Wrangled

By Delores Fossen

Deputy Hayes McKinney would do pretty much anything to become sheriff of Caldwell City, Texas, but he gets a lot more than he’s bargained for when a thief’s trail leads him straight to the Guardian Angel, a female-only ranch where men aren’t welcome. However, that “no-males allowed” rule is the least of his troubles when he runs smack dab into the ranch’s owners, Maggie Donnelly and her two aunts who give eccentric a whole new meaning. Hayes soon learns that the wild, wild west is more tempting than he’d ever imagined, and the worst temptation of all is Maggie herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delores Fossen
• Release date: Jul 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465973375

Delores Fossen

USA Today bestselling author, Delores Fossen, is a former Air Force officer who’s sold over 150 novels. She's received the Booksellers' Best Award for romantic suspense, the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award and was a finalist for the Rita ®. In addition, she's had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines.You can contact the author through her webpage at www.deloresfossen.com

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WRANGLED

By Delores Fossen

Copyright 2011 Delores Fossen

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

Copyright 2011 by Delores Fossen

Cover Design: BFD. Copyright 2012 by BFD

CHAPTER ONE

Texas, 1887

The woman’s watermelon-size right breast hung at least six inches lower than her left one. It would have been hard for Maggie Donnelly not to notice that about the visitor who just stepped from the buggy.

Um, there could be something shady about this one, her Aunt Belle whispered.

Maggie made a hearty sound of agreement. Something shady, however, was putting it mildly. Something ridiculous was closer to the truth.

She walks like she’s got an ornery cat between her knees, Belle added. And look at those hips.

Her hips? What about them? Maggie couldn’t see much of the woman’s lower body with the full squirrel-colored visiting suit billowing in the breeze.

She doesn’t have any, that’s what. Tall. Dark. And about as womanly as a fence post.

Without taking her gaze off the approaching visitor, Maggie idly patted her aunt’s hand. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Yet. That’s supposed to be Patricia Billing’s sister, Hazel, and Patricia did mention in her telegram that her sister's a little on the homely side.

But it was hard for Maggie to tell if Hazel was homely or not. A white gauzy veil covered the bottom half of her face, and a mop of coffee brown hair hid her forehead. Only her eyes were visible, and they didn’t do much to convince Maggie that it was a woman walking up the yellow rose-lined path toward them.

Did Patricia say anything in that telegram about her sister being the size of a lumberjack? Belle asked.

So the woman is a little large, Maggie calmly remarked, hoping to soften her aunt’s bristly tone. You’re the one who always says that people come in all shapes and sizes. Size means nothing.

"I’d agree with that about most things. But in this case, it could mean she’s a he."

Yes. Best to think this through though before they did anything reckless. Or just plain embarrassing. The dogs wouldn’t let a man through the gate road. Finn, especially. He can smell a man a mile away.

True. But I prefer to trust my own nose over that of an old hound with a fondness for sniffing people’s private parts, Belle concluded. Besides, that could be someone looking for Serafina.

It was the first thing that occurred to Maggie when she caught sight of the odd looking visitor. Well, actually the second. Her first thought was those were the most bulbous breasts she had ever seen on anyone or anything. Dairy cows included.

A noisy huff left Belle’s mouth, and she tucked a loose strand back into the knot of sugar-white hair that she had piled haphazardly on her head. Well, if it is someone after Serafina, then I’ll send him or her marching right back up the path.

Easier said than done. In addition to being rail thin, Belle’s head was barely level with Maggie’s shoulder. A good gust of wind beneath her full cinnamon-striped skirt, and her aunt would likely be carried into the next county.

No, there wasn’t much Belle could do to discourage someone who was trying to sneak onto the ranch, but Maggie darn sure could. She ran her hand over her pocket to make certain her derringer was there.

It was.

Too bad it wasn’t loaded. Unfortunately, Belle had hidden the bullets, again, and Maggie hadn’t been able to find them. An empty gun wasn’t exactly her first choice for warding off an unwelcome visitor, but it would have to do.

