A Cowboy Worth Claiming. Charlene Sands
bread she added to the stew, or how much jam she spread across his biscuits, she couldn’t seem to build his strength and fatten him up. “You look nice and dry, Lizzie. Feeling better now?”
She couldn’t feel better. She’d lost their only means of income and just thinking about those dolls soaked at the bottom of the lake made her stomach clench. She looked down at her brown skirt and nodded. “Yes, a little bit.”
“It’s a lucky thing Chance coming along when he did, bringing you home. Course it’s been a while but I recall how cold that lake is. Would have been a mighty uncomfortable walk with you dripping wet. Did you thank him, Lizzie?”
She darted Chance a glance and found him watching her, his gaze flowing over the hair she didn’t bother to untangle, curling every which way now and tied back with a thin strip of ribbon. When their eyes met she found his filled with amusement. “I, uh—”
“She thanked me, Edward.”
She shot him a quick look and he arched his right brow. He’d done a good thing, covering for her, but somehow she still felt pinpricked. If he hadn’t come along, she might’ve had a chance at rescuing her dolls. Now, all was lost and she didn’t know what else to do but to try to replace them with new ones made from the scraps of material she had left in her sewing basket.
Her grandpa coughed again, and the pain she noted on his face made her turn away. Every day she witnessed how much strength his coughing sapped from his body. The doctor from Red Ridge had come out to check on him and gave him an elixir, which she prayed would help, but nothing seemed to do a lick of good.
“Edward, I’ll get you some water,” Chance said, rising from his seat.
“I’ll get it.” She bounded up quickly and rushed to the kitchen area.
“Get…some…for our guest.” Her grandfather struggled to get the words out between coughs.
She poured two glasses of water from a pitcher but by the time she returned, thankfully, his coughing spell was over. She handed the water to her grandfather. “Please, Grandpa, you need to drink more. The doctor says it’ll help.”
“All right, Lizzie.” She stood over him until he took a long sip. Then she turned to Chance and offered up the other glass.
“Don’t mind if I do.” His hand came out to accept the drink and when their fingers brushed, she was startled by the jolt and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Something powerful happened whenever he touched her. The stirrings were unexpected and…and downright confusing. Thankfully, Chance didn’t seem to notice her distress. She figured it’d be a good idea to keep her distance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be on the ranch too long. “I’d best start supper.”
“It’s early yet,” her grandfather said. “Sit down, girl. Take a rest.”
Lizzie did as she was told. Everyone seemed content to just sit there, comfortably, without uttering a word. She didn’t begrudge her grandfather the rest or her company, but when he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, Lizzie couldn’t help but steal another look at Chance. His throat worked as he finished off the water in his glass. Why did she find watching him swallow so darn fascinating?
“Chance is here to help.” Her grandfather spoke quietly, keeping his head back against the chair. “In case you were wondering, Lizzie. And I owed him something.”
She noticed the square walnut box sitting next to Chance on the sofa. She’d grown up seeing that box—it was as if it belonged here on the ranch. For as long as she could remember, that box had sat in the bottom drawer of her mama’s china cabinet.
When she was a young fanciful girl, she’d sneak into that drawer when no one was looking and ever so carefully open the box to stare at the blood-red ruby. Her imagination would run wild, thinking it a rare stolen treasure, a gem that was more beautiful than any she could ever fathom. Had it belonged to a princess from a faraway land, a pirate queen or a stately woman of wealth?
Lizzie never touched the ruby for fear her dirt-smudged fingers would mar the perfection of the stunning pear-shaped stone. Eventually, she came to learn the story about the ruby and how it had fallen into her grandfather’s possession.
The ruby she’d once secretly coveted belonged to Chance Worth. And her grandfather had summoned him here to return it. “I know now that you sent for him,” she said, “to return the ruby.”
Grandpa leaned forward and spoke with resolution. “And to help us, Lizzie,” he reminded her.
Lord knew, they needed help, but so far all the stranger had managed to do was to prevent her from rescuing her dolls and make things worse. She didn’t have a good feeling about this. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “How can he help?”
Her grandfather’s face brightened and it was a joy to see, so rarely did he smile anymore. “Now, Lizzie. I want you to think before reacting, okay?”
She nodded, wary. Usually when Grandpa said that, she didn’t like what came next.
“Chance has agreed to drive our herd to the railhead in Prescott with you.”
Alarmed, she shook her head. “But, Grandpa, you and I will drive the herd, once you’re feeling better.”
A flicker of sadness stole over his face and her heart dropped. There was something so resolute in that look, so final. “I’m not getting better, Lizzie. I’m weak and getting weaker every day.” The bleak reality struck her as he reached for her with cold, fragile hands. “I wish it weren’t so for your sake, dear girl. I wish I could go with you on the drive, the way we used to.”
“Grandpa, we could do it again. We could. The winter was harsh this year and I know that’s what made you sick, but it’s spring now. You’ll gain your strength back.”
Her grandfather peered at Chance and the two locked glances. “Chance knows cattle drives. He’ll make the trip without any difficulty and the two of you will be back shortly.”
Her body tensed. The emotions she’d kept at bay all these months were too much for her. Tears welled in her eyes. She rose and shook her head, lowering her voice, unable to hide the pain. “I don’t want to go without you.”
Her grandfather squeezed his eyes shut briefly then met her gaze. “We have no choice, Lizzie.”
She shot a glare at Chance and then marched out of the room so the stranger wouldn’t see the tears spill from her eyes.
* * *
Lizzie boiled up strips of beef in a big pot, added beans and potatoes to the mix for son-of-a-gun stew. It was a recipe she’d learned from the cookie, years ago, when she’d gone on cattle drives with her father and the crew. She’d been without a care in the world then—the ranch was thriving and those drives were an adventure for a young girl. But now, she had enough worries to fill the cookie’s chuck wagon and then some.
She’d had a good cry out by the barn minutes ago, trying to justify leaving grandpa all alone. She didn’t want to go on that drive. Not without him. And she surely didn’t want to drive cattle with Chance Worth. Why, he’d most likely mock her every step of the way and she’d hate every minute of it.
She stirred the stew and sniffled.
“Need some help?”
She whirled around to find Chance leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. “How long have you been there?”
He moved into the room, ignoring her question. “Your grandpa’s taking a nap.”
He did that, napped several times during the day. She’d find him looking fatigued and the next thing she knew, he’d be on the sofa, head at an awkward angle against the back cushion, sleeping. “He needs rest.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Well, mercy. I think you and