Wish Upon a Cowboy (18 page)

The work lasted from sunup to sundown. The cowhands labored on the range, driving the cattle, separating the different ranchers' beasts, and then giving matching brands to the spring calves found with their mothers.

Jonas worked every bit as hard as his men and had often taken to sleeping in shifts with them out on the range. So Hannah had had to content herself with seeing him only when crowds of people surrounded them. There'd been no time to talk. No chance for her try her hand at seduction again—though the failure of the feathers still rankled enough so that she wasn't sure what she'd try even if she had the opportunity.

All she was sure of was that time was passing. Too quickly. Precious time that should have been spent in learning about each other… strengthening their bond… preparing for the confrontation with Blake Wolcott, because, whether Jonas wanted to acknowledge it or not, that confrontation would come. Wolcott's only goal in life was to become the most powerful warlock in the country. And to do that, he needed to marry Hannah—claiming her hereditary powers—and eventually destroy Jonas.

He wouldn't stop until both goals were met.

She shivered, forcing thoughts of Blake from her mind as she drove the buckboard to the edge of the crowd surrounding the branding pens. Setting the brake, she tied the reins off on the stiff wooden handle and let her gaze move over the scene in front of her.

Sunshine spilled over the range. The distant mountains looked stark against the blue sky. Shouts from the crowd almost drowned out the constant lowing of the cattle. Dust rose up from the milling herd like small dirt-brown fog, coating the men in a layer of that clung to clothes and skin.

Hannah sat on the bench seat, able to see over heads of the people into the branding pen where the men worked feverishly in the noonday sun. The fires burnt hot, with fresh wood being added continuously. Towers of black smoke twisted in the air before scuttling skyward. Several branding irons, their heads glowing red with heat, jutted out from the flames like spokes on wagon wheel.

She knew she should be unloading the food she brought out in the bed of the buckboard, but she was drawn to the excitement rippling through the air. It was thrilling, she admitted silently. The crush of people. The heat. The noise.

Her gaze raked the faces of the ranchers standing on the edges of the pen, looking for Jonas. But he wasn't with them. Nodding to herself, she realized that he would never be a man to sit on the sidelines while other men did the hard work.

She shifted her gaze to the crowd of people surrounding the branding pens and studied the faces until she found him. A wide smile on his face, he picked up Davey Simpson, a five-year-old son of one of the neighbors, and plunked the boy down onto the top rail of the fence, where he would have an excellent view the branding.

Hannah smiled softly. Davey had been following Jonas like a shadow for the last three days. Yet the man never seemed to tire of answering the child's questions. Jonas was always patient with the boy and his gentleness never failed to stir something in Hannah.

Davey's fingers curled around the wooden post and still he swayed slightly. Jonas reached out and steadied him until the boy had found his balance. Then, while she watched, Jonas took off his hat, set it on the boy's head, then turned back to work again.

Clearly in his element, he worked alongside his men, his shirtfront sweat-stained and filthy, his whiskerÂshadowed jaw set tight, he looked as though he'd been born for this moment. He moved around the pen with casual ease, and she followed his steps with her gaze locked on his long, lean legs and broad, muscular back.

Something inside her shifted and as she watched him. She realized she was no longer looking at him as just the Mackenzie—the warlock she was expected to marry. She was looking at and appreciating the man he was Hardworking, loyal, kind. Magic or not, Jonas Mackenzie stirred the air around him just with his presence. Even if she wasn't a witch, she thought, she would want to be near him. To be held by him. To be loved by him.

But none of that would happen unless the man realized that they were meant to be together and quit fighting her.

Offering herself hadn't worked.

Feathers had fared no better.

Her witchcraft, much as she hated to admit it, was useless. Hannah inhaled deeply and released the breath on a sigh. Why was he being so stubborn?

As she watched, Jonas shoved one of the calves out of the branding pen and signaled to Stretch Jones to let in the next one. Another calf was trotted into the enclosure, where a cowhand quickly tossed a rope loop around its hind legs, dropping it to the ground. Then another man grabbed its head and, laying in the dirt beside it, held the animal still while Jonas strode across the grassy pen and snatched up the handle of a glowing-red branding iron in a gloved fist.

