Читать книгу Husband For Keeps - Kate Little, Kate Little - Страница 7

Storm clouds, heavy with rain, swiftly moving across a wide sky. The ominous rumble of thunder in the distance. Wind rising, blowing dust and brush across the front yard.

A woman in a doorway, a wedding bouquet in her hands, anxiously watching the distant road for an approaching car.

A jagged bolt of lightning cutting across the sky.

The hands of the clock moving quickly toward high noon—the showdown hour….

It was all too much like a scene from a bad movie, Carey Winslow reflected. And she’d acted in enough of them to know.

She watched as the first heavy drops darkened the ground and splashed on the porch railing. Then the wind picked up, the rainfall gusting into a heavy, wet curtain.

The predictions she’d heard this morning on the radio had come to pass, and Carey knew from the forecast that a front of severe storms was going to sweep across the entire state. Including the airport, several hours away by car.

Kyle would never get here in time now. Carey felt her stomach clench at the hard truth. His car—some cheap rental with no pickup and even less traction—will slide off the side of the road. Why did he have to time it down to the very last minute? Wasn’t that just like a man?

She sighed and stepped back from the front door, setting the small bouquet of white sweetheart roses on the hallway table.

“Your fiancé here yet?” Ophelia’s calm voice echoed down the hallway of the gracious old house. “The judge is getting antsy. Says if the fellow doesn’t come soon, might as well not bother. Being as the rain’s started and all….”

“Yes, I know. I won’t wait much longer.” Carey smoothed down the sleeveless white chiffon dress with a scattered print of green and red blossoms. Her only jewelry was a cameo broach, a treasured remembrance of her mother. A garland of miniature white roses and baby’s breath in her hair completed the outfit: her wedding outfit.

Not the traditional gown and veil, but she was certainly not the conventional bride. The outfit—as were the rest of the preparations—was makeshift. Less than traditional, yet enough to keep up appearances. Just enough to fulfill the terms of her father’s will and gain her inheritance.

But nothing would be gained without a groom, Carey despaired. And time was running out.

“Ask the judge if he wants some lunch while he’s waiting. I’d better go out and look for my betrothed.”

“In that weather?” Ophelia squawked. “You’ll make your clothes a mess. Why don’t you wait till Willie gets back? He’ll find the fella for you.”

The confident tone she used to volunteer her husband’s aid tugged at Carey’s heart. Her mother had died when Carey was only seven years old, and her father had never remarried. Ophelia and Willie, who had been indispensable in the running of Whispering Oaks for over twenty-five years, had supplied Carey’s only example of what a loving lifetime bond between a man and woman could be. It was the kind of relationship she’d always hoped for, imagined she would begin on her own wedding day. But, like so many childhood hopes and dreams, it was sadly not to be.

If he’d been present, Carey knew Willie Jackson would have eagerly braved the rain and wind to help her. But Willie, who was filling in for the ranch’s missing foreman at the moment, was out in the heavy weather, checking on the stock.

“I can’t wait for Willie. Like the judge said, if I wait any longer I might as well not bother.”

Carey pulled a bright-yellow rain slicker off the antique coatrack in the hall and slid the rough clothing over her formal outfit. She kicked off her dressy pumps and dashed back to the mudroom off the kitchen to grab a pair of high rubber boots, mostly used for tramping around the barnyard and horse stalls.

“You’re a sight in that getup.” Ophelia waved a dishcloth at Carey as she passed through the kitchen, heading back to the front door. “You’ll scare the poor guy off, if you ever do find him.”

“Not likely.” Carey grunted as she yanked on the high boots. The only thing that would scare Kyle Keeler off at this point, Carey reflected, was a cut in his fee.

Besides, Carey knew that Kyle—who fit into every stereotype of a vain actor—would be too mesmerized by his own looks to spare her a glance. And, of course, he’d be fantasizing about how he’d spend his payoff.

