

### LET YOUR HEART BEAT AGAIN

A Breath Without Life Novel - Book One

An Inspirational Romance Story

Janith Hooper

Copyright © 2017 Janith Hooper

All Rights Reserved

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All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book, nor the cover cowboy image, may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

**Credits**

Edited by Dr. Holly Smit

Cover design by P and N Graphics

Cover cowboy photo by David Bair

Cover cowboy pencil art from photo by Joyce Geleynse

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

About LET YOUR HEART BEAT AGAIN

(A Breath Without Life Novel - Book One)

_~_ The year is 1960, when men could be men, and women kept the faith.~

One lone woman, four grown sons, one absentee father.

Sent to Cooper Bar-6 Ranch to supervise the household of its bachelor ranchers, Rebecca Harper manages well enough in spite of the betrayals of her past. She cooks and cleans and counsels four of the six strapping Cooper sons as they work themselves to the bone running the ranch. To her surprise, Rebecca sees her usual stiff-armed restraint melt into friendship with these dispirited, good-hearted men. That is, until her comfortably hectic routine comes to an abrupt halt.

The missing father has come home.

* * *

_Breath Without Life novels_ portray seven bachelor ranchers, each so broken down by old wounds that he cannot conceive of ever finding love. Be there when one Cooper after another meets the one incredible woman who can make him whole again.

Every book within this series is a standalone love story, though ranch life circumstances run chronologically through all six novels (yet to come).

# Other books by Janith Hooper

### Harper Ranch Series:

Quaking Heart Novels

Ride With Me

Stay With Me

Fight For Me

### Cooper Bar-6 Ranch Series:

Breath Without Life Novels

Let Your Heart Beat Again

More to come...

# Dedication

To my Beta readers: Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to read this book and give me heart-felt, honest feedback. Your help, and your desire to read my work, means more to me than mere words can say. Without you, the book would be less...

Contents

Copyright

Credits

About the book

Other books by Janith Hooper

Dedication

Begin Reading

Rate This Book

Author's Note

About the Author

# Chapter 1

Rebecca Harper couldn't remember a more perilous drive. Slush dashed down her windshield in sheets. The old rubber on her wipers was shredding with each swipe, soon to leave metal scraping against the glass. Why hadn't she replaced the tattered things long before now? Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of her Nash Rambler until they ached, her eyes straining against the darkened sky and blinding sleet.

There was no one else on the road. No one dumb enough to risk life and limb to be out in a storm like this. Being raised in California's central valley, she'd never had to deal with such changeable weather. Snow, then rain, then gusts of wind, then slush...

She was losing sight of the pavement by the minute; and why did they make these Wyoming roads so narrow anyway?

Something shiny caught her attention. Two shiny somethings. Eyes! Her dad's mantra swam in her head: 'Don't swerve, don't swerve, don't swerve.' All the same, she didn't want to run over whatever creature it was, frightened by the storm.

"Move!" she shouted into the car, ignoring the chant in her head. The steering wheel turned a few degrees to the left under her grip—a subtle course change, or so she thought as she feathered the brake.

Too hard! The back end came around. _Turn into the skid._ She did. Overcompensated. Felt the car drift.

Along with the next flash of lightning, she saw a glimpse of the life she'd lived and its gaping void. Robbed of her life-mate. Stripped of her life's purpose. Her car started to spin. Her heart skipped a beat for lost love, then nearly beat out of her chest. She was going to die.

With each circle round she begged God to spare her. To give her another chance to stop coasting through life and seek out His plan for her.

And then it began—an ear-splitting scrape, a horrid moment of weightlessness, the sensation of being pinned against her seat back as the front end dove. The car crashed down with a screech of twisted metal. Rebecca's forehead whacked the steering wheel. Then all went strangely still and quiet, except for the thumping in her ears and airy sensation in her brain. She noticed every blink as if her eyelids were set in slow motion.

_Think Rebecca_. _Do something._

Then came the pain, waking her to the moment. Dazed, her head lolling against the steering wheel, throbbing in time with her heartbeat, she barely noticed the hiss of steam.

Wake up.

She jerked her head up. Overwhelming vertigo pulled her back down. She conked her head on the wheel again.

Wake up!

"I'm awake," she said back to the phantom thought in her mind. This time, she raised her head slowly. That was better. Glancing around the car, she noticed her purse upended on the floor. Nothing else seemed disturbed. Outside, the headlights glowed hot against a levy of mud and beaten-down weeds. The whole car was at a tilt. The sky beyond was dark as molasses with an occasional flickering of silvery light. And rain. Tons and tons of rain, making the hiss louder and the steam thicker through the cracks of the car's hood.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Rebecca worked at settling her trembling limbs. Another intake of air. _Exhale slowly. Okay. Better._ Here she was. Stranded outside of Sundance-No-One-Around-For-Miles, Wyoming.

Now what?

Take stock. She was breathing, unrestricted. Good. Glancing down at her legs, she moved them, one at a time. A shaky hand to her head revealed a lump already forming. A smidge dizzy, but her vision wasn't blurred. "Okay. I think I'm good. No real damage." She squeezed the steering wheel, forcing the panic to subside. "Now I'm talking to myself. It's okay. It's okay." She inhaled a deep breath to stop her own jabbering.

Nothing to do but wait for a fellow fool to drive by, Rebecca rehashed her latest tangle with the eldest Cooper son. Sure, he'd been left in charge to manage three brothers—one unruly—and an entire ranch, but why did he always have to nitpick her? So what if her meals were less than stellar? She was a darned good housekeeper and a better counselor. With a father she'd never met who had never been there for his sons, other than to strong-arm them into doing chores, the Cooper sons needed all the guidance they could get.

She glanced through the windshield as the storm intensified to a new level of fury, driving torrents of rainwater against her car. A shiver of apprehension snaked down her spine. She pictured Trevor having to slog through the mud to her aid. He'd be furious. She wouldn't blame him. He'd warned her not to go out in this downpour. Had she listened? Oh no. Not righteous, know-it-all Rebecca. She could take on the world, even if she knew nothing about _this_ particular corner of the world.

A flash of lightning lit the interior. A roll of thunder followed on its heels, shaking the crumpled metal surrounding her. She was an idiot. Here she was stuck in a ditch, and by now had worried Trevor. When he found her, he'd save her, then probably fire her on the spot for being such a dimwit. She sagged against the seat back. She already adored the handsome, messy, mixed-up brutes at Cooper Bar-6 Ranch. She was sure she had helped them. How could she leave them now?

Headlights flashed across her face from the rearview mirror.

Oh, thank you, Lord.

Thinking she needed to get out and flag them down, she glanced at the buckets of rain and decided against it. They might not see her and run her over—maybe not even realize they had. Thankfully, the headlights moved to the shoulder of the road, then right behind her.

She focused on the mirror and saw a large man step out of a vehicle. Tugging up the collar of his heavy jacket to just under his hat brim, he tilted his head downward against the assault of rain. Hunching into a jog, he quickly reached her door.

With one knuckle, he rapped on the glass. She couldn't see much in the dark and the icy rain, but his hat brim touched the window, so he was close. Close enough for her to notice a heavy scarf wrapped around his neck and a few days' growth on his chin. She squinted, trying to catch a better look at the man.

He tapped again, snapping her out of her troubled thoughts. She felt the flush of embarrassment when she realized he'd just wanted her to open her window. Taking hold of the handle with shaky fingers, she rolled the window down then shivered at the gust of wet wind that hit her in the face. He moved in closer...to shield her?

When he opened his mouth to speak, the night sky burst with light, and Rebecca saw the most vivid blue eyes and magnificent face she'd ever beheld. Until the boom of thunder and impending darkness circled round them again.

"You okay, ma'am?" he said in a deep, robust voice. Another shiver ran down her spine, not from the cold.

"I...I'm fine." She glanced down at her lap as if to see if everything was fine. "I'm pretty sure I'm fine," she said and hoped he heard her. The wind was picking up. It wailed about her car, sporadically dashing against it.

The man reached up to stuff his hat on harder. "I need to get you out of here. Will it turn over?" He nodded toward her ignition switch.

_He_ had to get her out of here? Was it possible Wyoming men were usually such gentlemen? Sure as shooting, the ones she lived with weren't. She tore her eyes from his, feeling the loss. Turning the key to off before trying again to turn the engine over, her heart sank when nothing happened. "No. I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry about, ma'am." He reached down for her door handle. Tried it. Locked. "Can you unlock the door?" This time, his voice held impatience. She guessed she should have anticipated what he'd want next. Though this man looked like the typical Wyoming cowboy-type from what she could see, she didn't know who he was, for goodness sake. Attractiveness meant nothing when it came to behavior. How was she to know if he could be trusted?

Taking a fortifying breath, she made a split decision to trust him, though she couldn't remember the last time she trusted anyone. She unlocked the door. Then tried to open it.

Stuck. She shoved against it. He pulled from the outside.

Really stuck.

"Hold on," he said. "I'll come around the other side."

Problem was, the other side was half immersed in a ditch. The kind man was going to be soaked, not only by the rain but by the waters that must be racing down the gulley by now. She rolled up the windowpane then slid over to the other door. The car rocked to one side a bit farther. She froze, trapping a breath. When it steadied, she breathed easier. Slowly, she reached to unlock the passenger door, then stretched down to pick up the workings of her purse.

He yanked the door open, thrust out a hand.

"Just a minute," she said as she frantically scooped stuff back into the gaping handbag.

"Now," he barked.

She jumped at the command but understood since the water must be rising. One last scoop into the bag and she slung it over her shoulder, then grabbed the man's hand. An unexpected jolt shot up her arm at the contact, but she ignored it, figuring it was the warmth of his hand to her icy one.

He gave a sharp tug, sliding her out so fast if he hadn't caught her to him she would have ended up in that rapidly filling ditch. He was standing knee deep in the speeding water—solid as an oak. He reached down to lift her into his arms, but she squeaked a protest.

"What? Are you hurt?" he demanded, glancing up and down her body.

"No. No, it's not that. You can't carry me. There's the rain, and the water you're standing in, and there's bound to be sticky mud—"

He glowered, stopping up her words, then bent again to lift her.

She pushed his hand back, determined not to tell him why she didn't want him to carry her. She was 5'8", and though slender, she could blame her weight. All women thought they were too heavy. He was a man. He'd believe that. "I can walk."

"Ma'am—" he started, but she didn't give him a chance to argue.

"I'm too heavy." Her face flamed at the lie.

He stared at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Before she could say anything more, he smiled in full, lighting the dark with glorious white teeth. Then he had the gall to burst out laughing.

If she could have maneuvered enough to plant her hands on her hips, she would have. _How dare he laugh at her?_

Through a lingering grin, he said, "You're getting wet. I'm soaked from the hat down, drowning from the feet up, and you're worried about how heavy you are? You're one strange lady," he said, then laughed some more, scooping her up before she could protest further.

Startled, Rebecca squealed, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

When he slid the first time against the slick bank, she clung tighter. When he slipped the second time, she yelped and buried her face in the wool of his scarf. Goodness, what a stubborn man. They'd likely both end up in the churn of ditch water now.

Surprisingly, he got to solid ground and sloshed his way over to his truck. Opening the driver's door, he flung her in, not so gentlemanly this time.

He glanced back at her car and let out an exasperated growl. "Why didn't you turn your lights off? Did you even grab the keys?"

She gave him a sheepish grimace, then her eyebrows flattened. "You hurried me."

He grunted, slammed the door shut, and made his way back to the passenger side of her little Rambler. Sticking his head into the car interior, he gave her a wonderful view of his backside. She should look away. Yes. She should do that. But somehow her eyes didn't follow her righteous thoughts. Before she could worry anymore about it, he'd switched off her lights, looked to have grabbed the keys, then backed out. He pushed the door hard against the tilt of the car and battering of water from all directions. Before he could step out of the way, the car slid a little more in his direction.

"Watch out!" she shrieked, though she knew he couldn't hear her.

Quick on his feet, he lunged backward and kept his footing, though the water was funneling up his legs, spraying him in the face and drenching him as if he stood in the middle of a geyser.

Finally, he slogged his way out of the torrent and toward his vehicle. Before he opened the door, he ducked down. Rebecca had scooted to the passenger side, so she could only see the top of his back. By his motions, he looked to be dumping his boots of water, then stuffing them back on. When he opened the door, he was out of breath—and out of patience, if the scowl on his face was any indication. He jumped in the truck, looking like he'd taken a swim fully clothed. Yanking off his hat, he dropped it between them on the floor, then started his truck with a roar.

Rebecca searched her mind for what she could say, since she couldn't stay quiet under the best of circumstances. "Um...thank you for saving me."

His head jerked toward her, a scowl still present. "Won't say it was my pleasure, but how about, glad to be of service." His words were curt, but what did she expect? At the very least she'd annihilated his plans, probably his hat and boots too.

She caught his intense gaze and matched it. "Well. Thank you for your service."

Her words seemed to stop him. Or was it that she hadn't let his gaze intimidate her? His attention shifted to her sodden outfit and on up to her stringy hair and dripping face. A sudden shiver hit her. She crossed her arms over her chest, mortified by how bedraggled she must look, when this man, as soaked as he was, still looked absurdly attractive. She'd forgotten to take a coat, and her sweater was plastered to her body, as were her jeans. Her long hair hung in strings down her front and back. She was sure her mascara was streaked down her face. She swiped at her cheeks, just in case.

When his gaze refastened to hers, his had changed. He no longer looked annoyed, but—she didn't know. Something warmer. Feeling uncomfortable now, she reached up to deal with her hair. A quick glance at him told her he was watching. Averting her gaze to the soggy hair she'd pulled forward over her shoulder, she nervously twisted it. Excess water squeezed out and onto the seat. She froze as she stared at the puddle. Her eyes jerked back to his, heat flooding her face as she wiped at the mess. "Heavens! I'm so sorry."

Unpredictably, he chuckled. A pleasant sound. "I think we're way past worrying about my seats." His smile dropped off as he stared into the depths of her eyes. Lightning flashed, making her jump. A few seconds later came the roll of thunder, farther away this time. Still, she couldn't seem to unlock herself from those soulful eyes. It was almost as if they had anchored to her soul.

Time slowed.

Every one of her senses was alive, as if the static in the lightning had ignited them. She was aware of the sheets of rain, the occasional white light, the rumble of the heavens, the world receding to just the cab of the truck and the magnificent man in front of her.

Before she could analyze just what she was experiencing, his hand rose to her face and carefully pushed the clumps of hair still plastered to her cheeks back with his fingertips. Then came his palm, cradling her cheek. Her heart galloped at his intimate touch, though she curbed the urge to squirm. With his thumb, he wiped off whatever was on her cheeks. Probably mud, or the mascara she'd worried about. His touch was so tender, so...so personal.

This stranger, this _annoyed_ stranger, seemed to have guided his thoughts away from their circumstances and onto the attraction she felt as well. But then, what did she know? Her sister Suzannah would tease her that she never knew what men were thinking. She avoided them, so she knew less than zero about the creatures, other than how to corral them when need be. Was she even equipped to trust another man? Was she ready to try?

"You have mud on your cheek."

Ah, yes, see there? She released the breath she'd been holding. Just helping her clean up, then. "Thank you. I'm sure I'm a mess."

Those compelling eyes stared into hers for so long, she began to heat up from the inside out all over again, though she was trembling.

"You must be cold," he said in that rumbling voice, now with an edge of huskiness. He turned and reached behind his seat to produce a blanket. He draped it over her shoulders, then pulled it into her hands at the front.

The contact made her shiver again. She grasped it, laughing nervously. "Do you always carry a blanket to help damsels in distress?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Now she really felt foolish. He was just being gallant. She'd been flirting. She turned her body to face out the front windshield. "I should get back. I don't want to worry anyone."

* * *

Cord couldn't strip his eyes from the waterlogged woman before him. The last few months had been some of the most difficult in his adult life, he was soaked to the bone, annoyed beyond his limit, he craved home, and yet this young woman he'd had to rescue had caught his attention like no other ever had. Who were the people she didn't want to worry? The people he found himself unaccountably jealous over. But he bit his tongue since she'd obviously dismissed him.

Facing forward, he put the truck in reverse to back away from the little Rambler. What kind of genius drove that roller skate in weather like this? He glanced at the half-drowned dolt beside him and all the mud and water that had been slopped into the interior of his brand new Ford pickup on her account. He should have been peeved. But he wasn't. It seemed fitting somehow, considering how he'd earned the truck.

"Where is back?" Cord asked.

"Uh...shoot. Well, I'll direct you. For some reason, I'm not remembering the exact address right now."

Cord grinned to himself. Was that a ploy to stay with him longer? He hoped so. It had been a long time since he'd had such a strong attraction to someone. Too long. "Take your time." He pushed the gearshift into neutral and turned on the radio. Since only static answered him back, he clicked it off, then turned his head to face her. Her wide eyes stared back at him. She wasn't a classic beauty, but that's what attracted him. Her uniqueness. Her nose was long, her smile wide, her skin looked silky soft. "What's your name?"

"Rebecca," she said.

Hmm. That sounded familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure why. As he watched, cute expressions crossed her face in the dimness of the cab, lit by what little dash lighting there was and the ricochet of his headlights against the Rambler. He found himself wondering what all that long hair would feel like once it dried. Earlier, when he had grazed a peek down her body, her clinging clothes barely left anything to the imagination, and his already raging attraction had taken a giant leap ahead. He still remembered the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her against his hands, and wondered if she was as generous with her body as the Widow Mayfield had been with hers. And just behind that thought came an irrational hope that she wasn't.

"Are we going?" her sweet voice broke into his musings.

"Do you remember where you live?" he asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

She jerked her head to him. "Oh. I'm staying with some people. That's why I don't remember the exact address." Then she laughed. A beautiful, throaty sound with an open-mouthed grin. "You must have thought I'd lost my mind. I should have explained."

"It's fine," he said, feeling a thread of disappointment wind through him that she didn't have a permanent residence here. He threw the truck into gear and backed them off the side of the road and into the street. "Which way?"

"Back the way you came. I was on my way to the grocery store for ingredients I forgot for my supper of..." She stopped herself, hesitated, then sighed. "Anyway, that's where I was headed."

"Do you still want to go there? Be glad to take you." Anything for a little more time.

She seemed to think that one over. "You know, I really shouldn't. Would you mind terribly just taking me home? I was on the side of the road for awhile. They'll be worried. I need to get back."

_Who were they?_ he wondered again, making as tight a three-point turn as the truck's long wheelbase allowed.

"I was just coming home from a long time away." He didn't know why he told her that, but she seemed easy to talk to. He enjoyed female company. Clara Mayfield had been anything but a conversationalist, and even carnal pleasure hadn't been enough to compensate for the fact he didn't actually like her. If Cooper Ranch weren't in such serious financial straits, he'd never have taken the job at the widow's spread in the first place.

Home. That's what he needed. The good, uncomplicated haven of messy bachelors.

"Oh? Why have you been away from home?" Rebecca asked, breaking through his thoughts.

He glanced her way. True interest seemed to dwell in her eyes. He couldn't see the color, but those eyes were big, with long lashes, and filled with a refreshing innocence. Relief deluged him, relaxing his tense muscles, and opening his mouth to offer more information about himself. "Managed a ranch up north. The job lasted too long. I'm glad to be back."

"I understand. There's nothing like home. Though I'm kind of glad to be away from mine."

Another glance told him she was still shivering. He turned the heater up. "Why's that?"

"I'm a little old to be living with my parents." She laugh-snorted.

He chuckled. "Was that a snort?"

A hand came up from under the blanket, covering her mouth. "Sawry," she mumbled through her fingertips.

"What was that?" he said, turning his head toward her. When she gave him a sheepish look, he laughed.

She laughed with him, then snorted again. Then they both roared.

"If my dad could hear me now, he'd have a tizzy-fit," she mumbled to herself. Probably thought he hadn't heard.

"Oh, that big a fit, eh?" He said, then chuckled when she gasped.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt this light-hearted. It was good to laugh. Not once did he let loose at the widow's place, and he rarely did at home.

"Yes, he's been trying to teach me to be a lady my whole life. He says snorting is definitely not on the list of ladylike behaviors. Especially in front of a man."

Just then all references to her home life and her dad sank into his besotted brain. May as well put a fire break up now. "How old are you, anyway?"

She sucked in an indignant breath. "A lady never reveals her age, sir. How old are you?"

"Forty-one." There, that should kill anything happening between them.

In his side vision, he saw her stiffen. But only for a second, before she lifted her chin and said, "Just a babe. I figured you were pretty young."

Another unexpected laugh escaped him. Yeah, he felt young all right. Maybe the old saying, 'You're as old as you feel,' was true. He felt as though he'd already shed ten years since tapping on Rebecca's window.

Just then, Rebecca practically bounced off the seat and pointed. "Oh my gosh, there's the entrance to the ranch. I almost let you pass it."

Cord whizzed right by. "No. You're mistaken. That's the Cooper Bar-6 entrance. I know things look different in a storm. Maybe a few miles down?"

"No. Go back. That's it. I know where I am," she said, sounding irked.

"What are you talking about?" He slowed the pickup, finally turning off at a wide entrance to a side road. He threw the gearshift into neutral and turned to her.

"Take me back there. Please." She had tensed. Even her words were pinched. The look of unease is what persuaded him to do as she asked. He didn't want her afraid of him. He'd take her there. Prove to her it was the wrong place, then they'd venture on.

"Fine." Turning the truck around in the larger space proved easy enough. Now he had to let her convince herself she'd been mistaken.

They drove in silence until he reached the entrance and turned in. "Here. This is where you want to go?"

"Yes. Thank you." She pulled the blanket up closer to her chin, as if he'd been after kidnapping her or worse. That made him fume, but he kept it under wraps. Maybe he'd teach her a lesson and dump her there and drive off. Then what would she do?

He wound around the long drive, missing the potholes he knew as well as the face of each of his sons. Catching a glimpse of the ranch house relaxed him. The big two-story dwelling he was so proud of loomed before them. Streams of light came through the large rectangular windows in the front, welcoming him home. Man, it was surprisingly good to be here.

He pulled the truck up to the walkway leading to the front door and stopped—glad the rain had ended momentarily. He slung his arm to the seatback and turned toward her, waiting for her to tell him he'd been right. This was not where she belonged.

She smiled. "This is it! Thank you so much. For everything."

His mouth dropped open, but the words were jammed up in his throat.

She swung the blanket off her shoulders and handed it back to him. The sight of her sodden clothes over that soft body scrambled his thoughts as he tried to make sense of what she'd said.

Grabbing her purse from under her feet, she opened the door and jumped out before he got his tongue untied. She turned back. "Thank you, again. Goodbye." She hesitated, giving him one last look he could have sworn was regret, then clicked the door closed.

Stunned—and a whole lot discombobulated by the big-eyed woman walking toward his own home—Cord saw Trevor open the front door of the house and dash down the walkway toward her, a look of pure rage distorting his features. _Rage?_ Cord was on the ground and rounding the front of his truck when he heard his son berate Rebecca.

"I was just coming to find you, you daft woman!"

"Hold on there, pardner," Cord hollered as he entered their view. "Speak to her that way again and I'll knock you on your backside!"

Rebecca turned back to Cord. "No. It's okay. He has reason to be mad. I—"

"Coop?" Trevor said.

"Apologize to her, son!" Cord roared.

"Son?" Rebecca echoed, looking from one man to the other. "You're _his son_?" she said to Trevor. Then, as if some great revelation came to her, she turned and stared at her rescuer, her face contorting. " _You're_ Cord Cooper?"

Cord was within a couple of feet of her now, as was Trevor. Over Rebecca's head, he glowered at his son. "I said apologize. Now."

Trevor was his height, and brawny as all get out, more so every year. Even though his firstborn refused to call him Dad, he'd pounded respect for women into all his boys and expected no less. Rebecca, trapped between the two of them and nearly a foot shorter, was glaring up from between them.

Cord caught her fierce expression and glanced down at her, momentarily distracted. " _What?_ " he said, a little too harshly.

"So. You're the absentee father!" she said with such force it dazed him. Then she scooted out from the middle of them, marched up the rock walkway and into the house, banging the door shut behind her.

# Chapter 2

Cord's blood boiled. At the way she'd dismissed him. At himself for watching the sway of her hips until she banged her way into his house. His pulse sped, his face heated, the desire to pace barely containable.

" _Absentee_ father?" Trevor said with a sneer and a nod. "Sounds about right."

Cord grimaced but chose to ignore Trevor's verbal jab. "Who is that woman, and why's she going into my house?"

Right then the front door sailed open and three more of his brawny sons stomped toward him, each visibly relaxing as they laid their eyes on him. Whoever the woman was, it was clear his sons had planned to come to her rescue. Even Trevor had reacted protectively. Cord knew firsthand how closely rage and fear traveled together.

He shook Colt's and Brand's hands. Bronc didn't offer. Instead, he said, "Hey there, old man. Found your way home, I see."

Bronc was never one to hold back uncensored thoughts. That hell-raiser child reminded Cord of himself in his youth.

Bronc's eyes stayed locked on his own. "So, came up for breath from the pretty widow, eh?"

Cord ground his teeth at Bronc's blatant subtext and the reminder of the domineering woman. Pretty, yes. Pleasant, no. It didn't go unnoticed that he felt no need to protect her from his son's barbs. Would he have if she were standing here?

"Grab my bags from the back, Bronc—under the tarp." He eyed each one of his sons in turn. "Now, who's going to tell me who that woman is?" He nodded toward a light that had just blinked on in the second story guest room. "The one who's making herself at home—in one of my bedrooms."

"You're the one who brought her home, Coop," Trevor said, clearly seething. "And the one who came to her defense so blasted fast."

"So, Dad. Where'd you get the F-100? Is it a '59 or '60?" Brand asked, always the mediator.

He'd allow Brand to think he'd distracted him. Still, he would get his answers. "Fresh from the factory. 1960."

"Nice," Colt said. "Why'd you pick red and white. You usually go for dark colors."

Cord grimaced. There was no avoiding what came next. "It was a gift. My bonus."

All but Trevor bellowed with laughter. He endured the teasing, something he undoubtedly deserved. Still, where was the respect he'd instilled in them?

Trevor looked outraged. "A gift. For what exactly?"

Bronc strode over and nudged Trevor, hard enough for him to side step.

"Knock it off," Trevor barked, shoving Bronc back.

Bronc skipped sideways until he caught his balance. "What do you _think_ it was for?"

"Stop it! Both of you. It was for mechanizing her hay production, down-sizing her herd, and re-seeding those ranges. Which will help us. Enough said." Though his sons were men now, thankfully those last two words never failed to silence them. He was tired and had already chastised himself enough over the _bonus_ he'd received.

"Now." Cord looked them each in the eye, one by one. "Who. Is. The woman?"

"You brought her home. Don't you know?" Bronc said with amusement in his eyes.

Cord glared at Bronc. "She lost control of her car on the highway and wound up in a ditch. Her car's still there. Have Stogie and Willie dig it out and take it to Ralph's tomorrow. All I know is her name's Rebecca. Care to enlighten me?"

They all looked to Trevor. "The housekeeper and cook, though the cooking part is questionable," he said.

Bronc chortled. "That's for sure."

"'Fraid so," Colt said.

"Hey! I think she does just fine," Brand said. "She tries."

Cord felt a deep dread seep into his marrow. That's why the name Rebecca sounded so familiar. Now he remembered. A slew of curse words tore through his brain. She was Roy Harper's niece and his own nephew's sister-in-law. Young, and far too mouthwatering, she would be living in his home while she cleaned and cooked.

"We'll get another housekeeper and cook," Cord said. He scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the stubble scratch against his palm. When he looked back up, four sets of eyes were planted on him. " _What?_ " he barked.

"Why're you taking our word for it?" Colt asked.

Because he needed her out of here, that's why. Didn't trust himself to have her in his house.

She was young! Much too young.

For him anyway.

He studied the four boys in front of him. Even added the two other sons who had flown the coop to the tally of Cooper suitors. Any one of them would be better matched...

He choked on the thought and covered it up by coughing into his hand.

Bronc narrowed his eyes, looking equal parts suspicious and confused.

Cord waved his look away. "I'm not used to having a woman under our roof, is all."

Bronc harrumphed. "You mean a young filly. Unlike Maria."

Cord gave Bronc a reprimanding glare for the young filly comment. But when Bronc swallowed reflexively after a half-hearted sneer, Cord understood. Bronc missed Maria. They all did. She'd practically raised his sons all by herself, saint that she was. Cord still remembered the day she'd retired and left for Mexico and to a family who'd been missing her for years.

Cord had to watch himself. Of all his sons, Bronc was the one most likely to notice his father's attraction to their young housekeeper. "Let's go in. It's starting to rain again."

Even as Cord grabbed two of his bags, he knew he'd have to go check on Rebecca. She'd been hurt in that accident. He'd seen the knot on her head.

Resolved to what he needed to do, he made his way up the staircase to his room at the end of the hallway. His stomach clenched as he passed Rebecca's room. That was a hurdle he'd have to face every day.

He smashed one bag between him and his door, fingering the knob open, then moved into the room. He dumped both bags near his dresser, then went for the two Bronc had left outside his bedroom door. Dropping them next to the other two, he gaped at the room he'd vacated five months ago. It was spotless. The hardwood floors winked up at him, the mirror over his bureau glistened, there was no dust anywhere. His bed—which he distinctly remembered leaving in shambles—was made up so smartly, he could bounce a quarter on it. The small throw rugs on the floor looked to have been laundered and carefully rearranged.

So, their little live-in was pretty good at her cleaning job. With an appreciative final glance at the sparkling room, he heaved a tired sigh and turned to go check on Rebecca's injury. He stepped next door and rapped with one knuckle.

"Yes?" he heard behind the door.

"It's Cord. Can I have a word?"

"I don't know, can you?"

"What?"

She opened the door and peeked out. "You said, 'Can I have a word?' Did you mean, 'May I have a word?'"

He stiffened. Instant irritation lit his skin on fire. He hated being corrected. About anything. What was she, an English teacher? He ramped up his glare. He would not let her put a ring in his nose. He stayed silent and let his expression say it all.

She raised her eyebrows in question. That gesture opened her eyes wider, giving him a good view of the color that had evaded him earlier—pine green, splashes of brown, a hint of gold.

She paused for another moment, but when he said nothing more, she said, "Okay then, I'll see you in the morning." Not the least bit intimidated by him, she pushed the door to shut him out.

"Hold on there." He stuck a boot in the opening. _Thump._ "Showing your moxie, are you?" he said, knowing his irritation colored each word. "I said, I'd like a word with you."

"Oh. Is that what you were saying?" Her mouth twitched and there was amusement in her eyes. He didn't find it a bit amusing. Especially not tonight. He gave her a brisk nod.

Cord walked through her door and left it open behind him, for her benefit. "I saw a bump on your head. Let me have a look-see."

"It's fine, _Mr. Cooper_. I'm fine. But I am a little tired, so if you don't mind..." She gave him her back, walking toward and gesturing to the open door.

While she was distracted with trying to usher him out, he took two steps and wrapped a hand around her elbow. She jumped but managed to curtail her surprise. He guided her over to the lamp and pushed the shade up.

"Hold still," he said. When she finally did, he used his fingertips to gently move her hair back from her face. Her skin was so soft, and those wide hazel eyes with their multicolored depths were doing unfathomable things to him. Until he saw the question there and realized he'd been stroking. "Uh"—he cleared his throat—"I'm just taking a look at that knot." He dropped his hand. "Do you feel okay? Light-headed? Dizzy?"

Rebecca boldly took hold of his hand and drew him toward the door. "Yes, no, and no." Then she pushed him out of the room and closed the door behind him.

He stood on the other side of the door, stunned. For such a young girl, she sure had spunk. Or maybe disrespect. Seemed like disrespect, and that made him whip around with one hand raised to pound on her door this time.

"Hoping for some late night fun, Dad?" Bronc said behind him on a brash chuckle.

Cord's arm dropped to his side as he swung to face his accuser. Bronc had always had a chip on his shoulder. Cord figured part was personality, part was being the youngest, even if by only a few minutes behind Brand. Of course, it might have stemmed from the fact he never got the chance to know his mother.

After her death, Cord had poured every ounce of his time into raising beef for the war effort. Since he had six sons to raise without their mother and a ranch to run alone, the government didn't allow him to enlist. But he had felt honor bound to serve in some capacity. That left poor Maria to take over the majority of work in raising his six sons, all under the age of five. Thankfully his in-laws had offered some help until they'd died in a car accident on the slick wintery roads of Sundance.

The same dismal regret came over him at the memory. He should have bonded with his boys back then. He often thought his neglect during those early years was what caused Bronc to go to the wild side. But if that were the case, more than one son would have the same problem, wouldn't they? Of course, they all had their issues. He couldn't quite pin down what exactly, but he knew he'd caused them and it was about time he tried to do something about it.

"Hey. Dad. Where'd you go off to?" Bronc said, punching him in the arm as he was prone to do.

Cord shook his head, ridding himself of the same old guilt. "Is there food in the kitchen? My stomach's been gnawing on my backbone."

"Yeah. Brand cooked. Some steak left. Probably a baked potato or two."

"Perfect. Come with me. Fill me in on what's been happening around here."

* * *

Rebecca listened at the door until the two men's voices faded off and the thumping of their boots confirmed they'd gone downstairs. Thank goodness. When Cord had come into her room to check her head, she did indeed feel light-headed and dizzy, but it wasn't because of her small injury. The man smelled wonderful, of man and spice and fresh rain, and those eyes...vivid blue was one thing—the color was extraordinary—but it was the intensity that had sucked the air from her lungs. She'd never seen eyes that seemed to reveal the inner workings of a man's soul and at the same time imprison your own. She'd felt everything he said like it was a tangible thing while she gazed into those depths. _Heavens._ And his strength as he'd propelled her through the room to the lamp amazed her. He was a father of six sons, six _grown_ sons. Forty-one. Way too old for her. Though he didn't seem old at all. He was the most virile man she'd ever met. Here she had lived amidst Cord's good-looking sons for four months now with no heart flutters or stymied breaths. Yet in walks the father of those sons and Rebecca's heart stumbled nearly to a stop.

She patted her chest, trying to coax her heart into a more steady rhythm. It shocked her, the reaction she had to him. Since when did she allow a man close enough to touch her heart?

Catching her image in the mirror made her gasp in horror. Her face was flushed, red as a tomato. Had she been like that the whole time?

Now, ruefully embarrassed, she changed into her usual long nightie, then opened a window to allow the night air to cool her cheeks. Gazing out into the murky night, she absently brushed her long hair until it crackled. The smell of rain on the breeze was delightful. She loved it when it rained. Her dad always hated the rain, as a farmer. Most of the time downpours ruined crops he'd spent months nurturing. So she never told him how much she loved it. More than loved it. She thrived on the way God refreshed His earth while He watered it. Thunderstorms were better yet, with rolling thunderclaps and flashes of lightning.

A flash of light in the distance made her smile. _Yes. Just like that._

_Rap. Rap. Rap._ Someone's quiet knock on her door brought her around. She stared at the door, wondering who it was this time. Her heart fluttered at the thought it had to be Cord. His sons had never bothered her, not once, whenever she closed herself in her room.

Barefoot, she tiptoed to the barrier. "Yes?" she said to the door.

"It's me, Cord. Can I— _may_ I have a word?"

Oh great, now her stomach flipped, joining her erratic heart. "Can't we talk about whatever it is in the morning?"

"It's the morning I want to talk to you about."

She sighed out the pent-up breath. "Okay. Just a minute."

Reaching for her housecoat, she slipped on the bulky, modest robe, cinching it tight, then opened the door. Cord stood on the other side looking rumpled from the drying rain, hair tousled and eyes trapping hers with their magnetic force.

"Yes?" she said, way too breathlessly.

Cord stared for a moment, then stepped in, like he had every right to. She bristled at his boldness, then swung the door wide, leaving it there, backing out of his space.

His gaze dropped to her robe, to her bare feet, then back up to her hair. He combed her hair with his gaze, from the top of her head clear down to where it rested on her chest. She swallowed. Hard. What was it with these Cooper men and women's hair? Her little sister had shared how her husband, Jake, had always been awestruck by hers.

"Okay. You're here now. What about _morning_ did you want to talk to me about?" Her words had come out steady, though she felt anything but.

"The boys tell me your cooking needs...work."

Too stunned to speak, she just gaped. They tattled on her? The little rats.

"Meet me at the kitchen at five-thirty. I want to watch what you do."

"You want to _watch?_ Is this some kind of...juvenile test?" In that moment, she wondered what beyond good looks had attracted her to this man. The counselor in her categorically dropped him into the slot named Control Fanatic, or maybe Obscenely Rude.

"Call it what you want. But yes, I want to watch...that is..." He tilted his head down and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked back up, his features had smoothed out. "I'll find out what their problem is. Get to the bottom of this."

At least that sounded like Cord might want to judge his sons as well. Still, her ire was rising. She wanted to poke a finger in his chest and tell him where he could take himself off to. But she wanted this job. Hard as it had been, she'd loved it for seventeen weeks, along with the men she'd slaved for. So she had to find a way to appease the man in charge, not tick him off.

"Okay." She heaved a resigned sigh. "I'll be there...with bells on."

# Chapter 3

Rebecca was in the kitchen at five o'clock sharp, determined to get breakfast lined up, or maybe even made before the tyrant showed up. She had seethed all night, getting very little sleep, then started right up again the minute she opened her eyes. The more she thought of Cord's condescension, the more she wanted to punch him rather than please him.

Today she would make her best breakfast. Granted, she wasn't the best of cooks, but she did have a handful of recipes she was darned good at, and the Cooper sons would agree. A meal of her special flapjacks, bacon and scrambled eggs, orange juice and coffee. Not hard. Always tasty. He'd see. She could handle this bunch. Even though he didn't call it a test, it sure felt like one.

The bowl of pancake mix was next to the griddle, bacon was frying, and she'd already gathered the eggs from the little chicken coop out back, washed them, and had them waiting in a big bowl ready to crack and scramble. It was really suppers that were her downfall. Brand, sweetheart that he was, helped her often. God bless the man. Colt was good about it, too.

Yet, they had told their dad she wasn't any good at cooking. A frigid chill came over her.

Back to grinding her teeth, she picked up the bowl of batter and began whipping it with furious, rapid beats.

"That's some kind of foul-looking frown you're wearing there."

Rebecca jumped and swung around at the deep voice at her side. The pancake batter sloshed. She tilted the bowl to catch it but overcompensated. The too-loose batter zipped up the side and onto her chest. She squeaked and glanced down. "Heavens to Betsy!"

She flew toward the sink at the same time Cord did, both grabbing for the wet washcloth. Their arms tangled, and the bowl tipped again. When they'd finally ceased their jostling, Cord held the bowl and wore the majority of the batter not only on his chest but on his flat stomach and down his jeans, all the way to his knees. From there, it dripped onto his socks. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

Rebecca felt her mouth twitch. He looked like he'd been the target of a giant bird dropping. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. But when Cord scowled his displeasure, her desire for retribution burst from her, first in the dreaded unladylike snort, then a hardy peel of laughter. Then another snort. She covered her mouth when the snort-laughing threatened to make an imbecile of her.

Cord's eyes went wide, and his lips twitched.

_That was a smile_. _He's trying not to smile._

The revelation stopped her cold. She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at his mouth. The bottom lip was full, the top thinner. It was a hard mouth. An enticing mouth.

A _deceptive_ mouth, because just then, the corner of his mouth twitched up again.

An answering smile spread across her face.

Cord tilted his head down to look at his clothing. "So, you think this is funny." It was a statement, not a question, and when he looked back up, the twitch was gone. A hard stare had taken its place. She recognized it as a father's reprimand. Her own dad had used it plenty while she was growing up. "I have to change. Stay right there." He used his index finger to emphasize the spot where he expected her to remain. "Don't do _anything_ until I get back." He shoved the bowl back in her hands.

Well, of all the—She was not one of his children. He could not bark orders and expect her to pay homage. She swung back, scooped the batter off of her aproned chest, and thumped the bowl back to the counter to begin again.

By the time Cord returned, she had breakfast well underway.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw when he arrived and noted what she was doing. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. "I thought I told you to wait for me."

"Oh, I did. I'm right here," she said sweetly, though her back was to him.

"I meant not to start without me, Duchess, and you know it."

_Duchess, huh?_ She twirled to face him. Put a hand over her heart. "Is that what you meant? Oh, silly me."

The old saying, 'If looks could kill...' Yep, she'd be a goner. "Breakfast is nearly ready. Would you like to call for the fellas, or shall I? Usually, they just show up, ready to eat. Wonder what's changed?" She tapped a finger to her mouth as she studied the ceiling. "Oh, that's right. Their wayward father has come home."

Heat filled her face as she twirled back to flip her flapjacks. Why did she rib him so hard, and what would be the consequences? She didn't know Cord from Adam, only that her initial reaction to him had been what fairy tales were made of. But oh, was she miffed when she'd figured out who he was. The man who'd left his sons to toil in his absence.

Cord laid a hand on her arm and turned her. She jerked at his touch, then stared nearly cross-eyed at the finger he waggled in her face. "Now, see here, young lady—"

"What'd Rebecca do to warrant one of your lectures?" Bronc sauntered from the mudroom to the kitchen and up to the coffee pot.

Cord glanced at Bronc. "Stay out of it, son."

Taking advantage of Cord's small distraction, Rebecca whipped back around, sure her flapjacks would burn and then she'd be in trouble for sure. Frantically, she flipped them, then turned to the son who gave everyone grief. "Good morning, Bronc. How are you this fine day?" The sarcasm dripped, but she couldn't quite keep it out of her voice.

Full coffee cup now in hand, Bronc strode over and parked behind her as he often did. Close. Too close, but it didn't bother her anymore. She'd learned it didn't mean anything. He'd been trying this method to intimidate her for months. It had worked at first. She pretty much ignored him now.

"Why don't you set the table, Bronc?" Cord's voice sounded agitated. Was it Bronc's behavior? Or had she pushed him too far?

Rebecca looked over her shoulder to find Bronc glancing over his own shoulder. "Why Daddy-O? Would you rather it was you standing this close to Rebecca?"

"That's enough! You—" Cord stopped himself, ran a hand through his hair, then blew out a huge breath. "Join me in the office, son."

Bronc rolled his eyes. "Now?"

"Right now."

Bronc groaned but followed his father obediently.

Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. But if she was smart—and she was—she would recruit one of her sisters to help her plan future meals. She'd be sure to give Suzannah or Jessica a call soon to get more recipes. She was pretty good at following those. That is if she remembered to buy all the ingredients. Soon—her heart thrilled at the thought—Suzannah would be her neighbor. Just as soon as she and Jake moved onto an adjacent Cooper parcel.

Now, if Rebecca could only manage not to get fired in the meantime.

* * *

"Sit down, Oats," Cord said.

"Nah, that's okay. I'll just stand right here."

"Always the smart-aleck, eh boy?" Cord sat behind his big mahogany desk and got comfortable. He propped one foot up on his desk, crossing it with the other in hopes of taking the edge of arrogance off his son. "What kind of trouble did you give Bacon while I was gone?"

"What do you care?" Bronc said, then paused, looking contemplative. "You haven't used our nicknames in a coon's age. Why now?"

"Maybe I was reminded there were good times around here once upon a time."

"And you think our nicknames will bring back the old times? News flash, Daddy-O. They weren't all that great."

Cord winced. No, he guessed they weren't. Ever since Millie died, Cord had lost his path. Cracking down on the boys to keep them in line was all he knew. He'd never been unjust, but definitely too strict, and neglectful. They certainly hadn't gotten a lot of 'good times'.

Now, it remained to be seen whether he could change his spots. Or maybe he was too worn down by life's unfair dish outs to alter anything about himself. "Maybe you're right. But it's never too late."

"You think not? Huh." Bronc shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "So, what do you want with me?"

Cord ground his teeth. This boy always called it like it was. He felt the old familiar annoyance rising but was determined not to fall back into bad habits. "Lay off the lewd comments concerning Rebecca."

"Well now, you know the old saying, Dad. If you can't stand the heat..."

"Very funny, Oats. Wild Oats. The name still applies, doesn't it?"

The cocky grin fell off Bronc's face. Good. Better than having to knock it off. He was darned close. Cord ran a palm over his face, mentally battening down his temper. He wasn't even through his first day back, and already the old battle lines were drawn. But his stint with the widow and her empty life had convinced him to do whatever it took to regain a relationship with his sons so they'd want him around in his old age.

He took a breath. "I'm sure Rebecca has breakfast done by now." _Since I doubt she waited like I asked her to do._ "Let's get it while it's hot."

Bronc swung around and exited the room faster than a stallion hightailing it after his brood. Cord looked forward to the day when Bronc reminisced of his wild days and wasn't still living them. He hoped that day would come soon before Cord broke his thumb trying to keep Bronc under it.

Cord clicked the office door shut behind him. Though guilt squeezed his stomach, he needed to send Rebecca away. And to do that he needed a reason. Hoping her lack of cooking skills could be that reason, he moseyed back to the extra large kitchen. But just as he'd assumed, Rebecca had finished preparing breakfast. Her back was to him as she set a platter of flapjacks on the table next to the eggs, and a platter of bacon next to the flapjacks. He was puzzled. The food looked good, smelled even better.

Trevor sat at the head of the table, Cord's usual spot. The glare he wore begged Cord to fight him over the head of the household's spot. Well, he wouldn't. Trevor had earned that spot fair and square. He'd been here looking after everyone at the Bar-6 while Cord had been absent. _Absentee father_. Rebecca was right. He'd been absent for way too long.

Cord took a seat at the other end, across the table from a surprised Trevor. His eldest had been expecting that fight.

Rebecca slapped Bronc's hand as he reached for bacon. "Oh no, you don't. Wait for everyone to sit so we can say grace. Then you can shovel it in."

Cord's mouth twitched at her motherly reprimand. Maybe this was the reason his sons berated her cooking. Maybe it wasn't about her cooking at all.

He thought of his boys as he reassessed the woman in front of him. His sons needed a womanly influence, however young the source. If he could put his own attraction aside and think of what was best for his boys, it could be he'd not have her cook, but not turn her out either. Possibly just housekeeping...and supervising.

Cord watched as Bronc avoided another slap on the hand by reaching with his other. His elbow clashed with Brand's arm, causing Brand to spill his orange juice onto the plate of bacon and on over to the flapjacks.

"Bronco Cooper!" Rebecca spouted. "Look what you've done."

"Get off my case," Bronc mumbled without looking at her.

"Of all the platters of food to ruin," Trevor growled, eyeing the bacon. His glare swung from Bronc to Rebecca. "This meal is the only diddly-dang thing you can—"

"Go ahead and finish that sentence, Bacon, and see where it gets you." Cord's voice was too harsh, unyielding. He grimaced. He'd already forgotten his new resolve to soften his touch with his sons.

Trevor jerked his head toward Cord. The underlying fury had vanished, and Trevor looked younger and sad, all at the same time. "You haven't called me that since...since I don't know when..." His voice trailed off until it was only a muffled rumble.

It broke Cord's heart, that bit of truth coming from the son he'd demanded the most from. "Yeah, well," he heaved a breath. "We need to get back to our roots around here. Maybe your nicknames will help remind us. Isn't that right, Mush?"

Colt groaned.

"Or, how about you, Nilla?"

"That's Vanilla to you, old man," Brand said, but grinned.

"Respect your elders," Cord said, giving Brand a mock glare. "And, of course, I know ole Oats over here loves the idea, right, my man?" He gave Bronc a clap on his back.

Bronc gave him a disrespectful sneer.

"Do we need another conversation, son?"

"No," Bronc said, then averted his gaze.

"Now, all we need is Hot Dog and Beanie."

The grin Rebecca seemed to be holding back finally gave way to a beaming smile. A flood of warmth filled Cord.

"Okay, two questions," Rebecca started, "Which one is Hot Dog and which one's Beanie? And why all the food names?"

Cord answered her smile with a rare one of his own. "Clay is Hot Dog since he's jumped off anything and everything since he was two. It was no surprise he became a Smoke Jumper as an adult. Hunter is Beanie. You want to answer her second question, Bacon?"

Trevor snorted in disgust. "Give the floor to Brand. He always liked the dang nicknames."

Brand ignored his irascible brother and beamed at Rebecca. "Bacon, cuz Trevor always ate all the bacon, never left any for the rest of us if he could get away with it. Mush is Colt's favorite breakfast food, plus he's mush in Trevor's hands."

Colt scoffed. Brand grinned and continued. "Dad explained Clay is hot dog. Hunter is Beanie, cuz beans are all he'd eat 'til he was four when Dad forced him to try just one bite of each food put before him. He ate everything in sight after that. Bronc is Wild Oats, and that one speaks for itself." He dropped his gaze to the table and pressed his lips together. "And then there's me. I'm just plain vanilla."

Cord shook his head. "Vanilla forces other flavors to work together. Peacemaker, that's our Brand."

Brand shook his head, looking disgusted at Cord's words. He pushed his back against his chair and looked away.

Yeah, that had sounded like the father of their youth, not the one who'd left the raising of his sons to Maria. Honest to goodness, he didn't know what other choice he had. But every night, the real cost of running the ranch socked him square in the face. At first, he practically ran past the boys' closed bedroom doors to collapse into his own bed, sad, exhausted, and hating himself for being angry at two infants for his misery. As weeks piled into months, grief waned and a new ache formed, deeper down. Whether pausing to watch them sleep at night on his way down the hall or looking into their bright, expectant faces on their rare Sunday mornings together, Cord felt like a drowning man, clawing his way back to a surface that never came. The boys wanted so little. Just their dad. And he couldn't deliver.

The war ended, his workload lightened—to a small degree—and even still, he waited past bedtime before coming back to the house. It was easier that way, being a stranger to six boys who'd grown into men as broken as himself.

He often wondered, had Maria retired to be with her family? Or to finally force Cord into fatherhood before it was too late?

Rebecca's _absentee father_ label pierced his heart and stuck, and he'd yet to struggle loose of it. Like a trout who'd swallowed the fatal hook.

Bronc caught Rebecca's solemn expression as she watched Brand pull into himself. "Ah, don't let him fool you, Becky-girl. He may appear to be all agreeable on the outside, but oh what a conniver he is. Who do you think always gets me into trouble? He starts it, I finish it. Then I get caught and he's nowhere to be found. Ha! Poor little Brand."

Rebecca glanced from Brand to Bronc and back again, understanding dawning in her eyes. Bronc was sneering, Brand had a small smile tucked into one corner of his mouth.

Cord felt a small smile of his own form. _Well, I'll be._ Bronc must be right about Brand, and now Rebecca had figured it out too. Another tidbit he'd not been around to catch in all these years.

Rebecca got to her feet and picked up the platters of ruined food. "Dig into the eggs. I have extra batter so I'll get some more flapjacks started. You'll have to live without bacon today."

"Hey, wait up there, missy," Bronc said from his lazy sprawl in the chair. Rebecca stopped and turned. "What should we name her, Dad? And while we're at it, how about you?"

"I'm off limits," Cord said. "But Rebecca here is Duchess."

All eyes swung to Cord. "Duchess? Why Duchess?" Bronc said.

"Yes. Why Duchess?" Rebecca pressed her lips together. Her fingers gripped the dishes she held more tightly, a pinched indignation coloring her face. She expected Cord to embarrass her. Well, he'd never been one to disappoint, so he smirked, then gestured from her toes to her head. "See how she's standing? Shoulders squared, spine rigid, no regard for the catastrophe in her hands? Sons, behold royalty. We've got ourselves a Duchess in the kitchen."

Rebecca's jaw clenched. His sons gaped as if he'd gone loco. For teasing Rebecca? Or for his attempt at humor? Maybe it did sound more sarcastic than humorous. Good riddance. He'd asked her to wait for him this morning. She hadn't.

But then, one by one, his sons burst into raucous laughter. He grinned at each in turn before chancing a glance at the Duchess. A flush of pink infused Rebecca's face. The rigid lines between her brows gave away her emerging anger—or disappointment. He couldn't tell which.

He should care he'd riled her, but it was more important to kill his attraction. He forced his thoughts toward the strong personality he'd begun to notice—the real reason she reminded him of a stern Duchess. He'd certainly had his fill of domineering women—the widow had seen to that.

Cord held Rebecca's gaze until she caved, appearing crushed. Her mouth slackened. Her big eyes glistened. His guilt broke free and swept coldly through him.

Still staring into his eyes, she rolled her lips in, then turned to carry her soggy load to the sink, practically throwing the platters in it. He watched as she grasped the sink edge, expelling a few ragged breaths. The need to come up behind her and slip his arms around to nuzzle her neck and soothe her ruffled feelings nearly had him on his feet. But he'd long since proven he didn't have that right.

Instead, he watched as she grabbed the bowl of batter, whipped it for a few turns, then with trembling hands started a group of cakes on the griddle.

Behind her, Trevor was retrieving the platters out of the sink. Cord's lips twitched when Rebecca glanced over a shoulder and gasped at what he was about to do. He dipped the platter slightly to the side allowing the orange juice to drip off onto the dirty dishes, then scooped up the extra limp, juice-soaked bacon in one fist.

Cord chuckled when the Duchess's jaw dropped. Before Rebecca came along, it had been a long time since he felt like smiling. It amazed him how it lessened the tightness in his chest, brought about a homey comfort he hadn't felt in...well, he couldn't remember when.

"Gotta go. Got animals to feed," Trevor said as he stuffed two pieces of bacon in his mouth and breezed out the door.

An upsurge of laughter came from his sons at the table. "Yep." Brand said. "That's our Bacon. You can be sure Dash will get the majority of that soggy mess of pork."

Cord scoffed to himself. Yeah, that dog hogged the only attention Trevor handed out. He'd never seen an animal and human that were closer. Not even himself and his horse, Trapper.

One after another, his sons finished their meals then drifted out the back door and into a crisp, remarkably cloudless morning. Once the door closed for the last time and the warmth of the house swam back into place, Cord watched as Rebecca slipped into servant mode, cleaning up after his negligent sons. Oh, they'd done what they thought they had to in front of their strict father, bringing in their dishes and setting them in the sink. She'd seemed surprised by their willingness to help out. By that observation alone, Cord knew each of his sons had completely slacked for the months he'd been gone, leaving the work to Rebecca. They hadn't been raised that way. He'd made sure Maria had trained them to cook and clean for when they were on their own one day. But it was no wonder Rebecca wasn't an organized cook, leaving ingredients—if not whole portions—out of her meals. At least that's what Trevor had complained about mostly. She'd had to shop, cook, clean up after meals, scrub the house, do the wash, and pick up after the little slobs, which alone would be a task in itself. To have the gall to complain about her meals? Well, that made him hoppin' mad.

His own shame filled him. When he'd first set foot in his bedroom after his return from the widow's ranch, it was apparent Rebecca had scoured it. He was no saint, having left his horde alone with her. And the fact she'd had to handle them, and not just their filth, in his absence made him cringe all the more.

He wasted no more time getting to his feet to join her. Together they moved around the kitchen and each other until finally the chore was done.

Rebecca offered him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes before she pushed past him and out of the room, leaving him to wonder what had truly gone on in his house while he was gone.

# Chapter 4

Guilt rode Cord hard. Had for two weeks since the day he'd returned home. As he mucked out one of the stalls of soiled hay the cowhands refused to let him do whenever they caught him, he pondered how he must have made Rebecca feel about her lack of skill in the kitchen, even frightening her with the possibility of losing her job because of it. Even as her cooking attempts since had barely been adequate, he'd complimented her anyway, hoping she'd forgive his initial rudeness.

Scooping another pitchfork full of hay and manure, he tossed it toward the wheelbarrow, barely making it in. The problem was, he was a bad liar, and Rebecca was too astute to believe him anyway. The outcome had been one jumpy employee and more burned, undercooked, or just plain weird concoctions than he could have imagined.

When another scoop and toss didn't quite make its mark, Cord groaned, then dragged himself toward the spill and re-scooped. His enchantment with the little minx was building and he needed a way out of this whole mess before he did something he'd regret. Like kiss her senseless.

"Fire!" One of the twins' voices reached his ears before his son skittered around the open barn door at a run. It was Brand, face ashen with panic. "Dad! Fire! One of our hay trucks out on the east fork!" He banked off toward the shed where the small fire truck was housed. Cord's heart knocked in his chest at the memory of the hay fire a few years back they'd yet to recover from. Haying was a risky business in an area where moisture and heat caused fires, so buying the older fire truck from the city after the last catastrophe had given him peace of mind. He couldn't afford another fire like the last one. If he lost any more income...

How would he keep Rebecca on?

Cord shot toward the open door, sprinting after Brand, wondering why he was worried about Rebecca right now with the ranch facing potential insolvency. "Is it the truck or the field?" He followed Brand to the shed.

"Don't know," Brand panted out as he gave the door a hefty push, sliding it open.

Cord ran to the rig's driver side and hopped in. "Is the water tank full?"

Brand swung into the passenger side. "Yep. Kept it that way. Just cuz you've been away don't mean we slacked, Dad."

Cord cranked the engine over. It sputtered and caught. He gunned it toward the east road. Trails of smoke lifted to the sky. "Gray smoke. The hay."

"Yeah. Saw the smoke while fixing that fence," he said gesturing to yet another downed fence as they rumbled by.

"Crud!"

"Dad, just say shi—"

"Stop. Don't start bad habits." Cord maneuvered around a pothole the size of a water bucket, silently cursing and promising himself to get them filled before any more rainstorms hit. "Took me a long time to clean up my mouth. Your mother finally got through to me. Or maybe it was when Trev started repeating everything I said."

As they drew closer, Cord saw that the smoke had changed to a caramel brown. He hoped the truck hadn't caught fire as well. He did curse this time, then threw Brand an awkward grimace. "See. Bad habits." Squinting at the hay truck, he said, "I'll get us close."

Two men were on the ground using jackets to slap at what had to be small flames amongst the hay bales stacked six high and four deep. Since all Cord saw was smoke, their efforts were probably fanning the flames, giving them extra oxygen to ignite and take out the whole load.

He halted as close as was prudent. He and Brand jumped out. Reaching into the bed next to the tank, he retrieved two extinguishers while Brand started up the pump. Between the four of them, they put the fire out. He figured it was pure luck that brought them here in time. A lot of the hay couldn't be salvaged, but at least the truck was intact.

Cord glanced over to the two hands, Willie and Stogie, who'd been with the ranch since when his dad was still alive. The two had to be pushing seventy by now. Or, maybe they just looked it; hard, beaten down by the sun, weather, and the brutal work of ranching for forty-plus years. Cord looked them over, wondering why they looked guilty. Willie, his wisp of gray hair usually covering the bald spot now blowing in the breeze, had his eyes to the sky. Stogie—really Henry—was studying the ground, his skinny bent frame looking more bowed. Both ignored Cord.

"What happened here, fellas?" Cord pushed his hat up to wipe his brow. "Where's Trevor? Or were you two geezers planning to cripple yourselves today?"

"You tell him, Willie," Stogie said.

"Why do I always have to do the tellin', you old codger?" Willie said with hands flailing about in outrage.

"Me, an old codger? Heck, you're half a year older'n me."

"Well, all right then. Since I'm older, I'm tellin' you to tell him," Willie said, thrusting a finger at Cord, then crossing his arms to rest on his big belly.

"Somebody better tell me pretty darn quick," Cord said.

Willie scrubbed a hand up his bristly cheek, pushing his loose skin into one eye before letting it jiggle back into place. "Well...Trevor sent us on without him, see cuz he's...ah...he's busy, and while we was ridin' I seen the smoke in my side mirror."

Cord walked to the side of the truck where most of the damage seemed to be. "All I need to know is how this fire got started."

Stogie heaved a sigh. "Oh for cryin' out loud, I'll tell him ya old coot," he said, glancing a scowl off Willie. He turned to face Cord. "Don't rightly know how the fire started, Boss. Far as Trevor's concerned, he's tryin' to send the widder off the ranch."

Cord's head snapped up. "The what?"

"You know, the Widder Mayfield. Come in on the back road."

Cord ran a hand around his nape, blew out an agitated breath. "What did she want?"

Willie shrugged. "Trevor had to jump out of the way of her fancy-pants car. She nearly run him down! He sent her on her way. Leastwise, he was tryin' to when he sent us on. Said he'd meet up with us at the Riley Ranch to deliver. And not to tell you."

Cord scowled, disappointment at his son taking another notch out of the shaky foundation he was trying to rebuild. "He wanted to keep Clara's visit from me?"

"Who's Clara?" Willie said scratching at his whiskers.

Stogie whacked him in the arm. "The widder, you fool. Who'd ya think we was just talkin' bout? Put yer rabbit ears up, will ya? Then put a little foil on 'em while yer at it."

"Okay, okay. Enough said! Do either of you have any ideas about how this fire got started? Were you smoking one of your cigars, Stogie?"

"No, boss. Never round the hay."

Cord kept his gaze clamped on Stogie's eyes. When he was satisfied Stogie was telling the truth, he nodded. "Fine. Take the truck back to the barn. We need to see if we can salvage any of that hay. Then reload for the Riley's."

Stogie and Willie turned back to the truck, but Stogie stopped and swung back. "Forgot to tell ya. Willie and me seen a truck leavin' the ranch afore the widder drove in. Seen a car too while we was on our way out, in case that helps ya."

"Two more vehicles?"

"Yep," he said, then spit on the ground. "Blue pick-up truck, back way. Car, new grass colored, had no top, front way. We only seen 'em from a distance. Thought you should know."

"No top. You mean a convertible?"

"Yep."

"Thanks, Willie. Take it slow. That load might shift now that it's half burned up."

Cord started to his truck until another thought stopped him. He swiveled back thinking he'd ask the two men if they thought the widow may have had the chance to start that fire but then thought better of it. Asking them for an opinion was fruitless. He proceeded on to the firetruck, hauled himself in, and waited for Brand.

Who drove a green convertible? Nah, it must have been Rebecca's green Rambler the old men had seen. Ralph had returned it recently. It wasn't a convertible, but neither Willie nor Stogie's eyesight was any good these days. Though a niggle at the back of his mind said he'd seen a car of that description before.

And why had the blue truck come onto the Bar-6 from the back way? Only he, his sons, and his employees used the back entrance. The road was too rutted and potholed for normal travel so it was closed off to the public.

So why would Clara risk that fancy car of hers on his back roads?

_Clara_. Was she the culprit?

Cord didn't think so. What would be her motive? He rubbed his neck where the tension always seemed to gather. Maybe she just felt a need to wrap things up with him. He _had_ left her place kind of sudden-like. He'd call her. End things proper. It's what he should have done in the first place.

Brand joined him and both were quiet on the way back to the homestead. Cord glanced up at the sky, noting the dark clouds moving over the sun's rare appearance for this time of year, wishing it had been a rainy day instead to prevent that fire. He worried over more loss hacking into Cooper finances. How many more mishaps could they take before they went under?

He hoped he was making the right decision involving the widow in their future.

On the way back to the ranch hub, Cord thought about Willie and Stogie, and how they'd had no real way to put out that fire. Where were the extinguishers that belonged on that truck? He'd need to pin them down on that. Those two were pretty shifty. Good at covering things up, or avoiding them, especially if they hadn't done their job right or if they thought they were in trouble. Truth be told, if they weren't more like family than workers, he'd have booted them out long ago. But somehow the Coopers wouldn't be the same without them. They were both like uncles you accepted as family, but would rather they didn't offer opinions or help out too much.

