Meg Book Three: The Cattleman's Daughters: A Not Quite Spicy Western Historical Romance Read online

  Meg

  Book Three: The Cattleman’s Daughters

  Content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Dedicated

  to my sisters who paved the way.

  Chapter 1

  Wyoming Territory March 1889

  Muiread James, Meg to her family, leaned down, placed her hands on the handles of the windowsill and pulled. As the window slid smoothly open a cool breeze passed into the room bringing with it the fresh clean smell of spring.

  “That’s better.” She said looking over her left shoulder toward her sister, Katie, who sat propped up by pillows on her bed, drinking peppermint tea to sooth her roiling stomach.

  Meg had already emptied and rinsed the chamber pot where her older sister had sicked up earlier that morning and the fresh air, now softly ruffling the sheer lace curtains, helped to carry away the miasma that had shortly engulfed the room.

  Smiling, Meg stooped, leaned her elbows on the sill, placed her chin in her hands and gazed out across the ranch yard at a new day.

  Startled, she sucked in a breath as her eyes landed on a cowpuncher slouched in the saddle of a large black horse, a thick green bound book in his hands directly in front of her home. Her bright eyes grew large as she took in the cowboy who was still engrossed in the tome.

  A wide brimmed black Stetson, its band wrapped in silver Conchos, tilted rakishly on a head covered in equally black hair that curled around ears and collar. A black, white and gray, plaid flannel shirt stretched across broad shoulders, its crisp sleeves still creased, while a black leather vest spanned a tapering back. The cowboy wore new denims, under black leather chaps, which were tucked neatly into black boots bedecked with silver spurs. His saddle, also of black leather, was heavily tooled and studded with silver trim and in-lay. He certainly looked smart.

  While Meg’s eyes ran the length and breadth of the new arrival, the rider turned his head toward her as if sensing her eyes on him. He smiled lifting a handsome face up at her touching the tip of his hat before winking a glowing eye the color of dark amber.

  Meg withdrew into the window with a start, bumping her head in her haste and could hear the puncher’s laughter as she slammed the window closed.

  “Well, the nerve!” She announced to the room, with a huff, turning away from the window and rubbing the spot on the back of her head.

  “What?” Katie asked sitting up straighter, her color looked better after the tea. “Who are you talking about Meg? Why did you close the window?”

  But Meg didn’t reply. Instead she stood, eyes blazing as she chewed on her lower lip for long minutes, occasionally snatching a glance at the rider below.

  “Meg.” Katie’s exasperated bellow finally shook her sister out of her thoughts.

  “Oh!” Meg replied her eyes flashing with outrage. Then remembering herself she turned back and pulled the window open again. This time she could just see the hindquarters of the black horse standing at the hitching rail below the tin roof of the house’s wrap around porch. There was no sign, however, of the arrogant cowhand.

  “Sorry Katie.” She called across the room. “It looks like a new ranch hand has arrived. And can you imagine he winked at me?”

  Katie, hiding a smile behind her teacup, only grunted in reply.

  “He looks like he’s quite stuck on himself if you can judge by his clothing." Meg added with a huff. "All dressed up in black and white like some court jester.” Still full of indignation, she began tidying Katie and Will’s room with quick sharp motions.

  “I suppose he thinks he’s like some dime store novel hero riding in here on a big black stallion." She rolled her eyes. "How cliché.” In her agitation, she clinked and clattered Katie’s toiletry items together on the small bureau. “He probably thinks he’s handsome and dashing.” She huffed again for good measure.

  Katie couldn’t suppress a giggle. “You’d know all about that wouldn’t you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “What?” Meg asked stiffening, her voice sharp; suspicious.

  “Oh, Meg.” Katie laughed. “Everyone knows you read all of Billy’s Penny Dreadful stories, there’s no point in pretending.”

  Meg at least had the decency to blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said haughtily, her voice flat as she turned her back on her sister’s accusing eyes.

  Clayton Allen flicked The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn closed with a snap. When he’d agreed to ride out here to Wyoming looking for a fresh start, he’d had no clue that the first person he’d see would be a pretty copper haired chit with haughty eyes looking down her long nose at him.

  He’d had enough of that back home and he’d not stand for it here, even if it cost him this job. His eyes flashed as memories threatened to overwhelm him and heat started to fester in his gut. Reaching a forefinger into his vest pocket he ran it over the cold chill of hard metal that rested there and pulled his emotions back in check.

  Removing his hand from his pocket, he patted his big black horse on the neck. The animal, used to his ways, stood patiently in front of the sprawling ranch house, one leg cocked, as his rider took in the spread.

  “Now whata’ ya’ think o’ this place Duke?” the cowboy asked his mount as he looked up at the gray two story house, with its wide wrap around porch. The horse flicked its ears back toward him in reply but was otherwise silent on the subject.

  Assessing his surroundings Clayton could see the care and hard work that had gone into building the place and had to admit he was impressed. The house was large and study. Above the porch four nine over six windows each with real glass panes ran along the top floor. While below two more windows sat on either side of a door frame, itself fitted with a screen, now standing wide letting in the cool spring air.

