Free Wish Upon a Cowboy by Maureen Child, Kathleen Kane Page A

hunched deeper into the folds of his jacket. Tugging his hat brim down low on his forehead, he squinted into the afternoon light. His sharp eye inspected each of the beeves he passed, judging their weights, mentally adding the tally of what he could expect come sale time. Thoughts of Hannah Lowell were put aside as he lost himself in plans for the future.
    In his mind's eye, he could already see the ranch as it would be in just a few more years—barring, of course, floods, droughts, Indians, and the price of beef falling.
    He half turned in the saddle to look back at the ranch house. His imagination conjured up a tree-lined graveled drive leading to the three-story house with its wide front porch. He could even see himself, lounging in a chair in the shade, talking to –
    He scowled as the image of Hannah joined his dream self on that imaginary porch.
    Damn it. Now she was invading not only his kitchen, but his mind, too.
    "She's a pistol, all right," Elias said as his horse meandered toward Jonas's.
    Turning his head, he looked at the older man. "How'd you know I was thinking about her?"
    Elias snorted a laugh. "Hell, that look on your face meant either thoughts of Hannah or you're fixin' to kill somebody. Since I ain't heard you're at war with anyone in particular, I figured it had to be Hannah."
    "She's a thorn in my side," Jonas admitted in a grumble. "I never should have hired her."
    "Maybe not," Elias said, drawing his mount to a stop and looping the reins through his fingers. "But she sure can cook. Beats the hell outa the slop Juana sets out."
    "Yeah." One small consolation. He'd even heard the men raving about the breakfast they'd been served by that hot-tempered woman. It seemed they were willing to put up with her shouts if she kept the grub coming.
    "Why's she here, you reckon?" Elias asked, his gaze sliding to the ranch house some few hundred yards off. "A woman looks like her is usually married by now. Why's she want to come out to the middle of nowhere and be a ranch house cook?"
    Married.
    That word sure was getting a lot of use here lately.
    Jonas folded his hands on the saddle pommel and rubbed the worn leather reins between his fingers. No reason not to tell him, he thought. Hell, even though she'd agreed to let the whole subject of marriage drop, he had a feeling she'd start talking about it sooner or later. Might as well let Elias in on it now, so he'd be prepared. Besides, the old coot might even get a laugh out of it.
    "She says she's here to marry me," Jonas told him and waited for a smile that didn't come.
    Instead, the older man simply stared at him, his face expressionless, his eyes wary. "To marry you."
    "Yeah."
    "She's from Massachusetts," Elias muttered, his gaze now locked on the ranch house, "and she's come to marry you." The man's voice, deep and slow, blended in and was swallowed by the muffled roar of hundreds of hooves stamping into the dirt. He rubbed one gnarled hand across whiskery cheeks and swallowed heavily.
    Jonas frowned at the man and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He hadn't expected the old badger to go spooky on him. "Jesus, old man," he said on a short bark of laughter. "I only told you 'cause I figured you'd think it funny."
    "Did you?" Elias asked suddenly, cocking his head to one side. "Find it funny, I mean."
    "Funny? No." Jonas inhaled sharply. "Damn strange. Crazy, even. But funny?" He shook his head. Memories, old and cobweb-covered, rose up in his mind like a dust cloud on a hot, still day. Not only did he carry snatches of images of parents he couldn't really remember, but other, more recent memories were always there in the shadows, waiting for their chance to ambush him.
    The problem, he told himself, is that he was a man with too much past and not enough future.
    Muttering under his breath, he narrowed his gaze, focusing on his herd. The here and now. Hoping to keep his mind too busy to race into the past.
    But once prodded into life, those dusty images