Court Me, Cowboy

One day soon, he'd get rid of this wedding ring. Gabe Miller tossed the gold circle into the air and snatched it back again, trying not to think of the woman who'd slipped it onto his left hand, third finger. Trying not to think of what she'd had inscribed inside. Forever, M What a crock. Forever hadn't lasted but three short weeks. Scowling, he shoved the band into the velvet-lined jeweler's box and slid it back in place beneath the stack of flannel shirts in the dresser drawer. Call him a dumb cowboy, but it'd taken his own wife's desertion to finally get the familiar message rammed into his thick skull: Never trust a woman. "Yo, boss." He turned. Warren stood in the bedroom doorway, his whiskered face scrunched into a frown. "Shake a leg. The boys'll be raring to eat any minute now." "Right." As Gabe headed down the hall in the wake of his elderly ranch hand, he cursed, then felt immediate guilt. Warren hadn't caused his ugly mood. Their two pairs of boots sounded loud on the bare wooden stairs that led them to the first floor, where they entered the kitchen. "We gotta get us a cook, boss. It's been nearly a month since Joe and Mary went back East." Warren flipped a switch, powering up the coffeemaker Gabe had gotten ready the night before. "Lord knows, a rancher's got enough to keep him moving sunup to sundown. And you're kept busier than most, managing this big spread yourself 'n all." "We're doing just fine, Warren." He was careful to keep his tone neutral, knowing how much it grated on the older man that he couldn't pull his weight with the younger hands anymore. "Yeah, long as you don't try gettin' too fancy." "Okay, so the pancakes didn't work out so well." That earned him a chuckle. Gabe grabbed the egg carton and a pack of pork links from the refrigerator. Sure, having to undertake kitchen duties once his ranch cook and her husband had moved on had been the last thing he'd needed. Gabe did have more to handle than most of the local ranchers. Something Marissa hadn't understood. He rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed a growl. He had to stop thinking of Marissa. Lost cause, that idea. He brooded on it anyway. Why the heck had he woken up this morning--alone in his big bed--with the feeling today would turn out worse than the usual? He couldn't manage to push the gloom from his mind the way he'd shoved the wedding ring back under his flannel shirts. The ring he should have tossed out, just as she'd tossed him aside months ago. That, right there, was the problem. She'd walked out three months ago today. Jared and Hank and the rest of the cowhands trooped into the kitchen. Their usual banter drowned out the sizzle of eggs and sausages. "Hey, boys, hold it down a bit," Warren grumbled. "Don't know where you get your energy this early in the morning." Gabe grimaced, knowing his own bad mood had caused the complaints. He was used to rowdy cowboys before the sun was even up--he'd breakfasted with ranch hands all his life. But he remembered best those days--those way too few days--when he'd skipped the chow-downs out at the bunkhouse to spend every last early-morning moment he could bedded down with his wife. Hank, best known as the ranch's clown, looked over Gabe's shoulder. "No pancakes today, boss?" The rest of the men guffawed. "All right, so I'm not much of a cook." Marissa was. He shook the thought away. "Better knock it off, or y'all will be taking turns at the stove." Silence fell heavier than a bale dropped from the hayloft. His back still turned to his men, he reached for the egg carton again and grinned. Shut them up, all right. In the calm, he heard the noise of a car's engine. Awfully early for visitors. Warren pushed up the blind over the kitchen sink and squinted through the window. "Seems lWhite Daille, Barbara is the author of 'Court Me, Cowboy', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373751440 and ISBN 0373751443.