He stepped up to the calf and, holding the iron steady, tamped it down hard on the animal's side.

The stench of burned hair lifted over the crowd. The calves bawled and their mothers called back to them from the herd. As the calf was released and went staggering toward escape, Hannah's soft heart twisted a bit in sympathy.

"It doesn't hurt," someone close by said. "Not really."

She turned her head and looked down at Myra Simpson, little Davey's mother. Soft brown hair pulled back into a braid that hung down her back. Myra wore a black skirt with a white shirtwaist that was already marred with streaks of dirt. She didn't seem to mind, though, as she usually could be found in the front row of watchers surrounding the pens.

"My Dan says they only make all that noise because they're scared. Their hides are so thick, the brand doesn't have a chance to burn down to pain level." She shrugged and smiled wryly. "Of course, to be sure, we'd have to ask a calf."

Hannah nodded and smiled before climbing down from her seat to stand beside the other woman. "I think I'll just believe your husband."

Myra grinned. "Me, too." Then she stared off toward the pens. "I see Davey's underfoot again."

Hannah laughed. "Jonas doesn't seem to think so."

"That boy of mine does dote on Jonas." Myra winked. "Irritates the heck out of Big Dave."

"Your husband." She'd seen Dave Simpson often the last few days. A tall muscular man with a hard jaw and a steely look about him that turned to mush whenever he glanced at his wife.

Myra nodded. "Dave's been so busy here lately with our older boys, he hasn't had time to spend with Davey."

"Jonas certainly enjoys the boy." Hannah said, letting her gaze slide back to the man always on her mind. "I saw him yesterday giving Davey riding lessons in the corral."

"I know." Myra laughed and laid one hand on Hm nab's arm. "The child talked about it all night until Big Dave promised to get him his own horse if he'd just keep quiet awhile." Myra cocked her head and grinned slyly. "I always thought Jonas would make a good father."

Hannah smiled and sighed. "Indeed he would," she said.

Hiding a smile, Myra steered Hannah to the back of the buckboard. "What did you bring down today?"

Hannah waved a hand at the load of food. "Ham, fried chicken, two cakes, and four loaves of bread."

"Dave'll be glad to hear it," her new friend said. "He's been raving about your fried chicken since that first day."

Her spells might not work very often, but she'd always been a good cook.

Myra smiled at her again and reached for one of the baskets. "Between Mrs. Morales's tamales and your fried chicken, my rabbit stew is coming in a poor third. You have to give me the recipe or I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'd be happy to." Hannah lifted another basket from the wagon and started after Myra as she walked toward the food tables set up beneath a pair of giant cottonwood trees.

The other women were standing off to one side, gossiping and waving flies from the food. Rather than joining them, Hannah and Myra turned and walked toward the pens, where the crowd was still cheering the men on.

A companionable silence rose up between them until Myra splintered it with a casual remark.

"I'm glad Jonas's found you."

Hannah stumbled slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

Myra laughed and shook her head. "Dave's always saying how I don't have any tact. Guess he's right."

Thankfully, the woman didn't seem to expect her to comment. They edged their way past the group of people to take up spots along the branding pen's fence. From their vantage point, they could watch the men in both enclosures and keep an eye on Davey, still on his perch.

This close, the stench of burning hair was thick and blended with the swirling smoke to make the air almost unbreathable. Hannah looked toward Jonas, her gaze raking him up and down. He would be a good father she thought—and imagined herself round with his child secure in his love.

Her thoughts must have shown on her features because Myra leaned in and whispered, "He looks at you just like that when he thinks you're not looking."

Hannah turned to look at her new friend. She didn't bother to pretend that she didn't know what Myra was talking about. "He does?"

"Oh, my, yes." The woman set her elbows on the rail of the fence and cupped her chin in her hands. "Sometimes I'm surprised you don't just burst into flames on the strength of the looks he gives you."

