning to think there isn't anything that company won't do to get their hands on my land.”

Nick chuckled. “I've heard they are tenacious.”

“Tenacious isn't even the word.” She blew out a huff of disgust. “The company is in league with the devil.”

“That bad?” Nick raised his brows.

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “Rumor has it the company needs to sell the properties it purchased here in Pine. Except
my
land sits smack in the middle of theirs, and no prospective buyer wants a useless donut-hole tract. They want my land, Windy Meadows, included in the deal.”

“Sounds like N.L.C. Industries is screwed,” Nick said, nodding his head.

“Serves them right for purchasing land around me in the first place, thinking they could run me out and build some smog-ridden industrial plant,” Jenny retorted. Her blood boiled and her heart pounded just talking about it. “Do you know last month N.L.C. had the gall to offer to have the graves of my family relocated?”

“That's awful,” Nick agreed.

“Where would they move them?” Jenny demanded, rising to her feet. “My family doesn't belong in some public cemetery on the other side of town. This is their home, the place they lived and loved and watched their children grow. Can you imagine seeing the caskets of your loved ones being pulled from the ground, unearthed from—” Unable to continue, Jenny shuddered.

“I imagine it would be haunting,” Nick said, his face drawn, as if he, too, was affected by the image.

“Ghastly,” Jenny amended. “No, I don't have any sympathy for N.L.C. Industries. As far as I'm concerned, they've dug their own grave.”

 

Chapter Four

N
ICK HAD NEVER
been happier to drop into a bed. For dinner, Billie made a green-noodle casserole which he overheard the ranch hands say tasted even worse than it looked. Deciding to forego trying the dish himself, he'd climbed the stairs, and laid down with an empty stomach.

It seemed he'd only had a few minutes of sleep when an urgent pounding on his bedroom door roused him back to full consciousness. Was it morning already? He glanced out the window toward the rising sun and heard Jenny's voice, followed by footsteps running down the hall.

Nick tossed his sheets aside, walked across the room and opened the door a crack to see what was going on.

“The steers are scattered,” Jenny explained. She hopped up and down in the sunlit hallway and pulled on one of her boots. “Harry says they've wandered on to N.L.C. Industries property. We need every available person to help find them—including your sister—who seems to sleep very well for a person who's supposed to have nightmares.”

Nick dressed as quickly as his tired limbs would let him and knocked on Billie's bedroom door. No answer. Turning the knob, he let himself in. Billie was sound asleep. He tried to shake her awake, with no results. When Billie slept, she slept hard.

Retrieving a cup of water from the bathroom he splashed his sister's face. It worked. Billie sprang up off her pillow and out of bed within seconds.

“I've told you before I hate it when you do that!” Billie yelled. “Now my bed is all wet. It better be dry before tonight or I'll make you switch rooms with me.”

“Get dressed,” Nick told her. “The cattle are trampling all over N.L.C. Industries' precious property and Jenny needs to round them up before the company owner finds out.”

Billie laughed. “A little late for that.”

Nick made his way down to the corral. The gate was wide open, and not one steer could be seen inside. Harry barked instructions to Frank Delaney. Wayne Freeman mounted a horse Jenny brought out to him and took off toward the river.

“Who closed the gate last night?” Harry demanded.

“I did,” Nick said, joining them.

Harry frowned. “Was it shut tight?”

“Yes.”

“Not tight enough,” Frank drawled.

Not only had he closed the gate, but after he and Jenny returned from their ride, he'd chained it as well. The chain was now missing, which meant someone was trying to pin the blame on him.

He narrowed his gaze on Frank. Now wasn't the time or place for a face-off, and pointing fingers wasn't going to win him any friends. If anything, it would only alienate him further from the ranch hands. Deciding to keep quiet about the chain, he moved off to saddle Satan so he could round up the herd.

“B
E GENTLE
,” J
ENNY WARNED.
She handed the reins of a small pinto over to Billie. “My horses respond to voice commands and don't need extra kicks or excessive tugs on the bit.”

“I promise I won't hurt him,” Billie said, hoisting herself into the saddle.

“Are you sure you can ride?”

For a moment Billie looked like she was about to lash into her with an assortment of colorful language, but then the young woman took a deep breath and replied, “Yes, I can ride.”

Billie told the truth. The young woman kept up with an easy gait, and handled the pinto quite well when they circled a small group of steer at the far end of the field.

Even more of a surprise was the way Billie's brother systematically drove the scattered herd into one large group. Jenny paused for a moment to watch.

