Letter to a Lonesome Cowboy Read online

  Despite Rand’s complaints about the cold coming through the open door, it seemed warm inside to Suzanne. The very first thing she felt compelled to do, once inside, was to take a good look at Mr. Harding. Apparently he had the same goal, because when she raised her gaze to his face, he was staring at hers.

  Well, why wouldn’t he be curious? she thought with an inward sigh. Whatever photo Mack had sent him probably didn’t resemble her in the least. At the same time she was a bit stunned that Rand Harding was even better looking than his snapshot depicted. But “tall, dark and handsome” was merely a thumbnail sketch of this man. His vivid blue eyes exuded intelligence, a strength of character and a macho sexuality that any woman would recognize. There was nothing wrong with his IQ, Suzanne thought weakly. Actually, one would be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with any part of him, tangible or intangible.

  This was a terribly awkward moment for both Suzanne and Rand. Their thoughts, although similarly focused on the photograph Rand had received, were still vastly different. Suzanne knew what she had to do—explain what her recalcitrant younger brother had done—but Rand didn’t. How did a man ask a woman why she would do something so devious as to pass someone else’s picture off as her own?

  “Um, how about a cup of coffee to warm up?” Rand asked.

  Suzanne thought about it. She should get back to Whitehorn tonight, so she and Mack could begin the return trip to Baltimore early tomorrow morning. She couldn’t discount the weather, either. At the rate it was snowing, the roads would probably be impassable in a very few hours.

  But she was chilled through and through, and a cup of hot coffee was hard to pass up. Besides, she still had to relate Mack’s disgusting behavior to Rand Harding. Certainly she didn’t want him to continue believing what he now thought was true.

  “Thank you, I would really like a cup of coffee,” she said. The hall they were standing in ran both ways, Suzanne saw. Three doors were visible on her right. To her left the hall faded into darkness.

  “Follow me,” Rand told her, and began walking to the left. “The kitchen’s this way.”

  Suzanne followed, praying that she wasn’t doing something rash. Rand switched on lights as he went, which made her feel slightly better, but her inner self remained nervously alert. When she passed the stairs leading to the second floor, she hesitated and asked, “Is my brother sleeping upstairs?”

  Rand stopped and turned. “All the men sleep upstairs.” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a tour of the bunkhouse?”

  Why, he was making fun of her! She almost told him to shove his coffee up his nose, but common sense prevailed and she drew a breath to pacify her injured pride.

  But she couldn’t speak to him with any degree of friendliness. “No, thank you,” she said coolly.

  Smirking slightly, Rand resumed his walk to the kitchen. If there was anything he hated more than lies, he couldn’t think of what it was at the moment. Suzanne might be pretty and he might be lonely, but he would live alone for the rest of his life before settling for a liar.

  The kitchen surprised Suzanne. It was large, brightly lighted—once Rand snapped on the ceiling lights—and equipped far better than her own. Everything was of a commercial size, the stove, three ovens and two grills, the dishwasher, the huge refrigerator, even the counters and wood-block island. And it was spick-and-span, the stainless steel gleaming, the floor clean enough to eat off. She was impressed by this, at least, however uncomfortable she was with everything else.

  Rand immediately busied himself with the coffeepot. There was a whole cupboard of coffeepots, and he chose the smallest. “Take off your coat, if you want,” he said over his shoulder. “This will take a few minutes. You can sit on one of those stools at the counter.”

  In the next heartbeat he remembered the two men on night duty, and exchanged the small pot for one much larger. He would let them know there was hot coffee in the kitchen, he told himself. It was something he should have thought of before this. Handy would have.

  Keeping an eye on Rand, Suzanne removed the leather gloves from her hands and unbuttoned her coat. But she left it on, just in case. After all, was there any reason why she should trust Rand Harding? What kind of man advertised for a wife, for pity’s sake?

  Perching on a stool, she pondered that question. There had to be something wrong with him. A man with his looks shouldn’t have any trouble at all in attracting women.

