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Win, Love, or Draw (Marriage & Mayhem) (Volume 1)

By Crystal L Barnes

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Tuesday, November 13, 1877
Cater Springs, Texas

Catherine McGarrett jolted to a halt on the bustling boardwalk outside Koch’s Mercantile. Tighter than a cinch strap, her focus fastened on an unexpected form farther up the dirt street. It couldn’t be… Her heart stopped, then slammed with renewed vigor against her rib cage. A chill skidded down her spine that had little to do with the crisp November breeze and everything to do with the apparition riding through the middle of town.
“Ouch! Mama, you’re hurtin’ me.”
“Huh?” Catherine dragged her gaze from the busy road filled with wagons and cowboys to the five-year-old who picked at her grip. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
She loosened her hold on his arm, all the while striving to keep sight of the fetching rider with the black duster and tan horse. The brisk wind whipped a strand of her blond hair across her cheek, but she paid it little heed as she followed the pair’s progress. Her wayward husband invaded her dreams often enough. What were the chances her mind would play tricks on her in the daylight?
“Benin, I know this might sound silly, but do you see a dark-haired man with a black Stetson riding toward the livery?”
“You mean that fella on the buckskin there?” Her son pointed at the figment of her imagination. “Yes’m, I see ’im.”
“You do? Well. Good.” Catherine released her son, lest he feel her sudden shaking. “I’m glad to know I’m not imagining things. Let’s put our purchases in the wagon, shall we?”
Benin’s gaze bore into her while they rounded to the back of their buckboard.
Loud yapping broke the hum of ordered activity. A mangy mutt dashed across the street in pursuit of a striped cat, racing straight toward the cowboy. Harnessed horses reared. Wagon drivers shouted their displeasure and fought to keep their rigs from spilling into the street. The sandy buckskin veered around the chaos with ease. Well trained.
Her mouth went dry.
Were any of the general’s men in town? A quick scan of the various establishments and sidewalks yielded nothing, but then again, she only knew one of their faces. No, they preferred to terrorize her from the shadows. Wait. What was she thinking? The general and his cohorts wouldn’t know what Sam looked like; they’d never met him. Besides, that might not even be him. A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding seeped from her lungs.
Benin handed her his small parcel. “Mama, do you know that man?”
Her pulse skittered even as her eyes welcomed another peek at the broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped rider. “Let’s just say, if I don’t, he looks much like someone I do.” Too much.
“Who?” Benin’s dark head swung back toward her.
How she’d ended up with a son who looked so little like her, she’d never know. If it weren’t for his coffee-colored eyes, no one would think them related. Would Sam notice? She rubbed at the headache forming between her brows.
“Questions, questions. You’re full of questions today. Stop dallying. We’ve got work waiting at home.” Catherine hurried Benin ahead of her onto the wagon bench and took the reins in her gloved hands.
“Have I met ’im?”
She sighed and rested the reins on her knees. Benin had inherited one other trait from her. Persistence. “You recall the man we pray for every evening?”
“Is that him?” The boy whipped around in his seat, then reached for the reins. “Come on. Let’s go see if it is.”
She tugged the reins away, making the horses shift. “No.”
“Why not? Don’t ya wanna see ’im?”
Part of her shouted yes while the rest of her trembled with uncertainty. Turning the horses toward the south and home, she steeled herself against her conflicting desires. “It’s not important whether I want to see him. Lord knows I do, but he has to want to see me. If that’s really him—and I’m not saying it is—he knows where to find us when he’s ready to talk.”
Still, she couldn’t resist one last glance inside the livery when they passed.
A glimpse of steel-gray eyes stole her breath away.

“Samuel McGarrett. As I live and breathe, is that really you?”
Sam chuckled and led his buckskin, Sandy, farther into the shadowed livery. The scents and shuffles filling the interior welcomed him as much as the grin on his friend’s face. “Yeah, Matthews, it’s me.” He shook the tall rancher’s hand. He’d always appreciated a man he could look in the eye. Not many crossed his path.
“Well, if that don’t beat all. I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. Hey, Schreiner, come on over here and meet a friend of mine who’s finally found his way home.” Joe Matthews shifted his focus back to Sam. “It’s been—what? Three, four years?”
“Five.” Actually, five years, seven months, and four days, but who was counting?
Matthews let out a low whistle. “That long, huh?”
Sam nodded toward the burly man with the leather apron. “What happened to Grayson?”
“Oh, he kicked the bucket shortly after you left. Schreiner here bought the place from his widow. Schreiner, meet my old school chum Samuel McGarrett. Sam, this is our town blacksmith, wheelwright, livery owner, and best horseshoe thrower around, Hans Schreiner.”
“Howdy.” Grinning, Sam shook the beefy hand Schreiner extended. “Remind me to test that last claim some time.”
“Ja, sounds good.”
“So, how long you here for? You passing through or sticking around a bit?”
“That all depends. Is she…” Sam rubbed his hand over his mouth.
“Still around?” Matthews nodded.
Schreiner’s brown eyes widened. “You that McGarrett? The sheriff’s son?”
Sam heaved a sigh. “Guilty.”
The slight frown that marred the big man’s face wasn’t much of a surprise. Everyone in a small town knew everyone’s business…even when they’d been away for years. Sam shifted in his boots and stole a glance at the passersby outside. “Where’s she, uh, living now?”
“Same ole place on the south side, next to her sister’s.” Joe smirked. “I’m sure you know the place.”
Like the back of his hand. “Yeah, just a bit.”
Joe accepted the reins Schreiner passed him, slipped the man some money with a nod, and faced Sam. “If you’re planning on sticking around and need some extra work, look me up. I’ve got some green horses that could use a bit of that magic touch of yours. In fact, if she won’t let you on the property, come by the ranch. I’m sure Ma would love to see you, and you can meet my wife.”
“Joe, the bachelor, got married?” Sam blinked. “When did that happen?”
“In May. It was her pa’s dying wish.” The grin that covered Matthews’s face marked a truly happily married man.
“Must’ve been your wish too.” Sam hadn’t sported that look in a long time, but he still remembered how it felt. Would he ever tout it again?
Joe chuckled. “If I’d’ve known then what I know now, I wouldn’t’ve bucked at the idea near as much.” Joe snapped his fingers. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. You got business in town, or can you ride with me a ways?”
Some of his business could wait, and the other part lay outside of town. “I’ll follow you to the cutoff.” Sam swung into the saddle with a creak of leather and tipped his hat to Schreiner. “Nice to meet you.”
The blacksmith bobbed his head and picked up his tongs.
Sam trailed Matthews from the livery. Once they cleared town, he moved alongside his friend. “What’s this idea?”
“I was thinking on sending Ma over and inviting—” Joe leaned forward in the saddle. “Is that her?”
“Who?” Sam’s focus whipped straight ahead, and he inadvertently pulled on the reins.
A wagon, slanting to the side, filled the middle of the road. Beside it stood a honey-haired, Stetson-wearing woman with hands planted on her slender hips. A beauty even from a distance.
Memories darted across his mind faster than speeding bullets. A joyous picnic. A white gown. A passionate kiss. Horseback races. Quiet meals. Loud arguments. Angry frowns. And finally, a parting wave.
Sam gulped and nudged his horse into a canter behind Matthews. Ready or not, he was fixing to face the one woman who could make him tremble in his boots, the one woman he hadn’t laid eyes on in almost six years.
God, if ever I needed You, it’s now.

