The Cowboy Takes a Bride Page 5

  “Do you know if he left it to anyone?”

  “I believe it’s yours. You need to go see your father’s lawyer, Art Bunting, for the details of his estate.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll do that.”

  Joe never intended on saying the next words out of his mouth, but somehow they just slipped out. Probably guilt over being mean to her a few minutes ago. Or maybe some damn misguided sense of chivalry. “You need someone to follow you to turn in the rental car and give you a ride back?”

  “Would you do that?” She sounded astonished.

  Every instinct was telling him to leave her to her own devices, but Joe wasn’t built that way. He saw a damsel in distress and he broke out in Sir Galahad. Bad habit, but there it was. “Sure.”

  “That’s very kind of you, considering I thumped your hat.”

  “I won’t hold it against you.” He grinned. “I was sort of asking for it.”

  She raised a palm to hide a yawn. “And could you give me just a couple of hours to get some sleep? I’ve been awake for over thirty-six hours.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll do it tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. In the meantime, I’ll just go round up Miracle from your barn and take him back home.”

  Chapter Four

  At some point, home is a strange land.

  —Dutch Callahan

  Mariah left Joe to retrieve his horse and went back inside the house. One more look at the mess and she heaved a deep sigh. If she had any money, she’d drive to a motel. As it was, she had to make do. At least the house was hers and she wouldn’t have to sleep in her car.

  A place to call her own. In Jubilee, Texas. Cowboy country. The last place she ever wanted to wind up.

  It was just temporary. Until she could sell the ranch, move back to Chicago, and start her own wedding planning business with a nice nest egg.

  Retracing her steps, she walked to the car, wrestled her two suitcases—holding everything she owned in the world—from the backseat, and dragged them up the precarious front steps. Joe was nowhere in sight.

  Good. She didn’t need him running over here trying to help. Coming inside. Looming over her. She could take care of herself. No cowboy chivalry needed.

  You sure accepted his offer of a ride into town quickly enough.

  Yeah, well, that was different. She didn’t have much choice in that. Jubilee was fifteen miles away and she didn’t know anyone else in town.

  She lugged the suitcases inside and dumped them in the middle of the living room floor. Later. She’d unpack later. For now, she needed sleep and lots of it.

  Her cell phone rang. She hunted for her purse, found it on the sofa, and answered her phone on the third ring. The caller ID flashed Cassie’s number. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Sweetheart, just calling to see if you made it to Jubilee. I worried about you taking that long drive alone.”

  “I’m here. I made it.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” She didn’t want to complain and worry her mother.

  “I worry it hasn’t quite sunk in yet that your father is gone.”

  “Mom, it’s not like he was a presence in my life.” Mariah ran a hand along the bar separating the small kitchen from the living room area, and her fingers came away dusty.

  “You two never reconciled. You didn’t get to say good-bye. You need closure.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “How can I get closure, Mom? Dutch is dead.”

  “He had his faults but he wasn’t a bad man, Mariah.”

  “I never thought he was.”

  “I wish your father and I could have loved each other the way we should have,” Cassie said wistfully. “But we just weren’t meant to be, and if Dutch hadn’t left us, I would never have met Ignacio. Other than having you, Iggy is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  In the background came the sound of pans rattling.

  “Iggy’s making lunch, Mariah. He treats me like a queen. I still can’t get over it. I wish . . .” She trailed off.

  “What?”

  “I wish you could find this kind of happiness.”

  “I’m happy,” she said defensively.

  “So, the ranch your father left you,” Cassie said, wisely changing the subject. “Is it—”

  “A hovel, just like you said it would be.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s someplace to live.” Mariah looked around the cramped space. Was that light coming through the ceiling over the sink?

  “You know you could come to Argentina. We’d love to have you.”

  “You’ve got your life, Mom, and I’m trying to figure mine out. I’m fine. This’ll do for now.” She frowned, stepped to the kitchen, squinted up. Yep. Sunlight. Drifting down through a hole in the roof. Lovely. Well, as long as it didn’t rain, she was good to go. And if it did rain, at least the hole was over the sink.

  She glanced out the window and saw Joe leading a horse into the back of his trailer. The stallion was handsome, fit and toned. She could see why Joe had such confidence in the animal. There was something about him. Something special.

  And then in a flash she found herself evaluating the horse through Dutch’s eyes. The stallion was just the right build for cutting. How she knew it, she couldn’t say. Probably something that had soaked into her brain from when she was a kid. Something she hadn’t even known she’d forgotten.

  Joe looked up.

  And caught her watching him.

  Mariah jerked her gaze away, went back to studying the sunlight bleeding through the ceiling.

  “Honey, are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You went quiet for so long I thought we got cut off. Is something else the matter?” Cassie made a noise of pleasure. “Oh, that is delicious.”

  “What?”

  “Iggy just gave me a bite of chicken empanada. It’s to die for. I wish you could taste it.”

  “Me too.”

  “So anyway, sorry to interrupt, what were you saying?”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “No but.”

  “There’s a but. I hear it in your voice. You can’t fool your mother.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Mariah, talk to me.”

