“Yes, and some might say I was deservin’.”

“In that case, you must consider yourself a very lucky man, Mr. McKnight.”

“Lucky?”

“Not everyone gets what he deserves.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a dent in her guarded demeanor, but it was gone in a blink. Shoulders back, she left the room with far more dignity than when she’d entered.

Staring at the closed door, Chase sat back in his chair with a frown. Too bad the lady was so hell-bent on dissolving the marriage. She would have saved him a world of trouble. No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he changed his mind.

A woman scared of mice and who couldn’t ride would be more trouble than she was worth. Still, she would have livened things up a bit, that was for sure.

His gaze found its way to his grandfather’s daguerreotype. The grainy picture had been taken years ago when his grandfather was about the same age as Chase was now. The man in the photograph looked more like a country parson than the man who had fought off rustlers to save the ranch. That was the least of it. Through the years, his grandfather had also lost cattle to disease, droughts, and wildfire.

Chase didn’t want to think that Grandpa McKnight had it easy. But nothing had threatened the ranch more than a single sentence on a legal document. The first son married will have full ownership of the ranch, providing the marriage lasts a full year.

6

The chore of driving Emily to town had been assigned to a wrangler by the name of Big-Foot Harry. A tall man with bear-size limbs, he had craggy skin with the same rough surface as a peach pit.

The moment Emily settled onto the seat of the four-wheel buggy, he clicked his tongue, and the sorrel mare shuffled forward. A second horse tied to the back of the rented vehicle belonged to the driver and would provide transportation back to the ranch.

It was hot and muggy, and Emily felt sticky all over. It was hard to know what had the worse influence on the lungs—the sunbaked dust or the unforgiving reek of cattle. Did anyone ever get used to the horrible smell? Feeling as if she would gag, she pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from her sleeve and held it in front of her nose and mouth.

It wasn’t just the smell that bothered her—it was also the desolation. She couldn’t imagine living in such a place by choice. Only a hermit could relish such an existence.

If that wasn’t bad enough, her head still rang with the sound of the ranch owner’s voice. You didn’t kill anyone, did you? he’d asked. Good Lord. What must he think of her to ask such a question?

Leaving the ranch, they drove under an iron arch attached to two massive poles. The words Rocking M Ranch were engraved on the metal bar in large letters.