Coltrane Corners

1

1869—Red River Gulch, Texas

The clanging bell from the Red River Gulch Mercantile announced the arrival of the stagecoach and jolted Chase Cameron to attention, reminding him he would rather take a red-hot branding iron to his own ass than have to deal with Elizabeth Coltrane when she disembarked. They had not parted on good terms. One might say Elizabeth hated him. Looking to the edge of town, he could see the noon stagecoach speeding towards him, a thick, choking cloud of hot Texas dust swirling behind it. A team of four skittish horses pulled the coach, harnesses jingling, leather reins creaking, to a stop in front of the general store and part-time stagecoach station. The strong smell of sweat-covered animals greeted him as he took a step back and leaned a hip against the closest pillar.

The driver drew back on the reins and secured them, yanking the brake into the locked position at the same instant Pete gave the bell outside his store one lengthy final pounding to announce the stagecoach’s arrival. The dust had yet to settle when the coach’s driver jumped down from the driver’s box with a loud thud, sending more dust into the air. He opened the right-side passenger door and pulled out a wooden step for the passengers to use.

A rotund man dressed like a walking ad for a mail-order catalog stepped out first and yanked on his too-tight, dust-covered suit coat. Pulling off his stiff felt derby hat, he swatted at the dirt clinging to his clothes as his jacket buttons threatened to give way. Another man and his chattering young son exited next. Chase smiled at the kid who, as soon as his feet hit the ground, proceeded to run circles around his pa. The boy, moving faster than a steer with his tail on fire, had obviously been corralled too long inside the small coach.

Chase watched the driver hold his arm level and stiff, presenting it as support. A small white-gloved hand reached out and gripped the offered limb. A tiny pair of black velvet laced-up boots stepped onto the stair. A gush of ruffled skirts and petticoats followed with a rustling noise resembling the swish of a horse’s tail. The woman’s head was tilted downward, partially hidden by the low brim of her side-tipped hat. The stylish hat was adorned with a colorful plume of short peacock feathers.

To Chase’s way of thinking, some poor peacock had sacrificed his pride and joy for the ridiculous hat she was wearing. He was moving swiftly toward the stage, half tempted to point that fact out, when the woman straightened. Chase stopped short, as if he’d taken a big meaty fist in his gut. The air in his lungs emptied faster than a blacksmith’s bellows. This surely couldn’t be little Elizabeth Coltrane. Where was the skinny, pants wearing, awkward young girl who had spent years shadowing his every move?

Looked like she’d gone and turned into a woman. And a mighty fine-looking woman to boot. He didn’t think twice about the scars he knew were hidden beneath the layers of clothes she wore. He never had.

If he’d had any lingering doubts whether this sophisticated woman was little Elizabeth-the-pest, they were put out to pasture when eyes as clear and crystal blue as sapphires met his. Even when she’d been a child, he’d been fascinated by their unique color.

Yep, that’s my Elizabeth, Chase blurted. A woman to his right glanced at him strangely. My Elizabeth? Where in the hell had those words come from? Chase knew she hated him and he was just fine and dandy with that. Wasn’t he? Of course, it was possible she didn’t hate him anymore. She might’ve forgotten the way he’d treated her the last time they’d seen each other. Or at least forgiven him. He’d been so damn heartless. Didn’t matter if he’d done it for her own good.

Chase knew the second she’d recognized him. Her eyes darted away for a moment before turning a shade darker and a pinch narrower. Her full, kissable lips stretched into a tight scowl as thin as barbed wire. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers shot deadly arrows at him faster than a Comanche war party.

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t forgotten or forgiven anything about their last meeting.

Elizabeth’s breath caught. She was about to step down from the box when she spotted him. Chase Cameron. The man who had made a fool out of her. Even six years later, the hurt was as sharp as ever. His cruel words had broken her heart and crushed her spirit.