He took his thoughts back to the blue pick-up. He did know who it belonged to—Clara's foreman, Joe. The man always seemed to flank Clara whenever he saw him. Cord didn't know if it was to protect her, or if he was actually stalking her. All he knew was the man rarely talked, and he'd been with Clara for over ten years as her right-hand man.

"What's your take on the fire?" Brand said, breaking into his musings.

"Don't know yet. Want to have a good look at the spot it first ignited."

"What's the widow want?"

Cord tightened his fists around the steering wheel. "Hell if I know!"

"Now, that's more like it, Dad," Brand praised. "Though Rebecca would probably wash your mouth out with soap."

For some reason, that amused him. His mouth twitched. "Is that right? She do that to you?"

"Heck no. Not me. But she threatened Bronc a few times." Then he started chuckling. "You should see her. She's not exactly short for a woman, but she's small compared to all of us. It's pretty funny. She gets right up in his face—close as she can, anyway—and waves that bar of soap around like she's already scrubbing the air with it. Problem is, Bronc starts laughing, and he laughs so hard Rebecca finally gives up and stalks back to the kitchen. Bronc thinks he wins, but I ain't so sure. He behaves for another few weeks after that."

Cord grinned. She was a fearless little bit, all right. His wife, sweet Millie, had been compliant, amiable, shy even. He'd often thought if she'd been a mare, she'd have been considered too docile to be much good. The widow, on the other hand, was gorgeous, but openly headstrong. Wild, selfish, unpredictable. As a mare, he'd have sent her into the wild or sold her to the rodeo. But Rebecca—he didn't know her well yet, but he'd already seen a few of her qualities. He'd keep a mare like that—spunky, full of energy, loyal to a fault. Time would tell if that assessment was correct. Then he'd decide which one of his _stallion_ sons would fit her best.

"Back to the widow," Brand said, bringing Cord out of his filly evaluations.

"Enough said."

Normally that statement stopped all talk. Not today. "Come on, Dad. It's just you and me. You tell me things. I tell you things. Remember those days? Our roots?"

Cord couldn't help himself. Reminded of Brand's gift to hoodwink, he chuckled. Most people were unsuspecting of Brand's particular talent since the boy was so good-natured. Cautiously, he said, "Depends on what you want to know."

"You take her to bed?"

Cord winced, the guilt of his own bad decisions like a stake to the heart. Maybe if he kept quiet, Brand would move on to a different topic.

"Well?"

No such luck. "Off limits, son." He gripped the wheel tighter, wondering why his nineteen-year-old was already going down these roads. Then he groaned, remembering his own promiscuous days that started at sixteen. Blast. He was glad his sons hadn't gotten themselves into trouble like he had in high school. He just hoped good favor lasted.

Cord had finally gotten a good grip on his carnal propensities following his wife's death. But now, he'd once again fallen into the same trap he'd fallen into in high school and warned his sons against. Cord had been invited into the black widow's den, and he'd gone willingly. He'd forgotten the number one rule about women: they viewed these kinds of relationships differently than men, and usually had an agenda. He should have known better. He'd been _acquainted_ with Clara years ago before she'd married, after all.

As he looked back, it became clear the trouble he'd caused himself, and now it seemed to have begun again.

"Come on, Dad. This is me, Brand. You can tell me."

Cord could see Brand's grin out of the corner of his eye, and that rubbed him wrong. This was his son, not his buddy. They had plenty of buddies and only one parent. "None of your business, Nilla."

"It's Vanilla if you must call me that. Nilla sounds girly." Brand grumbled to himself, averting his gaze to the fields that were beginning to green up following an uncharacteristically dry summer.

Cord followed his gaze to the fields. They needed that green grass for the herd of heifers and calves Cord was bringing in. Another of the perks of working for the widow. She wanted to be rid of cattle to focus on hay and a few other row crops. He'd come up with the plan to buy her cattle and yearlings during those many nights where guilt and restlessness kept him staring at the ceiling rather than getting much sleep. He'd gotten a heck of a buy on her heifers with first calves, especially since he didn't have to pay her for a year when he sold the yearlings for beef. Since the war, he needed to build up his herd. Ready cash was a thing of the past for the Bar-6, so the widow's bargain was going to keep them in business.

He knew his sons didn't understand why he stayed on at Widow Mayfield's for longer than expected. He needed to keep her happy until they made their deal. Of course, he left before the papers were signed, but that was only a matter of time; one visit to her lawyer in town and it was a done deal.

His one regret was having not consulted Trevor before he'd made the decision. His firstborn knew this ranch better than he did, and Cord had left him in charge. Now he could only hope he hadn't created one more rift between them.

Cord parked the fire rig next to the equipment barn, and both he and Brand bounded out. He leaned back in to grab his hat then stuffed it on his head. The hay truck sat at a perfect distance from the barn, still smoldering its previous wrath. White smoke at this point. That was good.

Cord strode up next to the truck where Willie and Stogie were standing. Stogie had his usual cigar stuck in one side of his mouth, but it wasn't lit. He often kept it there when he couldn't light up, just to have something in his mouth. Willie, on the other hand, was chomping on a piece of straw.

"Well, boys. Figure out what caused your fire?"

"Nope," Willie said.

Stogie elbowed him. "Stop being glib. Boss asked you a question that needs answering respectable-like."

"How?" Willie looked truly baffled but peered back at Cord. "No, sirree."

Stogie groaned. "You sure as Hades don't get no better with age."

Willie scuffed his feet in the dirt, then raised his chin to face Cord. "We don't know what started that there fire, boss. Stog wasn't smoking, just like he said."

Cord studied the spot he'd seen the men fanning with their coats and pointed. "Start here?"

"Seemed to," Stogie said. "Not sure, though."

Brand perused the entire truck, then rejoined them. "Yeah, it was there."

"Okay. What I want you boys to do is unload this truck. Brand will help with the heavy lifting. Sort the bales. Good ones leave on. Add more to make up the load for Riley's. Bad ones pile out here. We'll take them to the burn pile later." Cord gestured toward the darkest ashes amid the charred hay. "What's that I see?"

"What you see, boss?" Willie said, squinting at the place Cord was studying.

Cord bent down, dug around under a pile of blackened hay, and pulled out the object. Willie, Stogie, and Brand all came forward to inspect it.

"Isn't that your magnifying glass, Willie?" Brand said.

Willie scratched his head. "I was wonderin' where that thing went off to. Couldn't read a dang thing in the paper this here mornin'."

_Willie!_ With the sun today, the glass was all that was needed to start that fire. It wasn't likely it would be that easy, but it was sure possible. Cord looked Willie in the eye. "Could be you set it down while you were helping load the truck yesterday."

"Nah, don't think so, boss."

Cord scrubbed a hand down his face, exasperated, but convinced Willie hadn't purposely done anything wrong. He should have retired these two years ago. "Just clean out those damaged bales. Rileys are waiting on their shipment."

Cord started for the firetruck but then turned back. "Brand, make sure you get this crate moved out of here quickly. The cattle are due in from the Mayfield Ranch any time now."

"Yeah, I know. Trevor's been ridin' everyone all day about it."

Once Cord backed the firetruck into the shed and closed the double doors, he ground his teeth when he saw a cloud of dust coming up the main road. Too small for the cattle truck, so it was a negligent visitor. People drove way too fast on ranch roads; in the summer dusting the animals, the feed, the crops; in the winter, deepening potholes, destroying their private road. He put his feet in motion, prepared to dress someone down.

Halfway to the house, he got a good look at the low stretch of red sparkling in the sunlight—a brand new Caddy Coupe de Ville. Big, ostentatious, and fire-engine red. Same color as his new truck. The widder. Ha! But the joke was on him. Groaning, he debated whether to turn back and help with the hay truck. But he could see the set in the woman's shoulders as she steamed up the walkway to the house. He knew that determined walk of hers. Better to get this over with and send her on her way—for good.

Then it hit him like a head butt to the chest. Rebecca was the only one at the house.

# Chapter 5

A loud banging on the front door brought Rebecca's head up from the finishing touches to another apple pie attempt. Twisting her lips in agitation, she assessed if she could leave the dough just now. She sighed, resigned. Anyone who worked or lived at Cooper Ranch knew better than to pound like that. It had to be a visitor. A dreadfully rude visitor.

Swiping the back of a floured hand across her forehead, trying unsuccessfully to push her hair back to where it had escaped her ponytail, Rebecca marched to the door.

More pounding set her teeth on edge. She wiped her hands on her apron and cranked the knob. The door whipped open, and Rebecca made no attempt to slow it.

A stunning woman stood on the other side. Fascinated, Rebecca swept her gaze over the voluptuous creature with the styled long brown hair, pearls at her ears and throat, and a tight cashmere sweater in beige with matching slacks. She bore a deep scowl.

Goodness. What a contradictory package she made.

Big chocolate eyes under thinly arched brows seemed to widen as she swept her gaze up and down Rebecca, an expression of pure disdain on her flawless features. "You must be the cook everyone in town is talking about. Hasn't Cord fired you yet? I heard he had."

Rebecca's heart dropped along with her mouth. She was wrong. This woman wasn't rude, she was downright ill-bred. With a tight smile, Rebecca's words were cold. "May I help you?"

"Oh my, no. There's nothing you could do for me. I'm looking for Cord."

Another well-aimed barb. Whew. She should have put on the armor of God before opening that door. But no problem. Rebecca was known to have a sharp tongue when needed. "You'll probably find him out in the pasture." Rebecca glanced down at the woman's strappy high heels. "Ah, but look there. You'd probably sink to your ankles in manure." Then she met the woman's eyes and smiled. "Sorry, can't help you."

Just when Rebecca was about to close the door in the woman's face, she caught a glimpse of Cord, striding up the walk with purpose. Her heart sank. Drat. Ten seconds later and this highfaluting female would have been dismissed.

Cord, all confidence, and masculine grace trod up and stopped a few feet behind the starchy miss. The woman obviously heard him coming since she executed an exaggerated twirl to face him. Her billowy slacks shifted around her long legs, then flowed back into place. The sweater stayed taut around her full bust and tiny waist.

Suddenly, Rebecca felt like Ma Kettle. Probably looked like her too, especially with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, sporting an oversized apron with flour everywhere, as if Tinkerbell had sprinkled her with stardust. Come to think of it, her forehead probably had paste on it, since her own perspiration had mixed with the flour and tightened her skin.

Cord doffed his sweat-soaked hat as he took a quick look up and down Rebecca, then wiped his forearm across his face. Was that to wipe off sweat or cover that shadow of a smirk on his mouth? Rebecca lifted her chin in response.

Cramming his hat back in place, he grabbed the other woman by the elbow and escorted her into the house.

Rebecca shut the door behind them and watched.

Cord swung the woman back around. "Rebecca, this is Clara Mayfield. Clara, this is Rebecca Harper, my...my housekeeper."

Clara tried to cozy up closer to Cord, but he took a step back. "You don't want to get too close. I stink."

Well, that seemed crude, even for the roughest of cowboys, Rebecca thought. She didn't know Cord well, but what she did know of him had shown his intelligence, his polish. She rolled her lips in and bit down, trying not to look pleased.

The lady Mayfield seemed taken aback. Not used to this kind of treatment?

Then it hit her. Mayfield...the _widow_ Mayfield.

So, this was where Cord had been for the last five months. No wonder she was acting so...possessive. And no wonder Cord had been interested in staying longer. Though she seemed to be a first class witch with a capital 'B', she was exquisite looking. Rebecca could just imagine someone as overtly virile as Cord drawn in by someone like her. Hauled in, more like. Men were such suckers.

Clara turned to rake her eyes over Rebecca again. "Your housekeeper? Not your fired cook?"

Cord choke-coughed.

While Cord tried to compose himself and the widow patted him on the back, Rebecca wheeled around and skedaddled to the kitchen. So, Cord _had_ planned to fire her. How dare he tell the whole town before he had the decency to confront her?

Facing the now half risen dough, Rebecca seized it with both hands, squishing the gooey mixture between her angry fingers. _Push, thump, smack_. She worked over the dough. How could he do that? Embarrass her in front of an entire town? _Thwack, roll, pound._ Why? Did he dislike her so? But when she'd run off the road into that ditch, he'd helped her, had been attentive. He'd even been attracted to her, or so it seemed. But now that he knew who she was, he wanted her gone?

Would she go? Should she go? She sniffed, reached up with a shoulder and wiped at the sweat on her face. Or was it tears? She only cried when reminded what Jesus suffered to save mankind, or at sad movies. Why would she cry over a man? _Thwack_.

"Beating that dough into submission?" Colt said from the doorway to the mudroom. She hadn't even heard the back door open. But then, Colt was quiet that way—with his speech, with his actions.

"Oh...hi." She sniffed again, not wanting him to hear, but if she didn't sniff, her nose would surely run and that would be bad for the dough.

Colt disappeared for a moment. She heard two boots drop onto the mudroom floor. Colt strode back in, stocking-footed and determined until he was right at her side. Lifting a hand to her face, he gently edged her hair back to her hairline. He pulled his handkerchief from a back pocket and held it to her nose. "Blow."

She shook her head. "No. You don't have to do that."

"I know. Blow."

With a side glance and sheepish smile, she did as he said. What a kind man. Ever since she'd arrived months ago, Colt and Brand had been her best allies. Brand sweet. Colt long-suffering.

Using the corners that were left unsoiled, he dabbed at the tears on her face. "What's wrong? Never seen you cry."

A squeal, then a phony laugh came from the other room.

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh." Colt matched her eye roll. "No need to explain."

She looked into his blue eyes, so much like his dad's. "What are they to each other?" Her voice sounded pinched. Re-examining her words, Rebecca searched for others not sounding so jealous or desperate, then set her voice an octave lower. "I mean, why is she here?"

Colt studied her face for as long as she held his gaze, which wasn't long. Turning back to the dough, she gave it another thump, then grabbed two pieces of waxed paper to roll out her crust. Sticking the wad between the two pieces, she pushed the roller down into the mixture to give it a start, then began rolling. Or, at least, she tried to. The dough had grown hard and sticky. A bad combination for pie crust. As she pushed the rolling pin, she hoped Colt would enlighten her. He didn't. A shrug was her answer. She never knew if Colt was unconcerned, uninformed, or just a whole lot smarter than most men since he rarely gave answers.

But tenacious was her middle name, so she pressed on. "Well?"

"Ignore them. It's Dad's problem."

_And mine_ , she unexpectedly recognized. Shoot, shoot, shoot. She couldn't fall for a man she'd only known for a few short weeks. Certainly not one who was seventeen years her senior. Questions swam in her mind with no answers in sight.

Should she wait to be fired?

Leave now?

Light footsteps—and heavier ones—rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. Every muscle in Rebecca's body seemed to stiffen, just like her dough. She pushed hard against the botched concoction. All she managed to do was roll the waxed paper into a u-turn. She pressed it flat and tried again. Same result.

"My, my, my. What are you trying to butcher here?" Widow Mayfield said over Rebecca's shoulder.

Anger exaggerated Rebecca's movements. She rolled hard toward herself, accidentally sinking an elbow into the woman's stomach.

A loud squeal pierced Rebecca's ear. "You clumsy oaf!" the woman erupted.

Rebecca twirled around. "Oh. I'm so sorry." And she meant it.

Cord was surprisingly silent, whereas the ever aloof Colt sputtered once before he spewed a small stream of coffee on the counter. "Whoops." Then he was gone, padding away in his socks, out the way he came in.

Cord strode to the sink, grabbed the dishrag as if this were an everyday occurrence, and cleaned up Colt's mess. He didn't say a word. Not even a mumble to himself.

The widow shot him a glare. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Cord said as he rinsed the rag at the sink.

"What do you mean, _see what_? She elbowed me in the stomach. Hard!"

"You were right at her back. You saw that she was using a rolling pin."

"Oh for—you think she didn't do it on purpose?"

Cord threw the dishcloth in the sink with a _splat_. Never once looking at Rebecca, and with his lips set in a thin line, he grasped the widow's elbow then moved her through the doorway. Rebecca knew she shouldn't do it, but something made her tiptoe to the door jamb and peek around it to see what Cord would do. He kept hold of the widow's arm while he opened the front door, then carefully stepped her over the threshold. "Have a nice day, Clara," he said while swinging the door shut.

Her eyes went wide with shock. "See you in the—" _Clunk._

Rebecca scrambled back to her task like she'd never left it. New feelings expanded within her. How long had it been since someone stood up for her? She couldn't remember when anyone had. She put her weight into the dough. With each roll, it got stiffer.

"I think you should give up on that...whatever it is," Cord said at her back.

"What?" She twisted to face him. He was so close, her shoulder brushed his chest as she turned.

He nodded toward her project. "Your dough. I think it's spent."

She tried not to laugh, but the twinkle in his eye and the smirk on his mouth were too much for her. A giggle slipped through. He added a chuckle, and soon they were both laughing, with amusement, with relief, and with something else entirely.

But the widow's words soon seeped through.

When Cord saw her smile drop off, his did too.

Rebecca tried hard to give him a meaningful glare but she worried it looked more like a plea. "Are you firing me?"

"No!"

"But it's all over town that you did. Or are planning to. Why would you do that, Cord?" She tried to lower her brows, take the whine out of her voice. "Tell the whole town before you talked to me?"

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Taking a step back, he looked down into her face. "Here's the thing, Rebecca." He tossed a glance at her dough. "You aren't a cook."

She puffed up, ready to fight back. To give her reasons.

"Hold on. I'm not firing you."

Relaxing a mite, she decided to listen. It was hard for her to do most times.

"I'm shifting your responsibilities a bit." He bit the corner of his lip, bringing her gaze there. He had a beautiful mouth. Surrounded by whiskers he hadn't taken the time to shave today, those lips were enticing, wet from his uneasy chewing. Her attention shifted to the long half moon creases on each side of his mouth, noticeable even when he wasn't smiling—like now. They seemed to point to his strong, square chin and its slight indentation, not quite a cleft. Standing this close, she could see the wisps of gray lightly sprinkled throughout his dark hair, a few more at his temples. Heavens, the man had a tantalizing maturity about him. When her gaze came home to rest on his striking sapphire eyes, she realized his words had stopped and now he was staring back at her.

Heat suffused her face. She dropped her gaze and fluttered a blink, embarrassed he'd caught her admiring him. She whipped back around and gathered up her mess of dough, then squeezed past him to the waste can, dumping it. A pitifully loud thump made her want to flee out the back door, escape all that had happened in the last hour. But she had to buck up, hear him out, or plan on a long drive back to Harper Ranch.

She stared hard at the dough trying to ooze its way out of the waxed paper, then turned slowly back to confront her fate.

Cord had his arms crossed over his chest, a cool expression on his face, waiting for her attention.

"Okay. I'm ready. Hit me with it."

His mouth twitched, that imperceptible smile probably no one else recognized as such. She knew it was, though. The crease on that side of his mouth always deepened. Just a bit. He pulled a chair out for her. "Sit down, Duchess."

She was beginning to tolerate her nickname but felt her face crumple over his command. "I'm going to need to sit? Oh, my." Her legs gave way, though, so sit she must.

He turned his chair to straddle it. He still looked amused. _The dog_. "Don't look so worried. I'm going to put you to work. Work you're apparently used to, according to Jake."

"Jake?" She perked up. "Have you talked to Jake?"

"Yes. Yesterday. I caught up with him by telephone. He and Suzannah are coming here within the next few weeks. Jake's exact words for you: 'Tell the lass Suzannah will be by, aye?'"

She smiled at Cord's perfect Scottish burr, all the while wanting to jump up and down like a child at her own birthday party. "That's wonderful! I miss her so. And Jake, too. Hard to believe about that, though, aye?" She couldn't hold back a beaming smile.

Cord's return smile looked amused and grateful at the same time. Had he been worried about her reaction to a job shift? He reached up and ran his long fingers through his thick hair, making it stand up in clumps. His dishevelment and lip biting only made him more captivating in his vulnerability.

"Jake says you used to work with your father outside on the farm."

"Yes, that's right. I loved it." _Could it be?_ "I helped with the animals mostly. And driving a tractor or the harvester. Also helped with the rain machine.

"The harvester. No kidding." Cord looked impressed, then puzzled. "Wait a minute. Rain machine?"

"That's what my dad calls it. It's just a movable pipe and pump system for irrigating the row crops. Works well, but is a lot of work." She blew out a breath, then laughed. "Before the rain machine, you should have seen me try to use the siphon tubes from the small ditch to the field. Anyway, I have never been able to master that skill. Dad does it so simply."

"Yeah, well, that takes strength and timing. A man's muscles and big hands are needed."

She bristled a little at that notion but had to agree, contemplating the muscles Cord and all his sons exhibited. A shudder of dread shimmied down her spine, forcing her gaze away from Cord's. Would she be able to manage ranch work? Or would she indeed lose her job in the end? The idea of running back to Harper Ranch with her tail between her legs made her knees feel like jelly. Worse yet, if she had to move home to California and face the mother who'd thought she found Rebecca the prime location to catch a husband...

No. It wouldn't come to that.

* * *

"You'll have to tell me more about the rain machine," Cord said, grimacing at the sudden gloom on Rebecca's face and feeling a need to ease her mind. "But for now, how do you feel about helping out with the animals?"

She raised her bright eyes back to his, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Colt wants to train and sell stock horses. Some mares he'll keep for breeding, eventually. A couple of stallions to stud out, others he'll break then sell. Maybe even add some rescued and abused horses to the mix. It's been Colt's passion, the rescues. They'll be part of the Bar-6 operations. I tried to keep Colt's concentration on cattle since I don't foresee horses needed as much as beef cattle in the future, but he's bent on trying. It's time I let him." Regret at his non-existent support in the past flashed to the forefront, but he pushed it back.

Why was he telling Rebecca so much of his plans when he rarely even talked to his sons about the future of this ranch? "It helps that Jake will be living close. He's got some great training methods he's willing to teach Colt. He may even become a partner."

Rebecca gave him a wide smile. The radiant hope literally brimming from her stopped him cold. He found himself studying her, each unique smile line in her face, and how her eyes looked almond shaped when she beamed up at him like that. Her straight white teeth should be too large for her mouth, yet they were stunning.

Cord coughed, bringing himself back to his point. "So, I thought you and Colt could work together." He had a plan. That given time, Rebecca and Colt would fall for each other. Only, the minute that thought played out in his mind he wanted to haul it back, surprised at the ache in his chest. He tried to match her hopeful smile, but couldn't quite get his mouth to cooperate.

"Sure. That would be fun. Would Colt be telling me what to do, or you?"

His mouth twitched over her frankness. Though the widow was also blunt, her remarks were wounding whereas Rebecca's were unusually naïve. True innocence. It had been a long time since he'd seen that particular attribute. "I'm always the last word, but Colt will be your immediate supervisor. You'll be working closely together." Another pang hit him. He ignored it.

She hesitated, cocking her head to the side as she observed him. Finally, she graced him with an approving smile. "Yes. I can see myself working closely with Colt."

Why did she repeat 'closely'? He hadn't really meant 'closely', just 'in the vicinity of'. Like in the barn and the corral and the pasture. _It's what you want—what has to happen._ Though he felt his face cloud over.

"Colt's been wonderful since I came here. Helps me, watches over me. You know."

Maybe the kids already had a connection. Cord shifted his gaze out the kitchen window at the ominous clouds hanging over the Black Hills. How was this going to work if he couldn't get a handle on his own baffling emotions?

"What about the cooking and cleaning?"

He jerked at her voice and snapped back to the moment. His eyes wandered back to hers. "Here's the thing. The boys have gotten slack. They're grown men, for cryin' out loud. I want them to do their share of household chores. Clean their own rooms, help with the shared bathroom, do their own laundry. You can still do the deep cleaning. Does that suit?"

Her face lit up. "Yes! I've been trying to get them to pitch in all along, but they rarely listen to me when it comes to housework. They figure it's woman's work."

"Well, no more excuses for them. They're big boys now. Don't need a mommy looking after them." He grimaced, then jumped back in. "Not that I'm calling you their mommy."

She grinned. "And the cooking?"

In an instant, Cord's man-in-charge performance crumbled to uncertainty. For a second time, he scrubbed a hand through his hair, nibbled on the corner of his mouth. "I, uh...Clara will be here tomorrow to cook breakfast. You're off the hook." Then he grinned, showing a smile he'd used to dazzle his wife all those years ago. The same one that had gotten him out of trouble a time or ten.

Her mouth shot open. "Here? In my kitchen?"

Cord started to remind her who's kitchen it was but thought better of it. "Sorry, Rebecca. It's just for a few meals. Until we find a decent cook." He winced. Wrong words. By her expression, a slap across the face would have hurt less. He hadn't wanted to involve Clara. Had argued against it. But she'd dug in her heels, hinted that their _cattle and_ _yearlings_ deal was still pending. It was easier to give in.

"I see." She bounded from the chair and hustled out of the room.

"Wait a minute. Rebecca."

She scrambled for the stairs.

"Rebecca!" He shot after her, but she was surprisingly fast.

"It's fine," she called over her shoulder. "I'll talk to you later," she added, but he thought he heard her voice crack.

By the time she reached her room, he was right behind her. She flung her door open and flew through it, swinging it closed behind her. It slammed on his boot with a _thud._

"Rebecca," he said in the voice he used to soothe a skittish foal. She held the door against his boot, not offering him entrance. "Let me in. I want to explain."

"Don't. I get it. I was never the cook in my family. I understand. Really. Goodbye, Cord." She pushed at the door, but it only bounced off his boot again and swung open further.

Before he could get a good look at her face, she twirled on her toes and crossed the room to the window. Wrapping her arms around her middle she stood and stared out. The window was cracked open, and the sweet smell of coming rain permeated the room.

Cord never meant for her to feel inferior. He moved up behind her and touched the top of her shoulder. She jerked.

"Easy now." His fingers curled against her blouse. He was surprised at how small she seemed under his hand. He kneaded the muscle there, though with the first caress he knew it was a mistake. He should have never touched her. "Listen. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm glad you've been here to take care of my boys—"

"They're not boys," she interrupted, still facing away from him.

Was she grasping at straws to get past her hurt? Trying to insult him? "Well now, it would sound funny to thank you for taking care of my _men_ , wouldn't it?" he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

She turned then, causing his hand to drop off. Her eyes met his with a look of sternness all their own, though the glistening gave her away. "They _are_ men. Every last one of them. Taking care of _your_ ranch while you were out gallivanting with Widow Mayfield."

Stunned by her cruel, true words, he teetered between retreating or lambasting her—when what he truly wanted to do was sink his nose into her glorious chestnut mane. But he could see she wasn't done. He forced himself to remain rooted to the spot.

"Now, either fire me or get out of my room!" She thrust a finger toward the door.

Cord was speechless. Before he could come up with a response, she placed a hand on his chest and pushed. He didn't fight her, just backed up under the pressure. Once he was out in the hallway, she dropped her hand. "And don't come back in unless you're invited," she bit out, then slammed the door in his face.

"Well, I'll be..." he said to himself, feeling a twitch on his mouth.

# Chapter 6

Bacon drifted into her sleep-deprived mind. Trevor is Bacon. She smiled sleepily. What funny, cute nicknames Cord had given his children. Such a man thing to do to help ease the way of raising six sons alone. Sudden sympathy flooded her, then guilt for how she'd treated Cord yesterday.

She sat up, swung her legs to the floor, and rubbed her nose. Bacon. The thought was back. She drew a deep breath in through her nose and instantly knew why. The smell of bacon filled her room, making her stomach rumble. And then she remembered. She dropped her head in her hands. The widow was here. No doubt completing a scrumptious breakfast bright and early for all the Cooper men. Something she herself was incapable of doing. At least not smoothly. That hurt. She was a woman, she should innately know how to cook.

Sitting on the side of her bed, the hard questions formed. Should she go down like nothing was amiss and join them? Endure the widow's gloating? Watch the men shovel in her delicious creations? Or stay in her room and brood.

Leaping to her feet, she balled up her fists. She was not a brooder by nature, so yes, by golly, yes. She would traipse downstairs as if nothing had changed and brave whatever the widow dished out.

Once she visited the bathroom, thankfully free of any male presence, she went back to her room to dress in her cowboy garb for ranch work. She chose full legged dungarees that had seen better days but fit well over her boots, and a threadbare denim blouse pushed up at the sleeves. She wanted to be one of them, to be functional. To heck with trying to outdo Miss Fashion Statement. God had made Rebecca Harper different than the widow, so trying to compete was impossible and ridiculous. The widow was a frilly female while Rebecca was a bonafide tomboy, the same as her oldest sister, Jessica. Rebecca loved the outdoors, the animals, even loved a good sweat under hard physical labor. She cringed a little. Her mother would reprimand her for even thinking the word 'sweat'.

After brushing her hair until it shined, she pulled it into a high ponytail, then took one last look at her freshly scrubbed face. Her hazel eyes seemed too large in her too fair skin without the usual touch of makeup, but she was done trying to impress anyone. She grabbed her straw cowboy hat and tattered jeans jacket, then bustled down the stairs, already feeling more lighthearted.

When she entered the kitchen, Cord was headed for the table with a coffee mug in hand. One glimpse of her and he halted abruptly, swishing coffee over his hand. Wincing, he shook it off, then dried his hand on his pants without once taking his eyes off her. His lazy gaze wandered down from her sassy ponytail and scrubbed face to her scraped-up boots. By the look on his face, he hadn't believed her about working outside or maybe didn't think she'd done much of it. She smiled to herself. Her work-worn clothes told the story.

Bronc and Trevor were busy filling their plates with food, but Colt and Brand looked her over with appreciative expressions. With a lopsided grin, Colt gave her an affirmative nod, then shifted his gaze from her to his dad and back again, his grin growing into a smirk.

Flustered, she averted her attention to the coffee pot behind Cord. She knew what her face gave away and couldn't risk any of his sons finding out about what felt like a schoolgirl crush she had on their dad.

The silence in the room brought the widow's attention away from the stove and to them. Rebecca couldn't help but notice how extraordinary the woman looked in her crisp blue and white checked house dress with large square pockets at each hip. The brown piping at the neckline matched her eyes, as she turned them on Rebecca's outfit, then grimaced in disgust. Rebecca sighed in defeat, seeing the widow with her perfectly coiffed hair in her perfectly ironed house dress, making a perfect breakfast with perfect long hair bobbing past her shoulders. Even her makeup was perfect. Apparently, an apron wasn't even needed. So add perfect neatness to the flawless package. Goodness, but the tidy woman looked the part of an obedient little housewife, creating a glorious spread of food for Cord and sons.

Instant nausea made Rebecca rethink breakfast of any kind. But as she finished taking in the scene, she understood even more why Cord had spent three months longer than planned in the woman's company.

_Oh well, no competing, remember?_ With a sigh of concession, Rebecca dropped her jacket and hat on a kitchen chair, strode up closer to Clara, and squared her shoulders. "What can I do to help?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cord's pleased expression.

"You?" The widow looked shocked, then burst out with a nasty laugh. "Oh no. There's not a thing you can do. I'm sure the men would agree."

"No," Cord said, sporting a scowl that matched his word.

Clara looked confused as she centered in on Cord. "No, what?"

"No, I don't agree."

"Me neither," Colt said from the dining table.

"Ditto," said Brand.

Bronc and Trevor were concentrating on their plates with mouths full, but both were shaking their heads 'no'.

"Go ahead and fetch the condiments, Rebecca," Cord said. "I'll get the orange juice." He handed Rebecca the mug of coffee he'd been holding. "Here's your coffee. I'll get your cream." He'd noticed she took cream?

"She is not needed, Cord," the widow stated in a terse whisper that Rebecca easily heard. "I can handle everything."

Cord leaned in slightly. "But you won't. This household runs on team effort."

The widow tried to step close to Cord, but he crossed his arms, deftly keeping her out of his space. Rebecca wanted to shout her delight but forced herself to behave. She set her coffee at a place on the table and returned for the butter, syrup, ketchup, and hot sauce. Oh, and of course, she mustn't forget the mustard for Bronc. Such a weird condiment for a breakfast like this. But he liked mustard on everything, it seemed.

Clara puffed up as she watched Rebecca. "You will _not_ put ketchup and hot pepper sauce on my table. And mustard? Who uses mustard for breakfast food? Besides, my food does _not_ require such aid as yours must."

Rebecca kept an even tone as she gathered items out of the fridge. "The men like it."

"They will not need it, I assure you," Clara said, glowering, then turning back to flip eggs.

"Maybe not, but I'll bring it to them just in case." It was so much fun sweetening her tone while the widow added acid to her own. Rebecca was so elated the men had come to her defense, she felt buoyant. Practically buzzing with renewed confidence.

When she accidentally clunked down the group of condiments too hard, all eyes came to her. "Sorry. I'll just sit now." She settled between Brand and Colt, then folded her hands demurely in her lap, watching the widow at work. After all, maybe she could learn something from the older woman. The _older_ part made her smile.

"What are you grinning at?" Bronc asked in between bites.

She pressed her lips together to remove her smile, then tried for distraction. "Why are you eating already, Bronc. We haven't said grace yet."

Trevor froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, then dropped it to his plate with a rattle. Bronc kept right on eating around a smirk.

"Put your fork down," Cord said to Bronc. "You want to do the honors, Rebecca?" Cord's words were clipped.

"No, thank you, Cord. I think you should."

He looked stricken. Because he didn't want to say grace? Or was it because people didn't usually deny him?

"Why?" he asked.

"You're the head of the house. It's fitting."

The widow turned from the stove then, bringing with her a plate of perfectly fried eggs. She used Cord's shoulder as she leaned in to set the plate down in front of him. She smiled into his face, then added, "Why ever do you put up with her suggestions? Especially about such old-fashioned traditions."

He tilted his head up to her.

Rebecca bristled. If the rest of the group hadn't been there, she was sure Clara would have planted a kiss on Cord's mouth, she was so close. She was probably used to such behavior with him since he'd lived with her for so long. A thread of jealousy slithered up Rebecca's spine and straight into her thoughts. How had they lived? Had he been welcomed only in her home, or also in her bed?

"Grace, you mean?" he said to Clara, breaking Rebecca out of her green-eyed musings.

"Yes, that's what we're talking about. Grace."

Cord glanced at each of his sons. "Their mother wanted it done at every meal. Past time we started again."

Clara looked miffed at the mention of his wife.

"It's a bit outmoded, isn't it?"

Any smart woman would have shut up by now, so what did that say about her?

Cord glared at her, then dismissed her by turning back to those at the table.

The widow harrumphed, then hurried back to the kitchen, a smell of burnt bacon permeating the air. Sure enough. She soon came back with a platter of overcooked bacon—some with blackened edges—parking it on the table before she herself sat.

Rebecca put her napkin to her mouth to stop the grin. Glancing around the table, she saw Brand and Colt were having the same trouble. Bronc was too busy heaping more food on his plate, and Trevor had his eyes on the platter with a look of horror as if she'd presented them with a butchered pet—bacon lover that he was. _Undercooked_ bacon lover, that is. Rebecca had always made sure a third of the platter was undercooked, for Trevor. In fact, at every meal, the Cooper men had very different tastes. That had been half the reason for her tardy or less than adequate meals.

"I like limp bacon," Trevor grumbled.

"Got any _scrambled_ eggs?" Bronc put in.

"Any fried over hard?" Colt asked.

Rebecca chuckled to herself, wondering what she could do to add to the amusement. After all, for four months she'd endured their demands for their own particular tastes. With a sigh, she decided against it. As much as she disliked the widow, her own empathy welled. The woman was trying, and pleasing this crowd was difficult on the best of days.

"What is this about?" Cord said, scowling at each of his sons in turn.

"It's what Rebecca was doing. Didn't you notice?" Brand admitted, throwing in with her as usual, God bless him. His brothers all glared, rumbling their protests at him. Brand was always the one most forthcoming in spite of the brother's protests. "She's catered to our preferences for months."

" _Preferences?_ Preferences be hanged," Cord hollered, making Rebecca jump. "You'll eat what's put before you." He turned his attention to Rebecca with an intensity that could split atoms. "That's why it took so darn long to get food on everyone's plate?"

She shifted only her eyes to each Cooper at the table and, as expected, received very different expressions back. What could she say that wouldn't land her in more trouble with this family?

She opted to ignore the question. "Let me get the jam and honey, Clara. I forgot, they all like different stuff on their pancakes." Without another thought, she was on her feet, escaping to the kitchen.

"Hold it right there, Rebecca!" Cord said.

Rebecca wanted to tell him to go hang himself. Instead, she stopped at his command but kept her back to him.

"Bronc. You wanna get your rear-end out of that seat, and go get the items Rebecca just mentioned."

It wasn't a question, and Bronc fumed a little before he eventually skulked toward the kitchen.

"Now then. You boys will not—I repeat, _will not_ —make demands of the cook any longer. If you have special _preferences,_ you'll make the food yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Brand said.

Trevor heaved a sigh but otherwise didn't respond.

Colt gave a quick nod.

Bronc moseyed back in with strawberry jam and honey in his fists, looking like he'd slam them to the table. At the last minute, he set them carefully amidst the other condiments and sat back down. "Aye, aye, Captain," he finally said. When he realized Cord wasn't going to stop staring him down, he saluted.

The two men glared at each other for a few seconds longer, then Bronc finally gave in and bowed his head.

"Lord," Cord began, closing his eyes, "thank you for this food we are about to eat, and for the hands that prepared it. Guide us in the way we should go. Amen."

A few 'amens' echoed Cord's, then chaos ensued. Rebecca waited, as she always did, to retrieve what might be left.

She noticed Cord watching her while his face filled with color. "Stop!" All four, plus Clara, froze in various positions of food retrieval and looked up. "That's another bad habit that will stop today. Rebecca will serve herself first. Is that clear?" Cord's disgust was palpable.

"Yes," Brand said.

"For crying out loud, Brand. You goody-two-shoes," Bronc admonished.

"He asked a question. I gave him the courtesy of an answer."

Cord's neck turned crimson. "Why is it everything I—or Maria—taught you boys has gone right out the window?"

"You've been gone for five months, Daddy-O. Whenever the cat's away..." Bronc said around a mouthful of hot cakes.

Trevor glared. "Shut up, Bronc."

Cord swung his gaze to Trevor. "And that. We won't use that term around here again."

Then everyone started talking at once. Mostly protesting the time Cord was away, and how Trevor had run things differently.

Cord came to his feet, and his chair tipped and crashed to the floor. "All right. I get it. I was gone. Working."

The widow rose and came to stand behind Cord. She laid her hands on the muscles of his back. He tensed. A few rubs down his back and he sloughed off her hands, moving around the table a few steps.

Clara glared, planting her hands on her hips. But then her expression changed as her bottom lip slipped out in a full pout. Men would probably call it a pretty pout, but Rebecca thought it was a bit juvenile.

"It doesn't mean things should fall apart around here," Cord went on. "All right. After breakfast, once Clara has gone home,"—he glanced at the widow— "thank you, Clara, for the nice meal, we're going to have a family meeting. So plan on sticking around."

The men groaned, but continued passing the food and then digging into their plates. The rest of the meal was awkwardly silent. Rebecca found it interesting that without conversation the sight and sounds of the group resembled happy pigs in a pen of slop.

For her, a feeling of cheeriness overrode any agitation the widow might have caused. She found it hard not to break into song over the revelations hitting Cord from all sides. He was finally realizing how things had gone for her for the four long months of enduring self-absorbed—yet she had to admit, decent and hardworking—sons of a questionably adequate father.

Maybe God did have a plan for her time here after all.

* * *

"The name's Clara Mayfield, Charlie. You know me." She removed her car coat and hung it on the hat rack by the door.

"Sorry, ma'am. Have to ask everybody their full name or Mr. Phillips will have my head on a platter and served up to the nearest—"

"Yes, yes, I know." Why did her accomplished, intelligent attorney hire such hicks to run the front office?

"Sit on down, Mrs. Mayfield. He'll be right with ya."

She winced at the flagrant misuse of the English language. It seemed, besides her lawyer, Cord was the only man with an education in this town. It was as if these residents lived in the Hole-In-The-Wall Gang era when the town's namesake, Sundance Kid, still lived here. No one had evolved since then. If it wasn't for Cord, she'd go absolutely berserk. It was why she was so determined to cement their _relationship_.

The door to the back office opened and her seasoned lawyer, Stanley Phillips, stepped through it. "Go on in, Clara. Have a seat. I will grab your file then I'll be right with you."

_Right with you_. See, that was the correct way to form that sentence. Charlie was an idiot. She entered the elegant office and glanced around. Stan, on the other hand, had class. The large mahogany desk gleamed with polish, as did his leather chair, the Dieffenbachia plant next to his desk on the right had grown another leaf or two since she was here last, and the Philodendron plant on the left had been carefully wound around two support sticks, looking healthy and cared for. The only plant that looked sickly was the fern hanging from one corner. _I could help that plant_ , she thought nonchalantly. A green thumb was only one of her many talents.

Stan Phillips took that moment to breeze past her to his chair. The door clicked shut behind her. Charlie's one ability.

"How are you today, Clara? You look elegant as always."

She did. Today she had on her apricot ensemble—slacks and low-cut sleeveless silk with a gold belt at her waist. Gold jewelry sparkled at her throat and ears and wrists. One last glance in the mirror before she'd left home, and she knew she could get Stan to do anything she asked.

Though getting him to do what she wanted this time might be a problem. Then again, she always enjoyed a good challenge.

"You know that contract you're working on for me, Stan? The one where Cord Cooper will owe me for the cows and calves?"

"Of course. I have it ready for you. You should have brought Mr. Cooper. We could have finalized it this afternoon."

She shook her head, then tilted it provocatively. "No, Stan. I have something I want you to add to it."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

He looked confused, or maybe skeptical. No matter. She knew he'd do it. He always did. "I have a clause I want you to add to the fine print. Somewhere in the back."

Stan lowered his chin as he raised a brow. "Where it will be missed?"

"Now, would I suggest such a thing?" She batted her eyelashes. "If Cord doesn't read it all...well, I can't help that, can I?"

"You do know I usually go over the information in these contracts with my clients."

She pursed her lips and shook her head in reprimand. "I'm your client, Stanley, not Cord. I'm planning to take the contract with me and get him to sign it. One less thing for you to do."

Stan grasped the back of his neck and squeezed. She knew he hated fudging. But for her, he'd do it.

"Fine," he finally said. "What do you want me to add."

"I want you to add a clause that says he must be married to me or face monetary damages, loss of property, maybe even jail time."

Stan's eyes widened, then he threw his head back into a hardy guffaw.

She waited, a solemn look fixed carefully on her face.

He caught her serious gaze and stared. "You aren't serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"No." He jumped to his feet and paced the small space behind his desk. "You've asked me to do a lot of things, Clara, but this can't be done. At least I've never done it before."

"Stan." She crossed her legs, then swung the loose one seductively. "You know anything can be put in a contract. _Anything._ As long as both parties agree. You taught me that."

He shook his head adamantly. "Now, Clara. This is not something you want to do. Think of how he will feel when he reads this, or when you're pressing him for the marriage he unwittingly signed up for. He'll hate you for it. Is that what you really want?"

"Oh, Stan." She grinned her famous dazzling grin. "You silly man. No one ever hates me. You know better. Besides, Cord has already told me when his sons get used to the idea, he'll make an honest woman of me." Cord didn't actually say those words, but he'd probably thought them. After fighting for every ounce of attention in her life, she was looking forward to settling down with the one man who satisfied her in all things. She wasn't about to let him go.

Stan blushed, actually blushed, at the true meaning of her words. "I doubt that," he mumbled to himself, though she heard it...and chose to ignore it.

She rose and came to him, stopping him mid-pace to rub his back up and down. Using her authoritative voice, she said, "Sit down, Stanley."

He did, ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, and huffed a breath. He stared at her, seeing the determination he knew he couldn't beat. He sighed heavily. "A compromise, then."

"A compromise?" she asked, disappointed.

"Yes. A compromise. The only thing I'm willing to add is a clause saying he has to be married. That is done sometimes, since married men are more stable, more likely to pay their debts. But I refuse to add a clause saying _whom_ he must marry...in a cattle agreement." He waved a hand and scoffed.

She was having a hard time ignoring his reaction to her brilliant idea. But she needed to coax him, not come up against him. Crossing her arms, she tapped one coral fingernail on her chin. "Hmm. Maybe that could work. I mean, who else would he marry? I'm the only woman in his life. And you're right, bachelors are less likely to pay their bills. So this would be just me ensuring he did as the contract stated. A good woman helps her man. And a good man is faithful to his wife, isn't that right, Stanley?"

That last statement was for her philandering friend. Yes. There was that look of fear. She'd known about Stanley's infidelities for years. And he knew that she knew. What a grand world this was. She grinned again, and Stanley groaned. Yes. Grand world indeed.

# Chapter 7

Rebecca grabbed her purse and slung it over her left shoulder, the chain handle clinking against itself as she went in search of a Cooper man. Anyone would do. She'd heard the thud of boots being discarded in the mudroom earlier, so someone looking for lunch was about to be waylaid.

At the sight of Cord pouring himself a cup of the strong coffee brew she'd just made, her stomach flipped and heart stuttered. She wanted to slap those two organs into submission, then remind them why risking hope again was a bad idea. A painfully bad idea.

Cord hadn't seen her yet, having turned back to gather a plate with one of her sandwiches. It gave her a stealthy moment to appraise the handsome figure in front of her. When he caught her watching him, she felt a sudden need to sit and collect herself.

Before she had a chance to do that, his gaze landed on the purse currently sliding down her shoulder. "Where're you off to?"

She hiked her purse back up. "We need groceries." A hardy inhale and she was back to herself. "I was hoping to convince Colt or Brand to take me to town since my car is being painted today." They rarely trusted her with one of their own trucks after the Rambler incident.

Cord nodded. "I'll take you. Let me wolf this down first. Join me." He pulled out a kitchen chair for her before flipping another backward and dropping into it. He took a big bite of the egg salad sandwich. "Mmm. This is good, Duchess."

The surprise on his face sent up her hackles. "I'm not lousy at everything, _Cordell_."

Cord bit down harder on the next bite. She'd heard he hated his given name. Well, she didn't much like Duchess, either. So they were even. Maybe now he'd stop calling her that. She couldn't help herself, she dug deeper. "I'm told the name Cordelle means _rope_. You should use it. Kinda apropos for a rancher, don't you think?"

Annoyance vanished from Cord's face, replaced by that small twitch kicking up one side of his mouth. " _Apropos_ ," he repeated. He huffed a breath that was more of a chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose."

He nodded to the chair he'd pulled out for her. "Sit, Rebecca. We'll eat, then go."

She gave him a wide smile as she sat. She loved it when he was amused by her _college_ _speak_ , as her family called it.

He handed her half his sandwich. They didn't talk while they ate, shifting between stares at one another, to knowing smirks, to full grins. He even winked once. It was playful and fun. Free of tension. The first real interaction Rebecca deemed positive since the night he'd rescued her. It was nice.

She wiped her mouth, then smiled sweetly at him.

He did the same, then rose. "We should go."

The weather was blustery, but not actually rainy yet, though the dark clouds said more of it was coming. Such unpredictable weather in Wyoming. How did they plan ranch work around such uncertainty?

They were both quiet on the way to town. Not uncomfortable in their silence, more peaceful, lost in their own thoughts. Something she could definitely get used to.

When they reached Sundance, Rebecca casually perused the store fronts as they drove by. Not many people were out today, given the weather. Cord pulled the red pickup into a parking space at the front of Decker's Market, then reached across Rebecca to open her door. The contact of his arm across her waist sent tingles dancing down her spine and into her legs. "I'll pick you up in, say, half an hour? Do you need more time?"

She cleared her throat. "No, that's fine. I don't have that much to pick up."

Cord reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, handing her a few twenties. She nodded her thanks, then hopped out of the truck, nearly crumpling on weakened legs. She caught herself on the door handle, hoping he didn't notice. She straightened and draped her purse over her shoulder. "See you soon." She slammed the big red door and gave a little wave.

Grabbing a cart, Rebecca quickly strode down one aisle, then another, whipping items off the shelves, hurrying so Cord wouldn't have to wait for her once he returned. She strode up to the meat counter and perused the chicken selection. She loved beef, but living on a cattle ranch meant chicken sounded like heaven right about now.

"Coopers run outta steaks?"

Rebecca swung around to a stocky cowboy, not much older than her and easy on the eyes. He took a step closer. She backed up two. A frown of confusion creased his forehead, then it was gone.

"Stick with me, sweet thing, and I'll feed you lobster." He grinned and patted his stomach.

What did he want? She pulled the cart between them. "Oh...well...that sounds interesting. But, no thank you."

He laughed and an old familiar burn of acid started up her throat. Why did he find that amusing? Had she missed something?

"You must be tired of all those stinky cowboys by now." He stuck out his hand. "Name's Buck Matthews. I own the only surveying company in town, down on Cleveland Street."

Rebecca hesitated but didn't want to be rude. These people lived in a small town. Being friendly came naturally. Wasn't that all this was? "Rebecca Harper," she said as she placed her hand in his. She gave his hand a quick shake, then let go. Or tried to.

Buck held on. "You all right? You look a mite pale all of a sudden."

"I'm fine. Really." She didn't feel fine, though. Why was she still reacting this way to men her age?

Buck glanced around. "No place to sit here. How about I buy you a cup of coffee across the street? You can sit, let the blood come back to your face."

"No!"

Embarrassed for the outburst, she cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I'm in a hurry. I need to keep shopping. But thank you anyway." Rebecca glanced around, half hoping for an audience by now. No one was near. She tugged her hand out of his. "It was nice to meet you, though."

He studied her eyes. Why did men do that? What did he hope to see there? He reached out to grasp her arm. She leaped right out of her skin.

"Hey," Buck said with what she guessed might be true concern in his voice. He was frowning with worry. She wished he'd release her, but he looked hesitant to do so.

Words escaped her. The room spun. She felt light-headed. Black dots spotted his face.

He didn't say another thing, and that was good since her heart beat so loudly in her ears she feared she wouldn't hear him if he did speak.

"Rebecca?" came a familiar male voice from behind her, grounding her instantly. Relieved, she pulled in a huge breath and her vision cleared.

Cord swung an arm around her waist for support and at the same time Buck dropped his hand and backed up. "What's going on here?" Cord asked.

"Hello, Mr. Cooper," Buck said. The unease in his greeting explained everything. Cord was a well-respected rancher in these parts. Buck thought he was in trouble.

Now that her brain seemed to be getting back its blood supply, she grimaced at her odd behavior. The scene with Buck had somehow unleashed painful memories and old reactions. Ones that should have long since been dealt with instead of boarded up and avoided. But Cord. His behavior baffled her. She'd never had a man protect her from another man before. And she hadn't even needed rescuing.

The young man held out his palms in surrender. "Sorry, Cord. I didn't do anything. I mean, Rebecca here seemed to be locked in a bad dream."

Cord glanced at her, then nodded at Buck. Had he seen the whole episode? Did he realize she'd come unhinged for no reason?

"I'll take it from here," Cord said, then reached a hand forward and shook Buck's hand.

Buck nodded at Cord, then her, before he turned and scuttled off.

Rebecca pulled away from Cord's hold, not wanting to meet his eyes. She stared at the selection of meats behind the glass, not really seeing anything, and faced for the first time what she'd been doing for the last several months—locking herself away with a bunch of work-driven cattlemen at a remote cattle ranch far from her home and her past. And it hadn't changed a thing. Not one thing.

She ran her hands down her jeans, then rubbed them together trying to gather herself. Groceries. That's why she was here. She'd only collected half of what she needed.

Finally, she forced herself to look up at Cord to discuss the meats but hesitated when she saw his grim expression.

"Tell me the truth, Rebecca. You all right?"

The backs of her eyes burned as tears threatened. What was it about sympathy that unleashed stinking tears? Ridiculous. It had been no big deal. Except it was. She'd come to Wyoming to escape who she was, find a better way to live.

She pushed back the waterworks. "I didn't get all the shopping done." She peered up into his face, waiting for her reprimand as Trevor had given her many times in the past for not being fast enough with the shopping.

Cord searched her eyes—that deep stare that always penetrated her hidden secrets. She didn't mind it when he searched the same way Buck had. Why was that?

"Ah, Sweetheart, come here."

And then he did the unbelievable. Right there in Decker's Grocery, in front of God and the butcher and every milling patron, he held out his hand to her. As if on his personal tether, she took the two steps back to him and straight into his warm embrace. He didn't say anything more, just breathed her in and held her close.

That did it. Tears welled in her eyes as he used one hand to press her head against him. She blinked furiously, trying to staunch the dratted things, then swallowed to rid herself of the lump. She thought she'd been successful, but when he finally leaned back to look at her face, his own creased with worry. One of his thumbs came up and wiped the maddening tears off her cheeks. She stilled under his tender touch.

But she didn't want to be this person either, so needy and weak. Sucking in a breath, she backed out of his embrace.

* * *

Cord trailed behind Rebecca as she resumed her shopping. Her reaction to Buck seemed over-the-top to him, but there was no doubt it had impacted her. He'd never seen her cry before, even after the accident where she could have died.

Rebecca finished her shopping in record time, and they were soon packing the bags behind the seat in the pickup truck, Cord watching her every move. She was pale but functional.

Once they were back in the warmth of the cab, Cord plopped his hat between them and aimed the truck in the opposite direction from home. One more stop.

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder toward home. "Where are we going?"

"Feed store. Colt asked me to pick up some oats." Cord shot a side glance at her. "Has this happened before?"

"What? Me shopping?"

"No, Duchess. Men, flustering you."

She sighed a forlorn sound. "Well...not really...it's happened."

Cord gripped the wheel tighter. He had a bad feeling about this. " _Not really?_ Or, _It's happened_?"

On another glance, he caught her nervously pushing her hair back. She inhaled a ragged breath. "It's nothing. Just forget about it."

"Rebecca—"

"No. Really, Cord. I don't want to talk about it."

Her voice was so small. Who was this woman, and where had the confident firecracker gone who'd taken his home by storm and had thumbed her nose at the nearly impossible job of shaping up his sons?

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw when she turned toward him on the seat. Maybe now she'd talk to him. Instead, she stared at his profile for a few long moments as he took them out of town toward the feed store. Every few seconds a gust of wind bumped the truck, but Cord ignored it, more disturbed by the bump to his gut. Worry wasn't something he wanted to waste time doing, but it had him in its grip right now. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you were hassled by men in town. I would have sent one of the boys with you every time, or better yet, come myself."

"Oh my goodness, I wasn't hassled. All men here in Wyoming have been perfect gentlemen. It's just me..." She turned back, gazed out her passenger window. "Besides, you've been busy running the fence lines with Trevor and putting out hay fires." She turned her face to him again. "By the way, when I ask what's going on at the ranch, your sons tell me to ask you. So, what's going on?"

He shook his head. "Wish I knew. For awhile I figured it was just bad luck, the incidents were so sporadic—unrelated. Now I wonder whether someone has it in for us." He slowed, eased around an uprooted bush blown into the road, then sped up again. "Have you seen anything unusual?"

"Besides a woman who's gone out of her way to show up every day to cook you breakfast? That kind of unusual?"

Her words dripped with sarcasm. He couldn't fault her for that. He'd also wondered whether the widow could be at fault. So far he had no proof.

"Beyond that," he said, glad to hear strength return to Rebecca's voice.

"Ahh, beyond that. Well, let's see. There are the handful of women who follow Colt around when we're in town. I'm sure he thinks he's saving Trevor from a similar fate. He handles as much as he can for his big brother. Long before Trevor even knows he has a need."

Interesting observation. Rebecca certainly knew his sons better than he did. That was a little off course, though. "Anything else out of the ordinary at the ranch itself?"

"Well, Willie couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel. Stogie is a few sandwiches short of a picnic. They're both a little useless as cowpokes, don't you think?"

Cord's mouth kicked up on one side. "You can say that. They're harmless, though."

"Yeah, I think so, too."

Cord turned off the two-lane highway and onto the drive leading to the feed store, surprised at how comfortable he was conversing with Rebecca. He hated traveling, but he thought he'd probably enjoy her company on a long trip. She amused him. Had a natural ability for conversation. But more importantly, she had an intuitive understanding of his sons.

The tires crunched against the gravel as he angled the pickup into a space between a cattle truck and the owner's Mercedes-Benz roadster. He grabbed his hat, climbed out, and was coming around to open Rebecca's door when he saw her booted heels hit the ground. She slammed the door, glanced up at him, then hustled toward the building and opened the door. It annoyed him when women opened their own doors. But though her independence grated on him, he had to remind himself she was an employee, nothing more.

Hat in hand, he was right behind her when she asked a clerk where the oats were, then scurried off. For the love of Pete, he was right here. Why was she taking charge? "Rebecca," he called out. "Hold up there, girl."

She turned, took the steps back to him. Close enough for his ears only. "I am a woman, Mr. Cooper. Full grown. Stop calling me a girl. Especially in public!"

She was a daring little thing. Frankly, it would entertain him if it didn't aggravate him so much. "Fine, _woman_." That hadn't helped much. She glared with fire. "Let me handle the oats. Go back to the truck," he said pointing with his hat.

"No." She hurried off, leaving him with his chin on the ground.

_No?_ He watched her tromp off until he pulled himself out of his stupor and started after her.

"Cord Cooper!" A female voice said, drawing him up short. He stiffened. Why was she here?

Clara strolled up to him, peeling off her coat. Her elegant apricot outfit with gold jewelry broadcasted her classiness.

She stared down at his hat, then up to his eyes. "What's got you so all fired lathered up?" She chuckled.

He followed her eyes to the hat he was mangling in his hands, smoothed it out, and stuck it on his head. "Uh...thanks again for breakfast this morning."

She moved a step closer and gave him that come hither smile. "My pleasure, big man. Just let me know if I can do more. Like supper?"

She grinned like a cat who ate the canary's whole family when it hit him, Rebecca had run off to get the oats. From David!

"Good to see you, Clara." He turned, took two steps, then said over one shoulder, "No supper needs. Thanks anyway." Then he sailed down the aisle.

"Tomorrow morning then," she yelled after him.

He winced, jetted around a corner, then flew down another aisle, his boot heels thudding hard against the cement floor.

By the time he reached the back of the feed store where the barrels of feed were kept, he heard Rebecca's anxious voice. He was too late.

"No thank you, I'm really not a drinker," Cord heard her say as he rounded the corner. "And as far as helping you with your new garden, I'm sure someone here is more capable."

Cord seethed when he saw David, the owner's son, drop a hand from her forearm the minute he saw Cord. _Yeah, you'd better stop touching her._ David was a menace to most people with his slicked-back hairdo and even slipperier manner. He'd always been a spoiled child and had never learned how to mingle with regular folk. He was also known for mistreating the ladies. And Cord had let Rebecca rush right into his trap.

Cord stalked forward. "What's going on here?" One look at Rebecca's face told him what he already knew.

"Nothing, I think," she said, then slanted a grateful smile in Cord's direction.

"Hello, Mr. Cooper," David said with a boldness born of wealth and privilege.

Should he dress the boy down, or get the oats and retreat? Retreating had never been his first response, so he opted for the former. "I want you to keep your distance from Miss Harper here." He nodded in her direction.

Rebecca seemed shocked by his words but said nothing.

David, on the other hand, glowered at Cord. "I wasn't doin' nothin', _Sir_."

_Sir_. Though the word had been used with disdain, it reminded him how ancient he was compared to these kids. All at once he felt old again. Cast right back to the days prior to Rebecca's arrival.

The revelation brought fire to his blood and an ambush of reasons why he should keep his distance from her, as well. An odd jumble of disappointment, guilt, and rage drew his hands into fists. "Don't ever touch her again!"

Silence met his rage. He expected it from David, but a mute Rebecca? One glance toward her and he saw her jaw had dropped but no words emerged. Seeing her speechless would almost be gratifying if he wasn't so blistering mad. Mad at the owner's punk kid. Mad Rebecca hadn't told him about her fear of men. Mad he reacted so violently to someone who hadn't done much more than flirt with her.

He needed to get her out of here, back to Cooper Ranch and under his wing. Colt could come back later and get the dang oats. Taking a calming breath, he drew closer to take her by the arm and escort her out of the store. But a closer look at Rebecca's face and his fury bled off faster than a hole to an oil pan. A look of awe had widened her eyes, softened her jaw line, and curved a sweet smile on her mouth.

Rebecca Harper was looking at him as if he'd hung the moon.

# Chapter 8

Three weeks had passed, and Rebecca still found herself waking up to the vision of Cord becoming her own Marshall Dillon. No one had ever come to her rescue like that. Since that day the scene had gone round and round in her head; the sight of him puffed up like a soldier ready for battle, fists clenched, strong legs braced, ready for a brawl between the bin of rolled oats and rack of Carhartt shirts.

Snaking her arms into her coat, she fumbled with the buttons, the memory of that day fading until she wondered if her vision of Cord The Hero had ever been real.

When her final button was clasped, Rebecca sped out of the house and into the gray light of dawn. Pulling her jacket collar up, she breathed in the brisk morning air as it ruffled across the top of her head. Winter was closing in fast. Soon snow would be their adversary while working the horses. As a California central valley girl, born and raised, snow would certainly take some getting used to. She would though. Anything to stay on at the Bar-6.

"Colt?" Rebecca called out as she whisked into the barn out of the cold. She juggled the muffins and coffee she'd filched from under the widow's nose, getting one muffin close enough to her mouth for a bite. "You in here?" she said over a mouthful of Banana Nut Delight. Clara was a good cook. She'd give her that, even if the woman was as much a bully as the new tomcat who'd been fighting the barn's mousers the last few weeks.

Thankfully she'd escaped another of Clara's masterpiece breakfasts. It was surprising the length the widow went to in order to be near Cord every day: a drive through inclement weather to and from town where she'd been staying in one of her attorney's small cottages. Was she doing it to charm the Cooper sons so she could ensnare the father? Or was it just the opportunity to graft herself into the bones of Cooper life in hopes of residing there? It bothered her that Cord seemed oblivious to it either way.

Rebecca headed for the tack room, hoping Colt was there and she didn't have to track him down outside somewhere.

She warmed at the day's plans. Jake was coming. She and Colt had been proud to only need an occasional visit from him for the truly difficult horses. Today was one of those days. She glanced at the piebald in question as she walked to the tack room, and the horse lunged and kicked the stall door. Rebecca jumped to the side in a knee-jerk reaction. This horse and Cord sure had a lot in common. Both had bad dispositions, and both needed to learn how to get along with people.

She wondered, would she see Cord today? Or would she be left at the end-of-day with that same feeling of abandonment? She was tired of dwelling on the man, his blink-of-an-eye rescue, then his avoidance and testiness. Regardless of what was going on with Cord, she'd learned an important and distressing bit of truth about herself that day in town. Even after all this time, she expected people to misuse or humiliate her.

Bottom line: she was still welded to her past.

Rebecca crossed the threshold of the tack room. "Oh, there you are. Why didn't you answer me?"

"Did you say something, Muffin?"

She rolled her eyes, but let it go. He'd begun calling her Muffin the day she'd pilfered a few day-old muffins for him as well. He was inordinately grateful, being the only Cooper who actually _could_ skip the widow's breakfast, show and all. Rebecca smiled, but her smile slid south as she remembered Cord's frosty expression the first time he'd heard the _food_ nickname. He probably thought such a thing should have been saved for a future daughter-in-law.

She set Colt's coffee and muffins on a barrel next to him before handing him one. He downed it in three bites. "Come on." He grabbed a second muffin and nodded toward the door. "We've got a lot to do today."

Once at the Piebald's stall, Rebecca addressed him. "You're gonna be fine, boy." His response was a flare of his nostrils and an ear-piercing whinny before he pinned his ears back and kicked the back wall.