  In the far corner of the fenced ranch yard he could see what could only be a bunk house, built with low log walls heavily chinked to keep out the winter cold and the summer heat. The dark structure was long and set at a ninety-degree angle to the house some twenty yards away. Two doors could be seen spaced equally apart in the building, a set of short stairs leading to each entrance, while small windows winked in the morning sun.

  Turning his gaze toward the large barn he smiled. The structure was trim, square and in good shape, its heavy planking tightly fit in long vertical lines. It looked big and airy but also snug for bad weather and had plenty of room to store hay above the main structure. A large corral with its own windmill, pump and tank for drawing water was attached to the right side of the structure where several sleek horses nibbled hay contentedly inside its rail fence line. Maybe this place had something to offer after all.

  As his eyes roved the lines of the building a tall older man, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, stepped around its far corner wiping his hands on an old cloth. The man’s white hair was trim under a gray hat, and his lean frame showed no signs of age as he suddenly halted in his tracks.

  Joshua James came around the side of the barn wiping axel grease off of his hands on an old cloth. He’d been helping Deeks, the blacksmith, grease the wheels on the chuck wagon in preparation for the spring round up and hadn’t heard the s
tranger ride up. For a long moment he stood there studying the young man who’d obviously just seen him.

  “Who’re you?” a small voice caught Clayton by surprise, making him jump and turn in his saddle. Behind him a small tow-headed boy leading an ugly flea bitten, blue roan mule around the corner of the house.

  A flicker of annoyance raced through him as he wondered why The Duke hadn’t given him any warning, or maybe he’d just been too caught up watching the old man to notice.

  “My name’s Clayton.” The cowboy replied pushing his dark feelings away. “I’ve come to work here on the Broken J. And who might you be?” he added with a smile.

  “I’m Eric, an’ this is Scooter.” The boy answered, deep blue eyes sparkling from an innocent face as he indicated the pitiful mule at his heels.

  “Pleased to meet you Eric.” Clayton said swinging down from his saddle and offering his hand to the boy, who shook it stoically.

  “I’m five.” The boy piped out of nowhere, making Clayton laugh.

  “You are?” he asked with mock surprise.

  “Yep, I had my birthday just a few days ago.” The boy grinned cheerfully then his eyes grew wide. “Hey, what’s that?” He asked pointing to Clayton’s hip.

  “That’s a whip.” Clayton said answering a question that had come his way more often then he wished to remember over the last few months.

  “What’s it for?” The boy still studied the short handled rawhide coil, hanging from a cord on the cowboy's belt.

  “I use it for huntin’ cows.” Clayton replied patiently. “I’ll show you how sometime.”

  Joshua watched as the cowpuncher stepped down from his saddle and began talking to his grandson. He smiled knowing that the man would be lucky to get away from that conversation on his own.

  The boy, who’d been quiet and reserved on arriving at the ranch only months ago, was now full of all sorts of things to talk about, his favorite being his little mule. With a grin Joshua stepped out across the ranch yard and headed toward the pair now engaged in deep conversation.

  “You can tie your horse right there.” Eric was saying to the stranger as the old cattleman approached studying the young man farther the closer he got. He was certainly a smart dresser and that horse of his was something to see. A rare thing a truly black horse, but this one was as dark as midnight. He watched as the puncher threw his reins over the hitching rail, securing them with a nod to the boy.

  “Aren’t you going to tie your mule there as well?” the cowboy’s words rolled off his tongue like slow honey and Joshua could tell immediately that the young man was from the Deep South.

  “Nah.” The boy replied. “He’d just turn himself loose anyway. He don’t like to be penned up.”

  “Doesn’t.” Joshua corrected as he finally reached them.

  “Sorry Grandpa.” The boy chimed with a smile. “Doesn’t like to be penned up.”

  Joshua grinned at the boy then turned his attention to the latest arrival on the Broken J ranch.

  “I’m Joshua James.” He said extending his hand, his sharp eyes sizing up the man before him.

  “Clayton Allen sir.” The younger man drawled. “I’ve been sent out here to work for ya’ll,” he added shaking the cattleman's hand.

  “Yes, I got a letter from my brother a few months back. You seem to have made good time getting here what with the weather we’ve had. I hope you didn’t have any trouble.”

  “No sir. We took the train most of the way and no trouble at all.” He answered patting his horse on the rump. “The Duke travels just fine.” He indicated the horse with a nod.

  “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll have a little talk?” Joshua offered, gesturing toward the front porch with an open palm. “Where are you from to start with?”

  Joshua didn’t miss the flash of fire in the young man’s light brown eyes, but also noted how a quick smile seemed to chase it away.

  “I’m from Kissimmee, Florida, sir.” The soft southern drawl lingered, hanging in the air as they clomped across the wooden planks of the porch.

  Chapter 2

  Clayton followed his new employer into the house and down a long narrow hall into a bright, cheerful kitchen. A short woman stood, rolling dough on a tall wooden worktable in the middle of the right side of the room. Her dark, gray streaked hair pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. A large flowery apron wrapped tight around her deep gray dress.

