Lassoing a Groom Read online

  DON’T GO SNARING MY HEART — Jacquie Rogers

  Alone in the high-mountain desert, self-sufficient Betsy Lynch is determined to eke out a living selling goat cheese while she fulfills her father’s dream to find a rich silver lode. Claim jumpers threaten to take everything she holds dear, so Betsy uses a bullwhip, her wiles, traps, goats, and an attack rooster to defend her land.

  Rancher Dex Madsen needs to feed his hungry crew. He tracks a herd of pronghorn and shoots one, then steps into Betsy's snare and is jerked upside down. The goats and rooster attack before Betsy cuts him down, and soon he's neck deep in her fight to protect the claim. But can he get past that killer chicken to claim her heart?

  RACE TO MARRY — Kirsten Lynn

  Desperate to save her family ranch, Josie Allison signs up for a bride race then begs a cowboy to put his John Hancock down to catch her. Marrying a man you don’t know is crazy, but there’s something about this cowboy that makes Josie want to trust him with her land and maybe even her heart. And Josie knows marrying a man you do know can be twice as loco.

  Cal Renner came to Sheridan, Wyoming, for one thing: ride the horse known as a man-killer and use the purse money to buy his own ranch. When a woman proposes to him five minutes after his feet touch Sheridan dirt, he’s sure a Wyoming asylum is missing a patient. But when she turns those summer green eyes his way, the promise of a family to go with that ranch is too hard to resist.

  When secrets are revealed and enemies join the race, Cal and Josie will have to learn to trust each other, because the race to the altar has turned into the race for their hearts.

  WANTED: THE SHERIFF — Tracy Garrett

  Martha Bittner may be considered a spinster at twenty-seven, but she’s not planning to stay that way. For four years, she’s wanted the sheriff of River’s Bend, Missouri, to notice her as more than a friend and a really good cook. With the first annual spring dance only weeks away, Martha decides to announce her intentions — and declares the sheriff a wanted man.

  Sheriff Matthew Tate always thought he was better off a bachelor. Growing up in Boston society, where marriage is a business transaction and wealth his greatest asset, he’s learned to distrust all women’s intentions. None of them even catch his eye anymore — until pretty Martha Bittner tells him exactly what she wants… and he wonders why he ever resisted capture.

  CANYON CROSSING — Kristy McCaffrey

  In search of her brother, Annabel Cross enters Grand Canyon with a guide and a mule. When circumstances have her hanging from a cliff side, her rescue at the hands of U.S. Deputy Marshal Angus Docherty is fortuitous in more ways than one. He’s chasing the notorious Red Bandit, and it soon becomes clear that Annabel’s brother is mixed up with the criminal as well. While the marshal believes she may be in on a double-cross, she has a more pressing secret to hide. She can talk to deceased spirits, and she wonders whether to tell Angus about the old Apache ever near to him.

  THE PERFECT HOMESTEAD BRIDE — Linda Hubalek

  Gussie Hamner paid cash for the abandoned Kansas prairie homestead near Ellsworth, Kansas, with winnings her horse Nutcracker won against cowboys coming off the cattle trails. She plans to raise horses on her ranch, but disturbing happenings around the place and with her animals cause Gussie to worry about the safety of all that is dear to her.

  Noah Wilerson left his sod house in Kansas to travel to Illinois, planning to marry and bring his sweetheart back to his new homestead. After finding his intended already married, Noah travels home to find it’s been taken over by a horsewoman in trousers.

  Pushed together by well-meaning family, Gussie and Noah must work together to finish the homestead he started, but she bought to make into a perfect home and ranch for the future family she’s been dreaming of. But danger lurking from the past may sabotage their work and lives now — and in the future.

  THE WORST OUTLAW IN THE WEST — Kathleen Rice Adams

  Laredo Hawkins has one ambition: to redeem his family's honor by pulling the first successful bank robbery in the Hawkins clan's long, disappointing history. Spinster Prudence Barrett is desperate to save her family's bank from her brother's reckless investments. A chance encounter between the dime-novel bandit and the old maid may set the pair on a path to infamy...if either can find a map.

