Winning Over the Wrangler. Linda Ford
nature, they got along well, and the three of them had crossed the ocean and traveled across most of Canada together. Sybil had allowed herself these friendships, knowing from the start they wouldn’t last forever. The three of them would go their separate ways. Some to marriage. Likely they would lose touch. Truth was, Sybil simply kept most of her heart safely protected from the pain she knew she’d experience by allowing any friendship to grow.
“Pshaw.” Mercy waved her hand dismissively. “She’s no longer any fun. She’s only interested in Seth. Honestly, I get tired of ‘Seth said this, Seth did that, Seth likes such and such.’”
Sybil giggled. “They’re in love. What do you expect?”
Mercy laughed, too. “I’m never going to let her forget she had to shoot him to catch him.”
“It was an accident,” Sybil protested.
They fell back against the bed, laughing at the memory. “I tried to warn the pair of you that no good would come of shooting a gun.”
“And she proved you wrong.”
“I guess she did.”
“Goes to show you should live a little dangerously once in a while. It’s worth the risks.”
Mercy left a few minutes later.
Sybil stared at the wall. Could she write Brand’s story? Yes, of course she could. The bigger question was could she do it without endangering the carefully constructed walls about her already damaged heart? The man held inherent risks for her, as she’d already discovered by her reaction to being rescued by him.
Oh, stop fretting about that. You were frightened. Snatched into the arms of a tall, dark stranger. It was an unusual experience. Of course you had an unusual reaction.
She made up her mind. She’d write the story, keeping her eyes wide-open to both her initial, surprising response and her prior knowledge that he didn’t mean to stay. Eddie said the man never did. He was a born wanderer. Forewarned was forearmed. This time, unlike her unfortunate experience with Colin, she knew what to expect.
She pulled out pen and paper and wrote a letter to the publisher.
I have exactly the man for the assignment you’ve offered. He is a bronc rider, a quiet loner, a strong and mysterious man. Certainly bigger than life in a world that is full of strong, bold men.
She would find ways to get information about him without letting her silly reaction to being rescued cloud her good sense.
Chapter Two
Her resolve to pursue a story about this man firmly in place, Sybil went to the kitchen.
“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” Linette asked as she bustled about the large room. A big wooden table filled one corner; cupboards and shelves occupied the opposite corner. East windows on either side of the outer door allowed them to enjoy the sunrise as they ate breakfast. Another door opened to a spacious, well-stocked pantry, and a third doorway opened to the hall that led to the rest of the house. Another door, always closed, hid the formal dining room, which Linette refused to use.
Even though she expected a baby in a few months, it didn’t slow her down. She never seemed to stop working.
“Frightened is all, but I’m fine now. What can I do to help?”
Mercy sliced carrots into a pot.
Roasting meat filled the room with enough aroma to make Sybil’s mouth water. Food certainly tasted better when it came fresh from the garden and when she had a hand in preparing it. Something she’d never done before her arrival at the ranch.
Meeting a man like Brand—big, strong, bold—would have never happened back in England, either. The men she’d been acquainted with would pale in comparison.
Mercy paused. “That bronc buster is a fine-looking man.” She gave Sybil a glance that demanded a response.
“Can’t say I really noticed.”
Mercy laughed. “Hard to see much with your face smashed against his shirtfront.”
“He was fast enough and brave enough to rescue me. I thank God for that.” Except she’d forgotten to thank Him and she made up for it on the spot, uttering silent thanks.
“I join in thanking God,” Linette said as she poured water from the boiled potatoes, saving it in a jar to use later, when she made bread.
Sybil watched everything Linette did. She’d found so much satisfaction in learning to cook meals, bake bread and cookies, and even preserve garden produce for the approaching winter months. She’d only meant the trip to western Canada as a chance to start over, to rebuild her heart and strengthen the barriers around it, but she’d found so much more. She’d found purpose in doing useful things.
“I regret Mr. Brand refused to come for supper,” Linette said. “But I’ve decided to send supper to him. Eddie said he’d be an hour yet. Would you two take a meal to Mr. Brand?”
“Of course,” Mercy said.
Sybil wanted to refuse, because her heart still beat a little too fast as she remembered being held so firmly. But it provided a chance to meet him in a less emotionally packed way and learn about him, so she could write a fine story. “Certainly we’ll take a meal to him.” No need for her silly reaction to repeat itself. She knew how to control her emotions.
Linette piled a plate high with what looked to Sybil like enough food to feed a family. She couldn’t get used to the amount a working cowboy ate. Linette must have noticed her surprise. She chuckled. “I’m guessing a man who makes his own meals around a campfire would enjoy a home-cooked meal.” She wrapped the plate in a cloth and handed the bundle to Sybil.
Sybil and Mercy left the house. They paused at the corrals, where the gate had been repaired and the wild horses had settled down. They asked where they could find Brand, and Eddie directed them to the east. They crossed the yard, the grass beaten down and brown after a summer of wear. What must it be like for Brand to eat and sleep outside as the nights grew colder? Sybil wondered. Any cowboy, not just him.
“You be sure and have a good look at him this time,” Mercy said as they climbed the hill and made their way through some trees.
Sybil didn’t need to give him a good look. She’d already done that and it had caused her heart to quiver. Instead, she concentrated on their surroundings. Dark pines stood like silent sentries. The golden leaves of the aspens swung to and fro, catching the sunlight in flashing brightness.
A dog growled and Mercy grabbed her arm.
“I don’t fancy being torn up by a cross dog,” Sybil whispered. “Maybe we should go back.”
Mercy looked at the plate of food, then back down the trail.
Maybe she was doing the same as Sybil...measuring how fast they could run and considering if an angry dog would stop for the food if she dropped the plate.
“I know you’re there. Come out and make yourself known,” Brand called out.
Her fingers clutching the plate so hard the china would certainly crack at any moment, Sybil ventured forward. “I’ll throw the food at the dog if I have to,” she murmured to Mercy.
“Good idea.”
They stepped into a clearing. Wood smoke shimmered in the air. The smell pinched her nose.
A dog lunged toward them. Quite the ugliest dog she’d ever seen. Dirty brown with snapping black eyes and bared yellowed teeth. Not a big animal, but still a threat to life and limb. Only Brand’s hand at the animal’s neck restrained him.
Sybil squeaked. At the same time, she considered what sort of man kept such a dog.
“Quiet, Dawg,” Brand murmured, his voice so deep it seemed to echo the canine’s growl.