Cowboy's Bride

Cowboy's Bride

By Barbara McMahon

Copyright 2011 by Barbara McMahon

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from
the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author's imagination are
used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons living or dead is entirely
coincidental.

1

Trace Longford balanced on the narrow
platform of the tall windmill and raised his head.
He heard the
truck before he saw it.
Scanning the area, his gaze swept the
grass-covered hills to his left.
Beyond, in the distance to the
west, the snow-covered granite peaks of the Tetons glittered in the
afternoon sun.
The truck crested the nearby hill, its engine
droning as it slowly crept toward him.
Sitting back on his
haunches, his arms loosely held on his knees, he watched as the
gleaming blue-and-white pickup drew closer and stopped.

Eyes narrowed against the sun's glare, his
expression impassive, he watched a small, dark-haired woman climb
down from the truck's cab.
She tossed back the long braid confining
her hair and calmly placed a white Stetson over the glossy black
mane.
The brim shaded her from the relentless Wyoming sun.
Trace
watched her look around, catch sight of him on the high narrow
platform of the windmill.
Raising her chin in determination, she
walked over to the base.
His eyes never left her as she
approached.

"Are you Trace Longford?" she called.

"Yeah." A sudden premonition filled him, made
him tense.
He wasn't given to premonitions—good or bad— but
suddenly he felt a tightening in his gut that presaged trouble.
In
an instant, he knew her identity.
But why the hell she was here, he
hadn't a clue.
Hadn't she gotten Richard's letter?

"One of the men at the barn told me I might
find you here," she called.
"Can you come down to talk to me?"

"When I'm done." He didn't like climbing
these things in boots and had no intention of leaving before he
finished.
Ignoring her for a moment, he turned to the last bolt,
tightened the nut.
That would hold the decrepit blades a few more
weeks.
The entire windmill needed to be overhauled and new blades
installed.
But that wasn't his decision—yet.
He hesitated a moment
before slapping the wrench and pliers into his back pocket and
turning to climb down the wooden crosspieces nailed into the
structure.
Glancing at the woman, he wondered how long she'd stay.
And why she'd come out here in the first place.
Standing, he
reached for the top rung of the ladder.

Kalli Bonotelli watched impatiently as the
man returned to his task, ignoring her.
Her lips tightened in
momentary annoyance, then she shrugged and walked to her truck,
leaning against one hot fender, gazing across the acres of green
grass spread before her.
He probably hadn't a clue who she was.
He
had a job to do and was doing it.
She'd wait.
Lifting her eyes, she
drank in the beauty of the mountains, hardly able to believe she
was finally back.
The soft, warm air caressed her cheeks, billowing
out her shirt slightly.
It smelled so good, clean and dry, carrying
the hint of the distant pines and the drying grass of the fields.
Totally unlike automobile fumes and smoggy Boston air.

Looking around, she was almost overwhelmed
with the sense of giddy delight that swept through her.
She was
back!
Actually in Wyoming!
Standing on her own land.
She owned a
cattle ranch!
She could hardly believe it, though she had all the
paperwork to prove it.
She'd stopped by the lawyer's office on her
way to the Triple T Ranch.
It was official.
The ranch she'd visited
as a child was now hers, Uncle Philip had seen to it.

"Okay, what can I do for you?"

She turned and her eyes widened.
He'd climbed
down from the platform and was striding easily across the broken
ground, his gait smooth, arrogant, almost predatory, like a
lobowolf on the prowl.
His jeans molded his long legs, faded almost
white at the seams and across the blatant masculine bulge.
Scuffed
boots encased his feet.
His shirt lay tossed across the side of his
truck bed.

Kalli swallowed hard and let her eyes drift
up his narrow hips, across the hard, flat belly to his muscular
chest and shoulders.
His skin was as smooth as a baby's, copper in
hue, and the musculature clearly defined beneath his taut, tanned
skin was perfection.
If Michelangelo had sculpted in bronze, this
man would have been his masterpiece.

Her eyes clashed with his.
Black to black.
Locked in an unexpected wave of sensual awareness.
Kalli caught her
breath, unable to break her gaze.
Her breasts tingled, her stomach
tightened.
Something raw and primitive seemed to stretch between
them, and for a split second she forgot why she was here, forgot
her delight in the ranch, forgot what she wanted to talk about.
She
could only feel the shimmering waves of electricity flowing through
her, surrounding her.
Startled by the strength of the magnetism she
could only stand and stare.

"Are you all right?
Sun too much for you?" he
asked, coming to stand before her, crowding her space.
Stealing the
air.
He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tilted
his hips, his stance bold, insolent, cocky.
His eyes raked down at
her.
He stood so close she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze.
She wanted to step back.
But the side of her truck pressing against
her backside prevented that.
That, and her pride.

"I'm fine." She took a deep breath.
The scent
of grass, dust and man filled her nostrils.
She held it a moment,
reveling in the unfamiliar, exciting odors.
Slowly she released it,
drew another.
Warning bells clanged in her mind.
This man was
dangerous to her health.

"I'm Trace Longford and I suspect you're
Kalli Bonotelli," he said, still watching her warily with his dark
brooding eyes.
Reaching up to lift his dusty hat, he ran the
fingers of one hand through his shaggy black hair, resettled the
hat, his gaze never leaving hers.
There was no welcome.

