Читать книгу Husband For Keeps - Kate Little, Kate Little - Страница 9

“Well…umm…” Carey wasn’t sure where to begin.

Wasn’t sure if she should begin. His dark gaze froze her, fixed her, like a butterfly stuck on a pin. Damn it all. Why did he have to be so darn good-looking? she silently lamented.

“Sleeping like a baby,” Ophelia announced as she returned from peeking into the dining room. “Listen…” She paused theatrically and cupped her ear. “He’s snoring to beat the band. Must be his afternoon siesta.”

Carey heard the judge’s resonant snores and thanked her lucky stars.

“Hey, Tyler, want to help me feed a bunch of puppies?” Ophelia’s enticing invitation suddenly cut through the silence.

“Puppies? Where?” The little boy leapt up out of his chair and eagerly took Ophelia’s hand. Then, turning to Luke, he added, “Can I?”

“Sure thing,” Luke said, waving his hand in approval.

“Tyler and I have some chores to do,” Ophelia said over her shoulder as she led the boy from the room. “You two just sit and get acquainted. There’s more coffee on the stove.”

Before Carey could protest, the incorrigible matchmaker was out the door with Tyler in tow. Luke cleared his throat with a low rumbling sound, drawing Carey’s attention from her swirling thoughts.

“You were saying?” he prompted.

“Actually, I was not saying,” she replied firmly, then added, “Listen, you don’t have to get involved in this. I— It was a ridiculous idea to begin with.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He stood up from his chair and walked over to the stove with his coffee cup.

Until now, Carey hadn’t taken a really good, long look at Luke with his denim jacket off, and she suddenly couldn’t take her eyes off him. A clean but worn tan work shirt strained over powerful shoulders, and the muscles of his impressive physique were the type developed from long hours of outdoor work, not brief workouts in an air-conditioned gym. The faded jeans that covered his long legs hung from his slim hips like a magazine ad for masculine allure.

She watched as he poured his coffee, then added a splash of milk from the creamer on the counter. His movements were smooth, economical, unhurried. And somehow deeply disturbing to her peace of mind.

“I just want to get it all straight. You need someone to marry you,” he said, returning to the table and sitting down directly across from her. “You’re willing to pay that person money.” His tone was objective and nonjudgmental. “Do I have it right so far?”

“Um—well, yes.” Carey nodded nervously, then tucked a straggling curl behind her ear. She could feel her cheeks growing redder by the second. It all sounded so pathetic. So downright desperate and humiliating when he said it. He must think she had something wrong with her.

“Well, there’s this will. My father’s will,” she explained. “You see, my father had very traditional ideas about women. He hated the idea that I was out in the world, working, having a career….”

“Whereabouts in the world were you?”

“California. Los Angeles, mostly. I was an actress.”

“Was? Meaning you’ve given that up to stay out here?”

“I’ve given up on acting. But not to stay out here,” she replied with a light, incredulous laugh. “Eventually I guess I’ll return to California and take some courses. Figure out something useful to do with my life.”

The line of his generous lips tightened almost imperceptibly at the news, Carey noticed. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased to learn she didn’t care for the rugged ranching life. Well, it was best that he knew from the start this was only a temporary arrangement.

“Go on,” he coaxed her. “You were telling me about your father?”

“My father firmly believed that I should be married. He believed it so much that his will states I cannot inherit this ranch and other assets, unless I’m married by time I’m thirty years old.”

She then explained how she had arranged for her friend Kyle to marry her for the period of time it would take to fix up the ranch and sell it. In exchange for Kyle’s help, she told Luke, she had agreed to give him a substantial sum, a down payment at the time of the marriage and the remainder to be collected when the ranch was sold.

When she named the actual figure, Luke’s eyebrows rose, and he emitted a soft whistle.

“But now Kyle is stuck in an airport in Wyoming, or maybe even on his way back to California,” she added, “and the whole scheme has been ruined.”

She’d noticed that his brow had been creased in concentration as he’d listened.

“Well, how old are you now, if I may ask?”

“Twenty-nine,” she replied, anticipating the question that would come next.

“And when’s your birthday?”

She took a deep breath and sat very tall in her seat before answering. “Tomorrow.”

A dazzling white smile flashed across his face. A deep dimple creased one cheek. She hadn’t noticed that before. “You’re kidding, right?”

She shook her head in reply. Curly strands of her golden-brown hair fell across her face, and she carelessly swiped them back with her hand.

“And what happens if you don’t get married by tomorrow?”

She shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“I lose it all. Everything goes to my cousin, Roger Burkett.”

“Oh.” The seriousness of her situation seemed to overtake Luke again. “You are stuck between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you, then?”

Carey started to answer, but her throat felt thick. His sympathetic tone and soft gaze were her undoing.

She nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes again as she felt Luke watching her. She stared down at her hands, clasped together on the table so tightly that her knuckles were white, and willed herself not to cry.

Suddenly Luke’s large, tanned hands reached out and covered hers.

“Hey, now.” His whisper was deep and rough, like the rustle of velvet. “Don’t cry, Carey. You seem like a hell of a sharp lady. I think you can figure this out.”

Carey did not answer. But neither did she remove her hands from his grasp. Though his touch was featherlight, she felt the work-toughened skin of his palms and the calluses on his fingers. Some errant part of her mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to feel that strong hand making slow contact with her bare skin….

“Carey…listen,” he said softly. He cleared his throat and she stared up into his dark eyes. “Maybe I can help you…” he suggested, his words trailing off. “Maybe I can marry you.”

“No,” she said, pulling her hands away and shaking her head. She didn’t mean to snap at him, but the word just burst out. “I don’t think so. Thanks…but…” She dared to glance at him. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, looking a bit insulted, but as if he was trying to take the blow to his pride in stride.

“Listen, thanks for the offer,” she added in a more conciliatory tone. “I know you’re just trying to help, but…”

“But what? You have—” he glanced at his watch “—about ten hours to tie the knot, and you’re stuck out on this ranch in a mother of a storm, short one groom.”

She had to agree with the logic of his argument yet tried to ignore it. “But we’re strangers. I don’t know anything about you. And you don’t know anything about me.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got news for you. Most people who get married the so-called normal way don’t know all that much about each other, either. Though they might think they do.” His tone was tinged with a bitter note, Carey noticed, which she strongly suspected arose from experience. But she didn’t have time to question him about it.

“Besides,” he continued. “What you’ve described isn’t a real marriage, anyway. It’s more of a business arrangement. I came here for a job interview, remember?” he reminded her. “Why don’t you just interview me, formal as you please, and see if I qualify?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’ve rarely been more serious. Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Tell me all about…the position.”

She coughed into her hand. “For instance?”

“Well, what are the hours? What are the duties, responsibilities? Don’t you want to know if I have any experience?”

“Do you?” she replied, struggling to suppress a playful grin.

“Plenty, ma’am,” he assured her, his gaze narrowed seductively, and the small smile that tilted his full lips made Carey’s heart skip a beat. “I even have a few letters of reference handy.” He pulled some folded pages from his shirt pocket and handed them over to Carey.

For a brief moment she was almost afraid to read them. He didn’t look like a professional gigolo…but how could a person tell such things?