The Fearless Cowboy (Noble Ranch #3)

Chapter 1

Summit County, Colorado

“You’re wonderful, Miss Berkley, and I would be delighted to spend every day with you.” Mr. Gray’s voice wobbled with emotion as he spoke the words Hyacinth Berkley had been hoping to hear.

It wasn’t a formal marriage proposal, but it was close.

Sitting beside Mr. Gray on the swing on the wide front porch, Hyacinth kept her hands folded in her lap, even though she was tempted to clap them together in relief.

A cold spring breeze nipped at her nose and cheeks. The low gray clouds pushing over the foothills that bordered the Noble Ranch in the west hinted at the coming storm—probably more snow.

“Do you think”—Mr. Gray cleared his throat and reached across the six inches between them and patted one of her hands—“you would ever want to spend every day with me?”

At fifty-eight, his hands had age spots with prominent veins. His face had a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his chin. But beneath his bowler, his thinning hair didn’t yet have much gray—only sprinkles amidst the brown.

While he wasn’t handsome, he held himself with a distinguished air befitting someone so gentlemanly and wealthy.

Hyacinth gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I would be honored to consider such an arrangement.”

He released a breath and retracted his hand. “I’m the one who’s honored that you would consider me.” No doubt he was referencing their age difference. She’d only recently turned twenty, which meant Mr. Gray was more than double—close to triple—her age.

However, his maturity, stability, independence, and capacity to provide were all qualities she valued more than anything else. Much more than anything else.

“To be candid,” he continued as a flush moved up into his neck above his old-fashioned cravat, “I never expected that a beautiful woman like you would consider someone like me.”

She’d been told she was beautiful by plenty of men.

Her sable hair and pine-green eyes were fetching, and so was her slender, willowy figure.

But she actually hated praise for her looks, probably because her father had doled out too many insincere compliments and never accompanied them with lasting love.

She swallowed a retort about how she despised it when men focused on outward appearance. Instead, she issued a compliment of her own. “You’re a very fine catch.” She spoke the words more boldly than she should, but her outspokenness was something she wouldn’t apologize for.

“Thank you, Miss Berkley.” Mr. Gray took off his hat, combed his fingers through his hair, and then replaced the hat. He lapsed into an awkward silence, which had happened from time to time during the past few weeks he’d come courting her at the Noble Ranch.

She didn’t mind the awkwardness, though. Not when he was a kind man and treated her so sweetly.

At the loud creak of wheels, she glanced toward one of the large barns across the ranch yard. She homed in on the man heading her way and pushing an old cart.

Beckett Thorpe. Noble Ranch foreman. Her nemesis.

His dark-brown hair was curled up around his bandanna, and a battered cowboy hat hid his blue eyes.

But she didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were fixed on her and that he was headed her way.

He never passed up an opportunity to bother her, especially when a fellow came courting.

In fact, those were the times he seemed to take particular pleasure in tormenting her.

Last week, when Mr. Gray had come calling, Beckett had shown up with tools and nails to repair several loose railing boards and had hammered so loudly that she and Mr. Gray hadn’t been able to carry on a conversation.

The week before that, Beckett had set up target practice on the side of the house closest to where they were sitting, and the echo of the gun had been a nuisance.

She pinched her lips together to refrain from calling out an insult to him and telling him to go away. If she did so, Beckett would only offer her one of his lazy grins—one with the hint of a smirk.

After the past six months living on the ranch, she’d learned that Beckett wanted to be noticed—that he thrived on it and was hoping to get a reaction out of her.

She wouldn’t give him one. Not today.

Mr. Gray cleared his throat again, this time more obnoxiously, as if he was attempting to dislodge a stuck piece of food. It was an odd mannerism that seemed to come out when he was especially nervous. “I must say—at the very least, I must warn you—or at least make you aware . . .”

She had every urge to say something and hurry him along. But she’d learned that doing so only made him more nervous, so that he had an even harder time speaking. Instead, she twisted her hands into her Sunday meeting skirt—one of her nicest, which she’d worn to church earlier.

“Miss Berkley,” he said quietly, almost urgently, “there is an important reason I have never taken a wife.”

She had wondered why a man who owned one of the most productive silver mines in the area wasn’t yet married.

