wildflowers from its base. “That’s what’s left of it. The winter was hard. We used the wood to keep warm.”
He tucked his shirt into his pants and adjusted his gun belt. His Colt .45 sat low on his hip, cradled in the holster. “Shouldn’t be a problem packing our horses with supplies. We don’t need that much.”
She nodded and paused, contemplating. This trip wasn’t going to be like any trail drive she’d ever taken. She continued to stare at him until his deep voice broke into her thoughts.
“Breakfast is going to be late if you don’t get to those eggs.” He turned and just like that, dismissed her, as if he was the schoolmaster and she, the pupil.
She marched into the chicken coop, her blood boiling. She didn’t look her eighteen years, but Chance Worth would soon find out that Lizzie Mitchell wasn’t a child but a woman with smarts and enough grit to match him stride for stride.
* * *
“We could have taken Juniper. She’s stronger than she looks.” Lizzie didn’t really believe so. Their one remaining mare was comfortable on the ranch, but wasn’t fit for carrying a rider packed down with supplies. Now, she sat on Joyful’s saddle in front of Chance, his arm slung around her waist and wished the trip into town would hurry up.
Smug, he asked, “Then why didn’t you take Ole June into town yesterday?”
“I left her for Grandpa. He was planning to ride out and check on the herd.” Chance thought he’d won his point, but he didn’t know everything.
“He do that much anymore?” he asked.
Lizzie replied with honesty. “Not too much.”
Every day her grandfather had intentions of working the ranch the way he used to, but ultimately, he tired too quickly and she would take up the slack. This spring alone, she’d managed to pull half a dozen calves by herself, a task she’d learned from her father but one better left to someone a mite stronger. Yet, she was proud of her accomplishments and determined to rebuild the Mitchell Ranch doing whatever she had to do to gain that end. Even if it meant riding double on the saddle with Chance—even if it meant dealing with his all-too-sure ways and her queasy stomach.
“Good thing it’s a small herd,” he said.
“If it were bigger, we wouldn’t be in such a dilemma.”
“You think so?” he asked.
“I do think so.” For half a dozen reasons, but mostly because they’d have sold off more cattle and earned enough cash to see them through hard times.
“I guess you’re right.”
It was the first time Chance admitted she was right about anything and she took a measure of satisfaction in that.
With him being so near, Lizzie had trouble thinking at all and every time his breath tickled her neck, she squirmed in the saddle. So much so, that Chance didn’t hold back his complaints, so she willed herself to settle down.
He’s just a man.
Nothing to squirm over, she thought. The scenery’s more interesting than him. To prove it to herself she glanced around, taking in the view from atop Joyful, as the mare ambled down the road leading to Red Ridge. Winter rains had left tall grass and trees that flourished with greenery. The contrast in hues on this land always made her glory in the day; red earth, blue sky and vegetation that stole from a rainbow of colors. She loved living at Red Ridge, loved ranching, but she didn’t love the hardships that had befallen them lately. She hoped to earn money enough on the drive to get her grandfather the true doctoring he needed. Maybe take him to an infirmary where he could be properly treated. He’d put up a fuss about it and refuse to go, stubborn as he could be at times, so Lizzie had never revealed her secret hopes to him.
They reached the edge of town half an hour later, coming upon the Swenson homestead. “Please stop here,” she said as she gazed at the small cheerful house surrounded by a whitewashed picket fence.
“Here?”
She nodded, turning part way toward him. “Yes, there’s something I need to do.”
“That something have to do with what’s in the package you tied behind the saddle?”
“Yes,” she said and as she turned back around, she saw Greta Swenson outside sweeping dust from her front porch.
The woman noticed her and set her broom aside to give them both a wave of welcome. She had the kindest eyes and Lizzie wondered if her mama would’ve looked upon her visitors with the same sort of friendly invitation.
“Hello, Mrs. Swenson,” she called out.
“Mornin’, Lizzie. It’s good to see you today.”
Chance reined in Joyful in front of the house. He dismounted with his usual grace and ground tethered his mare. He stood close and peered into her eyes, waiting with arms outstretched to help her down. Grudgingly, and knowing Mrs. Swenson was watching, Lizzie accepted his gallantry, shaking off another bout of jittery nerves as he held her close and lowered her from the saddle. Once her boots hit solid earth, he released her and she averted her gaze, afraid of what her eyes might reveal. She moved away from him and made quick work of releasing the ties that held the package in place.
With the package tucked under her arm, she turned to Chance. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
But instead of staying put by his horse, Chance surprised her by falling in step beside her as she walked up the path to the house.
“Well, now, we expected you yesterday, but I’m happy to see you today.” The woman with dark blond hair, graying at the temples, wore a gracious smile. “And who is this you brought with you?”
Chance tipped his hat cordially, then removed it. “Chance Worth, ma’am. I’m working at the Mitchell spread now.”
“Well it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Worth. We’re always pleased to have newcomers in Red Ridge. I’m Greta Swenson.”
“He’s with the ranch temporarily,” Lizzie explained.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be a big help to you and Edward.” The woman opened her front door. “Please come in. I’ll get you both a glass of cider.”
“That’d be nice,” Chance said, waiting for the women to enter, before following behind.
They were ushered into her parlor and stood there for only a second before she rushed her explanation. “I came to visit Sarah, but I’m afraid I don’t have the doll you ordered. It’s a long story and I apologize for not honoring my word. If you’d kindly get Sarah, I’d like to explain it to both of you.”
“Of course, Lizzie.” Mrs. Swenson showed no disappointment. She was too nice to make anyone feel badly about anything, but Lizzie was certain she felt bad enough for all of three of them. “My daughter is resting, but I’m sure she’d love to see you. Please, have a seat in here and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get your refreshments.”
They took their seats, one on either end of the soft, melt-into-the-cushion sofa and waited, Lizzie refusing
