Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail Read online

  A cattle drive is no place for a greenhorn

  But this city miss is here for the ride!

  Cowboy Zachariah Strickland should put Alexandra Murray on the first eastbound train home. But he has no choice except to take her on his cattle trail. She hasn’t ridden a horse to death, or shot anybody, but she does drive him furious with longing… Is it possible Alex belongs right here in the Wild West—with Zach?

  “[A] delightful and passionate western romance… Romance fans will enjoy the fast pace and nonstop action.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Her Sheriff Bodyguard

  “Charming, heartwarming and tender.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Western Spring Weddings

  Zach sent her a tired smile and crawled under the wagon to stretch out on his bedroll.

  Alex crept in next to him, but he had already fallen asleep. Inexplicably happy, she propped herself on one elbow and watched him. She couldn’t help it. He’d laid one arm over his eyes and didn’t so much as twitch.

  What are you doing, staring at a sleeping man?

  Back in Chicago this would be purely scandalous! But out here in this rough, untamed land, no one was watching. And even if they were, she didn’t care. She liked looking at Zach Strickland.

  She released a long breath and was about to stretch out full length on her own bedroll when his voice stopped her.

  “You can build up a powerful hunger in a man lookin’ at him that way, Dusty.”

  Oh, my stars and little chickens, Zach was watching me!

  Author Note

  I have always admired women who struck out on their own, doing things that were important to them regardless of whether they were “usual” or even accepted by society. That was how we got Marie Curie, Florence Nightingale, George Eliot (Mary Anne Evans), Sojourner Truth, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Amelia Earhart and many others.

  Cattle drives in the Old West were all male. Except for this one.

  Lynna Banning

  Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail

  Lynna Banning combined a lifelong love of history and literature into a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she graduated from Scripps College and embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer and later as a high school English teacher. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at [email protected] or visit Lynna’s website at lynnabanning.net.

  Books by Lynna Banning

  Harlequin Historical

  Loner’s Lady

  Crusader’s Lady

  Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride

  Lady Lavender

  Happily Ever After in the West

  “The Maverick and Miss Prim”

  Smoke River Bride

  The Lone Sheriff

  Wild West Christmas

  “Christmas in Smoke River”

  Dreaming of a Western Christmas

  “His Christmas Belle”

  Smoke River Family

  Western Spring Weddings

  “The City Girl and the Rancher”

  Printer in Petticoats

  Her Sheriff Bodyguard

  Baby on the Oregon Trail

  Western Christmas Brides

  “Miss Christina’s Christmas Wish”

  The Hired Man

  Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  For my dear and admired friend Shirley Marcus

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from From Governess to Countess by Marguerite Kaye

  Excerpt from Devil in Tartan by Julia London

  Chapter One

  Smoke River, Oregon, 1871

  He knew something was wrong the minute he stepped up onto the front porch. For one thing, Charlie was rocking away in the lawn swing with a big grin on his lined face. And for another, Alice, the ranch owner’s wife sitting beside him, wasn’t.

  “Been waitin’ for ya,” Charlie drawled.

  “Yeah? Not late, am I?” Maybe that was why Alice’s heart-shaped face looked so set, but Zach discarded that thought right away. When Alice Kingman was displeased about something, she didn’t waste time looking dour; she bared her nails and lit right into your hide.

  “All the hands are inside, Zach. And they’re damn hungry,” Charlie added.

  Alice stopped the swing with her foot and rose in such a ladylike motion for a woman climbing up on her forties that it brought a chuckle to Zach’s throat. Alice was pure female, and in her blue denim skirt and ruffly red-check blouse she looked good enough to eat.

  Charlie slapped him on the back. “Come on, Zach. Consuelo’s fried chicken is getting cold.”

  Alice disappeared through the screen door, and Charlie draped a heavy arm across Zach’s shoulders. “Got somethin’ I want to show ya.”

  All Zach’s senses went on alert. The last time Charlie had had something to show him, Zach had limped for three days after the boss’s new stud horse threw him.

  “It’s not a horse, is it?”

  “Heck, no,” Charlie spluttered. “Cain’t invite a horse to Sunday dinner, can I?”

  So it was a someone, not a something the boss was showing off. Someones got invited to Sunday dinner at the ranch house, along with Zach and the Rocking K ranch hands.

  In the dining room, Zach stood between slim, dark-skinned José and Roberto, an older, slightly overweight man with a salt-and-pepper mustache, and waited for Alice to seat herself. He eyed the vacant chair across from him. Okay, boss, we’re here. So where’s the someone?

  He heard the rustle of petticoats behind him and caught a whiff of something that smelled like lilacs. Oh, no, not Alice’s Great-Aunt Hortense! Hell’s bells, Roberto had put her on the train for San Francisco scarcely a month ago, and…

  Zach swallowed hard and the other hands stiffened to attention, waiting for Aunt Hortense’s entrance.

