Читать книгу Engaging Brooke - Dara Girard - Страница 11

Chapter 4

Jameson was sure his mother hadn’t blinked for a full minute. His father just stared at him and then finally said, “You’re doing what?”

The three of them sat in the Great Room, where only yesterday they’d been discussing Wes’s property sale. “I’m getting married,” Jameson said.

“To Brooke Palmer?” Gwendolyn repeated, just to make sure she’d heard her son correctly the first time.

He nodded. “Yes. We’re getting married this month.”

“But you can’t be serious,” Gwendolyn said.

“I am. You know I don’t joke.”

“But Brooke is—”

“I know who she is,” he cut in, not wanting his mother to elaborate. “How I feel about her shocked me, too, but I can’t help it. We’ve been seeing each other for some time.”

“How long?”

“Long enough for me to know I want to marry her.”

“But it’s so sudden,” Steven said. “Why not wait?”

“I don’t want to wait. I asked and she accepted and that’s all there is to it.”

“Really?” Steven said, doubtful.

Gwendolyn frowned. “You know how this will look?”

Jameson couldn’t help a grin. “I plan to make it look spectacular, and I need your help. Brooke has no one to help her so I said I’d take care of everything, but since I don’t know much about weddings...” He let his words fade away and sent his mother a look of hope.

“You want me to organize everything,” Gwendolyn finished.

“With no expense spared.”

And he meant every word. So Gwendolyn went into “planning” mode, and before he knew it, a lavish wedding was quickly set into motion. She had their wedding invitations designed. She also put together a list of dignitaries and guests she knew absolutely had to be there and other lesser-known ones, just so that they didn’t feel snubbed. A wedding planner was hired to assist with the overall organization and all related events including interviewing a number of caterers. Brooke thought she would be able to get to do some things on her own, like select her dress, but Gwendolyn insisted on helping her select her wedding gown.

“No daughter-in-law of mine is going to wear an off-the-rack dress.” And she was good to her word. She flew Brooke, along with Laney, in a private plane to Atlanta, Georgia, where Gwendolyn had made an appointment with a top fashion designer to make a custom wedding dress for Brooke. It was stunning. It had a bare back that plunged just enough to be both revealing and modest, with transparent, off-the-shoulder sleeves that extended into beaded gloves and a cinched, gathered waist, with a long train and a full billowy embroidered silk skirt that accentuated Brooke’s drop-dead figure.

News of Brooke and Jameson’s engagement spread through Granger overnight, like wildfire. But, the closer they came to the actual date, the more concerned his family became. Although his mother no longer expressed her doubts and his grandfather kept whatever thoughts he had to himself, his father was more to the point. One late afternoon, Steven visited his son as Jameson went over some paperwork in his study.

“You sure you know what you’re doing marrying this woman?” Steven asked.

Jameson sniffed, more amused than offended by the question. “I always know what I’m doing.”

His father sat. “That’s what worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel as if you’re up to something. You can try to fool the rest of the family with your story about having a clandestine relationship, but I know you too well. I also know when I see a man in love and from what I’ve seen, that isn’t you.”

Jameson pushed his paperwork aside and rested his arms on the desk, prepared for a fight he planned to win. “I care about her.”

“You ‘care’ about your cattle, but when it comes to loving a woman, you need to feel a little bit more than that.” Steven folded his arms. “I know she loves you.” He smiled when he saw Jameson flinch. “Why does that surprise you?”

Because you’re wrong, Jameson wanted to say. He had to admire Brooke. She was playing her role as his fiancée better than he’d expected. “I didn’t say it did.”

“A look passed your face. If you don’t plan on accepting her love how can you give it back?”

“I’ll take good care of her.”

“There’s that word again. Care. Don’t shame me and Ray Palmer, but most of all, don’t shame her. If this is your idea of some sort of twisted revenge against Meredith, I want you to stop it.”

“It’s not. That happened more than ten years ago. I’m over it.”

“Are you?”

Jameson leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like you to ask me to repeat myself.”

“You two were inseparable in school. When she left you...” He sighed and cleared his throat, as if the topic embarrassed him. “We all know how devastated you were because you loved her so much.”

“Don’t talk to me about love,” Jameson said in a tight voice. “I know all about love and what it can do. My feelings for Meredith are strong and deep. She and I are getting married and I don’t have to defend myself against you.”

“Brooke,” Steven corrected in a soft tone.

“What?”