"He's gonna hate today's lesson," Colt said, his forearms on the gate, the sleeves of his shirt pushed clear up, revealing thick biceps. His hat was pulled low on his brows as he studied their project.

Colt was a good-looking man. But he wasn't only that. He was kind and supportive and contemplative. Never angry. The man was a complete package of excellence. What a shame Rebecca only thought of him as a little brother. Why his father was the one who made her legs wobble was as baffling to her as if the moon turned purple. Yet, there was no mistaking the attraction. It was just there.

If it weren't, she would happily leap off the see-saw for some peace.

The sound of a truck engine reached her ears. A few seconds later, she heard the heavy footfalls of a man entering the barn. Rebecca's heart tripped with the hope that the newcomer might be Cord. She turned.

"Laddy, Lass. Good mornin' to you both."

_Jake_. Of course, it was Jake. Never Cord these days. Rebecca blew a puff of air at the curls clinging to her forehead and strode forward to greet her brother-in-law. "Wow. I can't quite get used to you without a beard. Look at those dimples."

Jake pressed his lips together as if that would erase the hated craters, and came forward to give her a hug. Holding her coffee away from his body, she hugged him back. Once she released him, he snatched her coffee out of her hand and chugged it.

"Hey, that's mine."

"Mine now, lass. Serves you right for always fixating on my face."

"The dimples? Most people would kill for those."

"Take them, please."

"Hey, Jake." Colt reached around Rebecca to shake his hand.

Rebecca peered past him. "Bring Suzannah by chance?"

"Nae. She's with Jessica shopping for new furniture, appliances, paint for the house. Big job. The lass is good at it, though. Nae much she canna do." He half-grinned then, showing only one deep dimple this time.

Rebecca punched her brother-in-law in the arm. "Newlyweds!"

Jake's hearty laugh masked the sound of another man's footsteps until they'd stopped right behind Jake. She shifted to see past her brother-in-law. Her heart seized, then drummed.

"Jake. Good to see you." Cord came forward and shook Jake's hand. "How's your bride?"

"The lass is well and happy."

"Good to hear." Cord turned to Rebecca. "I need a word." Cord's deep voice rumbled, making Rebecca's nerves rumble right along with it. _A word with me?_

He looked to Colt. "I'd like to borrow Rebecca for a spell."

This time her stomach fluttered right along with her heart. Why did he need to borrow her? For the first time she noticed what Cord was dressed in—the work clothes Rebecca had come to know as his mud sloshin' get-up. Dirt-crusted boots, stained blue jeans with ripped pockets, threadbare chambray shirt, flat-rimmed black hat with one battered eagle feather sticking out from the band. He hadn't shaved today. In a word, he looked roguish and mouthwatering. His eyes trapped her in a stare.

When he finally let loose of her gaze for Colt's, she exhaled and swayed in relief.

"I want to, uh—With Jake here, do you need her?" he asked Colt.

_Alone with Cord?_ She loved the idea. No, she didn't. Because what if he didn't need her on the ranch anymore?

Colt's mouth moved into that imperceptible grin, so like his father's. She was sure Cord hadn't noticed. It seemed no one but she knew the two men's identical twitch of amusement.

"No, sir. You can have her." His lip twitched again, and her heart took a nose-dive.

"Uhm..." She couldn't risk what the conversation would be. She groped for an excuse. "I really have some work to finish up in the house."

Cord lifted an eyebrow.

"No, really. I didn't finish up the dusting yesterday since Colt needed me longer, so..." She gave a small wave and started past Cord.

He caught her by the hand, firm yet gentle. The warmth of his touch tingled straight up and into her head, making her ears buzz. She had no choice but to look at him, make him understand she couldn't go with him. Slowly she met his gaze and got trapped again as if sinking in two mesmerizing pools of quicksand.

"I think the house will survive." He gave one of his rare smiles, snapping her out of her hypnotic state before sending her right back in.

"Okay." The word came out weak. Her knees trembled.

_Toughen up, Rebecca._ With rallied bravado, she stiffened and tugged her arm out of his grasp. "What do I need?" she managed to ask. Barely.

"Not a thing." Cord gestured with his hand for her to go ahead of him out of the barn. "I have the horses saddled."

She came to an abrupt halt, twisting back. He nearly trampled her, stopping short just inches away. "Whoa. Did you forget something?"

"Uh...no." She gazed up at him, becoming more flummoxed by the second as she peered into the bluest of eyes. "I just wondered when you saddled the horses. I didn't see you do it." Then the truth of it penetrated her foggy brain as a sliver of displeasure pushed aside her trepidation. "You did it before I got here. How did you know Colt would agree to let me go?"

"I'm the last word, remember?" Cord chuckled, the sound low and confident. "Besides, I knew Jake would be here."

She did remember Cord was in charge. And she knew Colt didn't really need her today. But what if he had? How unfair of his father. She could see the gap in his relationship with his sons more and more as time went on. Yet, his sons were used to his dictatorship, and she wasn't one of his children. She'd be darned if she let him treat her as one. "Well, you see, _boss_ "—she drew out the last word—"it is my job to make sure the house stays in order, and I think now would be a good time to wrap up a few chores. So I think I'll stay."

Cord reared back in surprise.

Did she go too far? Sudden anxiety had Rebecca turning and speeding toward the barn door.

Cord caught up to her, grasped her elbow, and used her momentum to keep her walking on out the door. The saddled horses—a dappled mare and his black gelding, Trapper—were tied to the top slat of the corral fence.

He scuttled her around to face him. "What's this all about, Rebecca?" His voice was tight, his grip hard.

"As I said. Chores."

She slowly pulled against his grip. He held tighter. She tried not to look indignant.

By the look on his face, she'd failed. He dropped his hand from her. Ran that same hand over his mouth and sighed. "Okay. I handled this all wrong."

Now, this was interesting. Cord wrong?

"I should have _asked_ you if you'd like to take a ride with me. Truth is, there's something I'd like to talk to you about and it's best I do this away from snoopy ears."

_Snoopy ears?_ The expression was so cute, she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. And why was she giving him such a hard time anyway? Especially after his noble gesture weeks ago?

"Besides," he went on. "I thought you'd enjoy the break, and a ride. The colors are remarkable this time of year." His eyes shifted to the trees that were yellowing up. "You'd like the view of Devil's Tower from our corner of the world. What do you say?" He paused, then slowly brought his eyes back to hers.

A rumble in the distance had her glancing at the dark clouds overhead. They looked a bit threatening, but this seemed important to Cord, and he knew Wyoming weather better than she did. He didn't seem the least bit fazed.

Maybe she could manage a ride with him. Because right now, he looked as uncomfortable as a young boy facing the principal over a fight he'd started. His adorable little boy expression broke her. Tough man-in-charge Cord Cooper had a vulnerable side. And it couldn't appeal to her more.

"Okay. Sure. I'd love to," she found herself saying through a smile.

The smile he gave back was just as large, and the image was glorious. It changed his face, softened his jewel-colored eyes and crinkled laugh lines into his coppered skin. Well now, if she could bring about this pleasant sight again, she would willingly go with him anywhere no matter the topic of conversation. She ignored the twinge of worry.

Rebecca was about to move to the mare's side when she caught sight of the flashy red Cadillac still parked in the drive, and it stopped her. "What about Clara?"

Cord shrugged. "What about her?"

"Wouldn't it be rude to leave her like that? I mean, she comes here to see you."

Cord caught hold of her elbow again, guiding her to the mare's side as if hiding her behind the immense animal. "She comes to feed us."

This time, Rebecca yanked her arm out of his hand and scowled up at him. "No, Cord. She comes for you. Not to feed your family. Are you truly that thoughtless?"

He averted his gaze, his lips twisting in a look of disgust. "She's offered to help out until I find a cook. I let her. It's fine. Let's go."

So that's what this was about. Cord was using her to escape the widow. Should she let him? She thought of the many sharp-tongued rebukes the widow had launched her way and decided, yes. Yes, she would. Still, someone should tell the woman. "I'll be right back," she said.

"Where are you going?"

She thought it best not to say. Noticing the jacket Cord had draped across his saddle, she told him a half-truth. "I'm going to trade coats. Get my heavier one. Be right back."

When Rebecca returned from the house, not finding Clara but leaving her a note, she stopped at the barn entrance. "I'm back," she called from the open door, then turned to the horses.

She wanted to be in the saddle when Cord came out, but when she hiked her leg into the stirrup she realized the mare was too tall to heft herself up. Cord was swiftly at her back lifting her easily aboard. After handing her the reins, he donned his jacket then climbed onto the gelding with ease. Without a word or backward glance to the house, he led them up the drive toward the highway.

Neither talked until they reached a gate along the right side of the road. "We'll take a shortcut. Follow me," Cord said over his shoulder.

Rebecca watched him lean to the side of his horse to pull a wire off the post, then swing the gate inward. He gestured for her to go through, re-anchored the gate, and led them down a narrow path into the open pasture.

Rebecca followed behind, watching his strong body sway in perfect tune with his horse. Cord pulled back on the reins and made a quarter turn. "Come on, slow poke."

"Be right there."

Cord smiled then. A small, tender smile that warmed her deep down.

When the mare reached him, he reined his gelding back in step with her. "Let's give these steeds their heads." Without another word, he pressed his knees in and Trapper shot forward. The mare flicked her ears and stretched her neck straight into a lope. Rebecca yelped, grabbed the saddle horn, and held on with both hands.

Once her balance returned, she concentrated on the ride. It was absolutely exhilarating. The wind in her face tangled and twirled her hair behind her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd let loose and ridden flat out, no thought of propriety, or safety, or even good judgment. It was so unlike her. Yet her smile was so broad, the wind whooshed in and dried out her mouth. She licked her lips and grinned some more.

Rebecca kept her eyes on the man in front of her. He barely moved in the saddle, though his jacket flapped at his back. His wide shoulders, steady with perfect posture, made her heart swell with pure satisfaction. Was this the same Cord Cooper she'd witnessed daily for weeks now?

The smile vanished, a cold chill racing down her spine. Yes, it was the same man. The man who controlled everything and everyone. Forced his control on his already grown children—herself included. The same man who now had the woman he lived with for five months on his premises, in his house, in his kitchen, feeding his sons as if she belonged there.

Did she?

Is that what Cord planned to tell her?

Heart-sick and suspicious now, she lost all joy in the ride. There was a reason Cord had brought her out here, other than to show the _help_ the lay of the land. Her throat constricted as if a noose were tightening around her neck. She felt trapped. Maybe she should pull her mare to a stop and demand Cord tell her right here and now what this little _ride_ was all about.

This must be why he didn't need to go tell the widow he was going on a jaunt around his ranch with another woman. The wicked woman was likely in on it!

_That does it!_ Rebecca pulled back on the reins. The mare shook her head, snorted, and ignored Rebecca's request. Instead, she sped slightly to catch up to the gelding. What? Wasn't the mare going to heed her rider's command? She yanked this time. The mare tossed her head, trying to get a good hold of the bit in her teeth. "Oh no you don't," Rebecca muttered, tugging the bit back where it belonged. "You will not try to buffalo me!"

"What?" she barely heard Cord say over a shoulder from four lengths away.

Grating at the mouthpiece side to side enough to stop the mare, but not enough to injure her mouth, the mare finally gave up and stopped, but let out an ear-piercing whinny to her male counterpart. The gelding answered back with a snort.

Cord slowed his horse easily, turning him back in the same smooth motion. Once the animals were muzzle to muzzle, the gelding shook his head, jingling his bridle at the same time his master shook his head at Rebecca. Dratted males!

"What's wrong?" He looked bemused.

"Why did you bring me out here, Cord?"

His look of confusion shifted to guilt.

Her anxiety rose. She tried to swallow past her now parched throat. So, this really was a set-up. "Your ranch is beautiful," she said brusquely, gesturing with a hand at the vastness of it. "The view of Devil's Tower is spectacular. But something tells me you didn't bring me out here to show me the view." She flattened her lips and jutted her chin, daring him to contradict her.

Bam!

Rebecca nearly spilled out of the saddle at the clap of thunder. The mare skittered to the side. Cord's gelding jumped, but Cord had him controlled within seconds. It took Rebecca several more to get her horse and her racing heart restrained. Then a long roll—as if God had hurled a bowling ball down a heavenly alley—rumbled overhead. Before the mare could react a second time, Cord took hold of her reins and stopped her from prancing about.

Cord glanced up and frowned as if noticing the black clouds for the first time. He yanked his hat off his head and plopped it on hers. It was huge, but she stuffed it down as low as possible.

"Follow me. Now!" He turned Trapper and shot forward, heading to the edge where pasture left off and the forest began.

Shouldn't we be heading to the ranch house rather than farther away?

Rebecca felt a drop, then two, a definite plummet in temperature, then a deluge of rain, all while holding the hat to her head and trying to keep up with Cord. She watched carefully as he slowed to enter the thick forest. She followed exactly where he entered and glanced around. This didn't look like the same Wyoming she'd come to know. Had they just entered the Black Hills National Forest, or was this just a section of trees on Cord's ranch? Whatever it was, it was dense, and she'd lost sight of the man.

Rebecca slowed her mare and tried to determine which way he went. She knew he entered here, so where could they have gone so quickly? It was as if the forest had swallowed them up.

Just then, the mare raised flared nostrils and whinnied. The gelding answered. Oh, thank heavens for horse sense and the strong bond between these two. She gave the mare her head. Sure enough, the animal quickly found her friend without Rebecca getting lost and making a fool of herself.

She blinked up at the immense stand of green pines. It was almost as if the rain had ceased, the trees were so dense. Only a few random drops hit her face before she looked down again. No wonder Cord had led them to the protection of these boughs.

So why didn't Cord stop here to wait out the storm? If anything, he'd sped up. Before long, the thick forest gave way to a clearing, and within the clearing was nestled a small log cabin. Rain pummeled the roof, the sides, the windows as if intent on scouring it all the way down to its studs.

Light flashed. _Boom! Rumble._ The thunder spoke, reminding Rebecca the storm was far from over. Soaking wet now, she shivered in cold.

Cord looked over his shoulder for the first time. _Now he's worried if I've followed?_ He halted at the porch and dismounted, dropping the reins over the makeshift hitching post. He took the mare's reins from her and tossed them over the post, as well.

"It's open." He nodded toward the front door. "Go on in. I'll come back for your horse once I check the lean-to, then I'll be in. There should be towels and blankets in there. Strip down, dry off, and wrap up in a blanket. I don't need you getting sick on me."

She stared at him as he tugged his own horse around the south side of the cabin. Not one glance back. _He acts as if it's my fault I'm soaked!_ She wanted to throw something at the back of his head. She closed her eyes and turned her face up, letting the drizzle sluice down her cheeks. Inhaling a deep breath and exhaling through pursed lips, she tried to calm herself, to think this through. The smell of new rain helped to soothe that big bundle of nerves their ride out here had caused.

Cord clearly had something important on his mind concerning her. What could it be, and why the ride in order to divulge it? The mare sidestepped and tossed her head, picking up on Rebecca's anxiety. The possibilities flooded her mind. If he didn't plan to fire her, what else could it be? When she sifted through memories of their past weeks together, searching for clues, her accident and the town incidents were all that came to mind. He'd had to rescue her. More than once. Maybe that was the problem. He saw her as weak.

Why _had_ she been such a weakling in town? The two men who'd approached her, they had different motives, those men, yet her reaction to them had been the same. She was appalled all over again that she hadn't grown up enough to put her past behind her. She'd lost everything back in college. A potential career, her friends, the young man she'd hoped to share a life with.

No, that wasn't right. She hadn't lost her friends. Her friends had betrayed her. She pushed the memory far back where it still lived. This wasn't about her past, painful as it was. It was about her future. She liked it here at the Bar-6. Could do some good here.

Frustration picked at her brain. Was she just the hired help, used and easily discarded? And now Cord needed to ease his own conscience by taking her for a final ride to break the news? And why not? She'd been invisible to most people in her life, unless they needed her to do something for them. Even Suzannah had needed her to get through the difficult years without the use of her voice. She'd been glad to do it, but look at her sister now. Married to a gorgeous, talented man, and looking forward to a future with him and lots of babies, leaving Rebecca behind once again.

A horrible thought struck her like a lightning bolt. Why shouldn't Cord fire her? _You're not the one in his bed, now are you, Rebecca?_ A vivid picture of what that might look like flew through her mind before she could stop it. _He needs you out of the way to make a life with the widow._ She expelled a heavy breath over the heart-wrenching thought. She would lose so much if Cord made her leave.

"What's wrong?" Cord was standing at her side now, his right hand braced at the cantle of her saddle, the other holding the bridle's cheek piece. His head was tilted up, eyes on her. He blinked each time a fat raindrop struck him in the eye. Was he going to do this? Bring her into his cabin, dry her off, and then _bam_ — _you're fired!_

She stared into that face with the sapphire eyes, a questioning look now in them, and she wondered if this beautiful man was about to change her future.

He squinted, two lines forming between his brows. "Are you frozen to your saddle?"

She had, in fact, frozen to the spot, but not from the icy conditions. Reminded now of the cold, she shivered.

"I thought so. Here, let me help you down."

In the next moment, Cord had a hold on her waist and was tugging her toward him. Her legs were stiff with wet and cold, and her denim pants stuck to the leather. He must have realized she couldn't stand yet since once her feet touched the ground he held her against his side. She shook first one leg, then the other, trying to bring feeling back.

In spite of the reckoning she saw coming, Rebecca enjoyed the feel of Cord's strong arm at her back, his large hand radiating heat into her hip. A tingle of pure joy started at her heart and wove its way down to her toes, curling them. Surely Cord felt the sensation the same as she. This electrical impulse between them. But one sidelong peek at his face made her curling toes cramp in place. Her heart seized its frantic beat. The look on his face was...she didn't know what, but it wasn't good. The hand at her hip squeezed, his lips thinned. A knot of muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched, even as he returned her stare.

Strength rushed back into her legs. She twisted out of Cord's hold with such vigor she misstepped and landed palms first against the mare's rump. The mare huffed a complaint and shifted a step. Rebecca caught her balance, spun around, and pressed her back against the horse. She stared up at Cord, but couldn't seem to form any words. What would she say if she could?

"You good now?" he asked, his expression giving nothing away.

Dazed and silent, she worked at pulling herself together, then nodded.

"The outhouse is over there," he nodded to the small enclosure off the north end of the cabin. "Then go on in." He took another grip on the mare's bridle and led her around the building to join the gelding.

Rebecca watched him for a few beats before she put her feet in motion. After a quick, uncomfortable trip to the outhouse, Rebecca entered the tiny cabin. Only the dim light streaming through a couple of small windows and the open door allowed her to see inside the structure. With one quick twirl, she took in the whole lot; an open fireplace, one comfy chair, a small bed, a makeshift closet with shelves, a kitchen with one cupboard, a sink with a hand pump, and a table with four wooden chairs. She looked for a way to turn on the lights and realized there were no lights—only a lantern in the middle of the table. Of course. Too remote for electricity out here. That made the log cabin even more intimate.

Her mind wandered off to thoughts of Cord coming through that door, sweeping her off her feet, and laying her at the base of the hearth in front of a roaring fire.

The door slammed shut, bringing her out of romantic musings to a dripping Cord standing just inside the doorway, a pile of firewood in his strong arms. "Why haven't you stripped?"

# Chapter 9

Rebecca blinked. _Why haven't I—?_ Oh. Yes. His demands. How could she forget? "I was admiring your little cabin."

He didn't look happy about her remark, or was it her lack of obedience? "Rebecca..." His voice took on that tone of parental authority she hated.

""Right away, sir," she snapped, then saluted. She turned away, dropped his wet hat on the counter, then went to retrieve the towel and blanket before he could say another word.

There was the sound of wood dropping next to the fireplace just as she grabbed what she needed, including a man's flannel shirt and thick socks, and bringing them back to the bed.

She glanced at Cord, who had discarded his coat to a hook by the door and was hunkered down in front of the open hearth. The lantern on the table was now glowing orange, and he was working on building a teepee of kindling in the fireplace. With a scratch of a match against the rock, he lit the wood. It instantly bloomed with light, adding another measure of coziness to the room.

Her body reminded her how cold and wet she was with a deep shiver. Did she actually need to remove all her clothes? Dang it all, but she was wet to the bone. Her clothes would have to dry in front of the fire. She cleared her throat. "Um...Cord?"

He shifted slightly in order to look over one shoulder.

"I'm going to need some privacy to change."

He huffed an exasperated breath. "I've better things to do than watch you strip, Duchess. You're plenty safe." He turned back to grasp a piece of wood to move the kindling around a bit, then laid the chunk of wood on top of the pile.

Rebecca scowled at his back, wishing he could feel the blaze from her glare. That's twice he'd dismissed her as if she were nothing more than an annoyance.

Fine. She'd strip. Right here. She threw the shirt, socks, and blanket back on the bed and started with her jacket. She tugged, trying to pull it off. It stuck to her sweater, pulling and lengthening the sleeves until they hung way past her hands. Oh for crying out loud. Her sweater was a sagging mess. A lot of good her coat had done. She threw it on the floor with a _splat_.

"Need help?" Cord asked with amusement in his voice, still stabbing at the fire.

"No, I don't need help."

Next came her sweater, up over her head. In her haste, she made a bad decision not to undo the row of buttons down the front and caught one in her snarled, wet hair. Drat! Now she was good and stuck. The more she pulled, the more it tangled in her hair. Hurriedly, she worked the knots with her fingers but didn't get anywhere.

She did need help. But Cord would only scold her for her inability to unclothe herself. Pulling her arms out of the soggy and misshapen sweater, she let it dangle from her hair while she grabbed one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around her middle. Then she dragged on the flannel shirt. It was huge and looked more like a dress once it was buttoned. The sleeves hung way past her hands, but it was soft and felt wonderful against her cold skin. Once she'd rolled the cuffs up, she drew her attention back to the sweater knotted in her hair. Shoot. She forgot her pants. Reaching up under the blanket, she tried to yank at the wet denim, her scalp complaining over every movement with the sweater attached to her head like a wet flag in the wind. The jeans stuck tight to her legs. Nothing worse than wet denim.

When she was finally freed of soggy garments, she shivered uncontrollably as the air shot under the blanket and hit her now naked legs—and the wet underwear she would not remove. She dropped down on the edge of the bed to put the socks on her freezing feet, grimacing at the loud squeak of the springs.

"Everything okay over there?"

"Just fine," she panted.

"Doesn't sound like it." This time, his amusement was gone, and a touch of testiness had slipped in.

She was done being reproved, hurried, or dismissed. "Leave me be, Cord."

Apparently, he didn't like being scolded. He was on his feet and facing in her direction before she could check if she was all put together. His gaze perused her from the foot she was pulling a sock on straight up to the sweater hanging from her head.

Was that a look of desire? But his expression changed to exasperation so fast, Rebecca wondered if the ardent look had been there at all.

"What the—What did you do?" Another reprimand.

"You hurried me. I got tangled."

He crossed the room to her until his booted toes halted just inches from her shoeless feet. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the rain-freshened woodsy scent of him. He was so still. What was he doing?

A crash of thunder made her jerk, and her gaze zipped to his face. He was partially bent over her, assessing the situation, his hands stuffed in his back jeans pockets as if holding back from touching her.

She studied the angles of his strong face as he explored the problem. Those sharp, all-knowing eyes were thankfully not attached to hers at the moment. "I see what's needed. This is going to hurt, Duchess."

She stiffened. Having Cord this close robbed her of her voice, so she nodded.

"Hold real still."

She was trying hard to. With his long fingers in her hair, Cord took hold of the soggy sweater in one hand as the other unknotted her wet locks strand by strand. He had to yank a few times, but he was amazingly careful. Her eyes were on his face, just inches from hers. All she could see now was his square chin angling into an equally strong jaw, dark bristles already shadowing it. Gad, he smelled good.

"There. All done," he said much too soon. He straightened with a smile on his face, presenting the sweater to her like Trevor's dog, Dash, might offer up a gopher.

Just as she took the wet sweater from his hand, he reached over and ran his fingertips through her hair. To put it to rights, she suspected, but the intimate gesture had her tummy tumbling all over itself.

Cord studied her face, searched her eyes. Ever so slowly, he ran his fingertip lightly down her cheek, and across her bottom lip. "Did I hurt you?"

Her breath caught in her throat. The husky rumble of his voice attached to that tender sentence and intimate touch, and that was it. Desire flared, but so did skepticism, and ultimately, anger. Cord was so unpredictable. First treating her as he might a daughter, and now as what? A lover?

She reached up and forced all ten fingers through her own hair, scratching at it, trying to soothe the ache from her scalp and calm herself at the same time. "Yes. I mean, no. I'm fine!"

She felt rather than saw him still hovering.

Rebecca pushed her heavy hair back from her face and raised her chin to look him in the eye, frustrated that as long as he remained so close her unsettled nerves would never fire smoothly.

He must have picked up on her agitation since he uncurled and stood. "I'll be right over there." He nodded toward the fire but ventured in the opposite direction. She watched him push aside one of the stored blankets, then he was back to drop a hairbrush in her lap. Retrieving her jacket, pants, socks, and the sweater she had plopped on the floor, he went on back to the fireplace.

Thinking she must look like a plump ragamuffin with terrible hair, she picked up the hairbrush and tackled the wet mop as she watched Cord drape her clothing over a chair. The act was sweet and surprisingly personal. He turned the chair around so the fire could dry them.

"What about yours?" Rebecca asked as she yanked at a knot.

Cord raised his eyes to her, then straightened his tall frame. "My what?"

"You know. Your wet clothes."

"Worried about me?" he said as he strode past her to the hanging shirts.

She decided not to answer.

Cord pulled a plaid shirt off a hanger, then turned to face her.

She stopped her detangling and stared back. What was he waiting for?

"Are you?" he said.

"Am I what?"

"Are you worried about me, Duchess?" His voice was softer this time like it wasn't a tease.

She jerked her chin up to look at him, quickly out of patience for a verbal dance she didn't understand. "What is it you want me to say? That, yes, I am worried about you? That if you don't change you'll catch a chill? Is that the kind of thing a daughter would say?"

She'd said too much. Implied too much. She could see by his shocked expression he hadn't thought of her as a daughter. Yet all this time she'd thought...

"Daughter." His face filled with color. Was he embarrassed? Angry? " _Daughter?_ " he said again, more exasperated this time.

Why had she planted that stupid idea in his head? What in the world could she say now to fix this?

"That's what you think you are to me?"

Her sister was right; Rebecca was an imbecile when it came to men. She sat foolishly, just blinking up at him, not knowing what to say next.

Cord looked grim, his lips compressed.

_Idiot_. That's what she was.

In a few quick moves, he was back at the fireplace, the flannel in one hand, the wet chambray and thermal shirt he'd pulled off in the other. With his bronzed back to her, he spread the wet garments over a second chair, then turned back to her. He stood in one place, challenging her to run her gaze over his upper body. She took that invitation and looked her fill. He was a perfect specimen. Sculpted torso and flat stomach, a dusting of dark hair that swept across his chest. As splendid in his masculinity as were his young sons. Yet with a deeper dimension.

"Is that how a daughter would look at her father? " he said, clearly proving a point.

Heat filled her face, yet she couldn't look away. He was right, it wasn't how she saw him. And she'd been mistaken. It was apparent now he hadn't seen her as a child either. She lifted her chin. "No. No, it's not."

Their gazes locked. She didn't know who they were to each other yet, but who they weren't had become quite clear.

# Chapter 10

Cord was the first to look away in order to get into his shirt. He had it on and partially buttoned when a flash of light and _boom_ of thunder startled Rebecca, nearly sending her off the bed. She glanced anxiously toward the window. He followed her gaze.

The world was nearly black as night outside, between the thunderclouds, rain, and forest shadows.

He loved this isolated place. Staying here usually settled him, soothed his raw soul.

A memory of a time when it hadn't, came to him. The year Millie had been pregnant with the twins, he'd had a particularly hard day branding and tagging calves. When he finally dragged himself in long past time when the boys should be in bed, he found them still up. The three oldest were screaming, running rampant through a house that looked like a tornado had hit, the youngest wailing and crawling after them. Millie was sitting at the table, face in hands, sobbing without even a glance at the mayhem around her. He remembered the fury he'd felt in seeing her neglect.

He'd taken charge and cleaned up the mess, then escaped the next day to this little cabin. Oh sure, he'd volunteered to round up strays in order to justify leaving, but what he'd been after was the solace this place would give him. What he'd gotten was tremendous regret over his judgment of Millie that day—and every day since.

"Who knows how long we'll be stranded here," Rebecca said, shooing away his memories. "I should probably fix us some food."

Rebecca. Always ready to take care of people. She was the opposite of passive, so different from Millie. Millie broke down when things got tough. Rebecca took the bull by the horns.

Except for that day in town.

What had caused Rebecca to be so overcome, by two very different instances—two very different men?

Had she ever been that way with him? Come to think of it, that night in the ditch she'd blamed her weight on not wanting to be carried. He hadn't cared enough to notice before, but now he needed to know the reason. See if he could help.

He looked down at his feet. His boots were soaked and had to come off, and he knew darned well without a boot tree, he'd have to struggle with it. It was as good a way to test her as he could think of. "I could use some help over here."

"Help? With what? "

"With my boots, sweetheart."

She scooted to the edge of the bed, giving him a sour look. "Why are you calling me _sweetheart_ when you've barely tolerated me these last few weeks?"

_Tolerated?_ More like _avoided_ so he could actually sleep at night. She had a way of trapping herself inside his head until he wanted to bellow for relief. It was one reason he'd pushed her toward Colt.

He shook his head to clear the fog of lust. "Please. I need you to help me remove my boots."

He watched as she squared her shoulders. _Gonna give me a piece of that sharp mind?_ She planted her hands on her hips. "Who helps you remove your boots at home?"

_At home_. Those words coming from her mouth sounded better than they should have to him. "The boot tree."

"Oh." Her hands dropped to her sides. "Okay. You'll behave?"

Cord chuckled. Rebecca truly said anything on her mind. Yet, at the same time, it showed her reluctance to get too close to him. His smile fell off.

When he didn't say anything more, she said, "Well?"

Not wanting to tease her anymore, he answered, "Yes, sweetheart. I'll behave."

The room lit with a blinding light. _Boom! Crack!_ Rebecca jumped a foot. "Oh my goodness! That wasn't just thunder. Something crashed." Her gaze shot to the window. "The horses!" She picked up the tails of her blanket as if she were in a ball gown and ran to the window, swiping at the condensation to peer out.

Cord was behind her in a split second, peering over her head to scan the area. He saw nothing but sheets of rain and ominous clouds riding the tops of the trees. "Stay here."

"Cord?" Rebecca's voice reflected worry.

He stopped before opening the door and glanced back.

"Be careful."

He nodded, dove out the door, and pulled it closed behind him. Blustery cold met him, but warmth filled him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had cared enough to say something like that to him—and really meant it.

Why did it have to be her?

Head down against the wet wind, Cord darted around the corner of the house to the lean-to. A large branch from one of the pines lay next to the cabin, and there were pieces of the lean-to's roof scattered about, though the structure itself seemed to be intact. He went inside to check on the horses. He wasn't surprised the mare seemed unconcerned about the storm; the gelding was all she ever wanted. But Trapper was nervous, shifting in place and snorting. With each clap of thunder, he tossed his head, nearly snapping the rope that secured him, as nervous as Cord's little cabin mate.

With the next crack of thunder, Cord knew the only way forward for either he or Rebecca was to cut and ride the storm.

* * *

Rebecca waited for it seemed an hour before Cord plodded back through the front door, all wide shoulders and grumpy disposition, rainwater streaming from his hat. Once he was secure in the warm cabin, he threw his hat back on the counter and ambled to the fireplace—soaked and looking frigid to the bone. Even his lips were blue.

"What did you find? My word! Why were you gone so long? I was getting worried. It's pouring. Your pants are soaked, and no coat to boot. Here, use my towel."

Without waiting for an answer, she patted at his face and shoulders before he grasped her wrist and stole the towel. "I can handle this myself, girl."

Rebecca puffed up. She hated being called girl, and he already knew that. Was he getting back at her for the 'daughter' comment? "I can help."

Cord peered out from the towel hanging from his head. "No." He went back to rubbing.

"Oh for crying out loud. Why not? I help your sons with such things."

Cord yanked the towel away from his head and scowled. "What do you mean, with _such things_?"

She carefully pulled the towel away from his tight fists. He let her. "Drying sopping hair and backs." She moved behind him and began patting at his sodden back. He stiffened. "...carting away drenched and muddy clothing, cleaning mud-splattered boots and hats, warming up clothing and blankets by the fire to wrap them in—"

Cord cursed, cutting off her explanation. He swung around and yanked the towel back. "You warm up—What in tarnation? They're grown men, Rebecca, not children!"

"Yes, men. But also children. _Your_ children." She grasped the corner of the towel again, pulling ever so slowly so he wouldn't notice. Once it was out of his hands, she went about drying his shoulders, then his chest.

"Stop that!" Yanking the towel out of her hands again, he threw it across the room where it slapped against the wall before it hit the floor in a heap.

She started for it, but he caught her by the hand and pulled her back to him. "Now, let me get this straight. You've been coddling my sons as if they were five?"

It was exactly how she'd had to think of them, as if they were her own young sons. She'd learned that trick the first difficult week in residence at Cooper Ranch; it was the only way she could close the distance between herself and the men she was there to help. Things had gotten more comfortable the moment she realized what a heedless bunch of cowboys they actually were. Full-grown men, sure, but the work-'til-they-drop kind, unmindful of anyone else around them. Except for Bronc, that is. But he was just a case of an overgrown bully. Bullies she could handle.

She tilted her head back in order to search his face. Was he truly mad at her? For taking care of his own sons? "Well, yes but—"

"And they _let_ you?" He raked his other hand through his messy hair. "Don't answer that. Of course, they let you," he muttered. Cord's grip tightened before he dropped his hand from hers, his eyes fiery. "Tell me, were they smiling while you _dried_ them?"

Rebecca lowered her gaze to his chest, unable to match his glare even though his words made her shiver and burn all over. _Did they smile when she dried their hair and shoulders and such? Yes. Yes, maybe they did._ What did that matter? Why would that make Cord so mad? She wrinkled up her nose, looked back up. "Maybe."

"Ahh, son-of-a—" Cord swore, then threw his hands up. "You shouldn't trust them."

Rebecca scowled at him. Well, no, she hadn't gotten close enough to involve trust, so that wasn't a problem. "What are you talking about? What does smiling have to do with anything?"

Cord swung around, took two steps, then turned back to face her. The man was magnificent. In his rage, the muscles across his chest and arms were coming out all over the place. The lines bracketing his mouth, the angular jaw, white teeth flashing with his furious speech—it all mesmerized her.

"You really are naïve, aren't you?" he bit out.

That stung, but at the moment she couldn't seem to react as she watched the splendor of the man. Everything about him cried out masculinity. Now she understood how her sisters were immobilized during Clint's and Jake's tirades. It wasn't because the men scared them. No. Not at all. It was because they were powerless in their fascination with them.

But Cord was off limits to her. A million miles from possibility. At least she could admire him without having any emotions involved. Especially the one she'd long since banned. Trust.

"Rebecca?" His incensed voice broke into her enthrallment.

She blinked, rewinding her thoughts, wondering if she'd said anything aloud and praying like crazy she hadn't. "Yes?"

He shook his head in dismay, probably because she'd missed his point. He took a deep breath, blew it out in a quick burst. "My sons were taking advantage of you. Apparently, you can't see that."

She scrunched up her face, trying to wrap her mind around his point. "In what way? I'm not understanding you, Cord."

"You're naïve, sweetheart. Men will always be men. If they can get you to pamper them, especially if you're _touching_ them, they will let you do it every time. No. More than that. They will get you to do it. Which ones of my sons did this? Or did they all do it?"

Her eyes widened, her mouth agape. Did he think she was going to tattle on them like they had about her cooking? He might think her naïve, but she sure as heck wasn't immature. She'd been willing to help them out. There'd been no taking advantage. She set her mouth into a thin line, lowered her voice. "What's the real reason you're upset, Mr. Cooper? Truly." Her hands went back to her hips. This man was making no sense.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "The boys don't need you to scrub them dry. When I get back, I'll make sure they understand to handle their own blasted clothes and boots, too." His expression seemed to shift. Contrite? "Crimeny, Rebecca, it's no wonder you haven't been able to handle the cooking. You're doing everything else for them."

He took a hold of her elbow, the warmth of his hand sending tingles up her arm. Grabbing a kitchen chair on his way to the fireplace, he planted it dead center and guided her to it. Then he hunkered down in front of her, his jeans squishing as they dripped rainwater on the floor.

Horrified that she'd been arguing with him while he had to be half frozen, she patted him on the thigh. "You need to shed those. You'll catch your death."

The exasperation fell off Cord's face. His lips twitched with that baby grin. "Do people even use that phrase anymore?"

"Well, yes, of course. What do you mean?"

He waved her off. "Look at me."

Her eyes met his.

"We have some things to talk about."

Her stomach plummeted. Was she ready for this? He was going to fire her for sure now that he knew she'd done things all wrong with his sons. _Sidetrack him._ "Shed first, talk later."

He pressed his lips together, studied her face for the truth.

If compassion wasn't going to work, she was more than willing to use her other weapon. Stubbornness. Lifting her chin, she tilted her head in silence to wait him out.

Surprising her with a chuckle, he lowered his head and nodded. When he raised his eyes back to hers, he said, "There's the girl I know and love."

Love?

_Be careful, Rebecca_. _It's just a saying._ "Woman," she said.

"What?"

"I keep telling you. I'm not a girl. I'm a woman." She lifted her chin again, waiting for his ridicule.

He rose to his feet and peered down at her, all brawn and smooth assurance, raking his glittering eyes up and down her flannel and blanket-clad body. "I've never disputed that, Duchess."

He turned to the kitchen then and toed off his boots, then removed his wet socks.

"I knew you didn't need my help with your boots," she said with a mock glare.

He chuckled. "How about some hot tea?"

Wasn't he going to get out of his wet clothes? Fine, let him stay wet. All of a sudden the reason he brought her here loomed before her. Was he going to stretch this out forever? "What is it you wanted to talk to me about? Or were you planning to torture me all day and night?"

She'd clearly shocked him by the look on his face. Why was he shocked?

"That can wait. Let's get you comfortable first." Using the hand pump at the sink, he filled the teapot with water.

So, he _was_ going to drag this out. Was it that bad? "You can talk while you heat water. How are you going to do that, by the way?"

Cord ignored her question, strode back over, and squatted down in front of the fireplace. He swung out a bar, hung the teapot on it, and nudged it over the fire. Then he twisted on the balls of his feet toward her. At eye-level now, he studied her face.

She entwined her fingers in her lap. Cord placed one of his big hands over both of hers. "Relax. What has you so tense?"

She inhaled a huge breath, then spewed, "You, if you want to know the truth. Did you bring me here to fire me, because if you did I wish you'd do us both a favor and just get it over—" "Whoa. Whoa. Never heard anyone blanket a room with words like you can, Rebecca." Still, in a squat, he patted her hands, then rested his arm across his thigh. "Take a breath."

She didn't want to obey him, but her body apparently did. She took in a slow breath, then let it seep out.

"First of all, I have no plans to fire you. So, get that right out of your head."

"Oh, thank you, God," Rebecca whispered to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut.

One of his fingertips lifted her chin. Heat rose to her face from the tender touch. "Ah. Isn't that delightful? A blush."

_Condescension_? Now she was back to wanting to murder him. "What do you want, Cord?" The words were blunt, but she'd had her fill.

"I brought you out here to show you my land."

"No, you didn't." She smashed her lips into a grim line, trying to staunch the flow of angry words she feared would come.

He blinked, then lowered his eyes. Shifting back to the fire, he used one finger to push the teapot in deeper, paused, then turned back. His face relaxed and now showed a definite sadness in the brackets around his mouth. "Oh, Duchess..."

Rebecca felt the burn of tears but refused to let them fall. What was it he was about to say?

"The ride was to show you my land, yes, but also to talk privately about...my sons." He heaved a sigh, then sank to the floor. He tried to sit cross-legged like a young boy, but his long legs didn't bend that way. He looked so tormented by his confession he seemed oblivious to his own body's attempt to readjust. Ultimately he raised his knees and slung his forearms over them.

He'd surprised her, though. This was the last thing she expected him to say. As she studied his grief-stricken face, worry took hold. "What is it? Is one of them sick? I should know this. I should have paid more attention. I should—"

"No!" he snapped to stop her. "No," he said again on a whispered breath. "No, thank God. It...it's just..."

In an instant, her heart raced toward his. She could sense it now. What must it have been like for him to raise six sons on his own while he grieved the loss of a wife?

Before she thought it through, Rebecca's palm cupped his cheek.

And there it came—compassion. Her weakness. Others called it a strength. She knew better. It was her trap. A place where any person could manipulate her with ease. It had happened before, too many times. Each time she'd fallen like a dead log to the ground, splintering in all directions.

College had taught her to withhold it from anyone but family. It was why she'd been so careful to ask Jake if his cousins could be trusted before coming to Cooper Ranch. It was why she kept herself as personally uninvolved as possible with any man her age.

And it was why she feared she'd already stepped into Cord's dilemma as if it were a sticky mud bog, before she'd even heard it.

Had she learned nothing from her past?

The warmth and bristle of Cord's cheek brought her back from her dark thoughts when he parted his lips to speak, but rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip instead. She leaned in to better hear him. She didn't know what he planned to say, but knew instinctively it would arrive on a wisp of a breath. He pinched his bottom lip, shooting more worry into Rebecca. Something dreadful was eating this poor man up.

"I...I'm..." Cord seemed to choke on his words. He looked up, caught her gaze. His eyes were agonized, glittering with age-old pain.

Rebecca sucked in a breath and held it.

His nostrils flared on a deep intake of breath. "I'm a rotten father."

# Chapter 11

Stunned by Cord's admission, Rebecca didn't move. Her hand still rode his cheek, her eyes remained locked with his. She was surprised he hadn't moved away from her touch. Were those tears forming?

Who was this hurting, humble man?

"Oh, Cord. That's not true." Yet, it was. She shook her head as if that would flush away all she'd seen of his less than adequate interactions with his sons.

He placed his hand over hers and pressed it against his face. It had been instinctive, out of his need to receive comfort, she knew, but his warmth melted away her previous misgivings.

"You know it's true, Rebecca. You've seen the result of it. Lack of respect, disobedience..." He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then caught her gaze and held it. "They make bad choices, act out... The list goes on and on. My sons are grown, but they're a mess..."

He trailed off, shifting back so her hand fell away from his face. Angling his knees up, he propped his forearms back onto them. His gaze fell between his legs, the crackling fire behind him throwing his face into angular shadows.

She knew he had more to say, but he couldn't seem to spit it out.

He rubbed a finger under his nose. "Before being gone so long at Clara's place, I hadn't really noticed." He fell silent again.

The strident whistle of the teapot made Cord jump. He flinched and shook his head in embarrassment, shifting around to pick up the potholder he'd brought to the hearth. He collected the teapot from the hook and poured the hot water into two mugs that held teabags. They sipped tea in silence, the air thickening with things left unsaid.

Soon, Cord ambled to his feet, groaning with stiffness. He rubbed his backside, hot from the fire, then took his seat in the kitchen chair facing the blaze.

The silence continued until Cord turned in his seat to face her. His expression had changed. Resting a foot over his knee, he gripped the ankle with one big hand. "What happened in your past, Rebecca?"

Dread gripped her. "What do you mean?" she said too quickly.

He lifted one brow. "Your fear of men."

She scooted to the edge of her chair, barely restraining herself from bolting for the door. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't fear men. I mean, I showed up at the Bar-6 a month after you left for Clara's, and that's where I've been for four months now. Living amongst men. Why I—"

"Rebecca." His voice was calm, soothing.

Swallowing her remaining words, she stopped to listen. She needed to do that more often.

"We both know you have walls up. What caused that?"

She thought about denying it again but found herself settling back into her seat. Staring into the fire, she said, "I don't have a fear. I love men. Well...certain men. My Dad. Your sons. You." Her eyes widened, shifted to his. She jumped back in before he could comment. "It's a—I don't know. Lack of trust probably."

"Probably. Tell me what happened in college."

She jerked her gaze back to him. "Jake's got a big mouth."

He didn't deny it. Only nodded.

She scratched at an eyebrow and sighed.

"The men you encountered that day in town..." Funny how he didn't have to say what day. She knew. They both knew. "Buck is a good man. Would never intend harm. David, on the other hand. He's someone to avoid. But your reaction to them. That was the same, Rebecca. That tells me you didn't hear them. Not really. You just put up your walls and what? Planned to wait it out? Then run?"

"No! I wouldn't have run." She averted her gaze. "Don't usually have to," she whispered.

"Then you do wait it out."

She looked back, and the pity she saw there was exactly why she'd never told anyone but her immediate family about her past.

"Tell me, Duchess. Lay out for me what happened in college all those years ago." He grimaced like he'd just remembered how few years ago it was. Yet another age reminder broadening the gap between them. Except, she sensed the true gap came from somewhere else.

"Why do you want to know?" That sounded harsh, but why would Cord Cooper, prominent Wyoming rancher, want to know anything about the past of a young California college student? "Why hang out old laundry?' she said. "Suffice it to say, I was dumber than a box of marbles."

That tiny smile curved his mouth before he chewed the corner of his lip and it disappeared. "Come on, now. There was more to it than that. Start from the beginning."

She closed her eyes for two heartbeats, then inhaled a thorough breath. "Fine. I'll make it short."

His look said he doubted that. He was probably right. She gave him a teasing glare, then averted her gaze so she wouldn't have to watch his reaction. "I wanted to be a counselor, help kids in the school system, so I majored in psychology." She smiled sadly. "But the major was popular, and the class I needed to take spring quarter freshman year was full. So I stood in line for hours to get an add card from the Department Head."

She stopped, her eyes gliding over to see if Cord was even listening. He hadn't moved, was watching her intently. "The first day of class, my roommate Marilyn intercepted me at the door and told me Brent had gotten some pretty rough news that morning, and he...he wanted me to come over. As soon as I could."

Cord dropped his foot back to the floor, and leaned in, but didn't say a word.

"Brent was my...let's just say at one time I thought we had a future. He and Marilyn were my best friends all through high school and that first semester of college."

Cord rubbed a thumb over his chin but remained expressionless.

"I didn't want to miss that first lecture, but as long as I showed up with the add card sometime in the first week, I was told I'd be okay." She shrugged. "I mean, Brent needed me..."

"You couldn't say no."

"I couldn't say no."A bitter smile twisted her lips. Back then, she would have given him the world if he'd wanted it. The only reason she was still a virgin now was that Brent never asked.

Cord gave a subtle shake of his head, then frowned. Did he think her weak? Stupid? Tainted?

"When I got to his dorm, he looked terrible." She rubbed her palms against her thighs, wishing she could rub her gullibility off as easily. "Blotchy nose, bloodshot eyes. Like he'd actually been crying. He said his mom called that morning. Told him his uncle died of a heart attack the night before. Brent's dad died in Korea, so his uncle was—would have been—"

Old pain rose up. She pushed it back down. "We talked for a good two hours. The length of my psych class, but I wasn't just going to walk away. I waited until my bladder was about to burst before even leaving long enough to use the restroom. When I got back, he was—" She cleared her throat. "—completely different."

Cord slid to the edge of his seat. He held himself in a rigid posture, an advocate ready to fight.

Her next breath was ragged. Perspiration broke out at her temples. She thought she'd gotten over this. She understood well enough that talking about it then would have been good for her in the long run. But now? And why Cord? Why had he been the only one who cared enough to press?

Cord was waiting, so she went on, dreading the words she'd have to say. "He acted, I don't know, annoyed...smug...aloof. Something. And then he looked me straight in the eye and gripped my shoulders..." A devious glint along with a smirk had made her stomach churn at the transformation in the man she thought she knew. "Then he kissed me." Not sweet and tender as she thought their first kiss would be, but hard and nasty. "Then he laughed at me. I squirmed to get away. His fingers dug in deeper. When I thought I might have to kick him or scream, he turned me toward the door. With a hand to the small of my back, he gave me a little shove out the door and shut it behind me. No explanation, no apology, nothing. Like I was dismissed. No, more like...discarded. It was the last time he ever talked to me." What a fool she'd been.

"What'd he been after?" Cord asked, his frown growing deeper.

"Nothing. And everything."

# Chapter 12

The barn door slid open, letting in late afternoon light and the racket of heavy rain. Colt glanced up to see Stogie's bent frame coming through the open barn door, his hat dripping a path of rain as if it were its own storm cloud, his bright yellow slicker buttoned wrong and clashing with the old codger's gray hair.

Colt jolted upward when he saw what the old man was tugging behind him. His dad's gelding _._ "Where'd you find _him_?"

"The son-of-a-gun was tryin' to eat the new filly's hay right outta her mouth. Right there at the trough under the south overhang. She be mindin' her own business, and there he was, givin' her fits that she wouldn't share. Didn't Cord take this old boy earlier today?"

By then Colt had long since stopped listening and was checking over the gelding, head to hoof, a spike of fear in his spine because Trapper was still saddled. What could have happened? His dad was a superior rider. This made no sense.

"Where's Coop?" Trevor said, coming through the barn entrance. Unlike Stogie, he stood tall and straight, his hat centered, his slicker tidy. It was as if he'd stood in a wind tunnel to rid himself of excess water. But then, Trevor always made the picture-perfect rancher.

"Don't know," Colt returned anxiously. "Trapper came in alone."

"Check the saddle bags."

Colt frowned in confusion, but rarely disputed anything Trevor said. The eldest was seldom wrong, and even if he was, everyone on the ranch found it easier to go along. Colt grabbed the rag that always rode in his back pocket and rubbed the rain off the saddle, then the bag over Trapper's left flank. He opened the pocket and peered in. A scrap of brown paper was folded neatly at the top. Colt snatched it out and read aloud: _Got trapped by the storm. Rebecca is safe with me at the cabin. Will return on the mare whenever storm lets up._

Trevor nodded, then passed Colt and Stogie for his original destination.

"How'd you know that was in there?" Colt said to Trevor's back.

"Where've you been, little brother?" Trevor said over one shoulder. "Coop taught us to leave notes there if need be."

Colt was baffled. He'd never seen his dad do that before. Didn't remember being taught that. "Since when?"

"Since always. Probably too busy with all those ladies following you to pay attention." Then Trevor was gone through the office door.

"Well, I'll be..." Colt said to Stogie. "Did you know about this?"

"Heck yeah, boy. Where you been?"

Where indeed.

"Say, why'd Cord take the girl with him today anyways?"

"Good question, Stog." Colt slapped the old man on the back. "Took her right out from under me. Said he had something to talk to her about."

"Huh! S'at right? He gonna fire her, ya suppose? Heard tell in town that's what he was fixin' to do. Sure do hope not. I'm kinda attached to the young filly. How 'bout you?"

Colt's thoughts ground to a halt. What _was_ his father up to?

* * *

Rebecca sat stiffly in the armchair and examined Cord's face. She didn't want to say more about her past. Turned out, recapping the incident for Cord had brought back every humiliating moment. Besides, the rest of the story was even more painful, and what did it matter now anyhow?

But Cord wasn't satisfied. He had drilled those sharp eyes deep into hers and demanded she tell him the rest. When she refused, he set his jaw in stubborn silence and banged around making more tea. After carefully handing her another cup, he dropped down in the chair to stare into the fire. And that's where he remained. The longer he stayed mute, the more fidgety she became. She worried he wouldn't give up until he put a period to this conversation.

She couldn't take the silence any longer. "Cord. There's nothing more to be said about my past, so why don't we talk about your sons? It _was_ why you brought me out here, wasn't it?" Rebecca was surprised by the derision in her voice, but he had brought her here for more than a discussion of her own bad decisions and lost love.

Cord's elbows stabbed into his thighs as he kept his gaze on the flames, his hand wrapped around his mug. Interesting how men rarely used handles, and how manly it looked. The way he gripped that cup, though, tensing the muscles up his arm to his brawny shoulder, she feared something would shatter soon. Either the ceramic cup or maybe his sudden black mood. She hoped his mood.

Maybe she shouldn't have told him about her past. It had clearly distressed him, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he could do anything about it.

The discussion had enlightened her, though. She understood now that she had kept her wounded self bottled up and shelved firmly in her past. It hadn't been healthy and was why, before now, she'd remained in Phase One of all relationships. The safe phase. Where she could interact with people—help them even—but never get close.

She tugged at the flannel shirt she was wearing, then straightened her blanket. If she truly believed God was in control—and she did—she should have been over her suspicion of people by now. Until that day in town, she hadn't even realized her distrust was still so solidly in place.

_Face it, Rebecca. You came to Wyoming to escape_. To escape her past. To escape those who knew how she'd mucked up her future. To escape her friends. And even to escape men—at least serious relationships.

She shifted in her seat, gearing up for a chat. Her own mind would keep yapping at her if she didn't get Cord talking. She was sure by his countenance his thoughts were back on his own failings. Without knowing it, Cord had already helped her toward overcoming her past. Now she would return the favor. Maybe that was the only reason she was on the Bar-6. The thought exhilarated her and saddened her all at the same time.

Pushing aside her own conflicted thoughts, she concentrated on the man in front of her. "Cord. What is it?"

He inhaled a breath, so huge his back stretched his shirt. Just as Rebecca was about to jump in with more words, Cord spoke. "Tell me something. Have you noticed anything odd about my sons?" He turned his head to peer over his shoulder at her. "Be honest with me."

Rebecca groped around her memories while she listened to the soothing patter on the roof. The cracks of thunder were in the distance now, but they were there, along with flashes of light now and again. She loved the rain, thunderstorms especially. She had ever since she was a little girl sitting on her daddy's lap, watching the live show. God's show.

Cord turned the chair to straddle it backward. He crossed his arms on top and watched her. Waiting for an answer. What in the world was he after? "Well...I don't know what you mean by odd. All I can do is tell you what I've observed."

He nodded for her to continue.

"You're all the salt-of-the-earth kind of men, as Jake had assured me before I came to the Bar-6. He was right. Men don't come any better. That includes your sons, dispirited as they may all be. It's why I've been mostly comfortable with them."

She saw Cord was about to hop in at that comment, but she didn't want the topic to switch back to her. "They're good men, Cord."

Cord rubbed the corner of a brow with his thumb, the lines around his eyes tight. "That's quite a compliment, Duchess."

He rubbed his fingertips into his temple, then across his forehead. Those hands. Capable hands, knuckles scarred from the labors of an active rancher. He was every bit the 'good man' his sons were, but he didn't see it that way.

"What else do you see? Tell me everything you've noticed."

Rebecca reached up with both hands and pushed her long hair out of her face and behind her ears. Cord observed silently. "Okay. I'll start with Trevor."

He nodded.

"Trevor is the hardest-working man I've ever known. When I first arrived on your ranch, I tried to make separate meals for him since he was up before dawn and back late every night. I finally had to tell him I'd make his meals but he'd have to re-warm them if he couldn't be there for the scheduled times."

Cord growled his disapproval of Trevor's behavior but otherwise didn't interrupt.

"He has no social life that I can see. Too many responsibilities." She'd despised Cord before she'd met him in person because of what he'd expected of his sons—especially Trevor.

Maybe this discussion wasn't such a good idea.

He must have seen that on her face, since his expression shifted to annoyance, matching her own. "Go on."

"He takes good care of himself—hygiene, clothes. He's well put together always. Impeccable, really. An interesting phenomenon for a cattle rancher. But emotionally...he won't let anyone near him. I don't think I've ever seen him offer a hug or take one. Never dates. Barely shakes hands. He's old and cynical before his time. Not a good thing."

Cord gave a quick nod. "That dang dog of his seems to be the only living creature he cares about. Sometimes I think if he didn't have Dash, he'd reach out to people."

Didn't he see the dog was Trevor's only refuge? Taking a calming breath, she continued. "He does have his demons, and I have no doubt he will one day have to face them. But for now, though he truly works too much, he's in a pretty good place.

"Then there's Colt," she went on. "He takes up the slack. Shoulders a lot of the responsibilities since he's afraid Trevor will one day break."

She was frowning hard now.

Cord was, too.

Well, he asked for this. He would get her full observation, like it or not. "Colt is the calmest of your sons...of the ones I know, anyway. He's quiet, runs deep. An old soul. Gentle. Observant. He's a kind man, always there for everyone...including me. He's by far the most grounded of your sons but I worry for him since he's sort of frozen in time. I don't see him moving on until Trevor does. I think he'd believe he was abandoning ship if he left the ranch, or even if he had his own parcel of the spread. Have you noticed how many young women flock to Colt under the guise of 'horse problems'?" She laughed. "Heck, I don't blame them. I should snag that young man for myself. He's quite a catch."

Cord rolled his jaw to the side and his nostrils flared on an intake of breath, but he said nothing. She didn't know what that reaction meant, so she plowed forward.

"Brand. I don't know if he's there for everyone, but he is for me. He's another one with an even temper. More charming than Colt. A real sweetheart. Trouble is, the women love him too, but unlike Colt, he takes them up on it, so he's a young Don Juan." She smiled sheepishly. Cord grimaced but kept quiet. "More talkative. A bit of a con artist. But he works hard. He's loyal, watching out for his delinquent twin all the time. That alone would make anyone go gray early."

Cord rolled his eyes, then dropped his gaze to the floor. So much for him to swallow.

She laced her hands around one knee. "Yeah, then there's Bronc. He's wild, outspoken—and not in a good way—tough on anyone who's near. He's stubborn, belligerent. A surprisingly hard worker, when he thinks you're not watching. And the one who's hurting the most."

Cord's head shot up. "Hurting?"

"Come on, Cord. You've seen his behavior."

Cord scrubbed a hand through his short hair, making it stick out all over again. "Of all my sons, he's the one who got all the attention I had in me to give. He's been a holy terror to everyone else since birth. And you say _he's_ the one hurting?" Sarcasm dripped from his last sentence.

Rebecca huffed a breath, exasperation heating her face. "Are you saying you've never figured it out?"

Cord leaned back, grasped the top of the chair with both hands, his knuckles white. "You want to enlighten me, Duchess?"

She glared right back. "He blames himself for his mother's death. And probably you, too!"

Cord leaped to his feet, flinging the chair out of his way. It crashed against another at the table, and both skidded into the cupboard. My, what a reaction. "Explain yourself!"

Rebecca wrenched herself upright to meet his challenge. Of course, standing didn't give her much advantage. Cord's head tilted down until they were nearly nose to nose. She could feel the heat of his breath on her forehead as he huffed like a bull.

"He's the last born, _Daddy_ Cooper. His mother didn't make it through his birth."

"Who told you that?"

"Colt."

Cord pressed his lips back into that grim line, narrowed his eyes. "And me?"

Oh shoot, she shouldn't have said anything. It was just a guess on her part anyway. But the counselor in her just sort of knew. _Hedge._ "You, what?" she said as she maneuvered toward the front door. She would excuse herself and stay out awhile. Like until tomorrow.

Cord grasped her arm, held her in place. "You said he blames me, too."

She shook her head, strands of hair slipping into her face.

Without thought, Cord fingered the mop of curls back behind her ear. The gentle touch was so opposite his rising ire that it touched her heart.

His brows knit together with concern. "Duchess...?"

Her thoughts had fled. What was she saying again? She dropped her gaze from his, trying to regain her bearings.

Cord shook her arm to bring her eyes back to his. "Are you all right?"

"I forgot what I was going to say." It was true. The realization that she trusted him, that he cared enough to be tender with her in the middle of their argument, had taken her aback.

"Let's sit down. You look like you're about to fall down." There was that soothing voice that went with his tender touch. Her heart was doing crazy things. She could almost feel each gouge inflicted from her past heal up one by one.

Cord guided her back to her seat, sat her down, then retrieved his chair to join her.

Her shoulders rose on a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Where were we?"

"You were about to tell me why Bronc blames me." He eyed her carefully, his voice tempered now.

How could she hurt him with what she easily could have yelled at him earlier?

"Tell me."

There was no hope for it. She had to say it now. "You are the father."

"Are you going to state the obvious, or tell me your point?" Now he was annoyed.

She wished she could sink right through the floorboards. "You...you're the one who got his mother in the family way." She felt a deep flush heat her face.

Confusion clouded his. He tilted his head down just before his gaze darted back up. "The family way—you mean _pregnant_?"

She nodded, then glanced down at his hands. Both were fisted around the chair back again. Looking back up, she saw his eyes sharpen, dark with rising fury, like the ocean in a typhoon.

Cord reached out and grasped one of her hands. "I'm not getting your meaning, Rebecca, so you'd better spit it out. Now!"

Her worry at how he'd take the news flew straight out the window with his demand. "Or what?"

He actually jerked in response, his hand flinging off her as if her skin had shocked him. She was again reminded no one talked back to this man. That was half the reason his sons were so troubled. They couldn't get two cents in—or had stopped bothering to try. Cord was like an army tank, running over anyone who dared come up against him. Well, she dared!

Rebecca readied her sharp tongue for battle.

He beat her to it. "I just want to understand. Are you saying I got Millie pregnant, so Bronc blames me for his conception?"

"You're missing the point." Rebecca tried to stop herself. To take a moment before hitting him with the painful message, but he'd riled her and her mouth didn't cooperate. "If she hadn't been pregnant again, with twins no less, she wouldn't have died!" As soon as those words hit her ears, she wanted to suck them back in.

Cord's brows rose, his eyes swirling with emotion. Darn, this wasn't the time to not understand what she saw. Shock? Grief? Indignation? He dropped back. "So, he thinks but for me, she would not have had so many kids, and therefore would have lived."

Bitter anguish filled his words.

Remorse squeezed Rebecca's heart. "It's just a guess, mind you."

" _What?_ I thought Bronc said something to you. You're just guessing about this?" His hands flew in the air. "For the love of—"

"I'm right," she said, interrupting the beginning of another tirade. Even though he had a right to know, she regretted having to be the one to tell him.

He halted, hands still raised as if he were a conductor holding the note of an orchestra. Somehow she'd reached him. He believed her. She could actually read that in his expression.

Cord lowered his hands inch by inch as if he fought against the weight of her words. Horror flattened the life out of his expression, leaving only a hollow, blank look. His eyes welled with tears that didn't fall.

Rebecca inhaled a painful breath, wanting with everything in her to wrap him in a hug. Compassion hit her so powerfully she wondered if she'd be able to take another full breath. She'd managed to crush the spirit right out of this already hurting man with just two words. To think, she had so much more she could have heaped on his ruins. _Thank you, Lord, for stopping me._

Stiff with the effort, Cord rose and strode out the front door.

# Chapter 13

Barefoot and devoid of a plan, Cord pounded down the steps and into the gray, rain-drenched world. A toad croaked with all its might from under the shelter of the boarded porch. He knew how it felt. He wanted to bellow his own sorrow.

If she hadn't been pregnant again, with twins, no less, she wouldn't have died.

Rebecca's words. Always her words.

But she was right. It had been his fault. He'd thought that same thing when the twins were born nineteen years ago, and a thousand times since. But Bronc, feeling the same way...? That had never crossed his mind. No wonder the boy was wild.

How had Rebecca become so astute? The boys had told him she spent some time talking with them here and there, but he had no idea she understood so much.

"Go back in, learn more about your sons," Cord said to himself. "Hang guilt and pride." He tilted his head to the sky, letting rain batter his face, wishing it would wash away the sins of his past. Funny how he thought of his misdeeds as sins. His wife had drilled that into his skull. _Millie._ How he missed her sweet nature, her compliance, her ability to go along with anything and everything he wanted.