  With the coffeepot prepared and immediately gurgling, Rand turned around. Leaning his hips against the counter, he looked at Suzanne. The snow she’d brought in with her had melted, and water droplets glistened in the dark sheen of her hair. No doubt about it, he thought, she was darned pretty. Why wasn’t a picture of herself good enough? Why had she sent him another woman’s photo?

  Suzanne darted him little glances, finding herself uneasy about looking him directly in the eyes. But he kept staring, silently, and finally she had no choice. Besides, she thought, she might as well explain everything right now and get it over with.

  She cleared her throat. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s wrong,” she said.

  “Oh? How would you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  Rand folded his arms across his chest. “Is this a preamble to some sort of discussion?”

  “You could say that. Mr. Harding, I have never written to you. No, wait, that’s not true. I did write a letter, but you couldn’t possibly have received it yet.”

  “You didn’t write but you did write. Is that supposed to make sense?”

  She wasn’t doing this well, Suzanne realized, probably because the part of her that loved Mack didn’t like putting him in a bad light. Not that he didn’t deserve it, the little brat, but he was still her brother, her only family, and blood was thicker than water. She drew a breath, preparing herself to begin again.

  Before she could say a word, however, an enormous gust of wind hit the side of the bunkhouse, startling her, and in the very next instant a man wearing a heavy coat with a hood walked in.

  “Rand…” George noticed Suzanne and immediately produced a truly warm smile. “Hello, ma’am.”

  “Suzanne Paxton, George Davenport,” Rand said by way of an introduction. To Suzanne he added, “George is the ranch’s bookkeeper.”

  A bookkeeper. Her very own trade. And what a pleasant man George Davenport appeared to be. Suzanne felt most of the stiffness vanish from her spine.

  “Very nice meeting you, Mr. Davenport,” she said.

  “Now, now, none of that mister stuff. We’re quite informal around here, Suzanne.”

  She smiled. “Very well, it’s nice meeting you, George. I’m a bookkeeper, too.”

  “Is that a fact, now. Well, isn’t that interesting. We’ll have to compare notes.” George looked at Rand. “Right now, though, I’m going to go out to the barn and check on Daisy and her pups.”

  Daisy had appeared out of nowhere about a month ago, scraggly, hungry and obviously expecting pups. She was an outside dog and wouldn’t come into the bunkhouse no matter how much she was coaxed. Nevertheless, George had named her Daisy and had taken it upon himself to see that her food and water bowls were kept full. Daisy’s litter was about two weeks old now, five adorable fat puppies that lived in the barn.

  “Be careful,” Rand said. “It’s slippery out there, George.”

  “I’m sure it is,” George agreed. He smiled at Suzanne again, and went through a door opposite to the one she had used to enter the kitchen. She could tell it wasn’t an outside door, because George’s footsteps on hard flooring were audible.

  “Where does that door lead?” she asked Rand, unable to allay her curiosity.

  “The dining room. It has an outside door.”

  Suzanne nodded. “I see.” This building totally destroyed her former idea of what a bunkhouse was like. Obviously the men on this ranch lived in comfort. There was central heating—apparent from the wall vents blowing warm air—plumb
ing, electricity, phone service, and it had the most impressive kitchen she’d ever seen. It was certainly a far cry from the bunkhouses she’d noticed in western movies.

  Suzanne had only been on a ranch once, years before, during a family vacation. It had been a guest ranch actually, with no cattle, a very small operation compared to this one, she realized. This bunkhouse made her extremely curious about the rest of the place. The big house she’d caught sight of in the sweep of her headlights when she’d driven into the compound, for example. Did anyone live in it? And was that terrible story the car agent had told her about the Kincaids having been murdered out here true?

  She wanted to ask, but stopped herself. She wasn’t here to learn the history of the Kincaid Ranch; she was here to get her brother, and the sooner the better. She would have that cup of coffee, explain to Rand Harding how this whole fiasco had come about, wake Mack and get them both back to Whitehorn. It shouldn’t take more than another fifteen minutes before they could leave.