“You just said you were marrying Meredith.”

Jameson felt heat rush to his face, but he kept his gaze steady. He couldn’t back down now. “I meant Brooke.”

“Really? You think making a mistake like that is something trivial?”

Jameson sighed, annoyed by his slip. “No.”

“I hope you’re marrying Brooke for the right reasons.”

“I am.”

“Don’t throw away a lot of money on a gamble you plan to lose.”

“You know I don’t like to lose, so why would I start now?”

But Jameson already knew he had won. Yes, he was helping her, but she was also helping him. But was marrying Brooke a way to avenge himself? Was he ready to be Meredith’s brother-in-law? He’d be rebuilding a bond that had been broken, but it was a strategic tactic he believed his family would eventually understand and respect. However, his father was right—he didn’t love her. But Brooke didn’t love him either. His father was mistaken. It was gratitude he’d sensed, not love. But there was no need to tell him the truth.

Unfortunately, Jameson knew his father knew him too well, and his mother, too. He had to act more like the loving fiancé and later, husband, if he wanted to keep the questions at bay. He was pleased that his actions had alleviated some of the earlier worry they had about the selling of Granger land. He didn’t want them concerned about what Samara was up to. Maybe they should have just eloped, but no, that wasn’t his style. He had to let people know that the Browards were on the defensive. They hadn’t built a fortune by laying low. He wouldn’t be like his brother and disappear when it was time to fight.

* * *

That evening, Jameson went to the Shank of the Evening saloon in downtown Granger to clear his head. He could take the curiosity of the town more than his family’s suspicions. Even his house manager, Cecelia, had had something to say about his upcoming wedding.

“The town is just buzzing about your wedding,” she said one evening as she cleared up Jameson’s dinner dishes. Her spiky red hair matched her ruddy cheeks and hinted at her Irish heritage. “It will be nice to have a woman around the house.”

Jameson picked up a magazine. “I thought you were enough.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her green eyes twinkled. “You are a sly one, seeing a woman on the side without anyone knowing.”

“Hmm...”

“But I’m surprised some woman hadn’t set her sights on you and reeled you in earlier.”

Jameson flipped through the magazine, used to Cecelia’s chatter. “Yes.”

“However, it does seem rather sudden. Is she?”

Jameson stopped and looked at her. “Is she what?”

“Expecting.”

“Expecting what?”

Her face reddened. “Don’t be stupid. You know what I’m talking about.”

Jameson cupped his chin and studied her. “Do I really look like the kind of man who’d get himself into that kind of trouble?”

“No, but—”

Jameson grinned and lifted his paper. He didn’t mind her questions. Cecelia was one of the few people he felt he could trust. She knew his ways and habits and gave him space when he wanted it. “There’s your answer.”

“I’m glad. But I hope you don’t wait too long to fill this big house with children.”

Jameson stopped listening to her after that. There would be no children, not for a long time.

At the bar Jameson sighed at the memory of Cecelia’s hopeful chatter, ordered a drink then took it outside to watch the traffic—what little there was of it—go by. He sat down, balanced his chair back on two legs and pushed his hat down low, ready to relax. Within seconds he saw a shapely pair of legs stop in front of him.

Jameson heard the distinct sound of a camera lens coming into focus. “I don’t want to make you regret taking that picture,” he said.

He heard a gasp of surprise and hid a grin.

“Not even just one?” a feminine voice said.

Jameson pushed his hat back and looked up. The voice belonged to a citified version of a Southern belle, from the French twist in her hair to her expensive leather heels. “No.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen a real live cowboy before.”

“How do you know I am one?”

“You look the part.”

He sighed. Most people were as shallow as a dried-up creek. “Looks can be deceiving.”

The attractive lady lifted her camera and flashed a flirty grin. “Come on, just one little picture as a souvenir.”

“I’m being polite now, but I can be mean. I can guarantee you don’t want to see that side of me.”

Something in his tone wiped the smile from her face. The woman tucked her camera away in the large designer bag slung over her shoulder and hurried to her car.

Jameson raised his glass, as if offering a silent toast of victory, then took a drink, wishing he could get rid of all the outsiders as easily.

“Don’t you think you’re laying the surly cowboy act on a bit too thick?” Brooke said behind him.

Jameson stiffened, annoyed that the sound of her voice sent a fissure of awareness through him, then he quickly recovered himself. “It’s not an act. It’s how I am.”

Brooke sat down in front of him. “You weren’t always like that.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Me, too.”