  LASSOING A GROOM

  Jacquie Rogers

  Kirsten Lynn

  Tracy Garrett

  Kristy McCaffrey

  Linda Hubalek

  Kathleen Rice Adams

  NEW PRAIRIE ROSE PUBLICATIONS

  SUMMER RELEASES

  LASSOING A BRIDE

  LASSOING A MAIL ORDER BRIDE

  COWBOY CRAVINGS

  Lassoing A Groom

  Copyright © 2014 by Prairie Rose Publications

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Cover Image: iStock_000029522646Large

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  “Don’t Go Snaring My Heart” Copyright © 2014 by Jacquie Rogers

  “Race To Marry” Copyright © 2014 by Kirsten Lynn

  “Wanted: The Sheriff” Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Garrett

  “Canyon Crossing” Copyright © 2014 by Kristy McCaffrey

  “The Perfect Homestead Bride” Copyright © 2014 by Linda Hubalek

  “The Worst Outlaw In The West” Copyright © 2014 by Kathleen Rice Adams

  Table of Contents

  Don’t Go Snaring My Heart by Jacquie Rogers

  Race To Marry by Kirsten Lynn

  Wanted: The Sheriff by Tracy Garrett

  Canyon Crossing by Kristy McCaffrey

  The Perfect Homestead Bride by Linda Hubalek

  The Worst Outlaw In The West by Kathleen Rice Adams

  DON’T GO SNARING MY HEART

  Jacquie Rogers

  Can rancher Dex Madsen get past loner Betsy Lynch's goats and killer chicken to help save her mining claim and win her heart?

  Chapter 1

  1881 – Owyhee County, Idaho Territory

  “Tell your papa to come out and fight like a man.”

  Betsy Lynch crouched behind a boulder downstream a hundred yards from her cabin, her Winchester repeater’s barrel resting on a scraggly branch of sagebrush. She’d held off the claim jumpers, one stinkin’ batch after another, all on her own for the month since they’d killed her father.

  Two more had come to try their luck today, but they’d be sorry. Sooner or later, they’d move closer, and once they did, the snares and traps she had set earlier would take care of them in fine fashion. The sun beat down on her and she wished she’d picked a hiding spot in the shade.

  Betsy loved the home her papa had built for them in the Owyhee County desert. He’d been a farmer back in Ohio until her ma died of consumption. After careful planning, as was his habit, he’d sold the farm to come out West to prospect. He’d wanted Betsy to stay with her aunt, but Betsy would have no part of it — she insisted on coming with him. So they loaded up their hay wagon and headed west with their goats and dogs in tow.

  Shortly after they had arrived, he’d found a cave in the Owyhee Breaks with an interesting quartz layer and he insisted it would lead to an impressive silver lode. Better than that, the cave was neatly hidden in a deep, rocky draw with a creek where water flowed year round. Together, they’d built a crude but weather-tight cabin and a little barn for the goats. Betsy tended the goats and the garden, made cheese, and kept house while her father had worked the claim.

  The minutes ticked by, giving her too
much time to think. Papa should never have told anyone about his findings because since then, claim jumpers had plagued them, and one of them finally wounded him — fatally, as it turned out. Her unbearable grief over his death was overshadowed by the needs of the animals and her own thirst for vengeance. Betsy had buried her papa inside the cave and continued working the claim every chance she got, absolutely positive that she could prove her father correct.

  A couple of the goat kids bounded toward her and she motioned for the dogs to herd them back to the cabin before they gave away her position. The kids’ bleats and yipping dogs drew the two scoundrels closer, just as she had hoped. Two more steps and...she held her breath, hoping they would continue. They did. She heard the snap of a twig and the sproing of the rope trap, followed by a girlish screech and a gunshot.

  “I’m hit, Mick! I’m hit!” one of the robbers hollered.