Her legs went ridiculously heavy, as if she were stuck in quicksand. She touched her chest with a gloved hand, trying to calm the rapid thumping of her heart with a few short pats. How could she still react so strongly to the sight of him? She was no longer a silly fourteen-year-old girl. His words, words that had hurt more than anything she’d ever endured, had taken years to forget. But apparently she hadn’t forgotten them.

Why would I want crippled and scarred goods, Elizabeth? Go away, little girl.

Her ears began to buzz with a head-pounding hum. She had to get away from him. Now. He was too close. Only two minutes back in Red River Gulch and already the past she’d fought to escape had caught up with her. She bit her bottom lip, hoping to quell the trembling. A sudden urge to flee hit full force.

Before she could make a move, the last passenger literally fell out of the stagecoach. Elizabeth’s breath whooshed out as he knocked into her back, sending her flying. Flying right into Chase’s strong arms, where she landed with a thud against his broad, hard-as-Arkansas-stone chest. His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer.

Whoa, Elizabeth, where you racin’ off to? His voice held a teasing tone she remembered all too well.

She held still for a moment, savoring the feel of him, and relished the idea of being home again. An unexpected emotion flooded her senses. She felt protected. A long journey spent dealing with the unwelcome advances of the man who’d just knocked her into Chase’s arms had left her exhausted. A fellow passenger, father of the little boy on board, had tried to step in and settle the drunken man down, but he was clearly no match—and besides, he’d had his hands full entertaining the restless child. He’d given up trying to help after only a few attempts. Now, in Chase’s arms, she finally relaxed, finally felt safe.

Elizabeth?

His voice brought back the memories of her last night in Red River Gulch. Any thoughts of forgiveness fled her mind. Anger she’d thought long-ago forgotten washed over her and with it, the urge to strike out.

She snapped, It’s Miss Elizabeth. Please release me, Mr. Cameron. She couldn’t control the uncharacteristically arrogant tone of her voice. Nor did she want to.

Let’s wait until you get your balance and catch your breath. You’re a little long on wobble and a little short on air.

She wiggled an arm loose and, with all the dignity she could muster, reached up to right the fashionable headpiece that had slid down over her eyes, obstructing her view. Past hurts drove her to lash out again. I seem to be fine—for a cripple, of course. You may let go of me now.

"Ouch. That one stung, Miss Elizabeth."

She gave a short, unladylike snort. Apparently, Chase remembered his last cruel remarks to her. I hope the words burned a hole right through your heart. Oh, wait, I forgot. Chase Cameron doesn’t have a heart.

Chase kept a tight grip around her waist with one hand. He used the other to grab the back of the drunk’s belt and lift him up from the ground where he was sprawled. The man kicked his legs as Chase kept him suspended mid-air.

Damn crippled sow tripped me. Ought to be a law keeping scarred women hidden out of sight. Gonna give us all nightmares.

Elizabeth nearly missed the intoxicated man’s slurred words. The smell of whiskey invading her nose as he spoke made her nauseous. Oh, God, please. Please don’t do this now. Not in front of Chase. Don’t let him see he’s not the only man who sees me as flawed goods.

The weeks of traveling had been hard on her leg. She’d worried every time the stage had stopped to let the passengers stretch, fearful that someone would notice her limp. But it had been the little boy who’d given her bigger secret away when he’d pulled on her sleeve.

The material had given way and bared her disfigurement, and his loud gasp had drawn everyone’s attention. No one sitting inside the stage could’ve missed the ugly, puckered scars marring her exposed arm.

Elizabeth knew her face was flushing with twenty shades of embarrassment. She looked up at Chase, hoping he hadn’t heard the drunk’s garbled words. No such luck.

Chase’s dark brown eyes had turned almost black. His nostrils flared.

The gentleman with the little boy stepped forward and glanced at the drunk. This man can’t hold his liquor. I think he wore out his elbow tipping his shiny flask. He’s mean as all get-out and became especially rude after Miss Coltrane rebuffed his repeated advances. It made the stagecoach trip seem even longer. His eyes turned to Elizabeth. Sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t much help to you.