Kyle Keeler, struggling actor, longtime friend, was in it for the money; specifically, the generous sum Carey had promised him to take on the role of husband-in-name-only for a suitable period of time. During which, she would receive her inheritance, the Whispering Oaks Ranch, which she planned on selling as quickly as possible.

After six months or so, they would divorce. Kyle would get his loot and return to sunny Hollywood. Carey would get on with her life, sell the ranch and maybe return to school for a college degree, leaving her less than notable screen career behind her.

Ophelia knew all this. Ophelia knew everything. But somehow, she couldn’t help but act as if this whole charade was a love match. She’d even baked a grand-looking, three-tiered cake and mixed a champagne punch. Well, Ophie always loved a party, Carey knew.

Carey glanced fondly at her housekeeper, who now stood scowling with arms crossed across her ample chest.

“If Kyle calls, tell him I’ve gone out looking for him and I’ll be back in an hour,” she instructed. She grabbed the keys to the pickup off the foyer table, then checked her watch.

While Ophelia tisked and shook her head, Carey gathered up her skirt and made a run for the truck, fat drops of rain pelting her face and clinging to her long, golden brown hair.

She jumped inside, jammed the key into the ignition and prayed under her breath. “Just turn over, please,” she begged the old truck. “Just this once, don’t give me a problem.”

In his final years her father had let just about everything on the place go, including the vehicles and equipment. Carey had no idea how bad things had gotten. Her relationship with him had been strained ever since Carey had left home at age eighteen. There’d been little contact and even fewer visits.

The old truck sputtered ominously, and Carey nearly lost heart. Then suddenly the engine turned over with a roar.

She carefully put the truck in gear and headed down the long ranch road, the wipers and weak defogger doing only a passable job on the rain-drenched, fogged-up windshield. The truck bounced along through the ruts and holes, giving Carey a ride like a rodeo bronco. But despite the punishment, she didn’t slow down.

When she reached the main road, she turned left. If her groom had followed the careful directions from the airport, she knew he would be approaching from that direction.

Carey spared a quick glance at her image in the rearview mirror. Ophie, bless her soul, had been right. She did look a sight.

Some bride. More like the bride of Frankenstein!

If only this was a real wedding day, with a man I could truly pledge my heart to, could lovingly promise to honor and cherish, Carey thought wistfully. It would certainly make Ophie happy.

And my father, rest his soul.

She shook the errant thought from her head. As if she had ever met a man she would want to marry—truly. Oh, she’d had some romances, some that even seemed serious for a time. But when it came down to the question of marriage, the very idea of a pledge so permanent, so all encompassing, scared her silly. She wasn’t quite sure why, when part of her seemed to yearn so for such a union.

Perhaps it was the idea of giving up so much of the independence she’d struggled so hard to win and preserve, but which lately had provided little more than cold comfort on a long lonely night. Especially here, out on the ranch, where there were far fewer escapes and distractions from that empty, aching feeling than there’d been in Los Angeles.

Still, she wasn’t ready for marriage. Not now. Maybe not ever—though she did love children and often felt an urge toward motherhood. But a woman didn’t necessarily have to be married these days to have children. Hollywood stars were going the single-mom route every day. And once she sold the ranch, Carey reflected, the money would give her the freedom to do as she wished. To map out a whole new plan for her future.

As Carey’s thoughts wandered, her gaze searched the road for any sign of Kyle. All she had to do was find Kyle and bring him back before the judge flew the coop. Once the stroke of midnight sounded, marking her thirtieth birthday, she would lose everything if she was still single.

But if Kyle was stuck someplace in the rain, or worse yet, if his flight had been forced to land at some distant airport, she was sunk. Who in the world could she find to marry her at this late hour in the game?

Carey took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t do any good to dwell on the worst possibilities. You have to think positively, she coached herself, trying to pump up her positive energy as she’d learned to do from stepping into a tough audition. You have to picture yourself standing in front of that judge, saying “I do!”