I’ll figure out if that bosom is real, Belle insisted, punctuating it with a resolute nod.

Blazes. Not again. Aunt Belle, the idea of running a ladies’ guest house is actually to encourage ladies to stay here. We don’t want another incident like the one last week with Miss Lendrum, now do we?

No, we don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let a suspicious character come strolling into the Guardian Angel. Take a good look at her, Maggie. That’s no lady.

If that’s true, then we’ll figure it out without you squeezing her breasts. Miss Lendrum's still upset about that.

Miss Lendrum is just plain persnickety. Well, la-de-da. Her breasts looked like two lumpy sacks of flour. Belle tipped her head to the guest who was now only fifteen feet or so away from the veranda where they stood. And so do hers.

They did. But Maggie wouldn’t give her aunt any encouragement. As it was, Belle had already garnered too much enthusiasm for a squeezing search.

Please don’t go near this one, Maggie cautioned. And she hoped like the devil that just this once Belle would take her advice. Of course, hell stood a better chance of getting a sudden cold spell than her aunt did of listening to her.

The bosom-squeezing tone, however, dropped from Belle’s voice when she greeted their visitor, and what remained of her Irish lilt danced right off the words. Miss Billings, I’m Belle Mary Donnelly. This is my niece, Maggie. Welcome to the Guardian Angel Ranch. We hope your stay with us will be restful and spiritually enlightening.

Plopping her tapestry bag onto the porch, Hazel clomped onto the veranda and slipped her gaze over Belle and then Maggie. Thank you. I’m sure it will be.

There was something downright suspicious about that bird-chirp voice. And the scrutinizing gaze. Maggie didn’t need to pinch anything to know that. Hazel’s eyes were a pretty color, a deep leafy green. The lashes were long and thick as well, like a woman’s. However, that wasn’t a woman’s glance that passed her way. Unh-unh. Maggie knew when a man had given her a good looking over.

No testing bosoms, she’d warned Belle. But there were other ways to prove a man was a man.

Maybe her aunt wouldn’t try every single one of them.

Belle smiled sweetly. We don’t stand on ceremony here, she announced. She outstretched her arms and pulled Hazel into an embrace. This is how we like to welcome guests to the ranch.

Maggie groaned softly. Belle obviously ignored it and hauled Hazel right against her.

Wadded up cleaning rags, her aunt mouthed.

God help her.

Belle added a robust pat on Hazel’s back. A very muscled back from what Maggie could see. Hmmm. Either Hazel Billings did duty as a pack mule, or else this was a man. Now, she had to do something about it. Before Belle did.

Heavens, Aunt Belle, you’re overwhelming her. Maggie put a firm grip on her aunt’s shoulder and pried them apart.

Obviously not wanting to miss an opportunity to grope, Belle let her hand slide across the visitor’s right breast.

Definitely too squishy, she whispered over her shoulder to Maggie. And no nipple.

If that were true, then it was solid proof. Well, maybe. Hazel could be unlucky enough to have squishy, nippleless breasts. Not likely though. However, Maggie didn’t want to confront the visitor with her aunt around. The situation might get out of hand.

"I’ll show Hazel to her room," Maggie quickly volunteered.

Not that she gave their guest much of a choice. She picked up his bag, looped her arm through his and practically dragged him inside. Unfortunately, since that occupied both of her hands, Maggie couldn’t stop her aunt from following them up the stairs.

The Guardian Angel isn’t just a place of respite for women, Belle said, sliding right into her innkeeper’s voice. It’s a working ranch with all female hands. Probably the only one of its kind in the whole country. We raise Angus cattle. And chickens. Lots of chickens.

That’s nice, he commented.

Maggie had no idea where this conversation was going, but she was positive she wouldn’t like its destination.

Belle continued to chatter. You should see this one hen we have. Bertha is her name, and all day long all she does is peck. She paused on the landing and looked him straight in the eye. "A real pecker, Bertha is."