  “There’s this guy—”

  “A guy? That’s great.”

  “He’s not that kind of a guy.”

  “Ugly, huh?”

  “No, no, he’s very good-looking.” Mariah risked peeking out the window again. Joe had finished loading Miracle into the trailer. He shut the trailer door, and then leaned over to pick up a work glove he’d dropped, giving her a glimpse of his backside. Mariah tilted her head, tracking his movements, hung up on the way those snug-fitting jeans cupped his butt.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “He’s a cowboy, for one thing.”

  “But of course, you’re in Jubilee.”

  “And he lives right next door. In fact, he traded Dutch this chunk of land for a cutting horse.”

  “Hmm, that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “Dutch was always trading away things for a horse, not the other way around.”

  “It’s how he got the place he left me.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Joe Daniels.”

  “The Joe Daniels?” her mother asked, sounding impressed.

  “Um . . . I guess so. Who is the Joe Daniels?”

  “He was a bull rider. One of the best. Until he got injured a few years back and had to give up the sport. I know you’ve seen him on commercials. He used to endorse a brand of cowboy boots.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever paid much attention to the advertising of cowboy boots. Apparently, now he’s a cutter.”

  “I’m not surprised. Jubilee is
the heart and soul of cutting horse country. So what’s the matter with him? Is he married?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not interested.” She stood up on tiptoes for a better look as she watched Joe slide behind the wheel of the pickup truck.

  “So why did you bring him up?”

  “Because I found him passed out naked in a gold-plated horse trough.”

  Cassie laughed. “That sounds like an auspicious beginning.”

  “To what? A comedy of errors?”

  Joe circled his truck in the tall grass and drove away.

  “Don’t dismiss him out of hand. Remember how I met Ignacio?”

  “You went in to clean the Willowbrands’ guesthouse and he was stepping out of the shower. Nothing between you and Iggy but a bath towel.”

  “He took one look at me. I took one look at him.” Her mother sighed happily. “And we both just knew. Fate has a way of putting us in the right circumstances at the right time.”

  “Believe me, Joe Daniels and I are not fated.”

  “You never know.”

  “I know. He was hungover in a horse trough. So not the man for me.”

  Cassie giggled, whispered something to Ignacio. Then Mariah heard the sounds of a prolonged kiss. “Um, it sounds like your lunch is ready.”

  “You’re just trying to worm your way out of this conversation,” Cassie said.

  “Guilty. Bye, Mom. Go take care of Iggy.”

  Her mother started humming “This Thing Called Love.”

  “I know you’re humming that for Ignacio, not me.”

  “Keep your mind and heart open, Mariah. Love may hit you when you least expect it.”

  “Sort of like the flu, huh?”

  “You’ll see. One day. Don’t run away from love.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy, Mom. Tell Iggy hello for me. Gotta go.” Mariah hung up feeling weary to the bone.

  She loved her mother and was very happy for her, but ever since she’d fallen in love with Ignacio, she’d been like a teenager with her first head-over-heels crush. Because of it, Mariah had kept a lot of things from her. Like the dire financial straits she’d been in since Destiny blackballed her in Chicago.

  Exhausted from the drive and the roller coaster emotions of the last twenty-four hours, she searched the house and found two mismatched but clean sheets in the hall closet and went into the bedroom to exchange them for the old ones. How she wished she had money for a motel.

  Fighting back the self-pity, she stripped the old sheets from the bed, tossed them on a rocking chair, realizing no man had ever really loved her. Her own father had left her. She’d never felt any kind of magic with the guys she dated. Unlucky in love. That was her. But she stupidly kept hoping. Wasn’t that the real reason she loved weddings? The hope? The dream? If other women could find love, why not her?

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered. “At least you don’t have to sleep in the car.”

  She rounded the corner of the mattress, tucking in the sheets as she went, and stumbled over the coiled rattlesnake.

  Her heart vaulted into her throat. “Eep!” She bit off the scream, reminding herself the snake was dead. Damn vile thing.

  Nose curled with repugnance, Mariah picked up the taxidermied rattlesnake and held it as far away from her body as she could get it. What was she going to do with it?

  Immediately, she thought of the trash can, but didn’t have the heart to dispose of Dutch’s first cutting horse trophy. She ended up stowing it in the hall closet where she’d found the sheets, flinging it inside and then slamming the door closed.

  Barely able to keep her eyelids open, she shuffled into the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, collapsed onto the bed in her clothes, and slid beneath the covers.

  Sleep.

  She craved the blissful oblivion of sleep. No worries. No ceilings with holes in them. No naked cowboys in horse troughs. Just sleep.

  But surprisingly, sleep didn’t come. Sleep escaped her in the way it often did if you went too long without it, too wired, too amped up to settle down.

  She struggled to shove the worry from her stomach. Stress always lodged in her tummy, rumbling and disagreeable.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  She curled up underneath the clean sheet that smelled of soap and fabric softener. The fragrance comforted her a little. But sweet-smelling covers were no defense against the loneliness twining around her heart. Her father had lived here. Slept in this bed. He was gone and she’d never had the chance to say good-bye.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. Loneliness turned to guilt, and then to regret. How had she gotten here—broke, jobless, no man in her life, with nothing more than a stuffed rattlesnake for company?