As Carey coaxed mental images of her nuptials, the wipers struggled to keep up with the driving rain. Carey leaned forward and whisked some fog from the windshield with the edge of her sleeve. She could barely see even a few yards ahead of her.

Not that there was much to see. The road was not well traveled even on the fairest days. This morning, she reasoned, anyone with any sense in their head had pulled over to wait out the worst of the storm.

Then suddenly she spotted the dark form of a vehicle up ahead, parked on the side of the road. Kyle’s rental car! Yes! Her heart lurched hopefully. See what a little positive thinking can do? She congratulated herself.

Then she drew closer. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Not Kyle’s car as she hoped. Her spirits sank again as she took in the sight of a black flatbed pickup, its emergency lights flashing. A blue bandanna was tied to the radio antenna, hanging limp and drenched with rain. Clearly the troubled traveler had been sitting there for some time.

“Oh, drat.” Carey slapped the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

Just what I need, a chance to play Good Samaritan. Don’t I have more important things to do than rescue stranded neighbors right now? If I don’t find Kyle out here somewhere within the next fifteen minutes, my entire life is down the toilet.

She approached the truck and carefully applied the brakes. Her own truck skidded and veered to the side but finally stopped safely on the road shoulder. She cut the engine and pressed on her emergency lights.

When she looked back at the black pickup, she caught sight of a small face, staring at her through a circle in the fogged window. A little boy’s face, his dark eyes wide and frightened.

She forgot about her missing groom and spoiled plans and was suddenly happy she’d stopped. She pushed her door open, and a gust of rain hit her with a blast as she hopped out of the truck. Her boots sank into the mud several inches.

The door of the black truck swung open, and Carey found herself staring at the driver. His serious, impassive expression, strong features and compelling dark eyes made her breath catch and froze her in her tracks.

“Thanks for stopping,” he said, unsmiling. His voice was deep, rough, disturbingly masculine.

“No problem,” she replied evenly. “Why don’t you leave your truck here, and I’ll give you a lift back to my place? It’s only a few miles west.”

As Carey spoke she felt increasingly self-conscious under his assessing glance. She realized what a sight she must seem, from the garland of wilted flowers in her matted hair, to her long, wet, mud-splattered skirt.

Suddenly the boy’s dark head popped up from behind one broad shoulder. Carey smiled at his wide-eyed expression. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment.

“Hey, Luke, has that lady come to help us?” she heard him whisper into the driver’s ear.

“Sure thing, pal,” the driver said. “I told you someone would come,” the man named Luke added in a quiet, reassuring tone. “Tyler doesn’t care much for thunderstorms,” he explained, glancing with a sympathetic gaze at the boy.

“Oh…I see.” Carey peeked over Luke’s broad shoulder at Tyler’s small, wary expression. “Well, here I am. Your official rescue squad.” She offered a wide smile in the boy’s direction. “When I was a kid I didn’t like storms, either. But my mother used to tell me it was only angels bowling.”

Tyler’s uneasy expression slowly changed to a smile. “That’s silly,” he said.

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Carey agreed with a little laugh.

Then she met Luke’s gaze and felt mesmerized as a slow, reluctant smile transformed his hard, impassive features. Not the sly, come-on smile Carey normally drew from members of the opposite sex. This was different. Completely different.

Deep dimples creased his tanned cheeks; even, white teeth flashed against tanned skin, a sudden light in his dark eyes glowed as he met her gaze. Carey smiled back, feeling a curious, punched-in-the-gut sensation again. As if, during that instant his gaze had met and held hers, somehow he’d tapped a direct line to her heart.

Gratitude, perhaps, for the comfort she offered his small scared companion. Or simply the glance two adults exchange when caring for a child.

But just as quickly his expression returned to the shuttered mask that had first greeted her. She had the oddest feeling he regretted allowing himself even that single, simple instant of intimacy.