  “Can’t do nothin’ to help,” the other whined. “I’m dangling upside down myself.”

  Betsy hadn’t fired her rifle. She guessed that Mick, whoever he was, misfired when the traps sprang. What a pity. She’d let the two of them hang by their feet for a while so they could think about whether they wanted to attack her again. Then she’d give them a little something extra to think about once they got back home.

  “Get me down, Mick.”

  “Now how in the ever lovin’ hell do you think I’m gonna do that?”

  “You got your knife — cut me down, and then I’ll cut you down.”

  “In case you hadn’t figured it, eejut, I can’t reach my knife or you, and I can’t reach the rope that’s holding my foot, neither. Besides, I think all the muscles is plumb tore out of my crotch.”

  She let them dangle and whimper for several minutes, then picked up her bullwhip and inched closer. “Drop all your weapons!” she yelled.

  “And what you plan to do about it, girlie?”

  “Anything I want.” She sent a lash that flicked the insolent man’s ear.

  “Damn, that hurt!”

  “I can do a lot more than that. Now drop all your weapons, including the knife in your boot.”

  “Lady, I can’t reach my boot.”

  “Figure it out.”

  After a pause, he said, “I ain’t got a knife in my boot.”

  She lashed his other ear and he whimpered.

  “All right,” she said, “we’ll do it the hard way.”

  Betsy wound them both in strips of untanned pronghorn hide, still green, then she climbed the juniper and cut them down. They landed on their heads. What a pity.

  “Where’d you leave your horses?” she asked, tossing the whip on a boulder and cocking her Winchester.

  “Down the draw,” the man with “no knife” in his boot said. She took his knife and tucked it into her belt.

  “Stand up.”

  They managed to struggle to their feet, their arms bound tightly to their sides. She smiled when she saw Lady Jane Grey bounding toward them. The nanny goat butted the smart-mouthed scoundrel in the backside and sent him sprawling. His partner laughed, then howled when Lady Jane’s sister, Queen Mary, rammed him and boosted him a few feet into the air. He flopped on the first fellow, who grunted.

  “Not sure you heard me,” Betsy said, not concealing her grin. “Stand up.”

  “Shit Christopher, woman.”

  She sent them on their way, still bound, with their reins in their teeth and a little poison oak in their hats to remember her by.

  Chapter 2

  Dex Madsen left a surly bunch of cowhands and a cantankerous cook back at the ranch. After a month of eating beans and jackrabbits, they’d groused that he should butcher a steer. He didn’t want to do that because he needed to sell every one of those steers to get as much money as he could for payroll and improvements. Even more vital, the first-year ranch was in sore need of blooded breeding stock. So while the crew drove the herd to a new range, Dex went pronghorn hunting.

  The Owyhees teemed with herds of antelope and he should’ve gone hunting sooner, but every spare moment had been taken up with building fences, fixing corrals, and repairing the dilapidated barn, not to mention reroofing the bunkhouse. Building up a ranch was not for the faint of heart, especially in the high mountain desert of Owyhee County.

  Tough as ranching was, though, mining was tougher. Swarms of men arrived in the territory every day expecting to get rich quick, and they needed to be fed. His biggest customer was the Silver City butcher. Dex aimed to make enough money so when the mines played out and the prospectors left, his ranch would be well-established and he could sell to larger markets.

  He rode his surefooted chestnut gelding into a rocky draw a few miles from the north side of his ranch and followed the winding creek that cascaded down the steep slope. Where there was water, there’d be game — deer or pronghorns. Either would do, although the crew preferred antelope meat over venison. Not more than a mile upstream, he caught sight of a small antelope herd and reined the chestnut to a stop. Drawing his rifle from the scabbard, he dismounted and tied the gelding to a scraggly juniper.

  Quietly, he crept around the boulders and dodged the prickly sagebrush to get a closer shot. At least half a dozen antelope, including a couple of young bucks, frolicked in the stream as the adults drank. They were a beautiful sight, but also meat on the hoof and the answer to his hungry crew problem. He set bead and squeezed off a round, the crack of the shot echoing off the canyon walls. The herd scattered in a flash, but the young buck dropped where it had stood — a clean shot.

