A Cowboy Worth Claiming. Charlene Sands
How many social events did a town like Red Ridge entertain to warrant the womenfolk wearing such fancy hats?
His gaze traveled beyond those bonnets to Lizzie speaking with apology on her expression to the woman behind the counter. When the conversation was over, the woman gently embraced Lizzie. She came out of the shop, her lips downturned and a sour pout on her face.
If she would smile once in a while, a man might actually think her pretty. But Lizzie wasn’t happy right now and she walked past him and the horses, heading in the direction of the ranch.
Chance mounted Joyful, tying the other horses to the saddle horn, and headed in the same direction.
Lizzie kept up a brisk pace.
“You gonna walk all the way back home?”
Her shoulder lifted in a shrug and she kept walking.
“That woman upset you?”
Her head shook slightly.
“Lizzie?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Chance understood that. There was many a time when his life just wasn’t worth talking about. Lizzie had it rough lately, he’d give her that, and if she needed a little peace right now, Chance would grant her silence.
Without her sass mouth doing any arguing, it would be two of the most pleasant miles he’d travel with her.
* * *
Lizzie’s feet ached and her stomach growled as they rounded the bend by the lake. She’d walked half the distance home so far, her feet moving beneath her rapidly as if they had a mind of their own. At times, Lizzie needed to walk off her remorse and her sorrow, but it wasn’t working out too well at the moment. She wasn’t alone and that was part of the problem. Chance was there, beside her, every step of the way. He’d been quiet on the way home from Red Ridge. Too quiet. It unnerved her and allowed her mind to fill with distressing thoughts.
Just when she was ready to make a comment about his silence, he began whistling a tune, out of tune. His carefree attitude grated on her even more. He had no cares in the world, it seemed, yet Lizzie had too much to care about. Too many troubles fogged up her brain and strong as she was, sometimes it all seemed overly much for her to take.
She stopped walking and turned to him. “What’s that awful sound?”
Chance pulled up on the reins and looked around. “I didn’t hear anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m talking about your whistling. Sounds more like two starving hawks fighting over a carcass.”
“Lizzie, you’re not hearing straight. Got something in your ears?”
“No, but cotton would be good about now.”
Chance grinned.
It infuriated her that he looked upon her time and again with amusement, as if to say, she wasn’t a woman to be taken seriously. She refrained from stomping her feet and marching off. Planting her hands on her hips, she stood her ground. “What’s that smile for?”
He shrugged and leaned over the saddle which made it easier to meet his piercing eyes. “Well, uh, Lizzie. You looked a little sad for some reason and I thought that my whistling might just brighten your day.”
Lizzie didn’t believe that for a second. “You’re not that kind.”
Chance glanced away, guilty, as if he’d been caught stealing from the church box. “You take pleasure in insulting me.”
Indignant, her voice elevated a bit. “I didn’t insult you.”
“Didn’t you? You don’t like my whistling and you don’t think I’m kind.”
She had said that, hadn’t she? “Well, I just meant that you could follow a tune more closely.”
“Uh-huh.” He tipped his hat back and she received the full force of his amused stare. “And the other?”
“You expect me to believe you wanted to cheer me up with your whistling?”
He heaved a sigh. “Maybe not exactly. I was gettin’ kind of bored with all the quiet.”
“So you thought to annoy me?” she asked.
“Did I?” He appeared hopeful.
“No. Yes. Like I said you can’t carry a tune and it’s a bit irritating.”
“Got you out of your doldrums, didn’t it?”
“I’m not having doldrums.”
Chance dipped his head low and shot her a serious look.
“Well, maybe I was. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
Chance granted her that much with a quick nod. At least he respected her privacy.
“Get up on the horse, Lizzie,” he said. “You’re starting to tire. You need to be in good form tomorrow for the drive.”
Lizzie opened her mouth to argue the point—Chance could be so bossy—but clamped it down just as fast. She was tired and Chance was right. She needed to be well-rested for their journey.
Chance didn’t budge a muscle to help her mount the dappled gray mare he’d saddled, so she fumbled with the stirrup and saddle horn and found her way up. Settling her derriere and adjusting her body, she took the reins and slid him a glance. He cast an approving nod her way and they took off down the road.
Within a minute, Chance began whistling again, this time the sound perfectly in tune, the song a harmonious blending of chords that rose deep from his throat. She peered at him and gasped from the perfect pitch and tone.
And then it dawned on her.
He had been kind.
In his own way.
He’d taken her out of her melancholy by sparking her indignation and annoying her. He’d gotten her mind off her troubles.
And just like that, the words started tumbling out and it felt good, oh so good, to relieve herself of the burden. “I hated disappointing Mrs. Finch today. She was kind enough to take orders for my dolls and she had customers waiting for them. She offered me the money I would have earned delivering those dolls. She tried to put cash into my hands and shoo me away. But I couldn’t take it, Chance. I couldn’t. And then she told me about Hayden coming home to Red Ridge soon. I should be happy, since he’s my very best friend in the whole wide world. Why, he’s like a brother to me. We’ve always been thick as thieves. But Hayden’s told me a dozen times that when he returned from his schooling, he’d be getting married. And then I’ll lose him. I’ll lose my best friend.” She swallowed hard and felt like a silly fool for rambling on to Chance like this, but she couldn’t seem to stop her heart from pouring out. “It just seems too much sometimes.”
Chance was quiet, and when she glanced at him, he didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead at the open pastures that were Mitchell land. His words came slow and easy, but filled with intent. “Pride’s a good thing, Lizzie. Most times. I probably would have done the same with Mrs. Finch. As for your friend, if he really is one, you won’t lose him, no matter what.”
She stared at him as his words sank into her soul. Something strange happened in her head and her belly when she took his advice as gospel. Pitying herself wasn’t a virtue and certainly disappointing people she cared about wasn’t, either. But the terrible distress that plagued her these past few days eased up a bit.
She felt better.
How could Chance make her see things clearly, when everything seemed so muddled in her own head? Before she could comment, though she hadn’t a clue what words would tumble out, Chance nudged Joyful and took off at a trot, the string of horses he’d rented following closely behind.