All right. So, that’s where the conversation was headed. Blazes! If by some miracle this was truly a woman, then they were in deep trouble. She’d likely want them both arrested. Or else committed to the lunatic asylum over in Grand Valley.

However, other than a slight slippery rise of an eyebrow, Hazel didn’t have a reaction to that suggestive term. Maggie did. She shot her aunt a warning glance. Don’t you have to begin meditations?

Not just yet. Belle threw open the door and breezed inside. "This is the Victoria Woodhull room, named for the famous proponent of women’s suffrage. It’s one of the quieter rooms in the house. Of course, the Guardian Angel tends to be on the quiet side anyway. No loud celebrations. No fancy, uh, balls."

That did it. Maggie couldn’t continue to choke back those groans. Besides, she’d clenched her jaw so tight, it was starting to hurt.

Without drawing too much attention to herself, Maggie tried to catch onto her aunt, but Belle ducked around her and went to the window. She opened it, and the breeze immediately began to flutter through the room. Belle tugged at the collar of her shirtwaist blouse. It’s a bit warm in here, don’t you think, Hazel? Perhaps you’d feel more comfortable if you removed your veil?

Oh no, dear. I’d rather keep it on. His voice lowered to a secretive whisper. I have this embarrassing problem with my skin.

Late afternoon stubble, no doubt, Belle mumbled under her breath as she walked toward him.

Maggie stepped between them. Not the best idea she’d ever had. Belle just continued to move forward, and he didn’t step back either. Maggie ended up squished between them. And yes, it probably was cleaning rags. There wasn’t a nipple of any measurable size anywhere around, but she hadn’t needed further proof.

Hazel, Belle said. She let the name curve her mouth into a smile. Have you ever had a massage?

Ohmygod.

Belle’s hands weren’t quick enough that that time. Maggie caught onto her aunt’s arm and urged her toward the door. That didn’t stop Belle, however, from carrying on with her ludicrous lecture.

A massage is a newfangled idea to help improve the circulation and to assist in relaxation, Belle said, her words so fast that they practically ran together. She was obviously trying to get out as much as possible before Maggie pushed her from the room. I swear by it ever since that Shanghai seamstress with severe constipation and ague visited the ranch last year.

Oh? Hazel questioned.

While Maggie hauled her aunt to the door, Belle continued. A proper massage involves touches, caresses and careful strokes. All meant to coax the body into tranquility and peacefulness. Of course, it’s only likely to have that effect on a woman. Heaven knows, how a man would react to such ado and all that rubbing. It’d likely give him a hard bargain, if you get my meaning.

And with that senseless two-sided remark, Belle stopped struggling. Just like that. Give Hazel a massage, Maggie, she suggested. A real long, thorough one.

Pigs would sprout wings first.

But her aunt didn’t just leave it as a suggestion. She smiled sweetly, a little old lady’s smile that sent a prickle up Maggie’s neck. Belle caught onto Maggie’s hand and flattened it on their guest’s stomach. A man’s lower stomach. Where firm muscles, and other manly things, stirred and twitched.

Because Maggie was so close to him, she saw a single word of silent profanity form on his veil-covered mouth. You certainly, um, have a fine touch, Maggie.

Maybe. But she hadn’t exactly touched him in a way to elicit such a compliment. In fact, her hand hadn’t moved much at all, even though her little finger certainly grazed something suspicious. It was sort of like the barrel of a gun. But different. Different enough for her to know this was a man with all his parts in working order.

Without taking her gaze from his and without removing her hand from his stomach, Maggie yanked open the door and gave her aunt a nudge into the hallway. See to the other guests, Aunt Belle. Maggie slammed the door.

It was showdown time.

You know, there’s something odd about you, Maggie let him know right off.

He fluttered his eyelashes. I don’t believe I know what you mean. Perhaps you could be more, um, specific?