  Dex clambered back over the rocks to his horse, sheathed his rifle, and untied the reins. He led the horse to a juniper closer to the downed antelope, which took some doing on account of the going was rough, what with all the boulders and such. When he finally urged the horse to within carrying distance of the pronghorn, Dex wrapped the reins around a lower branch so the gelding could still reach the water for a drink.

  “Back in thirty minutes or so.” He patted the horse, unsheathed his Bowie knife, and picked his way toward the fallen antelope.

  As he passed under another large, gnarled juniper, his foot was yanked out from under him and the next thing he knew, he hung upside down by one boot. It happened so fast he didn’t even have a chance to holler, but grunted like a pig at the strain on his groin. He had no choice but to bring his other leg up and swing in the breeze until the pulled muscle decided to calm down.

  Blast and damnation, this was a fine bucket of mountain oysters. And he’d dropped the danged Bowie knife, too. His fingers lacked four inches of reaching the ground, so his only recourse was to bend up and catch the branch. Only then would he be able to loosen the loop around his boot.

  With a great amount of effort, he managed to grab hold of his pant legs and pull his upper body a little higher, but he still couldn’t reach the branch, which was about a foot above his boot. He’d never been the wiry sort — had never particularly wished to be, but he wished for it now.

  Too bad he’d just bought new boots. They weren’t broken in yet and still pinched his toes. It took a considerable amount of effort, even under normal circumstances, to get the dang things off. Now, with a noose around his ankle, it was nigh onto impossible. When his stomach muscles protested overly much, he decided to straighten out and swing there a bit until he could come up with a better plan.

  Then he heard the pad of an animal trotting up. A brown-and-white dog slathered slobbers all over Dex’s right cheek and ear. “Cut it out, boy.” Dex wiped his face off with his sleeve. Then he heard a goat’s bleat and tiny hoof beats running toward him, followed by several other bleats. Not the best situation he’d ever been in. In no time, half a dozen goats surrounded him, bleating and butting.

  One stood on her hind legs and rested her front legs way too close to his family jewels. Another brushed up against his back and yet another gave him a little head butt in the ribs for good measure.

  “Leave the gent alone, ladies,” a pleasant feminine voice said. “What
are you doing in my draw, stranger?”

  Dex, in his upside down world, saw a curiously dressed woman — she wore an overly large man’s union suit and a buckskin skirt with a crude homemade leather belt and antelope-skin moccasins. Her honey brown braids reached her waist and she had large green eyes that sparkled with tenderness when she dealt with her dogs and goats, but hardened to annoyance when she drew her attention back to him.

  “Ma’am, would you kindly help me down?” The sooner, the better.

  “Might could.” She held off a nanny goat that tried to climb her backside, then rubbed its forehead. “Depends on why you’re trespassing.”

  Another of the goats butted him and he grunted. Still, he didn’t want to rile her. “Just on a hunting trip. I mean no harm — didn’t know you owned this land.”

  “Well, you did cause harm, mister. This here’s my home. You skeert the herd away and now I won’t have no meat. What if they don’t come back?”

  “I’ll share my kill with you, lady.” He’d promise anything to get her busy sawing on that blasted rope. “Just get me down.”

  “But what about next week? Next month? Them animals will remember. They ain’t so stupid as you think.”

  With few streams in the desert area, he didn’t see much danger that they’d stay away, but the woman had to be convinced soon because he didn’t want to hang upside down all dang day. Blood would start dripping out his eyeballs any minute. “I’ll bring you another pronghorn in a few days. The herd will come back in a week or two.”

  “I ain’t too sure of that, and you can’t be, neither.”

  He was getting pretty tired of this game, and his head began to throb for all the blood that had pooled in his brain. “Just get me down, and keep those infernal goats away from me.”