Wildflower (10 page)

Dobson shook his head. “I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. Without a legal document, and barring any living relative, the ranch will be sold at auction.”

“There is a living relative,” Matt interjected. “Me.”

Dobson looked at her. “You?” Scorn dripped off the single word.

Logan saw red. This boot-licker was about to get a face full of fist, no matter Matt’s hand restrained his arm. He stepped to within a horse’s hair of Dobson’s face causing his eyes to bug from his face.

Though nearly the same height, Dobson lacked any girth. Logan towered over the vulture watching, with satisfaction, as the blood drain from the banker’s pinched face. “That’s right. This is Gene’s daughter and
my wife
. Now apologize for your rude behavior.”

It took Dobson several tries to swallow before he coughed, hard. “Uh, well, my apologies, Mrs. Cartwright. And condolences on your father’s passing.”

Logan eased back and shifted his gaze to Matt. Startled surprise gleamed in her eyes as she stared at him, a flush on her cheeks.

Her lashes lowered. “Apology accepted,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

The banker coughed again. “Yes, well.” He stepped to the side. “If you’ll come with me, we can discuss your business.”

Logan placed his hand to Matt’s lower back to move her ahead of him. Dobson put up his hand. “I believe this is a matter for us to discuss, Mr. Cartwright.”

Logan was fast losing patience with the man. If Matt hadn’t been in front of him, he would have torn the prick’s little head off. “Her father. His ranch. My wife. Enough said.” He propelled Matt to Dobson’s desk and waited for her to sit before taking the chair next to her.

The banker slunk to his chair across the polished wood surface of his desk then spent several minutes organizing the neat papers on top. Logan fought his impatience. He propped an ankle on the opposite knee and growled under his breath. Matt tapped his arm and he looked at her.

The shy smile on her lips diffused his ire. It was the kind of smile that made him damn glad she was his wife. He hitched up his lips in response.

“So.” Dobson’s grating voice brought their attention back. He sat with his hands folded on the desk. “I imagine the pain of losing Mr. Townsend has been difficult.”

Neither Matt nor Logan said anything as the banker regarded them over his glasses.

“Perhaps the best thing to do,” he continued in a tone too syrupy for Logan to stomach, “is sell the ranch. Go somewhere new. Away from the painful memories of Mr. Townsend’s death.”

“Sell the ranch?” Logan echoed.

“Yes.” Dobson again sifted through the paper stacks. “It might be the prudent thing to do as well, considering the rustling trouble of late. And of course there’s outstanding promissory note.”

“What outstanding note?”

“Mr. Townsend borrowed five hundred dollars a year ago, but only paid back three hundred. The other two hundred, along with the three percent interest, is due by the end of the summer.” Dobson’s thin lips turned up in a sickly excuse of a smile. “Selling would alleviate any further financial trouble for you.”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek. Sell the ranch? His first reaction to the suggestion roiled through his insides. But now that he thought about it. Really thought about it…

If he sold, he could use the money to take Matt anywhere she wanted. They could start over. Together. With nothing hanging over their heads. The idea appealed to him almost to the point where his gut didn’t churn at the thought of losing the ranch.

But would she be willing to go with him to start fresh? She could very well vamoose for Kansas City without so much as a good-bye. He rubbed his palm across his chin.

No. It was too big of a risk to sell. He had three months to sway Matt’s feelings toward him. He wouldn’t give up that opportunity.

He opened his mouth to say no, but Dobson spoke first. “I would pay you a hundred dollars, clear, for the ranch.”

Logan damn near swallowed his tongue. A hundred dollars? That’s all? Promissory note or not, the Standing T was worth a helluva lot more than that. Before he could tell Dobson where to stick his offer, Matt stood.

“The Standing T isn’t for sale.” Her hard gaze stared down on Dobson, her plump lips pulled into a tight line. “It was my father’s ranch,” she continued. “His dream. I just lost him. I won’t lose the ranch, too. It’s not for sale. Not now. Not ever. And definitely not for a paltry hundred dollars.”

Dobson huffed. “That’s a hundred dollars
after
I take care of the note.” He looked at Logan. “Mr. Cartwright, I strongly encourage you to consider what I’m proposing.”

“Nothing to consider. You heard my wife.” He urged her back into her chair. “The ranch isn’t for sale.”

“This is an unwise decision. In August Mr. Townsend’s promissory note comes due. Two hundred dollars is a steep amount of money.”

Logan shrugged. “That’ll be after the stock yard sale in Abilene. We shouldn’t have any trouble paying the bank back.”

Dobson narrowed his squinty eyes. “A lot can happen between then and now.”

A deathly quiet came over Logan. “Is that a threat?”

The banker cleared his throat and tugged at his necktie. “Of course not.”

Logan drilled his gaze into Dobson. “Good. Now we need to have the names changed on the deed from Gene Townsend to Logan and Matilda Cartwright.”