_You treat her like a doormat, sonny,_ blunt Stogie had once told him.

Maybe that was another truth he'd ignored.

Cord rounded the corner to check on the mare, took the few steps into the lean-to, and cursed. The dang dapple was gone. And now he was stranded with a woman he couldn't stop thinking about, could barely keep his hands off, and who'd just injected a painful truth about his youngest straight into his heart.

"Cord. Come in," came the voice of that woman.

He came out of the lean-to so she could hear him better through the howling wind. "The mare's gone. I'm going to look for her. I won't be long."

"The mare took off? Without Trapper? She wouldn't do that. Oh, is Trapper gone too? What's going on, Cord?"

Words. Rebecca was loaded with them. What her brain must look like, cluttered with a thousand letters. To think, she amused him with all those words—when she didn't put him in a rage...or on the wrong end of an emotional battering.

"I sent Trapper home earlier with a note so the fellas wouldn't worry. I know how attached the mare is to him. I should have known better. Tied her better." He cursed again.

Rebecca pleaded with him to come inside, out of the rain, that he was barefoot and could catch his death, that the mare was long gone. Just more words that didn't help a thing...

He ignored her plea and rounded the corner of the cabin, letting out a shrill whistle. He knew Rebecca was right. The mare had surely found her way back home by now. Or if not back in the barn, she'd have found shelter under a tree where his sons would collect her later. The dang horse could take better care of herself than he could of himself right now. Helplessness swarmed him.

What he needed was mental space. To wrap his head around Rebecca's accusation. To finally come to grips with what he'd known soul-deep for nearly two decades. He hadn't left his poor wife alone even when he knew she was becoming frail. Consequently, she'd had one child after the next five years in a row, the last being twins who'd exhausted her body beyond repair.

He'd done that.

"Cord!"

He heard her call just as he came around the north corner toward the front porch. He'd been gone awhile. At first, he'd wanted to storm back in and confront her about Bronc, but why? She was right. He couldn't change it now. All he _could_ do was decide where to go from here, except he was stuck. He needed Rebecca's help, and he'd have to get his own damn ego out of the way in order to take it.

She was still standing where he'd left her, worried and waiting for him out of that deep-seated compassion she radiated like a beacon.

Her head twisted in his direction as she caught sight of him. "There you are." Relief was heavy in her voice. "You must come in out of the rain. You'll catch—"

"—my death. I know." He cringed at the nip in his voice. Her compassion vexed him. Why? Because no one had ever shown him that kind of consideration before?

The widow? Certainly not.

His wife? If she had, he couldn't remember a time.

He padded up the steps, the smack of his bare feet against the wet wood loud even against the noisy storm. Once under the eaves next to her, he shook his head. Droplets of water sprayed in all directions.

Rebecca jumped back. "For Heaven's sake, Coop. Are you a dog?" She laughed.

He stopped the shaking, watched her broad smile and warmed at the sound of her laughter. The beautiful, tinkling sound made him stutter in his next breath. Gut struck and annoyed in equal parts, his annoyance usually won out.

Not this time.

Caught in a moment of time, he took in everything about her. Those striking green eyes filled with mirth. That dazzling smile spread wide. But it was more than the physical he saw. It was her goodness, wrapped in compassion like a gift offered without reservation. He inhaled her herbal scent, most keen when she was wet. He had a perfect recollection of the first time he'd experienced that scent. The day he'd found her in the ditch and carried her in the blinding rain with her soaked head nestled under his nose.

He took a step closer. Now he longed to taste her lips and complete the circle of senses that came alive whenever she was near. The ones he fought. This time he let them flood him, fill him.

Until reality yanked him back, waking him out of his daydream. What was he doing contemplating a next step, forbidden as it was, with Rebecca, when his sons were his mission. Where could a connection with Rebecca lead? Hadn't he already proven to himself he was unworthy as a mate?

He backed a step, squeezed his eyes closed. Her voice was still in his head. She'd called him Coop. As good as it'd sounded coming from her lips, he hated the nickname. Trevor had used it instead of calling him Dad, and his son's use of it had been ripping chunks out of his heart for years now.

He gestured to her attire. "About catching that chill, your...get-up will do you no good out here." His words were brusque, opposite of what he'd been feeling.

He ushered her through the door. The moment the door was closed behind them, she spun to face him. She sought his eyes with a staggering intensity all her own, planting her hands at her waist; hands that now glistened from the wet gusts on the porch. His gaze traveled over the rest of her, remnants of the sensory stimulation still alive in his thoughts.

"Cord?" she questioned, coaxing his gaze upward along with heat to his face.

He locked eyes with her, waiting for a tongue-lashing over his ardent perusal. It never came. She wore a sort of confused look...or more like worry.

He should say something. Couldn't quite put a sentence together. His skin should have felt chilled from icy rain, but instead, it was on fire. She did that to him. Was it the sheer physical attraction? Or was it her complexity that had him spinning? He had to get hold of himself. He ran a hand over his wet face, then through his soggy hair, mostly to keep from looking her in the eyes again. Water dribbled off him, puddling the floor. "I should change."

When he finally managed to squeeze into his youngest son's clothes—since those were all he found—he gathered his sodden outfit and returned to the fireside, and a sweet smelling Rebecca. Hanging his clothes over an extra chair, he noticed Rebecca had stopped brushing her hair to slide a glance up and down his body. Yeah, he felt ridiculous, knew he looked it. The denim shirt pulled tight across his chest, so he'd left the top four buttons undone. The pants were too short, showing his hairy ankles and bare feet.

He could have sworn he saw a flare of interest in her eyes as she checked him over. A twitch at the corners of her mouth, a press of her lips, and then her gaze flew back to his face. His own expression must have looked comical since she was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

He dropped his chin, trying to see how he looked through her eyes. He felt the corners of his own mouth lift. "Bronc or Brand's old clothes. They were a tad smaller back then." He glanced back up at her and, seeing a smile on her face, released one of his own.

They grinned at each other for a few beats before her smile dropped off and the return of his restlessness made him turn back to the fire.

Rebecca started talking, about nothing, about everything. He tuned out the flux of her empty words. Flinging words showed her nervousness. Words to fill the room, to fill the silence. Words that kept people from getting too close. Words that soothed his soul even when he wasn't really listening.

Cord's gaze meandered back to her. He watched as the jibberish rolled out of her mouth. A beautiful mouth. She'd finished brushing her hair, and it hung in natural waves about her face and shoulders. There was a flush to her cheeks that made her eyes stand out in a face that had the creamiest skin he'd ever seen. She wasn't a classic beauty like his wife had been, or even the widow was, but there was a magnetism that drew him. It wasn't her youth—that alone scared him into tomorrow. No. It was that giving, radiant spirit.

And now with his shirt and the fluffy blanket surrounding her entire frame, he wanted to cuddle her to his chest and stick his nose in that glorious hair just to breathe her in.

Unsettled by his fluctuating thoughts, he gave her his back, squatted down in front of the fireplace, grabbed a log, and prodded the fire as if enflaming it would burn the fervor right out of him.

Forcing his mind back to sanity and the main reason he'd brought her here, he knew he couldn't delay any longer for her one-sided dialogue to wind down. He shifted on his toes and slung an arm across his knee to look her in the eye.

"...when four goats jumped on the hood of the car..." Rebecca's smile faded as she looked at Cord quizzically. "What?"

A burst of nervousness swelled so rapidly in Cord's chest, he found himself tongue-tied.

Rebecca treated him to a gentle smile. "What is it?"

She was in counselor mode. Best to rip the bandage off quickly then. "I got Millie pregnant in high school."

* * *

Rebecca felt her jaw drop, startled not so much by what he said, but by how bluntly he said it.

Cord stared at her, his own eyes wide as he absorbed her surprise. Or did he see her expression as shock, condemnation? His brow darkened.

"Need firewood," he mumbled and was out the door before she could put two words together.

Rebecca waited, confused but forcing herself to give Cord whatever time he needed. This was old news. Surely he knew she would not judge.

When he finally returned with an armload of firewood and dumped it in the box, she padded toward him and handed him two cups—one of soup, the other of hot tea she'd made them while he was outside. He took them both without looking at her.

Rebecca felt the muscles in her back loosen; a tentative truce was better than none.

Now back in the kitchen chair in front of the fire, Cord mindlessly stirred his soup, his eyes focused on the flames. Rebecca blew on her own hot liquid, mindful of her tendency to fill space with words, and Cord's need to formulate every thought before delivering it.

A burst of wind battered the glass. Rain beat a steady tempo against the cabin. Cord's gaze into the fire intensified. He shifted his weight back, deposited an ankle onto his knee, and, ignoring the spoon in his cup, took a gulp of the hot soup. He grimaced.

"Careful. It's really hot." Rebecca retrieved two glasses of water for them. Handing one to Cord, she said, "Tell me more."

He took a big gulp of water and sighed. Gave Rebecca a lingering glance, then nodded as if putting to rest a struggle inside his head. "I was a typical teenaged boy. Randy and reckless." His gaze zipped to her. "Sorry."

She smiled, then patted his knee. "Think of me as a counselor. If you have to stop and apologize for truths that may be a little audacious, this could take days."

" _Audacious,_ " he mouthed, his lips tilting up on one side. "Well, you know the outcome of my behavior. I got my way. Millie got pregnant."

"Did you leave her to fend for herself?"

He ran a hand down his face, blowing out a breath that seemed to relax him a bit. "No. I married her as soon as we found out. Her folks were enraged. Mine were none too happy. But we did our best. I brought her to the ranch, and we lived with my folks."

"Did her parents help?"

"Yes. They helped. Until they died on the highway in a snow storm not long after the twins were born."

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "My own dad died out on the range when Trevor was two. My mom a year later. I wouldn't have made it without Maria." He stared into his cup.

"Oh, Cord. So much tragedy, so quickly. How awful." That explained so much. He'd been too young to face all that. So much death, and then six sons to raise without their mother. Anyone would have lost their way. He was surprisingly stable for all that loss and toil.

She leaned forward a bit, wanting to touch him again, but not daring to disrupt his candidness. She remained respectfully still, engaged. "What did your mom die of?"

He pressed his lips together into a wistful smile that deepened to pain. "Broken heart, I expect."

Rebecca gulped. She did reach out to him then and gave his knee a squeeze.

He fell silent...for so long, Rebecca thought he was done talking. She decided to give him the time.

"I..." he began again. "I was never there for Millie." His eyes met hers. They were awash in sadness. "I just got her pregnant, over and over again. Bronc is right. If it wasn't for me, she'd be alive today."

Regret at having told him that washed over her. Rebecca reached for his hand. He pulled away, averted his gaze.

"The twins were a fast and brutal delivery. We were home alone, packed and ready to go, the kids were with Millie's folks. Having twins put Millie at risk, and she was fragile anyway..." He paused, cringed. "Since we had a ways to travel, we intended to stay near the hospital until the babies came. She'd had lower back discomfort for a couple of days, so we decided it best to go earlier than planned. We were getting ready to leave within the hour when her labor came on—" His face screwed up into a grimace. "—so hard and so fast, there was no way she could endure the drive to the hospital. I started to leave her side to go call the doctor, but she screamed and begged me not to leave her. I stayed only long enough to change her into a nightgown, let her squeeze my hand for a moment, then tugged away to call the doc..."

He shook his head. "The doctor didn't come right away. What did we know about birthing twins? Millie just screamed and sobbed for it seemed like hours, and nothing happened. Finally, she pushed and pushed and pushed...and Brand was born. Right into my hands."

His eyes glistened over, his voice rough. Rebecca wondered if he'd ever shared this with another living soul.

Cord smiled cheerlessly. "He was scrawny and tiny, our Brandon. But he couldn't have been more beautiful to me. I cut his cord, cleaned him up, swaddled him, and held him close to my heart." Cord swiped at his eyes and cheeks.

Rebecca's heart clenched as tears welled.

"After that, Millie's contractions got worse, her belly stretched weirdly like Bronc was sideways in there. She was in agony. The doctor still hadn't arrived. It was just me. I had to do something."

He stretched down and plunked his mug of tea onto the floor with a _thunk_. Leaning forward, he planted his elbows into his knees, his face in his hands. He rubbed hard at his eyes, his cheeks. She heard the rasp of his whiskers against his palms as if he were scrubbing away the memory, the pain, keeping emotion in check.

It was hard, but Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek to remain silent.

"I...I had helped many a cow give birth, some horses too. I knew I had to turn Bronc, get his head down. I pressed my hands over Millie's belly as deeply as I dared, guessed which side his head was on, and gave it a hard shove toward the birth canal." He sucked in a breath and held it, his face contorted with imprisoned emotion.

Rebecca thought he'd never exhale when finally he did on a choke. A few tears streamed down his cheeks, and Rebecca felt the tumble of her heart over that precipice of longing, straight into the abyss of wholehearted adoration.

She fell hard for Cord Cooper in that moment. So hard, she wondered if recovery would ever be possible.

Cord's eyes pierced hers, and she felt his anguish deep in her bones. "She screamed, Rebecca, it wasn't natural. I figure I ripped something inside her, shoving him like that." Cord dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head. "I heard a car drive up, knew it was the doctor. I told Millie I'd be right back, scooped up little Brand, and ran to the front door. And all the while Millie was begging me to stay."

Cord was taking in labored breaths now, reliving the horrors of that day. Rebecca couldn't stand it anymore. She rose and gathered his head to her chest. "God is in control of life and death, Cord. There was nothing you could do."

They stayed in this position for long moments, Cord's breath rigid and choppy. She wished he trusted her enough to truly cry, to clear out that old, putrid pain.

When it seemed he had composed himself, he leaned back enough to look up into her eyes. His next few inhalations were uneven. His eyes glistened. He took a deep breath and went on, "By the time Brand and I returned with the doctor, Bronc was there between Millie's legs. In a pool of blood. Crying his little heart out. And she was gone."

A searing pain tore through Rebecca. She slid light fingertips over his shoulder and across his cheek. He flinched. The picture of his eyes clouding with the tears of ancient misery would stay fresh in her mind forever. Unable to see him like that anymore, she drew him in and crushed him to her once again. So much pain. _My poor broken man..._

The truth of it all came crashing down around her. He blamed himself not just for impregnating Millie over and over again. He believed his actions in trying to help Millie had killed her.

That day Cord shattered to pieces, and there had been no one left to put him back together.

# Chapter 14

Cord stared into wide eyes swimming with tears. For him. His heart thumped hard as Rebecca clasped his head against her chest. All he could think was, _how can she be so charitable?_

But then, she didn't know the whole truth, did she?

He shoved that thought aside for a moment of basking in her compassion. He'd never experienced anything like it. He was used to being the object of blame: how he'd let Millie down, escaped responsibilities, used the widow, left Trevor and Colt to run the ranch, and on it went. Criticisms from his sons, the neighbors, the hands, the widow's employees, the townsfolk. You name it, he received it. And he deserved every last bit.

But to have sympathy laid at his feet? Not once.

He didn't know what to do with it, so he just let her hold him until his guilt rose up and overpowered his need for comfort. He nudged her away.

The confusion he felt must have shown on his face. Rebecca flushed a bright pink and sucked in a tight breath. She released him faster than he could open his mouth to explain, turned on her heel, and scurried toward the kitchen counter, her back to him.

He was at a loss for words as he listened to the drumming rain on the cabin's roof.

Before long, she squared her shoulders and turned, her hands braced behind her at the counter's edge. "What are you not telling me, Cord?"

Stunned, he stared at her determined mouth and knew she was ready for a fight. Awkward seconds passed. "Don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. I sense there's more. More than the death of your wife. What happened to you could happen to anyone. It wasn't your fault. You did your best. You're a smart man. You know that. So, what is it? What's keeping you at a distance from your sons, from another marriage, from intimacy? True intimacy, not the kind you glean from a mere sex partner."

Cord flew to his feet. "Watch it, Duchess! You know nothing about me or my private life."

Both hands came to her stomach as if she were stopping the flutters there. She held his stare with the bravado of a seasoned wife. "Oh, but I do. I know there's something more, something..." Her voice trailed off as she gazed up at him.

She wasn't the least bit daunted—by his size, his words, his deliberate attempt at intimidation, nothing.

Copying what he usually did to her, she walked toward him, searching his eyes for truth with concern in her own.

Would she be able to see that black memory? The one that haunted him daily?

No, of course, she couldn't. This was Rebecca. She could never read expressions. Yet, she did understand so much. Would have made a great counselor.

"No, Duchess. There's nothing more." The lie was like acid in his mouth.

Her eyes squeezed closed. Was that disappointment on her face? Hurt? He didn't know but was surprisingly relieved when she raised her chin on an inhale of breath and resumed her stare.

If they remained this close with so much undercurrent between them, they'd need a lightning rod to quiet the air.

She grasped his forearm. "Cord," she said in a quiet, coaxing voice. She gave his arm a quick shake. "Please. What is it? You can tell me. Trust me."

He clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw bulge. The air had grown thin. He was having a hard time taking in breaths. There was no one he could trust with his worst moment. No one. "I have nothing to say."

"But you do have something wedged deep inside you. I can see the pain in your eyes. Beyond the loss of your wife."

He took another step closer, trying to shut her up with his size alone.

She simply tilted her head back farther to keep her eyes glued to his. Damn her! She needed to give this up. Release him from voicing a confession he'd regret for the rest of his life. No! She could try all she wanted, but she would not dig this from him.

Not now, not ever!

She reached up and captured his face in her hands. Shock and heat exploded through him like a range fire. She stroked one soft palm across the coarse growth there, effectively shutting down the chaos of his mind and awakening his body.

"Please tell me," she said in a whisper, stroking his cheek over and over. "Whatever you're harboring, it's eating you up inside. Can't you see that? _Feel_ that?"

He stepped backward to put some distance between him and those gentle hands. He needed to get away from this temptation. Before he knew it, she'd have him confessing all kinds of things, true or not. He ran an agitated hand through his hair and ambled to the small window. Watching the unrelenting rain, how it washed the glass, the branches, the earth, he wished it could wash his tainted soul.

"Coop—"

Finally, something to attack. He pivoted around. "Stop calling me that!" A boom of thunder off in the distance seemed to stamp his statement.

He'd managed to stun her.

"Why?"

"Trevor calls me Coop. I've hated it since the day he started."

She leaned against the nearest counter again as she returned to counselor mode. It was clear she was comfortable wearing that hat. "Why does he do that, _Cord_?"

Thankful she acquiesced, and happy they'd left the other topic behind, he answered as honestly as he could. "He started using Coop instead of Dad the last time he allowed me to disappoint him. He's been guarding himself with it ever since."

"When was that?"

He looked away, let his gaze wander about the cabinets. He strained to come up with an answer that didn't put more nails in his coffin of failures.

"Cord?"

She'd never let it rest now. Rebecca never let anything drop. But maybe he wanted her to dig—needed her to dig. At least about his sons.

He faced her, let his gaze be caught by hers. "I didn't show up for a special day..." He stuttered to a stop. This was harder than he'd imagined.

She came forward, grabbed both hands from his sides and held them tight. His pulse sped from the contact. Why did she find it so easy to touch when she was helping? "Cord. Listen to me. I'm your friend, and I love your sons, too. Don't ever forget that."

_His friend_. Yeah. He supposed that's all he'd ever be. "I was supposed to be at Trevor's first championship calf roping contest. He was only twelve. He'd worked hard to get there. I didn't show up until the end. Missed the whole dang event. He never forgave me."

"Why did you miss it?"

Such an innocent question—such a bitter pill to swallow. He wanted to bark, 'Enough said,' at her, but he held back. "It wasn't the first time I'd disappointed him, nor will it be the last."

Yanking his hands from hers and missing them all at the same time, he strode back to the window. Maybe it was time for silence for awhile.

"Stop stonewalling."

" _Stonewalling?_ "

"Yes, stonewalling," she said again.

He turned from the dreary storm to face the glum subject. "What do you want to know, Duchess? How I failed my son? How I continue to fail them all?"

Rebecca's face twisted up, all indignant like. If he wasn't so aggravated, he'd think it cute how she wrinkled her nose like she'd just come from the manure pile. "Will you please stop talking down about yourself? Look around you. You have a beautiful spread in Crook County, Wyoming, with cattle and horses and hay; you have six capable sons—good men. You are as healthy and handsome as they come, and you have a wonderful future in store. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!"

He'd stopped listening at _healthy and handsome_. Did she really think him handsome?

"Cord? Are you even listening to me?"

He refocused in on her. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Okay then, let's get back to Trevor. Why did you miss his competition?"

"I was picking up yearlings in Montana. From your Uncle Roy, as a matter-of-fact. I'd gotten waylaid by an accident on the highway. But, with me, there's always a mitigating circumstance."

He didn't miss the eye-roll she gave as she said, "Work. You had to work. And you're beating yourself up over that? I thought maybe you were going to tell me you were off gallivanting with the gorgeous widow or something equally sordid."

_Sordid?_ This time, he didn't think her two-bit word charming. "The widow was married at the time. I've never been the cause of a cuckold!"

Disgust was clear on her face. But relief was there, too.

"You win, Duchess. Sit. Let's start again." At least he'd get the subject back on his sons.

She huffed out a breath and whisked back to the cushioned chair, sitting on the very edge like a Victorian lady greeting her gentleman caller. "Now. Where were we? Oh yes. You mentioned mitigating circumstances."

Whoa. She really did listen. He couldn't quite sit yet. His body hummed over her low opinion of him. "I could have sent one of my hands to pick up those yearlings. I didn't have to go myself. If I had done it that way, I would have been there to see Trevor compete. It could have been that simple."

"And that makes you feel guilty."

"You're darned right it does!"

"But you were working. You'd been waylaid by an accident. Didn't you explain any of that to Trevor?"

Cord blew out a breath and laughed, a humorless sound even to his own ears. "Try telling that to a twelve-year-old kid. Besides, I'd disappointed him before, many times. Calling me Coop is a way to hurt me back. Each of my sons has his own way of telling me where I crossed the final line with them. Like I said, _Miss Counselor_ , I make a lousy father."

* * *

Rebecca watched as Cord stretched his back, then settled in the kitchen chair, arranging it to face her cushioned armchair.

His brows curved upward between his eyes, showing his worry. "So, how do I change that?" His eyes had darkened under the strain of his angst. An emotion she could actually read.

Seeing Cord this vulnerable was melting her heart. He was not the arrogant control fanatic she'd once thought him to be. She didn't know why it took him until his sons were grown to come to this, but all he wanted now was what any father would want. A way to bond with his sons and become the father he was meant to be.

She gazed off as she scoured her mind for a way to explain to him that God needed to be at the helm of his plans. That if he wanted to see results concerning his sons, he needed to pray, put them in God's hands, and ask what his part should be. Then take action.

It was just that simple, and just that hard.

But, she knew she couldn't hit him with all that initially. Like anyone, he would need to learn to trust God. She needed to start him slowly.

"So, Rebecca. Tell me how you've managed to keep my sons in line."

She nearly choked at that bold statement. Did he truly believe that? "I haven't. Or haven't you noticed?" She laughed, snorted, then rolled her eyes at her unladylike reaction.

Cord chuckled, but sat back and seemed more at ease. "I can't seem to stop controlling instead of connecting. Tell me what to do. What you do."

She also sat back in hopes of keeping them both relaxed. "Here's a suggestion: be conscious of the times you're about to control, then change your course before you do. Let your sons be their own men—make their own decisions. And stop scolding them like they're little boys. Especially in front of others." That was a lot. She'd let him chew on that for awhile.

He nodded. "Is that what you would do?"

She sighed, looked into the fire. "What I would do is probably very different from what you would do."

"In what way?"

Rebecca pulled her gaze back to him. She wondered how he'd take this news. "I'd start with God. With prayer."

Cord sucked in a subtle breath through his nose. He didn't reject it straight away. That was good. Moments passed as Cord seemed to ponder her words. Finally, he said, "Does that work?"

How could she make him understand? "Even with all the practice I've had leaving my troubles in God's hands, I fail at it every day. Mind you, God never fails us. All we need to do is keep the faith. Believe. Trust Him. So easy yet we make it harder than it needs to be. He gives us free choice. Kind of like what I'm suggesting you do for your sons. The freedom to make their own choices. God never forces Himself on us. He always lets us choose even though we may fail—which we often do. The hope is to grow from that. Build character."

Cord came to his feet and turned to the mantel, dropping his forehead on his crossed arms as he stared into the fire, or at his feet—she couldn't tell. He stood that way for so long, Rebecca sifted through what she'd said to him. Had she misspoken? Given him too much to digest? _Help me, Lord._

She rose slowly, not wanting to disturb his ruminations, but concerned nonetheless. She stood at his back for long minutes before finally daring to touch him. He flinched. "I'm sorry. Did I say something to upset you?"

Cord slowly turned. She was close as he faced her, but she didn't back away. He stared into her eyes. The worry had left his, and what she thought she saw instead was remorse or sorrow.

"What is it?"

"My own choices have been so bad, I want to save my sons from repeating my mistakes."

"You can't do that, Cord. You can't save them from living life. They'll only rebel." Which they had already done, each in their own way. But she didn't want to twist the knife by reminding him of that fact. He was already hurting, worse than she'd imagined. "So much of what you think you did wrong was you keeping the ranch running. You had to work. Children understand that about their fathers. My dad is a farmer. When I was little, certain times of the year we only saw him late at night, if we happened to still be up. He doesn't have the luxury of, say, a teacher, who's home after school with the children. I understood, never felt neglected. He loves us and we all know that. Your sons know this about you, as well."

His eyes softened as he lifted a hand to her face and slid the backs of his knuckles down one cheek. The touch was tender, full of feeling. "How did you get so wise? You're far older than your years, you know that?"

Her first thought was to make light of his statement, but she sensed he had something lurking deep in his soul that needed to be released. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from filling the silence with nervous words—and waited.

"I've done so many things I'm not proud of," he said softly. "How I treated my sons is only one piece of that large pie. Do you ever wish you could back up and start over? Do things differently?"

"Of course," she whispered. "It's human nature. We all have regrets. I've recently decided I need to live better so I don't have regrets. I've been examining things more closely in order to not have to look back and—"

Cord's lips touched down on hers, stopping her words, shocking her senseless. His arms snaked around her, gently pulling her in. Big hands spread at her back, pressing her soft body into his hard muscles and angles. They fit perfectly.

Before it had barely begun, Cord broke the tender kiss and peered into her eyes. He stared with an intensity she'd only experienced from these particular sapphire eyes. Every one of her breaths hitched as he kept her in place, sifting through each one of her thoughts. Or so it seemed. Was this a gift of his, to read people for truths? Or just with her? Well, if he looked hard enough, he'd see it. She had fallen for this man, and she couldn't keep it from her eyes.

Moments passed while her breathing adjusted. She held perfectly still in his arms, immobilized there. Not pinned. More...hypnotized. She couldn't speak even if she wanted to. No words were needed anyway. His eyes shifted, warmed. Penetrated more, if that were even possible. Then they dropped to her parted lips, and her breath log-jammed in her lungs on a gasp.

Cord groaned as if he'd lost a mental battle, then dove back down and took her mouth again. Shocked and exhilarated all at the same time, she recognized this kiss was different from the sweet one he'd just given her. It wasn't hard, nor was it tender. It was hungry, possessive like it was long overdue. Her insides swirled with warmth. In that instant, any dream she'd had of him holding her, kissing her, was a thin resemblance. He stole her breath with every caress of his lips over hers until he slanted his head and sank deeper into the merging of their mouths.

She was floating on air, feeling, hearing, tasting everything at once—the rasp of his scruff against her chin, the subtle taste of tea on his tongue, the expanse of muscle surrounding her, hearts pounding in rhythm with one other...

They weren't just skin to skin. They were soul to soul.

Cord stiffened and broke the contact, dropping his arms to his sides. He took a step back. His eyes were wild with frustration and...something more. Hunger? Disappointment? Fear? Darn it! She couldn't read this expression. He glanced at her gaping mouth and pressed his lips together as if fighting the need to kiss her again. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his control was back in full force.

Rebecca knew the next words out of his mouth would scorch.

"What have I done?" he mumbled to himself.

She reached out, he stepped back further. "Cord...?"

"No. Don't say anything, Rebecca. It's late. Get some sleep. I'll be back—"

"Where are you going? There's nowhere to go. It's dark. It's still raining."

"Stop worrying about me. And don't wait up for me."

Her heart fractured and sank. A little more with each boot he stomped into, the hat he donned, and the coat he shrugged on. When he stepped through the door, she heard wailing wind and pelting rain, then the thump of the closed door. _So, that's what the death of hope sounds like._

# Chapter 15

Boards creaked and a male voice thrummed, waking Rebecca out of a fitful night's sleep. She'd still been awake when Cord returned to the cabin what had to be hours later, yet he hadn't shed his clothing or stoked the fire. The longer he brooded in the frigid darkness, the more she tried to disappear under her covers. But she still felt the cold coming off of him, even in her dreams.

Sitting up in bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pushed her wild hair back from her face. She glanced toward the fireplace, looking for Cord. A blanket lay crumpled in front of the fireplace, but there was no sign of him. She could hear him, though. Out on the porch talking to whoever had shown up. That was her signal to get up and dress quickly.

Still groggy, she slid to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs to get her bearings. The flannel shirt she wore had twisted around her waist from all her tossing and turning. She scooted off and did a little stretching dance, unraveling the flannel at the same time as her kinks before getting dressed.

A cough—or was it a choke—came from the kitchen, startling her to a halt. She twirled in search of the source, wrapping her arms around herself.

Cord, standing next to the counter where a thermos sat, had the long fingers of one hand looped through the handles of three empty mugs. She hadn't heard him come in. She glanced toward the open door, then back to him. He was running his gaze down her bare legs to her feet. A brisk heat filled her cheeks at what she must have shown him when she'd done that little wake-up dance.

No help for that now. "Good morning, Cord."

He cleared his throat, but said nothing, just nodded acknowledgment.

"Uh...well, I need to get dressed," she said, then moved toward him.

His brows lifted.

Swiftly, she gathered the clothes that had been drying over the kitchen chair. Clutching them to her chest, she stared at a mute Cord, waiting for him to leave so she could dress. She wanted to grin her triumph when he seemed to be stuck in place, looking like a terrified bunny caught stalking too close to a wolf.

When he still didn't move she gave him her back, stepped to the bed and spread her clothes before turning back. Cord was not to be found, but she heard his voice over the others, on the porch.

Once she was fully dressed with the bed made, she gathered their borrowed clothes and wrapped them up in the shirt she'd worn to take back with them, then wandered over to the window to view the brightening sky. No longer raining in sheets, it did still drizzle a bit, but the sun was just beginning to shine through sporadic clouds. The ride home wouldn't be comfortable, but she was looking forward to slipping back into the normal workings of the Bar-6, happy she would still be there.

The front door opened and Cord and another man came through it. Once inside, a woman slipped out from behind Cord into view— _the widow_. Her stomach flipped. Why had Clara come, of all people? Had she missed Cord that much to be willing to ride in the rain to retrieve him? Or had it been her own stupid note, alerting Clara they were together?

Rebecca looked her over. The woman was the epitome of cowgirl classic. Long hair pulled high in a ponytail sprouted from a hole in her flat-rimmed hat, giving her a youthful look. She wore snug blue jeans and a white blouse. The short, fitted denim jacket with a wooly white scarf wrapped neatly around her neck gave her that touch of class she always exuded.

Rebecca clenched her teeth, trying to overcome jealousy. At times like this, she had to muzzle her mouth or everyone in the room would know of her weakness for Cord.

Cord rinsed out the three mugs in the sink—why hadn't he offered her any coffee?—then looked her over from bed-tousled hair to booted feet, and nodded. "Ready to go back? Clara has a big breakfast planned." He shot a quick glance at Clara, then turned back to Rebecca. "You have to be as famished as I am."

She nodded her head up and down a few too many times. "Yes. Sure." Then she turned away to retrieve the work-worn hat with the now missing feather Cord had lent her on their trip out and the bundle of clothes, praying he couldn't see the pain in her eyes.

"Rebecca," Cord said.

She turned and he threw a men's denim jacket at her. It looked like the same one Cord had worn the first night she met him when he'd rescued her. "Colt brought these to wear back."

She turned to Colt and gave him a pasted on smile. "That was thoughtful of you."

Glancing back at Cord, she noticed the grim expression riding his mouth. Was that because their special time had come to an end and he was feeling the loss as she was? Or was he thankful to be done with her?

Her mind wanted to interject that Cord had only brought her here to learn more about his sons, but her heart argued against that theory. After all, they'd kissed. And they'd talked for hours, hadn't they? If that wasn't intimate, she didn't know intimate.

_You don't know intimate_. And once again her mind reminded her of her shortcomings.

Trying her best to silence her thoughts, and not wanting to watch the longing on the widow's face for Cord, she stuffed Cord's hat on her head, donned his huge jacket over hers, then strolled out the door as if her heart wasn't in her throat.

Once each lady had returned from the outhouse, and they were all gathered outside, the cabin once again abandoned to emptiness, Colt turned to Rebecca. "I'm sorry I only brought Trapper back. Figured you still had the dapple."

Cord came up beside Rebecca, his intense frown adding to the flash of dark whiskers, making him look rakish and unscrupulous. Or was she just seeing him in a different way now that they'd spent the night together? Well, not really _spent the night_. Though by the look on Clara's face, there was doubt in her mind. That may be exactly what she and Colt both thought.

Was that why the widow came here this morning? To see for herself?

"The mare ran off during the storm," Cord said. "Figured she was looking for Trapper. She never came home? Thought that's why you showed up."

Colt glanced at Clara, then back to Cord and shook his head. So, it had been the widow's idea to come.

"Take the ladies home," Colt said. "I'll find her. She's probably with the cattle up by Devil's Tower. You know when she can't find Trapper, she'll seek out the steers."

Cord's expression warmed as he looked at his son. Imperceptible to most, but to Rebecca, the crinkle around his eyes was plain as day: respect.

"That's where she'll be. See you back home." He turned to Rebecca. "You can ride with me, then."

A thrill shot through Rebecca. _He chose me._ The look on the widow's face was worth every insult she'd had to endure from the snotty woman.

"No, Cord," Clara said. "I need to ride with you." Her offensive gaze raked up and down Rebecca's body, a sneer clear on her mouth. "She weighs a good thirty pounds more than me."

"Thirty pounds!" Rebecca fought back. _Twenty-five, maybe, but not thirty._ And no wonder when Rebecca was 5'8" and the widow was at least half a foot shorter. Besides, she was big boned where Clara was petite. _Well, that thought didn't help._ She was happy she hadn't said it aloud.

"She's right, Dad," Colt said quietly, shooting an apologetic look at Rebecca. "The mares are small, and you know how Trapper hates two riders. Better keep it as light as possible. I'll take Trapper. Find the dapple faster that way. She'll happily follow him back."

Cord didn't look happy. He chewed on the corner of his lip, then finally nodded in acquiescence. "Then the women should ride togeth—"

"No!" they both said in unison.

Cord scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his thumb and fingertips lingering on his jawline. "Fine. Clara, you're with me." Slinging his saddle bags from the porch rail over his shoulder, he clasped a hand around Rebecca's elbow to escort her to the dun mare Clara had ridden in on, the smaller of the two. He secured the clothes bundle to the back of the saddle, then asked, "Need some help up?"

Why had he asked? He knew she needed help before. "No," she said, determined to do it herself this time.

Cord searched her face, waited for more. He lowered his voice and leaned in a mite. "That's it? No more words?"

This was what she craved. The closeness she'd felt the last twenty-four hours with Cord's hand wrapped around her arm and his breath on her face. And it was all slipping away. "No more words."

She backed away from him then. His hand dropped, and she almost imagined a ripping sound. Would this be all there'd ever be between them? His eyes never left her face. With one final look, she turned toward the mare and climbed aboard.

Forcing a smile—thin though it was—she waited until Cord threw the one set of saddlebags in place on the other mare and lithely swung up. Colt was standing at Clara's side and easily lifted and placed her behind Cord. When his passenger cinched her arms around his lean waist and pressed her chest into his back, Rebecca lost the stomach for their company. She reined her horse over to where Colt had Trapper tied. Her back to the pair, she tried to block out the crone's flirtations, but it was no use.

Rebecca's stomach spun another turn. Seeing Cord and Clara together like this reminded her that Cord had lived on the widow's ranch for _five_ months. Negative thoughts tore through her mind. If he was truly so concerned about his sons, where had his desire been to be a good example such a short time ago?

She seethed inside but held her errant tongue in check. She would not let Cord know how disappointed she was. No. This was not disappointment. It was downright, old-fashioned hurt.

Colt strode toward Rebecca. With one hand on her horse's withers, the other at the back of the saddle, he tipped his face up and said, "You okay, Muffin?"

She glanced down into those gorgeous sapphire eyes that perfectly matched his dad's. "I'm fine, Mush," she said, knowing his reaction to his nickname would make her laugh.

When he groaned and rolled his eyes, she didn't exactly laugh, but she did chuckle. And for that she was grateful.

She gestured toward Devil's Tower. "I'm going with you to find the dapple."

Colt frowned. "Nah, go on back. It's cold. Get some breakfast."

She shook her head so hard, she knew it confused him. "I need to help. She was my responsibility."

"No, she wasn't, she was Da—"

She stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Please, Colt," she pleaded for his ears alone.

His eyes drilled into hers. Finally, when she thought he might say more, he only nodded. Saving her from having to tell his father, Colt turned to Cord. "Rebecca's coming with me."

" _What?_ No. Rebecca, you need to come back home."

_Home._ That sounded so good. She wanted Cord's home to be hers. _Be careful, Rebecca. Those aren't thoughts you should foster._

"Rebecca?" Cord said, a little louder this time.

Rebecca didn't turn to face him. She couldn't. Seeing the widow wrapped tightly around his waist hurt her heart, whether her mind admonished her or not.

Colt glanced up again and saw the pain written clearly on her face. Whether he understood it or not, he never failed to protect her. "It's fine, Dad. I'll take care of her. Go. We'll be close behind."

"Is that what you want, Rebecca?" She heard apprehension in Cord's voice.

Still, she couldn't look back. She waved a hand over her head, hoping he'd get the message.

"Let's go, Cord," she heard Clara say. "I'm getting cold." Her voice was muffled. Speaking into the muscle of Cord's back, no doubt.

"Fine. Don't be out long. I'm sure Rebecca's cold, too," Cord said. His mare's hooves squished through puddles and mud as he turned for home.

She looked down at Colt, who was still studying her face. "What's going on, Muffin?"

Tears sprang to her eyes at his care, but she held them back. She shook her head. There was no way she could tell Colt of her feelings for Cord. They were off track, ridiculous, and Colt was sure to laugh. Then she thought about that statement. No, he wouldn't. Colt never found another person's pain amusing. He would be sympathetic, concerned. Help her try to figure out a solution. Still. "Nothing. I just don't like the widow, is all. She rubs me the wrong way."

Colt tilted his head back and laughed. A glorious, masculine sound. "You're not alone, Muffin. You're not alone."

* * *

Cord shifted in the saddle for the dozenth time, trying to convey the message that Clara had too strong a hold on him—double meaning intended. The harder she clung to him, the more he wanted to jump out of his skin. What had he originally seen in this woman? After meeting Rebecca, his previous motivations concerning the widow were a blur.

"Mmm," she hummed. "You are so warm and hard. All muscle and heat." Snuggling in even deeper, she crossed her arms at his waist.

"Clara," he warned.

She rubbed her face into his spine, sending signals to all the wrong places. "What is it, darling?"

He turned his head to whisper over his shoulder as if there were others who might overhear. "We talked about this."

The mare slogged down the trail, every step forward accompanied by the thick, sucking sound of mud trying to hold her hooves in place. The noise set Cord's teeth on edge. It might not be raining anymore, but the clouds overhead still looked threatening—perfectly matching his mood.

Clara leaned in harder, her arms gripping him tighter. "Ah, now, Cord. You didn't mean it."

He needed to get off this dad-blamed horse and away from this viper. One of her hands vacated his waist for the top of his thigh. He caught it with his gloved hand, returning it to his stomach.

"You're no fun anymore." She jiggled her arms up and down. "Loosen up!"

"Be still!" He hated that his body responded when his mind was shouting to repel her.

As a man, the last two decades had been a trial. He'd loved being married. The fact was, monogamy agreed with him so completely he'd never looked up from his half of the relationship until it was too late. If he hadn't been so stinking needy, Millie would be alive today. It was why he'd forced celibacy on himself after her death. It was what he deserved. Until the widow wore him down. What a fool he'd been. He'd held out for almost four months before she'd caught him good and ready one evening. A steak dinner, two highballs too many, and his weakened willpower had crumbled. He'd lived in a fog of lust after that for a full month before he woke up.

Clara inched up his back. He opened his mouth to reprimand her again when she said, "When I came by to fix breakfast this morning, I was so worried. Oh, Cord, to think you'd gone riding off with that girl yesterday and got caught by the storm."

"Woman, not a girl." Cord didn't know why he said that. He guessed it was Rebecca's objection to being called 'girl' that had sailed into his head.

"What?"

Now he wished he hadn't said anything. The last thing he wanted to do was debate the assets of the Duchess with the Widow. "Never mind." A change of subject should do it. "Why did you come with Colt?"

"To rescue you."

Of course, she'd insinuated herself into this.

"I'm the one who insisted we come."

Cord closed his eyes for a few heartbeats. His time at the cabin with Rebecca had been comforting, nerve-racking, informative, tormenting, stimulating. In a word: Gratifying. Whenever he conversed with Clara, her personality wore him down. He'd let her think she rescued him, and drop that subject. "Did you feed Trevor, Bronc, and Brand before you left for this adventure?" He heard the rebuke in his own voice. Kind of hoped she did as well.

"No, of course not. I had to leave with Colt."

Again he wanted to demand 'why' when they both knew Colt could handle it himself. Instead, he put her to the test. "How _are_ my sons, Clara?"

"What do you mean? Hungry, I guess."

"Notice anything new? Are they working too hard? Getting enough sleep? Any women in their lives?"

The grip she had on him loosened considerably. "How should I know? I don't pay them any mind."

"You just mindlessly feed them every morning? You don't have conversations with them?"

"You should know. You're there every morning."

"Not always."

"Why do you want to know? They're grown men. Come and go as they please."

"I'm still their father, and I care how their lives are going. You should, too."

She actually jerked against his back as she stiffened. "Me? Why me?"

"You claim to care about me. If that's the case, my sons are a huge part of my life." He winced, wishing he could take back his words. He'd only been trying to make a point. The last thing he wanted was to prompt Clara to take more interest like Rebecca instinctively did.

His mind drifted off to the kiss they'd shared last night. He'd made a grave mistake. He hadn't been able to resist the combination of her caring spirit and that sweet mouth. He wondered if it had been her first real kiss. It wasn't her lack of response. No. In point of fact, her response was surprising and pleasing. No, it had been the freshness of her response. The innocence. That thought fired him up and chilled him all at the same time. _You're too experienced for her._ _Too dang old!_

There was no doubt he was ready for someone in his life again. The loneliness was eating him alive. _Lonely, but not alone,_ Stogie had once told him. Stogie had cornered him one day long after Millie had died and reminded Cord he had lost his own wife many years past. Surrounded by people on a daily basis did not mean you weren't lonely. Stog had clarified that for Cord after he'd lived with the gnawing emptiness for a few years. It had gotten more tolerable after that.

So, should he relent and take up with Clara again? It would be simple. She wanted him. She was experienced. He grimaced and shook his head.

"What?" she said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Pardon me?"

"You shook your head. I just wondered why."

The trail to the road was coming into view. Ignoring Clara's question, Cord reined the mare down the narrow pathway. Soon they were at the gate. He swung his right leg over the horse's head and hopped down. "Scoot on up into the saddle."

Confusion knit her brows. "Why?"

He was tired of her questioning everything he asked her to do. That dang dominant nature of hers had frayed every one of his nerves long ago. It made even short conversations with her trying. He'd always accommodated her by helping her see the reason for every one of his requests. Not anymore. Do it, don't do it. It didn't matter to him anymore.

He lifted the wire from the post, swung the gate open, and turned back in time to see Clara had moved into the saddle. Good. Maybe he should have dealt with her this way long ago. "Take the mare up to the barn. I'll be right there."

"What? Why? Come on, get back on. There's no reason for you to walk all that way."

_All that way?_ What, a few hundred yards? Again, he ignored her request, grasped the bridle at the animal's jaw, and pulled her through. Once on the other side, he gave the mare a sharp slap to her hip, sending her into a trot. Now that the barn was in sight, she wasn't likely to slow down. Cord placed the wire back over the post and strode off up the drive.

Why had he allowed Rebecca to go with Colt? Colt could have found the dapple himself, as he had countless times. Cord's toes curled in his boots. Because Rebecca wanted to go with him, that's why. To be with his son? Or to avoid him? Either notion ate a hole through him. Wasn't this what he'd originally wanted? For Rebecca and Colt to want each other? Maybe it was too late to get them to back off.

His strides lengthened, gravel and mud splashing out from under his soles with each step. He passed the house, already coming up with ways to avoid Clara and her breakfast: inspecting the mare's legs, taking a long shower, tidying up his underwear drawer, anything. Upon entering the barn, he saw their mare tied to the outside of Bonnie's stall, still saddled. If Rebecca had ridden back with him, she would have seen to the horse. Clara, on the other hand, was either neglectful or so spoiled she expected other people to do these tasks for her.

Cord yanked off his hat, staring down at it like it was a traitor. The old feather was no longer in the headband. Rebecca had lost it in the downpour on their way to the cabin. It didn't matter. What did matter was she'd given his hat back to him, through Colt, before she trotted off to follow his son. He twirled the hat between both hands, remembering how much he'd wanted to race over and force it back on her head—for warmth, for protection, for her to have something of his. The hat came to a stop in his hands. Only when he looked down and saw a dent in the brim did he realize he'd been crushing it, swept away by a fleeting, mad desire to freeze her out, permanently. Only that, he could never do.

Inhaling deeply, Cord took in the sweet smell of clean hay, heard the soft nickers from the horses. He calmed inside. The mare swung her head into the stallion's stall. They nickered and touched noses, reminding Cord again of the staggering kiss he and Rebecca had shared. Just thinking of it made him want to do it again. And again.

Once Cord unburdened and brushed the mare, he put her up, gave her hay and water, and then tromped off to the main house. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney, adding to the structure's hominess of rock and mortar and logs. Funny, he'd avoided his own home as often as he could after Millie's death. Now, it represented comfort to him. He had to admit, it was because Rebecca had made it feel like home again.

Entering through the mudroom, he freed himself from his squelching boots and made his stocking-footed way into the kitchen. The smell of bacon brought a powerful hunger pang, along with a growl. So much for avoiding Clara and a hot breakfast.

"Glad to hear you're hungry," Clara said. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

Cord glanced into the dining room, seeing his sons—minus Colt—already seated, appearing ravenous. "You'd speed things up if you'd offer to help," he said, giving a piercing stare to each of his sons one by one.

They glanced at one another, but none of them moved.

"Do I have to hand out assignments?"

Brand groaned but came to his feet. If Colt had been there, he would have followed suit. Not so Trevor and Bronc. Cord bit his tongue, trying to remember what Rebecca had said about them. Trevor had been ignored at a young age, yet at the same time had been put upon for far too long. Bronc was bitter and angry for his father's part in his mother's death. He would have to tread lightly if he was to make his way back to these boys' hearts.

When Brand came back through the doorway from the kitchen, he had platters of steamy food up and down his arms, like a practiced waiter. Impressive. Cord took hold of two and settled them on the table.

Trevor took one look at the platters. "That's not enough bacon."

Clara stood at the corner of the table and glared at Trevor. "It's plenty for the five of us."

"He usually gives some to his dog," Brand put in.

Trevor shoved an elbow into Brand's side. Brand grunted but knew enough to stay quiet.

"He can have mine," Cord said. "Join us, Clara." His tone of voice was harsh, but he didn't appreciate Clara glaring at his son.

Wisely, Clara did as she was told. Once she was seated, Cord blessed the food and they dug in. Silence prevailed as they filled their stomachs.

Cord rose first. "I'm heading for the shower. You boy—men," he corrected, hearing Rebecca's reprimand. "Help clean up the dishes for Clara." He swung his gaze to her. "Thank you for another tasty meal. I'll see you tomorrow."

Cord got as far as the bottom of the stairs when he felt slender fingers grasp his arm. "Hold on there, Cord Cooper." He swung back and looked down into Clara's snapping brown eyes. "We need to talk."

# Chapter 16

Talk? Cord's spine tingled with apprehension. Why hadn't she hit him with this—whatever _this_ was—out on the trail?

"What is it, Clara?" His tone reflected his irritation.

She pressed those generous lips together. "I have the contract for the cattle and yearlings for you to sign. I'd like to get that back to my lawyer today."

" _Today?_ " Things were always urgent with Clara, or always on her timeline. It had been that way for the five months he'd lived on her property. Why should it be different now?

"Fine. I'll be down shortly," he said. "Wait in the living room."

Again she pressed her lips together, but held her tongue and nodded, releasing her hold on his arm.

Behind closed doors, Cord stripped and stepped into the steamy shower, the hot water sluicing over tense muscles. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll. After taking too long to unwind in the solace of his shower, Cord dressed and found Clara in the formal living room.

He glanced around the sterile space of too much white. He remembered the fight like it was yesterday, he and an adamant Millie arguing over how to decorate this room. Mostly, Cord had let his wife decorate the house however she wanted. But white? In a ranch house? It was non-negotiable. After returning from a week away on cattle business, he was greeted by white walls, a white sofa, white rug, white drapes, even a centerpiece of fake, white Calla Lilies on the glass tabletop. He'd fumed for days. Now, he wished she were here so he could tell her the room was elegant and made him think of her.

"I find I like this room the best in your house," Clara said in response to the way he was perusing it as if for the first time.

"Is that right?" He strode past her to the large front windows. What was taking Colt and Rebecca so long? It had already been several hours. If the mare was where Colt thought she was, they would have only been an hour behind him and Clara. No sign of them.

He huffed a sigh, then turned to stand behind the chair across the glass table from the poised widow. He pressed his hands into the high back until the padding squished flat under the pressure.

She laughed. A sultry, charming laugh. "Come on over here, Cord." She patted the spot on the couch next to her. "I won't bite." She laughed again. "Not too hard anyway."

"You say you have the contract to sign?"

She rolled her eyes. "Cord. Come sit down."

There was that commanding sound to her voice he'd come to despise. Especially in that last strained month before he'd left her ranch. "I'm fine right here."

She shook her head and pulled a face as if he were a disobedient child. "My, my, we've become quarrelsome these days. Fine." She opened the file folder she had resting on her lap and removed a thick stack of papers. Turning the pile, she plopped it down on the table between them. "Here you are." She leaned over and spread the papers to get to the back page. "Just sign next to that red 'X' and we're all set."

Cord stared at the enormous stack of papers. He'd signed many a contract in his day but had never seen one this size. He came around the chair to sit. "What do you have in there, Clara? Am I signing away my life and ranch and sons?"

She laughed prettily. "Oh Cord, you're a riot. Of course not. You know how contracts work. A lot of red tape is all. All it says is what you and I have already agreed upon. You'll pay me monthly for the cattle you already have in your possession. Based on the payment amount we agreed on, you'll be paid up in five years. And it says you'll pay me when you've re-sold the yearlings in a year to the government, or whomever. It doesn't matter to me what you do with them."

"So, why the one-inch stack of paperwork? Leave it. I'll take it in and have Stanley go over it with me."

Clara opened her mouth, but the sound of hoofbeats drew his attention. He was on his feet and at the window before she could speak. He turned toward the door and was about to stride through it when she called to him.

"I need to go," he said on a half-turn. It was drizzling outside. Without his hat, Rebecca would be wet and cold. If he helped with the horses, she could get to the house that much quicker, dry off, warm up.

Clara marched toward him, a deep scowl on her face. "No, no, no. I am going out of town. You must sign this now." Catching his forearm, she tugged him back toward the glass table and the hefty contract. "Joe will be here any minute to pick me up."

"Clara, I'm not going to—"

"Listen," she said, still holding tight to his arm. "You'd have had more time if you hadn't been dilly-dallying in the shower for so long."

She was surprisingly strong when she wanted to be. Not that he couldn't throw her off and be out the door in zero point five seconds, but the gentleman in him relented.

"Just sign it. You have three days to rescind if you want to. That way I can go on my trip and not worry about the signing. I'll be back in two weeks."

He stared down into her face. The pleading was there, but so was something else. "What aren't you telling me, Clara?"

Releasing his arm, she threw her hands up in the air. "Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind."

He frowned in concern. "Is everything all right?"

She smiled then, yet it didn't reach her eyes. "Everything will be fine, Cord. Just sign the papers." There was that annoying authority in her voice again.

"When were you planning to tell me you wouldn't be here to cook breakfasts?"

The look of shock on her face was fleeting, but it had been there. She smiled again. "I'm telling you now. It just came up."

He didn't think so. She was keeping something from him, and in his experience, that was not a healthy thing for him. Glancing at the stack of papers that seemed to have grown another inch, he groaned. He'd need to take some serious time to look them over, but she was right. He could rescind if need be.

If this would keep the deal in place _and_ get her out of his hair...

He shrugged, strode back to the table, and picked up the pen. Bending down, he scribbled his name next to the 'X" and threw the pen back down.

"I've got to go out and greet the kids." He winced at the word he'd used, hearing Rebecca's voice in his head about how none of them were 'kids' anymore.

"Of course," Clara said with an extra twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

Rebecca hopped off the dun and began to remove her saddle, moving as quickly and efficiently as Colt did with Trapper. Numb as she was, the easy camaraderie she shared with Colt thawed her heart a little. Once saddles and bridles were stowed away, she and Colt rubbed down the animals in companionable silence.

A large figure entered the barn, deep thuds against the earth marking his approach. Rebecca looked up, and her stomach flipped. _Cord._ Still troubled by the image of Clara clapped to Cord's back like a lichen, and feeling horribly unattractive with her own matted down hair and damp clothing, she couldn't quite bring herself to say much more than, "Hi."

"Hello to you, too," he said with not quite a smile but a look of genuine pleasure to see her. On second thought, he was probably only relieved they were back safely. "Looks like you found the dapple."

He had addressed her, but Colt answered. "Yep. She was out with the herd by Devil's Tower, just like I thought."

"Good. Throw me that towel, will you? I'll dry her off for you." He pointed toward the extra cloth.

Colt looked puzzled for a second but tossed the extra barn towel over.

"How was your ride back?"

"Fine. Just damp," Colt said.

Rebecca glanced up at Cord. He was looking her over from her wet head to her muddy boots. His brows were dipped low in a frown. What could he possibly be thinking? About their time at the cabin? About their kiss—as she couldn't help but do?

Then the light went on. He was out here to re-connect with Colt, of course. She rolled her eyes, knowing no one would see it. No wonder he offered to help in a task she and Colt could have easily done. How could she be so witless?

She was about to excuse herself when Willie came half-running, half-hobbling through the open barn door like there was a mountain cat on his heels, his gray hair hanging in globs under his hat. Rebecca had never seen him move so fast.

"There y'are, Cord!" Willie halted mid-stride like his tether had caught, his gaze on Cord's hands. He blinked. "Watcha doin' dryin' off that there animal? You got cowhands to do that."

"Never mind that. What's happened?" Cord knew just like she did that Willie never moved that fast unless there was something drastically wrong.

Willie screwed up his face, brought a hand to his beefy chin, and rubbed.

Cord threw the towel over his shoulder and hustled over to Willie. He grabbed both his arms and gave them a shake. "Think now, Willie. What's happened?"

Trapper shifted impatiently. Colt patted him on the rump, his own gaze shifting from Willie to the open barn door.

"Uh..." Willie scratched his cheek, and then his eyes flew open. Good, he remembered. But, no, apparently not.

Cord stared deep into Willie's eyes. It looked like a blank stare to her, but what did she know?

Finally, Cord ushered Willie toward the exit and scanned outside, the frown she'd already seen deepening. "Okay, now think, Willie. Why did you run in here just now?"

Willie's bushy eyebrows shot up and then he poked a gnarled finger into Cord's chest. "That there widder's foreman come to pick her up in that baby blue pick-up 'a his. They took off outta here like their breeches was on fire. Done run straight over Dash. He's hurt. He's hurt real bad."

"No!" Rebecca squealed. _Not_ _Trevor's dog!_

Cord's eyes widened in horror. He tore straight out the barn door, Colt in hot pursuit, saddle pad in hand.

Rebecca's towel dropped from nerveless fingers. Then she, too, was sprinting through the mud after the pair.

When they reached the drive where the accident had happened, the blue truck was nowhere in sight, and Stogie was bent over the injured animal. He had tied a kerchief firmly around the Queensland Heeler's muzzle. Dash was trembling, whining at every exhale, mud and blood splattered on every part of him but his head. Stogie stroked the downy fur at the base of Dash's ear with one hand while checking the snugness of the makeshift muzzle with the other.

Rebecca's heart banged hard against her ribcage. She dropped to her knees out of the way next to Dash's head so Stogie could help Cord and Colt. Cord glanced at her, sharing a mournful gaze, then went back to assessing the dog's injuries. The glance had been brief, but she'd seen everything in it. The worry the dog might die and the anxiety for a son who would interpret Dash's death as one more neglect and one more reason to blame his father for it.

Cord ran his hand from the dog's right shoulder to the paw. Dash jerked his head up and lunged for Cord's hand. Cord flinched hard enough to almost topple to his backside in the mud. He shook out his hand, eyes wide on the handkerchief muzzle Stogie had so deftly tied. "Call Warren. It's serious."

Colt backed away from the slowly gathering crowd of cowhands and hollered at someone whose boots had just sloshed to a halt in a puddle. "Go to the house and call Doc Willows!"

The newcomer ignored Colt. "What happened?" That was Bronc or Brand's voice. Rebecca couldn't tell which, what with the worry hard on his words.

"It's Dash! He's been run over. Go!" Cord barked.

Gravel crunched underfoot as the twin sprinted for the house.

"It'll take Doc an hour, if'n he's even available," Willie said from the rear.

"Cain't wait 'til Hunter's a vet. He needs to hurry hisself up," Stogie said.

"Anyone seen Jake?" Cord asked as he whipped the towel off his shoulder to cover the mud beneath Dash's injured leg.

"He went to Roy's place to pick up Suzannah. He'll be back tomorrow, most likely," Colt said.

Cord raised his head to search out his son's face. "Colt, get clean rags from the mudroom."

Colt flopped the saddle pad next to Dash and gave a curt nod.

"And have Brand boil a big pot of water," Cord added.

Then Colt was off.

Willie leaned over Cord. "Why so dad much blood?"

"It's got to be coming from a couple of places." Cord spread his fingertips across Dash's ribs, belly, and spine, ending with a quick assessment of a range of motion through Dash's right hip and knee. "Where're those rags?"

Just as he said the words, Colt dropped a pile into Rebecca's lap. She unraveled the tangle and handed one rag to Cord, who candy-caned it down the length of Dash's foreleg to his paw and gave it a squeeze. With a whine, Dash's head came off the ground again, fear and pain evident in his dark eyes.

"I think an artery's ruptured down here," Cord said. "The pressure of the cloth should hold him for now."

"Where the devil's Trevor?" Stogie piped up.

Rebecca saw the worry in Cord's eyes.

"He had a bundle of barbed wire to unravel. Had to repair another dang fence, this time on the west side," Colt said. "He probably made Dash stay home to keep him safe."

"Yeah, real safe," Cord muttered.

For now, it was good he wasn't here. At least, until they stopped the bleeding.

Blood seeped through the foreleg wrap and then seemed to stop. Near the paw, anyway. The portion of cloth nearest Dash's chest wasn't just stained with blood; it glistened with stringy globs of fresh clots.

Cord's mouth thinned into a hard line. "Help me turn him to his back a bit."

"And get him on the blanket. No sense in him staying wet," Colt said. His hands joined Stogie's, and the three men transferred Dash to the saddle pad, not quite on his back, but enough to see more. Dash whined, and his nostrils flared.

They all saw a gaping hole streaming blood from Dash's armpit.

"That gall durned high falutin' filly and her recklessness!" Stogie barked.

Cord cursed. "Willie said it was Joe's truck. I can't believe Joe didn't see the dang dog."

"Never said he didn't see him," Willie put in from behind the group. "Looked to me like he runned him over on purpose."

Cord's face flushed crimson with rage. "Who would do that?"

Rebecca shoved the rest of the rags in her lap toward Cord. "Stuff these in the hole. There's nothing we can do until the doctor gets here."

Cord glanced up and nodded, doing as she'd suggested. Dash was breathing harder now. Since Cord had finished his prodding, he carefully unwrapped the kerchief from around Dash's muzzle. Dash's tongue lolled into an open-mouthed pant.

Cord checked his gums. "Still pink, and he's alert. That's a good sign for now."

He'd been squatting the whole time. His legs had to be asleep by now. Rebecca moved over a couple of feet and lifted her chin toward an empty corner of the saddle pad. "Cord, sit on your bum. We have a long wait."

That quick twitch at his mouth gave her hope he was doing all right. He leaned back and sat as if he were made of rubber it was so graceful. "Bum, huh?"

She gave him a weary smile. "Been around Jake too long, I guess."

Cord smiled back at her. A tender smile full of warmth. The look made her yearn to be alone with him again, back at the cabin. "You're getting blood all over your clothes," he said.

She glanced down at the worn jeans, sweater, and jacket she'd been wearing for what felt like days. The rain had stopped, but the gusts made her wish she hadn't removed Cord's extra coat. When she looked back to his face, it seemed they were the only two sitting there in the middle of that muddy road having a normal conversation. Something special always accompanied them when they were near one another. That sense of overwhelming contentment, no matter the circumstances.

"Oh well, I'm kinda done with these clothes anyway," she said and grinned.

Cord settled to the blanket and took over stroking Dash's head. Rebecca watched that big, rugged hand of his so carefully caressing the animal. "I'm so sorry, boy. We'll get you fixed up."

Cord glanced up at the onlookers. "Go on back to work, boys. Rebecca and I will stay with him."

The cowhands shuffled off one by one, mumbling words of concern for when Trevor found out.

Rebecca looked over at Cord. "The fence Trevor is fixing. Snipped or just rusted this time?"

"Don't know. I'm tired of our string of bad luck."

"No such thing as luck, Cord. You know what Thomas Jefferson said. 'The harder I work the better my luck is', or something like that." She'd said it to lighten the mood, but by the frown on his face, clearly, she had only dampened it.

"What would you call it then?"

"Things happen. Sometimes it's just old, rusted fencing. Sometimes it's wear and tear. Sometimes it's vandalism. Sometimes it's worse."

"Exactly. Like theft."

"Are you missing cows?"

A silent chuckle bobbed his head and shoulders. "They're cattle, Duchess. Steers or heifers or bulls."

"Yeah, but they're all cows, aren't they?"

"Technically, a cow is a female who's given birth more than once."

Rebecca felt her eyebrows go up in surprise. "Okay, so males are bulls. Even I know that. What are heifers?"

"Females who have yet to give birth."

How could her father have failed to teach her these details? Of course, the only animals they had now were sheep and a handful of horses. "No need to be this complicated," she scoffed. "What are steers then?"

"Castrated bulls."

"Oh. Of course. I should know that."

