The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan
his leg was broken?”
The jerky nod and coiled energy in his body warned her off, but she couldn’t help another question. “Is that how you got those scars?”
His face completely closed up. She’d never seen anything like it. His features turned to granite, blue eyes blazing, his mouth white with restraint. Angry color slashed across his sharp cheekbones.
He rose, his massive frame blocking out the sun. “Would you like me to take my meals somewhere else, Miss Ivy?”
“No.” She stood, too. Would he really go? Absolutely, she realized. There was no bluff on his face. “Please, finish your meal.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then started to sit. The sound of an approaching horse had them both turning toward the open screened door. A couple of chickens squawked and hustled out of the way of a brown mare, its hooves flinging red mud as it trotted toward the house.
She held back a groan. “I wonder what he wants.”
Gideon strapped on the gun belt he’d shed for their meal. Plucking his hat from the peg beside the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “You know him?”
“Yes. It’s Conrad, the stagecoach driver. Neal Conrad, but he goes by his last name.”
“Didn’t you say he was just here yesterday?”
“Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.”
She stepped onto the porch, and her guest followed. An enticing mix of man and leather floated to her. She could feel the powerful width of Gideon’s chest at her back. While she appreciated the gesture, Conrad was an annoyance, not a threat.
The stage driver, a man with sharp features and flowing blond hair, jumped off his horse and whipped the reins around the hitching post. “I came as soon as I could.”
Giving Gideon a narrow-eyed look, Conrad reached her in two strides, arms outstretched.
She stepped back, managing to avoid contact. He was always touching her, and she didn’t like it.
His blue-checked shirt and dark trousers were clean. His eyes were deep brown, his features as perfect as a drawing and he possessed about as much substance as a piece of paper. He was trim and well built, a handsome man. And he knew it.
“What brings you out two days in a row, Conrad?” Ivy asked evenly.
“I came to check on you. See how you fared in the storm.”
“Just fine.”
He turned his attention to Gideon, his eyes hardening when he saw how close the other man stood to her.
“Who are you?” he asked sharply.
Ivy barely stopped herself from snapping that it was none of his business. Before Gideon could answer, she did. “Conrad, this is Gideon Black, a family friend.”
“Are you staying here or just passing through?”
As if that were any of his concern. Ivy fought the urge to order the stage driver off her property, but that wouldn’t be smart, businesswise. “He’s my guest, Conrad. He brought a message from my brother.”
The man scrutinized Gideon before his gaze swung to Ivy. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Gideon and I are just having a visit.”
The subject of the conversation had yet to say a word, but Ivy didn’t miss the shrewd glint in his eyes as he sized up the other man. She also didn’t miss the way he kept one hand on the butt of the revolver in his holster.
“I drive the stage,” Conrad announced unnecessarily.
“So Miss Ivy said.” Gideon folded his arms over that broad chest. With a scowl on his compelling features, he looked as approachable as a rattlesnake.
Seeming to dismiss Gideon, Conrad turned to her with a smile and took her elbow, towing her inside.
As he always did, he walked into her house without an invitation. Gideon followed them over the threshold, disapproval pulsing from him.
When Ivy pulled away, Conrad paused at the dining table, his smile still in place. “You were probably frightened last night. That storm really kicked up a fuss.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” she said stiffly.
“Maybe you’ve got some of that delicious coffee?” Conrad’s gaze fell to the two plates on the table. The two cups. Mouth tight, he sat in the chair next to hers.
She didn’t like it, but she didn’t need to upset the man who recommended her stage stop and was responsible for bringing passengers here.
Gideon remained at the door like a sentry. Tension arced in the room, and she thought she could physically feel him willing the stage driver to leave.
Conrad drummed his fingers on the table.
She took another tin cup from the cabinet that held the tin plates and mugs reserved for the passengers. Going to the stove, she wrapped the hem of her apron around the hot handle of the coffeepot.
As she poured, he said, “It would’ve been better if you’d been in town last night, not out here all alone.”
“I was fine.” Her words were short as she handed him the cup. She glanced at Gideon, noticing that his face hadn’t changed one bit. It still looked carved out of stone. Forbidding. Conrad was either blind or not intimidated.
“You know how I feel about you being out here all by your lonesome,” he said.
Yes, and she didn’t give two figs about it. It took effort to keep her voice level. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t leave my home.”
“You shouldn’t be running this place by yourself.” He sipped at the steamy brew. “You shouldn’t be running it at all.”
“Conrad,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been running it since Tom passed, and I intend to keep doing so.”
“Now, now, don’t get your back up.” He clumsily placed his cup on the table, liquid sloshing out as he stood and moved toward her.
Gideon took a step in her direction. Only one.
It was enough to stop the other man. Conrad blinked then turned to Ivy. “I’m only thinking of you. You need a man around here to help you.”
She certainly did not.
“She has one,” Gideon said.
Surprised, Ivy shot him a look.
The stage driver’s lip curled. “I meant someone she can depend on regularly.”
With the exception of her brother and father, there were no men she would depend on. If she needed a man on the farm, she would hire one.
She walked out to the porch, hoping the stage driver would take the hint. “Everything is fine, Conrad. Thanks for checking on me.”
After another slit-eyed look at Gideon, the man gave her a quick hug, moving away before she could remove his arm. He touched her often, never with permission, although he’d never tried more than a hug. Which was good, because Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol in her skirt pocket.
“Is your stock all right?” Conrad asked. “All accounted for?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t telling him about the dead mare.
“I’ll check the horses. If any of them need shoes, I brought some.”
“That’s not necessary, Conrad.”
“It’ll just take a minute.”
“Only one of them needed to be shod, and Gideon did it this morning.”
“That’s really not your—” He broke off, glowering at Gideon before giving