  The coffeepot quit gurgling and Rand filled two mugs. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.

  “Just black, please.”

  Rand brought the two mugs to the counter at which Suzanne was sitting and placed one in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and picked up the mug for a sip. The coffee was strong and hot, and it tasted delicious. Rand remained on the other side of the counter, sipping his own coffee, but he was much closer to her than he’d been, which increased her discomfort level again.

  Regardless, she forced herself back to the topic they’d been discussing when George came in. “I believe we were talking about letters,” she said with as much calmness as she could manage. Internally she was a mass of nerves, but she was doing a good job of not showing it.

  “Yes, I believe we were,” Rand said, not even trying to conceal his disdainful attitude.

  A spot of pink appeared in each of Suzanne’s cheeks. She could easily get angry right now, but how would anger help her situation? She wasn’t guilty of anything, Mack was, but until Rand Harding heard the whole story, he had every right to blame her.

  After another sip of coffee, Suzanne set the mug down and forced herself to look Rand in the eye. “I didn’t answer your ad, Mack did.”

  For the longest time Rand just stared at her. She gave him time to digest what she’d told him, and apparently he finally did, because he said, “You’re telling me your kid brother wrote that letter?”

  Oh, God, what was in that letter? Suzanne thought with a silent groan. What had Mack written in her name? She should go upstairs this very minute, wake him up and… and…

  Well, she didn’t know what kind of punishment Mack should have to endure, but it should be something he would remember for the rest of his days. She had never once laid a hand on him, although there had been plenty of times when she’d thought a good spanking was what he’d needed, even before their parents’ demise. Of course, he had never received a spanking, just as she hadn’t as a youngster. Their parents had both been gentle, mild-mannered people, and they had been appalled over the people they’d known who had actually spanked their children.

  “Do you still have that letter, and…and the photo Mack sent with it?” she asked Rand with a weary note in her voice.

  “You know about the photo?”

  “I figured it out from your letter.”

  “And that’s the letter you answered.”

  “Yes.”

  “I tried to call you when Mack got here,” Rand said. “You must have already been on your way to Montana.”

  “I really didn’t know how many hours ahead of me he was. I didn’t discover he was gone until I tried to get him up for school this morning.” Was it really only this morning? Suzanne thought with an exhausted sigh. This morning she’d been in Baltimore, tonight she was in Montana. It didn’t seem possible. More accurately, it didn’t seem real!

  But here she was, seated on a stool in a strange kitchen, talking to a man she didn’t know nor ever would know. God forbid that she ever fell in love again—one bad marriage was enough—but she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t appreciate Rand Harding’s good looks.

  That was neither here nor there, though. The mere thought of mail-order marriages made her nauseous. What did Rand Harding think marriage was, a game? He’d find out if and when he accomplished his goal of finding a woman moronic enough to marry a man she didn’t know.

  The sound of someone bursting through a door and yelling, “Harding!” broke into her thoughts.

  Rand went around the counter at top speed. “What’s going on?”

  J.D., covered with snow and carrying a rifle, ran into the kitchen. “George took a fall down by the barn. I think he’s hurt bad.”

  Rand muttered an oath and took off with J.D. right behind him. Suzanne heard the slam of the dining room door, sat there dazed for a moment, then got up to cross through the dining room to open the door again and peer outside.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered when she saw how much snow had piled up just since she’d been inside the bunkhouse. And it was coming down in sheets, mountains of snow tossed around by a hard, driving wind.

  She’d seen blizzards before, but none to compare with this one. She tried desperately to see through it, to see in which direction Rand and the other man had gone.

  She couldn’t do it. There was nothing but swirling white out there, and the bitter cold penetrated her clothes in seconds. Stepping back, she closed the door with a shiver that racked her entire body.

  Returning to the kitchen, she took a swallow of her coffee and shivered again. Then she remembered that Rand had gone outside without a jacket!