They continued their conversation about the cattle, then the ranch in general. When finally they'd moved on to a subject she was totally interested in—Cord's personal history—the veterinarian roared to a stop in his white truck.

The man was quick. At their sides in a matter of seconds. A young, attractive man with loads of curly blond hair and baby blue eyes.

He fell to his knees on the saddle blanket and set his black bag on the ground next to them.

Cord wrapped the kerchief back around the dog's muzzle, tight. Dash's eyes went wide.

"What happened?" he asked as his hands flew through the physical exam.

"Run over," was all Cord offered.

The doc's head whipped up to Cord. "Trevor told me Dash doesn't chase cars. Who did it? How?"

Back to assessing Dash's injuries, the doctor seemed to be waiting for an explanation.

"It might have been on purpose. Or just sheer stupidity." Cord's look of disgust and worry rattled Rebecca deep down.

How could she help this situation? Trevor was going to be livid, and she feared Cord would be the target. Just when reaching out to his sons had become foremost in his heart.

Doc removed the knot of rags now soaked with blood from Dash's armpit, studied the area, then quickly stuffed it back in place. "The leg got torqued, likely tangled under the vehicle. Nearly lost it, looks like. The joint is still intact, but he needs surgery. His lungs sound clear, but I can't rule out contusions, which will make anesthesia more dangerous. I'd like to give him twenty-four hours before I put him under." The doc pinched the webbing between the dog's toes with a thin plier-like contraption, and Dash whimpered and turned his head. "That's a good reaction." Dropping the plier thing back into his bag, he turned to Cord. "Anesthesia carries a higher risk with possible chest trauma, but Dash is stable. The question is, do you want me to do the surgery here, or I can bundle him up good and take him back to the clinic and do the surgery tomorrow.

Rebecca watched Cord's face—so worried, so conflicted. Her heart went out to him, and she doubted it would ever return.

Lord, when Trevor comes home, please help him come to grips with this quickly. Help Cord. And please let Dash survive this.

As if her prayer had summoned him, hooves pounded hard against the ground in a straight line toward them.

Trevor.

# Chapter 17

Trevor dismounted and landed in a jog before his gelding had even begun to stop. No sooner was he off than the massive animal halted dead center as if the absence of weight had pulled a plug.

" _Dashboard?_ " The distress was so acute in Trevor's voice, Rebecca wanted to grab him up into a hug. She wouldn't, though. He wouldn't appreciate it. She'd never known anyone more standoffish than Trevor. His aversion to human contact ran deep.

Rebecca glanced at Cord, his vacant eyes already resting on hers. She saw in those depths that he remembered what he'd said about Trevor's dog back at the cabin. Poor Cord, he had to feel awful.

She touched Trevor's arm. He jerked away. "He'll be all right," Rebecca said, though she didn't know if that was true.

His panicked gaze landed on Doc then. "Is that true, Warren? Will he make it?"

The vet twisted his mouth and shook his head in an I-don't-know gesture. "We'll know more after the surgery, Trev. I was just asking your dad if he wanted me to take him to the clinic or do the surgery here."

Trevor scowled at his father. "Why would you ask Coop? It's my dog!" Dash jerked at the rough sound of his owner's voice.

Cord winced at the nickname, or maybe the deep meaning behind Trevor's words. She didn't know. What she did know was Cord and Trevor were both hurting, and not likely to seek solace in each other.

The doctor looked him in the eye. "Then I'm asking you. What do you want me to do?"

"How bad is it?"

Doc inhaled a deep breath, then began. "He has an eight-inch wide laceration where his foreleg joins the body. The joint is still intact, which is good. I checked his toes. He still has some feeling there so I think he's okay neurologically. I need to sew that up, plus the lacerated paw. Cord already had it wrapped. I'll need to unwrap, clean, and suture it. An artery likely got torn in there but isn't freely bleeding now. He has no obvious fractures in his legs or ribs. No head injuries. He's stable for now. I don't want to do surgery right away, though, in case he has internal bleeding in his lungs. I'll do it tomorrow morning. If you want it done here, you'll have to put me up for the night."

All the color drained from Trevor's tanned skin, making him look gray. Cord looked undecided about something, then put a hand on Trevor's shoulder. Surprisingly, he didn't shrug it off. Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief.

"What do you want to do, son?"

Trevor was too deep in thought, or too stunned, to react badly.

"Trev?" Dr. Willows said.

Trevor huffed a few deep breaths, then looked to Doc. "Do it as soon as you can. Here."

Doc nodded. "Do you want to use your dining room table, or do you have a better choice?"

Cord shook his head. "We have a back room in the firetruck shed. It has a table. We keep it pretty clean since we often bring calves in there or other critters to fix up. It needs to be re-sterilized, but should work well for a surgery."

Cord noticed Colt had returned and caught his gaze. Cord nodded toward the shed, a silent request to get going on the place. Colt turned and jogged off.

"How do you want us to move him?" Trevor asked.

"Look," Rebecca said, nodding at Stogie pushing a large wheelbarrow toward them.

Doc smiled. "You've done this kind of thing before."

"A time or two," Cord said and rose to his feet. He pulled at the knees of his pants to straighten them, then shook his legs out.

Stogie parked the wheelbarrow, padded with clean saddle blankets, next to the dog.

Trevor was busy speaking in low tones to Dash and stroking his head. His horse had been forgotten but was happily grazing on the only patch of green along the drive, his reins in a heap by his head.

"Come on, son," Stogie said, patting Trevor on the back. "We'll help ya lift 'em up."

Trevor looked over his shoulder at Stogie and nodded. His eyes looked hollow and wet. Sitting back on her heels, Rebecca had to stuff her hands in the crook of her bent knees in order to keep herself from reaching out to him.

Trevor slid his hands under Dash. The dog whined, but they all ignored it as four more hands reached under him. Cord, Stogie, and Trevor lifted him to the wheelbarrow. Trevor took the handles to push as the three men shuffled off to the shed. Rebecca gathered the blood-drenched saddle pad and other rags and trailed behind, not quite ready to leave the troubled father and son. Somewhere along the way, she'd taken the job of being their buffer upon herself.

Once they had Dash where the doc wanted him and the place had been sterilized as best they could, the day was gone. Rebecca wandered back outside to breathe in the crisp evening air. The winds and scattered rain had eased up. Nickers from the horses, the lowing of cattle, the indistinct rumble of men's voices, even the clatter of kitchen dishes combined in that moment to create a swelling sense that all would be well.

Trevor's deep voice reached her just before Cord and Trevor marched out the door of the fire rig's shed, and the moment of peace shattered. Rebecca turned to watch, ready to intervene if necessary.

"What do you mean the widow's man ran over Dash?" Trevor cursed a string of words Rebecca had rarely heard before. "How did he run him over? He doesn't chase cars!"

Obviously, Trevor had gotten the truth out of Cord, and now the worst was happening, just as Rebecca feared. Cord would be blamed.

"Can't you control that damned slut of yours?"

"Hold on right there, boy!" Cord yelled.

Rebecca winced.

"You will not bad-mouth a woman—any woman! You hear me?" Cord took another step forward. "And she's not mine!"

Rebecca scrunched her eyes closed. _Be careful, Cord_ , she begged him in her mind. She took a few steps closer in hopes her presence would remind him. His glance bounced right off her and back to Trevor.

Trevor opened his mouth to say more but must have thought better of it. He clamped his mouth shut, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The two men stood toe to toe for long seconds, their hat brims almost touching. Both were formidable, head-turning cowboys whose uncanny resemblance made them look more like brothers than father and son.

Trevor sneered, then turned on his heels and marched back to the shed—every shred of power, self-assurance, and hostility peppering his stride.

Cord stood strong and proud, a father in control of his son. But as Rebecca watched, the tight grimace on his face fell off and his shoulders slumped. He turned his head toward her. "I didn't handle that well, did I?"

If she had the right, she would close the gap between them and hug him close. Instead, she gave him an understanding smile. "The way I see it, recognizing you did it wrong is a start. You'll get it right, Cord, because you want to." She did close the gap then and patted him on the lower back. "If I were you, I'd pray and ask God to stop you before you say the wrong thing, and pray He gives you the correct words."

Cord's eyes softened. With a slight shift, he lifted an arm over her and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. It was all a bit awkward, but meaningful because it was so impromptu and heartfelt. "Thank you, Duchess." He spoke into her hair. "I may get this right with your help."

He lifted his other hand, and she cringed thinking he might knuckle her head like she was a kid sister. Instead, with the pad of his thumb, he tilted her head up so he could look her in the eye. The look he gave her was pure affection. As always, he seemed to read her thoughts, know her soul, hook her heart.

"I'll do my best," she murmured.

Then he kissed her forehead.

Her knees wobbled, but she locked them to steady herself. "Anytime. You know that."

Then his expression changed. A crease rose up between his brows and his eyes sweetened. He looked so vulnerable, she wanted to scurry him off, hide him, protect him from what others might do to him—especially his offspring. "Will you teach me to pray for my sons? I've heard you pray before and it seems...simple enough. But I may need help."

She smiled, feeling like she'd just been granted the finest gift ever.

Cord blinked, watching her mouth, taking in the view of her smile. That pleased her beyond comprehension. She loved it when she unseated this man, in a good way. His alpha attitude relaxed more and more around her. It made her feel more like a partner instead of just another subject to control.

"I will be more than happy to teach you to pray. It's this simple: talk to God. That's it. Whatever you want to say. He's your Father, you know. But unlike an earthly father, he is perfect. And He always listens. Do you see?"

His brows lowered into more of a frown. "I'm not sure I do."

Her head was still tucked in the crook of his elbow, so she grasped the hand he had dangling over her shoulder, turned to unwind herself from him, and tugged him off to the house. His hand felt so good wrapped around hers: warm, roughened—a working man's hand. If only she could find a reason to keep hold of that big paw.

She pulled him through the mudroom door, removed her jacket and boots, waited until he divested himself of the same, then dragged him into the kitchen, scanning the area to confirm no one else was there. Turning to face him, she gripped one of his hands in both of hers. "Okay, Cord. Let's practice. What is it you'd like to ask the Lord concerning your sons?"

He averted his gaze, bit at the corner of his mouth. Heavens, but she wanted to bite that lip herself. This exposed side of Cord tugged at her heartstrings. She would do anything to help Cord begin to trust the Lord again.

Finally, he brought his gaze back to hers. "I...um, I..." He squeezed her hand. "Well, I don't want Dash to die. He has to live, Rebecca. He has to or...well I don't know. I fear Trevor will lose himself for good if that happens."

The imposing, self-assured Cord had been replaced by a hesitant, worried father. It broke her heart for him. _Please, God, answer that prayer with a yes, and quickly._ "That will make a good prayer," she praised. "I'll pray first and then you can add anything you want. Okay?"

If panic had a look all its own, he wore it now. Perfectly. "Out loud?"

"There is no set way to pray. You can talk to God in your head, or aloud, with friends—or just yourself. Any way you want. Reverently, of course. But today we're going to pray out loud. You can do it." She shook his hand a bit and nodded.

He nodded back but still looked like he was about to seize up and timber to the floor.

She squeezed his hand and took a step closer, figuring the more quietly he spoke, the more at ease he'd be. Giving him a final nod, she bowed her head and began. _Make it simple. Extremely simple._ "Dear Lord, please heal Dash of his wounds. Please keep Trevor from blaming Cord. Help Trevor and Cord to reconnect. In Jesus' name. Amen."

Rebecca looked up and caught Cord watching her, a deer-in-headlights look draining the blood from his face. It was so cute, she laughed. "You've prayed for meals in front of me and your entire family before. Why do you look like you're about to recite the Emancipation Proclamation on national television?" She laughed again.

Yep, that little twitch of a smile was back, ever so slightly deepening the half-moons on each side of his mouth. Boy, she'd learned to adore that little tell of his. Especially since she just now recognized it was only ever aimed at her. Gad, he was beautiful!

"I'm sure you have something you can add."

"Uh, no. You said it."

"Come now, Cord. Bow your head. Say anything that comes to mind."

Rebecca bowed her head, squeezed his hand, and waited. Heard a huge inhale.

"Lord? I'm kind of new at this." He laughed, a measure of nervousness coming through. "That's an understatement," he mumbled to himself.

Rebecca remained still with her head bowed.

"Lord, please help me with my boys—sorry...sons. I want to spend more time with them. I want to help them. They're breathing, but not really living." He swallowed hard. "And...help Trevor and Bronc to not hate me. Amen."

They both looked up then. His 'Cord' smile had grown into something glorious. Something she'd never seen before, full of relief, illumination, hope, and more she couldn't even begin to identify.

She tried to match it, but tears of joy clogged her throat and the smile ended up a watery one. That face of his, that smile, she found she couldn't help herself. She lifted a hand and delicately cupped her palm around his jaw and cheek. Bristles scratched at her tender skin, sending the now familiar tingle of awareness straight up her arm.

He nudged a tendril of hair behind her ear, then did it again. She caught her breath and then hoped she could take in another.

Neither could speak for the longest time, each touching the other's face. Finally, Rebecca gave voice to what he'd done. "Cord, that was beautiful. Truly."

He swallowed again and his blue eyes glistened, and she knew he understood she'd meant him as well.

His gaze slid to where he brushed along her hair again. Rough with callouses, his palm snagged on the fine hairs at her temple. With the backs of his fingers, he smoothed them back in place. His eyes shifted back to hers. "Thank you, Becca."

Her breath hitched. It was the first time he'd called her that. This was a nickname designed for a companion. A special partner. "You're so welcome. You watch and see. God will answer you. Now, you must understand, not all prayers are answered with a 'yes'. Sometimes they're 'no', or 'wait', but He always answers. And the answer is always for our own good in the end."

He winced.

She squeezed his hand again. "I can't promise it will feel good, but it will be okay. The more you pray, the more you'll understand that. And Cord? The reason we pray is—well of course for the obvious: ask, seek, and knock. But also so we can see our part in what God does. When you pray and He answers, it becomes obvious what our prayers can do. In James 5:16, He says, _The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much._ We can even move the hand of God. Some time be sure to remind me and I'll tell you the story about how Lot did just that."

Cord caught her up in his intense gaze. He didn't say a thing but seemed reassured.

He hesitated a moment while he studied her, then leaned in.

Was he going to kiss her?

The back door crashed open, and Cord and Rebecca jumped back from one another. Brand rounded the corner from the mudroom into the kitchen.

"There you are, Dad! You're not going to believe this! Dash is trying to sit up. Doc is astounded. The crazy dog is feeling so good, the doc needs us to hold him still while he injects the anesthetic, wants to operate on him right away. Colt sent me to fetch you. Trev went to town to do a quick errand for Doc. He doesn't know about this latest news. Doc said he'd wait for him to return to do the surgery, but he needs us to help prep.

Cord swung his jubilant gaze to Rebecca and took a step toward her as if to swallow her up in his arms and swing her around with sheer delight. But he stopped himself, nodded, and grinned at her before following Brand out the door.

# Chapter 18

Cord strode back to the house after feeding and watering the stock in the barn. Five days had passed since Dash had been injured, had surgery, and began to make progress in his recovery, all while Cord put prayer into practice. He found himself praying often in his head as Becca had suggested and was surprisingly comfortable with this method. God had been faithful and had answered every prayer about the dog—all with 'yes' answers. He beamed. It felt good to be in communication with the Almighty. He'd never been much of a prayer person, though he'd always believed in God. Now, he thought he might want to pray about everything. He'd have to ask Becca if that was all right to do. Surely God had enough on His hands without Cord heaving a bunch of menial requests at Him.

Cord scraped what mud he could off the bottoms of his boots, then stomped against one particular porch board. It took such abuse from him and his sons it was bound to break one of these days, but until then...

His mind wandered to other tasks he had on his unending list as he let himself in the back door, then removed his boots and positioned them next to the door.

The smell of bacon hit his nostrils. His stomach growled. It had been days since he'd eaten at mealtime. He, Trevor, Colt, Rebecca, and Brand had taken turns at Dash's side while the men divvied the load of brutal ranch work between them. Bronc only helped when Cord could get his hands on the boy. Man, Cord reminded himself, torn between disappointment in his son's laziness and disappointment in himself for not finding enough time in the day to have those face to face chats he owed each son.

The days had gotten colder, and there was a ton of work before the heavy snows came. Every year Cord worried over that. What with all the busted fences the past few months, this year worried him even more.

Becca— _and why had that nickname suddenly fit?_ —stood at the stove in a frilly yellow apron, frying up bacon. Her rich chestnut hair was tied up in a high ponytail. It swished about as she babbled and laughed. Colt stood next to her, a wide grin on his handsome face, happily listening to her and handing her strips of bacon to put in the skillet.

Jealousy struck Cord so hard he had to grip the door jamb to keep from buckling at the knees.

Becca turned at the sound and smiled that broad smile of hers as if nothing were wrong. "Breakfast should be ready in about twenty minutes."

"Coffee, Dad? You look about froze." Colt peered at him closer. "Or somethin'."

Cord ground his back teeth. Colt seemed way too happy these days, and he knew Becca's influence was the cause. That thought sank in and jolted Cord. He wanted Colt happy. But if Becca was what it took for that, well...

He thought he might be sick. "I'll get my own coffee," Cord said, hearing the acidity in his own voice. He could not pinpoint, let alone understand, the scores of emotions roiling through him.

"Sure," Colt returned, still watching him as if he didn't quite recognize him.

"When's the widow coming back?" Rebecca asked him when she caught his eye over her shoulder. "Remember, I'm not very good at this cooking stuff." She laughed, then snorted.

Cord smiled to himself over Rebecca's snort, the thought that he'd much rather see Rebecca in the kitchen than Clara taking his mind there, until he froze mid sip. Instant panic seized him, and every ounce of strength fell through his boots. He dropped the cup to the counter and coffee splattered everywhere.

Colt was by his side in a split second. "What is it? What's wrong?" Colt's voice was filled with terror. "Sit down, Dad."

Cord let Colt push him into a chair, felt the blood drain from his face with a sickening whoosh.

How could he have forgotten?

He leaped back to his feet, a stream of curses trailing behind him all the way to the white living room.

How could I forget that dratted contract?

Cord heard footsteps following behind him and figured it was Colt. He was wrong. Becca stood in the doorway, her fingers knit together at her waist, a frown of concern on her lovely face. If he allowed himself to dream, the dream would spin around her, standing in the center of his world, sporting a bright yellow apron, reminding him she belonged in his kitchen, in his life...in his bed...

He swept in a breath with too much saliva and choked himself into a coughing fit. Right now he had other problems. He knew in his gut the contract was a problem. He'd been so preoccupied with Trevor's precious dog, he'd forgotten all about it. The contract minus the signature page still occupied the glass coffee table, right where Clara had left the darned thing.

Now the three days had passed.

There would be no chance to rescind.

Ignoring Becca's worry, he sat in the chair in front of the contract and stared at the thick pages like it was a neat little venomous package he had to exterminate.

"What is that?" Becca said while inching toward him.

In a sudden irrational rage, he shoved the stack of papers at her. They slid across the glass where they would have flipped to the carpet but for Becca slapping a hand on them. She lowered herself to the couch, turned the pages around to read the title page.

Becca slowly lifted her chin. Her gaze clung to his, and she looked at him in such a way, he knew he had an advocate, no matter what the pages revealed. Relief flooded him. "Tell me you know something about contracts."

A frown of confusion knit her brows. "This is a contract?"

He nodded.

She looked down at the pages and tilted her head. "It has you worried."

It wasn't a question, more a statement showing her insight. Yeah, he was worried. His heart pounded in his ears. He didn't trust the widow. Had she swindled him somehow?

"Hold on a minute. I'll have Colt take over the cooking." Then she rose and was gone.

Cord sat back in the cushy chair, concern over his work clothes against the pristine fabric flashing through his mind for only a moment. He felt sweat pop out on his forehead in dread. The widow was clever. He only hoped he was wrong about his suspicions.

Becca came through the living room opening and glanced back toward the activity in the kitchen. "Do you want to go to your office for privacy?"

Cord swallowed, nodded, and came to his feet. Grabbing the stack of papers, he followed her to his office, closing the door behind them. The squeak of leather grated against his sudden headache as he settled in his office chair. Unable to think clearly, he stared up at her, waiting for her next move.

She shrugged out of her apron and laid it across one of the chairs that faced his desk. Her work-worn jeans and loose flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up reminded him of one of his cowhands, yet she was miles away from resembling them. Tom-boy, yes. Masculine, not in the least.

She sat facing him. "So, what can I do to help with this contract you're so worried about?"

Cord swallowed a lump of apprehension. Should he involve Becca in this when it could amount to nothing? Then again, he wasn't the best when it came to contracts. " _Do_ you know anything about contracts?"

"I've helped my dad to understand them in the past. Mostly concerning the sale of one of the row crops, or the sheep, acreage here and there. Why?"

"Do you see this?" He stabbed at the thick stack of papers on his desk.

"Yes, I see it. A contract. Are you finally selling one of your sons?" She laughed then, a wonderful light-hearted sound that lifted his mood a tad. Until she snorted, and he couldn't quite hold back. The smile was on his face and the chuckle out his mouth in the next two breaths. Oh, was she like a shovel, digging out the rot in his soul.

If only that one bit of decay weren't unreachable.

"Sorry," she said as she covered her mouth with her fingers until she sobered. She sat on the edge of the chair facing Cord. "I know this is serious or you wouldn't be so worried. What is it?"

He huffed a deep breath, staring at the documents. "It's from Clara. It's supposed to be a contract for the sale of 500 steers and 100 cows with their yearlings. It sure as heck shouldn't be this thick for something so simple." He looked up at her.

She shook her head. "No. Something doesn't smell right here."

"That's what I thought, too. Thing is, when I told her I wanted to read it first, or at least go over it with her lawyer to understand it, she rushed me into signing it by reminding me I could rescind it within three days if I wanted to."

Becca jumped to her feet with a crazed look on her face. "You did _what?_ "

He sat forward, ran a hand through his hair, and bit the corner of his lip. Yeah, he wondered about himself, too. "I'd been watching for you and Colt to return from finding the dapple." A blast of anger shot through him. "What took you two so dang long anyway?"

"What took us—Stop it! Stop changing the subject. Why in the world would you sign _anything_ without reading it first? It defies common sense. What were you thinking?"

He jumped to his feet as well. "I wasn't, okay? Obviously. She knew I was distracted and used it against me."

Rebecca huffed an agitated breath, shook her head. "Oh, Cord..."

"And when Dash was run over, I forgot all about it. It's been five days now. I don't even have a copy of the signed page."

"She didn't have you sign two of them?"

"No. She said her lawyer would Xerox it for me. Whatever that means."

"That means make a copy for you. There's a machine that can do that now. Okay, there's nothing you can do about the signed contract. So. Let's go over it. Find out what you've gotten yourself into."

He looked up at her, with what he hoped were pleading eyes. "The thing is, Becca, I was hoping you'd be willing to read it and tell me the nuts and bolts when you're done. I've already got thirty hours worth of work to fit into each twenty-four hour day. Getting ready for winter snows...you know."

She arched a severe eyebrow. "You're the boss."

"Don't do that. As a friend, Becca." He focused his gaze on the papers, hoping Becca wouldn't see the truth in his eyes. Those words had been like sandpaper grating up and out his throat. He thought of her as more than a friend. Much more. But a friend was all he'd ever have.

Cord glanced up. Becca was staring at her lap, looking deathly pale. He rounded the desk, hunkered down, and grasped one of her hands. "You okay, Duchess?"

Her gaze came to his. "Friends," she whispered.

He nodded, wondering about the sudden change in her. Was the thought of _just friends_ as painful for her as it was for him? "Friends," he said.

She continued to stare into his eyes, so he began his own search into hers. He sought what she was thinking. It was usually there, as clear to him as a picture television. But before he got a good start, she blinked and looked away. When she turned back, the forlorn expression had been replaced by her usual good attitude. She smiled at him. A beautiful but utterly fake smile.

"Give me the contract. Right after breakfast—which I should go help Colt with—I'll begin reading it. Don't worry." She patted his hand with her free one, then tugged the captured one away from his grasp. "I'll get to the bottom of what she's doing here. I promise."

She jumped to her feet, skirted around him to collect the contract, and disappeared through the office door.

* * *

Exhaustion, disbelief, and blurry vision made Rebecca read the second to the last page of the contract for the fourth time. Sure as shooting, she'd read it right. Her empty stomach chewed against itself, making her nauseous. She'd started reading this needlessly convoluted contract right after breakfast this morning. A glance at the clock told her she'd been at it for well over a dozen hours in between her other duties.

She needed a stiff drink. Rest too, but the need to calm her nerves won out. She got up on tired legs and cinched into her robe. Tomorrow she promised herself a knock-down-drag-out with Cord. How could he allow this to happen? Would he go through with it?

As she drew closer to the kitchen, she noticed a slash of light under the swinging door that was rarely closed. She worried it was Cord, presciently awaiting his turn for the executioner's blade. She nudged the swinging door open and peeked around it. There sat Cord, slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand and motionless as a terrified deer. He was still in his work clothes—worn jeans with mud splatter at each hem, red plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled as always. His face showed streaks of mud and grime, his hair clumps of mud and straw. He was stocking-footed and had a weary-to-the-bone, faraway expression on his face.

"Everything okay?" Rebecca swung the door open enough to shimmy through and carefully fingered it to a stop back in place.

Cord jerked upright and tried to give her a smile that didn't quite form on his mouth. He looked uneasy at seeing her. Now that she'd read the contract, she understood why.

"I don't have to ask why you're up so late, do I?" he said. "Been reading that devil contract."

She brushed loose curls away from her face and behind each ear. That stiff drink sounded even better now, but she wasn't really a drinker, and it was too late for that anyhow. Once she started this conversation, well, Cord's world was about to get turned upside-down. Sympathy calmed her anger. "Yep. That's quite a masterpiece."

Cord slammed the mug to the table, then scrubbed both hands up his face and through his hair. "Give it to me straight."

"Well, first off, most of the contract is made up of two large informational packets, one on the beef herd, the other on the calves. Maybe it was part of the show. I mean, it made the contract look that much thicker, something you wouldn't want to tackle reading right then."

Cord nodded, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. "And the rest?"

Rebecca went to the sink and filled a glass with water, then pulled a kitchen chair slowly out, giving herself time to formulate her words. "There's a clause in the back that says...well, it stipulates that while you are a rancher of some repute, the fact is, you _are_ a bachelor. So, it is believed that while you might be trustworthy in business—and, of course, I'm sure you've proven that many times over, especially with the locals—"

"Rebecca! Bottom line!"

"You must be married."

She watched his face for a reaction.

It was like his brain was in neutral. He was processing. Finally, his eyes widened and he lurched toward her, grabbing her upper arm in a vice grip. " _What did you just say?_ "

# Chapter 19

Rebecca sucked in a quick breath and held it. A plan, a plan. What could she tell him that would help this? Nothing. "There's more."

"There's more? More than the demand I be married?"

She nodded, feeling the pads of his fingers bite into her muscle. It would bruise, but that was so much less than what he'd have to endure.

"Yes. If you aren't a married man within four weeks of signing the contract—"

He slammed to his feet and paced to the sink, staring through the window at the blackest of nights. "She expected I'd marry _her_ , didn't she?" Running a hand around the back of his neck, he squeezed until his knuckles shown white. "I'll load up the cattle and yearlings tomorrow and dump them off at her place."

"Uh...Cord?"

He turned to face her, his eyes wild with fear. "How is it legal to put something like that in a contract...for _cattle_?"

She pursed her lips to shush him, patted the air. "Keep your voice down. People sleeping. I've seen all kinds of odd things in contracts, heard of worse ones. As long as the two parties agree, anything goes. My own dad got trapped in a contract, just like you. He's still trapped. Didn't read the fine print. He didn't realize part of getting access to the river running next to the ranch meant he also was forbidden to poison the hyacinth that choked out that access. He has to pay the monthly fees for irrigation water he's not getting."

The look of horror on his face felt good. Her dad had lost so much. "What did the state have to gain from that agreement?"

"My dad's undivided attention to rid the slew of hyacinth—naturally, no poisons. It's an ongoing problem that the state knows my dad is now motivated to keep after. Have you ever dealt with hyacinth? It grows and multiplies faster than bunnies can breed."

The twitch at Cord's mouth told her she'd calmed him a little. But not for long. His smile twisted into a sneer. "But I didn't agree! I'll just have to confront her. She can't get away with this!"

He paused, looking off into the distance as if reading a news bulletin. "Ah shoot, she's not there right now! That's why she's gone off for two weeks." Cord stomped back to the table, jammed both sets of knuckles against the tabletop and leaned into her space. "I'll go see Stanley in the morning."

She shook her head. "I called his office earlier today. He's gone, too."

Cord cursed as if he filled the air like this every day. When the blue words finally ceased, he turned to her. "They planned this, right down to skedaddling out of town."

"Cord—"

A look of loathing came over him as he spouted yet another curse word. "She had Joe run over Dash. On purpose. As part of her plan?"

Rebecca jumped to her feet and grasped both his biceps. He was out of control and gaining steam. "Cord. Stop! No. No one would run over a helpless dog on purpose. I'm sure it was an accident. Her rush to get out of here before you stopped her was probably her only sin in that."

The look on his face was ominous. She could see the fury growing wings inside him, darkening and narrowing his blue eyes. "She won't get away with this, I can promise you that."

She squeezed his arms to get his attention. "Come, sit down. There's more."

" _More?_ " He glowered at her as if all this were her fault.

"Sit!" She pointed to the seat and pushed him toward it.

He was so stiff, she had to press her hand to his middle to bend him enough to sit. This was not going well. The man would probably never sleep again. Or allow another woman near him again. That grieved her in a way she didn't think possible.

Rebecca took his empty mug and poured him another cup of coffee, hoping to give him time to settle down a bit. She glanced at his face as she handed him the cup. His gaze instantly dropped to the coffee and hardened there.

"Cord."

She waited until he looked up. It took several long seconds. Holding his gaze, she slowly sat in the kitchen chair beside him.

"You can't return the cattle or calves to void the contract. There is a second clause." She rolled her lips in, pressed down.

His nostrils flared with impatience, or maybe contemplating murder?

She sighed. "It says you either pay up—with a monthly payment and also when you sell the yearlings, as well as get married—or they can fine you, confiscate part of your ranch, and/or throw you in jail."

"Throw—Wait. _What?_ "

She knew that was a rhetorical question. She only nodded in answer.

"My God."

"Yes, we should definitely take this to God."

"She's been after me since high school." His words were a rumbling murmur.

But what he said surprised her. Rebecca thought he'd only just recently been working with Clara. How long had he known her? His sons had never said. Had never wanted to talk about her at all. "What do you mean?"

His head shot up in surprise. Yeah, she figured he hadn't meant for her to hear. But she had. He stared into her eyes, then averted his gaze and nodded.

"We have a history, since high school."

Rebecca waited, but he didn't say anymore. "I might be able to help more if I understood your _history_."

Looking defeated and worried, Cord sucked in a couple of breaths then nodded. "Clara was in my class. Millie, the class below. Clara had set her sights on me and was furious when I chose Millie. Or rather our circumstances chose us." He licked his lips, took another sip of coffee.

He was quiet for so long, she thought he wouldn't say more.

"Go on," she prompted.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at her once again then continued. "After Millie died, Clara was right there, hardly gave me a moment to breathe. It took a year, but she finally wore me down. She's a beautiful woman and I'm not made of stone." He lifted his chin, glared at Rebecca as if to challenge her to disagree.

"I never said you were. Go on." Rebecca kept her voice even as a counselor might, though inside her heart pounded against her chest.

"We had a...well...saw each other for six months before I started pulling away. I'd had enough. Of her, of not being able to look at myself in the mirror. I ended it, then lived with forced celibacy after that. She tried everything to regain my interest. I did everything to avoid her. She finally gave up and got married within a month. Forgot all about me. Or so I hoped. I only went to her this last time because she swore she needed my help. She gave me the impression her ranch was falling apart now without proper supervision. Going downhill since the death of her husband. That she needed me to help her reorganize. She begged. It wasn't pretty.

"The final kicker," he went on, "was the money she offered me for the work and the crazy good deal on the cattle and yearlings. Cooper Bar-6 has fallen on hard times, what with the drought, fires, cut fences, lost cattle. Gad, even when Dad was alive we had rustling problems. That's how he was killed. I don't know why we're such a target, but it's taken its toll. So I agreed to help her. For the stock. For the money."

He winced, clearly disgusted with himself. "For the dang money," he repeated, then dropped his head in his hands. "Blast, I've lived too long to be so stupid. It was just another set-up." She could barely hear him as he spoke to the table through his hands. "To get me to finally marry her."

He slapped his hands down on the table.

Rebecca jumped.

"And now she's finally done it. She's trapped me good and tight. I'll have to do it now."

The back door squeaked open, sending ice through Rebecca's nerves. It was past 1:00 AM. No one who belonged here should be up at this hour.

Cord was on his feet with a frying pan in hand so fast Rebecca's breath seized in her throat. He stood by the stove, pan cocked in a batter's hold, rigid as a statue. The wood floor creaked just out of view. Cord started to swing the pan forward...and stopped just short of Trevor's shocked face.

Cord lowered the pan and panted a few breaths. "Trevor!"

"Geez, Coop. Warn a guy." Trevor went back out the way he came. Rebecca heard one boot hit the floor, then the other before he plunked them in their spot by the door. Trevor kept everything in its place.

"Why would I warn you if I thought you were breaking in?"

"Who breaks in out here? You're paranoid." Trevor called out from the other room.

"For crying out loud, Trev, what are you doing out this late on a weeknight when you're always up before dawn?"

"Is Bronc home? No. He never gets home until 2 or 3, yet you haven't tried to clobber him."

Rebecca could see Cord's hatred of the bitterness in Trevor's voice. It was always there, more so every day.

"I need to talk to you," Trevor said, then strode past Cord to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.

"Not tonight—"

Rebecca sprang toward Cord, putting a hand on his shoulder, leaning over him for his cup. "Can I get you another cup of coffee?" She glared into Cord's face without Trevor seeing, eyes wide with the urgent message she hoped he'd figure out.

* * *

"Uh, yeah, I uh..." Cord jumbled his words. He glanced up at Rebecca, who was still conveying her message through her eyes, and asked, "Are we done here, Duchess? If so, Bacon here needs my time."

That's the way, her twinkling eyes and big smile said. He smiled back in understanding and appreciation.

She refilled his cup and set it down before him. "I'm off to bed."

He wrapped his hands around it, drawing strength from her. She patted his shoulder, and he felt her praise clear through him.

"Have a nice talk, you two." She stepped through the swinging kitchen door.

Cord watched her hair bounce at her back and her hips sway in that fluffy white robe until the door swung slowly to a standstill.

When he looked back, Trevor was just sitting down across from him, a scowl plastered on his face. He was not about to talk about Becca with his son. Jumping in first, he said, "What do you want?" That might be brusque, but Trev's obvious disapproval of Becca, or at least Cord's affection for her, had already run his thoughts into the manure pile. He was surprised that when it came to Becca his hackles were always up, even with his sons—especially with his sons.

Trevor stared him down for a moment, but something in Cord's expression must have stopped him from saying anything more about the little filly. Trevor remained silent, sipping at his coffee every few seconds.

Cord needed to tread carefully. "How's Dash doing?"

Trevor blinked in surprise. "Really well. I'm amazed. Thought that latest infection was going to make him lose the leg after all, but then everything started to look better."

Cord thought of his and Rebecca's prayer. Could it be? _Pray without ceasing_. Rebecca had said that was in the Bible. Because that kind of prayer reminded us to live in the awareness that God is with us and actively involved in our lives.

Give it a try, Cord. It worked for Dash.

_Please, Lord. Help me with Trevor. Help me find a solution for whatever he's going to talk to me about. Help me communicate that I love him and will be here for him._ He'd have to learn more effective prayers from Becca, but for now, he hoped that would do.

"Listen, Coop."

Cord consciously stopped his wince.

"We've had some odd things happen on the ranch for the months you were gone." Trev curled his lip in anger, but then it was gone. They had a long way to go, he and Trevor. "I need your help to figure them out."

_Thank you, Lord._ This was exactly what Cord wanted, for his sons to need him again. "You got it. What's been going on?"

"The fire in the hay truck, you saw. Before that, cut fences, cattle wandering onto the highway. You know of the dead possum in our well, but probably don't know we've had distributor caps and rotors missing from not one but two vehicles. Never found those. Let's see, oh yeah, Colt had two of the mustangs he'd just acquired end up with colic. Both slight cases, thankfully. One, we figure happens, but two...?"

Trevor inhaled slowly as he rotated his coffee cup handle from one hand to the next. "None of these things are related, other than they're on the Bar-6. At first, we figured a string of bad luck, but not now. Someone's doing these things, and I'm about fed up with trying to keep up. And then Dash." Trevor stared straight through him. "I think your slut is involved."

_Don't react,_ _don't react_ , he heard Becca's voice in his head. "Trevor. Let's get one thing straight right now," he said in a surprisingly calm voice. "She is not mine." He wouldn't come to her defense about the 'slut' part of the comment. Truth was, neither he nor Clara had behaved properly. They both deserved the label.

"Well, she sure as Hades wants _you_ all fired badly. Can we be done with her cooking for us, do ya think?"

Cord saw the fury in Trevor's eyes, the tension in his body. If only Trevor knew what an ally he had in his father. "Abso-flippin-lutely."

Trevor blinked, his face softening, clearly not believing his ears. "You mean it?"

"She's no longer welcome here. For many reasons. I'll take care of it."

When Trevor shook his head in relief, guilt and pain sliced through Cord. Had he always been so hard-nosed? So oblivious and uncaring? Yes. Yes, he had. Before Wise Counselor, Rebecca Louise Harper, he may as well have been on another planet.

* * *

Rebecca cast off her robe and climbed into bed. Exhaustion was marrow deep, yet she was exhilarated at having witnessed Cord's first attempt at really being there for Trevor. Of all the Cooper sons that she'd met, Trevor seemed the most together on the outside, and yet it might be he was the most wounded. It would be a long time coming, but with God's help, Trevor would heal. They would all heal.

She fluffed her pillow, then slid under the comfort of the blankets and let her mind spin. Tomorrow she would be sure to pin Cord down for the conclusion of their conversation. He'd told her a lot tonight. So, the widow had been in his life for a long time—had chased him for years. That made Rebecca wonder about the man who had been willing to marry Clara on the rebound. And then she wondered how he died. Now Clara was after Cord once again. Was trapping him the desperate act of a woman in love? Or a conniving manipulator?

If the latter, what was she after?

The reality of it shot straight up Rebecca's spine, making her head throb. Cord was going to marry Clara! She couldn't let him do it, not when she'd fallen in love with him herself.

Grasping the blankets, she yanked them up to her chin. _My word! Am I? Am I truly in love with a man seventeen years older?_ The answer was clear. Age didn't matter, not one iota. She loved Cord. She wanted to be the one to make a life with him, to cherish him and guard him as he rebuilt his relationships with his sons. The widow would destroy him, heart and soul.

Unless...

She bolted upright, board stiff. Yes! The contract only stated he had to be married. It didn't say to whom. Instead of trying to find a loophole in the contract itself, she would offer up herself. Then it would be done. Handled. Just like that. The widow would be duped. Tit for tat. It could work. Cord would be free and Rebecca would be married to the man she loved. Wasn't that all that mattered?

She scrunched up her face. Well, technically he wouldn't be free. But being married to her would be as good as, wouldn't it?

Tomorrow she would get him alone and tell him he only needed to marry _someone_. That, though Clara had thought to trap him into marrying her, he could choose whomever he wanted. Who else did he know besides the widow and Rebecca? Well, probably plenty of women, but not ones he would consider marrying, right?

He would pick her over Clara.

Of course, he would.

Once she settled that in her mind, her body finally relaxed enough to drift off. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

# Chapter 20

Rebecca heard a chorus of male voices from the kitchen as she descended the stairs. She was happy the widow was away, though secretly annoyed she was once again put in a position of ridicule for her cooking.

She cocked her head to hear better, wondering who was causing such a ruckus.

When she heard a Scottish burr and a raspy laugh, she squealed her joy. Jake had brought Suzannah! She tried to tamp down her excitement, to not look the youthful fool in front of Cord, and swung the kitchen door slowly open.

Her gaze flitted past a coffee-swigging Cord to an absolutely glowing Suzannah. Seeing her sister slanting into Jake's body as he slung his arm around her, each holding their own cup of coffee, Rebecca couldn't hold back. She shrieked and ran toward Suzannah.

Jake immediately released Suzannah and deftly nabbed the cup out of her hand before Rebecca clasped her into a deep, sisterly hug. Jake's smile was glorious with those deep dimples on that beardless face as he kept his eyes glued to his wife. Ah, a man in love. Beautiful to see.

One glance at Cord and her knees went weak. He also had a magnificent smile on his handsome face. Whew. Two rugged men who didn't smile enough, both showing their best smiles for their women.

_Their women_. Oh, if only that could be true.

"You look wonderful!" Rebecca said into Suzannah's hair. "How's Uncle Roy and the crew? That's where you two love birds have been, right?"

Jake set the mugs on the counter and walked toward her. "Aye, lass. They are bonnie. How is me twitterin' bluejay?" He wrapped her into a two-armed embrace and rocked her off the floor like he hadn't seen her in months. So un-Jake-like, but warm and inviting against the big lug's massive body.

Rebecca smiled into his chest. "I'm perfect, Jake. Because Suzannah has never looked happier."

Jake and Suzannah peered at each other, each holding a secretive grin. Jake released Rebecca and brought his bride back under one arm, pulling her tight against his side. "I dinna think me lassie has any complaints, do ye, Kitten?"

Suzannah shook her head and grinned up at him, happiness oozing from every pore. Envy cut right through Rebecca, leaving her weak-kneed for the second time in as many minutes, but for a not-so-honorable reason this time. Her sister deserved her happiness. Every last ounce.

"Where's the munchkin?" Rebecca asked.

Suzannah cleared her throat. Everyone stilled, waiting for her to speak.

"Auntie Mabel's got Bella," Jake grinned. "The wee lassie is being spoilt by all the Harper folk whilst Kitten and I have some time together."

Jake's brogue was thick today. Rebecca never knew what caused that, but sheer happiness must surely be a trigger.

Again, envy lurched inside her. _Stop it, Rebecca!_

Jake's words finally sank in. "Will you be here for more than just a check on your house, then? Colt really needs your help with that ornery buckskin. I've been trying to get him to wait until you came back."

"Aye. He filled me in. Sounds like that stallion needs a few hard knocks from ole Jake here, you ken? Already checked on the house. We are moving in before Thanksgiving, right lass?" Jake gazed into Suzannah's face, smiling that heart-stopping smile again. How did her sister manage weak knees all the time? Lucky girl.

Suzannah beamed at Rebecca. "Can you...help?" she rasped.

"Help get you settled? Of course." Rebecca looked to Cord then. "That is if the boss here will give me some time off."

Cord shook his head, surprising her. "Nope. Can't live without her."

Rebecca's mouth dropped open. His words were like a caress. If only he meant them the way they sounded. She couldn't seem to respond back.

"Wordless, Becca?" Cord questioned her, then threw his head back and laughed.

He'd been joking. Of course.

"It won't be for another few weeks. We'll work it out, Duchess."

One glance at Jake and she knew he'd caught the nickname. "Duchess, ey?"

"Head of the household, this one." Cord nodded toward her then laughed again.

Rebecca's heart nearly pinballed out of her chest. Cord made it sound like she was the Mistress or Matriarch here. Did he mean it? If only—

But when Jake joined him in the bout of laughter, she realized it had been a derogatory statement, meant to demean her. Tears burned the back of her throat, then misted her eyes. Oh, would she ever understand men and their intentions?

Without giving them the command to do so, her legs twisted around and she was speeding out of the kitchen. When she found herself in her room with those blasted tears streaming down her face, she swiped at them in anger. _Stop with the waterworks! Your problem is, you've already thought of yourself as Cord's wife. Dangerous, Rebecca, very dangerous_. _And dumb._

When she felt a tender pat on her back, she realized she hadn't closed her door. She knew that touch. Turning slowly, she saw the frown of concern on her dear sister's face. "I'm fine, Suze."

Suzannah shook her head and pointed to the bed. Before sitting down beside her, Suzannah closed the bedroom door. Once settled next to her, she took one of Rebecca's hands in hers. Rebecca gazed down at her petite sister, who now looked so mature and womanly since her marriage. She yearned for that for herself.

"You're in love with him," Suzannah said, her voice surprisingly strong.

Shocked at Suzannah's ability to read her feelings for Cord in so short a time, she gulped. "How did you...?"

Suzannah studied her, then nodded gently. She understood emotions and men so much better than Rebecca ever could learn in this lifetime. Ever since the injury to her throat, Suzannah's listening skills had bloomed. She didn't miss much.

Rebecca freed her face of tears with a tissue from the box on her nightstand. Maybe she should ask her sister what she thought of the marriage idea. If Suze didn't outright laugh at her, maybe she'd have some suggestions.

"Correct?" Suzannah asked, putting a halt to the drifting of Rebecca's thoughts.

Why lie? She nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"How long?"

She sniffed, reached over for another tissue, and rubbed her nose with it. "The very first moment I met him, I think. In the ditch."

Suzannah's mouth parted, and she tilted her head in confusion.

"I met Cord before I knew who he was. I mean, I didn't know he was a Cooper. I was driving my Rambler to the store in the rain, lost control, and slid into a ditch."

Suzannah sucked in a quick breath. "Hurt?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Not hurt. Cord found me, rescued me out of my car then carried me to his truck. My gosh, Suzannah," Rebecca closed her eyes and recaptured that moment. "I think I fell in love then and there. I don't even know if that's possible. I've never believed in love-at-first-sight before, but I think I've changed my mind. Okay, maybe it's just _attraction_ at first sight. But it's powerful."

Suzannah nodded in agreement, then wiggled the hand she still held. "More."

Rebecca sighed. "We didn't get along at first, but that's because we're both stubborn. And I was still gun-shy...you know." Suzannah nodded. She understood better than anyone in the family how deeply Rebecca had been hurt. "Then we were stranded overnight in Cord's cabin in the forest southeast of here. Oh, sis," Rebecca squeezed her sister's hand and looked her in the eye. "It felt like weeks instead of twenty-four hours, and by then I was lost. He...uh." Rebecca looked away, not wanting to hear Suzannah's rebuke, but needing to tell someone. "He kissed me."

" _What?_ " Suzannah squawked.

Rebecca looked back and smiled. "It was the most amazing, exhilarating experience of my life. It just kind of...happened."

Suzannah shook her head adamantly.

"Why did I know you'd react that way?" Rebecca frowned.

"Too old for you. Too much man."

Instant fury made her leap off the bed, nearly unseating her sister as she rounded on her. "What do you mean too much man? You think I can't handle him? You're wrong about that. Don't you get it? I don't care about age. Love doesn't come in digits. It's from the heart. And my heart wants him."

Reining in her aggravation, Rebecca sat back on the bed next to her sister and took her hand again. "He deserves it, Suze. He's been hurt so much in this life. By a wife who died, leaving him with six kids to raise. By a widow, who is holding him hostage with a ridiculous contract. By his sons, who won't let themselves see he's always been there for them." She dropped Suzannah's hand and frowned. "And you, his new niece, who thinks he's too blasted old!"

"Rebecca!" The word came out with surprising force.

"You need to understand what we're talking about here." Rebecca pierced Suzannah with a big sister glare, then eased her gaze away. "I wanted to get your slant on something important, but now I'm not sure you'd understand."

"Suzannah!" Jake shouted from the bottom of the stairs, his voice reverberating alarm.

Suzannah flew out the door and ran down the stairs, Rebecca close on her heels.

Jake was stuffing his felt hat on his head. "Colt's been hurt. Grab the satchel out of the truck and meet me in the corral, aye?"

Rebecca was out the door first, and nearly halfway to the corral when she heard the back door slam shut. Her heart hammered in her chest. It had to be Duke again. That horse had gotten wilder in the last few days. They should have had Jake look at that stallion when he was here for the Piebald. What kind of shape would Colt be in? Would he look like Dash had, battered and bloody?

When Rebecca reached the corral what she saw nearly stopped her heart. Cord was on his hands and knees hanging over Colt. The mad-as-hatters buckskin stallion was snorting and running the perimeter of the corral. Just as she stepped up the rungs of the fence for a better view, Duke made a sharp turn and ran straight at Cord and Colt in a show of aggression. Cord didn't move a muscle other than to flatten out on top of his son. A father, protecting his cub.

"No!" Rebecca screamed.

Cord turned his head and saw her on the top of the fence. "Don't you move from there!" he shouted at her.

"Oh God, please help Cord!" Rebecca shouted over the chaos of sprinting cowhands.

Jake cut a path through the crowd, rope, and crop in hand. "Stay out!" he shouted, hat on a swivel.

Under Jake's commanding gaze, the cowhands shrank back from the corral fence. He vaulted the top rail at a run and landed lightly, his feet already in a forward motion again. Like Rebecca had witnessed at Harper Ranch, he began swinging the rope round and round, taking gouges out of the dirt near his feet. He was shouting nonsensical words at the stallion and lumbering toward the furious animal. The horse looked uncertain.

All bulked up, Jake strode toward the crazed animal, one large step after the other. Now he was close enough to point his crop in the direction he wanted the stallion to go and gave a shout. When the animal didn't move, Jake snapped the rope against his hip. The stallion jerked, his nostrils flared. Dropping his massive head, Duke bucked and trotted in the direction Jake had forced him to go.

"Open the gate to the outside stall," Jake shouted, not once taking his eyes off the horse.

The cowboys jumped to his bidding. Rebecca saw two men head to the gate in question while another three jumped into the corral and ran to Cord and Colt.

With eyes filled with a mix of fear and fury, the stallion turned one more time toward Jake and got a snap of the crop to his muzzle. One last shout and a snap to his rear from Jake and the troublemaker was back in his stall. Snorts and squeals and the thwacks of a hoof striking the wood door could be heard, but he was good and caged.

Rebecca had only seen Jake strike a horse but once during her stay at Harper Ranch, but she guessed when people were in danger, he changed his tactics.

Rebecca clambered the rest of the way over the fence with Suzannah beside her. They both ran toward Colt and the others surrounding him.

"Cord, are you hurt?" Rebecca asked, breathless, uncertain what to make of the panic inside her.

"I'm fine. Colt's unconscious."

"How?" She noticed Jake listening to the conversation while he pulled out various paraphernalia from the satchel Suzannah had delivered.

With a small flashlight, Jake checked Colt's eyes, then searched his scalp for blood, glancing at Cord every few seconds.

"Jake's waiting for your answer, Cord. Did you see it happen?" Rebecca asked.

"No. All I saw was Colt flat on his back right here, and when I reached him I couldn't wake him. That damn stallion must have trampled him or something. What's it look like to you, Jake?"

"Pupils are responding. I dinna find any injuries. The horse may have head-butted him and knocked him out."

One of the cowpokes wedged himself in between Cord and Jake. "I seen it happen, boss. Just like Jake here says. Crazy stallion charged him and flat out knocked him in the head. Didn't look over bad from where I stood. He didn't trample him, anyways."

"And where were you, Eddie?"

"Over yonder by Willie and Stogie. They're still there, see 'em? By the fire truck shed."

Rebecca often saw the old codgers sitting there. They had a bench along the front of the shed where the two would jaw and smoke. They once told her it was the safest place to smoke since the access to water was right inside. She knew both were beginning to lose their eyesight, or they would be right here worrying and pacing.

Colt groaned.

"Son? Can you hear me?" Cord asked.

"Yeah." Colt didn't open his eyes, but the word had come out strong enough.

"Can you open your eyes?" Cord made sure his hat shaded Colt's eyes from the slices of intermittent sunshine between the clouds overhead.

Colt's eyelids fluttered before they rose slightly. And then finally came open all the way. He looked up at all the eyes on him. "Don't you men have anything better to do than stare at me?" he spouted, then grimaced.

"Easy, son. Let's sit you up. You up to it?"

"Sure."

Cord and Jake both took an arm and hauled him up slowly. Once he was sitting for a dozen or so seconds, Jake asked, "Dizzy?"

"Not really. Whopper of a headache, though."

Wasn't anyone going to ask him? Rebecca couldn't stand it anymore. "How'd you manage to get head-butted, Colt?"

Colt rested his forearms on his raised knees and rubbed the back of his head. "Dang loco animal. Like I told you when you were here for the Piebald, Jake. He's wild, but today he's ten times worse. Like a trapped animal trying to get out of a burning barn. All crazed like. Kept charging me. Before he clobbered me, I was turning away from him. Almost got out of his way too, but he caught me upside the head."

A crevice deepened between Jake's dark brows. This was more than a look of concern about Colt's well-being.

Cord must have thought so, as well. "What is it, Jake?"

"That stallion reminds me of one I nearly lost my hide over. Back a decade ago when I was a young buck and arrogant. Thought I was immortal, ye ken? How wrong I was. The owner had to put the beastie down. Found out he'd been poisoned." He glanced at Cord. "You get Colt to the house. Take it slow. I want to check something."

Jake stood and searched the immediate area until he spied Suzannah. "Come here, lass."

He held out an arm, and she slipped in as smooth as you please. They strode off arm in arm. Rebecca watched until they were out of sight behind barn doors. Once again Rebecca felt that pang of envy. She wondered if it struck Cord that same way.

A group of half a dozen cowboys, Rebecca, and Cord stood around Colt while he relaxed in a cushy chair in the family room, leaning his head against a bag of frozen peas. Rebecca could read Cord's anxiety, not only for his son but also for what foul play Jake might be uncovering.

The back door to the mudroom squeaked open. Rebecca hurried to the kitchen. Suzannah entered first, followed by a solemn-faced Jake.

"Mind getting me a glass of water, Kitten?"

Suzannah nodded, gave him a weary smile as he did her, and went about the task.

"Where are they?" Jake asked Rebecca.

"Family room."

Rebecca followed Jake, who squared himself in front of Colt with hands splayed on his hips. "Its Locoweed, Colt. Nae enough for death, unless it wasna just placed in today's feed, but plenty for symptoms. Was he lethargic, uncoordinated recently? Salivating to excess?"

Colt nodded then grimaced. "Yep. Yesterday, some the day before."

"How long have you had the bruised oats?"

"Been going on four maybe five weeks now."

"Just the stallion?"

Colt began to nod, then winced and peered at Jake through squinted eyes.

Jake hunkered down before Colt. "I ken you have been planning on that stallion to cover your mares. I am sorry to tell you, Colt. Locoweed can cause infertility. Unless someone has a burr in his saddle over that stallion, in particular, I am guessing they are trying to sabotage your venture."

# Chapter 21

Cord helped Colt wobble up the stairs and into bed. When Rebecca insisted on propping pillows for his head to lessen his headache, Cord slipped out the bedroom door. Colt could be in no better hands, especially when Cord only had murder on his mind. For the culprit, not the horse, though he was tempted to kill the horse, too. Brain damage made locoized horses reactive, dangerous and headed for the rendering plant on their own. No sense letting anyone else get hurt in the meantime.

But he wouldn't do it without Colt's permission, and Jake seemed willing to give this one time to see which way he'd turn. Cord wanted to see that happen since Colt had so carefully checked this stud's pedigree for his brood. So Cord tromped past the buckskin and his stall-kicking tantrum and straight to the bag of oats across the aisle. He ripped the bag down the center with his bare hands. Oats funneled out of the burlap with a whoosh. Sure enough, bits of brittle locoweed leaves spilled out with it.

This? This was what got his son almost killed? Burbling, gnawing frustration welled into Cord's chest. He hollered, and the sound echoed off the rafters.

The stallion smashed from one side of the stall to the other. Cord barely heard it. He shoveled the contaminated pile into a wheelbarrow and passed the now trembling stallion, whistling as he went. Whistling like a steam locomotive letting off pressure. Because if he didn't, he was going to throw his own tantrum and bring the barn down on his head.

He'd almost lost his son today.

He dumped the oats in the firepit, lit them, and watched them burn.

By the time he headed back in from moving the heifers to the west pasture, combing the area for native locoweed, or any place it may have been planted, it was twilight and the last of the oats were ashes in the fire pit. He wished he could still believe the Bar-6 was cursed with a string of bad luck. _I mean, if there's a God, that stuff about the devil's probably true, too._ It was more comfortable than the alternative Trevor and he had discussed last night. There was a saboteur. Locoweed grew in pastures, not milling factories for rolled oats. That meant a person was behind this, and people— _his_ people—were getting hurt!

Would he figure out who it was before someone else fell victim?

Acid burned up from his stomach. He refused to think the widow could be involved. Besides, what would be her motive? To destroy the holdings she was now trying to marry into? That made no gall-darned sense.

Bone tired and overwrought, Cord thought of praying. Maybe this was his fault. He needed to learn more effective prayers. _Try again_. He nodded his agreement with himself and started to pass by the stallion for the pond behind the house. Stopped. Studied the horse who stood in one place, every muscle quivering. Cord drew a little closer. The horse didn't move except for his eyes, which appeared clearer now, calm even. Maybe there was hope for this horse, for the Bar-6, and for him to show his sons he loved them more than life.

Taking the last few steps to the pond, the edges already showing signs of freezing, Cord stood at the rim, watching the final trails of sunset. More muted against the grayish blue this evening, but glorious nonetheless. A reminder of an enormous Creator. Who was he to bother such a God?

Usually, when Cord had something on his mind that needed saying, he'd hash it out with his best friend, Trapper. The horse had been with him since high school. Had listened to many a sad tale, without once giving him a hard time. _Pretty safe_ , he thought with a smile. But sadness pulled his smile down. Trapper would be twenty-five this year. He always had such heart, never disappointed his master, seemed so young. It was hard to believe he could lose him any year now.

Who would replace him as a best friend then?

When Rebecca's face swam before him, his pulse sped. That woman had him wrapped in emotions he couldn't name. He'd purposely left her with Colt today. They were suited enough for one another, and both would come to understand that with time. A pang made him rub his chest. Would he ever adjust to Rebecca and his son together? Yes. He had to. It was time he faced that. He himself was officially out of the running, thanks to the widow and her trap.

He lifted his hat off, felt the cool night air nip at the sweat on his scalp. "Okay, Lord. I'm going to try this again. Please heal Colt of the head injury. Help us to figure out who's sabotaging the ranch and why. Help Trevor and Bronc to forgive me. Help me to figure out Brand. Bring Clayton and Hunter home soon. And...and about Colt and Rebecca. If you want...if they're supposed to..."

"Ah, rats!" He scrubbed his hand through his damp hair, then crushed his hat back on. "I can't do it, God. Forgive me. I can't pray for them."

He twisted around to head home. The peace he'd felt at the start of the prayer seemed to have shattered into shards that cut into him as he walked away.

Cord threw open the door to the mudroom. He tried to catch it but it got away from him. It crashed into the back wall, rattling the dang window so he thought it might crack. _Get hold of yourself._ He needed a hot shower and a solid night's rest. But how could he rest when he was buzzing with anxiety, and he hadn't been able to find a darned thing out of the ordinary where he'd roamed today.

He discarded his hat, jacket, and boots, then reached up with both hands and massaged his neck and head. His headache was worsening, and it didn't help that he hadn't eaten since early morning. Why was it that just as he'd woken up to how precious his family was to him, havoc and destruction threatened to tear them apart.

As soon as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, the smell of burnt meat assailed him, followed by another waft of something he couldn't distinguish—something spicy? Like scorched mustard. The kitchen was quiet, yet a lingering cloud of smoke floated near the ceiling. All the lights were on.

Cord stomped over to the stove, his exaggerated footfalls silent in his socks.

He opened the oven door. A wave of heat and smoke hit him in the face, making his eyes scrunch closed. He blinked them open against the acrid bite _._ Some kind of ground meat on French bread, looked like, with the exposed corners of the bread burned black. He hadn't quite figured out what supper was supposed to be when he heard someone coming through the door from the family room.

Cord let go of the oven door, knowing it would slam shut. When it did it gave him a slight thrill, taking a small notch out of his anger.

"Are you all right?" Rebecca said as he swung around to face her.

Concern etched her perfect skin, compassion pooling in her eyes. Oh, he was fine. His son had almost died today, the ranch was being sabotaged, and the only food available was burning in the oven, but he was just fine.

He opened the oven door again, nodded toward the burnt remnants, then let it slam shut again. "What happened to supper?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Rebecca. I'm in no mood."

"I'm fine as frog's hair, Cord. So is Colt, thank you for asking."

He stiffened, planted his hands on his hips. "Oh for cripes sake, Becca! You know what kind of day it's been. A big fat cherry to round off this last vile month!"

Disappointment marked her lovely face. He felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside. She would be Colt's bride one day, and he had to marry Clara, so it was just too bad she was disappointed. Life was disappointing.

"I see."

So few words coming from Rebecca should have pleased him, but it did just the opposite. "What do you see?" Anger colored his tone.

"I see that since you met me—the day you came back home from _five_ _months_ at the widow's—you've had a _vile month_!"

He struggled not to roll his eyes. When had they not irritated each other?

_Alone, at the cabin,_ his heart piped in.

"And here I am, coming to tell you that I've figured out a solution for your contract, and I find you already annoyed with me, and you're complaining about my burning just a tiny bit of the meal while I was making sure Colt—you know, your son, Colt, your _injured_ son, Colt, you remember him?—was all right instead of making sure your meal—"

Cord marched forward and stopped inches from her toes. "Enough said!"

Becca tossed her head back, throwing her hair over her shoulders, huffing out a breath. "And that!" she shouted up at him. "That statement will not work on me! I am not one of your children. You will not—"

Without thought, Cord crushed his mouth to hers. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he used the other to cup her head, tilt it, and sink in further. He possessed her mouth wholly, backed off, nipped, licked, then went back for more. As he sensed would happen, she softened into him, mouth parted, hand light on his shoulder, then his cheek. The kiss was deep and wondrous and more than physical. It was as if her soul knew its home was with him.

How can this feel so right when she can't belong to me?

He pulled back, their lips still slightly connected. He wanted the right to plow back in, take this further, but instead, he pushed her out of their embrace. He should have been horrified he'd once again taken liberties, but in his present mood, he had no interest in feeling remorse.

Her dazed look spoke of her confusion and passion. Wide eyes pierced his and seemed to ask why. But he didn't know why.

"Oh Cord," she said, her lower lip quivering slightly. "Now I know my solution for you will work."

Cord shook his head. Had he missed something? Right now the blood his brain needed had gone elsewhere. "Solution for what?"

She took the step forward he'd pushed her back to, placing her small hand on his chest. "For the contract. You don't have to marry the widow, Cord. You just have to marry."

Her eyes seemed to beseech him, and still, he couldn't put together what she was trying to tell him. Dropping his chin, he shook his head again, trying to get his brain in gear. "I just have to marry..." he repeated, hoping hearing it again would jar something loose. Marry someone. Not the widow.

Light dawned. Raising his head back up, he took her by the shoulders and squeezed. "I don't have to marry Clara."

She smiled that brilliant smile, almost making him forget again what they were talking about. Slow. He was really slow tonight. Exhaustion? Or had that kiss scrambled his brain?

"That's right!" She praised as if she were a teacher and he'd just figured out two plus two.

