Page 1 of If the Boot Fits

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THREE CEDARS RANCH

PALO PINTO COUNTY, TEXAS

SUMMER 1889

She’d only been home from school for two weeks, and already her father was trying to marry her off. Silently fuming, Samantha Dearing yanked open the door to her father’s study and stepped inside.

Her mother had raised her to be a lady, insisting she never raise her voice or engage in disagreements in public, so when Samantha discovered the true purpose behind this evening’s event, she’d not dumped the punch bowl over her father’s head or engaged in a childish tantrum. No, she’d approached the mighty Eli Dearing with a smile, waited patiently for him to conclude his conversation with one of the wealthy bachelors he’d invited to his daughter’s auction welcome home party, and sweetly asked for a private word with him.

The silk skirt of her azure ball gown swished loudly as Samantha swept past the sitting area on the left to reach her father’s desk on the right. Her impassioned stride stretched the limits of her narrow skirt, and the bustled train felt slightly unbalanced when she swirled around to face the man entering behind her.

A scuffling noise by the bookcases drew an instinctual glance, but when she saw no evidence of vermin ready to dash across her path, she turned her full attention—and ire—on her father.

“I will not be sold to the highest bidder!”

Her father frowned and pulled the door closed behind him. “Keep your voice down.”

“Of course.” She sketched a most irreverent curtsy. “Whatever the cattle king demands.”

His mouth tightened. “I don’t know what burr got stuck in that bustle of yours, girl, but I expect to be addressed with respect.”

“And I expect to be treated with respect.”

A fierce light flared in her father’s steel blue eyes. The tendons along his throat stood out from his neck as he stepped closer to her. “Did one of the guests do something improper?” The question rumbled from his chest in a dangerous growl.

Samantha blinked, taken aback. Could it be he actually cared more about her well-being than she’d assumed? After being banished to finishing school for the last three years, she’d calculated her rank to be somewhere below the steers and above the chickens.

Her stance softened just a touch. “No, Daddy. No one behaved improperly. But the gentlemen you invited to this little soiree seem to be under the impression that I’ve returned to Texas to seek a husband. They all appear determined to apply for the position, rattling off their assets as if they were fabrics in a dress shop competing to be made up into my next gown. The expensive imported lace that would raise my social status. The handsome blue silk that would match my eyes. The pragmatic poplin that would work hard while still allowing a splash of elegance.”

The fierceness drained from her father’s eyes, replaced by a rather hazy fog. “What does dress fabric have to do with anything? Talk plainly, Sam.”

“My name’s Samantha.”

“I know what your name is, girl. I gave it to you.”

Was that hurt in his eyes? She didn’t think a man as tough as Eli Dearing could be hurt by something as insignificant as a daughter’s rebuff. A pang vibrated through her heart at the visible evidence to the contrary, but she stifled the throb before it softened her. He had no right to use the pet name from her childhood. The day he’d stopped taking her up on his horse with him and banished her to the house, he’d made it clear that he had no use for a daughter. Then when Mother finally birthed a son, Samantha had all but ceased to exist in her father’s eyes.

Sam was the name of a girl trying to be the son her father wanted. Samantha was the grown woman whose dreams no longer relied on her father’s approval.

“You want plain speaking?” Her fingertips tingled with strange energy. She’d never stood up to her father in so bold a manner. Exhilaration warred with terror inside her breast, but if ever a situation called for reckless courage, this was it. “I won’t be forced into an unwanted marriage just so you can expand your holdings.”

The sudden darkness of her father’s scowl nearly had her backing up, but she fisted her hands and held her ground. Daddy might have passed the fifty mark a couple of years ago, but he was still in his prime. Tall. Strong. Frightful when angry. Yet never cruel. Knowing that allowed her to stand firm despite the trembling his glare induced.

“Do you see a shotgun in my hands?” He held out open palms. His sleeves retracted to expose tanned wrists. He might be dressed in a formal evening suit, but he was still a man of the outdoors, honed by hard work. “No one’s forcin’ anyone to do anything. It’s just a party.”

She said nothing, simply lifted her chin.

“All right! So I might have made it known among my acquaintances that my daughter was coming home from Boston and that I hoped to see her settled before long. What’s the harm in that? It’s a father’s job to see that his daughter is provided for.” He slapped his hands against his thighs and paced away from her, veering toward the large mahogany desk, where he conducted his written business. “You’re nineteen years old, Samantha. Most girls with your beauty and advantages are already married and setting up their houses.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t right.

Samantha crossed her arms, her long white gloves pulling tight at the elbows. “Deciding who I’ll spend my life with should be my choice, not yours.”

He leaned against the side of his desk and heaved a sigh. “I never said it weren’t your choice. All I’m doin’ is wranglin’ the bulls into a pen so you can look them over and pick the one that suits you.”

As if she wasn’t disgusted by the prospect enough already.