  But it wasn’t Aunt Hortense.

  A young woman so pretty it made him swallow hard glided across the room and sat down next to Roberto’s nephew, Juan. The young Mexican’s blush turned the tips of his ears red.

  Everyone dropped onto their chairs like boneless sandbags and Zach slid into his upholstered seat and waited. No one said a word. Finally, Alice signaled Consuelo and the meal got under way.

  “Boys,” Charlie announced, snagging a drumstick off the platter the cook offered, “say howdy to Miss Murray.”

  A rumble of respectful male voices rose. Then another long silen ce fell.

  “Miss Murray is visiting from Chicago,” Alice said, thin lipped. She split a biscuit with a stab of her knife.

  “Welcome, Señorita Murray,” Roberto offered. The older man had civilized manners; his nephew also knew what to do, but he was real young and not as polished as Roberto.

  “Ees an honor, señorita,” Juan said with an even deeper blush.

  Miss Murray smiled across the table. “Why, thank you, gentlemen.”

  Charlie took over the introductions. “On your left is Juan Tapia, and to your right is Skip Billings. Across the table is José Moreno, Zach Strickland and Jase Snell. Zach’s the trail boss for the cattle drive.”

  Miss Murray inclined her head. “Gentlemen,” she said again.

  Man, oh, man, her hair was something else, dark as blackstrap molasses and so soft-looking that Zach curled his fingers into fists.

  What was Charlie’s game here? He thought it over while platters of mashed potatoes and green beans were handed around the table. A prettier girl he hadn’t seen in too many years to count, but Charlie knew Zach wasn’t interested in romancing a female ever again, so what did Charlie want to show him?

  Before Zach picked up his fork, Charlie dropped a hint.

  “You boys still readin’ those newspaper stories from back East?”

  “Sure, boss,” Jase volunteered. “Got ’em all pinned up on the bunkhouse wall.”

  “Can’t hardly wait for the next one,” Skip added. “Best da—uh, darn horse-racin’ stories I ever read.”

  Zach drove his fork into the pile of mashed potatoes on his plate. So that was it. This Murray woman was somehow related to A. Davis Murray, the newspaper reporter whose stories the hands devoured each week. His daughter, maybe? Or…his gut tightened…his wife? Who was she, exactly? And what was she doing sitting all pink and white at Sunday dinner at the Rocking K ranch house?

  The hands couldn’t stop jabbering about A. Davis Murray’s horse-racing stories, and Miss Whoever-She-Was Murray looked mighty interested. More than interested. She was hanging on every word and her eyes… Oh, those eyes. Blue as desert lupines. Anyway, they sparkled like they’d been polished.

  Zach caught Charlie’s eye and quirked one eyebrow.

  “More chicken?” Charlie asked, his voice bland.

  Zach shot a glance at Alice at the opposite end of the long walnut table and lowered his eyebrows into a frown. Alice looked madder than a wet cat, and that was a real puzzler. Alice never got mad about anything—not Skip’s rough table manners or Consuelo’s constant nattering about her dwindling supply of coffee beans, not even the time Charlie forgot her birthday.

  But for darn sure she was mad today, and Zach figured it had something to do with pretty Miss Murray.

  But Charlie always took his own sweet time about things, and this afternoon was no exception. Finally, finally, the owner of the Rocking K swallowed his last bite of strawberry shortcake, groaned like a contented heifer and rapped on his coffee cup for attention.

  “Well, boys, today I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Jase’s scraggly blond head came up. “Yeah?”

  “What if I told you…” Charlie paused dramatically and Alice rolled her eyes “…that Miss Murray’s first name is Alexandra.”

  “What if ya did, boss?” Jase said. “Fancy name, but it don’t ring no bells for me.” Jase’s grammar stopped at the fourth grade.

  “Doesn’t ring any bells,” Consuelo hissed as she circled with her coffeepot. “You set a bad example for my José.”

  José ducked his head.

  “I mean,” Charlie continued, “what if her name was Alexandra Davis Murray?”

  “She is marry to the newspaper man?” Juan guessed.

  Charlie gulped a swallow of coffee. “Nah. She is the newspaperman. Or, rather, newspaperwoman. This here lady is A. Davis Murray.”

  “Ees not possible,” José protested.

  Zach stared across the table at Miss Murray. Miss Alexandra Davis Murray. José was dead right, it wasn’t possible. Just what kind of game was Charlie playing?

  Miss Alexandra Murray sent Zach an apologetic smile. “It’s true,” she said. “I write newspaper articles for the Chicago Times.”

  Skip gaped at her. “You write about all them horse races?”

  “I do.” She looked around the table at each of the ranch hands in turn until she came to Alice, who was still tight-jawed. “Aunt Alice doesn’t approve, obviously. But I like horse races. And I like writing about them.”