  “Bia.” Joshua’s voice was loud but in the spacious kitchen didn’t carry far.

  “Oh, Josh you’re here.” The short plump woman turned her hands covered in flour and dough. “Lordie.” She stated on seeing Clayton, but a bright smile spread across her rosy- cheeked face. “What have we here?”

  “Bia, this is Clayton Allen.” Joshua indicated the young man who stepped past him, whipping his hat from his head and making a slight bow.

  “Mrs. James.” The young man said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” To his utter astonishment the woman leaned against the table and began to laugh. Clayton could feel his face turning red, in both confusion and anger.

  “No, son.” Joshua began slapping a hand on his shoulder to take the sting out of the joke. “This here is Bianca Leone’. She’s my mother-in-law.”

  For a moment the dark stranger looked between the two of them, then cocking a hip, let an ingratiating smile slide across his handsome face.

  “Well I’m right pleased to meet you, ma’am” he drawled, dragging his accent out so it oozed across the kitchen, “an’ don’t you be all formal with me,” he continued “you just go on and call me Clay.”

  A loud harrumph drifted his way as the young woman he’d seen earlier walked into the kitchen, chin high, and passed right by the small group without so much as a greeting. Clayton was sure he heard a whisper though as she approached a large galvanized tub by the window and began working the pump.

  “Looks more like mud to me.” Tickled his ears, but her voice was pitched so low he was sure he was the only one who caught it.

  “Meg.” The tall white haired man called to the girl, who filled a glass with water then leaned negligently against the black stone counter top behind her. Looking at her curiously Joshua raised an eye brow. “I’d like you to greet a new hand who’s joining us. Clayton Allen I’d like to introduce my daughter Meg.”

  Finally shifting her willowy form away from the counter the woman moved back around the work worktable her azure eyes examining Clayton like one might look at a horse for sale.

  She was tall with a small waist and slim form. Her body was not overly rounded but held a more angular shape with wide shoulders for a woman. As she approached him, Clayton noticed that she was fairly tall, perhaps five foot five or six inches, judging by his own height of just over five foot ten. Her eyes held an arrogant, haughty gleam and he felt the hot, familiar trickle of rage run down his spine.

  Standing to his full height, he plastered the smile back on his face, as his eyes raked her up and down. Her hair was dark but with hints of deep red and highlights of shimmering copper. She’d be pretty if she wasn't far too conceited for her own good. The arrogant tilt of her chin set his back up.

  “Miss Meg.” He greeted determined not to let her looks or haughty attitude deter him. Then bold as brass, he reached for her hand and bowing leaned over it, placing a genteel kiss on her knuckles.

  “It’s a right pleasure to meet such a peach as you, a way out here.” He finished with a flourish. At one time he’d known women who would have swooned over the attention he’d just granted this chit.

  Welcome to the Broken J.” Meg said coolly, looking him up and down again. In the back of her mind a little voice recognized that he was an extremely handsome man. His dark features, and raven black hair, roguishly long and unkempt, added to his rugged good looks. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones bronzed by long days in the sun, and a wide mouth that was pulled into a dazzling smile. His eyes were perhaps his best feature however, a shade of russet brown like the
eyes of a wolf in the woods. They had a shimmering quality to them like old amber, and seemed to glow with an inner light.

  A spark sizzled and cracked like a thunderstorm between the two young people as their eyes met then Meg sniffed.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me I was seeing to my older sister.” And without even a backward glance she moved away down the hall.

  As Clayton looked up again he saw a bright smile on Bianca Leone’s face as she placed a still flour covered hand over her heart. “Now don’t you just have lovely manners?” The older woman said. She shot a happy glance at the older man who stood still as a stump in her kitchen.

  “Why ma’am where I come from that’s just how a fella’ greets a pretty young woman. My mama would have had my hide if I’d ever treated a lady as anything else.” His exaggerated drawl dragged the words out as he flashed his most charming smile at the matron.

  “Why don’t you come on over to the table son and we’ll have a little chat.” Mr. James seemed find his voice again. “There’s an awful lot to know about the Broken J even before lunch. Perhaps Bianca would bring us some coffee and cookies.” Joshua continued, shooting a significant glance at the woman.

  “Oh, get on with you then. I’ve got a few lemon cookies left and I’ll bring them right on over in a minute. Just let me get this pie crust in the pan.”

  Clayton followed Joshua to a set of two huge tables that took up nearly the whole other side of the kitchen. He walked around to the right side and stood with his back to the window behind him. On the inside wall, across the table from where he stood, he noticed a doorframe that led to a large parlor with heavy well-made furniture centered round a huge fireplace. Over his shoulder on the outside wall a door, directly opposite the hall door, led out on to the back porch.

  Clayton swung a leg over a long bench and settled himself while Joshua James took a chair at the head of the table. Quickly Clayton took in the rest of the kitchen. Mrs. Leone’ was putting the pie she’d expertly filled and fluted into a large green enameled cook stove that stood by the back wall, next to the black stone counter top that led to the galvanized tubs and pump.