The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean

for something charitable to say about my pitiful efforts.”

      “Your cousins would find working on the Lazy P equally difficult,” Victoria said.

      Hannah chuckled. “I can’t imagine Anna Lee and Betty Jo riding astride, cutting calves or mending barbed wire.”

      “Do you plan to teach those fancy manners to the young ladies in town?” Robert said. “Maybe start a school?”

      “No, I’ll work on the ranch as I always have.”

      Matt turned dark censorious eyes on her. “The work is hard, even dangerous. Not the place for a lady.”

      Hannah clamped her jaw to keep from sharing a piece of her mind with Matt, a piece that would not fit his image of a lady.

      “Matt’s right, you’re a lady now.” Papa patted Hannah’s hand. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you marry and settle down with a doctor or lawyer, someone to take care of you, to give you a life of ease.”

      “Zack’s a successful lawyer and single,” Matt reminded them, eyes twinkling.

      A well-placed heel on his instep would wipe that smirk off his face.

      “Zack would make you a fine husband, Daughter.”

      “I’ve got two sons needing a wife,” Robert said, shooting Matt a pointed look.

      Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. “I’m not looking for a husband.” She glared at Matt. “I’ve never been hurt working on the ranch.”

      Papa patted her hand. “Wear those dresses you brought back from Charleston. Practice your stitching and painting. Leave the ranch to the men.”

      The food in Hannah’s stomach churned. What had gotten into Papa? Before she’d left, he’d given her free rein. Now he insisted she conform to his image of a lady. Wear clothing that would impede her freedom and make ranch work difficult. She wanted to please him. But the thought of spending hours confined in the garments designed for the “weaker gender”—though any honest woman would admit the clothes took great fortitude to wear—chafed against every nerve.

      “I’d like to know what all they taught you at that school.”

      “I’d be glad to show you, Papa. I brought back paintings, needlework...”

      “I heard from Mary Esther that you’re a master at elocution.” Papa’s gaze traveled the table. “Who’d like my daughter to recite a poem?”

      Victoria smiled. “That would be delightful.”

      “Oh, ah, maybe another night. I’m...tired from the trip.”

      “I’d love to hear a poem.” Matt’s grin spread across his face. “Nice and loud.”

      Hannah arched a brow. “Why don’t you sing for us, Matt? You’re certainly loud enough in church.”

      “The evening is in your honor, Hannah, not mine. Besides, I’d enjoy listening to a master at elocution.”

      “I would, too,” Robert said.

      Papa slapped his hands together. “That settles it. Before Rosa serves dessert, rise and recite a poem, Hannah.”

      All eyes turned on her. One pair filled with amusement. She wanted to run, but Papa wore a proud smile she couldn’t destroy.

      She scrambled for a poem, a short poem. The only verse that came to mind was by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Hannah’s mind the perfect map of love. How could she recite a love sonnet with Matt nearby, no doubt laughing at her?

      With Papa’s pat of encouragement, she struggled to her feet, hands cold, cheeks as red-hot as a horseshoe in a blacksmith’s forge.

      Matt sprang up and pulled out her chair, then returned to his seat, watching her.

      She glanced at each guest as she uttered, “How do I love thee?” First Robert, Victoria, then Papa. “Let me count the ways.” Her gaze landed on Matt. She jerked it away, focusing on the gilt-framed landscape over the fireplace. “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach...” The words flowed from her. “I love thee freely...I love thee purely...” If she ever fell in love—that if towered in her mind—she’d want this sweet, deep, true love. “I love thee with the breadth, smiles, tears, of all my life; and if God choose, I shall love thee better after death.”

      Robert clapped heartily. “Bravo!”

      For a second she’d forgotten the audience. Her legs turned to jelly and she plopped into her chair. If only the floor would open up and drop her clear to China.

      “Lovely.” Papa’s pale face glowed. “Just lovely.”

      Matt leaned in. “The way you were caught up in that poem, I have to wonder if you’re pining for some gangly boy back in Charleston.”

      “Of course not!”

      Rosa’s arrival cut off conversation. She carried a tray of delicate, amber flan, the dessert of her homeland and normally Hannah’s favorite. But her appetite had vanished.

      The others dug in with abandon, discussing the drought and Cattlemen Association business while Hannah picked at the flan.

      “This dessert makes me think, Matthew. Jenny Sample brought a cake by this afternoon. Said she had extra eggs and knew angel food was your favorite. That’s the second cake this month.”

      A wide grin spread across Robert’s face. “Appears she’d like the job of feeding you permanently. Why, Jenny dangles her baked goods in front of your nose like bait on the end of a line. Fishing for a husband, I reckon.” He raised a brow. “You could do worse.”

      A flush crawled up Matt’s neck. Amused at his discomfort, Hannah giggled. “One of those women you spoke of, desperate to marry,” she said, her tone as loaded with sugar as the dessert.

      Something akin to a growl slid from his lips.

      Victoria glanced at Papa, took in his hunched shoulders, then laid her napkin beside her plate. “It’s gotten late. We should be going. We’ve had a lovely evening, Martin. Please express our thanks for the delicious meal to Rosa.”

      With both hands, her father pushed against the table, half rising to his feet.

      Hannah’s heart lurched. Why, the evening had tired him. “I’ll see our guests out,” she said.

      Papa flashed a grateful smile. “I’ll say good-night, then.”

      While Matt stayed behind, speaking to her father, Hannah accompanied Robert and Victoria to their carriage and waved as they pulled away.

      In the cooler night air, Hannah lingered for a moment, listening to the plaintive sound of a harmonica drifting on the breeze from the bunkhouse. In the moonlight, long pale shadows of outbuildings instilled the ordinary structures with a sense of mystery. She tilted her head back and studied the star-studded sky, bright as diamonds.

      God had created this land long before the Parrish family lived upon it. The land would remain long after they were gone. The permanence of the land and of its Creator slid through her, wrapping her in tranquility. In gratitude.

      Until Matt loped to her, leading his horse by the reins. From the smirk on his face, he’d come to taunt her. At the end of her rope, she hoped he had the good sense to keep his smart-alecky mouth nailed shut. Nothing would give her more pleasure than showing that naysayer she could run the ranch and run it well.

      * * *

      Matt chucked Hannah under the chin. He’d do what he could to encourage Martin’s wish to see his daughter settled in Charleston. “You gave quite a performance earlier. Proof you’re well suited for Charleston’s social life.”

      She swatted his hand away. “Stop trying to stuff me into a box labeled debutante. That’s not who I am.”

      “Kind