Part 1 (1/2)

AMBUSHED!.

Vicki Lewis Thompson.

Prologue.

June 3, 1937.

From the diary of Eleanor Chance.

WHO WOULD have thought s.e.x in a hayloft could be so much fun? Or that I'd be happy living in a barn? But the barn was in better shape than the house when we arrived at the Last Chance Ranch a month ago, so Archie and I took the hayloft for our bedroom and my brother Seth sleeps in one of the stalls down below.

I won't pretend the past month's been easy for me, what with learning to be a bride and a carpenter all at once. Archie says I'm pretty good at being a bride. The two of us burn up the sheets in our makes.h.i.+ft bed. But even Archie, who loves me dearly, admits I'm a little less talented as a carpenter.

Fortunately Seth is better at that skill than I am. Between Archie and Seth's efforts and my puny contributions, we've made a temporary home out of the barn and have a start on building a house. We tore down the old one, with much hooting and hollering because it was such an eyesore.

If we work like beavers we might have the house done before the first snow, which would be nice. Winters are hard in Jackson Hole, and besides, I'd like to celebrate Christmas in a real house instead of a barn.

Even though I'm not so great with a hammer, my sewing has helped us out. I made a wedding dress for a nearby rancher's daughter and took a cow in payment. The barter system works well here, and eventually I hope to st.i.tch my way to another four-legged critter. This time I want a bull. Archie and I are holding off starting a family until we have an income-producing cattle herd.

More news-Seth has taken a liking to Joyce, the woman who owns the Rusty Spur Saloon in nearby Shoshone. Seth can't afford but one beer a night, so he makes it last and flirts like crazy with Joyce.

She's a good woman and I know Seth is looking for the same kind of happiness Archie and I have. Archie's given me a nickname. He calls me Nelsie. I like it.

In between the carpentering, Archie helped me plant a vegetable garden. We're out in the middle of nowhere, so he had to fence it to keep out the rabbits and deer. The tomato vines have blossomed and carrot tops are waving in the breeze.

It's funny, but that garden seems almost as important as having a roof over my head. I feel like I'm putting down roots right along with the vegetables. Against all odds, we're building a life here. I do believe this is where we are meant to be.

1.

Present Day.

GABE CHANCE hadn't expected to get all choked up over riding in Shoshone's annual Fourth of July parade. For the past ten years he'd spent summers competing in cutting-horse events and hadn't been home to take part in this nonsense. But he was home now and it was the first parade without his dad. Milling around the staging area without Jonathan Chance barking orders seemed plain wrong.

His two older brothers were pretending they weren't affected. That was easier for Jack, who was four years ahead of Gabe and eons ahead of the human race in his ability to hide his feelings. Nick was struggling a bit. Gabe could see it in his green eyes. As for their mom-well, Sarah had chosen to wear shades for the occasion. Good call.

Thank G.o.d Jack had vetoed Nick's typically sappy idea of tying Gold Rush, their dad's b.u.t.terscotch paint, behind the Last Chance wagon driven by Emmett Sterling, the ranch foreman. Talk about maudlin. As a compromise, Nick was riding Gold Rush, because a Fourth of July parade wouldn't seem right without that flashy horse prancing down Main Street.

Nick kept close to the wagon because his main squeeze, Dominique Jeffries, was riding in it. She was a photographer based in Indiana and was only here for the long weekend, but from the way those two lovebirds were acting, Gabe predicted she'd soon relocate.

Naturally she was shooting a bunch of pictures of Nick on that horse. She'd never met their dad, so she had no reason to be sentimental today, but every time Gabe looked over at Gold Rush all tricked out in his dad's silver-studded saddle, a baseball-size lump clogged his throat. He needed a distraction and he needed one now.

Well, hallelujah. Just beyond the staging area a gorgeous redhead was struggling to control an Appaloosa. The gelding first tried brus.h.i.+ng her off against a post. Then he headed for a patch of gra.s.s several yards away and paid no attention as she attempted to steer him back.

Gabe rose in his stirrups and pointed to the redhead as he hollered over at Jack. ”I'm gonna help her out. I'll be right back.”