  “He’ll freeze,” she whispered. “George will freeze.” Oh, what a horrible place! Blizzards, murders, isolation. A noise from upstairs, just over her head, had her jumping out of her skin. She wanted to bawl. This totally unnecessary trip—and Mack’s—had taken most of her savings. When they returned to Baltimore, they would be on very short rations for God knew how long. She would never forgive Mack for putting her through this, never!

  The door burst open again and Rand ran through the kitchen without even glancing her way. He looked like a snowman, but he didn’t stop to shiver and drink coffee.

  Suzanne couldn’t prevent herself from following him. He went through a door off the long hall, and she reached it and stood watching him as he quickly dialed a number and waited impatiently for someone to answer.

  Apparently someone finally did, because Rand said into the phone, “This is Rand Harding at the Kincaid Ranch. A man fell and seems to be seriously injured. I’m afraid to move him. Send an ambulance at once.”

  Suzanne brought her fingertips to her lips in horror. That nice man, George, was injured that badly?

  “I know how bad the storm is, but George needs immediate medical attention,” Rand said. After a moment he said, “Okay, I’ll do what I can, but get here as fast as you can.” He hung up.

  Again he passed Suzanne without a word, this time running down the hall to the last door. Tense as a coiled spring, she waited for his next move. In seconds he appeared again, wearing a hat, jacket and gloves and carrying an armload of blankets.

  “Rand?” she said as he ran past her.

  “I don’t have time to answer questions,” he responded to her over his shoulder, and disappeared into the storm again.

  Suzanne wilted against a wall. She heard someone coming down the stairs and prayed it was Mack. It wasn’t. A grizzled, bearded man wearing trousers over long underwear and nothing else stopped at the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “What in hell’s going on down here? Don’t you know we’re trying to sleep up there?”

  Gulping in fright, Suzanne stepped into the office and shut the door very quietly. If it wasn’t storming so horribly she would brave that stairway, wake up Mack and leave. But she knew she couldn’t maneuver that little rental car through so much snow.

  She was stuck in this awful place, and so was Mack.


  Falling into the chair at one of the desks, she laid her head on the desktop and wept.

  As though from a great distance Suzanne heard a voice. “Miss?” And again, “Miss, wake up.”

  Suzanne opened her eyes, saw the tall man towering over her and raised her head from the desk so fast she nearly blacked out. “What?” she asked frantically. “What do you want?”

  J.D. looked disgusted. “Don’t get hysterical on me. Rand said to tell you to go to bed. I’ll show you the room.”

  “Oh.” She felt very foolish and tried hard to smile. “I—I guess I fell asleep. Where’s Rand now?”

  “He followed the ambulance to town. Come on and I’ll show you that room.”

  “You mean the roads are passable?” Suzanne got up from the chair.

  “They are if you’ve got four-wheel-drive and chains.”

  “I…don’t.”

  “Then they’re not passable.”

  Suzanne followed him from the office and down the hall. He opened a door. “Rand said you could use this room. Good night.”

  “Uh, wait. Could…could you get my luggage from my car?”

  “Yes, I can do that. Is it locked?”

  “No, but my suitcases are in the trunk.” Suzanne fumbled in her purse for a moment and came out with the car keys. “I appreciate this, thank you.”

  J.D. grunted something unintelligible and left. Suzanne stepped into the room and saw that it was small, contained a bed—unmade but there was a stack of bedding and two pillows on it—one dresser and a door that she assumed was a closet. She opened it and discovered a bathroom instead. It, too, was small, but there was a shower stall and another door that opened into a tiny closet.

  It struck her that she’d been given the guest room. All of the men slept upstairs, Rand had said, so she was probably the only person on this floor. Frankly, she was so tired, the thought merely flashed through her mind with no lasting effect.

  J.D. carried in her two suitcases and set them on the floor. One was a cosmetic case, and Suzanne had packed several changes of clothes in the other since she hadn’t been a hundred percent certain about Mack’s destination. Yes, he’d written in his goodbye note that he would say hello to Rand Harding for her, but as sad as it was to face, she really didn’t believe much of anything Mack said anymore.