  “Jehoshaphat,” Jase breathed.

  “Madre mia,” José muttered.

  Zach wanted to laugh. The thought of this soft, ruffly female tramping around a horse stable made his lips twitch.

  Then they were all talking at once. During the hubbub, Charlie leaned forward and addressed Zach. “I want to talk to you,” he intoned. “In private.” He heaved his bulky frame out of the chair and led the way to his office across the hallway.

  “Whiskey?” he asked when he’d shut the heavy oak door.

  “No, thanks. Gotta ride out at first light.”

  Charlie pushed the cut-glass decanter across his desk toward him anyway. “I’d change my mind if I was you, Zach.”

  Without another word, he filled two glasses.

  “Spit it out, Charlie, what’s up?”

  His boss touched his glass to Zach’s and tossed back the contents. “Kinda hard to come right out and tell you, son.”

  Uh-oh. Charlie only called him “son” when bad news was coming. Zach swigged down half his whiskey. “Let’s have it, Charlie. Like I said, I’ve got an early get-up tomorrow.”

  “Well, Zach, it’s like this. It’s true that Alexandra is a newspaper reporter.”

  “You already said that. Or somebody did. Anyway, I know that.”

  “Yeah, well. See, her newspaper, the Chicago Times, wants her to do a story about a cattle drive.”

  Zach slapped his empty glass onto the desk. “No.”

  “I understand how you feel, Zach, but you see the answer’s gotta be yes.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Charlie just nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

  “Why?” Zach demanded. “Why does she pick this ranch? Tell her to choose another cattle drive.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Because.” He refilled his glass. “Because not only is Alexandra a newspaper reporter, she is, uh, as you’ve no doubt realized, my niece. Her mama is Alice’s sister.”

  Zach said nothing for a long minute. “So?” he inquired at last.

  “So,” Charlie said, “she wants to—”

  “No,” Zach repeated.

  Charlie reached for the whiskey decanter. “You want to keep your job, don’tcha, son?”

  Damn, he hated to be threatened, especially by the man who had his financial ass under his boot heel. Zach sighed and refilled his glass.

  “Well, hell, Charlie, can she ride?”

  Chapter Two

  Aunt Alice settled on the edge of Alex’s bed. Her aunt hadn’t lit the lamp, but the moonlight streaming through the multipaned window illuminated her usually serene face, which at this moment looked pinched.

  “Alex, you simply cannot go through with this. Surely you—”

  “Stop!” Slowly Alex pushed up on one elbow. “Aunt Alice, you don’t understand. My newspaper editor came up with the idea. He is very insistent.”

  “But a cattle drive! Women just don’t go on cattle drives.”

  “I know. It’s a far cry from my stories on horse racing. It’s a far cry from anything I thought I’d ever, ever do. But my editor pays my salary, and he is adamant.”

  “Oh, Alex, why?”

  “Back East people are mad for stories about the wild, untamed West.”

  “I feel responsible for you,” her aunt said. “And a cattle drive is dangerous.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Aunt.”

  Alice snorted. “Of course you have a choice. Just tell your editor no.”

  “I can’t. If I refuse, he’ll fire me, and I’ve worked too hard to risk losing my job. Eight long, grinding years I’ve spent working my way up from the proofreading desk to being a top reporter. I’m the only woman on the entire staff, and I won’t give it up. I can’t.”

  Alex bit her lip and smoothed a crease in the top sheet over and over. Why, why did her job depend on the harebrained idea of a newspaper editor who’d never traveled west of his favorite restaurant?

  Alice sighed. “Your mother would never allow this.”

  Alex flung back the sheet and sat up. “Aunt Alice, my mother is dead.”

  “Yes,” Alice said quietly. “I know. And you’re just like her. Bright. Beautiful. And…” her voice tightened “…bullheaded.”

  Alex slid her arms about her aunt’s rigid form. “Mama always said you were the bullheaded one.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Alice snapped.

  “Aunt Alice, you can’t stop me. You can’t keep me from holding on to my career as a newspaper reporter.”

  “Oh, I know, honey. I just wish you’d—”

  “Settle down and get married,” Alex finished. “That’s what Mama always wanted, too. But I’m twenty-six. On the shelf.”

  Alice shook her head and blew out a sigh. “You will be careful, won’t you? At least try to?”

  “Of course I will. Uncle Charlie says Zach Strickland’s the best trail boss in three states. I’ll be in good hands.”

  Her aunt let out a long sigh and said nothing.

  *

  Zach stuffed his thumbs in his front pockets and watched Miss Newspaper Reporter trip down the porch steps ready to go cattle driving. She looked so bright and shiny it made his head hurt. And, Lord love little chickens, what her butt did to a pair of jeans was indecent.