He turned abruptly to the boy. “Let me help you out on this side, Ty. There’s a big puddle on yours. And don’t forget your hat.”

“I’ll wait in the truck for you,” Carey said curtly. She turned and tramped off to her truck, putting some much-needed distance between herself and her newfound passengers.

Her reaction to this guy had been…ridiculous. It had to be the stress of this everything-gone-wrong day—when so much depended on things going right for her, just this once.

Luke and Tyler soon appeared at the passenger side of the truck, and Luke opened the door and helped the boy climb in.

“Just wait here with the lady a minute,” Luke instructed him. “I need to go back to the truck. I’ll just be a minute,” he told Carey.

Once Carey and Tyler were alone, he glanced up at her warily. “My name is Tyler,” he offered politely, reminding her that she hadn’t introduced herself by name yet.

“I’m Carey,” she returned. “Carey Winslow.” Then, not knowing what else to say as he continued to stare up at her so solemnly, she added, “How old are you?”

“I’m four. Almost going to be five.”

Carey, who wasn’t around small children much, didn’t know how to keep the conversation going. Thunder rolled loudly nearby, and she saw the child grow tense again.

“Do you like horses?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“I guess,” he said hesitantly, his answer surprising her. What four-year-old boy didn’t like horses?

“I’ve only seen a few close up. I never rode one,” he explained. The he looked back up at her, his expression very serious. “Luke has. He’s been on a lot of horses.”

Carey, who knew a full-blooded cowboy when she saw one, laughed lightly. “I bet he has. Maybe he’ll teach you to ride them someday, too. You’d like it. It’s fun.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tyler replied. He continued to stare at her and did not smile back.

Carey looked for Luke and saw him moving bags from the truck bed into the cab. She glanced at her watch, wishing she could deliver these two hapless travelers back to the house and get on the road again.

“Carey, can I ask you something?” Tyler’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“Are you…are you like a fairy princess or something? Like in a book?” His question would have made her burst out in laughter, if not for the solemn expression of his small round face and dark-brown eyes. Eyes a lot like Luke’s—though it was still unclear what the relationship was between the man and boy.

She shook her head, pursing her lips to keep from smiling too broadly. “No, not at all. Just a regular person… Whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged, a small movement under his thin, baseball-style jacket. “I just thought maybe you were. You look like the pictures of one in a book I used to have. Like that crown thing in your hair and your long dress and all,” he explained, seeming a bit embarrassed.

“Oh—” She glanced down at her long skirt, then remembered the garland of soggy flowers in her hair. “Oh, sure. I see…I’m just dressed…special today,” she tried to explain. “For a special occasion.”

He seemed satisfied with that explanation, his expression lighting up in anticipation. “Like a party you mean?”

“Hmmm. Sort of,” she hedged, thinking of the three-tiered cake and the bowl of punch.

The passenger side door swung open and a gust of rain blew into the cozy truck cab. Just outside the truck, Luke removed his Stetson, shook the water off quickly, then ducked inside and slammed the door. Tyler quickly scooted close to Carey to make room for him.

“Well, put it in gear and let’s see what we’ve got,” Luke said. “If we’re stuck, I’ll get out and push.”

He wiped his damp hair back off his brow with a quick, sweeping motion of his hand. She suddenly noticed he was in need of a shave, though the observation did nothing to detract from his dark good looks. Carey forced herself to look away.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Carey replied, as she slipped the transmission in low gear. The truck wheels spun for a long, agonizing moment, then suddenly gripped the mud as the vehicle lurched out onto the road.

Carey quietly sighed with relief and thought she heard the same from Luke’s end of the cab. “You shouldn’t have parked so far onto the shoulder like that. We might have been stuck in the mud,” he observed.

“Well, we weren’t, so that’s mud under the bridge in my book.” Her reply was delivered in a cheerful, even tone, though she actually felt put out by the need to explain herself to a stranger. For goodness’ sake, he was lucky she’d come along when she had and offered him a ride.

