The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan

      “No, ma’am. He wants me to stay and find out who’s behind your trouble.”

      She could figure that out for herself, but she knew her brother wanted to protect her, whether she liked the idea or not. “I’m not being threatened. Just my animals.”

      “Even so, I’ll be stayin’, ma’am.” He took a step toward her, his features stony, forbidding in the amber light. “Till your brother says different.”

      Ivy had done just fine on her own since Tom’s death, and she didn’t need a man around. She’d only sent word to Smith about this latest incident because she had promised she would.

      She licked her lips, ignoring the way her visitor’s gaze went to her mouth. “Nothing has happened since I sent the wire.”

      “But you’re spooked.”

      “Not really.”

      His eyes narrowed. “You thought I was here to harm you.”

      “Maybe I overreacted.”

      “You said your horse was dead, ma’am.”

      “Yes.”

      “That’s a message of some kind.”

      She agreed, but the thought of him staying rattled her.

      “It can’t hurt to have another person here,” he said.

      While that was true, he wasn’t just another person. The idea of his being so close made her shiver, and if she were honest, part of that was due to excitement, not dread.

      She needed some space from him right now.

      “You’d probably like to change out of that wet shirt. And I’m sure you’d like to get some rest.”

      He studied her as if trying to determine if she were attempting to get rid of him. Which she was.

      He nodded. “In the morning, you can tell me everything that’s happened.”

      She could protest, or she could graciously accept the protection her brother had sent. “All right. You can stay in one of the guest rooms.”

      “The barn will be better. That way, I’ll be in a good position to see or hear anything suspicious.”

      She hoped relief didn’t show on her face. “There’s a bunk out there, and the roof is sound. Let me get you some bedding.”

      A few moments later, she returned with a sheet and quilt. It was likely cool outside now. He could use whichever covering he wanted.

      As badly as Ivy wanted him to go on, her mother had drummed manners into her. “Have you eaten supper?”

      “Your ma sent plenty of food along with me.”

      “That’s good. Breakfast will be at six, dinner at noon and supper at six.”

      “Are you expecting the stage?”

      “It came today. It won’t be back for a few days.”

      He nodded, then after an awkward pause, turned for the door. “Good night, Miz Powell—”

      “Please!” she burst out. “Just...call me Ivy.”

      “All right,” he said slowly, a curious look on his face.

      Well, he could wonder all he liked. “Thank you.”

      Who knew how long he would stay? The man was clearly doggedly loyal to Smith.

      Gideon stopped to tug on his boots.

      She opened the door, glad to see the rain had let up a bit. “I know you saved Smith’s life and I know he’s grateful, as am I. But why do you feel you owe him so much?”

      “He gave me a chance.” Boots on, he straightened, his voice raspy. “A lot of folks wouldn’t.”

      “Still, he’s asking a lot of you. A two-day ride for an unknown length of time.” She gave a light laugh. “You’re going to be very busy helping your friends if you have a lot of them.”

      “I don’t.”

      The hollowness in his blue eyes told her he wasn’t being flippant. She felt a sharp tug on her heart.

      He paused in the doorway, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “I won’t cause you any extra work and I’ll help around here with whatever you need, but I ain’t—” He broke off, looking self-conscious. “I’m not leaving, either.”

      “As long as you’re here, no liquor. I don’t hold with drinking.”

      “That won’t be a problem, Miz Pow— Ma’am.”

      She barely had time to nod before he put his hat on his head then jogged toward the barn. She stared through the haze of rain until he opened the door and drew his big black horse inside. Lifting a hand toward her, he shut them both inside.

      Ivy closed the door, her chest tight, her nerves tingling.

      Her visitor wasn’t bent on harming her or her animals, but he made her feel things she hadn’t wanted to ever feel again. Man-woman things.

      She would figure out who was causing problems on her farm. The sooner she did, the sooner she could send Gideon Black packing.

      * * *

      She didn’t want him here. Not that it seemed to matter much to his brain.

      Gideon couldn’t get the woman out of his head. Just like the first time he’d met Ivy Powell, the sight of her last night had put a hitch in his breathing. And again this morning.

      She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her features were strong yet undeniably feminine. A stubborn jaw set off by a pair of plump pink lips, delicate winged eyebrows over shrewd midnight eyes. Lush breasts, gently flared hips.

      He’d woken up hard and hurting, and he didn’t want to spend another night like that. Hell, he didn’t want to spend another night here period, but he had promised to find out what, if anything, was going on. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could get back to the Diamond J.

      No thunderclouds in sight today. It was bright and sunny. After a breakfast of ham and the best biscuits he’d ever had, Gideon helped Ivy with the chores—milking the cows, gathering the eggs, checking the shoes on her herd of horses.

      Now he stood beside her in what had been her husband’s office. The room with its front-facing window easily accommodated a standing desk and leather chair as well as a waist-high cabinet holding a lamp.

      The back of the desk was raised with a set of pigeonholes across its top for filing. The lower part of the desk had drawers down both sides and one in the middle, which Ivy opened.

      Her pale blue skirts brushed against his leg. Sunlight streamed in from the window behind them, gilding her raven-dark hair. Again, she wore a single braid, which revealed her elegant neck. And there was no escaping her soft magnolia scent, potent enough to knot his gut. Her skin was as fine-grained as satin. Gideon bet it felt like satin, too. Her lashes and eyes were as dark as her hair, setting off her refined features. And her mouth...

      Beside him, she shifted, jerking his attention to the paper in her hand.

      “Here’s the last one.” She handed him a drawing similar to several she’d already shown him.

      Blood humming, he took the paper. This illustration of her house and farm was even more detailed than the others. The first sketches left on her porch had shown the property from the front in broad charcoal strokes—the trees around the sprawling white frame house, the edge of a long chicken coop that ran parallel to the east side of the structure, the corral and barn on the west side.

      In each successive drawing, the view moved closer to the house. The likeness grew more detailed. The etchings had progressed from pleasing to almost...obsessive.

      In