He released her shoulders, turned to the coffee pot. By rote, he poured himself a cup and sipped it, still facing the pot. He didn't have to marry Clara...but he had to marry someone. By golly, he knew a slew of women—good women his age—in town. There was Denise who owned the little cookery on Main Street. She always had a big smile for him, flirted with him even. Then there was Nancy—Yeah she was a better choice. He'd actually gone on a few dates with her. Back then he couldn't quite put aside his grief and guilt over losing Millie in order to do right by her, so he'd stopped seeing her. But he was sure she'd be up for a whirlwind courtship. What about Gayle Renford? Yes. Gayle. That was the one! He'd dated her the most recently, and for the longest, before going to the widow's last May. She was a sweet, submissive sort. A lot like Millie. She would make a great rancher's wife. Wouldn't offer him grief—or opinions. She would let him do his job and be there for a meal late in the evenings when he'd wander back.

He frowned, twisting his mouth in derision. She didn't like his sons much. But that didn't matter. He was going to spend more time with them himself, so she could too. He'd get her to like them.

Cord took a healthy gulp of his coffee, grimacing at the burn on his tongue, then went for the refrigerator. Pulling out a sandwich he remembered seeing in there, he swung around with both hands full, strode up to Becca, and planted a fat kiss on the top of her head. "Brilliant idea, Duchess! I'll work on that first thing in the morning."

Then whistling happily, he took himself off for that hot shower and a promised good night of sleep.

* * *

"Work on what?" Rebecca called after him. "Cord?" But he was already gone.

Why didn't he stay to talk about it? Why did he seem so distracted? And then so infuriatingly happy while he outright dismissed her? She groaned. Why were men so hard to understand?

At least Suzannah and Jake were staying the night to help keep an eye on Colt. She'd see if Suzannah could make sense of it first thing in the morning.

Rebecca awoke the moment light filtered into her room. Sleep had only come sporadically throughout the night. And when she was awake, she heard Cord tossing and turning in the next room in between meandering in and out of Colt's room.

She lumbered up to the chester drawers—her dad's pronunciation of chest-of-drawers—and studied her image in the mirror above. Dark half-circles hung under her eyes, her hair was a mass of tangles, and her face was pink. _Pink?_ Was it from the dream she'd had of a certain cowboy with a few gray hairs at his temple?

Frustrated, and still weak from lack of sleep, she donned her worn jeans, cuddly flannel shirt, wool-lined vest, and a different pair of boots. She had to handle Colt's job today—at least the feeding of his stock. As she opened her door to head downstairs, she wondered how the stallion was faring, and how much more grass hay she should feed him today to replace the oats when she was brought up short by a large hand to her elbow.

Startled, she swung around. Cord had a grip on her with a thunderous look on his face. Where had that happy, whistling man gone off to from last evening?

"Why in Sam Hill can't you sleep at night?"

She scowled right back at him. "Why can't you?"

"Because you keep me awake, that's why." He was leaning into her space. So close she could feel the warmth from his body, smell the clean clothes and soap scent of him. A quick glance told her he was not dressed in his usual jeans, flannel shirt, and thermal underwear peeking out from the open collar. These clothes looked newer. Did he have an appointment today?

She took a step back. He didn't release her. "I do no such thing. I hear you tossing and turning and sometimes prowling around your room. Your floorboards creak, do you know that?"

"Your bed squeaks. What are you doing in there anyway?"

What was he implying? "It's your bed!"

He jerked, dropping his hand from her. He seemed to be assessing her statement. When the truth of it finally struck, he nodded and softened his tone. "I'll get you a new one."

"I don't need a new bed. You just need to sleep, so I can!"

She twisted on her toes and scuttled down the stairs before he could stop her again. She found Suzannah setting the kitchen table while Jake poured coffee. The smells coming from the stove made Rebecca's stomach growl loudly.

Jake turned and leaned his bum against the counter. The mug he held looked minuscule in his large paw, and the grin on his oh-so-handsome face could melt a glacier.

"What are you so happy about?" Rebecca said, sinking into the peace that pooled between Jake and Suzannah.

"What is nae to be happy about?" Jake replied, his tender gaze on his wife's back as she did breakfast chores. "Colt is awake, the sun is out, the pheasants are calling."

Cord entered the kitchen. Rebecca took one look at his dour face and thought, _Yep. There's something not to be happy about._

Time to change the subject. "How's Colt's head, Jake? I was going to check on him, but got waylaid." She gave Cord a hearty glare.

He glared back. Goodness but the man needed sleep...and a vacation.

"The lad is fine. He plans to work today."

" _What?_ No!" Cord barked. "I just came from his room. He's in no shape to work! "

Jake looked puzzled for a moment, then chuckled. "Canna keep him down, Uncle. He didna get hit that hard. Stop your fussing."

Cord scowled.

Something in Rebecca snapped. She strode up to him, planted a hand on his chest, and drove him backward into the mudroom. Surprisingly, he let her. Lowering her voice so only he could hear, she said, "Will you get hold of yourself? Keep trying to control every minute of the day and you'll run your sons off permanently. I know you don't want that. I'll be with Colt today. I'll watch over him. He'll be fine or I'll make him come inside to rest."

Cord didn't change his expression, but he seemed to be considering her words.

"Pray about it, Cord. Pray about all of it. It will make a difference. If not in your circumstances, then in your attitude. God often turns our prayers into a flood light, showing us our own shortcomings. There've been many a time I've prayed for God to change someone else's behavior and he's turned it around on me, showing me what I needed to do to change. Not comfortable, no indeedy...but necessary. More times than I care to admit." A laugh pressed out of her. The irony of those prayers always amused her. "Pray, but let these grown men of yours make decisions for themselves. Connect, don't control. Remember?"

He looked intently into her eyes, searching her. She put a palm to his cheek, feeling the lack of bristles on his clean shaven face, and stared right back, letting him look all he needed. "You're going to worry yourself into an early grave. It's all going to work out, Cord. Let God take what's His."

A line formed between his brows. "What's His?"

"What's His is the worry. What's yours is the trust...in Him."

His breath hung suspended for a split second, then he inhaled deeply and his shoulders relaxed, as did the grimace. In an instant, he looked years younger, freed from the weight of the world. She was more than happy to be yoked with him, to help with his burden. Would he understand that?

He dropped his gaze to her mouth.

Her lips parted instinctively in answer.

He stepped out of their intimate circle instead. "You're right. Always right, Duchess." He scrubbed a palm down his face, almost nervously. "I've got to go to town. Can you take care of things here until I return?"

"Before breakfast?"

He nodded. "I have breakfast plans."

Her next breath caught in her throat. "Plans?" she barely got out.

"Gotta sort through wife candidates, remember?" He chuckled.

She nearly choked. " _Wife candidates?_ But Cord—"

He leaned down and gave a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Gotta go." He backed a step and, if she read him right, a great sadness shone in those blue eyes. Before turning, he said, "Take care of Colt."

Without looking back, he walked out the door. It banged shut behind him.

A dreadful pain seized her chest, so crushing she was sure every one of her heartstrings had been severed.

# Chapter 22

Frantic. The only word to describe how she felt in that moment was frantic. Rebecca raced to the small window in the mudroom and watched Cord stride in that long-legged, loose-hipped walk of his, straight to his red pickup and straight out of her life.

At least, that's how it felt.

Tears threatened, her throat closed. Why did Cord think he had to find another woman to marry when the perfect choice for him was standing right here, trying to put her heart back together?

She struggled to settle her thoughts, but that was impossible while her breaths came in short painful huffs. Taking one last deep breath and a hardy swallow, she quit the mudroom and turned the corner for the kitchen.

Suzannah's head came up from what she was doing, took one look at Rebecca, and an I-warned-you-but-I'm-so-sorry expression came over her.

Rebecca sucked in a sob, glanced at a clueless Jake, and dashed off for the privacy of her bedroom. The final words as she raced away came from Jake to Suzannah. "Leave the lass be for now."

That was good. She didn't want Suzannah probing her with questions she couldn't answer. Her emotions were too raw. But once she was behind closed doors, the tears came. She tried to staunch them, knowing if they built any momentum, she'd never stop. Panting breath after breath to gain control, she could only hear the pounding of her heart in her head.

The knob turned, and Rebecca sucked in a hard breath and held it, forcing tears back. Who dared come in without a knock?

Colt peeked his head in, looking hale and hearty for someone who could have died yesterday. "I knocked. Guess you didn't hear me." His expression was apologetic. "Can I come in?"

She shook her head, but the dejected look on Colt's face stopped her. She nodded, not risking speech for fear of what might burst out.

He came in and closed the door behind him. "Heard you come up. Heard tears."

Rebecca turned to her window and looked out onto the beauty of the Bar-6, forcing her twitching lungs to relax. "You should be in bed, Colt."

"Nah. Had enough of that."

Taking one last cleansing breath, she turned to face him. He was always so good to her, the thought of being rude to him didn't sit well. "How exactly does one hear tears?"

"I have a talent, I guess." Then he grinned, and if her heart didn't belong wholly to Cord, she would have swooned on the spot.

She gave him a watery grin and plunked herself down with a huff on the edge of her bed. Determined not to act the heartsick teenager, she asked, "What can I do for you, Colt?"

He drew closer, hunkered down to look up into her face. "What's wrong, darlin'?"

She blinked, working on damming up the pesky waterworks all over again.

He scooched a little closer, put one knee on the floor for balance. He'd gotten dressed in his work clothes: a ratty chambray shirt pushed haphazardly at the sleeves to his elbows, his knee peeking through a hole in his jeans. Taking her hands in his calloused ones, he simply met her gaze. She stared back, studying the lines of his rugged face and those deep blue eyes, so like his father's. He was so attractive it was no wonder girls came on the property to track him down; so sweet, she knew why they wanted to spend time with him. Though he never said much to them, he was never rude. Always a gentleman cowboy. But even if her heart were available, Colt didn't want her either. His vision for his own life was to support Trevor.

"It's Dad, isn't it?"

Her drooping eyes widened, flashed at his. "How could you know—"

"Just gifted." Yeah, his old soul seemed to grow in wisdom daily.

"Come on, Colt. Am I that obvious? If so, others are going to know and I—"

"Unh, unh, uh, no flood of words," Colt interrupted, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "Listen, it's simple. I observe. I deduce. Not talking much has its rewards. Besides, you just confirmed it."

She groaned.

He grinned again, and she couldn't help but smile with him. There were so few people whom she trusted to get close. Colt was one of them. Someone she didn't fear might use her and hurt her.

"Trust me, no one sees it. Not even Dad."

"He thinks he's too old for me. He keeps throwing me at you." She gasped and brought her fingers to her mouth. "I mean...not that you aren't a real catch, you are...but, it's just that—"

"You want Dad," he finished for her. She sighed, then nodded miserably, staring down at their joined hands. Like his dad's, Colt's were rancher's hands: large, bronzed, scarred. She loved men's hands, especially hard-working men's hands.

"Here's the kicker, darlin'. I think if Dad thought he was worthy, he'd choose you, too."

She brought her gaze back to his. "What do you mean worthy?"

He shook his head imperceptibly. "You mean you haven't figured it out? Smart lady like you?"

"No. I don't get men, Mush."

He winced.

She laughed. "None of you like your crazy nicknames, do you?"

He shook his head feverishly this time. "We're grown men."

"Anyway, Suzannah's always made fun of how inept I am at figuring out men." When he eyed her skeptically, she continued, "No, really. I'm terrible at it. I can counsel you on other relationships, but when it comes to my own..." She laughed then snorted.

Colt chuckled. Then gave her a sweet smile. "Tell you what, Muffin. Why don't you and I give him a little test? You game?"

"Maybe—Wait a minute." She pulled one hand out of his hold and placed it on his arm. "You said Cord thinks he's unworthy. You didn't finish."

Colt threw his head back and laughed...a beautiful, resonant sound. "You're like an elephant. You never forget."

She grinned, already feeling so much better in this man's company. "I never forget." She wagged a finger at him. "But don't ever call a woman an elephant again."

He smiled, but the gleam in his eye didn't last long. "Dad's problem is, he may seem controlling, but underneath it all, he's too easy on everyone else and too hard on himself. Which leads him to make bad choices. About who he should fire, who not to date—"

"Who he'll partner with, in contracts," she added.

He looked confused but nodded.

She guessed Colt didn't know about Cord's latest blunder, and the neat trap set by the widow.

"His bad choices come from not thinking he's worthy."

She shook her head. "But why, Colt? He has so much to offer. Why would he think that?"

"He blames himself for Mom's death."

"But that's—"

He held up his free hand. "Told him that. He won't forgive himself his part in it." He rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "I've always thought there was something more about Mom's death that keeps him down."

She did too. "What, do you suppose?"

"Can't get him to say. But something that's made him survive without really living."

_Breathing, but not really living_ , Cord had said about his sons. So, they all suffered from the same affliction. But what more could Cord be holding back...?

A vehicle skidded to a stop outside, the sound of gravel crunching under tires barely registering in Rebecca's brain. Even when the front door slammed, she ignored the distraction. It wasn't until someone rapped on her bedroom door that she halted all thought of what Cord was hiding.

"Come on in," she bid whoever was at her door.

The door opened and stopped midway. _Cord_. Her heart sprang toward him.

Standing there, a welcome sight—as magnificent as his sons, yet seasoned, controlled. She squinted her eyes, looked closer. That control had slipped. He'd frozen mid-stride with his hand on the doorknob, still wearing his hat as if this were a hurried stop.

Colt dropped Rebecca's hand and rose to his feet, his knees popping in protest of squatting for so long.

"Dad. Quick trip?"

* * *

Cord's heart seized mid-beat, then sped into a frenzy at the sight before him. Colt, on one knee in front of Becca. With the door closed. Could he be? Not possible he was asking her to marry him. They weren't at that place yet. He'd been watching. They seemed to only be friends. Had he missed the signs?

"Colt. Becca."

"Cord?" Becca said, drawing out his name. She almost sounded hopeful. Or was she just wondering why he was back?

Cord whisked off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "I forgot to ask Becca something before I left. I um...sorry to interrupt..."

Colt eyed him carefully, no doubt using that ability they shared of reading people. Cord shifted his gaze to Becca, not wanting Colt to see something he was trying hard to shove down.

"Uh, Becca. The thing is...I had a question about that...that matter we discussed."

A frown of confusion pulled at her forehead and brows but changed in a split second. "Oh," she said, disappointment weighing down the one word comment. She rose slowly from the bed. "It's in your study. I'll get it."

Cord glanced at Colt, then back to Becca. "No," Cord said. As much as he needed to, he didn't want to do this right now. His mind was still on what he'd seen when he first waltzed in. If he left them alone, would Colt resume what he was doing on his knee in front of her?

Wasn't this what he wanted?

Aw, hell no, it wasn't!

He huffed a breath, fully honest with himself about this. It would be better if she went back to California. He couldn't stand by and watch Colt—or any of his sons—marry Becca and make a life with her here. He'd never survive it.

"What is it you want her to do then, Dad?"

"Huh?" He swung his gaze back to Colt. "Oh. I just have a question I'm sure she can answer. Can you—Give us a moment, will you, son?"

"Sure."

Then Colt did the unspeakable. He leaned down and gave Becca a brief kiss on the mouth. Quick—but did it have to be on the lips? That mouth belonged to him!

She started, but quickly recovered and gave Colt a small smile.

"Come on out when Dad's done with you. Okay, sweetheart?"

_Sweetheart?_ That rankled.

Colt strolled out of the room, glancing once at Cord with a silly grin on his face. Cord felt his own face twist into a sneer at Colt's back. His jaw clenched.

"So, you needed the contract?" Becca's sweet voice broke his daggers.

He rotated back to her, looking for signs of the love she must feel for his son. Was her face all innocent and... _mischievious_? He recognized it as a look he'd often seen from one or another of his sons throughout the years when they were up to no good.

"Yes, I..." Gad, why couldn't he formulate the words? He wanted to stomp the four steps to her, take her by the shoulders, and shake her. Right before he kissed the mischief right out of her.

"Are you...are you mad about something?"

He dipped his head, contemplated the floor and the worn-off tips of his boots. He should have worn his dress ones today. _Am I mad?_ Raising his head, he met her gaze. Before he realized what he was doing, his feet took him two steps closer. Now close enough to see the swirls of autumn in her eyes, he was also close enough to take back that mouth his son had stolen from him.

Had he forgotten? He had no right. Tortured anger now fueled his words. "I need to know how soon I have to be married."

She jerked in surprise. He watched her struggle to gather wits about her before she opened her mouth to speak. "Thirty days from the day you signed it."

It was his turn to be stunned. He remembered her mentioning a timetable in the contract, but he'd been too lambasted to register it. Three weeks left. How could he pull it off? Even though he was only planning a marriage of convenience, to be terminated in a year, it still didn't give him much time to pick the best person suited for the job. And it was a job. He planned to sell the yearlings and offer the lucky woman her freedom and three thousand dollars at the end of a year. She'd be able to live on that for six to eight months if she was frugal.

"That doesn't give me much time."

"No, it doesn't. Listen, Cord—"

"I should go." He didn't want to hear what she had to say. Knew her well enough to avoid the logic she'd use to talk him out of it. Well, he would not be yoked with the widow, so he had no choice.

"Have you seen Bronc and Brand lately?" she asked, throwing him off his thoughts.

He frowned as he thought about the date today—November 14th, a Monday. He'd nearly forgotten all about his other two sons. What kind of father was he? _A bad one._

Becca's brows rose to nearly her hairline. "Well? I've been worried about them. I haven't seen either one of them for two days."

"Sorry, I should have told you. They've gone to pick up a couple of geldings your Uncle Roy wants Jake to train, then head back out to pick up two mares Colt is buying from him."

She looked miffed. "No one said a thing to me. Why doesn't anyone tell me anything around here? Men are so uncommunicative."

" _Uncommunicative_ ," Cord repeated around a grin. Her _propensity_ for big words never failed to tickle him. "Reckon so."

She flicked her hand as if swatting away a subject that no longer mattered. Then her gaze locked onto his. "Look, Cord, can I talk to you for a minute."

"Can't, Becca. I'm late for an appointment."

"Breakfast, you mean. With a candidate for marriage."

He nodded and sighed. "Yeah, that."

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

Now she had his curiosity piqued. He glanced at his watch. "Can you say it in thirty seconds?"

She scrunched up her cute nose, clearly incensed. "Well..."

"Can we do this later, Duchess? I've got to go."

He turned to the door, but she caught his forearm. He glanced at her hand. Was that trembling he saw there? Twisting back, he put his hand over hers. "What is it, Becca? Are you all right? Has Colt done something he shouldn't have?"

She shook her head, distracted, nervous. Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, she said, "Marry _me_ , Cord."

He faltered, blinked. " _What?_ " His eyes latched directly to hers as he forced his intense gaze past her defenses, straight into her soul. "Rebecca?"

Her eyes widened little by little as if she hadn't planned to say those words aloud, but now that she had, they were rattling around in her brain. She'd gone absolutely silent. And Rebecca without words was—well, frankly, it was unnerving.

She choked, swallowed. Finally, he thought her words would come. He hoped anyway. He needed to hear what in the world she had in mind.

"That came out poorly. Um, what I wanted to say was..." She coughed. It sounded dry.

Cord glanced around, saw a glass of water on her nightstand, and handed it to her. "Here. This should help."

She gulped it down. On the last swallow, her eyes welled with tears, like it hadn't gone down quite right. She coughed again, then set the glass down and began again. "This is what I've been thinking." She looked everywhere but at him. "You have to be married. I'm single, accessible." She rolled her eyes at that last word. She stomped a foot in frustration. It must have helped since the flood of words that were Rebecca poured out.

"Here's the thing, Cord. I already live with you." Again the eye roll. Not the words she'd wanted, he guessed. "I love your sons and plan to help with them anyway. I don't cook well, but Suzannah can teach me. You don't want to marry the widow, but have to marry right away. Courting other women right now isn't convenient—or time-efficient. I love ranch life. I can help with the outside work. I get along with your cowhands. I know how to ride. I know a little bit about cattle and Colt is teaching me about horses. I'm willing. I'm able. I'm available."

She halted the accounting of attributes and chanced a peek up at him.

He was about to state his case when she put a hand to his chest. "Stop right there! Don't you dare say you're not worthy because you are. And don't say I'm too young for you because I'm not! I'm old beyond my years, you said it yourself!"

She was getting mad, and cuter by the minute.

"And you know I'll be a good help-mate," Rebecca said with clenched hands. "I won't try to dominate you like the widow does. I'll wash for you, and clean house...like I'm already doing." She poked him in the chest for emphasis. "And and I can help with the books...yes, that. And and with any more contracts you need. And I can..."

Her gaze shifted to nowhere in particular, searching for more arguments. Cord sat back on his heels, wondering if she'd just run herself aground, hoping he could keep from grinning a little longer.

Her hand balled into a fist and dropped to her side. Yep, she was stumped, and he was having the time of his life.

But he couldn't let her do this. So he'd give her enough rope to...

He stepped closer and tenderly took hold of her upper arms. She was flushed from her tirade. He pulled her in and slid his lips down her smooth neck, feeling the heat of her skin. His arms slipped around her until he held her completely captive. It again surprised him how small she was when every conversation with her seemed to occur at exactly eye level. He tucked her in closer until he felt every one of her sweet curves against his hard body. His lips skimmed back up her neck until he reached her ear. He snaked out his tongue and licked the sensitive spot behind her ear before he pulled her earlobe into his mouth and sucked.

She moaned, and he jerked, surprised his body had covered so much ground with his brain in neutral. That hadn't been his plan.

_Get on with this before you get yourself in trouble._ "And you can warm my bed at night," he whispered, letting his hot breath stir over the shell of her ear.

Her breath hitched deep in her throat.

Ah, he'd done it. Made her take that lingering look at what it meant to be a wife. Moving his head back enough to see her face, he watched crimson rise from that sweet neck he'd been nibbling right up until the flush filled her face.

_Sink the last nail_. He did grin then, with a sly, wolfish grin.

Blinking in bewilderment, her gaze roamed over every inch of his face. She was too young to handle being seduced by an older, more experienced man. The kisses they'd shared before were nothing compared to this planned mock seduction. Cord waited for her to push him away, or slap him halfway to China.

Boy howdy was he ever wrong.

Her soft little hands came up and captured his face. She stared into his eyes, then smiled that smile that lit a room and turned his bones to mush. Right before she planted on him one of the most potent, passionate kisses he'd ever experienced.

# Chapter 23

Cord broke away from the kiss and stepped back, holding her shoulders in his trembling hands. Still reeling, he studied her eyes to see—Was she experiencing the same reaction?

Yes, she was. His plan had failed miserably.

He couldn't break the gaze they shared until he saw her pink tongue dart out to lick her lips. He groaned and pulled her back into his embrace. With a fervor fueled by sheer passion, he took her mouth again. This time, it wasn't to make her see reason or to scare her off. It was for joy, pure joy. He justified it in his head. When would he ever get a chance to do this again?

She'd offered him marriage—to get him off the hook. While he plowed forward, tilting his head to gain deeper access to the sweetness of her mouth, his mind combed over her arguments, why she'd make him a good wife. God bless her, but she'd only be doing it to bail him out.

Her compassion had been betrayed in college. He'd as soon die as take advantage of that goodness now. No. He would never let her marry someone so warped by a sick, twisted secret as himself.

He released his hold and backed several steps so he couldn't touch her again. "No. I can't allow this."

"Yes, you can."

_Maybe I should tell her my secret. Scare her off for good._ But he couldn't do it. Couldn't watch her face crumple when she learned how vile he was. "What about Colt?" Gad, he'd nearly forgotten what he'd seen earlier. That was real. Colt's kiss was real.

"Cord. Colt and I—"

"Stop!" He thrust up a hand. "I won't get in the way of what my son wants—what any of my sons want. Not anymore, Rebecca. You of all people should know that."

"But Colt—"

"Enough said!" Cord barked, giving Rebecca a piercing glare that really should have been aimed at himself. "I have to go."

"Cord?" He'd nearly made it to the door when the plea in her voice stopped him cold. He turned, waited.

"Pray about it." The lilt at the end of her sentence made it sound like a question, though it was a rock, hard statement.

The words ran right through him to where his soul lived. Curious now how God would answer such a prayer, he vowed to do just that on his way to town. He left Rebecca's room and didn't stop until he was on the porch step of Miss Nancy Blake.

Cord swallowed, feeling his neck and underarms grow damp. On the ride here, he'd taken only a minute to ask God what he should do concerning a wife and that he promised to look for His answers and implement them. Funny, he felt the relief Rebecca seemed to have each time she prayed. He guessed the problem was in God's hands now.

Now to concentrate on Nancy. He strode up to her door, but couldn't quite lift his hand to knock. How in the world was he going to broach this subject? All he needed was a woman who would cook, clean, and be decent to his sons. And _not_ be the overbearing, deceitful Clara Mayfield. Or Rebecca Harper, whom he could never treat as a bride in name only.

He lifted his fist. _Rap, rap, rap._

Hearing footsteps, he glanced up, saw his hat brim, and swiped the battered hat off his head, wishing he'd worn his good one. Awkwardly, he tried to smooth down his hair.

The door swung in on its hinges, and a waft of heavy perfume hit him in the face before the woman came into view. She wore a flowery dress, definitely not something you'd wear on a ranch. Her blonde hair was piled high on top of her head with one curl framing each side of her face. He knew these French twists—or beehives, or whatever they called them—were popular, but he hated them. Why would any woman with silky hair want to rat it up and spray it solid? That certainly wasn't his idea of feminine. The image of untamed chestnut hair came to mind before he could push it away. "Hello, Nancy."

"Good morning, Cord," she said, a slight irritation to her voice.

"Sorry, I'm late. Got held up."

Opening the door wider, he then stepped over the threshold. She closed the door behind him. "It's all right. I understand."

He nodded, rotating his hat within his hands. She was understanding. That would be good when he came in late every evening. He winced as he put another two and two together in his head. Ranch work was grueling, sure, but he'd have to spend even more time outside to stay clear of a wife whose job description included zero intimacy. Well, he would do what he had to do.

Taking a hardy sniff, he smiled. "Something smells good."

"It's almost overcooked," she said, the underlying annoyance there in her tone.

He wasn't going to apologize again. "Let's get started then." He strolled toward the smells, finding the kitchen with his nose.

She caught him by the forearm. "No, Cord. Sit down right here. Let me take your hat and coat." She took his outer garments, hanging them on a stand by the door.

He pulled out a chair, wondering if it would hold him. It looked as fragile as his grandmother's hundred-year-old chair, which he only used for decoration, never to actually sit on. At least not by the men. He eased down carefully. It creaked a bit and was dwarfed by his size, but otherwise held him pretty well.

Nancy stood beside him as if waiting for him to notice the layout she'd gone to great trouble to set up. He gave it some consideration then. The tablecloth was light blue, everything on it in perfect order: white plates, shined silverware, matching cloth napkins, and silver candlesticks in the center with lit white candles. Between the two candlesticks was a stunning arrangement of white roses. A little out of his league, but okay, beautiful.

He nodded at her with a half-smile. "Nice."

Standing this close, he noticed age lines in her once flawless skin and gray hairs intermingling with the blonde. They'd gone to school together, so she wasn't a young spring chicken anymore. Nor was he. She didn't budge, so he looked closer and saw the serious disappointment in her face. Should he have said more?

When he remained silent, she finally twisted on her high heels— _when was the last time he'd seen a woman in his vicinity wear high heels?_ —and ventured toward the kitchen. At first, he watched her move, hoping to catch a glimpse of swaying hips. She was so thin there was zero sway to her backside, not even any curves to keep him interested enough to watch until she'd disappeared into the other room. Well now, that really didn't matter, did it? _Marriage in name only_ , _a year_ , he reminded himself.

Soon she returned with plates all up and down her arms. He did remember her telling him she was once a waitress. That was some serious talent. Rebecca would have bumbled the plates off if she tried a stunt like that. He grinned to himself. But then, she knew her limits—most of the time—so she wouldn't attempt such a thing. Was that good or bad? He shrugged. It was hardly important.

Nancy settled the plates in front of him. Bacon—too well done for Trevor. Scrambled eggs—Colt only liked his fried over hard. Biscuits and gravy—Rebecca never touched those because they were too fattening. And peaches, which looked home canned. Everyone at Cooper Ranch liked peaches, but usually only fresh. Oh, and there was no mustard for Bronc.

He couldn't quite pin down the reason he was sifting through what his family and Rebecca liked.

After she poured coffee for them both, he rose, pulled out her chair for her, then sat after she did.

"You are such a gentleman, Cord. You always have been."

He nodded once, then waited for her to ask him to say the blessing. She just dug in. That was a crucial point against her. Of course, before Rebecca came along, he hadn't done it either—not in a very long time. He let it slide.

She took a petite bite of eggs, chewed, then wiped her mouth delicately like she was dabbing at a fragile bubble. "So, what's new at the ranch?"

He was busy studying his coffee cup, wondering how he'd get his big fingers through the handle. Giving up on how and grasping the whole cup in his hand, he took one swallow that practically drained the dainty cup. "Well, we've had some concerns."

Her look of distress had him encouraged. "Oh? I'm sorry to hear that. How are your sons?"

No discussion about the concerns. Hmm. "My sons are pretty good. Trevor had some trouble with his dog. He was run over, so—"

She choked, cutting off his explanation.

"You all right?" He reached over, patted her on the back.

She held the baby blue napkin to her mouth, spoke around it. "You weren't really going to explain the dog's...um...circumstances, were you? At the breakfast table?"

Yeah, he'd been about to. Heck, that's the kind of thing they talked over at every meal. Okay. Well. Now he'd have to give some thought to what was appropriate meal conversation. He could tell her about the new calf. "We had some fun a few nights ago."

Her light blue eyes lit up at that statement, and he noticed she'd perfectly matched the tablecloth and napkins to them.

"Yeah. One of our heifers had her first calf. The last one of the season, so—"

Another choke—more of a gag. He stared into her nearly wretching face, watched if it was for real. It was. For crying out loud, what could he talk about? "Okay, we'll pass on that. Tell me about you."

Finally, a bright-eyed look and a smile. Her smile was beautiful. Not radiant from within, like Becca's, but stunning, nonetheless.

Pleased, she jumped right in. "Well, last week we had a sale at the shop." That's right, she owned a lady's clothing shop in Sundance. He remembered the first time he'd seen her in it. A few weeks after Millie's death, he'd forced himself to return some clothes that still had tags on them. If he hadn't needed the money to put food on the table, he would have given the clothes away to Salvation Army. As it was, he wished he had. Nancy had flirted with him constantly, and he hadn't been ready for the public display, much less one on one attention. She'd tracked him down a few times after that. At the Cookery, the grocery store, once at the feed store.

"We had the cutest little denim skirts that look great on ladies with pretty legs." Two round pink spots colored her cheeks. "I kept two for myself, of course."

She looked expectantly at him. He'd never seen Nancy's legs, so he couldn't comment. Instead, he took a large bite of biscuit with gravy, chewed, and moaned. "Tasty. Maybe you could give me your recipe."

Her chin nearly fell to her chest as her mouth gaped open. "Why would _you_ want a recipe? Are you the one cooking?"

He guffawed. "Me? Hel—heck no. But the gal who's cooking for us right now can use a few pointers. Figured I could give her your recipe since this gravy is so good."

Looking indignant, Nancy straightened an already straight skirt and repositioned her napkin on her lap. "It's a family recipe."

Cord grinned. "Better yet."

She blinked at him as if he were a dunce. "When someone says it's a family recipe, that means we don't give the recipe out...to anyone."

He nearly choked on the next big bite. Grabbed his coffee and gulped it down. "Why in tarnation not?" Seemed selfish to him.

"Because it's ours."

"Because you want the only credit or you just don't want to share?"

He'd flustered her. Her pink cheeks were now flaming. "Of course we share recipes. Just not that one."

"How about we label your recipe 'Nancy's gravy'? Then dozens of people will know what a good cook you are."

"No. Enough said!"

Cord jerked back in surprise. Whoa, she had a big voice when she wanted one. Was that how he sounded when he used that phrase? One more lesson to learn when it came to dealing with his sons. He mentally added _never say that phrase again_ to his list of things to change.

Cord finished his breakfast in silence, growing angrier by the minute while she chattered happily as if she hadn't just put him in his place and forced him to stay. To be scolded by this little wisp of a woman was one thing, but filling the air with sheer nonsense for the last half hour had put the pencil to his mental list of wife candidates and drawn a line through her name.

Finished with his meal, he got to his feet and dropped his napkin on his plate. "Thank you, Nancy, for the meal. You're a wonderful cook." He wished she were a better fit. Good meals weren't enough.

Looking shocked, she rose quickly. "You're not planning to leave yet."

He nodded. "Have to, got a ranch to run."

"I'm sure your sons can handle things for awhile. I thought we'd take a stroll around town, visit some shops."

A stroll around town? What was he, a dandy? "I'm sorry, Nancy. Some other time."

With a purposeful stride, he gathered up his hat and coat, and turned the knob of the front door, not bothering to don the outer garb. He knew it was blustery outside, but his temperature had risen enough to see him through an ice storm.

"No, you can't go. I went to all this trouble for you."

He glanced back at the table and grimaced. She had made a huge effort. Maybe he should stay.

"I expect you to take care of me now."

What in blazes did that mean? Dare he ask?

"You can help me with the dishes, and then I need some repairs done to my bathroom plumbing. Then I thought after our stroll we could watch some television together. I just got a new RCA. It's big. You'll love it. Come back in." She grabbed his hand before he could snatch it away.

As delicately as he could, he slipped his hand away from hers. "I'm sorry. It was nice of you to ask me to breakfast, but I need to get back to the ranch."

On impulse, he tried to kiss the top of her head but ended up just making a smacking sound, the stiff hairdo keeping him from his target.

He couldn't get out of there fast enough. And here he'd thought the widow was the worst choice out there.

Cord swung the door open, waved a hand over his shoulder without turning back, and didn't stop until he was back home.

His eyes roamed over every contour of the big house. His house. _Home._ A place made tolerable, even cozy, since the arrival of the filly who'd offered to rescue him from his latest misery. Why would she do such a thing? To waste even a day strapped to his side—but a year? She was too valuable, and he didn't deserve her.

What _was_ he going to do about Becca?

Grabbing his hat off the passenger seat, he stuffed it back on his head and let himself out of the shiny red truck that daily reminded him of the woman he needed to outwit. Glancing up at the black clouds overhead, he sighed. He had mountains of work to do, yet here he was, wasting time trying to bail himself out of trouble while Trevor shouldered the ranch responsibilities. The fact curdled Nancy's meal in his stomach.

When would he ever become the father they all deserved?

He strode toward the house, revising his marriage strategy as he went. First thing: Move on to Gayle. The woman he'd dated earlier this year. Why hadn't he started with Gayle? He knew why. He was even more careless with his choices in women than he was time for his sons. He'd run into Nancy, literally, at the grocery store. After he'd helped her with the groceries she had in her arms a few weeks ago, she'd asked him over for breakfast. Just that simple. And just that wrong. He hoped the rest of his dates didn't end the same way.

He crashed through the mudroom door just as the skies opened and drenched his backside. Once he removed his wet hat and boots, he unbuttoned his shirt. Keeping extra shirts back here had been a habit they'd all gotten into, just for such times. He shed the soaked shirt and grabbed a fresh one from a hanger. Cord grinned, thinking how Becca had talked him into putting a bar in the corner laundry area in order to hang up shirts...that happened to come straight from the dryer she'd also talked him into. The new contraption should have been a waste of money, but darn if she hadn't been right about how wrinkle-free their shirts looked. One small decision and she had him and his sons looking their Sunday-best regularly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were dressing," came her sweet voice.

He turned, not the least bit shy about his bare torso. Ranch work kept him fit.

"The rain let loose. All over me." He chuckled, pulling on the shirt while her eyes stayed glued to his chest. In his attempt to keep from grinning, his lips twitched. That brought her attention to his mouth and, in turn, his gaze to hers. No doubt she was remembering their latest kiss, as did he.

All sense of amusement fled. If he had his way, he'd cross that mudroom, take her in his arms, and snuffle his nose in her cloud of hair. Inhale her delicious scent. Then press his lips to hers in greeting. Yeah, this was why he couldn't marry Becca. With the desire she stirred in him, she'd drive him completely mad before the first month was up.

_Marriage in name only_ rolled around as a reminder in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn't stop thinking about Becca, he would never find that bride of convenience.

"Are you all right?"

Her honeyed scent reached him before he opened his eyes and saw her standing only a few feet from him. Instantly aware his shirt was still unbuttoned, he rushed to do the task. His fingers fumbled, shook. What was he, an adolescent in his first awkward girl moment?

Becca moved forward to take over the task and now he wanted to laugh at how absurd he was acting.

Once she was done buttoning every last button, she smoothed her hand down the buttons and stared up at him.

He smiled tenderly at her, then leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her head. He allowed himself a brief moment to revel in the feel of her silky hair against his lips, so different from Nancy's.

Robbed of speech from a lump in his throat, but resolve back in place, he stepped around her and headed for the kitchen and that phone call to Gayle. He forced himself not to look back.

# Chapter 24

Rebecca rotated around and watched Cord leave without another thought for her. His carelessness pulled a plug inside her, and her strength swirled out until there was nothing left.

She trudged to the kitchen and the lunch she needed to prepare. Bologna sandwiches. That she could manage, even if she did stare at the mayonnaise and mustard blindly for a full thirty seconds before getting her muscles to work.

With one sandwich done and the second in progress, she heard Cord's voice near. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the telephone receiver was missing and the cord was stretched tight, disappearing around the corner.

She shouldn't listen, but when she heard Cord question whether tonight would suit, anguish skated down her spine. Was he already asking the same woman out on another date? Asking a new one? Unbidden, her legs towed her closer to better hear.

"I'll be there after supper." A pause as he listened. "Sure, we'll make it 8:00 then. Good to talk to you, Gayle."

When he stopped talking, Rebecca nearly tripped over her own feet getting back to the other side of the kitchen. She slid the last little bit on her socks. Misjudging, she slammed a knee into the oven with a loud _clang_. "Ow!" she tried to muffle.

Cord came around the door frame and hung up the receiver. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She slathered Miracle Whip onto the second sandwich, then mustard before adding cheese and slapping the second piece of bread on top. She squashed it down.

"Whoa, hold up there, Duchess. Is that a sandwich or a flapjack?"

It sounded like he wanted to lighten her mood, which infuriated her all the more. Was he in such a grand mood now that he'd seen some other woman? "Stay out of my way. I'm making your lunch."

Cord gave her a little swat on the behind, making her jump and squeak. She turned to glare at him. "Don't make anything for me. I'm still full from breakfast. Nancy made the best biscuits and gravy. Tried to get her recipe for you, but she says they don't give out family recipes. Ever heard of such nonsense?"

She blew a cork. "You did _what_? Tried to get a recipe from a woman you—I don't even know what—for the inept cook at home? How could you be so, so...so tactless? I couldn't be more humiliated!"

Rebecca picked up the mangled sandwich and flattened it against Cord's chest with an extra push, then skirted around him for the door.

"Wait a minute." Cord implored. "Hold up there, Duchess!"

She twisted around, nearly losing her balance again as her socks slipped against the freshly cleaned linoleum floor. _Her_ clean floor. Had he even noticed?

Cord threw off the sandwich and dashed for her. She turned back just as Cord slid into her, catching her around the waist to steady them both.

"What in Sam Hill did you do to this floor?" he said with a grunt.

After righting himself to full height, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. He was so close she could see his tiny nose hairs. The span of his hand at her waist warmed her skin even through her blouse. She tried to ignore the sensation.

"Wax. Ever heard of it?"

"How much wax did you put on this thing?"

"Let me go!"

That took him aback. The stunned look on his face thrilled her. Served him right. She'd embarrassed herself quite enough by asking him to marry her. She wouldn't do it again, nor get this close again. She pushed against his chest this time. That only made him grip her tighter.

There was no hope Colt or Trevor would show up. Trevor worked sixteen hour days. And Colt was in the barn, absorbed in his horse work—or one of the many ladies who chased him. She was alone in this. Overpowering Cord wasn't possible. Giving him a piece of her mind might work.

Just then his hold loosened, giving her space to step back. "Careful. Don't slip," he said grasping her elbow.

So, he'd only been trying to keep her from slipping on her darned floor. She'd misinterpreted again. Daring a glance up into his eyes, what she saw in the deep blue surprised her. A sort of tender... _confusion_? No, no, no, she would not allow her compassion out of its cage.

With one hand still holding her steady, he said, "Listen, Becca. I need to—"

"No, Cord." She couldn't let him tell her more about his other women. Tears were sure to come if he did that. "There's nothing you need to say."

His brows furrowed, and he bit the side of his lip. That was a bad sign. Her heart couldn't take another battering. She already knew he intended to let her down easy. But he was a man, and men didn't get it. Letting her down would be equivalent to falling through a sinkhole with no end. No love. No life. Not for her. It would be best if they just drifted apart.

"There _is_ something I need to say. I need to explain something to you."

_Please, God, no. Don't let him obliterate my heart completely._ Stall. "A cup of coffee then? We can sit..."

As if she'd never said a thing, Cord added a hand to her other elbow, pulling her a bit closer.

"What are you doing?" She barely got the words out, her breath was so shallow.

"I need you to hear me. Really hear me. I want to explain what I'm doing with the marriage part of the contract."

"Why?" she squeaked.

"Because..." His gaze left hers and rose to the ceiling. Her legs were turning to liquid. He seemed to notice her discomfort because he dropped his hands to his side. His deep swallow and ragged breath tripped up her heart. Being this close when his Adam's apple dipped and nostrils flared was doing crazy things to her heart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited it out. _Get it over with, please!_ "Look at me, Becca." That nickname—she couldn't help but obey. "Because it matters how you see me. That you understand."

Had she done anything harder in her life? She didn't think so. _Help me, Lord._ With all the courage she could muster, she kept her eyes trained on his.

The skin around his eyes crinkled, part smile, part wince. "It took guts to offer to marry an old man like me."

Fury shoved away the hurt and fueled her outrage so fast that she took a step closer and slammed her heel onto his bootless toes. Dead-on-shot.

"Ye-ow!" he hollered taking hold of her arm again. "What was that for?"

"If you call yourself an old man again, I can't promise I won't hurt you more."

He choked, then chuckled, then tilted his head back and let out a belly laugh, torturing her raw emotions more. Once he got his laughter under control, he pulled her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. "God love you. You are one of a kind, Duchess, do you know that?"

She groaned. "Can I go now?"

"No. I'm not done. Look at me." With one arm still around her, he lifted her chin with a fingertip. "I've thought this thing through..."

Had he? Truly?

"I plan to marry for convenience. Then offer the woman three thousand dollars and her walking papers after a year."

Her eyes widened in shock. She pulled away from his hold, shuffling backward until the counter hit her in the back. He'd do that? Waste a year of his life? And hers? Not have a real marriage where he could learn to love his wife? Other countries did it all the time. Arranged marriages where the couples said their vows, then fell in love along the way. That's what she had hoped when she'd offered. Not some cold, unfeeling business arrangement.

" _Bribery_?"

"No! An arrangement."

"Three thousand dollars is a lot of money, Cord. I thought your excuse for working with the widow was to help the ranch because it was in financial trouble." Her body gave a shudder. She couldn't tell if she was about to give way to tears, or if her anger would maintain enough to plow through the hurt.

"I will have more...a lot more, when I sell the yearlings. That's where the money will come from."

"You don't have to do this. I—" No. She'd promised herself she wouldn't offer again, and she wouldn't. She waved away what she was about to say. "Fine, do what you have to do." Her eyes filled. She called on her anger to keep the tears in check. "I have work."

She started past him, but he stopped her. Not with a touch, this time, only an arm held out to keep her from passing. "Don't be mad, Duchess. It's the best choice. It will all be over in a year."

How cold that seemed. And what did he think she'd do during that year? Wait for him? Work for the woman he married? Clearly, he didn't want her. Why did he care that she understood his reasons?

The back door thwacked open, hard enough to rattle that darned glass and judder Cord and Rebecca out of their bleak exchange. They both turned toward the mudroom.

"Dag-nabbit, son, but that door needs a stopper," Willie said on a curse. "I telled ya that a while back." He stomped in the rest of the way, all red-faced, waving his hands in emphasis.

"What is it, Willie?"

Rebecca saw the worry on Cord's face. Something else had happened. Would they get it out of Willie in a reasonable amount of time?

Willie stopped his ranting and scratched the thin spot on his head. "Oh yeah. Colt says he be needing Missy here." He pointed at Rebecca.

"Oh!" she said, feeling stupid for being so inarticulate.

"I'll go with you," Cord offered.

Rebecca twisted back to him. "No. I can handle it. I've been neglecting my duties with Colt lately. I know what he needs me to do. You stay here, have your lunch." The thought of that pathetic excuse for a sandwich would normally make her laugh, but not today. She swung back to the kitchen, gathered the two good sandwiches in a napkin, and, without looking at him, strode out into the blustery afternoon. One glance at the sky told her it would soon let loose another downpour. She took the two steps back into the mudroom, grabbed Colt's extra coat, and pulled it over the top of her head. By the time she reached the barn, the skies had opened, drenching the road behind her.

"Whew, that was close."

"Where've you been, Muffin?" Colt asked, not the least bit irritated.

How was it he was always such a sweetheart?

"I've been... I've been..." Her words halted on an exhale and a dry sob. The lump had risen during her walk here. Thoughts of Cord marrying some random woman and having her live here for a year had practically stopped her heart. Words were just a casualty.

Colt frowned. He came to her, drew her into his arms. "What's wrong?" He laid a broad hand at the back of her head, tucked her under his chin, and held her to him. Colt never thought twice about offering the comfort of his embrace. It was just who he was. But it felt so different from Cord's embrace. So very different.

Rebecca didn't know how much she should tell Colt. It was not her place to tell him about the contract. Yet...?

She pushed back out of his hug and showed him what she had in her hands.

Colt took the sandwiches where she'd clutched them against her and gave her a lopsided grin. "These look...good."

Rebecca broke into a half-hysterical, half-sodden laugh. Errant tears streamed down her face, running off her chin.

Colt set the decimated sandwiches down on the table where he was repairing a bridle and gathered her into his arms again. "Aw, Muffin, what did he do this time?"

She sucked in a breath and held it, leaning back to see his face.

"You think I don't know?"

Flustered, she shoved the rest of the way out of his arms and turned toward Bonnie's stall. Sliding her arms into the coat she'd draped over her shoulders, she walked the rest of the way to the stall. Bonnie nickered, stretching her neck to snuffle Rebecca.

"Hi, girl. How ya doing today?" Rebecca rubbed a palm up and down the mare's soft muzzle.

"You _don't_ know," she said to Colt at last. At least she didn't think Cord had told anyone else about the contract.

"We talked about this. You're in love with my dad."

Rebecca whipped around, sneaking a peek out the barn doors to see if anyone had heard. "Don't be saying that out loud," she scolded in a loud whisper.

Colt joined her at Bonnie's stall, rubbing a hand down the mare's thick neck. "When Dad comes in, I'm going to hug you again." He chuckled. "It'll drive him crazy."

Rebecca shook her head. "He's not coming out here. I told him to stay and have his sandwich. Besides, it's not going to drive him crazy."

"Yes, it will."

"What makes you think so?"

"Already told you. Don't know if he's in love, but do know he'd choose you if he could."

She scrunched up her mouth in a sour face. "If he felt worthy."

"Yes."

"So you say."

"So I know."

"What is your dad's secret, Colt? There's something there...something deep that he won't share. Something that's keeping him from living the way he'd choose."

A vehicle sloshed to a stop in the puddle in front of the barn. Colt peered around Rebecca to see who it was and groaned.

"Who is it?"

"Jenny. Listen, you've got to help me out here."

"How?"

Colt was head-turning handsome, so she was never surprised when admirers followed him around town. It did amaze her, though, how many showed up here.

All the Cooper men had that kind of draw. Even Cord. Now that he was stirring interest on purpose, he would likely be swamped with feminine attention. The thought made her want to run back home to California. _Face the facts, Rebecca. You will have to do just that as soon as Cord picks a wife._ Her heart would never survive the daily beating. Besides, his wife would not want another woman underfoot—marriage of convenience or not.

Footsteps on gravel and Colt's hand at her lower back returned Rebecca's thoughts to the situation at hand. She slid her own arm around his waist. Rested her head against his chest. Little did Jenny know this was a brotherly hug.

"Hello, Colt," came the saccharine voice from the barn door.

Rebecca released Colt as they turned toward the sound.

"Jenny," Colt said.

Jenny moved into the barn, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Maybe she hadn't even seen their hug, though Colt still had one arm around Rebecca.

Confirming what Rebecca had guessed, Jenny halted her steps mid-stride. She was a petite little thing, with blonde curls that bounced with every step under a smart, wide-brimmed hat, and a trench coat sashed at her tiny waist. She had a covered pot in her hands. "Oh. I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

Guilt was starting to slide in. "No," Rebecca said.

"Yes," Colt said, at the same time.

"Oh, I won't be long. I just came to see how you're feeling, and bring you some of my homemade chicken noodle soup." She set the pot on the table where Colt had laid the bridle. "I heard you got clobbered by your stallion. Are you all right?"

Rebecca thought that was the sweetest thing. Why didn't Colt like this girl?

"I'm fine. Nice to see you, Jenny. Gotta get back to work."

Rebecca stepped out of Colt's hold and up to Jenny. She stuck her hand out. "Hi. I'm Rebecca."

Jenny's smile was beautiful. "My name is Jenny. I'm Gayle Renford's daughter. My mother's dating Colt's father. In fact, he's coming over tonight." She smiled again with sweet innocence, while Rebecca's heart fell like a lead ball between her toes.

_Daughter_. All of a sudden, Cord's actions became clearer. Was that why he insisted on picking a woman his own age for this marriage of convenience? Was this age difference truly too important to him?

Sick to her stomach because she was sick at heart, Rebecca wanted desperately to excuse herself but knew she couldn't. She'd promised to help Colt.

Silence swarmed around them but for a nicker here and there, a stomp, or a swish of horses' tails. When one of the horses let loose its bowels with loud plopping sounds against the dirt, Jenny sprang into action.

"Uh, okay, I'm glad you're fine, Colt. I'll be seeing you."

She waited only a few seconds after Colt's nod of dismissal before she swung around and exited the barn.

Rebecca waited until the engine started and Jenny's light green Plymouth headed out to turn and glare at Colt. "You were downright rude, cowboy! She's sweet."

Colt ran a hand down his face, then blew out a heavy breath. "Yeah. I don't like it. But it's necessary. We have a history together that's long since been over. She has to get the picture."

Rebecca planted her hands on her hips. "She seems to want a friendship."

"Friends." Colt sounded—she didn't know. Skeptical? Guilty? "It's too late for friendship. Just leave it be."

Rebecca glanced out the barn door as if Jenny were still standing there. "Well, she's adorable. She must have other suitors."

"Suppose so. Hope she chooses one of them soon."

"Why's she so interested in you, Colt?"

He shook away the grimness and grinned, tugged on his hat brim. "Well, ma'am, hard to resist, I guess."

"Ha ha. No, really."

His grin dropped off for a scrunch of his mouth. "She's after money, the prestige of being with a well-established rancher." He smiled in her direction. "Maybe good looks."

"My, my, we are certainly full of ourselves."

Colt's countenance instantly shifted. A serious look came over him. "We Cooper men are sensitive souls, Rebecca. Don't want to get chased for all the wrong reasons."

"Oh." What could she say to that?

And here Cord was, setting himself up for the fall.

# Chapter 25

Cord shifted gears and let his truck gain highway speed—or just short of it since the weather was still stormy.

He wasn't looking forward to this date with Gayle tonight. At least it only entailed coffee and dessert at her house. But he was having a hard time getting the chestnut-haired filly off his mind and out from under his skin. When Rebecca had left the house with sandwiches for Colt and hadn't come back until supper time while Cord had tried pouring over the books, it had been all he could do not to head out to the barn.

Cord wondered not for the first time, had Colt fallen in love with her? Was he planning on asking her to marry him?

Had he already?

It wasn't that he didn't want Colt happy. He did. But was Becca the right choice for him? Cord shook his head. No, he'd thought she wasn't for awhile now.

The tiny white house with the matching fence came into view. Cord pulled up in front, switched off the ignition, and grabbed his flat-topped cowboy hat from the seat. He had worn dress clothes—good jeans and white dress shirt, good boots and hat—mostly to remind himself of his agenda for the evening. This was important business, and that's all it was—business.

He strode through the archway and on up the three porch steps to the door. With a knuckle, he rapped on the door and waited. When it swung open, a pleasant cooked apple smell reached his nostrils just as a pretty petite blonde greeted him with a smile. He remembered his hat and snatched it off his head. Smoothed his hair back into place.

"Hello, Mr. Cooper. My mom is taking the apple pie out of the oven, so she asked me to get the door. Come on in."

"Hi, Jenny. Doing okay?"

Her brilliant smile slid straight into a frown. "I'm fine, I guess."

"Why the long face?"

"It's...it's nothing," she said as she led him into the living room and up to a comfy-looking sofa.

Cord had always liked Jenny for Colt. She'd spent quite a bit of time near the Cooper household last year before they seemed to have had a falling out.

"Saw your car on the property today..." In fact, she'd been out at the place way too often lately. It was no wonder Colt wasn't interested. He had to do the pursuing.

She flattened a hand to her forehead, huffed out a breath. Looking forlorn, she plopped down next to him on the couch. "Okay, yes. I was out at your house today to check on him. You know, since his accident with the stallion."

Word always spread fast when anything happened at the Bar-6. This was record time.

"And?"

She pressed her lips together, a deep blush clung to her neck.

Cord patted her lightly on the shoulder. "What did Colt do?" Or not do, was more likely. "Maybe you should tell me."

She shifted on the couch to face him. Distress had painted a deep frown on her young face. "He was with that woman who lives with you. I think she's too old for him. But he had his arm around her all possessive-like, and didn't want to talk to me."

That news hit Cord like a kick to his sternum. So, Colt _was_ serious about Becca. Why in the world had he pushed those two together in the first place?

It was not lost on him Jenny thought Rebecca too old for Colt. Their two year age difference was nothing, but what he'd said about Rebecca was true. She was old before her time.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, then rubbed it over his mouth. Nearly jumped up to start pacing until he remembered where he was and why he was here. He began rotating his hat in his hands when Gayle came through the door from the kitchen.

Jenny excused herself. Cord flinched, having forgotten she was even in the room. She rose and took herself off down the hallway. Had he missed something else she'd said?

"Don't mind her. She's having an attitude," Gayle said, coming toward him. He glanced at Jenny as she was closing her bedroom door behind her, then came to his feet to greet Gayle. She looked good in her lime colored slacks with matching sweater, and her thick blonde hair wrapped in a tidy knot at her nape. Elegant. Stunning.

Cord met her halfway, then leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. She stretched up at the same time, giving him easy access. Gracious, and beautiful. "Gayle. You look fetching."

"Thank you, Cord. It's good to see you. Sit." She gestured with a slim hand. Cord sat back down on the couch. She joined him. "When did you get back from the Mayfield place?"

He'd forgotten he told her where he was going when he'd stopped seeing her last May. "Been back a few weeks. How you been?"

"Good. I've been busy trying to make ends meet, still working at Ralph's Grocery." She grimaced, probably embarrassed by the confession. This was good for him, though, since the money he would offer her at the end of a year would be a plus for her, not to mention what she'd save living with him.

"How's that going?"

"All right. Ralph's thinking about expanding to offer more in the way of cleaning supplies along with groceries. It's a new idea for him. People are skeptical, but it would allow them to pick up all their needs in his place. I don't get involved with change. Just keep my head down and do the books."

"Sounds like a right fine idea. Rebecca has to go to several places to get our supplies."

"Rebecca. She's your live-in?"

He narrowed his eyes at Gayle. "Let's not be passing around such terms, Gayle. She's not a live-in as much as she's a housekeeper who also lives at the house. There's a big difference."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that I hear she's smitten with Colt, Jenny's fella. And living in the same house with him, well..."

"Becca works with Colt. She lives in the same house with all of us." This line of conversation was starting to make his blood boil. It seemed his sons' concerns were a topic floating around town way too often. How did folks get so gossipy? It was beyond him. "I'm sorry Jenny is smitten with Colt when it seems he doesn't return the sentiment."

Gayle sucked in a breath, her mouth agape. "What do you mean? Jenny tells me they see each other all the time."

Cord ground his teeth together. "That may be so. She drops by the ranch often. And she shadows him when he's in town." Was that too blunt?

"What do you mean she shad—"

"Listen, Gayle," he said. "Let's let the kids work out their own problems. I'm here to talk with you."

She heaved a sigh to end all sighs. "It's just that young men should be more careful with young women. But fine. We'll change the subject. You say you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Now that they'd gotten off on the wrong foot, Cord hesitated.

Gayle seemed to catch his apprehension. "Let's go on into the kitchen and have some warm apple pie and coffee. We can talk there." She smiled that warm smile of hers, relaxing him a bit.

She settled him at the kitchen table and delivered a large piece of pie and mug of coffee. "Do you still take it black?" This was what he liked most about Gayle. Always a gracious hostess, and attuned to the needs of those around her.

He nodded.

"Perfect." She sat across from him, stirring the cream in her dainty cup. Raising her eyes to him, she waited with a small smile on her lips.

Cord took a hefty gulp of coffee, then rubbed a knuckle across his lips. "We've had some pretty good times in the last year."

She smirked. "What, you mean our three dates and even fewer pie and coffee visits?"

Had it been so little? He'd thought he'd seen a lot of her. "Yeah. That. Anyway, I have a proposition for you."

She blinked, then again. "A proposition?"

He shifted his large frame in her too small chair. "Yes, you see, I want you to marry me."

Gayle's back stiffened, scraping her chair back with a loud squeak across the floor. " _You what?"_

"I want you to ma—"

"I heard you, Cord!" Openly flustered, she sucked in a few large breaths. "We barely know each other! I haven't seen you in six months!"

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, bit down on the side of his lip. "Sorry. That was not how it sounded in my head."

She choked out a laugh. "I would hope not."

"The thing is, I've been caught in a...that is to say..." He was handling this all wrong. What intelligent woman, needing the money or not, would willingly trap herself in such a proposition? Somehow he had to sweeten the pot. What would Gayle want?

"Here's the thing," he tried again. "I'm in need of a wife." He held up a hand at her reddening face. "Hear me out."

He waited. She nodded.

"It's a long story. Here's the gist of it. I've gotten caught in a...situation that causes me to be in need of a wife quickly. I won't bore you with the details. Here's what I need and what I can offer you. I need a wife for a year, of convenience only—you'd sleep in a separate bedroom," he emphasized. "You'd cook, clean, wash clothes, and do the ranch books." He hoped that last duty would entice her. He knew she loved doing books for Ralph, but didn't get paid enough to support her family as she would like. It was one of the few things he remembered about their conversations during their _handful_ of dates. "At the end of a year, I will pay you three thousand dollars and sign annulment papers, since we won't have consummated the marriage. Then you'll be free to get on with your life."

Her face lit up at the money but fell at his last statement. Was she disappointed at not consummating the marriage, or was it something else? Frankly, all of it would disappoint any woman. But desperate as he was, he had no time to worry about her reaction.

She took a small bite of pie, washed it down with coffee, then squared her shoulders and looked him right in the eye. "It's a deal."

Shocked, his eyebrows rose to nearly his hairline. "You understand what I'm asking?"

"Yes. When should we get married, and when do I move in? Oh, and Jenny has to come too, of course. I'll rent my home."

Fire shot through his veins, making his head throb and gut churn. Was it apprehension, or pure terror at what he'd just done? And how would Colt take the news of Jenny living underfoot? How would his other sons handle this new set-up? Once again he'd be making his sons bend to his wishes.

And what of his Becca? _His_ Becca. Would she agree to stay on for the duration of his plan, so he could still see her every day? Or had he made a fatal mistake—one that would drive her away from him permanently?

Instantly he wanted to excuse himself and escape his sorry life. He had to be a complete idiot. But then Clara Mayfield came to mind. At least with Gayle, he'd keep the control.

A deep unease stirred within him at Gayle's hasty agreement. He thought he'd have to work on her a bit, convince her of all the reasons why she should agree. Was she that broke that she needed this? Or did any of it have to do with wanting him? He hadn't forgotten the one night she'd come on to him. He hadn't broken his vow of celibacy, but it had been close. It had been the last time he'd seen her before going to Clara's. But now that he'd set it up this way, he'd never know her true motives.

On the other hand, if Gayle had called him a fool and sent him packing, he would have had to consider Becca's proposal. Was that what he'd been hoping for all along?

* * *

The next morning after Trevor left the house, Cord found himself banging around a kitchen that seemed to have shrunk during the night. He should be happy. He'd been successful. The widow would not be getting her way. So why did he feel like his body was about to wring itself inside out?

Could be it was because he was getting married. In _four_ days!

"What did that toaster do to you?"

"Stupid contraptions!" Cord glared over his shoulder at Colt, then jammed the toaster lever down again, trying to get it to catch. It didn't. He growled.

Colt reached around him and pressed the handle down slowly. It caught, and the heating element turned orange. "Gentle touch, Dad. Like a skittish filly."

Cord turned to address Colt, feeling every bit of his age today. "I need to talk to you, son."

"That sounds ominous." Colt chuckled.

"Sit down. This may take awhile."

Colt's brows shot up, all humor gone. "Right."

They both sat.

"I'm listening."

Cord took the next few minutes explaining the contract and its buried clause on marriage.

The toast popped up. Cord rose to snatch both pieces out of the appliance and buttered them. Coming back to the table, he waited for a reaction from his wise son. He hoped a little of that wisdom would rub off on his fool-hearty dad today. Becca was right. Colt was the most grounded of his sons. How had Colt lucked out when all his brothers had been so torn apart by a missing mom or a useless dad? Today, he was especially grateful for Colt's stability.

He'd stopped short of telling Colt about Gayle just yet, letting the information sink in.

Colt's jaw clenched. "You're planning on a quick marriage. To avoid the widow."

Cord nodded to his astute son.

"That's why the date with Nancy, then with Gayle." There was an understandable annoyance in Colt's voice. He'd get it once he thought it over.

Again, Cord nodded.

"And there's no way around it?"

"No. Rebecca looked the contract over, as well. There are no loopholes that we can find. If I don't go through with it, I'll be fined, lose part of the ranch, possibly end up in jail. It's a serious consequence. Clara has done this to trap me into marriage to her." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm surprised she didn't put it in the contract just like that."

"Making a contrived statement like that in a contract could be contested. Her lawyer's smarter than that. This is safer. Statistically, married men are more stable. Pay their bills. Therefore a logical addition."

Cord blinked in surprise. "How did you get so smart?"

"Just talented, I guess," Colt grinned like he always did from compliments. It was more to make fun of himself than thinking he deserved them. It was his form of humility.

Cord cleared his throat. "I've asked Gayle to marry me. She agreed. This Saturday."

A loud gasp came from behind him.

His breath caught. _Becca._ He hadn't meant for her to find out this way.

He twisted in his chair and saw her sweet face drain of color. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stood rubbing her chest as if her heart hurt. His eyes misted over as his own heart broke right along with hers.

He got to his feet, bumping the table, spilling his coffee everywhere. "Becca..." Ignoring the mess he made, he rushed forward and tried to grab her hand.

She jumped as if he'd burned her, turned, and fled out the front door.

Cord started after her.

"Hold up there, Dad," Colt hollered, anger and frustration in his voice.

Cord turned back, out of breath from the constriction in his chest. "I have to go. Make this right."

"Think about it. How're you going to make this right? Take it back? Marry her instead?"

Cord ran his hands through his hair and held tight, pulling his head back, letting out a tortured sound. He waited for a few beats, getting himself under control. "She offered, you know."