Elizabeth’s throat constricted and she couldn’t choke out a single word in reply.

Chase had seemed mad before, but now he looked positively furious. He let the man’s body drop with a loud thump and picked him back up roughly, ramming his knee into the fool’s face.

The drunk spat out a mouthful of blood. Ain’t nobody treats me this way. ’Specially over the likes of her. He nodded in Elizabeth’s direction.

Chase let him drop again. Sorry, buddy. Were you talkin’? Chase said through gritted teeth.

The man sputtered something she couldn’t understand, then passed out just as the sheriff of Red River Gulch joined the crowd gathered to meet the noon stage.

Sheriff Thomas, Chase said, nodding a greeting. He seemed to have gotten control of his anger. You wanna take care of this worthless piece of human flesh, or should I stuff him into the boot of the stagecoach and send him back to wherever he came from?

Chrissakes. Smells like his liver’s been marinating in a barrel of whiskey. The sheriff waved a hand in front of his face. I’ll handle him from here, son. Tempting as it is to let Charlie haul him away on the next stage, I’d best drag this old son-of-a-cur-dog’s behind to the jailhouse. He can sleep the liquor off there. He hooked a thick meaty hand around the semi-conscious man’s suspenders and yanked him to his feet.

Much obliged for the help, Chase. The sheriff tipped his hat in Elizabeth’s direction. Miss.

Elizabeth’s chest tightened and her throat constricted, stifling her. Had she buttoned her blouse too tightly? She reached up a gloved hand and pulled at her collar. She’d gotten so adept at hiding the scars and controlling the limp, both reminders of the mountain lion’s attack, the man’s cruel words had caught her off guard. Combined with seeing Chase again, long-forgotten feelings of hurt resurfaced. The memories of being taunted as a child stung and she pushed them away.

Chase pulled her closer, close enough that she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her chest. The warmth of his breath brushed across her cheek, then trickled down her neck, ending at her buttoned collar. He felt so familiar, yet at the same time foreign to her. She inhaled his scent—a man’s scent now. Spicy clove soap, worn leather, and peppermint. He still ate the minty candy he’d loved since the day her father had introduced the sweet to him as a child. The memory made her smile.

The barely-there muscles from his youth had morphed into pure man-muscle, hard and lean, begging a woman’s touch. A quick shiver ran through her rapidly heating body.

What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t feel anything for him but hate. Maybe she was confused by his kind behavior and the way he’d defended her when the drunk pushed into her. No. She refused to be the needy girl he’d walked all over six years ago. Or the woman her fiancé had pushed around. Elizabeth had no use for a man, never planned on needing one again. She’d come home reconciled to learning how to live alone in a man’s world.

Chase gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Elizabeth—

She put a gloved hand over his mouth, stopping his words. She didn’t want to hear the pity in them, didn’t want his sympathy. Even as a child, Elizabeth had never wanted him to feel sorry for her. She fought for control, her spine stiffening.

Mr. Cameron, would you please release me? She concentrated on making her voice sound unruffled and formal. She refused to let her emotions show. Somehow she managed to twist her body around but couldn’t quite shake his hold on her. I need to look for Poppy. He’s picking me up, and I’d like to gather my things so I’m ready when he arrives.

Chase’s hold loosened a moment before he released Elizabeth and turned her to face him again. She stilled as he gave a quick but thorough glance down her body, settling his attention on her shoulder. His eyes twinkled with mischief and he smiled in a crooked, half-cocky smirk. Darn his dimpled smile and darn him. At least there wasn’t any sign of pity on his face. Shivers raced through her like flashes of heat lightning.

She ran her hands down her skirt, smoothing the wrinkles. Exactly what is it you find so amusing, Mr. Cameron?

