Wish Upon a Cowboy (3 page)

"I can't leave Hepzibah," she said, glaring up at him.

If looks could kill, Mac figured he'd be about six feet under right now. He glared right back at her and absently noted the distant rumble of thunder. Perfect. Just what he needed right now. A storm coming.

"Who the hell is Hepzibah?"

"My cat," she snapped and pointed.

He looked. Sure enough, a small white cat was mincing its way toward them, delicately lifting each tiny paw from the damp meadow grass as if afraid to get dirty.

"Cats and crazy women," he muttered darkly and nudged his horse closer to the little animal. Swinging down from the saddle, he ordered, "Stay put, I'll get the damn thing."

He figured he'd have to chase the cat, but once again, he was wrong. When he reached for it, the animal leaped at him, digging its claws into his shirt and scaling him like it would a handy tree. In seconds, he had a cat perched on his shoulder. Mac turned his head to stare at it and met the little beast eyeball to eyeball. It meowed once, then dug its talons into Mac's flesh as if digging a bed. Wincing slightly at the needle-sharp stings, Mac considered yanking it off and tossing it at its owner. Then he heard the muffled roar and snort of that blasted bull and remembered where he was.

Shoving a steer out of his way, he stepped into the stirrup, climbed aboard his horse, wrapped his arm around the woman again, grabbed the reins in his free hand, and turned the black for safe ground.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched the bull, free now, stand up and amble off in the opposite direction.

Immediate danger past, he gave his attention to the woman on his lap. He looked down into the biggest, greenest eyes he'd ever seen and once again felt that odd constriction in his chest. He ignored it. Her hair fell across her shoulders in waves of a blond so rich it looked shot with gold. The top button of her simple white shirt was opened and her full red skirt was hiked up to the knees of shapely legs covered by pale white stockings. Even as he looked, though, she squirmed on his lap and tugged the hem of her skirt down.

Just as well.

Meeting her gaze again, he told himself that, pretty or not, she was clearly addle-brained or she wouldn't have been dancing in the middle of a herd of cattle.

Blond eyebrows arched high on her forehead and her full lips curved into a delighted smile as she stared back at him. "You're the Mackenzie, aren't you? I can tell by the way Hepzibah has taken to you. She doesn't care for just anyone, you know."

"Lucky me," he said tightly, with a quick glance at the cat, still sitting like a sentry atop his shoulder. Shifting his gaze back to the woman, he continued, "Yeah. I'm Jonas Mackenzie. What were you thinking, lady? You always go dancing in the middle of a herd?"

"No," she admitted, giving a quick glance around her at the cattle wandering aimlessly across the grass. "But sometimes you just feel so good, you have to dance. No matter where you are. Don't you think?"

"I don't dance." Stupid conversation.

"That's a shame," she said and actually looked sorry for him.

Scowling slightly, he ignored her sympathetic expression and asked, "Who are you, lady? And what are you doing on my land? Besides dancing, I mean."

She gave him a smile so dazzling, his breath caught in his chest. An instant later, though, it left him in a rush as she said, "My name is Hannah Lowell. And I'm here to marry you."

Chapter Two

"I don't know who put you up to this, lady," he said, "but I can tell you I don't think it's funny."

"It's not a joke," she told him, clearly surprised that he would think so.

"Lady, I don't even know you."

"In good time," she said and settled herself more comfortably in front of him.

Everything inside him went cold and still. Jaw tight, he stared down into those eyes of hers and tried to guess what was behind all this. But there were no clues to be found in those deep green depths.

Mac inhaled deeply, drawing the cool mountain air into his lungs, and told himself that if no one had sent her on a lark, she had to be crazy as a bedbug. And wouldn't you know she'd find her way to his ranch?

He steered the horse through the meandering crowd of cattle, mostly giving it its head. A fine cutting horse he'd trained himself, the black was as at home in a herd as it was in its stall. After a long, calming moment, Mac said. "Lady, are you lost or something?"

"Oh, I never get lost," she assured him.

So, the crazy woman had a good sense of direction. It still didn't explain why she'd come to him.

"I came as quickly as I could," she said.

"To marry me."