He lifted a brow, doubtful.

“I’ve gotten older, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.” A little more than I want to. He sipped his drink and looked around. This place was more Wes’s scene than his. If he’d really wanted to be left alone, he should have gone for a ride. Yes, a long trek up one of the mountains would have been a better option. Instead of having to listen to the sound of raucous music emanating from the saloon and being bothered by uninvited women on the street.

“Dance with me.”

Jameson took a long swallow, his gaze focused on the street. “Why?”

“People are already talking. I think we should add more chapters to this story.”

Jameson finished his drink and set the glass down. “I don’t dance.”

“I can teach you.”

He stood. “Bye.”

“Don’t you think we should have one date before we get married?”

Jameson looked at her confused. “Date?”

“Yes. We should at least show people that we’re a couple.”

“They’ll know for sure the moment you walk down the aisle. I have nothing to prove.”

“Please.”

Jameson studied her for a moment. She was being sincere and he knew he was disappointing her, but he didn’t dance well and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself for anyone. Besides, he was tired. He’d gotten up at four in the morning and it had been a long day. But she was right, they should give the town something to talk about. And he needed to show his father that marrying Brooke wasn’t some twisted plot of revenge. He looked inside the bar then thought of an idea. “Darts.”

Brooke frowned. “What?”

“You once asked me to teach you how to throw darts.”

Brooke threw up her hands in apparent exasperation. “Jameson, that was years ago. I must have been twelve.”

“Well, I’m ready to teach you.” He grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside and headed over to the dartboard.

Jameson patiently told her the rules of the game, then showed her how to hold the dart and aim. “It takes practice, but it’s fun. Now you try.”

* * *

Brook took a dart, threw it with the skill of a champion and hit the bull’s-eye. “You mean like this?” She threw another dart, again hitting dead center. “Or like this?” She threw it a third time. “Or maybe like this.”

Jameson rested his hands on his hips. “I didn’t realize I was such a good teacher,” he said in a dry tone.

Brooke laughed, pleased that he didn’t mind her teasing. “I couldn’t wait around for you, so I found someone else to teach me.”

“Who?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Him?”

“Does that make a difference?”

“No.”

Brooke wished it did. She wanted him to be curious, even a little jealous, but he wasn’t. Jameson left after giving her a quick peck on the lips, just for show. Maybe she shouldn’t have shown off. She liked having him trying to teach her. She remembered her back pressing against his chest. The feel of his strong hand steadying her arm. She didn’t blame the lady visitor for wanting to take a picture of him. He may not appreciate attention from the fairer sex, but he certainly encouraged it without effort. He was a fine specimen of a man.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and saw a waitress holding out a tray with a drink. “This is for you. It’s from the man over there.”

Brooke turned and saw Mitch grinning at her. She took the drink and walked over to his table. “What’s this for?”

“I thought you’d need the courage to keep this charade up.”

“Charade?”

Mitch nodded to the dartboard. “That was quite a show you two put on, but it won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know this engagement thing is a fake, and if your marriage lasts longer than a week, I’ll eat my hat.”

Brooke smiled, pressing back a sense of unease. “Good. I’ll be there to grill it for you.”

* * *

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jameson went to bed in a nasty mood and woke up in an even meaner one. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sly grin Brooke had given him at the bar after hitting three bull’s-eyes. Each time he felt as if she were aiming at his heart. No, not his heart, much lower than that and to a much more delicate part of his anatomy. He’d been turned on by the shape of her butt in her tight-fitting jeans and the feel of her soft skin under his fingers as he taught her how to hold and throw a dart. He could still smell her perfume.

He’d gotten too close, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had to stay away from her. Unfortunately, Brooke didn’t give him the opportunity. She showed up on the ranch the next day while he was busying himself looking over some of the calves.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

Jameson stiffened. Wasn’t marrying her enough? “What?”

“It’s about my studio.”

He felt himself relax and returned his gaze to the herd. “What about it?” he asked absently as his gaze focused on a calf that looked listless. Not a good sign.

“I need one. Can I have a space in your house?”

“Hmm.”

“Jameson, are you listening to me? It’s important that I have the space I need.”

“You’ll get it,” he said, noticing another calf that didn’t look healthy. It wasn’t playing or running like the others. “Excuse me.”

“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked, following close behind him.

He walked over to the calf and pointed. “Tell me what you see.”

“She doesn’t look good.”

