A Marriage By Chance. Carolyn Davidson

swishing and hind legs bent, the stud seemed intent on freeing himself from the man holding him, and J.T. moved quickly. His laugh rang out as he came from the far side to grasp the horse’s halter. His considerable weight pulled the stallion’s head to meet his chest, and then J.T.’s voice became soothing, his words soft as he strove to quiet the animal.

      “Well, he seems to know what he’s here for, don’t he?” Hogan asked, breathless from his efforts. His grin flashed in Chloe’s direction, and then as though he reconsidered his words, he turned his head aside. “Sorry, ma’am,” he murmured politely, but Chloe heard the amusement beneath the muttered apology.

      Unused to such blatant masculine emotions, whether they be from man or beast, she felt a quickening as she thought of what would take place here in the next weeks. The process of breeding had always been confined to the pastures, at the discretion of both mares and stallion, and with no set purpose, only the intention of new life each spring.

      Now it seemed there would be a scheduling of those events, and as she turned from the barn and headed with haste toward the house, the realization of change became a fact. J. T. Flannery was about to set out upon a path that would make mockery of her father’s haphazard operation. And she had given him the go-ahead to do just that.

      The table was set for three when J.T. entered the kitchen hours later, and he tossed Chloe a quizzical look. “You expecting company?”

      “Not really. Just Aunt Tilly. She arrived an hour ago. Howie Henderson brought her out from town and dropped her off.” Chloe opened the oven door and pulled a roasting pan from its depths. “She’s upstairs, settling in.” Her grin was quick as she glanced his way. “She asked about you.”

      “Me?” He pulled his chair from beneath the table and eased himself onto the seat. Muscles well used over the past couple of weeks were protesting, and getting dumped in the dust of the corral by a half-broke horse hadn’t helped any. “How’d she know about me?”

      “Howie gave her all the details about my new partner on the trip out from town,” Chloe said.

      J.T. watched her as she dealt with the contents of the roasting pan. The woman was adept at more than just riding and tending to ranch business. The pot roast, surrounded by potatoes and carrots, was a tempting sight, and he hoped fervently that Aunt Tilly was at least as handy in the kitchen as Chloe.

      “And does she approve of your new partner?” he asked, aware of footsteps approaching from the front hallway. The scent of lilac preceded the woman as did her voice, its tones sharp, her words cautious.

      “If he turns out to be a scalawag like the last one, I’ve got a shotgun that’ll guarantee he won’t last long.” Iron-gray hair, curled and crimped into an abundant mass, topped the sturdy figure in the doorway. Eyes the startling color of a bluebird’s back scanned him thoroughly, as if she sought out every possible defect and scar on his miserable hide. From where he sat, Tilly looked to be nearly six feet tall, altogether a woman to be aware of. A brilliantly flowered house dress covered her ample frame, and sturdy black-laced oxfords, surely made to fit a man, carried her toward him.

      J.T. rose, bowing his head just a trifle in greeting. “Ma’am?” he said politely. “I’m the fella you’ll be gunning for, should I not come up to snuff.” It took all his control not to smile at the picture she presented, but he managed to subdue his humor.

      Aunt Tilly halted several feet from him, and he waited as she scanned him from top to bottom. A flash of approval from brilliant blue eyes, and an abrupt nod that barely disturbed her curls, told him she’d completed her appraisal, and he moved to pull a chair from beneath the table.

      “Won’t you sit down, ma’am?” he asked politely.

      She shook her head. “I’ll give Chloe a hand first.”

      “I’ve got everything ready,” Chloe said quickly. “Just sit, Aunt Tilly.” The platter centered the table, steam rising from its contents, and beside it were bowls of applesauce and some sort of greens J.T. didn’t recognize. “I just need to pour the coffee.”

      Tilly sat down, allowing J.T. to play the gentleman, and he held her chair with a flourish, earning a sharp look as he smoothly seated her.

      “Where you from, boy?” she asked bluntly. “You’re pretty slick with the manners, seems to me.”

      “My mama raised me to be polite,” he said, allowing a smile to appear. “I know enough not to wipe my mouth on my sleeve, and I learned how to ask nicely when I want a favor.”

      “Well, that says something for you,” she answered, watching as Chloe sat down across the table. “You make biscuits, girl?”

      “No, but there’s bread from yesterday,” Chloe told her.

      “You can get some out after we bless the food,” Tilly said, and immediately bowed her head, booming words of thanks to the Almighty for the supper Chloe had prepared.

      J.T. leaned back in his chair, amused by Chloe’s quick movements as she unwrapped a fresh loaf of bread from its dish towel and quickly wielded the knife. Four slices were deposited on a plate and she brought it to the table. “There’s fresh butter, Aunt Tilly,” she said, uncovering the glass dish.

      It was easy to see who was in control here, J.T. decided. The kitchen was suddenly Aunt Tilly’s domain, and Chloe bent to her will in a way he hadn’t expected. And then the older woman paused midway in the process of buttering her slice of bread to cast her eyes on her niece.

      “You’ve taken off a few pounds, girl. Been working too hard, I’ll warrant.”

      Chloe laughed aloud. “I could take off a few more, Aunt Tilly. And once I get you back in charge here, I probably will. I need to be out with the men, working with the new foals. Hogan says we’ve got a dandy crop of calves already.” Her enthusiasm seemed to be generated by the thought of being relieved of kitchen duty, J.T. decided.

      “You’re turning out to be a good cook,” Tilly decreed, tasting the beef roast and savoring the flavor. “You use bay leaf in this?”

      Chloe nodded meekly, though her eyes glittered with good humor. “Just like you told me, ma’am. And I picked the dandelion greens early this morning while the dew was still on them.”

      J.T. stopped chewing, his mouthful of greens suddenly losing their appeal. “Dandelions?” he asked dubiously. “I’m eating dandelions?”

      “Just the greens,” Chloe said patiently. “They’re good for you.”

      “Whatever happened to turnip greens or collards?”

      Chloe turned patient eyes on him. “It’s too early for them.” She waved her fork in the direction of his plate. “That’s good spring tonic. Even the Indians eat them.”

      “I’m not sure I need a spring tonic, whatever that is,” he told her, forking up another mouthful. “My mama used to give me a dose of castor oil when the trees started leafing out.” He chewed a moment, then swallowed the greens dutifully. “But only one dose, mind you.” His fork stirred the green mass on his plate. “Do I get to eat these every day?”

      “I could probably locate a bottle of castor oil, if you’d rather,” Tilly said helpfully, obviously amused at his dislike for Chloe’s chosen vegetable for this meal.

      “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’m a big boy now. I’ll do just fine without.”

      “That you are,” she agreed. “Came from south of here, didn’t you?”

      He hesitated. Giving details about his background was something he steered clear of usually. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

      Tilly nodded. “When I arrived on a wagon train from Saint Louis and met my husband for the first time, he said he’d always wanted a Southern belle to grace his table.” Her laughter rang out. “He was looking for a dainty little creature with curls and