If Nick Chandler was still saddle-sore from the previous day, he didn't let it show. Racing first in one direction, and then another, he completely dominated the field.

Where did he learn to negotiate hairpin turns like that? On his grandfather's Upstate New York ranch? Or the rodeo circuit? She'd thought the dark-haired cowboy had lied when he'd recited his resume, but there was no doubt the man had past ranching and riding experience. Did he just change the direction of the entire herd? Jenny straightened in her saddle. Rarely had she seen such expert precision, even in skilled professionals.

“Got to admit, he's good,” Wayne said, riding beside her.

“Harry only hires the best.” She tore her gaze away from the dark-haired cowboy in the nice-fitting doeskin chaps and tried to change the subject. “Have you contacted Michelle?”

“She won't take my calls,” Wayne said, his voice tight. “Geez, it's been almost two years since I've seen my little girls. I doubt they even remember me. If I had the money, I'd get a lawyer to enforce my visitation rights.”

“I wish I could help you,” she told him, “but I have creditors calling me day and night.”

Billie rode toward them with a stray calf.

“You're too tiny for ranch work,” Wayne called out to her.

Billie scrunched her nose and made a face at him. “And you're too sweet. I thought you had to have a better vocabulary than that to be a real hard-nose cowboy.”

Jenny laughed. “Wayne Freeman, meet Billie Chandler.”

B
EADS OF SWEAT
ran down the side of his face as Nick brought in the last of the herd.

“If you hadn't left the gate open, this never would have happened,” Frank said, loud enough for everyone within a mile to hear.

Was he right in suspecting Frank? Or could Jenny have been the one to remove the chain off the gate? Was she trying to frame him? Or worse—did she have Frank do it? Did she think if she got him fired she'd win the bet?

After he unsaddled Satan, he went back up to his room and found she'd left him a gift.

Centered on the small round table next to his bed was a big white bottle of hand cream.

J
ENNY BRUSHED
S
TARFIRE
and was humming him a soft, rhythmic song when Wayne leaned over the half door of the stall.

“Harry will fire him after what happened today, don't you think?”

“It wasn't Chandler's fault,” Jenny said, moving around the back of the horse to brush his tail.

“But he left the gate open,” Wayne insisted.

“No, he didn't. I was there. I saw him use the new lock and chain Harry bought at the hardware store.”

“No one said anything about a chain,” Wayne said. He scratched the blond stubble along the side of his jaw. “Jenny, you're not defending him because you're interested in him, are you?”

“Certainly not.” She put the brush away and picked up a comb to untangle the snarls in the horse's mane.

“Do you think,” he said, his voice strained, “you could ever take an interest in me?”

Jenny stopped what she was doing to stare at him.

Wayne had never tried to flirt with her in any way. His wife had been her best friend. Then two years ago, Michelle had taken their two little girls to Florida, never speaking to Wayne or her old friends again. Not even Michelle's mother, Sarah, who owned the bakery, could contact her.

The divorce had been hard on Wayne. It was even harder when Michelle cut a deal to sell their ranch to N.L.C. Industries. Left with nothing, Wayne had come to Windy Meadows and Harry had hired him on as a ranch hand in exchange for food and a bed in the bunkhouse next to the barn. Jenny had always thought of Wayne as one of the family, and never imagined he thought of her any different.

“I like you, Wayne,” she said, hoping her words didn't sound as awkward as she felt, “but more like a brother than . . . anything else.”

“I can live with that,” Wayne said with a slow smile.

Pushing away from the half door, he strolled down the aisle and lightly knocked Billie sideways as he passed by her.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, with a tone of mock concern.

The small tomboy, who was once again dressed all in black, balled her fists and called him a name Jenny wouldn't dare repeat.

Ignoring the insult, Wayne whistled cheerfully as he went out the door.

“There's something wrong with that man,” Billie declared, as she walked toward her.

“I think he likes you.”

“Then why did he ask if
you
had an interest in him?”

“The same reason I received ten marriage proposals on my voicemail last night. They don't want me. They only want to win the bet. It's a game to them.”

“Nick likes you,” Billie said, and lifted her chin. “I've never seen him go to such extremes to marry a woman.”

“Is that so?” Jenny asked, picking up a hoof pick. “How many women has he tried to marry?”

“He's never had to try to marry any. That's the point. Usually, he's surrounded by hordes of beautiful women who are all trying to marry
him.
”

“Sounds like a touch life,” Jenny scoffed. No wonder the man was so arrogant. He'd probably expected her to swoon at his feet like some mindless bimbo.

“What would you like for dinner?” Billie asked. “I'll cook your favorite meal.”

