A Marriage By Chance. Carolyn Davidson

You can just take your orders and put ’em—”

      He grabbed her arms, stepping on the reins with one boot, lest the horses take it in mind to move. His grip was firm and unmoving, long fingers sliding up to wrap around her shoulders. Then he drew her closer and she lost her balance, falling against him. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as his glittering gaze scanned her startled face.

      “Don’t say it,” he warned, his voice low, rasping against her hearing. “Don’t say one more word. Just keep your mouth shut.”

      “Damn you!” The curse dared him, spurting in his direction from between clenched teeth, and he inhaled sharply, reaching further, his gaze on her full, lush lips.

      “I said not another word,” he whispered, the sound seeming more hostile than a shout. And then his head bent, and she felt her eyes widen as he pressed his lips against hers. His mouth was hard, his lips firm, and she heard a low moan deep in her throat, an anguished cry that protested his touch.

      “Hush,” he whispered, allowing her breathing space for a fraction of time that was barely long enough for her to inhale. And then his mouth was there again, softer this time, persuading her to his purpose, his lips warm and damp against hers.

      His hands slid from their firm grip to encircle her back, and she was drawn across the seat, to lie precariously against his chest. Her fingers clutched for purchase, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and she fought for balance, aware that only his strength kept her from sliding to the floor beneath the seat.

      “Haven’t you ever been kissed?” he asked quietly, easing his mouth from hers, his dark eyes surveying her.

      She shook her head, aware of the flush that rose from her throat to cover her cheeks. Her heart thumped within her breast, an uneven rhythm that caught her attention. His hands held her in place, and she felt the heat of his body, even through the layers of clothing separating them.

      “I’ll do better next time, Chloe. I’d hate to have you think this was the best I can manage.” His touch softened and he lifted her, settling her on the wagon seat, straightening the collar of her shirt with gentle hands.

      Next time? She shivered. If this was any example of the man’s skill, she’d do well to steer clear of another demonstration.

      “I expect you want an apology,” he said, his mouth twitching at one corner.

      “I doubt if I’ll get one, will I?” Her lips tingled, her vision was blurred with a mist of tears and her hands were trembling as she clenched them into fists. And then as she caught a shuddering breath she heard the apology she’d not expected.

      “I’m sorry I upset you,” he said. “But I can’t say I’m sorry I kissed you, Chloe. I’m just wishing it had been for another reason than to get you calmed down and settled.”

      Well, he’d certainly failed at that. Calm? And settled? She’d never felt so discombobulated in her life.

      Chapter Three

      For a week she steered clear of him. Keeping the books was a daily task, one she found more to her liking when being in the black seemed more of a possibility. But discovering a bill of sale tucked inside the cavern of her ledger brought her out of the desk chair with all flags flying.

      “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered beneath her breath, setting off for the barn.

      “What happened to being partners?” Chloe asked. Her anger held on a short leash, she faced J.T. down in the central aisle of the big barn. Lowery was in and out of the tack room, and if she knew anything about it, he was listening for all he was worth. Apparently J.T. shared the thought, for he only glared at her for a moment, then gripped her elbow and shuffled her toward the double doors.

      “We’re not going to argue in front of the men,” he muttered between gritted teeth. “If you’ve got something to say, I’ll listen to it out here, without an audience.”

      “If?” The single word was all she could manage for a moment, and she inhaled deeply. “You know damn well I’ve got something to say.” Her hand was fisted around a yellow slip of paper, and she released it, allowing it to flutter to the ground at his feet. “Would you like to explain just how you figured we could afford a new stallion right now? And what we needed one for, anyway?”

      “I didn’t ask you to put out one red cent,” J.T. said calmly. “I bought him.”

      “And I’m supposed to write that amount on your side of the ledger book, I suppose,” she hissed. “Which gives you the edge, having invested your own money.”

      “Chloe, you’ve got mares dropping foals out there that aren’t going to amount to a hill of beans. They’re only good for pulling a buggy or carrying kids back and forth to school. Wait till you see this stud. You need new blood, or your herd is never going to be worth anything.”

      “What’s wrong with using the stallion you rode in here with?” That his words were true wasn’t the issue. Her father’s stud was old, and he’d been interbreeding over the past several years. But buying a new stallion was a major investment, and now J.T. viewed the news of the horse’s imminent arrival as if Christmas were coming at the end of a lead line.

      “I told you already. His bloodlines aren’t what we need. We’ll use him, too, but this new stallion is almost guaranteed to give us a herd of horses that will make some real money a couple of years down the road.”

      “You planning on being here that long?” she asked tartly.

      His jaw clenched, as did his hands, and she wondered for a moment if she might not have pushed him a bit too far. “Are you bein’ obnoxious on purpose?” he asked, “or is it just your natural disposition?” His hands were hard, callused and strong, and when he used one of them to propel her toward the house, she had no choice but to march beside him. He turned her around when they reached the back porch and deposited her on the top step.

      “I don’t like being manhandled,” she told him, snatching her arm from his grasp and sitting down. “There’s not a man big enough to push me around and get away with it.” And yet it seemed he had. For the moment at least.

      J.T.’s mouth thinned and twisted, his eyes sending sparks that should have warned her off. He stood tall before her, anger oozing from every square inch of his being. “I’m not pushing you around, and I didn’t leave a mark on you, Miss High-and-Mighty.” Bending a bit, he peered into her face. “But I’ll tell you one thing right now. You won’t give me orders when it comes to spending my own hard-earned money.”

      “You had no right to—”

      “I had every right,” he boomed. “The damn horse was on the auction block. If I hadn’t bid on him and bought him outright, I’d have missed the chance to get a stud like that. And like it or not, he’s exactly what your herd needs.”

      “And what’s he going to do for my mares? Put thoroughbred fillies and colts in their bellies?”

      J.T. shook his head. “Better than that, lady. We’ll have a pasture full of paints within five years, horses that’ll be known throughout the state once we get them trained. Do you know that any cowhand worth his salt will pay fifty dollars more for a paint than a solid-colored horse?”

      A glimmer of interest nudged her as his words made inroads on her aggravation. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

      “Because a well-trained paint is the best cow pony you can buy. The Comanches have been hunting buffalo with them for years. We’ll have buyers waiting in line.” He turned to sit beside her, enthusiasm vanquishing his anger, and she listened intently, excitement growing as he spoke.

      “We’ll use the best of your mares for breeding, and concentrate on selling off the stock we don’t need. There’s always a buyer around for everyday mounts, and by the time we weed out the bottom of your herd, we’ll have a crop of foals dropping next spring