  Once upon a time she’d had dreams, big dreams of owning a wedding planning business in Chicago high society. She’d worked so hard for so long, eschewing dating and relationships in her drive to get ahead, and what did she have to show for her sacrifices?

  Nothing. No one.

  For years, she’d believed that success would give her everything that was missing from her life—money, respect, a father. She cradled the pillow, brought her knees up, and crushed it to her chest. “Dutch,” she whispered. “Why did you leave this place to me?”

  Why was she asking why? If he hadn’t left it to her, she’d very possibly be homeless. In all honesty, his bequest had come just in the nick of time.

  Why, Dutch, why?

  Her nose burned along with her eyes, but still the tears didn’t flow. Why couldn’t she cry for her father? She’d loved him once. Still loved him in a place deep inside where she couldn’t touch.

  What was she doing here? She didn’t belong in this place. Didn’t belong in Texas. Never mind that she’d been born in Brady, in the very heart of the state.

  There was no opportunity for her here. A wedding planner in Jubilee?

  Too bad she was all out of options.

  She should sell the place. Selling the ranch was the only smart thing to do. Her heart twinged, resisting the idea, but not really knowing why. What else could she do?

  In this economy? It might take months—maybe even years—to sell the property. Right now, she had two hundred and seventy-five dollars left in her bank account. She had to find a job ASAP and she couldn’t afford to be choosy.

  Finally, she drifted off and a dream came to her immediately, unfurling like a package ribbon from a wedding present rolling down the aisle of a well-appointed church.

  The dream was familiar, comforting. All around her were flowers of every shade and hue—red roses, purple orchids, white daisies, pink tulips, yellow jonquils. They were everywhere. In bouquets and boutonnieres, in vases, mounted on the ends of pew rows. Her nose twitched with the smell of them, sweet and velvet, civet and amber. It smelled like luxury and bliss. Beneath the flowers were other scents as well; the mustiness of hymnals, the creaminess of hand lotion, the crispness of spray starch.

  Sounds of arriving guests filled her ears. Murmured conversation. The hollow squeak of new shoes against hardwood. The repeated creak of the front door hinges. Mariah could feel the chapel filling up. The room grew warmer. Goose bumps rose on her forearms. Her stomach clenched. Excitement spilled into her mouth. It tasted like Jordan almonds and butter mints.

  She stood at the front of the room, off to the side, making sure everything was perfect. The bride was getting ready. The groom had arrived. No mistakes. Nothing wrong. In her dreams, she was in charge and all was right in the world.

  And then she realized all the people in the room were dressed in cowboy clothes.

  How strange was that?

  Mariah awoke with a jolt sometime later. Sun spilled in through the west window. Resentment at being pulled from the bucolic dream nibbled at her. It was late afternoon. She’d been asleep for several hours. Hunger drove her from the bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and a vague headache dogged her.

 
She threw back the covers and, yawning, stumbled to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. She’d forgotten to take her contacts out before she’d taken a nap and now her eyes felt raw and achy. She plucked out the contacts and rummaged in her purse for her glasses.

  Feeling fuzzy, she padded to the refrigerator and checked it again. Same unappetizing fare as before. She longed for a salad.

  “To heck with it,” she mumbled, grabbed her purse, and headed for the car. Already she felt claustrophobic in the confines of the small house crammed with the bits and pieces of her father’s life.

  At the end of the road, she turned left and headed for Jubilee. The drive was solitary. Trees and hills. Cattle and horses. Big rounds of hay rolled up in the fields. She passed several pickup trucks, some SUVs, and a car or two. The drivers invariably waved. To be polite, Mariah waved back. She missed the city already where no one waved unless they knew you and oftentimes not even then.

  It seemed she drove for hours, but it was really about fifteen minutes. She rounded a bend in the road and passed a billboard sign with a cowboy in full riding regalia on the back of a quarter horse.

  The sign said: “Welcome to Jubilee, Cutting Horse Capital of the World.”

  She hadn’t noticed the sign when she’d arrived in the dark, tired and looking for a soft place to land. Nor had she really been able to see the details of the slumbering town. This time around, she took it all in, realizing she just might be stuck here for a while.

  The main drag carried her past a feed store, an equine vet, and a mercantile that sold black pot-bellied woodstoves, stock tanks, and metal windmills. Deer feeders were set up in the parking lot of an independently owned hardware store, along with dog kennels and chain-link fencing. In the window of an old, rambling, limestone building, a sign out front declared: “Best Handmade Furniture in Texas.” There was a boot and Western wear shop dubbed Western Wear Palooza, a tractor supply, and a place that sold horse trailers. She motored by the First Horseman’s Bank of Jubilee, Farmers’ Insurance, and a newspaper office called the Daily Cutter.

  She’d never lived in a small town—well, not that she could remember. With her hands clutched on the steering wheel, she contemplated the dimensions of where she found herself. This place pushed against every boundary of the lifestyle she’d always lived.