She smiled uncertainly.
"Yes, that's right.
I'm the new owner of the Triple T," she said proudly, holding out
her hand.

He took it, released it quickly, not liking
the shock of awareness that coursed through him at her touch.

"You're not much bigger than my daughter," he
said meeting her eyes again.
But she sure filled out clothes better
than Becky.

"I know I'm a little on the small side, but
my determination is gigantic.
The man at the barn said you were
acting as foreman of the ranch.
I wanted to get settled in the
house today, and he said you had the key."

Fascinated by the raw essence of masculinity
before her, she couldn't resist skimming her glance across his
shoulders to sneak another peek at his chest.
Perspiration gleamed
in the hot sun, the sheen coating his coppery skin with a warm
glistening polish.

"I have the key.
I didn't know you were
coming.
Philip died last February.
It's May, and I thought by now
you'd sell out." He knew there'd been a fair offer on the
ranch—he'd made it.

"Oh, no.
I just had things to finish up in
Boston before I could come.
But I'm here for good now." She swept
her gaze around the rolling hills, taking in the deep blue sky and
the majestic Tetons in the distance.

"For good?" He raised an eyebrow and cast a
quick glance over her truck.
Obviously new, and packed to the limit
with boxes and pieces of furniture.
He frowned.
He didn't want her
staying.

"Yes.
For good." She met his gaze, tilting
her chin firmly.
She could feel his disapproval.
But she ignored
it.
She'd already fought the battle with her parents.
The attitude
of a stranger fell low on the list of influence.
She was here, and
here she would stay!
At twenty-eight she was old enough to know her
own mind.
Actually living on the ranch had been her fantasy since
she'd been a preteen and first spent the summer with her uncle.
She'd spent every minute of five summers following her mother's
older brother around, riding the range with him, attending
livestock sales, fantasizing about living forever on the ranch.

"What do you know about ranching?
I thought
you were from Boston," he said, frowning at her.

"I am, but I know enough to get started.
I
used to live here in the summers.
Picked up a few things from my
uncle.
And I figure you can teach me, can't you?"

"I don't work here." Hell, just what he
needed, some city-slicker woman wanting him to do all her work
while she reaped all the benefits.

"But the man at the barn said you were acting
as foreman."

"Right.
Philip was sick for several months
before he died so I helped out.
When there was no one to run the
place after he was gone, I stepped in as acting foreman.
But if
you're here now, there's no need, right?
You're the owner, you run
it," he challenged, watching her intensely.

He didn't want anything to do with some city
woman who thought she could waltz in and take over the ranch after
living on it for a few summers as a kid.
Hell, it had to have been
years ago.
He'd have seen her during the past ten years if she'd
been here.
Let her fall on her pretty face.
Then maybe she'd listen
to reason about selling.
She couldn't have the first idea about
running a cattle ranch.

"I'm willing to make the job permanent," she
offered, a spark of uncertainty touching her.
She'd counted on
having a foreman to help run the spread, at least until she knew
enough to be totally in charge.
If he didn't stay, she wasn't even
sure how she'd go about hiring a new foreman.

"Don't need a job," he said, lifting his hat
again, tilting it over his eyes when he resettled it.
Slowly he
moved away, toward his truck.
He pulled on his shirt, but left it
unbuttoned.
If she didn't stop looking at him as if she was about
to eat him up, he was going to embarrass them both.
He could feel
the tightening in his belly.
He felt like a randy teenager wanting
to show off to a pretty woman, flex his muscles—

Whoa!
Dammit, he'd just met her.
A
starry-eyed woman who wanted the glamor of a ranch without knowing
anything about the work and hardships involved would prove a
definite liability in more ways than one.
Hadn't his experience
with Alyssa been enough?

"I'll pay top dollar." Kalli grinned.
She had
always longed to say that.
"Please, consider it, at least.
Just
until I make sure I know enough to run the ranch on my own.
I came
all the way from Boston and don't know anyone around here who is
qualified to run it.
The man at the barn-"

"Probably Joshua," Trace said as he leaned
against his truck bed and looked at her again.
"Tall, thin with
gray hair?"

She nodded.
"He said-"

"He said I was acting as foreman, you're
repeating yourself.
That's the way it was, but now that you're
here, you can act as your own foreman.
I've got a place of my
own."

"Please," she said, feeling a touch of panic.
"Help me out until I can learn something about this place.
If you
like, I'll start looking for another foreman right away.
You can
help me interview.
It'll only be for a few weeks."

Kalli swallowed, afraid to be alone in this.
She knew almost nothing about the ranching business.
She had
thought to find the place operating along the lines her uncle had
run it.
She'd wanted to ride, see how cowboys worked and learn as
she went along.

"I can't even pretend to know enough to run
this place right now," she confessed.

"Sell out.
It takes a lot of work and
knowledge to run a successful cattle ranch.
You don't sit on the
porch and watch the money roll in." As if it rolled in when a man
worked killer hours.

She stiffened, a little guilty because that
was close to what she'd thought to find.
"I know that."

"Wyoming's a hard land.
Hot as hell in
summer, snow up to your eyeballs or higher in winter," he said to
force the point home.