Jameson silently swore. They’d had a great calving season, but it was still a delicate time for the newborn calves. He had to keep constant watch for broken bones from being stomped on by the herd or for infections. He still felt bad about the call from his foreman, telling him he’d lost a horse he’d hoped to rescue and the second one was still touch and go. He didn’t need more bad news. He walked over and pulled the skin on one of the calf’s necks. It lacked the elasticity he expected, meaning it was dehydrated. He watched Brooke do the same with another calf.

“This one is dehydrated, but I don’t see any of the others looking as bad.”

Jameson called over a ranch hand, Frank, and they checked the calves’ body temperatures. They were running too hot. “Separate these two,” he told Frank. “And you know the rest.” Jameson and Frank knew they’d need to get the fluids the vet had provided to the calves quickly in order not to lose them.

“Brooke,” Jameson said with a note of apology. “We’ll talk about the studio later. Okay?”

“No problem.”

The following day the calves were doing much better, but Jameson’s mood hadn’t improved much. He kept thinking about Brooke checking the calf for dehydration. She’d sprung into action without him asking her or telling her what needed to be done. It had felt good to have her at his side...too good. He couldn’t afford to feel this way. He had to think business. He called his lawyer. “I need you to do something for me. Fast.”

The next day Jameson sat in Brooke’s front room with a legal prenuptial agreement and a pen ready. It was two days before their wedding, and he wanted to get something settled. “I need you to read this agreement, then sign,” he said more brusquely than he meant to.

Brooke lifted the papers. “What is it?”

“A business agreement. This will protect you as much as it does me.”

She set the papers down. “I don’t need to sign.”

“If you want this marriage to go through, you will.”

“I don’t want anything from you except to save my legacy.”

“Then sign and there won’t be a problem.” He knew that people’s intentions could change. He was sure she meant well now, but he’d been burned before, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of trusting a woman twice. “This is strictly business. As your father stipulated in his will, we have to stay married for at least a year. After that we’ll part ways and you’ll get your ranch.”

“You certainly know how to make a girl feel wanted. I’ll sign, but you can’t keep treating our relationship this way.”

“What way?”

“Like we’re business colleagues.”

Jameson nodded, pleased with the description. “That’s essentially what we are.”

Brooke lowered her voice, although no one was around to overhear. “Only we know that, but others can’t think so. If I sign this, I need you to play the part of my husband. A devoted husband.”

Jameson shrugged with nonchalance. “I can do that.”

“Prove it.”

“I did. In the saloon—”

“You treated me like your kid sister,” Brooke interrupted. “Not your fiancée. Mitch is already laughing about how fake this engagement looks and he’s sharing his opinions. What does your family think?”

“I guess you have a point,” Jameson agreed with reluctance. “Okay. I promise I’ll play the role so you get to keep your family homestead.” He held the pen out.

Brooke shook her head. “I said prove it.”

Jameson looked around. “Why? Nobody’s watching.”

“Then it’s a good time to practice, don’t you think?”

“Practice what?”

“Being a husband.”

Jameson waved the pen. “And you won’t sign until I do?”

Brooke crossed her legs and sat back with a satisfied grin. “That’s right.”

“Quite a negotiation tactic, but you have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“I grew up with a rancher, I know that most things in life are a gamble. One just needs to weigh his or her options.”

“When you gamble you should make sure the odds are in your favor. What makes you think I’ll do what you ask? What will you do if I say no?”

Her grin widened. “You won’t.”

“You sound sure about that.”

“I am because I know you like a challenge as much as I do.”

Jameson raised his brows. “You think you know me well?”

“Am I right?”

He folded his arms. “Okay, so you want me to act like your husband?”

“Devoted,” Brooke added with emphasis. “Convince me that I’m yours.”

“That shouldn’t be hard.”

“Let me see you try.”

“I don’t ‘try.’ I succeed.”

“So far you’re all talk.”

“You’re right.”

Jameson didn’t move. His arms remained folded. He didn’t move closer, but the air suddenly became still and charged with an electric heat like the coming of lightning. Brooke felt her throat grow dry as his gaze lazily appraised her in a way that was both intimate and naughty. His eyes undressed her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. But just as quickly as the expression came it disappeared and his face turned into a bland mask.

“Did you find that convincing?” he said in a flat tone.

Brooke could only nod, her mind spinning. She wanted to “practice” some more, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask him to. She’d been surprised she’d been able to get him to show false affection even once.