Heat rushed into her cheeks while a renewed sense of hope leaped up inside her. A moment later, though, that hope was dashed. She already knew that Jonas desired her. But that was a long way from what she wanted from him. "You wouldn't know it to listen to him," she said.

"But isn't that just like a man." Myra shook her head. "There's not a one of them knows what's good for them until we tell them."

"I've tried to tell him," Hannah muttered, and voicing her failure out loud stung more than she'd thought it would.

Myra slanted a glance her way and nodded. "Jonas doesn't strike me as an easy man to know. He's been here several years and we almost never see him. There's always been a sort of… loneliness to him." Pausing briefly, she smiled and added, "I haven't noticed it so much this week, though."

Hannah sighed and turned her gaze back to the man she couldn't seem to stop thinking about. Lonely. She'd sensed that in him, too. And maybe that was partly what drew her to him, she thought. The aura of old aches she longed to ease.

"Keeps to himself too much," Myra said quietly. "But then, men are strange creatures, even the best of them."

Watching him at work, Hannah thought again of how at home he seemed in this setting. As much a part of the place as the mountains, the trees, the squalling cattle. And as hard as she tried, she couldn't imagine him in her small settled hometown.

She drew in a long breath and told herself that the Mackenzie needed this wild, open land. In Creekford, he would be no more than a caged lion. Her thoughts flew through her mind as Jonas worked with the confidence of a person sure of his own abilities… his own strengths.

And he did it all without witchcraft.

She shook her head, remembering Blake Wolcott and his casual use of power. He was strong, too. And getting stronger. In a way that would crush Jonas if he didn't accept who and what he was in time to stop it.

*  *  *

The sun pounded on Jonas's back and shoulders. He felt a river of sweat rolling down his spine. His shoulders ached, his arms were sore… hell, even his teeth hurt. But by damn they were seeing a lot of spring calves. More than he'd hoped for.

Satisfaction rose up in him, despite his aches and pains. All of the hard work was worth it. The ranch was coming along well. Another few years, and it would be everything he wanted it to be.

Straightening up, he eased the kinks out of his muscles while he quickly checked to make sure little Davey was still safely out of harm's way. He swallowed a grin as he watched the boy tip the brim of the too-big hat out of his eyes.

Then Jonas let his gaze stray across the faces of the people lining the fence rails until he found her. Green eyes locked with blue. He'd known she was there even before he spotted her. Jonas had felt her presence surely as if she'd stepped up behind him and tapped on the shoulder.

And that connection worried him.

But he couldn't disguise the small rush of pleasure he felt having her there. Every year, he saw his neighbors' wives smiling and encouraging their husbands. And every year, he'd fought against a twinge of envy.

Until now. For the first time, there was a woman in the crowd whose gaze was meant for him alone. And it staggered him to realize just how important she'd become to him. Seconds ticked past as he stared at her, wondering what she was thinking—planning. Wondering why she'd come to him. Wondering why he'd allowed her to turn his world upside down.

But mostly, wondering why he was torturing himself this way. Hannah Lowell witch or not, was the marrying kind of woman. She wanted a ring on her finger and a house full of kids.

A cold chill swept over him, despite the warmth of the sun. This was no good. Wanting and needing were two different things, and though he wanted her badly he wouldn't allow himself to need her. Tearing his gaze from hers, he happened to catch the speculative glean in Elias's eyes and muttered a curse under his breath.

The old coot's words had been ringing in his mint for days now. Time to let the past go, huh? Well, how could he do that when Hannah was here demanding he remember at least a part of that past?

Elias said the past was merely that. Years gone into dust. Hannah said that the past was who he was and that centuries of tradition had to be honored.

Ahead? Or back?

Which way should he go?

"Damn it," he muttered fiercely and turned away from both of them in time to see young Billy stumble and fall against a man holding a red-hot branding iron. The kid half screamed in surprised agony and even Jonas winced at the thought of glowing hot iron searing flesh not protected by a thick hide.

*  *  *

A choked-off scream put an end to her thoughts and Hannah blinked as she stared at the men gathering around Billy.

"Somebody's hurt." Myra muttered darkly. "I'll go find the doctor. He's in this crowd somewhere."