Jack gave him a stern look that was pure Jonathan Chance, Senior. ”Don't get lost. Parade starts in fifteen minutes.”

”I'll be here.” Gabe wasn't crazy about the way Jack was issuing orders these days, but their dad's will had put his oldest brother solidly in charge of the ranch. That set Jack and Gabe on a collision course, because suddenly Jack was questioning whether the Last Chance should fund Gabe's cutting-horse events.

Their dad had always said that Gabe's presence on the circuit boosted sales of the ranch's registered paints, and Gabe's horse Top Drawer was only ten grand shy of the required earnings for the American Cutting Horse a.s.sociation's Hall of Fame. But apparently Jack viewed Gabe's summers away as a drain on the system. Maybe the lack of support was affecting Gabe's concentration, because he wasn't winning as much prize money on Top Drawer this summer, which made for a vicious cycle.

He'd unwittingly brought the issue to a head during an unscheduled trip home with an injured mare he'd saved from the slaughterhouse. Jack had seized the opportunity to keep Gabe at the ranch for a while.

Gabe figured he could change his brother's att.i.tude eventually, but for today he'd set the conflict aside. It was a holiday, one that made them all super-aware that their dad was gone. He'd try to keep the peace, mostly for his mother's sake.

But that didn't mean he couldn't walk Top Drawer over and a.s.sist the redhead battling a gelding that didn't seem to like parades. Because Gabe was following the woman, he had a chance to read the embroidered back of her white satin Western s.h.i.+rt. Morgan O'Connelli Real Estate.

He recognized that strange last name from somewhere. He even remembered that it was a weird-a.s.s combination of Irish and Italian created by parents who hadn't wanted to hyphenate their kids' last names. But he wasn't sure why he knew that.

Before he had a chance to reach the woman, the Appaloosa took a notion and started to trot, nearly dislodging her. She lost her cool but not her seat, although clearly she was now merely a pa.s.senger and the horse was in charge, probably headed back to the barn.

Gabe nudged Top Drawer into a canter. Luckily he'd chosen to ride this particular horse today. The roan paint had some thoroughbred in him and was much faster than Finicky, Gabe's other cutting horse.

When the Appaloosa gathered his speckled hind-quarters and put on his own burst of speed, Gabe decided he was done playing games. Leaning over Top Drawer's neck, he urged his horse on and caught up to the gelding easily. ”Hang on!” he called to the woman as he came up on her left.

She abandoned the reins and gripped the saddle horn.

Grabbing the Appaloosa's bridle, Gabe braced himself. ”Whoa, son! Whoa, there!”

The horse slowed in tandem with Top Drawer, proving that he was schooled well enough, but had chosen to take advantage of an inexperienced rider. The two horses stopped in the middle of the empty street.

”That's better.” Switching his grip from the Appaloosa's bridle to the knotted reins hanging around the horse's neck, Gabe glanced over at the redhead to see how she was holding up. ”You okay?”

She flashed him a big smile, but her jaw was clenched tighter than a strap on a hay bale and her face was almost as white as her s.h.i.+rt. ”Fine!” She barely moved her lips.

He decided she was in shock. ”Stay right there and I'll come get you.”

”Fine!” She had a deer-in-the-headlights look and only a faint ring of blue-green showed around her dilated pupils.

Keeping a firm grip on the Appaloosa's reins, Gabe maneuvered Top Drawer until he had room to dismount. Then he ground-tied his horse so he could concentrate on helping the redhead out of the saddle.

She had a death-grip on the saddle horn and was breathing fast, fast enough that she drew Gabe's attention to the front of her s.h.i.+rt. He had a special fondness for big-breasted women, but he knew it was politically incorrect, not to mention rude, to let his gaze linger there. Still, he couldn't help noticing that the top three snaps were undone and a fourth was threatening to pop any minute.

He glanced up at her. ”Ready to come down?”

”Sure!” She favored him with another big smile.

”Want any help?”

”No, thanks!” Without any preliminaries she swung her right leg over the horse's spotted rump. But the Appaloosa was tall and she wasn't, so unless she loosened her grip on that horn...

As the dismount started going bad, Gabe stepped in and caught her around the waist. ”Easy does it.”