"Offered what?"

"Marriage."

" _What the hell_ , Dad! Rebecca offered to marry you? And you turned her down?"

Cord got right in Colt's face. "I can't trap her into a loveless marriage for a year, then set her free with three thousand dollars. She's young, has her whole life ahead of her. She doesn't need that on her record."

Colt punched the toaster. It skittered along the counter and slammed into the coffee pot. Both men ignored the mess. "Let me get this straight. You offered Gayle a one-year marriage with no sex and a half year's worth of wages. Is this wise? Have you taken the time to think it through?"

Hearing his own thoughts spoken aloud deflated him. Losing all strength in his legs, he plunked down at the kitchen table and stuck his head in his hands. "After seeing Becca's reaction," he spoke to the table, "I'm wrecked. I don't know where to go from here."

He brought his head up, to look at Colt. "I haven't been thinking. I've been running. For so long. Away from the widow. Away from raising my sons. Away from the responsibilities of the ranch. I have practically destroyed Trevor in the process. Bronc will always hate me for the death of your mother. Brand is a Casanova. Clay couldn't make his marriage work so he ran straight into a job that could kill him at any time. Hunter buries himself in studies and never comes up for air. And you...you are trying to hold everyone together with your patience, and kindness, and great attitude. Rebecca calls you _an old soul_. She's right. She's right about everything."

Cord rose in an explosion of movement, thwacking his chair against the counter. "I have to find her."

Colt grabbed him by the bicep. "And do what? Say what? Think, Dad. What do you want?" He'd allow Colt to hold onto him, but for only so long. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"It does! Why is everyone else more important than you? It's always been that way. The reason you think you're a failure is that you put everyone else before you when they aren't worthy of your concern most of the time."

Cord threw back his head and roared a distraught, frenzied laugh. "Don't you get it, son? It's _because_ I'm not capable of helping anyone else that I'm in the fix I'm in."

"How do you figure?"

Too drained to argue anymore, he pulled out of Colt's hold. "You're right about one thing. I can't fix things with Becca. I have to go through with the plans for Saturday."

"With the marriage. You're going through with that."

"What else can I do? You tell me."

"You can call it off with Gayle, and go out there"—Colt thrust his finger toward the barn—" and tell that girl you want to marry her, that's what you can do."

"I can't do that. She's innocent in all this. And she wants you."

"Dad?"

Cord wiped off sweat—and was that a tear?—from his face and looked Colt in the eye, giving him the respect he deserved. He nodded.

"Are you listening? Real good?"

Cord inhaled deeply then blew out the breath. "Yep."

"She wants you."

# Chapter 26

Clara looked forward to wrapping up the contract with her attorney and planning her wedding. She dressed exceptionally well today in her red knee-length sheath, accented at her slender waist by a gold chain belt. She felt even better. Enough time had passed that Clara figured Cord would have read the whole contract by now and would know about the marriage clause. She knew him well. He would have been livid at first. And then would have thought through the bright side of a marriage to her. By now he would be smiling and ready to take the next step.

Her train of thought shifted to that dang mutt Joe had run over the last time she saw Cord. Joe hadn't purposely run over the animal, but once he explained that dealing with an injured dog would keep Cord from reading the contract on time, she saw how that could work in their favor. Wondered if it had. She did hope the dog lived, though. Cord might blame her somehow, be too upset to marry her if the mangy thing died.

Clara's high heels clicked against the tile as she strolled up to Stan's inept assistant. "Well, hello, Charlie. Is Stan in?"

Charlie's mouth had dropped open the second she'd strolled through the front door. She reached over the desk now and flipped his chin back up. "Gonna catch flies."

"Uh, Mrs. Mayfield, ma'am, how are you today? Where've you been?"

She winced at his paltry attempt at conversation. "None of your business, young man. Now, if you can tell Stanley I'm here."

"Sure thing." He jumped up, tongue practically lolling out as he eyed her again.

She grinned and waggled her fingers at him.

Backing up, tripping over the oriental rug in front of Stan's door, then turning to knock, Charlie finally managed a peek through the open door then a nod in the affirmative that she could enter.

She winked at poor Charlie and swished past him. He closed the door awkwardly behind her.

"My word, Stan, you must get rid of that boy. He's not an asset for you." She sashayed forward, loving the way Stan took in her appearance. "How was your vacation? Mine was glorious. But I did so miss Cord. It's good to be back."

The minute she mentioned Cord's name, Stanley's face blanched the color of oatmeal. "We have a hiccup, I'm afraid, Clara. Sit down."

Stunned that everything wasn't in place, she obeyed, only to keep the conversation rolling. "What is it?"

"It's Cord, he—"

"Did he rescind the contract before the three days?"

"No. The three days passed uneventfully. He's bound."

She relaxed into the chair. "Good. What's the hiccup?"

"He's asked someone else to marry him."

" _What?"_ She flew out of the chair, slapped both palms on his mahogany desk, and stared him in the eye. "Why in the world would he do such a thing when he has me?"

"You must remember, Clara. He likely read the contract, saw that he had to marry, and found someone willing while you were _out of town_. We only gave him a month, remember?"

She swore, using words she never used in polite society. "You should have stated he had to marry me! This is your fault."

Stanley had the brains to look apologetic and a little frightened.

"You do remember what I know about you. You'd better come up with a good plan, or your wife may get a visit from me."

His jaw tightened. "Like I told you, Clara, if we had put that in the contract, it would give cause for a clever attorney to refute it. Then it would be held up in court."

She was ready to explode.

Stanley quickly continued. "I do have a suggestion."

Clara huffed a breath, then sat back down. She didn't like losing her temper. It was so unladylike, after all. "Is it that teenybopper of a girl he calls a housekeeper?"

Stanley sighed. "No. I found out who his intended is, though. She is a widow herself. Poor. Raising her daughter on an underpaid bookkeeper's wage. You could buy her off. I'm sure she thinks Cord's a bit insane already. He must have offered money. You'll have to top it. She'll probably jump at the chance."

She pinned the paper Stan set on the desk with her glossy red fingernail and scraped the address toward her with a devious smile.

* * *

After an hour of negotiations, Clara departed Gayle Renford's residence with another glorious grin on her face, and great respect for the shrewd woman she'd heard of but never actually met. Cord had certainly offered her a large sum. Of course, with the contract in place, he'd only sabotaged himself. By the time a year was up and Cord paid her for the yearlings, Gayle would have drained even more of Cord's account, and Clara would be wealthier than any other woman in Crook County. It had been a terrible plan for Cord. He should be grateful to be marrying her instead.

Paying Gayle the tidy sum of two thousand dollars, as well as the offer of Clara's fairly new Coupe de Ville Cadillac, had been small potatoes considering what Clara would have in return—Cord Cooper. And Gayle would only have to wait until Monday to get paid, not a year down the road.

Clara drove her flashy Cadillac toward home, recalling a bit of their conversation. When they'd discussed the handsome rancher they both wanted—Clara for real, Gayle for the money—they had laughed over Cord's clumsy proposal to Gayle, but each had swooned over how delicious he was.

She laughed into the empty interior, the sound of her cackle sounding maniacal in her own ears. She could hardly wait until Saturday when Cord laid eyes on Clara rather than Gayle in front of the Justice of the Peace. At Clara's bidding—and the offer of her car before Saturday—she had convinced Gayle to be a no-show without alerting Cord. Clara would be there to take her place, soothe Cord's pride, and begin her new life with him. Just as she had planned all along.

* * *

Rebecca's swollen eyes cracked open, permitting the morning's unwanted light to seep in. Her eyes burned from the crying she'd done until exhaustion mercifully took her under.

Cord was getting married today.

And not to her.

Last night, Colt had sat with her for comfort while Cord had gone off to Gayle's. Colt talked more than she'd ever heard him, finally convincing her she needed to be at this wedding. To be supportive, he said. To let Cord know she cared. To be there in case things went sour. But the one argument she couldn't ignore was, 'To be there in case the widow shows up.' Yep, that convinced her. As much as she wanted—no, yearned for—Cord for herself, she did want him whole. He'd been holding this family together by threads and sacrifices for so long, all she wanted for him now was a little peace. If that meant following through with this sham of a wedding, so be it. She would endure. She would be there.

Rising in a body that felt decrepit, she donned her robe and took herself off to the shower. She had already laid out cinnamon rolls and fruit the night before, and had the coffee pot ready to plug in so she could avoid Cord's guilt and Colt's sympathy. Bronc and Brand were back at Harper Ranch, and Trevor most likely wouldn't want to be there for his dad. So, only she and Colt would attend this dreadful affair.

She took a long time getting ready. The wedding was at 11:00 am, and so far she'd taken up the majority of the morning preparing herself; repeating positive statements, cold packing her eyes, brushing her hair until it shone with a chestnut glow, and finally dressing in a knee-length emerald green dress that made her eyes stand out in her pale face. Before walking out the door, she pinched her cheeks to bring color back, even though she'd applied a light coating of makeup.

Taking one last glimpse of herself in the mirror—if she looked too long the sadness in her eyes would make her sob again—she slipped into black pumps and stole out of her room.

There was no sign of Cord, thank goodness. Only Colt waited at the bottom of the stairs with her coat draped over one arm. He was handsome in his dark brown suit, matching Stetson hat, and string tie against a stark white shirt—the epitome of a cowboy gentleman. He was a magnificent sight. And she wondered for about the hundredth time: Why hadn't her heart fastened onto him?

Colt's sapphire eyes were busy trailing from her hair down to her heels and back up again. When she stood affixed to the last step, Colt took her elbow, gently tugged her to him, and kissed her on the side of her mouth—a brotherly peck. "You look beautiful, Muffin. It'll be fine. No worrying."

The truck ride to the Justice of the Peace in town was a solemn one. Rebecca was barely keeping a lid on her emotions. She had to get through this. It was the right thing to do. And then, while Cord was on his honeymoon, she would return to Harper Ranch.

Colt drove into the parking lot and found a place right away. She wondered how Cord got the Magistrate, or Justice of the Peace, or District Clerk, or whatever the person was called here in Wyoming, to show up on a weekend. Of course, the Coopers had pull in Crook County, so that must be it.

Colt opened her door, startling her. Her mind had been miles away. She only wished her body was as well. He held out a hand to her and helped her negotiate the step in her straight-skirted dress. Once she was on the ground and Colt closed the truck door, her knees turned to rubber.

Gentleman that he was, Colt gripped her elbow and held it until the feeling passed. "You okay there, darlin'?"

She nodded, though she was anything but okay. By the look on Colt's face, he knew just what was going on in her head. He waited patiently as she took her first step forward, then another, and another. The motion in her legs seemed to thaw her frozen mind and release the truth. Only one thing could help her now. Prayer.

Lord, please give me courage. Help me to be there for Cord and not fall apart. I pray that your will be done.

Her spirit felt a little more at peace, but her body still needed some work. She was glad Colt kept his hold on her elbow. Still, the brief stroll to the Crook County District Courthouse felt more like her own death-march than someone else's nuptials.

The door clicked loudly, then swung heavily on massive hinges. Rebecca swallowed hard when she spotted Cord in a wooden chair in the corner. He had one booted foot resting on the opposite knee, and the dismal expression he wore matched her own.

She scanned the area for his bride-to-be but saw no one else. Where was she? Colt let the door swing shut on its own as they both hastened to Cord.

Cord stood, his gaze resting on Rebecca. He looked baffled, and she knew in that instant he hadn't known she was coming. She dropped her gaze to his chest, unable to stomach the admonishment in his eyes. He didn't want her here. She didn't blame him. She didn't want to be here either. As the minutes clicked on, her tummy churned so much she thought she might need to go find a restroom.

_Don't be a coward._ She lifted her gaze back to Cord and looked him over. He was so handsome in a steel-gray suit, starched white shirt, string tie, and shiny black boots. Silver hair sprinkled his temples just below the black felt hat. If he displayed one of his bone-melting smiles, there would be no male creature on God's glorious earth who could match him.

To distract herself, she removed her coat, laid it and her purse across a chair, then came back to stand with the two Cooper men. She squeezed her eyes closed against the threat of tears while they waited for Cord to explain why he was here alone.

"I went by Gayle's to pick her up," Cord said in a lowered voice to Colt. He bounced a glance to Rebecca, then doubled back, this time taking a slower slide down her hair, face, and dress, before refocusing on Colt. "No one was there. I thought we got our wires crossed and she came here. The clerk says no."

"She may have had a last minute errand." Colt pulled a watch from his suit pocket and opened the face. "It's early yet."

"Not by much."

Cord looked at Rebecca then, his eyes of blue steel turning to tender pools. "Didn't think I'd see you here today."

_Me neither. And now I think I might throw-up._ But all she managed to squeak out of her mouth was, "I'm here."

"Thank you for coming."

_Thank me?_ Thank me? _How about, Marry me, Rebecca. Forget the widow. Forget Gayle. No, instead you forget that I'm in love with you and would do anything in my power to make you happy for life, Cord Cooper._

If only she had the guts to give voice to all those words crammed in her head.

Cord led the three of them back to the chairs along the wall and resumed his vigil of the door. No one spoke until a half hour passed and the door finally opened. Rebecca's breath stuck in her lungs.

Cord jumped to his feet, along with Colt. When a tall, curvy woman in a white fitted dress and a small bouquet of white roses in her hand came through the door, Rebecca went still as stone, as did the two Cooper men in front of her.

Clara Mayfield let the door slide closed behind her, examined the high-ceilinged room, then ambled toward them. If silence were solid, Rebecca would have sliced a chunk out of it to get some air.

"What are _you_ doing here, Clara?" Cord said in the most menacing voice Rebecca had ever heard the man use.

"Isn't it obvious, Mr. Cooper? I'm here to marry you." She took another few steps toward him and laid a slender hand with white painted fingernails on his chest.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. Hard. Pain staunched her simpering manner.

"I. Am. Not. Marrying you."

"Let go. You're hurting me."

Cord released slowly and let his hand fall to his side. Rebecca wished he weren't such a gentleman right about now.

"I've come to marry you, Cord. You have no choice. Gayle is not coming." She smiled.

"What'd you do, Clara? Pay her off?"

A fake gasp and a hand to her throat reminded Rebecca of Hollywood films. "Me? Would I do such a thing?"

Cord inched forward and leaned down too close for Rebecca's comfort. Getting that close to a shark could have consequences. "I repeat. I will not marry you. Go home!"

This time, her sigh was a real one. "Listen, Cord. I'm sorry I had to be a little devious with you, but I only did it to bring about what you and I both want. To combine our assets without needing a contract. To be the way we were those five months. To have a future together. Be realistic. You can't get out of this contract without losing part of your ranch, but more importantly, your freedom. Come on," she reached for his hand. He snatched it away. "Now, Cord. Let's just get this done. I have a grand honeymoon planned."

When Rebecca saw a hint of resignation on Cord's face, the words in her head exploded, leaving not one rational thought in the debris. She leaped to her feet and wedged in between Cord and Colt, facing the woman who was determined to own the man she loved.

"I'm sorry, Clara," Rebecca said, coming to his rescue. "You must not have put two and two together yet. You see, Cord is marrying me." She looped her arm through Cord's and waited for the reaction from Clara she was sure to get. Cord stiffened, but Rebecca didn't dare look up at him for fear of a rebuke.

When Clara gasped for real this time, Rebecca grew fiercer and dug in. "You didn't know? I guess the gossip hasn't gotten to the back alleys yet."

She chanced a glance at Cord then, hoping the man would play along. Once the widow was gone, they could all go back home and figure this out. What she saw stunned her. Cord was staring down at her, yes, but he had a goofy grin on his face. A joyful, surprised, surrendering grin.

Colt stepped forward, slipped the roses out of Clara's hand, handed them to Rebecca, and then gripped the widow's elbow. She seemed paralyzed with shock. He took the opportunity to escort her out the door and closed it behind him.

Cord turned to face Rebecca. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"I keep telling you that," she said and laughed, feeling more herself than she had in days.

"Now, if we do this, the deal is the same for you as it was for Gayle."

"Do this?" she murmured.

His smile froze and his brows creased. "Isn't that what you just told the black widow there?" He nodded toward the closed door.

Did he want to go through with this? Marry her? My gosh, she was going to faint for sure this time _. Don't lose this chance._ "Oh, yes. Of course. I just meant—Never mind."

Colt strode back through the door. He had a smile on his face that could rival the sun. Within two heartbeats, she knew why. Behind him came Trevor, dressed to the hilt in an expensive black suit that actually had a shine to it. She'd never seen anything quite like it. He was all in black, except for a white shirt and gray cravat. A cravat? She seemed to recall seeing Jake in a similar accessory at Roy and Mary's wedding back in June. Goodness, but he looked magnificent. Rebecca had no idea Trevor owned such attire, let alone ever left the ranch long enough to use it.

Cord trotted to his firstborn son and shook his hand as if he were a complete stranger. He nearly was, given how few meals they shared together.

"Trevor."

"Coop."

Ah, so nothing had changed between them. But he was here. That said something.

Trevor turned to Rebecca and pulled at his hat brim, then looked around the place. "Where's Gayle?"

"Not coming," Colt said. "Dad's marrying Rebecca."

Trevor raised one brow, but his only response was a quick nod.

"Let's go," Cord said. He slid his hand down and grasped hers, entwining their fingers, then led them all to the man behind the counter. "We're ready."

_We're ready._ Those words played in Rebecca's mind like a celebrated tune.

The rest of the ceremony drifted past her, dreamlike and harmonious. She didn't so much hear the words spoken as feel them sink into her. Her soul-mate had found her and linked his heart to hers. So this was how euphoria felt.

"You may now kiss your bride."

Rebecca snapped out of her trance and into the moment when Cord placed both palms tenderly on her face and leaned down for a more chaste kiss than Colt had given her earlier that day. Disappointment warred with happiness, but the latter won out. It was a public place so she passed it off as that, determined to not let anything ruin this moment.

Inside she was blooming with a vibrant, blissful joy of overwhelming proportions. Outside she probably looked ashen, stunned. But she didn't care as long as Cord kept her near when they walked out into the world hand in hand, heart to heart, as husband and wife.

Cord did just that. He even placed Rebecca right next to him in his Ford F-100. She floated on air, at no time feeling a bump or pothole on the long drive back to the Cooper home. Her face was in danger of splitting in two from the smile she wore. She couldn't wait to tell her family she was a married woman. Of course, her mom would be thrilled she was now Rebecca Louise Cooper, but her dad... Well, he'd be sad he hadn't been able to walk her down the aisle, but ultimately he'd be happy because she was happy. Life couldn't get any better.

"Becca..."

She turned her happy face to Cord, watched his profile as he drove. "Yes, husband?"

Rebecca would never forget how the storm clouds took over Cord Cooper's face in that moment. His lips thinned, eyes squinted, jaw twitched, even his big hands tightened white against the steering wheel.

She didn't want to ask. Didn't really want to know, but that wasn't in her nature. "What is it, Cord?"

"First off, thank you for coming to my rescue." He spoke to the windshield. "Second. This will be a marriage of convenience. For a year. Then I'll set you free with a whole lotta cash, to find the man of your dreams, wherever that might be."

Her heart flew into her throat and threatened to choke her. She knew his arrangement with Gayle, but with her...? "Cord—"

"Let me finish," he interrupted. "I did to you exactly what Clara did to me. And I'm sick about it. You'll be trapped with me for twelve months." He looked at her then. "Do you get it, Becca? A full year!"

With his eyes back on the road, he went on. "I promise not to touch you, so you'll be pure when you marry again. You'll stay in your own bedroom as always. We'll gather the hands together to let them know we're married since Clara will have to be convinced. I've no doubt we have spies on this ranch who'll be glad to tell her what they see."

She had to wake him up somehow. "Then we need to sleep in the same bed."

His jaw clenched and he shot a scowl at her. "No."

"Why not?"

His hands fisted tighter, and he moved them like he was kneading the rigid wheel. "You in my bed? I could never keep my—I'd want to..."

Yes. She'd want to, as well. She wanted him. All of him. A real husband, not in name only. Funny, the moment she said, 'I do,' she'd shed every wrong thing about her past. Her present, her love and trust for Cord, and her future with him had filled her with a cleansing joy.

Cord thought he trapped her, but he'd actually thrown her a rope and pulled her out of the black hole college had washed her into.

She chose her words carefully. "We can do this. You're strong enough. And we need to be convincing. Eventually, things will settle down and no one will pay attention to us. You'll see. Time is our friend."

His brows furrowed as he contemplated her words. He still looked worried, but at least it seemed she'd convinced him to live together properly, as husband and wife.

The ranch house came into view, as dominating to the property around it as the man who owned it. Big, glorious, and alive with Coopers flowing in and out. Her home now. Mrs. Cooper, mistress of the Cooper spread, wife to the captivating owner.

And she would do everything in her power to stay that way.

# Chapter 27

Cord stopped the truck in front of his house—their house. He swallowed down nausea that burbled in his gut. What had he done? Married the young housekeeper, was what. He was insane.

Hearing Dash's yips of welcome closed the door to his dark thoughts. Dash was lumbering toward them, a little slower these days, and with a definite limp, but he was alive and well. Barking happily with that furiously wagging nubbin of a tail.

"Stay right there," he said to Becca before hopping out his side and stopping long enough to scratch the happy dog behind the ears. Before the accident, Dash rarely gave him notice. Since that day, he and Becca had become his next two favorite humans. That made him smile for the first time since taking his vows.

_His vows._ What kind of man was he to fake vows before Almighty God, to have and to hold...for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer... Yeah, that's right. That was why he hadn't thought through the ramifications before marrying this sweet, innocent girl. So he wouldn't have to be poorer.

One thing he knew for sure. When the year was up, Rebecca wouldn't be poorer either. He'd give her the money she deserved and send her far away. Anything less would be unbearable.

He gave Dash one last pat, closed his door, then plodded around the bumper to the passenger's side, trying to corral his riotous thoughts.

He opened her door and paused when the vision of his bride caught his full attention. Her coat was still off, and she was stunning in that green dress. Had he bothered to tell her that? The minute she'd removed that dowdy gray coat at the Courthouse, he'd been poleaxed. He adored the tom-boy, ranch-working horse trainer. But the beauty in the emerald dress? Well, if he were allowed, he'd take her straight up to his room and consummate this marriage before another minute passed.

Then he'd be stuck with her for life.

His mouth twitched, trying to let out a smile. That would not be a hardship. He sobered. What would be unbearable was a marriage that trapped her with a man who didn't know how to love and would leave this world two decades before her.

He heaved a sigh. He wished he were free to love her, make her his wife for real. But he'd never forget how tainted and undeserving he was of a true wife.

_Millie._ Her name was an accusation in his mind. After knowing Rebecca the way he did, he doubted he ever loved his dear Millie. He had respected her, admired her even, for birthing his sons, but love? Because of his thoughts in the last minutes of her life, he doubted he was capable of that emotion. He sure as shootin' wasn't worthy of any in return.

He scratched his jaw, giving himself one more minute to enjoy the image of emerald beauty before him. The longer he looked, the less he remembered about his earlier lecture to himself. Maybe he could endure having her next to him in the same bed at night. He'd managed tougher snags before.

"No, Duchess," he heard himself say instead, taking up the conversation from earlier. "No one notices bedtime rituals. They won't pay you any mind when you go off to your own bedroom."

A dagger of regret hit his heart dead center at the disappointment on her face. But it couldn't be helped. There was no way he could have her in his bed, or even his bedroom. He barely managed being around her the rest of the time. Still, he wouldn't change those times for the world. Whenever Becca was near him, a glorious feeling of peace and tenderness came over him and settled in.

"Come on, wife. I have to carry you over the threshold."

Her look of sadness switched to a deep frown. Then she was shaking her head.

Cord fingered a loose curl and tucked it behind her ear. "Appearances, remember?"

"At least let me walk to the door—"

Done with her fussing, he whisked her off the seat while she squeaked a protest. It wasn't until she was in his arms that he remembered the last time she fought him carrying her. This wasn't about her weight. It was about the college incident. He thought she'd gotten past this. Apparently not. Since normal wedding night activities were off the table, he promised himself they'd sit in the living room, have a glass of wine in celebration, and then he'd find out the rest of her story. Figure a way to help her heal so she could have a normal future.

He kicked the truck door closed with his boot, then strode up the walkway and onto the porch. "You'll have to open the front door."

With a turn of the knob, she pushed the door wide, then reclasped her hands at his neck and stared into his eyes. A shot of joy surged through him even at this illusion.

The house was empty of his sons. They likely raced home, got out of their dress duds, and went back to ranch work before he and Becca even hit Cooper soil. He didn't blame them. Suits made him claustrophobic. He couldn't wait to shed his, so he took a risk and carried Becca up the stairs and into his room.

"Mmm. I've always liked your room." She inhaled a breath through her nose. "It smells so good." Her gaze met his. "Like you."

He chuckled. "That can't be good."

"Ah, but it is. You smell of Wyoming air and sunshine all the time. Like it's been rubbed into your skin."

His hands lost their grip, and she slipped down a notch. Had his marrying her made her bolder?

She squeaked and clung with both arms cinched tight. It brought her nose to nose with him. Talk about scents. He breathed her in again and again. She smelled of some special perfume, fresh air, and woman. _Becca_. If only he could keep her...

He bent down and set her on his bed. Planting his fists on either side of her, he leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss on the mouth.

Before he could back away, she grasped his head in surprisingly strong hands and pressed her lips harder to his. Angling her head as he'd done with their last two kisses, she parted her lips and took the kiss deeper.

If he thought he'd been poleaxed at the Courthouse, that was child's play compared to this. He commanded his body to stop. It didn't. Leaning in further, he rooted his knee on the edge of the bed and pushed her to her back. She let loose of his head and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer until he rested on his forearms and pressed his body to hers, never once breaking the kiss. She moaned. Heat flooded him, closing the door to his good sense. Her kisses were sweet, her body supple and yielding. He leaned to one side, releasing a hand so he could explore her properly.

A door slammed downstairs, and the sound flipped his switch from body to brain. He shot off the bed, breaking the hold she had on him. He stared down at her rumpled dress and kiss-swollen lips and almost ignored his sensible side.

"I'll be downstairs. Stogie promised sandwiches for us," he said, his voice husky. He stripped off his jacket and string tie, threw them over the one bulky chair, then rolled up his sleeves, filling his mind with the sight of her all the while. At long last he tore his gaze from her and strode to the open door, guilt forcing a final look back. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. That shouldn't have happened. I'll make sure it never does again."

How he would do that, he didn't know. But he'd crossed a line and he couldn't do it again. It was his duty to keep her untouched.

It was going to be a long year.

Once the door separated them, Cord halted a moment in the hallway to quiet his body before he padded his way down to the kitchen. Colt was leaning against the kitchen counter in full work gear, including mud-caked boots, sipping coffee. "How're the newlyweds?" he teased.

Cord retrieved a cup and joined Colt for coffee. "Before you get too carried away, remember this is a platonic relationship. A year. Then I set her free."

Colt thunked his cup down on the counter. "You still going through with that? Why?"

"What do you mean, why? We talked about this. You knew what I'd set up with Gayle. This is no different."

Colt's brows were in a tight V. "It's entirely different. Rebecca's in love with you."

Cord choked on the coffee he'd just gulped. He coughed and sputtered, trying to get a handle on what he knew to be true. Which made what he did to her that much worse.

Colt slapped him on the back.

"It doesn't change a thing." Cord spouted.

"It does. Do you think she offered to marry you cuz she had nothing better to do for the next year? Do you think she wants this marriage in name only?"

"She's compassionate. Trying to rescue me. She'll get over it." As soon as he said those words, the thought crushed him. He'd seen the love in her eyes, not just her compassion, every time she looked at him. He didn't want to be another Brent in her life, devastate her and leave her bloodied and decimated the way he had. But his mind drove back to the last minutes of Millie's life. How he'd failed her miserably. He didn't want that for Rebecca. Wouldn't allow it.

"Well...?" Colt said, waking him to the problem at hand.

"Well, what? She kissed _you_."

Colt groaned. "Acting."

"What?"

"An adolescent prank to make you jealous. Did it work?"

_Did it ever_. But he kept that to himself.

Colt's gaze went deep. Drat the boy for trying to read him. Colt's face lit up. "It did."

Cord poured his coffee out in the sink. He watched it drain down, wondering why he'd thrown away perfectly good coffee. "What do I do now?"

"Make her your bride, for real."

He turned, looked Colt in the eye. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean I'd rather be dragged by the heel behind that stallion of yours than tethering her to me. It wouldn't be right. She'd regret it."

Colt studied him for a whole minute, while Cord had to bite the side of his lip in order to stare right back. "Are you afraid she might die like Mom did? Is that it?"

Cord jerked board stiff. Did it boil down to that? He scraped all ten fingers through his hair as he considered the truth of it. If that happened, if she died in childbirth, he'd never survive it. The thought tied his brain into knots.

"Except she's not Mom, she's tougher."

That seemed to loosen his tongue. "How do you know that?"

"Stogie and Willie. They say Mom was a fragile sort. It's not your fault she died in childbirth, Dad."

Oh, but it was. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You weren't there." He shifted his gaze to the window, watching the wind whip about and dark clouds roll in. They were in for another big storm. How would he explain to his son what he'd done to save Bronc with no regard to his mother?

And then there was that unforgivable thought...

"At one time, I thought you and Becca would hang your reins on the same hitching post," Cord said, needing to come clean.

"At one time?"

Cord looked back at his son. "Couldn't stomach it now."

"Because you love her."

Cord dropped his gaze to the mud-smeared floor. Becca was going to shoot them over the mess. _Do I love her?_ He'd kept his heart on a tight leash for so long, he'd often wondered if he knew the meaning of love. He was pretty sure he never had, that he didn't now. He shook his head.

"You're foolin' yourself, Dad." At the sound of crunching gravel, Colt glanced outside. "Ah blast, not again!"

Cord followed Colt's gaze and saw a black Chevy Impala drive up. "Another one?"

"Can't these fawning women find someone else to stalk?" Colt swung an agitated look at Cord, then tromped out the back door to intercept the woman.

Cord tugged a chair out with his boot toe and sat in it backward. He rested his forearms one over the other and contemplated his next move. The more he pondered it, the deeper he drove his agony. Colt was right. He'd not only trapped Rebecca into marriage, he'd let her marry him knowing full well that she loved him. What kind of monster did that? The only right thing left to do for her now was something she didn't know she needed. He'd go through with his plan to let her go in a year so she could find and marry a younger man. Someone who could give her a load of kids and a long, happy life.

Soft footsteps came in from the other room. _Becca_. His belly fluttered. Just anticipating her fresh face and sweet body had him on edge. Before he could turn to greet her, she strode up behind him. He flinched when her hands came to rest on his shoulders. Her thumbs found knots there and pressed. Cord expelled a long breath and began to relax.

"It's been a tough day," she said, kneading his neck. "You're all muscle on muscle tied together with knots. Relax."

He loved having her near him. Having her hands on him.

"Breathe." She worked on him for several silent minutes, until she said, "Hey, where are the sandwiches Stogie promised?"

Cord raised his head, just now realizing he was so relaxed he'd dropped his forehead to his arms on the back of the chair. "Don't know. Should've been here by now."

"Do you want me to fix you something? Or I can go track the reneger down."

One chuckle escaped his throat. "You know lots of big words, Becca, but is that a word?"

She laughed. If butterflies made noise as they flitted from flower to bush, the sound of her laugh would be it. Tinkling, joyous, mesmerizing. "Of course. If someone reneges, that would make them a reneger. Right? It's only logical." She shifted to the right a bit so he could see her playful grin.

His stomach clenched. He'd promised himself he'd let her go in a year, and just like that, he was ready to turn his back on that promise. She belonged to him now—Mrs. Cord Cooper.

How am I gonna make it through twelve long months?

The answer came to him on a whisper.

_Pray_.

As Becca pressed, rubbed, and jabbed at knots in his back and shoulders, he chewed over the right words in his head. _Dear Lord. It's me again. Please help me do the right thing by Rebecca. Amen._ There. That should do it.

The back door slammed open and heavy footfalls came through the mudroom and around the corner to the kitchen. Someone had stomped to a halt in the doorway.

Cord could barely lift his head off his arms he was so relaxed. He twisted his head to see Trevor standing there. Looking... _confused_?

"What're you two doin' down here?" Trevor said, then finally got his feet in motion toward the coffee pot.

"What do you mean, down here?" Cord said, then wished he had put his brain back in gear before answering.

As he opened his mouth to tell Trevor to forget he'd asked that, Trevor beat him to it. "Doncha have stuff to do? I mean, I sure as heck wouldn't be in the kitchen getting a back rub when I could be in be—"

"Enough said!" Shoot, he'd promised himself never to use those two ugly words again. Hurrying on, he softened his tone. "You here for lunch?"

"Nope. Just coffee. I'm heading back out."

"Would you go put a fire under Stogie's backside? Should have had the sandwiches here by now."

Trevor waved him off as he left the room with a mug in hand. He had no sooner banged the back door shut than it slammed open again, rattling the glass. They needed to fix that dad-blamed thing.

"Need help here!" Stogie shouted from the mudroom.

Rebecca jerked her hands off Cord and dashed around the corner. Both came back through the opening with two platters of food.

"Put a stopper on that back door, Stog. The window's gonna shatter one of these times," Cord said.

"Hello to you too, boss." Stogie looked over at Rebecca, then him, a small frown between his brows. "I heared congratulations is in order."

Cord rose to his feet, already weary of the illusion of his marriage. He ignored Stogie and took the platter from Rebecca to set on the table. Stogie followed and did the same.

"Come here, Duchess," Cord said, catching her elbow and bringing her to the table to sit. He kissed the top of her head, then sat next to her. He had to remember to give the outward sign he was truly married, which meant he couldn't ignore it when his men congratulated them.

"Yep, congratulations are in order, Stog. Let the men know we have a new mistress of the household. And that she's to be addressed as Mrs. Cooper."

" _What?_ No!" Becca said.

"Yes. That's how it has to be."

She turned toward him, her knees jabbing into his right thigh. "Cord. They know me as Rebecca. Please don't make them call me something different. They'll think I married you for the status of being a rancher's wife, instead of—" She sucked in a surprised breath.

Cord looked around the room to see if someone had signaled her. No one. He rested his gaze on her. "Instead of?"

"Nothing. I just meant...I don't know what I meant. I just know I want to keep things as they were. Please, Cord."

The pleading in her eyes was his undoing. How could he deny her this small request? "All right. But if any of them disrespect you or refuse to obey an order, I need to know."

"I promise."

Cord raised his brows. "Just like that, you promise?"

She smiled her light-up-his-world smile. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? You are my husband."

Those words sent blood racing through his veins, reminding him of the feelings his bride had for him. But as he looked deep into her eyes, all he saw at the moment was amusement. Ah, she was teasing him. He gave her a knowing smile, stroked the hair back from her face on one side, then grasped her knees to turn them back under the table.

The mudroom door slammed again and broke their moment. Willie's face peeked around the door jamb, beater hat pulled low over his brows. "Boss, 'scuse me. Got us a problem with the twins.

Cord's head whipped toward Willie. "The twins are back so soon?"

"Yep, and they be fisticuffing. With Trevor."

Cord lunged out of the chair and raced toward the back door, grabbing boots, jacket, and hat before heading out the door. He tilted his head against the icy wind, hearing Becca at his back. He almost turned to stop her, but no. He'd promised her he'd let things be as they were. Before today, she'd always been there when trouble brewed, to help his sons, to help him.

He turned back, grabbed her hand, and they both ran, heads against the wind, their free hands holding their collars closed.

The barn door was wide open—how many times had he scolded everyone to keep that closed when the temperature dropped?—so that Cord could see the fight going on before they'd even arrived. Once inside, he dropped Becca's hand to charge toward his four sons, since Colt had also joined the skirmish.

"Stop right there," Cord bellowed at the tangle of limbs and fists and boots and spattered blood.

Becca watched while Cord yanked against one son's arm, then another, finally grabbing the torso of one of the twins, dragging him backward to drop him on his backside. He scrambled forward for another son when he saw Becca jump into the fray and pull on one of Colt's arms. "Colt. Stop! You're gonna hurt them," was all she said. He dropped his hands back to his sides and backed out of the circle of swinging fists.

Cord was amazed but too busy to comment. He grabbed hold of Trevor from behind, while Becca was right back in there, doing the same thing she did with Colt to the other twin—Brand, he saw it was now. As he was dragging Trevor backward—which, he had to admit, used to be a lot easier—he saw Brand stop cold as Colt had done and back away.

When had _his bride_ gained this kind of respect from his sons?

# Chapter 28

Rebecca stood on the outskirts of the ring of winded brawlers. She admired the power in these formidable Cooper men, but for the life of her could not fathom why they would want to beat the tar out of one another. They stood loose-limbed and glaring, panting to beat the band, as Cord strode into the center of their circle.

"What's this all about?" he demanded, disappointment clear in his eyes.

No one spoke, so he pointed at Bronc, who'd dusted himself off some. "You begin."

"Why's it always me you start with?" Bronc whined.

"You just got back. Didn't bother to say hello. You're fighting with the brothers who've been handling their jobs, and _yours_ , in your absence. So, yes, I'm starting with you."

Bronc and Brand wore identical misery on their faces, Brand looking forlornly at Bronc, while Bronc looked angry with his gaze averted. They had to be hurting right now, both panting, stretching, and wiping blood off split lips and knuckles.

"Start," Cord said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Just got back. Saw my gelding out in the pasture—in the wind and rain!" Bronc shouted the last part. "Ranger still has thrush in that one hoof. He's not supposed to be out in these conditions. Colt knows that!" Hands fisted at his sides, Bronc limped toward Colt, angry all over again. Trevor caught his jacket collar and yanked him back.

"No more!" Cord hollered. "Release him, Trev." Trevor did as he was told, but with a little extra push, causing Bronc to stumble a few steps. Bronc and Trevor glared at one another, but Bronc didn't retaliate.

Cord turned to face Colt. "Why was Ranger in the outside paddock?"

"I don't know. I didn't put him there," Colt said, clearly agitated. "Last I saw him was early this morning when I fed him. In his stall."

Cord frowned, shifted his gaze over one. "Trevor?"

"Like Colt said. He was in his stall." His voice was bland, unemotional.

Cord lifted his eyebrows and swung his gaze back toward Colt. "Maybe you didn't latch the gate at the back of his stall last time you put him up."

Colt jammed his hat down farther on his head and addressed Bronc. "Other than feed the ornery horse and doctor that dang hoof, I have not done a thing with him since you left."

Cord looked to Trevor, who only shook his head.

"Brand, go get the hands. All of them. I have an announcement to make, anyway."

Brand frowned, looking unsettled, but left to do his dad's bidding without a retort.

Cord moseyed over to Rebecca. She looked up into eyes that were filled with fire and regret at having to reprimand his sons. Rebecca rubbed a hand up and down his arm, trying to calm him through touch.

Surprisingly, his shoulders slackened a bit. He bent his head to kiss her on the forehead. Thrilled by the public display, she beamed up at him.

"How can you smile when there's always something going on with my sons?" Cord said, leaning in for her ears only.

"Our sons now, eh?" she said teasingly, trying to relax him more.

His eyes widened at the thought, but then something in his expression changed. Something...? She didn't know.

Brand came through the kitchen entrance at the back of the barn and closed the door behind himself and the four cowhands he'd herded together.

"Bobby and Ralph went into town," Brand reported.

Cord nodded, then faced the group, using a hand gesture to herd the hands toward his sons. They all wore confusion and wariness on their faces.

"Eddie, Sam, Stogie, Willie, did any of you let Bronc's gelding out into the paddock?"

They all looked at each other in question, all shaking their heads 'no'.

"No one?"

"What the—?" Bronc cursed. "He didn't just up and let himself out. Someone had to do it."

"We'll ask Ralph and Bobby when they get back from town." Cord grasped Rebecca's hand and brought her to his side. He wrapped an arm around her and spread his hand at her hip, facing the men. "I—we—have an announcement to make."

Rebecca saw a dawning in some of their eyes, while the others looked confused.

"Becca and I got married this morning."

The air exploded with chaos. Some whooped, mostly the hands. Bronc shouted profanities, while Brand asked questions.

Cord held up his free hand. "Listen, you don't need to know anything other than this is your new mistress of Cooper Bar-6 Ranch. She holds the same authority I do, you understand?" They each nodded, except Bronc. "One more thing. Neither the Widow Mayfield nor her foreman, Joe, are welcome on this ranch. Watch each other's backs." Cord looked them each in the eye to make sure they were clear. "You ever figure how Ranger got out, let me know. All right. Get back to work."

Bronc strode toward his father with hatred in his eyes. "Why'd you marry Rebecca? Robbing the cradle, old man?"

Instead of the defensive stance Rebecca hoped Cord would take, she watched his face drain of color as he dropped his arm from her. Deep down, those were the exact words Cord feared, and not only from his sons.

Bronc wasn't daunted by Cord's silence. "What? Not gonna tell us why you married the girl?" He tipped his head in her direction.

Taking one step toward Bronc and away from her, he said, "Go tend your horse." Then he turned toward the open barn doors and was gone.

As white as Cord's face was, Rebecca felt hers burn with fury. Everyone had left but Brand, so she felt safe to step in with full armor intact. "Disrespect, Bronc? That's the way you decide to handle this?"

"Yeah, brother. If he wanted to marry Rebecca, that was his choice," Brand said. He turned to her then. "I'm just surprised you want him."

Rebecca swung her fiery gaze to Brand. "You need to wake up!" She poked her finger toward each in turn. "Both of you! Take your dang blinders off! Your dad is a decent, hard-working man trying to pull things together around here. You're not helping. You come in here, see what you want to see, and tear into your brothers? Who, by the way, are doing your jobs!"

"He sent us away!" Bronc barked, jabbing a finger at a disappearing Cord.

"To do a job. A job! But even when you're here, you do the bare minimum. Care enough, why don't you? Look around, see what needs doing. Get involved. Help out. You want to be treated like grown men? Then grow up!"

She glared at each twin, then twisted around to follow after Cord. Before she exited the barn, she twisted back to eye Bronc one more time. "You're irresponsible! Here you are, worried about your own horse, but you don't give a hoot about the others. You're letting out warmth. Close up these doors."

When Rebecca reached the mudroom door, she let herself in quietly, her heart still thrumming. Shedding her coat and boots, she padded into the kitchen.

Cord sat at the table, forearms resting on the cold surface, staring into space, looking every bit the beaten down man with no hope of change.

She strolled up behind him and began rubbing his neck and shoulders again.

"You don't have to do that." His voice was low, flat.

At least he didn't stop her. "But I love helping you. You're tense again." She pressed her thumbs into two big knots. He groaned in pleasure-pain.

"Ignore your sons' cheap shots. They don't mean a word. They're angry, mostly for other reasons. It's not always about you. Pretty self-centered of you to think so." She smiled.

He chuckled.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "And don't worry. I gave them a good dressing down."

Cord shifted, looked over one shoulder at her. "Did you now."

She pressed her lips together and gave him a chiding sidelong stare. "Of course I did. I'm on your side. Always."

Cord turned in the chair, bowed his head, and relaxed against her. She inhaled. The scent of barn and hay, and a whole lot of Cord, the man, filled the space around him. His long arms came around her, enveloping her in a desperate hug. She tightened her hold.

"I'm sorry," he spoke into her heat. "To trap you into marriage. It wasn't right for me to do that when Gayle didn't show up."

She'd hoped this hug was a prelude to his profession of love. But he seemed so distraught, the need to reassure him pushed her disappointment aside. "Well now...I do hate being second best." She hoped he would hear the desired amusement in her voice, yet all she heard was pain.

When he looked up, he had such bleakness in his eyes. He searched hers. What was he looking for? "Becca..."

He hesitated so long, she figured he was done talking. Maybe he couldn't say what he wanted to say. Maybe she didn't want to hear it anyway.

"It's time to tell me the whole story. What else happened that day at college? With Brent?" She stiffened, shocked at the change of subject. Her hands landed on Cord's shoulders to push away. He didn't let her. He tightened his grip around her middle with a determined look on his face, but then loosened it to a non-threatening hold.

"Tell me."

No. She didn't want to. Without even knowing he had, Cord had already helped her see it for what it was—adolescent nonsense. She pushed against him, a little calmer this time. "It's not important anymore. And you could use a full massage, you have knots everywhere. It would be easier if you were lying down. Let's go on up to the bedroom—"

"It's time, Duchess. Please tell me."

She studied his eyes and saw his sympathy but also his stubbornness. If she told him, she'd risk losing the ground she'd gained on how he saw her—finally as a mature woman. But if she opened up, perhaps he would as well. Maybe he'd tell her the secret that was keeping him prisoner.

Rebecca smoothed her fingers over the crease between Cord's brows, his handsome face tilted upward in true concern.

"Tell you what. I'll share my past humiliation with you if you'll tell me what happened with Millie. The final chapter."

Cord flinched back, so subtly he probably didn't know he'd done it. The look of horror on his face told her his was a bigger revelation than hers ever could be.

Tell him the story anyway.

"I'll tell you, and I'm sure then you'll share with me." The look on his face said 'no', but she plowed forward anyway. "I told you how Brent kept me talking that day in his room and then shoved me out the door. How I never spoke to him again."

Cord gave a small nod.

"What I didn't tell you was why. I left that hallway where he'd pushed me and went straight to the psychology lecture hall. You know, to add the class. Because without it, I'd have to wait another year before moving on with my degree."

The old pain struck her hard. She rocked back.

Cord's features softened. "It's okay, love. Go on."

"I...uh...saw my best friend, Marilyn, coming out. Only, she had no way of getting into that class. I don't even think she liked psychology, but she was on the hunt for units. It was a popular junior college. Almost impossible to get a full load. The minute I saw her, I opened my purse to find my add card."

"Marilyn didn't have one," Cord supplied.

"She couldn't be bothered to stand in line for one. But she'd clearly attended the whole class." She rolled her lips in, bit down. Tears welled. Her chest constricted.

"What happened then?"

Feeling like a fool all over again...an _adolescent_ fool, she opened her mouth to tell him and couldn't. "Let me go, Cord." She wriggled against his hold.

His hands opened at her back and stroked up and down. "Take a breath, Sweeting."

She did, once, twice. His touch soothed her, his voice calmed her. Blinking against the stubborn tears, she tried again. "Brent strolled up to Marilyn, kissed her on the mouth, and pulled something out of his shirt to hand to Marilyn."

"Your add card," Cord guessed.

Rebecca closed her eyes on a nod. "They laughed, and Marilyn headed back to where the professor was still talking to a few students."

She gulped down the old knot of anger and hurt. "Marilyn, my supposed best friend since childhood. She stole from me. My class. My boyfriend. My career. It wasn't the first time either. How stupid am I? She'd been doing it my whole life. I finally realized she'd poisoned my view of the world; mostly of friends and men." She lowered her gaze. "Until I came here, I didn't realize she was still affecting me."

Cord started to speak, but she jumped in again. "No, that's wrong. She didn't take my career. I willingly handed that over. I allowed her to get in my head. I quit, Cord. I quit school and never went back. The fault is not hers, it's mine."

There was wrath laced with the sympathy in Cord's blue eyes, and it made her heart swell with love. He rose and pulled her into his solid embrace, snuffled her hair. She wrapped her arms around his middle and breathed him in.

He tucked her in close, speaking to the top of her head. "You weren't just betrayed by a longtime friend; you were used by a man. It's a wonder you trust anyone." He loosened his arms and leaned back to look in her eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Becca."

Such simple words, but they gave her strength. She drew herself upright, feeling free, all because she had finally unlocked the dungeon door inside her and let fresh air in.

Cord needed to purge his pain, too. "It's your turn," she said gently.

His arms fell from her, and he shifted backward. There was that look of panic on his face again.

She grabbed his hand, instinctively knowing he was about to flee. "Don't go. Tell me. You can trust me. How bad can it be?"

"Not bad. Vile. _Unforgivable_." Cord yanked out of her hold and tromped out of the kitchen.

She heard him taking two steps at a time up the stairs before the words sank in. There is nothing unforgivable. She hadn't done her job. She hadn't told him enough about Jesus, and the forgiveness He offered to each and every soul. For anything.

* * *

Cord heard Rebecca's footsteps creak against each stair. Would he be able to tell her? She had a right to know. After all, he'd used her worse than Brent and Marilyn had. Forced her into marriage with a man no woman should park her shoes next to.

"Cord?" Rebecca pushed open the door.

His fingers dug into his hips as he watched the wind hurl cold rain against the window, imagining the battering Rebecca had taken. If he ever met Brent or Marilyn face to face, he couldn't be sure what he'd do. He didn't know much about the Bible, but he knew it said something like you reap what you sow. Was it wrong he hoped they both reaped painful betrayals?

He swallowed hard. Just as he should reap a painful consequence for what he'd sown. What he had done was sickening. How would she take his news? He wanted to crawl out of his skin, disappear and never come back. But he knew it was time to tell Rebecca the truth.

She walked up behind him, laced her arms around his middle. The warmth of her body sank deep into his flesh. If only they could have this one night together in peace. He cupped one of his hands around hers at his waist and exhaled a bottled-up breath.

"What is it, Cord? What has you thinking you're so vile?"

He gave her hands a little squeeze. She released her embrace, and he instantly missed the feel of her.

She came to his side and stroked his back before she coaxed him into a half-turn to face her. "Tell me."

They stood toe to toe, soul to soul, yet the horror that still lived in Cord's mind had kept them apart. He knew it now. This had to be the reason.

Cord stared at Rebecca. The gloom coming through the glass did nothing to dim her radiance. The more he was around her, the more he noticed it. Whether from her faith or her natural joy, he knew that lovely light shined from within.

Cord reached up and stroked those few wild wisps of hair back from her face, then cupped her cheek. The look in her eyes was so adoring, it killed him to think it would soon change. _Do it now. Get it over with._ "Sit down, Becca." He stepped back, gestured toward the bed.

Lines of worry gathered between her brows, but she did as he said. Her hands gripped each other in her lap, and her face turned up to take in every word.

He turned back to the window, unable to watch the disillusionment sure to show on her face. "Millie..." Words lodged in his dry throat. _I can't do this_.

"Is this about her death?" Rebecca asked softly.

He nodded, wishing God would strike him dead right here. He deserved it, and it would be less painful. With each thought, each word, chunks of his heart would be carved out. What would remain? "I told you I shoved Bronc down into the birth canal..."

"Yes. You had to—"

"Stop!" A deep loathing rose up inside. He swung around to face her. "I shoved the little babe to the birth canal, not knowing if it was the right thing to do. Not caring!"

"Of course you cared. That's why you did it."

"Didn't you hear me, Rebecca?" His voice filled the room with the horrific truth. "Don't you get it? I—did—not—care—what happened to her." He thrust a finger like a knife at the bed, as if it had just happened.

"Stop saying that! Of course, you cared. You..."

Rebecca's words faded into the memory of that moment, his heart beating out of his chest, Millie's screams fresh in his mind. "I had to do something— _anything_ —to stop her screaming, don't you see?"

The beast he hadn't faced for years seized his chest and squeezed the life out of him until he had no more air to breathe. He stumbled backward.

Rebecca leaped off the bed and grabbed his hands before he crashed through the window pane. Her hands felt cold to the touch. She yanked him forward, steadied him before twisting and pushing him backward into the padded chair. Dropping to her knees before him, she palmed his face.

"Cord? Can you hear me? Cord!"

He pushed her away, braced his elbows on his knees, and crammed his face into his hands.

Becca stroked his hair, over and over, bringing him back to the here and now.

She had to hear the rest. It didn't matter anyhow. He'd sell the yearlings, bail out the ranch and Becca, and send her into a life he believed she was finally healed enough for.

If she didn't pack up after his next sentence.

He lifted his face to let her see his wickedness. Waited until she was focused on him fully. "I was glad when I came back in that room and she was gone."

Rebecca sat back on her haunches. Cord watched her face as her mind sorted through his words. He saw confusion, not revulsion. She must not have heard him right, but how could he possibly say it again?

Then, there it was. A flash of wide open eyes, blotchy pallor in her cheeks, a blink and then averted gaze.

Say something!

Words were Rebecca's mark in this world. He needed to hear them now. For her to lambast him, drive home how despicable he was. Slather him on the outside with the black tar that had coated his insides for nineteen years.

Silence. The only person he gave a rip about how she'd see this, and she'd become mute.

Then she took a breath, choked it in—half-sob, half-gasp.

Cord searched her eyes, dug deep. Where was the reproof? The disgust? Had she not heard what he'd said? Or not processed it yet? "Did you hear me, Rebecca? Really hear me? What sick, twisted person would think such a thing?"

Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands caught hold of his arms, and she crawled into his lap. He stiffened, unsure what she was after, where this was going. "What are you doing?"

She fastened her arms around his neck and brought his face down to hers. At first he thought she'd planned to kiss him, but instead, she pinned her gaze to his. "Yes, I heard you, Cord. Now hear me. Are you listening? Really listening?"

He nodded.

"First of all, you saved little Bronc's life."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she held his face fast in her hands and gave him such a look of rebuke that he bit the side of his lip and remained still. He didn't like it, though, her coming to his defense. He didn't deserve it or want it.

"Secondly—" She halted, her eyes averting as she pondered her next words. When her eyes rotated back to his, she said. "Did you want Millie dead?"

Her bluntness made him jerk. "No!" He swallowed hard. No...it hadn't been like that...of course he didn't want her dead.

Rebecca peered into his eyes, one and then the other, her gaze shifting back and forth as she made her point. "So then. That thought that raced through your mind? The one that's poisoned you all these years—that you were glad she was gone? That was a distraught man being grateful his wife didn't have to suffer any longer. That was all it was, Cord. You'd listened to her screams, seen her agony. And when you walked back into that room and saw she was at peace, you were relieved— _for her_." She pressed her hands tight against his cheeks. "For her. Relieved, Cord. Only relieved."

* * *

Rebecca waited, her hands to his face, unwilling to let him go until he agreed with her. He had to see he wasn't a monster.

Then she saw it all, in his eyes. Regret, sadness, pain. His past.

Not love. No forgiveness of himself. No hope. No future.

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears that wanted to fall. No, she wouldn't allow it. She would change his mind. She had to.

Rebecca snaked her arms around his head, hugged him to her. "Cord..."

She felt his body tense just before he rose to his feet with her in his arms. He lowered her feet to the floor, the cold of the wood seeping into her, sending a chill up her spine. She shivered.

His hand rose to her face, cupped her cheek, and tilted her face to his. Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

So cool, so chaste, a good-bye kind of kiss.

Giving her one last lingering appraisal, he drew in a deep breath and left the room.

Rebecca watched the ripple of muscle against the dirt-riddled white of his dress shirt until he turned the corner. The creak of the steps took him away from her, step by lonely step. Once the sounds were gone, she could hold back the tears no longer.

Her wedding day had become the saddest day of her life.

# Chapter 29

Cord grasped the steering wheel and tugged himself upright. Stiff with cold, he threw off his coat and blanket and forced his frozen limbs into action. There was no time to agonize over how he'd spent his wedding night. He had work to do.

The half-frozen door creaked open, and he jumped to his feet on the thin pack of snow on the ground, a sharp pain shooting through his feet straight up to his knees. He'd nearly frozen to death last night in his bed of choice—his dang pickup truck—and ended his suffering a whole other way.

Another kind of pain knifed through his heart at Becca's glistening tears, still alive in his mind's eye. The truth Becca had dug out of him had left him empty. He'd contemplated her counsel a dozen times throughout the night, wanting to buy into what she'd said. But he couldn't. He knew what he'd thought that fateful day, and it did make him a monster. What sane, loving man would think such a thing of his wife? The only answer?—he wasn't sane, or he wasn't loving. Either way, he had no right to be a husband...

...and every reason to set Becca free by selling the cattle now, no matter the price.

Where would Trevor be at this time of morning? Likely out breaking the ice in the troughs for the cattle, so Colt would be his target. Donning his coat and hat and driving his legs forward, he headed for the barn, opened the side door, and pulled it shut behind him.

"Colt? You in here?" Between Colt and the twins, they'd find someone to take the yearlings and the steers. This wasn't the time of year to tackle such a thing, but he had no choice. It was the only solution he'd come up with during his frostbitten night of attempted sleep.

"Colt?" he tried again, striding past the now serene stallion and other sleeping horses.

If he checked all the ranches in Wyoming, Montana, and South Dakota, the chance was he'd find a buyer who'd be willing to pay more than what the widow expected. He knew they were out there. It was just a matter of locating them. "Blasted, where is everyone?" he hollered into the silent barn, twisting back and forth to scan the place.

His empty stomach churned as the now bitter memories slipped in from the night before. Becca thought he didn't want her, when the truth was, he ached for her—soul deep. Ached to feel her hands on him, ached to lay her down and make sweet, passionate love to her for her first time. It could have been a wedding night of sweet memories to bank for later, for his lonelier days. He wasn't sure of much anymore, but one thing he was sure of—he would have lonelier days.

A slap on his shoulder startled the heck out of him, making him jump.

"Easy sonny, it's just us," Stogie said, with Willie glued to his side.

Cord turned, ready to spout demands and questions, but Stogie beat him to it. "Knowed I already said it but wanted to give you our felicitations. Bout time ya got yerself hitched agin."

"Darn right, boss. Good fer you," Willie put in.

Cord considered roaring a 'we won't be married long' to get the two old codgers out of his hair, but these two weren't the ones to confide in. Well, maybe Stogie, but not Willie. Anything Willie overheard covered ground faster than a spooked horse; the whole county would know his business before noon.

"Why're you out here, anyways?" Stogie said. "We got this covered. Go be with yer bride."

"She's, uh...asleep still. Where are my boys?"

Willie elbowed Stogie. "He plumb wore her out I bet."

"Shut up, Willie," Stogie said, shoving the old man aside.

"Enough said!" Cord barked, then winced. This terrible habit had begun to make him sick to his stomach. He had a lot of changing to do, and it may as well start now. "Sorry fellas. Didn't mean to bark at you."

"S'okay, boss. You want I should get Trapper for you?" Willie asked.

"No, but you can get Colt for me. And the twins."

"Glad to," Willie said, then shuffled off.

Stogie ambled forward and rested a hand on Cord's shoulder. "What's wrong, son?"

Cord avoided Stog's eyes. He'd always had a way of knowing when Cord had had enough.

"You worried about Rebecca?"

Cord couldn't keep his gaze from the wizened old man's. How'd he always know what ailed him? Stogie was Fort Knox when it came to secrets. Even from Willie. He considered sharing his plans concerning Rebecca but thought better of it. Stogie would find out soon enough. They all would.

Stogie shifted then to see Cord's face and slapped him on the shoulder. "Rebecca's tougher than Millie ever was. You knowed that, don'cha boy?"

Yeah, he knew that. If Becca's fortitude were his only worry, then maybe he'd take the risk. But no one besides Rebecca knew the whole story about Millie. And he couldn't get her away from him fast enough. He and his sons would get to work looking for buyers, and soon this whole debacle would be behind them.

The barn door slid open, letting in a gust of snow flurries. "You wanted me, Dad?" Colt said as he came through, towing Ranger along behind.

Cord turned back and gave Stogie a pat on his shoulder. "Thanks, Stog."

Stogie's frown told him he wanted to talk more, but he nodded and took himself off.

Cord strode forward, saw the white snip on Ranger's muzzle as he lifted his head for a rub. "How's his hoof?"

"Better. Bronc worries too much."

"Where is he? And Brand."

"Willie's gone to fetch them. Said you wanted to talk to us."

"Yeah, we'll wait until they get here." Cord drew off his hat and swiped a hand through his hair, still feeling frigid from the night in his truck. "Why can't you boys get along?"

"Too many stallions in one corral, I imagine," Colt said, as he and Cord both watched the gelding favor the hoof.

"It still bothers him," Cord said, stating the obvious. "Why is Ranger the only one with thrush?"

Colt snorted and gestured toward Ranger's stall. "Bronc's a slob. His horse suffers for it."

Cord nodded. "I'll talk to him about it. Thanks for doctoring him."

"Why'd you do it, Dad?" Colt gave Ranger a pat, then brought his attention to Cord.

Cord knew exactly what Colt was talking about. Why did he do it? He could have waited. Sought out Denise, the cookery owner. Given her a shot at his proposition. He relived the moment Rebecca had come to his rescue. The exhilaration he'd felt. He'd lived in a bubble for the rest of that hour until the marriage was complete and he'd given his new bride a brief kiss.

For a short while, he'd been in Heaven, kissed by the clouds, lifted from the iniquities of his past. And for the brief time, his soul had been free to soar. He'd devoured every moment, right up until he came back down to earth to face himself and one more added transgression.

He couldn't bring himself to answer Colt. How could he tell his son he'd done it because he wanted Becca soul deep. Duped himself into thinking during that short ceremony that he might actually be worthy of her.

Cord stepped back as his answer. Colt nodded as if he'd read the answer in Cord's eyes. And maybe he had. He guided Ranger into his stall, latched it in silence, then came back to join his father face to face.

"Do you regret it?" Colt asked.

Cord had many regrets. So many they clogged his brain on most days. Kept him from thinking clearly. Yeah, he regretted it, but also clung to it, waiting for a miracle.

A car roared up to the barn and squeaked to a soggy halt. Colt and Cord swung around to see what the ruckus was about.

"Ah, blast!" Colt said, already heading in the direction of the vehicle.

"Who is it?"

"Jenny Renford," Colt exclaimed over his shoulder.

"Tell her I want a word."

After a few minutes passed, Colt brought Jenny into the barn with him, though it was clear he was miffed he'd had to do it.

"Mr. Cooper, how nice to see you," Jenny said flatly.

"Jenny. How's your mother?" His voice dripped bitterness, but her mother had put Rebecca in the situation she was in by not showing up at the Courthouse.

"She's fine," she said, plainly not happy.

Had she known her mother's plans? "You can tell her for me—I got married yesterday."

"To Clara Mayfield. Yes, we know."

So, Gayle and Clara had conspired together. Cord rolled in his lips, fury marking his words. "You can tell her for me, I married Rebecca Harper."

Jenny's jaw dropped, the look of surprise almost theatrical on her young face. "Uh, I should go."

Colt faced him. "Fastest departure, ever."

Cord scowled. "Didn't know Clara knew Gayle. Now I'm sure Clara paid her off."

Colt looked grim. "Seems likely."

"I wonder what else Clara's cooking up."

* * *

Rebecca was determined not to be downtrodden anymore. Trying not to read anything into Cord avoiding home last night and all day today, she set about transferring her clothes and toiletries to Cord's room in a bold move. Now that it was bedtime, and she'd heard Cord's voice in the kitchen, it was time to set her plan in motion. She donned a ruffled white nightgown with lace edges; not a negligee by any stretch, but pretty and a little bit wedding-nightish, even though that ship had sailed. At least it was only the night after.

Footfalls on the stairs froze her in place. Could she pull this off? She was the farthest thing from a seductress, so convincing Cord his confession hadn't shaken her, and that she was ready to be his wife in all aspects, might be the toughest endeavor she'd ever taken on. It was the most important. As she heard the steps growing closer, her heart sped and her palms grew sweaty. Clearly, she wasn't the person to pull this off, but this was Cord. She trusted him. And she loved him.

The door swung open, and the dirty—no, the muddy, and somewhat beaten up—ranch owner stood at the threshold. Her heart flipped at the sight. He hadn't changed his white dress shirt from yesterday morning, and it looked destroyed. Was that blood she saw on his sleeve?