In addition to his mine, he had invested in several other businesses and was one of the richest men in the area.

He had a large home in Breckenridge, one in Denver, and another in Georgia, where he was from.

He liked to travel, wore finely tailored clothing, and appreciated the sophisticated things of life like operas, concerts, and parties.

She’d assumed he’d been too busy with developing his silver mine to have time for a wife and family. He was also somewhat reserved around women and had probably never had an easy time forming connections.

Mr. Gray reached toward her again as though he wanted to take hold of her hand, but then he settled his hand back on his knee. “I don’t blame women for abandoning me when they learn of my reason.”

“Is that so?” What could it be?

Beckett was drawing nearer with the cart and seemed to be slowing his pace in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.

This was one conversation, though, that she didn’t want to have around the insufferable ranch foreman.

She pinned a glare on him, hoping he could read her silent message to hurry along.

His steps only lagged, and his grin inched higher on his scruffy face.

Mr. Gray was staring at his hands, the flush in his neck moving now into his cheeks. “I—I—can’t—”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Gray,” she said hurriedly. “Let’s not speak of the matter this afternoon.”

“But I really must confess—”

“We can talk about it next time you visit.”

Beckett was now pushing the cart so slowly he’d practically come to a halt. The breeze wafted the stench of whatever was in the cart toward her and Mr. Gray. Was it manure?

“Miss Berkley, I do really like you,” Mr. Gray persisted, his voice growing more earnest. “But I must be completely honest with you before proceeding.”

“That’s noble of you, but—”

“I am unable to have children because, well, because I am unable to perform in the marriage bed.”

“Oh my!” Hyacinth jumped to her feet, nearly tripping in the process.

Mr. Gray stood rapidly too, his momentum pushing the swing so hard it hit the porch railing. His face was now flaming red. “I apologize for my indelicate comment. But I did want you to know that any marriage to me would be one of companionship and not of intimacy.”

Was her face flaming too? She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but she’d never partaken in such a bold conversation.

From the corner of her eye, she could see that Beckett had completely stopped and had taken the tarp off the cart and tossed it to the ground.

No doubt he was gloating at this uncomfortable scenario in which she found herself. His smirk was probably as wide and crooked as the barbed-wire fence surrounding the front pasture that spread out in front of the house.

She had to keep her wits about her, couldn’t let Beckett know how ruffled she was. “Mr. Gray, have no fear. I will never turn down the right man over something like that.”

His head snapped up, and his eyes held hope. “Really? You would be satisfied without—without—”

“Yes.” She hadn’t been sure what he intended to say next, and she didn’t want to find out. She guessed it had to do with the intimacy he’d mentioned. Or maybe he’d only been planning to confirm that she would be satisfied without children.

The foul odor of manure gusted directly toward them, this time surrounding and overpowering them. One glance at the mound in the back confirmed her suspicion. Yes. Yes indeed. The cart was overflowing with horse manure.

“You’re sure?” Mr. Gray asked, seemingly oblivious to the stench.

Hyacinth breathed through her mouth and nodded. “I’m sure. But why don’t I take the week to ponder the matter, and then I can give you my decision when you come to visit next Sunday.”

Mr. Gray took a step toward her and brushed a hand over her coat sleeve before pulling back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I will understand completely if you decide that you don’t want to proceed with a future with me. But you will make me a joyous man if your answer is yes.”

Standing a short distance away, Beckett snorted.

Irritation stiffened her spine. She pivoted sharply, fisted her hands on her hips, and glared at the cowboy. “Stop being such a child, Beckett, and go away.”

He wiped all humor from his expression and rounded his eyes as though he were surprised. “Just on my way to deliver fertilizer to the garden for Alonzo.”

“On Sunday, the day of rest?”

Beckett shrugged. “Alonzo is planning to get the soil ready for planting this week.”

“That may be. But you’re purposefully making the delivery at this moment for no other reason than to bother me.”

“I had a little time and reckoned I’d do it today since I’ll be busy tomorrow.”

“That’s just an excuse, and we both know it.”

“You have a mighty high opinion of yourself if you think everything I do is to bother you.”

“Because it’s true. You’ve made it your life’s mission to vex me.”

“And why would I do that?”