“Why did this have to happen now? I knew I should’ve waited until next week to come to town for supplies.” Catherine set her fists on her hips and kicked a clod of dirt rather than the separated wagon wheel she longed to vent her frustrations on. No sense in making a bad situation worse.
“Mama, someone’s comin’.”
Her hands dropped from her hips. “What?”
Benin pointed back up the road.
A familiar paint cantered toward her with a rancher on board. Joe Matthews. Well, good. At least she wouldn’t have to figure out how to fix this on her own.
A second horse, a buckskin, came alongside the first, a broad-shouldered man in a black duster on board, riding tall in the saddle.
Her pulse quickened. “Breathe, Catherine, just breathe. That might not even be him.” But even as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she had no doubt who rode the second horse. Only one man ever sat a saddle like that. What should she do? Call out a greeting? Pretend she didn’t recognize him? Grab her son and run for the hills? That last one held merit. Then the general couldn’t hurt them. Her boots, however, had other ideas. They wouldn’t budge.
Dead. They were all dead because she couldn’t find it in her traitorous heart to run.
“Howdy, Mrs. Cathy, Ben. Looks like y’all have fallen into some trouble.”
Catherine nodded, yet her focus remained fixed on the dark-haired wrangler with the haunting gray eyes who pulled to a stop a few feet in front of her.
“Cat.”
Her breath caught. Words took wing. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that in years. Nearly six, to be exact. No one had ever called her that but…
“Sam.”
“You look good.”
Her heart soared. Catching it along with a flyaway strand of hair, she shoved them both into place and strode for the rear of the wagon. Maybe she could run. Just a bit. “You too.”
Fisting her navy skirt, she climbed into the back of the leaning buckboard, well knowing she wouldn’t find anything to fix the wheel, but if she continued to stand and stare at Sam, she was liable to make a complete and utter fool of herself. Not that he hadn’t done a good job of that all on his own, but she’d strived hard not to prove people correct about the notion. She had brains. She wouldn’t have the successful horse ranch she had today if she didn’t.
Hooves clomped closer while Catherine dug between the supplies. From the corner of her eye, she caught the sandy color of the buckskin.
“Want some help?”
She’d wanted help from him for years, and she hadn’t gotten it. Why start—
Catherine straightened. If she refused him now, would he leave again? Without talking to her, without an explanation for his actions, without a chance to change things from the way they were to the way they ought to be?
She swallowed her foul-tasting pride. “You don’t happen to have something to fix that wheel in those saddlebags of yours, do you?”
“Well, with some rope and a long pole, we could limp the wagon back to the livery. I’ve got the rope.” Sam glanced at Joe. “We might have to get creative with the pole or borrow one?”
“I’ll go back to town. Schreiner should have one. I’ll take the broken wheel with me and let him know we’re fixing to bring him some work. Benin, you want to give me a hand, pal?”
Catherine’s gaze flew to Joe. Had he lost his mind? Leave her alone with Sam? Her heart beat erratically. “I—”
“Can I, Mama, please?”
Sam’s gray eyes widened and sought hers, then flicked to the boy.
Uh-oh. Whatever was fixing to come out of Sam’s mouth, she doubted her son needed to hear it. Not yet anyways. “Sure, Benin, you can go. Just don’t be any trouble for Brother Matthews.”
“Yes’m.” Benin flashed a toothy grin, helped Joe with pieces of the broken wheel, and took his place on the rump of the pinto, behind the rancher. “Thanks, Mama. We’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Joe Matthews tipped his hat her direction and turned his gelding toward town. Soon tufts of dirt kicked up behind them.
“Mama? He’s your son? How do you have a son? How old is he? Where did he come from?”
The buckskin shook her head, clearly picking up on her rider’s anxiety.
She knew the feeling. Catherine stared into wide stormy eyes for the span of a heartbeat, then bent, grabbed a couple bags of coffee, and started unloading the wagon. “He’s five.”
“Five? Five! He isn’t…I mean you weren’t…why didn’t you… I think I’m going to be sick.”

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