Reaching out, he picked a fallen peacock feather off her collar and waved the plume slowly and gently in front of her face, skimming over her lips. Every inch of her skin turned to goose flesh, including her nipples. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hunched her shoulders, trying to hide her misbehaving breasts.

He continued to slowly wiggle the feather from side to side. "Why, I do believe you’re molting, Miss Elizabeth."

Chase was teasing her again. How could she show him she was a sophisticated adult now, not the child he’d known before? Not with men falling out of stagecoach doors on top of her and the darn hat ‘molting.’ That much was certain. It was all downright humiliating.

And he was being too nice. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. He was acting like the old Chase, as if their last night together hadn’t broken her heart. Had he cared so little about her back then?

Elizabeth needed time to adjust to being around Chase again, needed to distance herself from him, both physically and mentally. But her current snobbish act seemed to have no effect on him. Her condescending words did little to wipe the grin off his face. But she wasn’t about to give in.

Her eyes flew open and she held out a hand. Give me the feather, you…you…you lily-livered donkey’s behind!

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Chase’s smile wrinkled into a devilish grin, his eyes wide and mocking. For such a proper lady, you sure are spitting out some pretty darn distasteful words.

Snatching the feather from his hand, she stomped on his foot, elbowed him in the belly, and marched away. How’s that for proper? Elizabeth didn’t know who she was angry with anymore, Chase for being so happy or herself for acting so childish.

He followed, his every step resounding in her ears.

Stopping cold in her tracks, she turned to him. What exactly do you want? Have you been kicked in the head by one too many cows? Before he answered, she spotted the Coltrane Corners’ carriage and stomped in its direction, waving him away. Never mind. I see Poppy’s carriage. He must be here somewhere.

That’s the ranch’s fancy buggy all right, but Everett isn’t the one drivin’.

Excuse me? Elizabeth had the sinking feeling that she knew what he was going to say next. She held her breath and waited for the words.

He stepped past her and stood next to the buggy. "Everett sent me to fetch you home. Now if you’d be so kind as to step aside, Miss Elizabeth, I’d be happy to load your trunk in the back of the buggy."

Although she deserved his sarcasm, she cringed at the way he said ‘Miss Elizabeth.’ I’d rather stick a cactus needle in my left eye than ride anywhere with you.

I think that can be arranged, but I imagine a poke in the eyeball would hurt like the dickens.

I’ve been gone six years, and you haven’t changed a bit, have you? Everything’s a big joke. You’re more infuriating than ever. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t keep the hateful words from tumbling out. I’d hoped you might have learned a few manners and social graces. But here you are, still a simple cowpoke.

What can I say? Once a donkey’s behind, always a donkey’s behind. He threw her words back at her. You know how things go when you spend your days chasin’ after cattle and ridin’ fences. A man can’t be expected to learn much in the way of social graces when he’s out mucking through pastures full of cow patties and horse dung.

She’d finally pushed him too far, gotten a reaction from him that wasn’t served up with a smile. Elizabeth saw the hurt in his eyes, heard the anger in his voice. Her face heated with guilt.

I may have been overly crude when I called you simple and a donkey’s behi… Well, you know what I said. She let her eyes drift down. She shouldn’t have spoken in anger. The insults weren’t very ladylike but considering the way he’d treated her in the past, she’d truly thought he deserved the words…until she saw the hurt in his gaze.

I accept your apology—such as it is.

Her head jerked up. I wasn’t offering you an apology.

No kidding. His voice was low. I’ve tried to ignore your bad behavior since this is your first day back, but damnation, Elizabeth, when did you turn into such an uppity snob?

Pardon me? She tilted her head to one side. I’m not a snob. Well, maybe she did sound a little snooty, but he was the one to blame for that. He brought out the worst in her. I don’t—

He cut her off. Never mind.

