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“That’s enough!” Blake’s iron grip stopped Finn’s arm in midswing. A quick twist, and the stick fell to the ground. Finn staggered backward, clutching his wrist.
“I warned you two about this,” Blake said. “I’m sorry to lose two workers, but I can’t have you stirring up this kind of trouble. Any gear you left at the mill will be outside the gate.”
“Aw, they was just funnin’, Blake.” Hobie Evans, who worked for the Snake M Ranch, was the chief instigator against the homesteaders. He’d probably goaded the Carmody brothers into targeting the lone farmer, hoping others would join in and give the poor man a beating to serve as example.
“Don’t push me, Hobie. This is a peaceful celebration. Let’s keep it that way.” Blake glanced around to make sure the farmer was gone and his tormentors had backed off. “Before I had to come out here, I was planning to dance with a pretty lady. For your sake, you’d better hope she’s still available.”
Blake strode back, past the wagons that ringed the dance floor, intent on seeking out Ruth. But in his absence, something had changed. Webb Calder was on the dance floor with the pretty, auburn-haired wife of one of the farmers. Ruth was on the sidelines, looking stricken.
Blake nudged the cowboy standing next to him. “What’s going on?” he muttered.
“Webb got Doyle Petit to talk the drylanders into lettin’ us dance with their women. My guess is, soon as this dance is over we can start askin’ ’em.” The young cowboy grinned. “I got my little gal all picked out—the one in white, with the yellow braids. She’s right next to that big farmer—he’s her pa. See her?”
“I see her.” Blake gave the girl a casual glance. She appeared to be a child, almost, in her white pinafore, with her hair in schoolgirl braids. But then he took a longer look and the bottom seemed to drop out of his heart. He swore under his breath. She wasn’t a child at all, but a stunning young woman with an angel’s face and a body that even the girlish pinafore couldn’t hide.
“Ain’t she somethin’?” The cowboy asked. “What do you think?”
“I think you’d better be damned fast on your feet,” Blake said. “Otherwise, somebody else might get to her first.”
Somebody like me.
As the music faded, Webb Calder escorted the pretty redhead back to her husband. A few words were exchanged. Then Webb turned back to the waiting cowboys. “All right, boys. You can invite the young ladies to dance. But remember your manners. Any Triple C boys not on their best behavior will answer to me.”
There was a beat of hesitation. Then the eager cowhands broke ranks and walked across the floor to ask the fathers’ permission to dance with their daughters. Blake had decided to hang back and let the lovestruck cowboy enjoy a dance with his dream girl. But when he looked across the floor, he saw that someone else had already claimed her.
Seen from behind, the girl’s escort was almost as tall as Blake, but a trifle broader in the chest and shoulders. He was dressed in city-bought clothes, his chestnut hair neatly trimmed to curl above the collar of his linen shirt.
Blake mouthed a curse. As usual, his half brother, Mason, had seized the advantage and run away with it.
* * *
Whirling blissfully around the dance floor, Hanna gazed up at the man who held her in his arms. The smile on his handsome face deepened the dimple in his cheek. His green eyes reflected glints of sunset.
“You looked like an angel, standing there in your white dress,” he said. “Do angels have names?”
“My name’s Hanna Anderson, and believe me, I’m not an angel,” she said. “Just ask my parents.”
He chuckled. “But you’re an angel to me because you just saved me from a very boring evening. So that’s what I’ll call you—my angel.”
Hanna had never heard such flattering talk. Who was this charming stranger? Certainly not a cowboy. He was too well dressed and too well spoken for that. “I’m Mason Dollarhide,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I run the Hollister ranch south of town. It may not be the biggest spread in Montana, but it sure is the prettiest. Almost as pretty as you.”
“Now you’re playing games with me,” Hanna said. She wasn’t a fool. But after what seemed like a lifetime of scrubbing, tending, washing, mending, working in the fields like a man, and never being made to feel attractive or desirable in any way, she let his words wash over her like the sound of sweet music.
Missing a step, she stumbled slightly. His hand, at the small of her back, tightened, drawing her so close that she could feel the light pressure of his body against hers. Heat flashed through her like summer lightning, making her feel vaguely naughty. Did he feel it, too?
“I would never play games with a precious girl like you.” His voice had thickened. “I’d wager you’ve never even been kissed. Have you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Hanna said, although she hadn’t been kissed, except by a neighbor boy when she was ten.
He chuckled. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
“I just don’t like people forming ideas before they know me, that’s all,” Hanna said
The music was drawing to a close, but his hand—smooth, with no calluses—didn’t release hers. “I’d like to get to know you better, Hanna,” he said. “Why don’t we walk a little, where we don’t have to raise our voices over the music?”
Hanna glanced back over her shoulder. Her father was talking to Lillian’s husband. Lillian was nowhere in sight. Neither was the rugged cowboy who’d danced with her. Hanna felt the gentle pressure of the stranger’s hand against her back, guiding her off the floor. She didn’t resist. Nobody would miss her if she stepped out for a few harmless minutes.
They made their way among the wagons. He stopped her next to an elegant-looking buggy that was parked outside the circle. “This is my buggy,” he said. “Get in. I’ll take you for a ride.”
