Page 5 of A Dangerous Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #4)

A ggravation mounted as Isaac whirled the roping loop over his head for the third time.

His head pounded, and even his teeth ached.

The dusty sweat on his open shirt chafed against his sunburned skin.

The headstrong steer he’d chased up a ridge bawled, the sound grating on his last nerve.

But what had really stuck in his craw the whole day?

Running into Clare Ferguson at the crack of dawn before he could even drink his first cup of coffee.

The rope snapped, and relief flooded through him as it slipped over the animal’s horns. The steer made a final attempt to escape, but with a tug of the rope, it became docile. Isaac’s shoulders ached and his eyes burned. He blinked as the memories of the morning encounter flooded back.

He had rounded the corner of the chuck wagon and almost bowled her over.

The unexpected surge of attraction took him by surprise.

He’d caught her shoulders in his hands to keep her upright.

Despite the drab work dress, she looked fresh and pretty in one of Nick’s old cowboy hats.

A nervous smile played on her lips, but her eyes drew him in as she greeted him with a surprised “Good morning.”

“’Scuse me” was all he could manage. He tried to maneuver around her, but she sidestepped in front of him. Their gazes locked.

She didn’t look away. Not like the rest of his family did when they came face-to-face with him. No, she held his stare, a silent challenge pulsing between them. He tried to go around her again.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Drew and the other men are already gone.”

He crossed his arms as she rushed on.

“I’m preparing to cook tonight’s meal. Nick mentioned you like a good hot stew at the end of the day.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll eat whatever’s in the pot.” Irked that his brother was wagging his tongue to her about his food preferences, he added, “If I’m around.”

For a split second, her nostrils flared. Before he could blink, that sweet smile returned.

“I’ve searched the chuck wagon five times. There’s no salt pork or beans. Your family is going to come back to camp hungry.”

He sighed. “Kaitlyn’s been tired lately—probably forgot to pack it.” He pulled his hat off and clawed his hair back, racking his brain for a solution, but nothing came. He shoved his hat back on his head.

“I’ve gone through everything. Rearranged a bit.”

It looked to him like she’d rearranged more than a bit. He’d never seen the wagon so neat and tidy.

“Like I said in my letters I sent you, I’m a good cook, but even I can’t make stew without some kind of meat.” A teasing smile offered him camaraderie. He didn’t want it.

“You didn’t send me any letters,” he said coldly. “You said you were used to being on the trail. You’ll have to figure something out.” He stepped past her and strode out of the camp but couldn’t stop himself from glancing back.

She stood watching him, scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes.

Clare Ferguson was a burr under his saddle.

He ruthlessly jerked his thoughts from her as he untied the steer and pointed the animal down toward the main herd, where David and Eli worked to corral the animals in a loose group.

From his position at the top of the ridge, he saw movement across the river.

The water divided the McGraws’ land from their nearest neighbor—Heath Quade.

Only a sliver of Quade’s newly acquired property near the railroad spur touched the river, hardly enough water for the cattle he aimed to run.

Quade had feuded with Pa almost since he’d moved to Converse County.

The feud had spilled over into his sons’ lives.

Isaac squinted. Sure was a lot of activity. The river was a fair distance from Quade’s barn and ranch house. What were they doing? He leaned down and reached for his field glasses in his saddlebag—only to come to himself and remember. He wasn’t a marshal anymore.

He straightened in the saddle. He might not have a badge, but his job was to protect his family.

He’d been at the winter cabin when the well had been poisoned at the ranch.

Been isolated when Kaitlyn had been kidnapped a few months ago.

Quade would not have a third go at harming his family.

Not on his watch. He would check on the activity as soon as he could.

As Isaac rode in, a shrill whistle pierced the air. Nick, his dog Patch, and a herd of black and brown cattle, twice the size Isaac had managed to gather, poured down a neighboring hill. Drew drove another herd up a ravine from the opposite direction.

A blur of white, tan, and black wove around and between the moving cattle. Patch had more vigor than the three brothers combined.

“You good?” his kid brother called across the chaos.

He nodded. Better than you. The teasing words he would’ve once said got trapped behind his sternum. Nick frowned.

“It looks like your dog is a better cowpoke than you,” Drew hollered to Nick from across the herd.

“That’s my plan,” he called back. “Patch makes my job easier.” A smug grin lit up his face.

