Bad Love: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 1)

"I'll be fine on my own," she answered. She crossed her arms across the chest of the pretty dress she was wearing. Glen knew she was angry, but he couldn't bring himself to blame her for it.

"And I figured we could go into town, if you like, and see what we can do about this little dispute. You got a judge around here?"

After a long moment she nodded, and finally he picked up the coffee. Now that he was pretty sure she wouldn't have spit in it just to spite him. It was damn fine, better than anything he'd brewed for himself.

It took him a moment to push the thought back out of his mind. Her coffee was strong and well-made, but that was all it was. No need to start drawing up plans for a wedding just yet.

Three

Catherine cursed her damn fool pride, watching Glen Riley leave. She needed—well, she needed more than she wanted to think about. The cattle could do to be let out to pasture, but she didn't have the time, and she couldn't afford the help herself.

Catherine stopped in the children's room and put Ada in charge. She would be back before they knew it, just a quick trip into town. Once she knew the kids understood, she headed to her room. She couldn't go into town in these old clothes.

The suitcase under her bed came out and Catherine's hand moved to wipe the dust off before she could stop herself. She hadn't worn her church clothes in far too long, she thought. It had been an embarrassment when she'd decided that she didn't need them hanging up any more, but to see how long ago that was…

She pulled them back out and looked them over. Not too bad, and after all this time. She wasn't sure what kind of hurry they were in, so even though the clothes could use an ironing, she tried not to think about it as she slipped the clothes on, then looked down at herself. She was surprised they still fit as well as they did.

She hadn't worn the dress since before Ada was born, and Catherine had thought that she had gained some weight in the years since. But the lean years that they'd faced since Billy left had at least given her the happy benefit of fitting into her nice clothes from when she left Baltimore and moved out here with her new husband.

Glen was waiting outside for her, holding her cup out for her as soon as she came through, and then he thought better of it immediately. "Where should I put this?"

She took it and turned back through the door, set the cup beside the washing basin, and then she was back out. "You'll have to forgive me, Mister Riley," she started. "I haven't a horse of my own."

"I can walk," he offered. It wouldn't have been the first long walk he'd taken under a hot sun, but the way she pursed her lips, he got the impression he had said something wrong. Glen had the good taste not to ask what had upset her.

He understood that she wasn't happy about him being there, and he understood why. She was right to be angry, but that didn't change the situation, and the situation was that he couldn't leave whether he wanted to or not.

"What, then?" He tried to mask his frustration. He had no real right to be annoyed—she was in a hard position—but here he was, trying to sort out their dispute, and she was too prissy to sit on a horse while he hoofed it alongside? Pretty looks or sad story be damned.

He'd read her wrong. He had been envisioning her as some kind of tough heroic woman, putting up with all her problems with a hardness that exemplified the West. Perhaps he had put too much on her.

"I can ride behind, if you take it slow. There's no need for you to walk."

He adjusted his hat on his head to shield his eyes, and then nodded. He didn't like it, but then he could barely stand being near her. Even being in the same room with her was distracting. He had known better than to make assumptions. Hell, he'd just been berating himself for making them, so to make another in the same breath—Glen let out a breath and stalked off to get his horse.

He took it slow. He'd need as much time away from Mrs. Howell as he could get before he started to get funny ideas in his head. One of them would have to leave, and it was sad no matter who lost out, but that didn't mean that they could avoid it.

Especially the way she seemed less and less pleased to see him every time they crossed paths. Given the lukewarm reception she'd had for him when Catherine met him at the door the first time he'd knocked, he couldn't figure how bad it would get before she tried to slit his throat while he slept, and he didn't much want to try and find out.

As he walked the horse back out he tried to figure out which would be less improper. If she was really going to insist on this, Glen at least didn't want to open himself to any accusation of impropriety. He had kept to himself as best he could, but she needed to know what he was planning, and so he'd gone in.

Now it had turned into all this. Finally he helped her up into the saddle, then pulled himself up behind her. The saddle was made for straddling, rather than sitting side-saddle, so neither would be comfortable, this way, but at least she'd be… a bit more secure, at least.

Wrapping his arms around her to get a grip, though, he realized exactly how bad a mistake he had made. Catherine shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position, and spurred the horse into a walk.

The feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist felt uncomfortable in just the right way. It was just one more thing playing into the little fantasy world that her mind was trying to create all by itself. She didn't want to think about him the way she was.

She certainly didn't want to enjoy the feeling of a man's arms wrapped around her. Not after she had finally banished the thought of Billy having a change of heart and finally realizing that his wife and children meant more to him than a few lousy dollars.

Glen Riley would be the same, she knew. It was only a matter of time, and he'd show himself for what he was. He was a gambler, and like all gamblers he would be moving on before too long, and it didn't much matter who he hurt along the way.

Four

Catherine's heart was in her throat the whole way back to the ranch, under the setting sun. Underneath it all, she had thought that somehow, it didn't much matter whose name was on the deed. He was her husband, for Pete's sake, and that meant that if it was in his name, it was in her name. The father of her children.

When she'd realized he wasn't coming back, she'd been hurt. More than hurt, she'd been beside herself, but she didn't have the comfort of being able to waste time on it. There had been work to do, bills to be paid, whenever she managed to find the money. Catherine scraped together the minutes over the past four years and dealt with it when she could.

But she hadn't really spent much time thinking about the basic realities of what their separation meant. They had always agreed, privately—the ranch was hers. She'd bought it, but it was legally convenient to put it in Billy's name. How much did a few words, spoken in private, count for?