A tiny squeak of a gasp escaped his wife’s lips. He slid his gaze over and took her hand in his. She tensed and pulled away, but he held firm. Social sensibilities frowned on a man and woman touching in public, even if they were married. He could have cared less. Not taking his eyes off Matt, he said, “Now, about that deed, Dobson…”

The heavy mahogany desk moved a full two inches when the banker shoved to his feet. He wordlessly glared down at them before stomping away. He and Matt watched him. When she looked back, laughter danced in her green eyes.

“Think Mr. Dobson is upset?” she asked on a half-giggle.

“I know he is. And I don’t care.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back.

She glanced nervously around the bank. “Logan,” she admonished. “Someone might see.”

“Again, I don’t care.” He shifted closer, his voice lowering. “Wanna know where else I’d like to kiss you?”

The prettiest blush stole up her face.

“I’d start with your lips because they are the tastiest things I’ve ever tasted.”

“
Shh
. Someone might hear.”

“After I get done kissing your lips for all their worth, I’d move to your chin and neck. Maybe nibble an ear.”

“
Shh
!”

“Then I’d open your shirt and kiss a path down those to pearly nip—”

Matt slapped her free hand over his mouth, her cheeks now a crimson red. He just winked and began licking her palm.

Her eyes widened and desire plunged into the green depths. Her breathing went shallow. By the time he’d worked his way down to the tips of her fingers, he was panting as well. With a final kiss to her little finger, he took her hand away. “Wait until tonight, Mrs. Cartwright. I’m gonna kiss every inch of your body. That’s a promise.”

Her eyes, large and luminescent, flitted from his gaze as her delicate throat struggled to swallow. Logan fought to cool his raging prick. If he didn’t, standing would be difficult and walking down right impossible. He studied her small hands in his larger ones, running his thumbs over her knuckles, suddenly somber. “About the ranch, Matt. I appreciate what you said, but if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

His head snapped up. “But if we sell, you’d get at least some money to go to Kansas City. Though Dobson only offered a hundred, I have another fifty. It’s not a lot, but—”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” She smiled at the tease, but worry also framed her expression.

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Then I’m staying. I said I’d would and I will.” Her gaze shifted to the banker as the vulture approached. “Besides, Pa wanted you to have the ranch, not someone else, and certainly not for a hundred dollars. You’ll make the Standing T the success my father always dreamed it could be.”

Before he could say that
they’d
make the ranch that success, Dobson resumed his seat. Agitation rolled off his scrawny shoulders. “We can’t seem to locate the current deed,” he stated.

Both Matt and Logan jerked upright. “What does that mean?” they demanded in unison.

“Just what I said,” Dobson replied in terse tone. “We’ll have to send to the federal office in Fort Smith. All copies of land ownership for this area are kept there.”

“How long will it take to get a copy here?” Logan asked.

Dobson picked up a pen, dunked it in an inkwell and began scratching on a pad of paper. “I’m sending a telegraph this afternoon. It might take a month. Maybe five weeks.”

Logan bit back a curse at the bank’s incompetence, but knew he had no choice in the matter. He touched Matt’s arm and together they stood. He jammed his hat back onto his head. “I expect to be notified when the deed arrives,” he growled.

Dobson didn’t even bother to look up. “Of course.”

Grunting an acknowledgement, Logan escorted Matt from the bank. The bright sunshine made his eyes water. He squinted down the street and saw the ranch’s buckboard tied in front of the mercantile. He turned to Matt. “I forgot I need more tonic rub for the horses. Do you mind going over there and telling Gus?”

She pulled her hat low to shield her eyes. “Okay.”

“Tell him to put it on my personal tab. I’ll check with Chuck at the mercantile.”

Chapter Six

Matt’s legs were the consistency of warm molasses. She hoped she could get across the street without falling on her face. She couldn’t believe Logan had kissed—then licked—her hand. And in public, no less. Heat stung her cheeks while a hotter heat curled through her middle.

Wait until tonight, Mrs. Cartwright. I’m gonna kiss every inch of your body.

His words echoed through her mind as anticipation twirled down her spine. But past the expectation of what would happen tonight when she and Logan were alone in the main house, an odd catch hung in her chest.

He had defended her to the banker. Had insisted she be included in the dealings and that her name be on the deed beside his. The tension in her chest grew. Her throat closed up.

All she could ever remember wanting was to leave her father’s ranch. That dream had kept her working day in and day out. For ten long years, she’d anticipated saying good-bye to her denim pants and hello to feminine clothing. To dresses and hats and frilly things.

Now a wiggle of doubt dampened that anticipation. That joy. Because of Logan.

He’d always treated her well—had always treated her with respect. Something
her own
father had never done. But what did that mean? Did that mean Logan truly cared for her? Truly wanted her for his wife. In every sense? Or was she simply an end to a means? A way of getting the Standing T?

And if that was the case, then why, oh why, was he so dang nice to her? Why had he wanted her name on the deed? Why had he done what he had last night?