The cows moved along to join the herd, and that left the brothers riding side by side.

“You may have finally beat Isaac’s roundup record,” Drew said, tipping his hat back.

As they approached the camp, Isaac saw one of the boys, Ben, in the driver’s seat of the chuck wagon.

There were no animals hitched to it, but the boy was playing like he was driving the contraption.

Clare neared, adjusted the reins in the boy’s grip, and kissed his cheek. A wide smile split the boy’s face.

“She drives a wagon like she was born to it, wouldn’t ya say?” Nick prompted.

Was the offhand comment meant for him? Isaac ignored it.

Drew didn’t. “Seems to know her way around a chuck wagon. Good with those boys too. I haven’t seen David so excited for a roundup in a while.”

Expectation hung in the air, but Isaac remained silent. They dismounted, the horses as dusty and tired as their riders.

“I’ll take care of your horses,” David said, breaking the silence to lead the horses away.

The men shuffled over to the crackling campfire and stretched out weary muscles. Eli and Ben argued softly near the chuck wagon.

Clare met the men with a pot of coffee in hand and a ready smile that turned a little stiff when she served Isaac. He looked away, his eyes settling on the flickering fire.

“Y’all look ready to drop.” Her hair was pinned up so that the delicate curve of her neck was exposed.

Isaac sipped his coffee, telling himself it was the hot brew that warmed him, not his attraction to Clare.

The savory smell of sourdough and herbs had his mouth watering when he took his place in line behind Drew. What was in the cook pot? Nick, who was already seated on a fallen log and stuffing food in his mouth, groaned.

“Mmm. This is delicious.”

Drew received his plate, piled with some kind of stew and biscuits, with a murmured “Thank you.”

Without any other bodies between Clare and him, Isaac had nowhere else to look but at her.

As she ladled the stew, he kept his eyes on her hands.

They looked even smaller lifting the large ladle.

Her sleeve shifted up, exposing a thin white line stretching from her delicate wrist and disappearing into her sleeve.

A scar? She caught him looking and wobbled the tin plate.

His quick grasp steadied it before it could spill.

She twisted her arm away, and his attention jumped to her face, where something he couldn’t name sparked in her eyes.

And now she was the one avoiding his gaze.

“Tastes like rabbit,” Drew said as he spooned another bite into his mouth. “One of you shoot a rabbit I didn’t know about?”

Nick scooted down the log to make room for Isaac. Isaac balanced his plate on his knees and shook his head. He glanced at Clare gathering dirty plates in a large tub.

“My ma shot it.” Eli stabbed a long stick into the fire. He’d finished his meal but was hanging near the fire and listening to the conversation. “She couldn’t find any meat or beans packed in the chuck wagon.”

Drew looked to Clare, chewed, and swallowed. In the firelight, his cheeks turned ruddy. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was soft, but his shoulders tensed as he studied Clare across the fire.

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Clare hesitated, glancing at Drew. “I hope it’s all right that I used the rifle.”

“I wish I’d known,” Drew said.

Isaac felt her quiet regard, but he kept his eyes on his plate.

“I mentioned it?—”

Isaac lifted his head. She met his eyes across the fire.

Drew’s attention swung to him. Isaac forced himself to take another bite of stew, though his brother’s disapproval made the hearty meal taste bitter.

“Cl—Ma is a crack shot,” Ben announced with pride as he rubbed Patch behind the ears.

“Nobody’s a better shot than Uncle Isaac,” David challenged.

“I don’t know,” Nick teased. “She might be a better shot than Swift Draw McGraw over there.”

That stupid name. Isaac had once relished the moniker.

Now he couldn’t stomach hearing it. He wasn’t that man anymore.

Couldn’t even wear his gun belt and pistols.

Old memories surged, and the piece of sourdough bread he’d just shoved in his mouth turned to ash.

He hauled himself to his feet and trudged away from the camp.

* * *

What would it take to win over Isaac McGraw?

Clare placed the towels on a flat rock at the bank of the river and carried the pail of dirty dishes down to the water’s edge. Alone in the setting sun, she could let her guard down. Her shoulders slumped.

She drives a wagon like she was born to it, wouldn’t ya say?

Seems to know her way around a chuck wagon. Good with those boys too.

Praise from Nick and Drew had stirred a momentary hope—one that had been dashed by Isaac’s frigid silence.