Instantly ditching her plans, she hurried to his side. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Cord's eyes were locked to her white gown. "Becca, what are you doing—"

"Come in. Let's get this shirt off you. Is that blood?" She pulled him inside and closed the bedroom door.

"Becca, we can't—"

She started unbuttoning his shirt, determined to see if he was hurt.

He clasped her hands at his chest. "Rebecca!"

She sucked in a gasp and cocked her head up. "Yes?"

"I can take off my own shirt." She released her grip, and his hands came up to take their place. He unbuttoned the first button but then dropped his hands back down. "I thought I was pretty clear about our sleeping arrangements. What are you doing in my room?" His brows were knit together.

"Cord, you're hurt. Let's get this shirt off you." Her hands came up to his second button. She unbuttoned as she asked, "What happened?"

He sighed and let her unbutton his shirt. "I was helping Colt with the stallion, the crabby bastard—" He spouted a string of oaths she rarely heard from him. "He bit me."

Her eyes went wide. What was he doing helping with that crazy stallion? By the looks of Cord, he'd drawn the short straw for whatever needed doing. "Come here." She led him to the bed and forced him to sit. It didn't take much convincing, so he must be hurting.

Rebecca peeled his shirt from his broad shoulders letting it hang at his elbows. There were actual teeth marks on his upper left arm. Two spots had broken through the skin. "This doesn't look deep, but it would probably be wise to get a tetanus shot."

Cord cranked his head around to see the break in his skin. "I've had one recently." He looked into her eyes. "You should have one. I never thought to ask."

"My uncle Jack—another of my dad's brothers—had tetanus once. Lockjaw is nothing to scoff at. He nearly died of it. So, I'm up-to-date."

Cord nodded. "Do you think you can manage this?"

She smiled wryly. "Me? Handle ranch injuries? My specialty. Do you have an antibiotic cream on hand? If not, maybe colloidal silver?"

His grin looked strained. "Ranch, remember? It's in the bathroom drawer."

She gathered up his hands and tugged. He didn't budge.

"Where're we going?"

"To the bathroom. We need to clean this. It'll be simpler in there."

She tugged again. Yeah, she was going to nickname him _Mule_. Not a food nickname, but fitting. Finally, a third tug and he rose, though stiffly. He was hurt more than he was willing to admit, or it was sheer exhaustion.

Once in the bathroom, she pressed him down on the toilet cover. Lathering up the washcloth with soap and water, she began cleaning. The marks were already turning purple. "Boy, he really got you good. How'd it happen?"

Cord had his eyes on the scoop neck of her nightgown. Feeling heat sneak up her neck, she shifted a little, hoping he wouldn't notice the blush. "Cord?"

He jerked like she'd slapped him, but lifted his eyes to hers.

"How did it happen?"

"Should have known better. The stallion's still coming off the locoweed. I got too close. He nipped, I tripped over Colt, and landed on my other shoulder before I rolled out of the way."

She shook her head. "Ouch! I'll check your shoulder in a minute. But this is more than a light nip. He got the muscle but good." She opened the antibiotic cream and slathered it on the open wounds, then bandaged it with gauze and tape. "That should do for now."

She straightened. He shifted on the seat, his gaze dropping from her eyes back to her nightgown. "Look, Becca, we need to discuss how to go about this."

"About what?" She knew what he meant, but, by golly, she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Still sitting on the commode, Cord grabbed her forearms and crooked his neck up to look at her face, an apologetic look beginning to form.

"Don't!" she barked.

He released her arms.

"No, I mean, don't apologize."

"Fine, I won't apologize, but I will discuss the plan."

"What plan? We're married. Do you think you can hold me at arm's length and still keep up the façade?" She took a step closer. He shoved himself backward, banging the toilet tank and rattling the tank's lid.

Rebecca had no idea how to seduce him, but she'd give it a good college try. His legs were already parted as he sat, so she stepped between them and slipped her fingers into his thick hair, running her fingertips through it all the way down to his nape.

He shuddered. It exhilarated her and scared her all at the same time. Cord was formidable on a normal basis, but in this small space, he made her senses spin.

"Becca..." His voice was low, rough. But he didn't stop her.

She swallowed and plowed forward, stroking his hair again, but this time letting her fingers linger at his neck. She began to stroke outward. He winced when her fingers got to his shoulders. "Oh, I forgot to check this," she said, leaning over to see bruising on the back of one shoulder. "Oooh, I'll bet this hurts."

She ran a hand lightly over it, and he flinched.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, you need a hot shower. Rid you of mud, heat the shoulder." She reached over and started the shower. "I'll re-bandage your arm afterward."

"Bossy little thing," he said, but gave her a one-sided smile.

"Not bossy, just resolute." Boy wasn't that the truth. She wondered if he knew just how determined she was.

Rebecca backed out of his space and offered her hand. He studied it, glanced up, and gave her an admonishing look. But in the end, he took the proffered hand with a sigh of acceptance. She pulled him up, the stiffness causing him to groan, and pulled the shirt off his arms and into a pile on the bathroom floor. When she reached up to unbuckle his belt, he caught her hands.

"I can manage the shower, Becca. Go on back to your room and get some sleep."

She shook her head. "Who will re-bandage your arm? No. I think I'll stay."

He didn't look happy, so she scooted out of the bathroom before he could argue more and closed the door.

Rebecca tiptoed to the bed, half-jubilant, half-furtive as if expecting to be apprehended in the middle of a crime. But the memory of her vows yesterday settled the flutter in her heart. She sank onto Cord's bed and buried her face in his pillow. The scent of him enveloped her, soothing her jumbled nerves. But her mind was a mess, all twisted up with her heart. This marriage was a blessing. Something only God could devise, it seemed to her. But it wasn't going as it should. So far nothing she did was working to convince Cord to keep her, make her his wife in body and soul. She was naïve when it came to the carnal aspects of marriage. How was she, an innocent, supposed to seduce a seasoned man like Cord? All she knew for certain was, she wanted the man. And not just his body, but his heart as well. With more force every day.

The longer Cord's shower went on—was he avoiding her?—the more her nerves fried. She curled herself around Cord's pillow and tried to quiet the chaos in her mind enough to hear the Lord's whisper.

_Father God, you see my dilemma. Help me, please. Only you will know what's needed next_. _Cord is such a decent man. He tries so hard, yet he doesn't see his own worth. Please help him; with this marriage, with his sons, eliminate his undeserved guilt over his wife's death. Help him to forgive himself. Let him wake up to find the solution for this crazy contract he's bound himself to. It's all in your hands. Please quiet my heart and make my part clear. Thank you, Lord. Amen._

She felt a tug at her heart. Then another. Then a thought that floated through her mind, wistful, yet luminous and deep. Something straight from the throne of God. He had answered her prayer in the quiet of her mind. She was clear now. What Cord didn't need was one more pressure in his life. That meant she had to back off, remain his wife in name only—as he requested—and then move on when he was done with her. No more seduction. No more manipulations to force the man into a real marriage.

She felt shame for having devised such a tactic.

Forgive me, Lord. I should have brought this to you sooner. Help me to help Cord with what's best for him. But please, Lord, keep my heart from being crushed.

* * *

Cord awoke with a start. He shifted slightly, waking up stiff muscles he knew had been in one spot for too long. Blinking his eyes open, he saw an angel with a cloud of chestnut hair within touching distance. _Becca._ She faced him with both hands prayer-like under her cheek. Pure, soft skin...long lashes fanning her cheeks...she looked even younger in sleep. Delicate, fragile, not like Rebecca at all. The woman he'd grown to cherish was strong, hardy. Made of the kind of stuff rancher's wives had to be.

Rebuking himself for the kind of thinking that got a man in trouble, and having no time to contemplate what couldn't be, he tried to focus on what he needed to get done today. The last thing he remembered from the night before was coming through the bathroom door after a shower so long the last five minutes had been under frosty water. He'd thought he would have to face a vixen bent on seducing him. What he'd found was an angel, asleep on top of the covers of his bed. He couldn't muster the will to wake her, she looked so peaceful. So instead, he covered her with a heavy blanket and rounded the bed to lie next to her, belly down, so he could gaze upon Becca for the first and last time in his bed.

Becca stirred. She opened her eyes. He'd forgotten how big—how swirled in autumn color—her irises were. She blinked, focused, then gave him the most adoring, sweet smile. His heart skipped a beat before it pounded into a canter.

"Good morning, Cord. How're your shoulder and arm?"

It figured her first concern was for him. He felt her compassion soul deep. It seemed to heal the raw places rubbed thin from years of abuse—mostly from his own bad judgment and wrong-thinking.

"The hot shower was perfect. Problem is, then I fell asleep."

She smiled a well-these-things-happen kind of smile. He smiled back.

"Well..." He groaned and pushed up to his hands and knees, the towel around his hips barely in place. Grasping it easily in one hand, he groaned again as he moved off the bed, planting his bare feet on the floor. "Did too much yesterday. Not a good idea for an old man."

"Ah, ah, ah! I told you never to call yourself that again."

Cord shifted his gaze to her, took a moment to see she was in clothes—jeans, blouse, and socks. So, she'd been up, probably showered, brushed her teeth. Her hair did look shiny as if it had been treated to a good brushing. So, she'd come back to bed...with him. Why? To be near him, watch over him because of his injuries? Or was she still pushing for more?

Dare he test that theory? For some reason, he was in the mood to do just that. "What're you going to do about it?"

Her eyes popped open more. "What do you mean?"

Well, he guessed he understood her surprise since all he'd done was avoid her obvious seduction the night before. Yeah, he knew what she'd been up to, God bless her. He'd desired nothing more than to capitulate but kept his restraint. Now to convince his body of that.

No such luck. As if under different orders from the rest of him, his feet took him to the other side of the bed where Rebecca had climbed out and stood gaping at him. Her rumpled clothes were completely modest but somehow alluring.

He brought his eyes back to her face and, if he wasn't mistaken, thought he saw a change there. It was as if in the light of day, she'd become hesitant, shy even. Where had the seductress gone from last evening? Though he shouldn't, he actually missed her.

_Bring her back_ , his dark side prompted.

_Be careful_ , his sensible side insisted.

Stifling more thought, Cord cinched his towel tighter, retucked it, then reached out and wrapped her in his arms. He flinched at the pain in his nipped arm and bruised shoulder, which should have stopped him. It didn't.

Arms trapped at her sides, he heard a small whimper escape from her mouth. His attention centered there. Should he kiss her?

Aroused and confused by lines that had blurred, he wrinkled his brows, contemplating his next move.

Rebecca's gaze latched onto his frown. She sucked in a deep breath and forced her arms out from between them. Her fingers dug into his ribs, then came a pinch on one side, then the other.

He winced. "Hey! What's that for?"

"I told you the next time you called yourself old, I'd hurt you." Her voice was breathy. She was affected as much as he was, yet she was trying to distract him. Why? Something had changed. He should leave well enough alone, but he couldn't do it.

In a sudden movement, he flipped her around and onto the bed on her back. _Stop this madness!_ But Becca's face was so lovely, with her flushed cheeks and thick hair spread over his white sheets. He rested on his forearms so he wouldn't crush her and caressed her face with his gaze, noticing every laugh line, every freckle, every fleck of color in her big eyes. He rubbed his nose back and forth across hers, then gave it a little peck. With a groan, he trailed kisses up to her temple, her forehead, then back down to her cheek. She'd gone completely still under him. Was he scaring her? No. He didn't think so. One look at her eyes and he saw uncertainty there, but also desire.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and those pink, kissable lips. No longer able to resist, he brushed his lips along hers. And then again. He ran his tongue along the seam, and she instantly opened to him. Innocent, yet eager. Wanting, waiting—

What in blazes am I doing?

With one push up, he was off her and the bed, the mattress springing upward with the loss of his weight. His feet froze to the floor. What must she think of him?

Had he gone mad?

Yeah, maybe he had at that.

He opened his mouth to apologize once again when her husky voice stopped him. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" She scooted to the edge of the bed. "Time to get up and get things rolling, wouldn't you say? Ranches don't snooze." She rose to her feet, wobbled to the bedroom door, and turned back, one hand on the knob. "The fellas must be starving by now. I have several new recipes I've been testing for breakfast to surprise you. I think you'll like them."

Her runaway words made his heart swell. So like her. So ready to flood the room with words so he didn't have to speak, since what could he say?

"You're really going to like the cinnamon rolls. Very toothsome." And then she was gone, having slipped through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

" _Toothsome_ ," he said aloud before he felt his lips rise into a huge grin.

# Chapter 30

Cord spent the next few weeks searching for ranchers to buy the widow's stock from him. In the end, he split the herd three ways. The total price had been beyond his expectations. Enough so—even though he'd have to run lean for a few years—he could pay Clara immediately every penny he owed and abolish the contract.

The cattle sales hadn't been his only success. Becca and he had found a compatible way to cohabitate in the same bedroom. He slept on top of the covers, she underneath. He rose at 4 AM, she at 4:45. Whatever it took to avoid seeing those stunning eyes of hers open to a new day. Yes, he found the situation tolerable.

Yet, he wasn't sure if she did. Each day dark circles deepened under her eyes, and her strength seemed to flag. Her health concerned him. She was doing too much now, surely. Housekeeping, washing, cooking—great meals at that—helping Colt with the horses. And watching out for Cord. He told her he didn't need the attention, but it was her desire to do so. In the end, he let her. At least, when he wasn't traveling across three states wheeling and dealing to find those buyers.

Once he delivered the cattle, the money would roll in and he'd give Becca that annulment, ten months early. He wanted to whoop. In the meantime, they'd worked out such an effective platonic existence, he was sure he could convince her to stay on once this was over. As long as none of his sons pursued her, it was a way to keep her here—keep her close to him. Eventually, he'd find her another cook to take that load off. Plus she'd no longer feel obligated to give him extra care. Then surely she'd get more rest and the fatigue showing on her face would subside.

He would miss their conversations in bed before they slept, when they discussed the events of the day or how he was progressing with his sons, though. He'd grown used to being bone tired, staring up at the ceiling while they talked, never risking a glance at her sweet face.

So far, no one was the wiser that they were not married for real. Even Colt seemed to accept that Cord had changed his mind about the whole marriage-in-name-only deal.

Cord entered the empty kitchen, drawing in the wonderful scent of beef stew warming on the stove. Becca had mastered quite a few meals now. This one was by far his favorite.

How better to show her off than to have Stanley Phillips and his wife—the town's biggest gossip—over for dinner? That Stan wanted to talk to business—tidying up the last of Clara's contract, surely—was simply a way to kill two birds.

Becca's footsteps descended the stairs. Cord strode through the kitchen to the banister and looked up. There she was, stunning in her black slacks and a snow-colored sweater. Clearly, she thought this a special occasion. That glorious hair was pulled away from her face with a clip to each side.The rest bounced at her back but for the few errant locks always there kissing her neck. His wife.

If only...

She floated down the last couple of steps, and with her bright smile in place, came straight to him. Under different circumstances, he'd have pulled her into his embrace and kissed her soundly. As it was, he arched his eyebrows, then with a smile said, "You clean up real good, Mrs. Cooper."

"Why, thank you." She followed his lead and took the same trip down to his boots, up his new jeans, then onto the crisp white shirt she'd ironed for him. He'd rolled up the sleeves, and right now her gaze was stuck on his forearms, one then the other. Then her perusal drifted to the open V at his neck and stopped there. He felt his pulse pound and hoped she wouldn't see the flicker of it in his neck. At last, her eyes reached his own. "So do you, Mr. Cooper," she said in a breathy whisper.

Their gazes locked and hung there. He wrestled down his desire to kiss her with an iron will.

The knock on the door behind him broke the spell. He was surprised and delighted Becca remained by his side. Of course, she did. Becca always did the right thing.

Thoughts of Rebecca had secured a pleasant look on his face when he opened the door...and nearly dropped his teeth. Instead of Stanley and his wife, Clara Mayfield stood front and center on the porch. She gave him a broad smile, though the rest of her face looked drawn and gray.

Cord grimaced and locked his teeth, ready to shut the door in her face. Before he could do that, out stepped a brow-beaten Stanley Phillips from behind her. Cord's only other option? Invite Stan in and send Clara packing. But it was stormy out, and only one car was in the drive.

Cord didn't say a word, just stepped out of the way and gestured for them to enter.

Rebecca was more gracious, as usual. "Please come in. Supper will be ready soon."

He watched her. She actually had a smile on her face. Ah, a chance to show Clara her culinary skill maybe? Well, he couldn't fault her that.

"May I take your coats and hats?" she said.

Clara glared at Rebecca. Becca smiled back, giving herself the upper hand. _Good for you_ , he wanted to tell her. Becca reached out to help Clara out of her coat, but not before the widow glanced down at Becca's left hand with its shiny gold ring, and sneered.

Now Cord wanted to keep Becca more than ever. If for no other reason than to thwart the smug look on the widow's face when she eventually learned of their annulment. But who was he kidding? That was the least of the reasons. There were already reasons stacked upon reasons.

Once their coats were hung, Rebecca gestured toward the dining room table. "Have a seat. I'll just go check on supper. Honey," she said, looking at Cord, making his heart thump from the endearment. "Would you mind pouring the wine? I'll be right back."

His mouth twitched at her subterfuge. "You got it, Duchess."

"Duchess? Like, old dowager?" the widow said, speaking for the first time.

Cord had never thought of it sounding like that, and now he felt ridiculous. What must Becca think of the nickname? He thought of how he'd first used it to insult her. Now it encapsulated everything he adored about Rebecca Harper—Rebecca _Cooper_.

The reminder made him grace the widow with a brief smile of pity.

Hearing the commotion beyond the swinging door, he knew Becca was taking care of his sons at the kitchen table. He'd asked them to eat quietly and sleep with the cowhands tonight, so he and Becca could have a private evening with their guests. 'Guests' implied an invitation. What would Trevor do if he knew it was the widow one wall away?

Cord's mouth twitched, thinking he might just want to find out. He grasped the bottle of opened wine from the perfectly set table—another show of hospitality from Becca—and poured a bit in Clara's glass, then Stanley's.

"Well, how are you, my man? How's married life?" Stan said.

The widow scowled. Cord beamed. "Wonderful. Couldn't have asked for a better wife." He looked at Clara and grinned.

"Good, good," Stan said, appearing more uncomfortable by the minute.

Becca came through the kitchen door with a big pot in hand. Cord bounded over to help her. "Sweeting, you should have hollered at me," he said, placing the heavy pot on the pad near his place at the table.

"Sweeting?" the widow said. "How many nicknames does one woman need?" She glanced at Stan. "Isn't that silly, Stanley?"

He nodded timidly, looking flustered. If Stan looked this uncomfortable, what did Clara have planned for this evening? Cord tried to get a read on her, but right now, it was anybody's guess.

After Becca came back with corn bread, honey butter, and a fruit salad, she sat in her place and looked to Cord. "Okay, Honey. You can serve the stew."

Cord gave her a lopsided smile and filled each bowl with an exaggerated appreciation for the aroma.

Supper was pleasant enough. The mundane conversation with Stan swung from the weather to ranching to Cord's sons. More than once, Stan raved over Becca's food. Becca smiled graciously each time, but Cord wanted to strut like a peacock. He was proud of her, and she deserved every accolade she received.

The widow said not a word. She scooted the stew around as if it were a mud pie, rarely taking a bite. He didn't care. He and Stan indulged in seconds, mopping up every drop of stew with the last of their cornbread crumbs.

After he took his last bite, Becca bussed the dishes to the kitchen. When the widow didn't offer to lift a finger, Cord frowned at her. He opened his mouth to excuse himself to go help, but Stan cleared his throat before Cord could get a word out.

"Well, I guess we should take care of business. I...h-have something to discuss with you."

"Why don't we wait for Becca," Cord said as a statement, not a question.

"She doesn't need to be here. You can answer his questions just fine," Clara spouted.

Cord wiped his mouth with his napkin, then threw it down harder than he'd planned. He glowered at the widow, wondering how he could have ever been intimate with such a monster. "What questions?"

"Uh..."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Stanley, I'll ask him then." She shifted in her chair so she could face him straight on. "We need to know if you've consummated your marriage."

Cord nearly swallowed his tongue. "How is that any of your business?" he demanded. He scraped his chair back, ready to kick them out of his house when Stan stopped him.

"Hold on there, Cord," Stan said, looking apologetic. He turned toward Clara. "Let me handle this." Stan usually treated Clara with kid gloves, but that terse statement had put the woman in her place.

Stan stared Clara down for a few silent seconds, then turned back to Cord. "What she means is, there has been talk that your marriage to Rebecca is a sham. If that's the case, the contract has been violated."

"Violated? As in, I could go to jail, violated?" If only his transactions with the three ranchers were complete, he would tell Stanley Phillips and Clara Mayfield to take their contract and—yeah, well, he couldn't yet. Not only that, he had no intention of tipping them off until he walked through the door of the attorney's office with money in hand.

"I'm afraid so," Stan continued, clearly uncomfortable delivering the news. "As well as lose a good portion of your ranch and the cattle and yearlings you procured from Cla—"

"Okay. I get it." Cord felt sweat trickle down his spine, in spite of the icy rain outside. He scanned the table for something to correct. But there was nothing to dish up, pour, or neaten. Blast! How was he supposed to answer this question?

"Not to worry," came Becca's voice. "Of course, the marriage has been consummated."

Cord swung around to see Becca standing in the doorway, cool as a cucumber with a pie in her hands. His eyes stayed glued on her as she strolled toward him, set the pie in the place where the pot of stew had been and shifted to stand behind him. Her touch to his shoulders was a salve to his panicked soul. How he got himself into such messes astounded him. But here she was, all grace and confidence, ready to bail him out yet again.

"Pfft! We'll need proof, of course," Clara stated matter-of-factly.

Becca's hands squeezed against him.

Cord stiffened. "What do you mean, proof?"

"Clara!" Stanley said. Turning back, he looked at Rebecca before his apologetic eyes landed on Cord. "I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, but Clara here is demanding proof, and it's her right to do so, the way the contract is written. That is unless you have the money to pay her in full?" He looked at Cord hopefully.

Cord shook his head, feeling dismal.

"For the record, I apologize for my part in this. I had no idea she'd go to such lengths."

Clara scowled deeply. "You're going to regret that statement, Stanley Phillips!"

He twisted in his chair to face her head on. "I don't care anymore, Clara. You and I are finished. You've gone too far. Unless I can talk you out of this."

"No. You can't."

Cord reached up and took hold of one of Rebecca's hands on his shoulder. "What do you hope to gain from all of this, Clara?"

She stood and jabbed a finger into Cord's chest. "You already know what I had coming to me, Cord Cooper." Her glare lifted to Rebecca.

Cord had a bad feeling about this. "Clara..." he warned. She'd better not...

"Your husband here had no qualms about pleasuring me in my bed, so yes, I expected him to legitimize our relationship."

Cord felt the flush of shame fill his face.

Becca pulled her hand out of his, then dropped both to her sides. He cocked his head back. "Becca." But she'd already circled around for the kitchen.

Cord leaped to his feet, grabbed the finger Clara had at his chest and pressed upward. She screeched in pain. He hadn't hurt her. It was typical for her to act a part. He was sick of her, of Stanley, of the whole damned situation.

"Out! Get out of my house. Both of you!" He prodded Clara toward the door. Stanley meekly followed.

"You'll regret this, Cord. You'll see," she hollered as her feet tried to keep up with his long strides. "If you don't have proof in Stanley's office by Monday morning, you're through!"

Cord grabbed her coat off the hook and the floppy hat she'd worn, pushed them into her arms, and shoved her out his door. She stood under the porch eave to put her coat on in a huff.

Stan took his own coat and hat from Cord.

"How am I supposed to give you proof, other than my wife giving you her testimony?"

The older man looked downright green. He gulped. "A doctor. Rebecca will have to get proof from a doctor. After some research, we presume Rebecca was unsullied before you married her. It will be a simple task for a doctor to determine."

The blood rushed into Cord's face so fast, he didn't hear the next words Stan said. He grabbed Stanley by the lapels of the coat he'd just donned and yanked him up to his toes. "You expect me to put my wife through that? I won't do it!"

Stanley's face looked like a ripe tomato about to burst. Cord eased up a bit.

"I'm so sorry, Cord. This should never have happened," he sputtered. Cord released him. His boot heels dropped back to the floor with a _thunk_. "I'll never work with Clara again, but for now, I have to follow through. You have five days to get it done. Please do it, Cord. I don't want to be a part of ruining you."

Cord couldn't speak, the fury was so great. He pointed to the door, shoved Stan outside, and slammed the door.

Becca was instantly in front of him. Her hand rose to his cheek. "It'll be okay, Cord. The dishes can wait. Let's go to bed."

Cord narrowed his eyes, searching hers for answers. Why was she so calm?

He was so stunned by the whole debacle that when she took his hand and tugged, he followed right along like a calf to the slaughter. While his legs took the stairs behind her, one step at a time, his mind raced through how to get his hands on signed documents and funds from the three ranchers before Becca's five days were up.

They were on the landing now, heading toward their bedroom. He was sure the two Wyoming ranchers were ready, but what of the one in South Dakota? It wasn't far. He could send one of his sons. In fact, they could split up. He and Bronc and Brand could go in different directions to deliver the first load of cattle in order to collect paperwork and money drafts. They each had an experienced friend to take along to help. Yes, that could work. They could each leave tomorrow after a telephone call to confirm.

Becca shut the door behind them, leaving him standing in the middle of the bedroom while she opened her dresser drawer, pulled out a bit of something white, then drifted off to the bathroom. Cord, in a daze, pulled off his jeans and shirt, then sat on the top cover of the bed. He pulled the extra blanket over him. Their routine had become so familiar, he didn't give thought to it as he continued his plans in his head.

The bathroom door opened. He glanced up, getting ready to enjoy his nightly glimpse of Becca in her flannel nightgown. He could never see much, but he loved seeing her beautiful hair brushed and flowing around her. It was all he had. The rest was in his dreams.

She came through the door as usual—

No! Not as usual. He bolted upright, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. The lacy white nightie she wore offered up the most stunning show. The light in the bathroom shone right through it, giving him an enticing view of her every curve before she clicked the switch off.

He came off the bed, his own body reacting in every way possible. What a time to not have exhausted himself with ranch work. "Becca. You can't come to bed like that. The nightgown. It's so—Have mercy!"

"It's okay, Cord."

There were those words again. No. Not okay. He knew her intention. To consummate this marriage, and he couldn't let her. There would be no going back from that. "Becca, you know how I feel about this."

His hurtful words reflected in those glorious eyes, but she plowed ahead anyway. "You have no choice."

"I have a plan. I'll take care of it. The twins and I will be gone for a few days."

She stepped closer. He backed up until his heel collided with the nightstand. Hearing the lamp teeter behind him, he twisted around to right it. When he turned back, she was less than a foot away. If he took a deep breath, their bodies would touch.

"It's time, Cord." She touched his bare chest with her palm, and he nearly lost his resolve. It would be so easy and so pleasurable to take her in his arms right now and do what he'd been craving for weeks. But no, she was nearly free of this marriage. They could still go back to the way things were. She'd remain pure and unshackled from him to one day find...

He couldn't finish the thought.

But this wasn't about him. It was about her.

He grasped her hand, hoping she hadn't noticed how his body was responding. "No, Becca. I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight so I won't disturb you in the morning when I leave. I'll get this straightened out. Go to bed."

She pinched her lips together, and her eyes glittered with tears. If he stayed a moment longer, he'd never leave.

He skirted around her to the closet and drew out his suitcase. Without looking at her, he filled it with clothes for a few days, grabbed his jeans from the chair, and headed for the bedroom door. He turned the knob and let himself out of the room.

Stepping back in for a brief second, he said, "It'll be over soon, Duchess. Soon."

# Chapter 31

Rebecca watched as Cord left through the door and clicked it behind him—so softly she barely heard it. But, as if that soft click sprang open the door to where her great love for him lived, instead of deep-rooted love, cold despair rushed out.

She thought she'd sink and die.

Then came the tears. So many tears.

She lay on top of the bed in her dainty nightie, and would have frozen in the cold night but for the racking sobs. She imagined how it would feel to be comforted by her dad at this moment. But she'd chosen not to tell her family. Not knowing if Cord would keep her had been hard enough to bear, but if she'd told her family about the marriage, and then had to tell them he rejected her? Well,...she was glad she'd opted for silence. Except now she was all alone in this great chasm of grief.

Her marriage was dead. Expired before it ever had a chance to breathe in.

Her body quivered and shook with sorrow until sometime before dawn when she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Brightness lit the world beyond her eyelids. She blinked a few times before her eyes opened, but only slightly. They hurt. She reached up and felt them. Swollen. No wonder she couldn't open them all the way. Just the thought of her painful night brought moisture to eyes that couldn't possibly form tears again. Cord was leaving to escape her.

It took that final blow for her to finally realize Cord didn't want her.

How would she survive the coming days? The answer was obvious. She couldn't. She would figure out how to fool the doctor, for Cord's sake, then she would leave Cooper Bar-6 Ranch, and never return. Her heart would remain in Wyoming, but living a spinster's life back on Harper Ranch West was her fate. She'd endure it. People lived with less.

She dressed stiffly and made her way downstairs. She'd intended to turn toward the kitchen. Instead, she found herself staring at the imprint of Cord's body on the couch. The blanket and pillow he'd used were neatly folded and placed at one end. Feeling more tears form, she blinked them back. She had to get out of this house.

Colt was checking Ranger's hoof when Rebecca came through the barn door and up to the stall. He glanced at her, looked back down, then whipped his head back up. "What in the—" He cursed.

She'd forgotten how awful she must look, from the red-rimmed, swollen eyes to the ratty hair thrown up into a tangled ponytail. "I know I look bad."

Colt placed the hoof on the ground and straightened. "Yes, bad. What's going on, Muffin?" He opened the latch and came out of the stall, closing it behind him.

"It's...it's nothing."

With great concern in his eyes, Colt stepped toward her and tried to take her in his arms. She backed away.

"Okay, now I know something's off. Rebecca Cooper not accepting a hug?"

Her breath hitched at her new name. She shook her head, reached over the stall boards to rub the white snip on Ranger's muzzle. The velvety nose eased her sadness a bit.

"Come on, Rebecca. You can tell me. I know it has to do with Dad. May as well get it off your chest."

"I—oh my gosh, I don't think I can say it anyway. I just came out here to see you, be near the horses. I'll be fine." Her voice broke. She heard it, knew Colt had too.

Colt ignored her protests and gathered her into his arms, rocked her back and forth. Tears threatened again, but she swallowed them. She had a job to do, and maybe Colt would have a solution. She looked up into his concerned face. "Can we sit?"

He led her to two overturned buckets. He sat on one, gestured to the other. Once she sat, he readjusted his hat and asked, "What'd he do this time?"

She sniffed. "He—oh, Colt. It's not his fault. Really. Your dad. He tries so hard to do the right thing, and I'm just now learning that. He gets himself into messes, tries to maneuver his way out only to fall into another problem, not of his doing. He disappoints his sons, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. None of you have bothered to look close enough to see his decent heart, and how much he loves each one of you."

Colt just sat there, staring at her.

Frowning, she thought back over what she'd said that had put him in such a state. Before she could open her mouth to ask what was wrong, Colt tilted his head and grinned.

She jumped off her bucket. "What?" she said, at once embarrassed by how much he could see.

He shook his head, trying to put an end to his amusement. He was left with a crooked grin that could melt an ice mass, let alone a lady's heart.

"That was quite a speech. Kinda agree with you. He needs you, don't ya think?"

"That's just it, Colt," she said as she sat back on her bucket. "He needs...that is...I have to...um. Shoot!"

"What is it? Spit it out, girl!"

She took a huge breath, glanced around to make sure the barn was clear of people, then pushed the words out before she lost her nerve. "I need to prove I'm a married woman in the Biblical sense."

The shock and confusion on Colt's face would have been comical if she were in the mood for humor. Which she wasn't.

He scrambled to his feet. "You— _what?_ " The bucket crashed behind him and rolled into a post with a _clang_. "Never mind. Listen. I gotta go. Have an appointment in town." His eyes landed everywhere but on her face as he backed up, grabbed the jacket he'd haphazardly thrown across a hay bale, and thrust one arm in it.

Rebecca marched over to him and planted her hands on her hips. "Coward!"

He tried to ward her away with upraised arms, half of his jacket dragging on the barn floor. "This is not a subject I'm willing to talk about with you!"

Her hands dropped off her hips and she plopped down on the bucket with a sigh. "I don't know what to do, Colt. I need your advice."

"Oh no, you don't. Why do you need to prove that anyway?" Then he rolled his eyes like he'd said more than he wanted. "Forget I asked that."

"No. You asked. Please, Colt. Sit down. Hear me out."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. "I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably. But there's no one else I can go to. My sisters aren't available."

"So, I'm your substitute sister now?" She wanted to laugh at how his voice squeaked.

"No. You're my stepson, actually." She couldn't help her smile, but it instantly fell off when she remembered her mission.

"Crap!" He twisted round and kicked the bucket out of his way. It clanked loudly, making the horses jump and scuttle around their stalls. "This is getting weirder by the second."

"Colt. Please. Just sit down. I'll tell you everything and then you can see if you have any ideas. Please."

He groaned so loud, Trapper snorted and tossed his head. But he turned the bucket over and sat, coat still dangling. "If I have to listen, you have to start from the beginning."

Rebecca delved in and ended with the zinger Clara had laid on them.

His discomfort seemed to shift to anger as she talked. When she finished, he shook his head. "I still can't believe Dad signed that dang thing. At the very least he should fight it now."

"Colt, your dad is not going to take money away from the ranch to fight his battles. That would mean money out of his son's pockets, and I can tell you for sure, he will never take another thing from his sons. He already believes he's let you guys down enough. He'd rather live a nightmare with a wife he hates rather than that."

Colt blew out a breath of anguish, rubbed a hand down his face, and held it over his mouth for a few moments. "Ah, Dad." He dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head.

Rebecca gave him time to assimilate the information.

When he looked back up, he said, "And now he's married to you but has to prove you've consummated your marriage. Did I get that straight?"

"Yes."

"That vicious broad! Dad should have never gotten involved with that conniving witch."

Rebecca was surprised Colt saw her that way. She agreed with him, of course. "He did it for the money. For the ranch. You know that."

By the look on his face, he did know that. He stood, began to pace up and back. Dust from the dirt floor poofed up with each step.

Rebecca let him pace, hoping his brain could find a solution where hers could not.

After a good five minutes, he stopped, retrieved his bucket and sat before her. "Go see Doc Carlson. He can give you the proof you need. A simple exam."

She bit her bottom lip. Hadn't he figured it out?

"Are you afraid? You can do it, Rebecca. I've seen you go through worse."

She shook her head. "No. It's not that. It's that..."

Colt stiffened, squeezed his knees with rigid fingers. "Are you saying he won't find the proof?"

Her misery was too painful to breathe around. "Your dad refuses to... He says he wants to set me free when he sells the yearlings. Wants me not _ruined_ so I can find someone else." A dry sob burst out with that last word. "Someone, not him. He says...he thinks he's too old for me." Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't divulge his real reason.

"Ah, Rebecca." Colt reached over, patted her knee.

"He's not...who he thinks he is, Colt. He's so much better. And I'm in love with him. Can't he see that? Without him I..."

Colt grasped one of her hands with both of his and held it.

Rebecca looked at Colt through a haze of tears. "Do you know how I can fool the doctor?"

Colt seemed to think on that one. He rubbed a hand back and forth across his neck, his gaze looking off at nothing in particular. Finally coming to some sort of conclusion, he shook his head. "Not that didn't involve—No. There's nothing."

She jumped up, let out a string of profanity.

"Rebecca!"

"Oh, stop it. I'm a grown woman."

"One who doesn't need to start talking like a sailor...or a rancher."

"Now what do I do?"

"Sit down, Muffin. I have something to tell you."

Well, that's just perfect. More bad news. Her legs nearly gave out as she bent them to sit on her bucket. He pulled his bucket closer to her and grasped her hands in his.

The blood drained from her skull in anticipation.

"Dad has sold Clara's cattle and yearlings. Bronc, Brand, and Dad all went in different directions today, to deliver and collect the money."

"But we don't have that many trailers. And why is he doing that this early? He won't get the price. What's going on, Colt?" Her voice had grown softer and softer as she spoke, fear of what Cord had done causing her to lose the energy to speak.

Pressing his lips together, Colt studied her for a moment. Trying to decide if she could take the news? "He borrowed two trailers from neighbors. He'll be back in a day or two, with the money to pay off the stock. He got a great price by splitting them up between three ranchers—all in desperate need to increase their herds. He also had to sell one of our bulls to one of them. But it's all right. We have a couple more."

"He's going to come back and annul our marriage." She bore her eyes into Colts. "Isn't he?"

"In light of what you've told me?" He nodded slowly. "Likely. I'm sorry, Muffin."

"Oh, Colt..." Grief hit her so hard, her head spun. She crumpled over, wrapped her arms around her knees.

Colt patted her back, then rubbed up and down. "Hard to believe now, but everything will be all right."

She shook her head, drawing in slow drafts of air in order to speak. "I thought I'd have a year to make him love me. I can't stay. I have to leave. I have to go." She brought her gaze to his then, his face blurry through her watery eyes. "Oh, Colt, how can I go?"

"Let me have a go at him first."

She fluttered a watery blink. "What can you say that would change his mind? If he doesn't love me, he doesn't love me. There's nothing you can do about that."

Colt shook his head in exasperation. "We'll see. Promise me you won't go anywhere until I talk to him."

She stared at the thermal underwear peeking out at Colt's neck, feeling trance-like.

"Rebecca?" Colt patted her arm.

Too weak to even lift her head, she brought her eyes up.

"Promise me."

Immobilized from heartache, Rebecca tried to move her mouth, but there were no words.

# Chapter 32

Cord drove straight toward the barn, anxious to give Trevor and Colt the good news. Besides that, he had to prepare for Becca. To break the news of their annulment without crushing her further. He'd thought to work on that speech on his trip back home from Rapid City, South Dakota, but the weather had been so bad, he hadn't wanted to distract himself with something this crucial.

The whole ride to transport the stock had been grueling. How had Bronc and Brand fared? He tried not to worry. They'd been ranching with him since they were tykes. At least both of them headed south. Still...

For a two-hour trip one way, it had taken Cord three days to get the job done, what with the weather, the animals, the paperwork, and payment. But it was done. He nearly whooped in the truck on the way home, thinking about how this particular rancher was content to wait until spring to collect his bull.

He pulled to a stop in front of the barn, a dusting of snow falling once again, covering the red of his truck. For the last few days, it had snowed, melted, snowed, melted as Wyoming was prone to do this time of year. He was happy a blizzard hadn't come upon him, yet it had been snowing steadily for hours now.

Taking his tired, stiff body out of his truck, he lumbered into the barn through the side door. At least the boys had the large double doors closed to the elements today. He'd have to commend them on that.

Once he was through the door, he heard someone murmuring in the far right stall. He couldn't see who yet since his eyes needed to adjust, but it was likely Colt with one of the horses.

"Hey there, Dad. Glad, you're back safe." Yep, Colt's voice.

"Glad to _be_ back. Have you heard from your little brothers?"

"Yeah. They beat you back. It went well."

"Thank, God!" And he meant it. His prayers had been answered with a resounding 'yes'.

"Where are they?"

"In back, with the boys."

Cord nodded and started for the door at the back.

"Hold up a minute."

Cord strode up to the stall just as Colt lowered Ranger's hoof and rose to shake his hand in greeting. Colt looked troubled.

"The hoof worse?" Cord nodded toward Ranger's leg.

"No. All healed up. I was just checking it."

"What then?"

"Not what. Who. Rebecca."

Cord's gut knotted. "What's wrong with Becca?" Panic slid in. If anything had happened to her, he'd never forgive himself for having left her behind the last three days.

"Nothing's—" Colt let himself out of the stall, clicking the gate shut behind him. "Let's sit down. We need to talk."

Cord shook his head. "No. I'll stand. Tell me."

Colt adjusted his hat, pulling it lower to his brows. "Tell me, Dad. What do you plan to do with Rebecca now that you've sold Clara's livestock?"

Cord fidgeted. Readjusted his own hat, re-tucked his shirt, scratched at the three-day growth on his face. "What're you talking about?"

"She told me. About the widow's demands."

"Why would she...?" Cord snatched his hat off and smacked it against his thigh, jaw tight. He'd thought about his last night with Becca a thousand times on his trip. How he'd wanted to...

His refusal hurt her. He knew it. He'd seen it in her eyes.

Colt tossed his hoof pick into the grooming box across the aisle. It landed with a clank. "When was the last time you thought of yourself?"

Cord turned, gave Colt a disgusted look. "We weren't talking about me. This is about Becca."

Colt walked a few steps closer to Cord. "It's time, Dad. It's time you think about you."

Cord stared down Colt. But his son's sapphire eyes, so much like his own, returned the fire, held his own. Cord huffed a breath. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"I've noticed. You worry about everyone else but yourself. It's time that stopped."

Cord turned away to stare at the bridles hanging from one wall. He couldn't let Colt delve into his eyes and read his thoughts.

Colt came around to face him again. "It's time for your happiness. You've kept yourself from it for years, probably decades."

He scoffed. "Not so."

Colt scoffed right back. "Right. That's why you married mom when she got pregnant."

Cord clenched his jaw. "Let's get something straight here. _We_ got pregnant. I was there the same time she was."

"Fine. But you did the right thing and married her. Don't tell me you wanted to, Dad. I know better."

"Don't cross that line, son."

Colt ignored his warning. "I know because I would have done the same thing, whether I wanted to or not. I'm cut out of the same cloth as you. I know because..." Colt rubbed the back of his neck, looking mighty uncomfortable. Finally, he said, "Because I had a close call myself."

"You?" That got Cord's attention like nothing else could. He'd suspect Brand or Bronc, even the two sons who were away—heck, even Trevor—before he'd ever think Colt capable of such a thing.

Colt removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and resettled it. "Yeah, I won't tell you who. But it happened."

Cord was too stunned to comment. Knew Colt would say more, though, if he kept quiet. Maybe even tell him who it was.

"I would have married her, Dad. And it would have been a huge mistake. Yet, I would have lived with it. That's what you did, isn't it?"

Cord felt every bit of blood leave his face. This son of his had a Gift of Discernment. He didn't know much about The Almighty, but Millie had once told him about the Gifts of the Spirit.

He couldn't talk past the lump that had lodged in his throat. A lump made up of years of regret. Regret for ruining sweet Millie's life, and then for killing her. And then the relief...?

"It's why you won't stay married to Rebecca." Colt stopped talking, waiting for Cord to answer his implied question.

He didn't.

"You blame it on age. That's bull and you know it."

"Colt, this is not your—"

"It is!" He shouted. "It is my fight or whatever else you were going to say. It is because you've been slipping away for years now! Before Rebecca came into your life, I feared we'd lose you to sheer loneliness." He paced up to Cord and stopped short, dust billowing between them. "Will you let yourself feel? Let yourself love? Since it's staring you right in the face."

Cord blinked, then blinked again.

"For crying out loud, Dad. Let your heart beat again!"

Cord stood fixed to the dirt floor, his legs stiff against the hard pack, his arms hanging at his sides, his heart pounding with hope, his mind registering how proud he was of his son at this moment.

But was what he was saying true? Did he want out of this marriage because he was just plain scared? Scared to fail Becca? Scared to get her with child only to have her die in childbirth? Scared to let himself love?

Colt watched him with those penetrating eyes of his. Cord was sure every emotion roiling through him was flashing across his face, one after another.

"Dad."

Cord focused on Colt. Nodded.

"Rebecca came to me and asked me if I knew a way to...to fool the doctor about her virginity."

It took a few seconds for that to sink in. Then he pulled his hands into fists. "Tell me what you mean by that, and do it fast!"

Colt didn't budge. "Yep. She wants to help you. She's trying to think up ways to get past the widow's sick demands."

Cord's eyes felt like they would bug out of his face. His nostrils flared with fury and grief. "What did you suggest?"

Colt seemed content to let Cord's fury magnify.

What was he waiting for? For Cord to get the gravity of the situation? Well, he was beyond that. "What. Did. You. Do?"

His son's lips remained a thin line on his face.

Cord waited while stewing in his angst, wanting to wring the kid's neck.

"I told her to go to Doc Carlson. A simple exam. What she told me made me furious. You have this beautiful wife who wants you—in all ways—and you reject her? Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind?"

Yeah, Cord was pretty sure he'd lost more than his mind.

"She's alone. She's in love, and the man who should be loving her back, making her a woman and putting an end to the widow's double-cross, wants to annul their marriage!"

Colt stared him down.

The scrutiny was too much. Cord twisted and stepped away. "I can't do it, Colt. I can't make her live with a person who will die decades before her. What kind of life would that be?"

Colt didn't know the half of it. The worst half.

Colt was right about one thing, though. If he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have married Millie. He hadn't loved her like that.

"You're doing it again. Blaming your age. Who gives a hoot?"

True. Age didn't matter. He'd finally come to that realization, at least. He wanted to stay married, but... "I'm torn."

"Dad..."

Cord sucked in a deep breath and faced Colt.

"Tell me. Do you love her?"

"I...that's none of your business," he finally said.

"Well, maybe it's not. But it sure as heck is yours! Do something about it. Rebecca is getting ready to leave."

Cord grabbed Colt's forearm. "Wait. _Why?_ How do you know?"

When Colt didn't throw off his hand, he dug his fingers in deeper.

"Just a guess."

Cord charged out the barn's side door. If Colt was right, he had to stop her. What could he offer that would keep Becca from going, other than the marriage she thought she wanted? She needed to be reasonable about that.

Snow was falling harder now, disorienting him. He plowed forward through it, knowing the road well enough to map a straight line to the house. He turned the knob to the mudroom and stepped into warmth.

Silence met him. He used the boot tree then strode into the kitchen. No good sounds. No good aromas. Not even a hint of the scent of Becca he could always discern amidst the ranch house smells. Nothing.

"Becca?" he called.

Still nothing.

Her Rambler was parked at the side of the house, so he knew she was here. Colt had told her where he'd gone and why. She knew what was next. Was she avoiding it? Avoiding him?

"Becca!" he hollered, loud enough for the neighbor a mile away to hear.

As he was about to stomp up the stairs, he heard the bedroom door open. He waited until Becca appeared on the landing.

The breath he took stuttered in his throat. This didn't look like his Rebecca. Her hair was down and tangled, stringy pieces stuck to her face, her eyes puffy. Had she cried the whole time he'd been gone?

She stared down at him but didn't say a word, just turned toward the stairs and descended. That's when he noticed the two suitcases in her hands.

"I'm glad you're back safely," she said in a monotone.

"Becca." He glanced down at her bags. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you have some paperwork for me to sign?"

He did, actually. So, she was ready to dissolve the marriage.

And then leave him forever.

She walked by him with just a glance, long enough for him to see her bloodshot eyes. Ditching her suitcases at the door, she plodded to the dining table. Without a word, she held out her hand.

"Hold on. What's this all about, Rebecca?" Panic churned his gut.

"Annulment papers, please." The sadness in her voice broke his heart. Where would she go? He'd thought she'd stay here, resume her post.

"No. We're not doing it this way." He yanked off his hat and threw it on the table for emphasis.

"Cord...have mercy," she said, throwing his words back at him. "Give me the papers. Otherwise, you can mail them to me."

Mail them? Where?

Her eyes met his, and he was sure he'd never seen anything so wretched in all his life. Grief, anguish, pain—it was all there, dimming dull eyes that once sparkled. For him.

What kind of beast was he?

_At least give her this, you selfish_ _good-for-nothing_. "They're in the..." His voice gave out. He choked, then cleared his throat. He stepped toward her. "Becca—"

"No!" she snapped and stepped back, her jaw clenched.

"Becca, sit down. Think this through. You can't go. Not like this." He paused, rolled his lips in, and bit down. "We can go back to how it was...it'll be fine."

If it was possible for a person to look more crushed, she did. Tears flooded her eyes and slid silently down her cheeks.

"Okay, okay. The papers are in the truck. I'll get them. Don't cry. Just...don't cry. I'll be right back."

Cord raced to the mudroom and stuffed his feet back into his boots. He didn't give a thought to a coat as he flew out the back door and ran through the white-out to his truck, still parked in front of the barn. Throwing the passenger door open, Cord yanked open the glove compartment and retrieved the annulment papers, cramming them in his shirt.

Just as he neared the house, he heard the sound of the Rambler's engine and saw the red glow of taillights within the white swirls of drifting snow.

"No. Rebecca! Come back." He ran after her. "You can't go out in this." Knowing his chase was futile, he halted, watching the taillights dim and then disappear into the frozen distance. His own hope flickered and died along with them.

Snow drifted down and stuck to his cheeks and eyelashes. "How am I supposed to breathe without you?" he murmured on a scavenged breath.

Those words finished him. They were as true as his own heartbeat. He couldn't let Rebecca go. Not now, not ever.

In a whirlwind of renewed determination, he tore back to the barn. Throwing open the barn door, not giving a thought to whether he froze out the animals or the cowboys, he hollered from the threshold.

Colt came running.

"Rebecca just took off in her Rambler. In this soup! I'm going after her." Cord glanced up and behind him. Snowflakes swam around him, building drifts along the edges of the barn and against his truck's tires. "If I'm not back in a couple hours, come looking. With the come-a-long."

"You got it. And Dad?"

Cord swung back, furious Colt had detained him.

"I won't ask to come with you. I know you need to do this alone. But when you find her, do the right thing."

Cord didn't have to be told. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Becca. Wanted to stay married to her. And most of all wanted her safe in his arms. Right now.

He vaulted into the truck and gunned it into the blinding snow.

Cord found himself thinking back to the day he'd met Rebecca. The day a storm had brought them together.

If he lost her...

Concentrate. Where will we be if I end up stuck in a snowdrift myself?

But it wasn't enough to focus. He needed more.

Gripping the wheel so tight he thought he might break it in two, he strained his eyes for the red glow of her taillights. All he wanted right now was to hold the chestnut-haired angel who'd turned his world upside down. At the end of the Bar-6 drive, Cord looked right, then left, all sign of tire tracks covered by white powder.

Where would she head in this weather?

Could it be she'd start out for Harper Ranch, go all the way to Montana? No. She was way smarter than that. Where then? Suzannah and Jake's! Even if they weren't there, she had a key. They hadn't quite gotten all their stuff moved to the new house yet, but they'd been staying there off and on. The place was up and running. It would be a good place to hide out, and that's what Rebecca wanted right now. She hadn't looked in good enough shape to drive anywhere long distance.

Suzannah and Jake's it was, then.

Turning right, Cord stepped on the gas only to fishtail and nearly lose control already. "Slow it down," he scolded himself.

Under control now, he took his time, using his experience on this particular road, his skill driving in heavy snow, and sheer instinct. But the same dread came over him. He needed more to negotiate this road and find Becca. Minutes strummed by with his mind blank. Worry had made him numb.

The steady slap of the windshield wipers against the driving snow hypnotized him until his eyes blurred with moisture, impairing his vision. _Becca._ The reason he woke up every morning. The wide smile that lit him up, deep inside. The tinkling laugh that stirred his heart and awakened his soul. The one woman whose compassion was so great, it surely came from God Himself.

And oh what a heart. How he loved it.

How he loved her.

" _Lord_ ," the word rolled off his tongue with such ease. " _I need you_." This was the _more_ he'd been missing. " _Please keep Becca safe. Please help me find her_."

A tight corner he hadn't remembered came upon him. Applying his brakes as slowly as possible, his tires skidded and bumped off the steep shoulder of the road. He held the steering wheel with all his strength, let off the gas, and coasted for a bit before he carefully turned the wheel ever so slightly to the left, bouncing the truck back onto the road. Within a couple seconds, all was back to normal. The maneuver was routine enough for him, but what about for Becca...?

The thought knifed his gut. Frantically, he scanned the frozen landscape.

Was that a red glow?

Sure enough. He slowed, then braked gently. The red lights looked off to him. Then he realized why. They were stacked on top of each other, not side by side.

Terror arrested his breath. He stared, then prayed. " _Lord, please, let her be all right."_

He inched the truck closer, then saw the green paint of the Rambler itself in the ditch on its right side. After parking as close to the edge as he dared without tipping his own vehicle, he hopped out of the truck. Without a jacket, the icy snow melted as it hit his body, soaking his shirt and pants immediately. His hat protected his face some, so at least he could see enough to slog his way to Becca's car.

The snow was deep in the ditch. Thank goodness the car was small. He climbed on top and scooted on hands and knees to the driver's window. "Becca," he yelled, swiping snow off the window with an open hand. He remembered another time when his hat bill had tapped against this same window. If only he could rewind time back to that day, he would do it all so differently. "Becca!"

When the window was cleared of most of the snow, he leaned down and cupped his hands against the glass to see in. She was there but slumped to the side, her head against the passenger door. He didn't see blood, but couldn't tell if she was breathing either. _Please be alive._

Taking a chance, he pressed the door handle button. It popped open. " _Thank you, Lord_ ," came out as naturally as could be. It felt good, too, leaning on a Mighty God who was so much more powerful than his own insignificant, helpless self. He scrambled down into the opening, more agile than he remembered ever being, careful not to step on her. Once fully inside, he straddled her and checked her neck for a pulse. It was strong. Again, he thanked his Lord and touched Becca on her back.

"Becca? Sweeting?" Still rubbing her back, then moving her hair out of her face, he tried again. "Duchess!" Nothing. She was breathing, but not awake. He'd have to move her, but he needed her awake for that. One more try. "Mrs. Cooper!"

She jerked, blinking her eyes open. "I'm here," she rasped. "I'm here, Mr. Cooper."

Cord's laugh of joy came out a constricted throat, sounding more like a sob. He was panting now, with tears, with happiness. "So, Mrs. Cooper is the key, eh? How about Wife?"

"Wife?" she answered back, though her voice was weak.

"Let's get you out of here," he said, unable to keep the grin from his face when he saw her move every limb to obey him. "Before you move too much, does anything hurt?"

She shivered. "When the car turned over, I slid into the door. I kinda just rested there...gathering strength to turn myself around. I'm so c-cold. It was easier not to move. I fell asleep, dreamed about the first time you saved me."

She turned in the seat, resting her bottom on the passenger door, looking up at Cord. "You came," she said with such awe in her voice, it astounded him.

"Of course, I came. You doubted?"

"No. Not that you'd try. Just maybe that you might not find me."

He reached for both her wrists. "Come on, we'll talk in the warm truck. You're freezing."

She nodded. "I'm numb, I think. I can't feel my feet."

"I'll carry you." He tugged. "Up you go."

"You are not going to carry me again, Cord Cooper."

"Yes, I am. No more talk. Work!"

She smiled, then pushed upward.

"I'll back out the door, then hold it open for you. Do you think you can climb through?"

"I'll try."

Once situated on the edge of the Rambler's roof with the door propped, he guided her hands to the metal pillar behind the door. "Okay. I'm going to lift you from the back of your pants. Promise not to punch me for getting fresh." He couldn't help but tease her, he was so elated she was in one piece.

She promised with a chuckle.

As he lifted, so did she, hefting herself onto the side of the car. Then she crawled off and landed in two feet of mud and snow. She tried to slosh her way up the bank a few steps but slid back down.

"Hold up there, Duchess. I'll give you a hand."

Cord plodded to her side, grabbed the back of her pants again, then trudged up the bank with Becca moving her legs as fast as she could to keep up with his strides. Once at the top, he scooped her up in his arms.

She shrieked. "I can walk!"

"I've got ya." He grinned down at her in spite of the frigid cold, the flurrying snow, and the mud splattered up his pant legs. The heat from the love he felt in that moment radiated from within. He hoped her shivering body would feel it, too.

Once at the pickup, he slid her onto the seat, then hefted himself inside, started the engine, and turned the heater on high. Reaching behind the seat, he pulled out the same blanket he'd used for her that first night.

That night, when he'd taken one look at her and fallen off the ledge of his solitary life. He'd been scrambling for the familiar ever since. Only now, he didn't want the old familiar anymore. He wanted his wife. He wanted Rebecca.

Cord used the blanket to scrub at her hair, then her clothes, until she was only damp. Then he turned the blanket over and wrapped it around her snugly. The heater was gaining warmth.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

He pulled some wet strands of hair away from her face and rubbed each one out of its clump before he hooked it behind her ear. He played that way for long minutes, giving her time to warm up, gain her strength...and figure out what they would say to each other. Every now and then, he glanced into her eyes, judging if she was ready to talk yet.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His eyes met hers then. "For what, Sweet?"

"For being dumb."

Here they were, frozen to the bone, stuck in a white-out along a deserted highway, and he felt downright giddy. Because she was alive, unhurt, and clever enough to feel dumb.

She smacked him on the arm, startling him. "Stop laughing at me."

"What?" He smiled. "I am not laughing at you."

"Yes, you are. I'm probably the only one who knows that wee little twitch of yours is amusement.

Stunned, he sat back and stared at her, straight-faced and stern. "What _wee little twitch_?"

"That one right there." She freed one of her hands and poked him on the corner of his upper lip.

His smile broadened and her finger slipped into his mouth. He sucked it in further and she gasped. He'd shocked her. Good. The little minx. He reached up, pulled her finger out, and kissed the tip. His gaze met hers as he ran his thumb over her cheek. His heart swelled at the thought of their future together. "Ready to talk to me yet?"

She raised her brows in question. A laugh nearly escaped him, he felt so good. His _wife_ was going to be his forever, and he couldn't wait to tell her.

"About what?" She sounded so unsure.

He had caused that. Made Rebecca Cooper a more insecure jumble of her former self. That grieved him. Anger rose, for all the things he'd done wrong. He shoved the guilt back. No more. From now on, he'd treat her like the Duchess he'd named her for—the lovely, compassionate, amazing woman in charge. The Mistress of his household. _His_ Rebecca.

"I need to ask...uh..." Drat. He should have thought through how to start this conversation.

She was gazing up at him so expectantly, he wanted to kiss her—and more. Make her his wife in the Biblical sense.

Becca pulled back so she could see his eyes. Her brows were knit in worry. "What is it?"

Cord released her and unbuttoned his top two buttons. Becca's eyes were glued to his hands. He removed the annulment papers, peeled them open. She watched his every move, no doubt thinking he wanted her to sign.

Tears welled up in her beautiful eyes, and he couldn't torture her any longer. "Becca..."

He positioned his fingers at the top of the papers and tore them in half. Realigned the halves and tore again. And again. And again, until the pieces were too small to tear.

He tossed the papers to the floor of the truck he planned to sell to the next rancher who came along. No more reminders of the widow. From now on, Cord would only move forward. There were challenges ahead; to find the ranch's saboteur, to find his way with his sons, to make the Bar-6 thrive again. But he could handle it, gladly even, with his wife by his side. This woman who had restarted his heart.

"I've wanted you from the first time I rescued you from that Rambler of yours. But I fell in love with you at the cabin, when you showed me your heart. You are the other half of my soul, Rebecca. I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning with _both_ of us under the covers."

He pulled the blanket down from her chin until he found both her hands and cradled them in his. "If I had room, I'd get down on one knee."

Becca sucked in a breath and held it. Fat tears welled up and fell over her lower lashes. He prayed they were happy tears.

"Would you do me the very great honor and remain my wife, Rebecca Louise Cooper?"

He waited, with a mute Becca, until he thought she might refuse him. "A _real_ wife?" she squeezed out in a shaky voice.

"Yes, my love. A real wife." Cord looked her deep in her eyes and said, in an unwavering voice, "I—love—you."

Her look of doubt fell away, and a brilliant smile took its place.

"I want to grow old with you, and I've already begun to pray God gives us a long, long life together in spite of my jumpstart."

He didn't wait for her to say anything, just took the opportunity to take her mouth with his own. The kiss was long and thorough and spoke of many tomorrows.

Becca was the one who finally broke the kiss. Her eyes sparkled, as they once had, just for him. "Yes. Yes, Cord Cooper, I want you with every fiber of my being. I want to stay married to you—for life."

The grin that overtook his mouth felt unfamiliar. His heart thumped once, twice, a third time in a new tempo. He took a breath, a second, and another, finally able to fill his lungs with new life. He could finally breathe. Really breathe, for the first time with a new, burning emotion. Love.

He cupped her face in both palms and plunged down for another kiss. He tried to make it sweet and tender this time, but his joy and passion took over. His mouth brushed hers, he nipped, tasted, heightened, made her his own with the sealing of their lips. It was a possessive thing, this meeting of mouths—commanding, enduring, a promise of more to come. When he finally backed away, they were both breathless. He searched her eyes, looking for a mirror of the emotions he felt. They were there, multiplied.

How could one man be so blessed?

"We should go. I'll put you to bed, take care of you. You're probably sore from that dang Nash Rambler trying to trounce you again." He smiled, but then grew somber. "We don't have to make this a real marriage tonight, Sweeting, we can—"

She grasped his face with both hands, then scratched her nails lightly down the three-day growth on his cheeks and chin, deftly shifting his thoughts back to the night ahead. "Tonight, Mr. Cooper. I don't want to wait a moment longer."

Cord pressed his forehead to Becca's, submitted and at peace. "I am yours, Beloved."

Becca inhaled as if caught by surprise. "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine," she said with awe in her voice.

He grinned. At her words, at the joy radiating from her again. "That sounds like Scripture."

Becca smiled like she'd been handed his heart, which she had—every brand new inch of it. "Song of Solomon."

Cord nodded. "I belong to you, Becca."

She reached up, placed that sweet palm against his cheek, and looked deep into his eyes. "You are the one I trust with my soul. I am yours, and you are mine."

"So," Cord said playfully. "What else does the good King Solomon have to say?"

Becca giggled. "It gets a bit racy, you know."

Cord pressed her palms between his own in a posture of prayer. "About time we head home and have ourselves an old-fashioned Bible study." His smile turned rakish. "Don't you think?"

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# Author's Note

### About Contracts

There was a time when a gentleman's handshake was enough to comprise a contract between two parties. Nowadays, it takes an attorney's expertise and gobs of legal jargon to set a contract in place. When I began writing _Let Your Heart Beat Again_ , I wondered if the contract with the necessity for marriage would be a point of contention for you, my 'smart' reader. Even though I remember odd addendums to contracts back in the 50's and 60's, I worried the idea of a mandatory marriage within the confines of a contract was too much. Boy, was I wrong. When I researched 'weird agreements in contracts', not only did I find a marriage clause within a contract not unusual, I found very bizarre clauses in today's contracts.

This is why I decided to write this little author's note about contracts. As a warning. I'm sure you already check all written contracts carefully. But have you considered the online contracts? If you research 'weird stuff in contracts', or something along those lines, you'll find what I'm talking about. These days we easily click on 'accept' quicker than we should in order to get on with what we are signing up for. My advise to you, print out every online contract, then READ carefully before accepting. I will be doing the same.

May God's blessings be upon you, my dear reader.

Janith

# About the Author

Janith Hooper grew up on a ranch in northern California. Ranch and farm life is what she knows, romance what she adores, and western romance what she loves to write. Janith lives with her husband of forty-three years in Oakdale, California—Cowboy Capital of the World. She has four grown sons, three daughters-in-love, and three grandchildren with one on the way. After raising her four sons, God directed her path to writing novels. A Quaking Heart is her debut trilogy. Her next series, A Breath Without Life, is coming soon. Twelve years into this writing journey, Janith treasures every energy-draining, joyous moment of it. She wouldn't dream of writing one word without God. In fact, she does it all for Him.

Visit her website: www.janithhooper.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/groups/janithhooper

Email: janithhooper@gmail.com