"Well, that, too," she continued. "But first to meet you. You could hardly marry me if you didn't even know I existed."

Irritation swept through him. He didn't have time to deal with a feebleminded female. He had a ranch to run. Roundup to prepare for. His temper began a slow boil.

Thunder rolled again in the distance and he looked over his shoulder to see dark clouds gathering over the peaks of the mountains. Rain or snow—you never knew in Wyoming—by nightfall, he figured.

Mac shot a glance ahead to where Elias still sat on his horse at the edge of the herd. The old coot hadn't moved an inch. Sure, Jonas thought. When I need him, he's just sitting there like some kind of statue.

A chill damp wind swept down on them from the mountains, heralding the coming change in weather, but it sent a ripple of uneasiness down Mac's spine.

"So here I am," she was saying, and he looked down into that dazzling smile of hers. "And if it's all right with you, I think we should be married fairly quickly, all things considered."

All things considered, he thought he should just turn this horse around, drop her back in the middle of the herd, and forget he'd ever talked to her. But since he couldn't do that, he tried to reason with her.

"Lady—"

"Hannah."

"Fine. Hannah."

"Normally, we wouldn't use our Christian names so early in our acquaintance, of course," she gave him a smile that staggered him. "But then, these are not ordinary circumstances, are they?"

"You could say that…" Keep her calm, he told himself. No sense getting her all worked up. He wasn't sure how to deal with light-minded people, but he figured prodding her temper could only make things worse. How, he had no idea.

"It's a lovely place you have here," she said. Turning her head to admire the scenery, a soft smile curved her mouth. He watched as she lifted her gaze to the nearby mountains.

Mac saw the same awed wonder he always experienced at that magnificent view shimmer on her features, and felt an odd sort of fleeting kinship with the woman. At the very least, she knew good land when she saw it.

"I like it."

"What a wonderful thing to wake up to every morning," she stared at the Rockies, her voice hushed as though she were in church.

It was indeed, he thought, briefly staring at the snowÂcapped mountains. This valley, this ranch, was everything he'd ever wanted.

"A man with a home as nice as this needs a wife to care for it."

Old memories rose up, threatened to choke him, then receded again, back into the dark corner of his heart where he'd managed to corral them.

"I could be very helpful," she said, watching him.

"I don't need help."

"Oh, everyone needs help sometimes," she said and let her gaze drift from his to stare into the distance. "Actually—"

"Look," he interrupted sharply. "Hannah, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He looked down at her and silently reminded himself that she was, no doubt, a loon. When he spoke again, his voice was kinder than before. "You don't want to marry me. Hannah."

She laughed gently and Mac found himself enjoying the sound. Oh, no question about it, he'd been too long without a woman. Time to head on over to Jefferson and spend an hour or two with one of Sal's girls.

Shaking her head, the blond finally said, "It's true. I was against the marriage, at first. But Aunt Eudora convinced me this was the only way."

So there was a crazy aunt in on this, too.

"And why would she do that?" he asked, though he had a feeling he'd regret it. "Well, you are the Mackenzie, after all."

Like that explained anything. And why did she insist on saying his name like she was speaking in capital letters?

"What's my name got to do with this?" Even as the words left his mouth, though, the answer came to him. "It's my ranch, isn't it?" he asked. "Somehow this aunt of yours, if you really have one, has decided that marrying me will get you a piece of my ranch."

For the first time since rescuing her, something made sense to him. The ranch might not be much to look at now, but in a few years it would be a showplace. Why wouldn't a far-thinking gold digger think to stake a claim early?

She inhaled sharply and turned horrified eyes on him. "That's dreadful! What a horrible thing to say about me. And Aunt Eudora, who certainly does exist, I assure you."

"Oh, well," he snapped, "Sure. I'll take your word on that, too."

She caught the sarcasm and those forest-green eyes narrowed on him. "There is no reason to be so nasty."

"You think not?" he demanded a bit too loudly, and a couple of the nearest cattle lowed skittishly. Good job, Mac, he told himself. Start a stampede. Then his hands would have to spend the next few days gathering the cattle they'd already gathered once.