Jenny couldn't help rolling her eyes. If Chandler thought he could get his sister to cozy up to her, he was wrong. She wasn't about to waste any of her precious time on either one of them.

“Beef Wellington,” she answered slyly, knowing the meal would take hours to prepare, “with herbed carrots, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and gravy.”

Billie's eyes grew wide. “I'll try my best.”

Jenny laughed as soon as Billie was out of earshot. The Chandlers could try all day, but it wasn't going to get them what they wanted.

She imagined herself getting what
she
wanted. What a wonderful, beautiful day it would be when she strolled into the Bets and Burgers Café on July thirteenth. Maybe she'd add a little swagger to her walk, like Irene Johnson.

She'd be unmarried of course, and have the biggest, brightest smile on her face—brighter than the sun. Pete would be forced to humbly declare her the winner of the bet and place the glorious, debt-defying ten-thousand-dollar check into her eager outstretched hands.

She might be the only one cheering, but she'd cheer all the way to the bank. She'd cheer when Stewart Davenport tore up the foreclosure papers. And she'd cheer when she got back home with . . . well, with Harry, for one, and . . . the horses.

Jenny frowned. There had to be other people she could invite to her celebration party.

T
HE LATE-EVENING HEAT
bore down on the ranch with wicked intentions, leaving everyone in desperate need of a cold shower and a really good meal.

Jenny approached the picnic tables, and when Chandler turned toward her, she hesitated in midstep. Chandler's direct gaze electrified every nerve in her body. How could she ignore him when he looked at her like that?

Self-conscious, she turned her attention to her lanky red-bearded cousin who sat beside Wayne Freeman.

“Patrick, what brings you here?”

Her cousin smirked. “I heard you got someone to replace Wayne's feeble attempts in the kitchen and thought I'd come for a good dinner.”

“You don't like the way I cook?” Wayne asked, a wide unaffected smile spreading across his face.

“Hate to break it to ya,” Patrick told him, “but there's a reason your restaurant failed.”

“Yes, there is,” Wayne agreed, “but it wasn't because of the taste of the food.”

“You're a chef?” Nick asked.

“Was. Past tense.” Wayne shifted his jaw and looked him square in the eye. “But I'm sure your sister is a much better cook than I am.”

Jenny watched Nick glance toward Billie, his expression tense. Did he doubt his sister's ability?

Patrick poked her arm. “Where's Harry?”

“He went to bed early. We had to round up the cows from the entire hillside and we're all exhausted.”

“Me too.” Patrick's smile faded. “The real reason I came tonight is to say goodbye. I sold my ranch to Stewart Davenport.”

“No!
” Jenny shook her head, her stomach contracted into a tight ball. “Patrick, how could you?”

“I don't have the money to keep my ranch, not in this economy.”

“You don't have to go,” Jenny protested. “You can stay here with us and be our new ranch manager.”

She glanced at Chandler and he gave her a dark look. But wouldn't Harry prefer family over a stranger for the position? Patrick could be the answer to her problems.

“I'm sorry, Jenny, but I'm done ranching. Besides, you've taken in enough homeless cowboys.” His gaze swept over Nick, Wayne, Frank, and young Josh, who sat quietly at the end of the table. “No offense, guys.”

“None taken. If it weren't for Windy Meadows . . .” Wayne shook his head. “Where will you go?”

“I thought I'd head down to California for a while, lie on the beach, maybe give surfing a try.”

“You're leaving?” A tight knot formed in Jenny's chest.

“First thing tomorrow.”

“But this is your
home
.”

“My home seems a bit empty.” Patrick slouched forward. “Lately, I don't even know what it is I'm working for.”

“For
this
.” Jenny swept her hand toward the rich sun-gold meadows, pine-scented evergreens, and granite peaks stretching into a vibrant finger-painted sky. “We work for this.”

“It's not enough. I want something more.”

What more was there? She didn't understand.

“From now on, home will be wherever I hang my hat.” A sudden gleam entered Patrick's eyes. “I want to enjoy life, not work so hard I don't know what day it is.”

“Here, here!” said Wayne, lifting his mug in a toast.

“I want to wake each morning with something to look forward to,” Patrick continued, “and go to bed each night with someone to keep me warm.”

“Here, here!” the others at the table chorused.

Jenny's throat tightened. She thought of all the childhood memories they'd shared. Their float trips down the river. Their forts in the woods. The rope swing they used to jump into the lake. How could he just pick up and leave? If Patrick wanted someone to warm his bed at night, why didn't he just get a dog?