The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan

acted that way. Yet.

      Wanting to hurry the stage driver along, she moved down the steps to his horse. “I’ll see you on your next stage run.”

      “Yes, all right.” Coming to stand beside his mount, he looked over her head at Gideon, but spoke to her. “I’ll see you soon.”

      She made a noncommittal noise as he mounted up and finally rode off.

      Ivy exhaled, glad to be rid of him.

      “Is he always like that?” Gideon asked in a low voice.

      “Yes.” She turned, in no mood for him to start any of that silly man-take-care-of-woman business. “And I can handle him just fine.”

      “You sure can. He must not know about that pistol in your skirt pocket. Why do you put up with the way he treats you?”

      “He could discourage passengers from staying for a meal.”

      “And that would cost you money.”

      “Yes.” She moved past him and back into the house to clean up the dishes. Gideon followed, but stopped in the doorway. Sunlight haloed his giant frame.

      “Besides, he leaves a lot quicker if he thinks he’s getting what he wants.”

      A half smile tugged at Gideon’s mouth, and it made her smile in return.

      She carried the plates and cups across the room and past the stove.

      “You say he was here yesterday?” Gideon asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Before that, when was his most recent visit?”

      “Four days ago.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

      “That means he was here the day before—”

      “The day before I found my horse killed,” she breathed, hastily putting the dishes in the dry sink. “Do you think Conrad had something to do with that?”

      “Can you remember if he was around just before the other incidents?”

      “I can’t remember about the chickens, but...he wasn’t here the day Tug went missing.”

      Gideon frowned. “That you know of.”

      “That’s right.” Did he take anyone’s word for anything? She bet not. Was that because he’d been in prison, or was there more to it? “He could’ve been in the woods, and I wouldn’t have known. He could’ve come across Tug. If he did something to my dog—”

      “Hey, we don’t know anything yet. What motive would he have for causing you trouble?”

      “To make me decide I need a man around here,” she muttered. “That I need him. I know it sounds ridiculous.”

      “How long have you known him?”

      “Since Tom and I married, almost ten years.” She appreciated that Gideon didn’t dismiss her theory.

      Her guest looked her over slowly, sparking all her nerve endings. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Does he always put his hands on you like that?”

      “He didn’t pay me much mind until Tom died.” And he had certainly never made her feel halfway dizzy the way Gideon just had with only a look. “Do you think he might be behind this?”

      “I’m considerin’ the possibility. He wants you.”

      “Well, it isn’t mutual,” she said hotly. The idea made her shudder.

      Gideon turned and stepped off the porch, kneeling near the hitching post.

      Ivy followed him outside. “What are you doing?”

      “Checking his horse’s tracks.”

      So if he saw them again, he would recognize them, she realized. She should do the same. She moved behind him and to his other side. He wore his hat now, drawing her attention to the nape of his corded neck. Skirts brushing against his shoulder, she bent over to study the hoofprints, too.

      “Is there anything distinctive about them?” she asked.

      He pointed to the impressions in the mud. “His mount lists to the right. Like she has one front leg shorter than the other.”

      Too aware of the way his powerful thigh muscles pulled his trousers taut, she forced herself to look at what he was showing her.

      When he half turned to study the stage driver’s boot prints, she did the same.

      “I can’t tell anything about them,” she said.

      “Yeah, they’re just scuff marks in the dirt. I plan to keep an eye out for him. If something happens tonight, we’ll have some tracks to compare, and maybe we can start to figure out who’s doing these things.”

      She nodded.

      His gaze trailed over her almost impersonally, as if he were checking to make sure she was all right. He tipped his hat. “If you need me, I’ll be around the barn doing chores.”

      Conrad’s visit had almost made her forget what had happened at lunch with Gideon. The way she’d ambushed him with all those questions.

      “Do you want more coffee?”

      “No, thanks.”

      “All right.” She watched him walk away, taking in the broad line of his shoulders. The way they narrowed to his lean hips.

      The reason he wasn’t coming back inside was probably because she’d opened old wounds with her questions. The information was a curiosity to her, but it was his life, his past. A clearly painful past he didn’t want to share.

      That was fine. Gideon Black could keep his secrets. And she would keep hers.

      * * *

      Now Ivy knew he’d done murder. Once she’d had time to absorb that he had killed a man, he’d see the familiar revulsion and wariness in her eyes that he saw in everyone’s, except Smith’s and Smith’s parents.

      Gideon eased out a breath. He didn’t like her stirring up the past, and he wasn’t having it. He would never tell her about the man he’d killed or the woman he’d killed for.

      He was living here, so she might deserve to know a few things, but she had no right to get inside his head. Inside him.

      She hadn’t liked that he wouldn’t answer every question she asked, especially about Smith. Too bad. There was no way he was telling her that he had saved her brother’s life after fighting off five men who were beating the hell out of him. He also wasn’t giving up to her how Smith had saved him after Gideon had been jumped and strung up by the neck in his own cell. And she wouldn’t be learning that he had other scars he’d gotten before going to prison.

      Ivy didn’t need to know any of that.

      He didn’t intend to answer any more questions. If she didn’t like it, she could send him packing. Or try. He wasn’t leaving until he figured out what was going on. Regardless of what Ivy did, he wouldn’t let Smith down. And he didn’t have to be her friend in order to protect her.

      He could do what needed to be done without taking his meals with her, although it would be difficult to walk away from good food after years of prison slop. Still, he’d done harder things.

      He’d keep to himself as much as possible. He was used to solitude. It was what he knew and understood. What he wanted.

      If Ivy had told Gideon before lunch that a man might be causing trouble on her farm in hopes that she would turn to him in her time of need, Gideon would’ve thought the idea was far-fetched. But after seeing Conrad with her, Gideon couldn’t dismiss the idea, no matter how downright addled it was.

      He hadn’t cared for the man’s manner at all, especially hadn’t liked how often he touched Ivy. Because of their business