Her eyes followed Chase as he sauntered back to the stagecoach in that don’t-rush-me cowboy way that always looked so darn good on him. Oh yes, years of hard work had definitely added plenty of muscle and strength to his broad shoulders. He picked up her heavy trunk as if it weighed less than a barn cat and carried the chest on one shoulder to the carriage without even breaking a sweat. He made quick work of securing the trunk, then he was back at her side, standing a bit too close for her liking.

You gonna let me escort you home or are you planning on walking? He glanced down at her feet and shook his head. He looked up, tipped his hat back, and scratched his forehead. I can tell you right now, the fancy city boots you’re wearin’ aren’t gonna carry you very far.

Elizabeth weighed her options and wondered how she’d managed to back herself into a corner so quickly. Of course, she wasn’t going to walk all the way to the ranch, but she sure as heck wasn’t about to admit that to Chase. She couldn’t very well rent a horse from the livery—she wasn’t dressed suitably for riding. Maybe she’d hire a carriage instead.

Damnation, Elizabeth. Either you’re comin’ or you’re not.

I’m still thinking. There’s no need to raise your voice at me.

If you’re gonna be noodling on your decision much longer, I’m gonna march my boots over to Burt’s Saloon and have a drink.

What a good idea. You go have your drink, and I’ll noodle on the subject a while longer. I’ll give you my answer when you return.

He was grumbling under his breath as he walked away. She heard him anyway. Well, if this don’t beat all. Damn fickle woman.

Fickle? She’d show him fickle. Oh, Chase, before you go, would you be kind enough to give me a lift up? I’d just as soon sit while I noodle.

He stomped back in her direction, kicking up small clouds of dust.

She liked—perhaps a little too much—the warm, confident feel of his large hands wrapped around her waist as he gave her a boost up.

"Ten minutes, Miss Elizabeth. Then I’m comin’ back and you’d best have an answer for me."

Elizabeth busily tucked her skirt’s mountain of material into the carriage.

I promise. You’ll have your answer when you return.

For the first time since she’d stepped from the stagecoach, she graced him with a smile.

Chase swung open the saloon doors, still riding high on the smile Elizabeth had offered. A smile more brilliant than a Texas sunrise and more embracing than a Texas sunset, he marveled. Instead of the braids she’d worn as a child, her blonde hair was now pulled back in a tight chignon. Several whisper-thin tendrils had escaped, caressing the smooth looking skin of her face. His fingers itched to tuck the flyaway wisps of hair back behind her ears. Better yet, he wanted to toss the stupid hat, free the hair from its tight bun, and run his hands through the loose curls.

Elizabeth confused him. He was drawn to her, yet she’d been nothing but pure mean since she’d stepped off the stage. But damned if a certain one of his body parts wasn’t about to embarrass him in the middle of Burt’s.

What was he thinking? Elizabeth was off-limits. She was right. He was nothing but a simple cowpoke. She deserved better. Hell, for all he knew, he’d turn out like his pa a few years down the road. And what would her father think? Everett was not only Chase’s boss and mentor, he’d become his closest friend over the years. He’d definitely want more than a simple cowpoke with bad blood in him for his daughter. Maybe when Chase’s ranch became successful, he’d finally feel respectable. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. Even when the ranch began producing, his past would haunt him. He’d stick to his plan, one which didn’t include Elizabeth, or any other woman. Now all he had to do was convince his unruly body part of the fact.

He ambled to the bar, ready for a drink, and hoping to put all thoughts of Elizabeth out of his mind. The piano wasn’t playing. Then again, it seldom was until evening when things livened up in town. This time of day, the only noise came from the loud voices and laughter at the table where a group of men were playing a rowdy hand of poker. The place smelled of stale tobacco and cheap perfume. Only two of Burt’s saloon hall girls were strutting their assets around. They were dressed in colorful, flesh-baring costumes and cheap boas. Chase thought of Elizabeth’s feathered hat and smiled. She’d probably paid a fortune for the damned thing. He saddled up to the bar, with a grin still plastered across his face.