“My name is Carey, by the way,” she added. “Carey Winslow.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him glance her way over Tyler’s head. Then he looked back out at the road.

“Luke Redstone,” he replied. “And this is Tyler…my nephew.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve been getting acquainted.” Carey glanced down warmly at the boy.

Luke looked at him, too. A questioning look, as if he was worried about what the boy had said in his absence. “We were just talking about horses,” Tyler explained in a quiet voice to his uncle.

Luke seemed satisfied with that reply, his features fixed in the serious, thoughtful expression that was quickly becoming familiar to her.

“And I asked her about, you know, what I thought,” Tyler added in an even quieter voice. “And you were right. What you said. She’s not…one. She’s just dressed up that way for a party.”

Taking her eyes off the treacherous road for a moment, Carey noticed that this last comment caused a slight grin to soften Luke’s expression.

“Well, that makes some sense, I suppose,” he replied to Tyler. Then to Carey he said, “I did notice that you weren’t quite dressed for the weather.”

He turned, his gaze moving slowly down her body with an assessing, slightly amused light dancing in his dark eyes.

She knew she looked a sight, from the circle of wilted flowers in her long, wind-whipped hair, to the soggy skirt that clung damply to her legs. His appraisal of her appearance unnerved her. Annoyed her, actually.

“It’s not a party exactly,” Carey replied, unsure of how much she was willing to disclose about her present predicament. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”

The words just burst out. Maybe just to shock that amused, slightly smug look off his handsome face, she realized.

And she’d succeeded, she noticed.

“Married? Today?” His gaze narrowed, attractive little creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Carey nodded, pulling hard—but carefully—on the wheel as the truck swerved on a wide stretch of flooded blacktop.

Carey was suddenly conscious of how her passengers held their breath for a second, waiting to see if she had saved them from skidding off the road.

She had. The truck bumped along in a straight path once more.

“Congratulations,” Luke said quietly.

“Thanks.” Carey wasn’t quite sure if he was congratulating her on her driving skills or her upcoming marriage, but she didn’t bother to ask.

He sat silently for a moment, then added, “Can I ask you what you’re doing riding around out here if you’re supposed to be getting married? High-tailing it from the poor groom?”

These last words were spoken lightly. But the underlying bitter note in his accusation was not lost on Carey. Not a man with a very high opinion of women, was he?

“Actually, it’s sort of the opposite,” Carey kept her eyes glued to the road, noticing that they were finally approaching the ranch. “So far, the groom is the no-show. I came out looking for him…and found you.”

She felt him looking at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. She couldn’t say he looked contrite or apologetic for assuming the worst about her, but a bit mollified, perhaps.

“Probably just stuck in the rain,” Luke offered.

“Probably,” Carey agreed. Though she knew Luke couldn’t imagine what this minor delay would cost her.

In most any other case, a delayed groom would be the cause of some inconvenience, some change in plans. But the show would go on. In her case, however, it was a pure and simple catastrophe.

But she didn’t need to explain that to Luke Redstone. Didn’t even want to try. Everything about him, from his worn, wide-brimmed hat to the scuffed toes of his black boots spoke of a practical man, a straightforward man, who would neither understand nor approve of her sham wedding plan. No, she thought, stealing a quick glance in his direction, he wouldn’t understand. Her plan was pure Hollywood, and he was clearly 100 percent all-American cowboy. The stuff legends were made of. And she had to admit that she herself wasn’t entirely proud of this plan: though not illegal, as her attorney assured her, it was certainly a willful misinterpretation of her father’s final wishes.

They drove on in silence, the wipers squeaking against the windshield and the truck’s thick tires making a muffled sound as they sped over the wet road.

She didn’t know why she should care what Luke Redstone thought of her. And quickly brushed the thought aside. She would take these two home, let them dry out and warm up, and as soon as they could get a tow truck out here, she’d never see them again.