Lowering his voice, he locked his gaze with hers and said, "I find some strange—and, if you don't mind my saying so, peculiar—woman dancing in the middle of my herd and when I save her bacon, not only doesn't she bother to thank me, she informs me she's come to marry me. The only problem being, I never asked her to marry me."

She twisted uncomfortably in his grasp, but he tightened his hold on her, trying to ignore the soft brush of the undersides of her breasts against his forearm. Oh, yeah. Definitely time for a trip into Jefferson.

"Naturally," she said quietly. "I had every intention of thanking you…"

"Naturally."

"I was simply overcome by the situation."

"Sure."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." At least she wasn't talking foolishly anymore.

"And now that the niceties are taken care of," she continued, leaning back to look up at him, "I want to assure you that I do not have designs on your property."

"Uh-huh."

"I wish you'd stop saying that."

"Uh-huh."

She gritted her teeth, pushed against his forearm ineffectually, then subsided again. "You are the Mackenzie. It's only reasonable that Aunt Eudora would send me to you."

"Uh-huh." There was absolutely nothing reasonable about any of this. Least of all this aunt of hers choosing him to be bridegroom to her beautiful, but apparently dim, niece.

"She sends her best, by the way."

"That's real nice of her, I'm sure."

Where the hell was everybody? Why didn't they ride out to meet him? His gaze snapped to the spot where he'd left Elias. There he sat. Still hadn't moved a hair. You'd think the ornery old cuss would be able to tell that he and his passenger weren't exactly out on a pleasure ride. But no. Just like always, Jonas Mackenzie was left to handle things on his own. And that thought reminded him of a question she still hadn't answered. "Why do you keep saying my name like it's supposed to mean something?"

"It does," she told him, looking at him through eyes shining with confusion. Obviously, she figured he should already know the reason.

Well, he didn't, but he damn well wanted to find out.

"To who?" he asked.

"To a lot of people," she hedged. "Myself, for one, I admit," she continued tipping her head back to look at him squarely. "The idea of traveling so far to marry to man I'd never seen before wasn't appealing."

Another sensible statement. Was there hope here after all?

The cat kneaded Jonas's shoulder, claws digging through the fabric of his shirt and into his skin. He shrugged in an unsuccessful effort to dislodge it. Instead the damn thing nuzzled his neck, its whiskers tickling his throat.

He gritted his teeth as irritation bubbled inside him. Never had cared for cats. Thunder, closer now, rolled across the sky and clattered high above them. Damn.

"But now that I've seen you," Hannah told him, "I know it's for the best."

"Do you, now," Jonas said, his voice as tight as the smile he gave her.

She talked like she believed everything she was saying, so arguing with her wouldn't do him a damn sight of good.

"Two, Hepzibah took a liking to you right away and she's an excellent judge of character."

"Really," he'd never known a cat to care about anything save its own comfort.

"Oh, my, yes," Hannah went on. "She didn't like Blake Wolcott at all. The very first time she saw him she arched her back and hissed like a demon."

Jonas glanced at the cat again. He had no idea who this Wolcott fellow was, but at the moment, he envied him. "Look, Hannah," he said, inching backward as far as the saddle would allow, because it seemed important to keep as much distance as possible between them. "Why don't you forget about this marrying nonsense, tell me where your folks are, and one of my hands will take you there?"

"I can't," she told him flatly. "The decision's been made. The die cast. Set in stone. Laid out clearly before us both—"

"I get it," he interrupted wearily.

"Besides," she added, "I don't have any folks. Except for Aunt Eudora, of course, and she's in Massachusetts.

Jonas was getting tired of talking in circles. The damned woman had an answer for everything, even if it wasn't really an answer at all. And he was beginning to suspect she wasn't really as crazy as she appeared to be.

Besides the beauty in those eyes of hers, he saw a rare and sharp intelligence sparkling there. But she was wasting her time on him. He had no intention to marrying. Not again. Sure, she made his insides sit up and take notice, but that was lust, pure and simple. That he knew how to deal with, and marriage didn't have a thing to do with it.

Reining in the flash of impatience nudging him, Jonas shot a quick look at the darkening sky. Then, calmly, deliberately, he tried again. "Where are you staying in Wyoming?"