The Pregnant Proposition. Sandra Paul

“But the answer’s still no.”

      A muscle flexed in Troy’s square jaw. “That parcel is O’Malley land. You know it and I know it. Now that Eileen’s gone, it’s time to return it to its rightful owners.”

      “All I know is that your grandfather deeded that land to my great-aunt and it now belongs to our family,” Cole said.

      “He only gave it to her because they were betrothed.”

      “He gave it to her as a gift,” Ally corrected Troy before Cole could reply. “There were no strings attached.”

      Troy spared her an impatient glance. “He was expecting to marry her.”

      “I see,” Ally said thoughtfully. “So Mick was actually giving himself a gift. How like an O’Malley,” she drawled, and watched Troy’s scowl darken. Pleased by the sight, she added, “Rather stupid of him to cheat on her, then, wasn’t it?”

      This time the look Troy returned was longer. “Men often do stupid things when it comes to women.”

      “I certainly won’t argue with an expert on that,” Ally answered.

      One of the twins snickered, while Sue Ellen gasped excitedly. Emma clucked her tongue.

      But Troy merely stared at her a moment longer, silently promising future retribution, before his gaze shifted to Cole. He gave a shrug. “What’s past is past. It doesn’t have any bearing on my offer to either buy or lease that land—offers you’d be wise to rethink, Cabrerra.”

      “Oh, yeah?” Cole drawled, widening his stance and placing his hands on his hips. “Why’s that?”

      “Because from what I hear you’ve spread yourself thin lately, financially speaking, and can use the money.”

      Cole didn’t like that; Ally could tell by the way his voice grew soft. “Where’d you hear that?”

      “From a mutual friend,” Troy drawled, his tone just as soft and even more taunting than Cole’s had been.

      The mutual friend, Ally knew, had to be Misty. Apparently her oldest brother knew it, too, because for a second, sheer hatred burned in Cole’s icy eyes. He took a step in Troy’s direction. Troy stepped forward to meet him, and funeral or no funeral, there would have been a fight—Ally was sure of it—but the Reverend grasped Cole’s arm, holding him off.

      Cole didn’t resist the Reverend, but he didn’t look away from Troy’s steady gaze, either. “Later, O’Malley.”

      Troy nodded. “Yeah, later.” With a final, mocking look at Ally, and a polite tilt of his hat to the other women, he headed toward the parking area.

      The other men slowly followed, while the women stood in silence, watching until Troy climbed into his pickup.

      “Well, thank goodness that’s over, and without violence, too,” Sue Ellen said, disappointment heavy in her quavery voice as Troy’s truck spewed gravel pulling out of the tiny lot, and sped to the highway with small tornadoes of dust churning behind its oversize tires. She heaved a sigh, then patted Ally’s arm as they started walking toward the cars again. “You are so lucky, dear, to have four brothers to watch out for you!”

      “You certainly are!” Emma stated.

      Ally wasn’t sure she agreed. She planned to talk to Cole as soon as possible concerning the decisions he’d made—without consulting her, thank you very much!—about Bride’s Price. But for the next two hours she was too busy playing hostess, serving up the tuna-and-pea casserole Emma Mae had brought and making sure everyone had plenty of coffee and second helpings of Sue Ellen’s famous peach cobbler, to even try to catch Cole alone.

      After eating, everyone remained in the big kitchen talking around the scarred mahogany table that had once been Ally’s mother’s pride and joy. Glad the meal was over, Ally pushed her chair from the table and stretched out her legs, slouching as a wave of weariness swept over her.

      Like many of the homes in the area, the Cabrerra ranch house was built of thick limestone blocks, excavated by the earliest settlers well over a hundred years ago. A bathroom complete with claw tub had been added in the thirties; a gas stove had replaced the wood-burning one in the fifties. Since then, not much else had been done to the place. Ally had worked hard the past week, cleaning the ranch house and trying—with limited success—to brighten the old kitchen by bringing in flowers and replacing the dingy curtains with crisp white ones she’d bought with money skimmed from the grocery allowance. Nothing, however, could hide the chips in the yellow tile counters, or the battered condition of the cupboard doors.

      When she caught Emma Mae looking critically at the cracked linoleum on the floor, Ally said a shade defensively, “We’re redoing the whole kitchen, you know. Right after the next stock sale.”

      Cole frowned at her across the table, shaking his head, and Ally tilted her head inquiringly in return. Did he want their plans to remain a secret for some reason? If so, tough luck, because Emma declared bluntly, “I’m glad to hear it. This house can use some updating,” and if Emma knew something—not to mention Sue Ellen—the whole town would soon know about it, too.

      Perplexed by Cole’s strange behavior, Ally remained silent as the conversation rambled from the sorry state of beef prices, to the never-ending heat, to the merits of the new computer that Cole had recently purchased to replace their old model. Only half listening, Ally was jerked from her thoughts when Emma announced she’d set up a Web site for the town.

      “A Web site?” Ally repeated. She glanced at the older woman in surprise. “I didn’t know you were hooked into the Internet.”

      “I’m not. My computer is too old. I set the Web site up on the one the O’Malleys donated to the town library. Janie helped me,” Emma said, nodding at the younger woman—an action that caused Janie’s cheeks to turn bright pink as everyone looked her way. Ignoring Janie’s embarrassment, Emma added, “As a librarian, she knows plenty about computers. We posted all the information from the school as well as the latest issue of the Tangleweed Times.”

      Ally was impressed with the women’s initiative; much less so with the O’Malleys’ generosity. Unlike Sue Ellen, who chirped repeatedly, “How kind of the O’Malleys to do something so generous, so good for the town!” she didn’t think a couple of thousand was that big a deal to a family worth millions. But, oh, what a difference a few thousand could make in her own life!

      Possibly the Reverend had the same thought in regards to the new roof the church needed, or maybe—like Ally—he noticed the way the Cabrerra males all fell silent at the name O’Malley. In either case, he announced he and Janie needed to get home, and the small party quickly dispersed.

      Guests gone, the Cabrerra brothers disappeared, too. Lincoln and Luke went to the barn to tinker with a broken ATV water pump, while Kyle rode out to check on the stock in the south pasture. Cole, as he did every evening, retreated to the study.

      Ally was left with the cleaning up. She glanced around the kitchen, shaking her head, her mouth tightening. When needed, she helped brand, sort, feed and work cattle. She knew how to shoe the horses and mend a fence. But while it would never occur to any of her brothers to stand idly by while she worked outside on the ranch, it also never occurred to any of them to volunteer to pitch in with the often less physical but more tedious chores in the house. And lately when she asked for help, their attitude was so much of someone doing her a favor, that she preferred to just do it all herself.

      So she set to work putting away the leftover food, wiping the chipped tile countertops and table and doing the dishes. Once finished, she hesitated, absently straightening the damp towel hanging beneath the farmhouse sink as she glanced out the window. The searing sun was setting, easing the harsh daytime heat. She longed to saddle up old Boomer and go for an evening ride, explore the dry riverbed or maybe catch up with Kyle to check the progress the boys had made mending the fence in the southwest pasture. Instead, she put a slice of cobbler on a plate and resolutely headed in search of Cole.

      When