Burt brought him his usual shot glass full of whiskey and set it down in front of him with a loud thwack, then did a double take.

Damn, Chase. What’re you all gussied up for and smiling like an idiot about?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy old geezer. Been dippin’ in the barrels a little too much today?

I don’t drink this piss-water. I just sell the stuff to fools like you. Burt leaned in and sniffed. So, come on and tell me, what’s the pretty smell? You’re wearing cologne, ain’t you? Kinda reminds me of cloves.

It’s called bay rum and it’s none of your business how I smell.

You’re all shaved, bathed, and wearing clean duds. Burt stared at him for a moment. Hell in a handbasket, you done gone and dusted off your Stetson. Something’s up.

Well, if you gotta know, I’m escorting the boss’s daughter home to Coltrane Corners. I thought maybe, since she’s been living back East for the last six years, she might not be appreciative of ridin’ alongside a dust-covered, unshaven, cattle-smelling ranch hand. Simple cowpoke my ass. Now if you’re done mindin’ my business, I’d like to enjoy my whiskey in peace and quiet, and then be on my way.

The nosey barkeeper leaned forward, elbows on the bar. Can I ask you one more quick question?

If it’ll buy me a moment of alone time? Sure, ask away.

Burt stood straight, lifted a glass, and wiped at the rim with a cloth. Are you picking up Miss Coltrane in the Coltrane carriage?

Of course, I am. You don’t think I’m gonna toss her over my horse’s back and ride away into the sunset with her, do you? Chase scrutinized Burt’s face and narrowed his eyes. Why’re you asking?

’Cause if my eyesight ain’t failed me, I believe the Coltrane Corners’ rig took off about the same time you was a-walkin’ through the saloon’s doors smiling like a ninny. And you, my friend, weren’t riding in it.

2

After what felt like an eternity, Elizabeth drove the carriage through the ranch’s large iron gates. The gates stretched wide open, like two familiar arms waiting to welcome her home. The vision warmed Elizabeth from the inside out. She halted the carriage and drank in the sights and smells of the ranch. Tilting her head upward, she soaked up the rays of the hot Texas sun. Shade trees spotted the land, offering the only respite from the soaring heat.

To her right, longhorn cattle grazed on the endless miles of tall prairie grasses, their muted moos and bellows like music to her ears. On her left, the ranch horses foraged lazily in their own pasture, the stables in the distant background.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the heated springtime breezes carrying the scent of livestock and fresh grasslands. Crickets chirped happy greetings, interrupted by the occasional buzz of a passing bee. The spot not only looked and smelled like home, it sounded like home. Elizabeth welcomed the tenderness flowing through her insides, comforting her. Goodness, how she’d missed this place.

For the first time in six years, she felt truly relaxed. Why the devil had she waited so long to come home? She’d hated New York and everything about the place. Her treatments. The crowds. Her mother. And eventually, even James—the man she had once considered marrying. She belonged here. Always had, always would.

Coltrane Corners was the largest cattle ranch this side of the Red River. The spread boasted forty thousand acres and ran about twenty thousand head of noisy Texas longhorn cattle. And Elizabeth was the sole heir to everything here. She was determined, when the ranch belonged to her someday, to do a good job running it. As good as any man could do, maybe better.

Excitement raced through her. She flicked the reins and clicked her tongue. Let’s go! Giddy-up!

She absorbed every knock of the buggy, welcomed the jarring impact of each bump she hit, and relished the feel of the wind against her skin. When she was alone, there’d be no more pampered rides for her. With a smile on her face, Elizabeth pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the oversized barn just as old Jack hobbled out. A black patch covered one eye and the other seemed to zero in on her. After a moment of apparent confusion, a look of recognition settled on his face.

Well, hot damn! If it ain’t my little Lizzy. Let’s get you down from your seat and have a look, girlie.

The old man gave her a hand down. He twirled her around twice. If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. He grinned. Make that one sore eye.

"Jack,