That riled every bone in her already riled body. You want something specific? Well, how about this? Maggie wadded up a handful of his traveling suit. And just kept wadding. Until she had a fist filled with the rag stuffing. How do you explain that?

More eyelash fluttering. Many women embellish their figures. His gaze traveled to her breasts. Lingered there. Much too long. Not you, of course. Guess you want to know how I know that, huh? Well, it’s because your left nipple has breached the boundaries of your corset and is--now, how shall I say this--having a little peek-a-loo over the top. I can see it quite easily since the fabric of your dress isn’t of the thick variety.

Maggie just stared at him. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of checking to make sure he’d told the truth. Besides, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time for such a breach since she often went without a corset cover.

And my, my, he went on. Obviously, he wanted to die a slow, painful death. I believe your nipple is actually puckering a bit right at this very moment. It’s drawing itself into a tight, little, almost tantalizing bud that would make a man’s fingers just want to tug at it. He paused a heartbeat. And maybe play with it a while.

Oh.

Maggie pushed aside the strange curl of heat that seeped through her body. Without taking her eyes from his, and while trying to maintain just a shred of dignity, she raked her fingers over her breast and shoved her puckered, peeping left nipple back into the corset.

He leaned closer as if telling a secret. Your other nipple’s doing it now. His twittery tone disappeared, and in its place was a deep male voice. Must be some sort of female reaction to something in this room. Can’t imagine what though.

That really, really did it.

In fact, the aggravation that shot through Maggie overrode everything including common sense, something she probably should have held onto for a while longer. She grabbed what her finger had grazed earlier. Six inches of man. Well, maybe seven.

Seven and a half at the very most.

And what about this? she asked smugly. Is this embellishment as well?

His eyes rolled back in his head. No, he said, not easily, and after a hoarse groan. That’s something you probably ought not to be squeezing like that.

God! She had squeezed it. And it had in a manner of speaking begun to embellish itself. Maggie let go of it as if it had scalded her.

You’re leaving, she announced. And I don’t mean just leaving this room either. You’re getting off the ranch.

She caught onto his forearms at the same moment that he caught onto hers. They whirled around like a couple in an awkward dance. They grappled for position. Stepped on each other’s toes. Off-balanced themselves. And landed hard against the bedpost. They fell into a heap on the overly soft feather mattress.

All in all, it was possibly the best position Maggie could have hoped for. She ended up on top of her guest with her leg wedged between his.

She whipped out the derringer from her pocket. Since it was already in that general area, she simply aimed it at his most prominent male feature. With the recent embellishment, it wasn’t difficult to find.

I don’t know who the heck you are, mister, but you’ve got some serious explaining to do.

He didn’t have quite the reaction that Maggie expected him to have, considering she held a gun on him.

The corner of his mouth hitched in a satisfied, almost cocky grin. You think so? he drawled. Then, darling, that makes two of us.

CHAPTER TWO

Well, this wasn’t exactly the way Hayes McKinney had planned his trip to Guardian Angel Ranch. But then he hadn’t thought the ridiculous disguise would fool anyone for long. He only needed it to get him through the front gate and past the half dozen or so sniffing guard dogs. The fact that he was all the way upstairs and on the bed in the Victoria Woodhull, famous suffragette, room was a real surprise.

But not nearly as much of a surprise as the woman who had a derringer pointed at his manly tool.

Well? the somewhat frazzled-looking, gun-jabbing woman prompted. Start explaining.

First things first. Call him overly cautious, but Hayes didn’t like having a gun, even a little one, aimed at such a vital part of him.

He slammed his hand at the derringer, knocking it from her grip. It flew across the bed and clattered onto the floor. In the same motion, he scissored his legs, flipped her on her back and put himself squarely on top of her.

To subdue her, of course.

It had nothing to do with that sweet little hand she’d squeezed around him earlier. And it damn sure had nothing to do with the fact that he was aroused beyond belief. No, this had nothing to do with those things at all. This was business. He just hoped he didn’t forget that.

How dare you--

But he cut her off in mid-howl. Hayes flattened his hand over her mouth and stopped the outraged protest that he heard bubbling up in her throat. He wasn’t fast enough to stop her flailing hand though. She tore at his veil, probably on a quest to gouge out his eyeballs, but she had to settle for ripping the cloth from his face.

Their gazes met. Collided, actually. And while she made muffled sounds of outrage, she squirmed, wiggled and otherwise protested her predicament. Unfortunately, she squirmed, wiggled and otherwise protested against a particular spot that needed no such encouragement.

God, you’re like a wildcat, he grumbled. I would give you a few suggestions on how to better fight off an opponent, but seeing that I’m the opponent, I’ll keep those things to myself for the time being.

He caught the fingertip of one of his frilly white gloves between his teeth and peeled it off so he could at least have some normal feeling in his hand. He blew the swatch of cotton and lace aside.

Let me save you some breath, Hayes calmly explained. Fighting won’t help. It’ll just get us both all sweaty and will make sweat stains on the underarms of my traveling jacket. Besides, it’s not necessary for you to carry on like this. I won’t hurt you.

It was hard to tell, but he thought she suggested he do something physically impossible with his foot and an orifice of his body.

I just need some information, he continued. That was almost the truth anyway. Best not to spring too much on her too soon. She already had enough to deal with since he’d outmaneuvered her.

And, well, since he was on top of her and all.

His body seemed to have a strange reaction to that. It rather liked the idea. That made him one sick, disgusting fellow. Never had subduing a fighting, snarling, potentially dangerous woman excited him, and he wouldn’t let it start now. Even if he had to fight it hard.

You’d be doing both of us a favor if you would cooperate, he added just as he dodged the shoulder that she was about to smash into the right side of his jaw. And it’d make me feel a whole lot better if you stopped trying to make open gaping wounds on my body.

She responded with two mumbled syllables that he didn’t want to interpret. No sense starting the business part of their conversation until she’d settled down some more so Hayes just waited her out.

And stared at her.

All in all, Maggie Donnelly wasn’t hard to look at. Thick, waist-length brown hair that had some streaks of gold in it. Or maybe bronze. Hayes hadn’t quite decided which. She certainly looked a lot better from this angle than she had from the other end of a spying glass, which was exactly how he’d observed her for the past two days.

But it wasn’t her hair or the vivid memories of his surveillance that held his attention now that he could see her up close. It was those eyes. Bright violet-blue rimmed with indigo. In all his thirty-one years, he’d never seen eyes that color. They were like some special kind of exotic jewels that people heard about but never got to see. Well, he could see them now.

Hayes got so caught up in those incredible eyes that he almost forgot about her somewhat incredible knee. She darn near made contact with his groin before he gave their positions another hasty adjustment.

I wish you wouldn’t get so upset, he calmly stated.

Five mumbled syllables that time and a hiss.

He sandwiched her attack knee between his legs. Unfortunately, that put his own thigh right against her womanhood. It didn’t matter that there was at least three inches of fabric between them. The contact was enough for him to remember he was a fully functioning man and he had a woman beneath him on the bed.

Best to get their little talk started as soon as possible. An erection wouldn’t be much of a bargaining tool, and besides it would be just plain embarrassing and completely impossible to hide in a skirt.

Before I move my hand, we have to lay down some rules, Hayes let her know. I talk. You listen. When we’re done, you’ll help me. Understand? By the way, none of that is up for negotiation so there’s no reason for you to argue with me or anything.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought little gold lightning bolts shot through her eyes.

I wouldn’t scream either if I were you, Hayes continued. After all, that would just bring your aunt running up here to see what’s wrong. I don’t think we need her in here just yet. In fact, I don’t think that would be a good idea at all, do you?

And he left it at that. Hopefully, there was just enough of an implied threat in his voice that would make Maggie Donnelly keep her mouth shut.

If that was possible.

No little gold lightning bolts this