Читать книгу A Deal at the Altar: Hired by the Cowboy / SOS: Convenient Husband Required - Liz Fielding, Donna Alward - Страница 9

“HAVE YOU SEEN today’s paper?” Connor stopped his agitated pacing and faced his grandmother.

Johanna Madsen looked coolly over the rims of her glasses, her shrewd eyes assessing. Not a single white hair was out of place, curled back from her temples stylishly and stopping at her collar.

“Yes, dear, of course I have.”

Connor started pacing the elegant sitting room again, feeling fenced in among the classic furniture and expensive knickknacks. His head was ready to implode. How could she sit there so implacably, a study in calm? This was big. It was huge. It was probably the end of Windover.

“We almost lost the farm after the last scare. This’ll put the final nail in the coffin, Grandmother.”

“My, you are upset,” Johanna replied with a tiny smile. “You never call me Grandmother unless you’re piqued at me.”

“Whatever.” Connor stopped pacing and faced the elderly woman squarely. “I want to know what you’re willing to do to help me save our heritage.”

She laughed, a raspy, rusty sound that made Connor’s lips twitch even as he waited for her answer.

“Our heritage? You’ve been thinking about this all day, I can tell.”

On the contrary. For a few hours that afternoon he’d forgotten about his current troubles, focusing on another’s issues. A slight girl with jet-black hair and astonishing blue eyes. With a baby on the way. Where was she now? He hoped she was still all right. When her face had paled and she’d wavered, he’d simply acted, while no one around had batted an eyelash.

And even at her worst she’d still maintained a sense of humor. He admired that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was in a bad way. For the father to simply disappear like that…Connor frowned. He had no compassion for cowards. A real man stood up and did what needed to be done.

And so, apparently, did Alex. Because the only sense he’d got from her today was that of strength and stubbornness, not hopelessness and self-pity.

And why, considering the current pickle he found himself in, was he thinking about her when he should be focusing on convincing Gram to release his trust fund?

“Connor?”

“Yes, Gram,” he answered sharply, turning back to the woman who looked so much like his father. Right now her expressive eyes were troubled, and the mouth that always looked like it held a secret joke was a thin line.

“Look,” he relented, “you know as well as I do why I’m here. There’s already a ban imposed on beef exports. It’s the same scenario as before, only this time it’ll be harder to convince the world our beef is safe. Meanwhile I have a herd, a growing herd, that I can’t slaughter but that still has to be fed and cared for.”

“And you want the cash?”

“My birthday is less than a year away. Surely you can release it a little early?”

Her blue hawk-like eyes bored into his as she folded her hands in her lap. Hands that had once been rough and workworn but now held a small smattering of delightful rings. “No, my grandson, I can’t do that. Your parents’ will clearly states that those monies be held in trust for you until your thirtieth.”

Connor cursed fluently; Johanna merely raised an elegant eyebrow. He glared at her, and she stared him down.

Damn it. She was strong—too strong. She’d lived her life, worked the ranch herself, knew what tough meant. She’d chosen comfort, a condo with a mountain view for her retirement. But she’d lost none of that prairie woman’s steel.

“Gram. I can’t do it. Not without the resources.”

“You are your father’s son. You can.”

“He never had to deal with this.” He said it and knew without a doubt he was right. The last scare had nearly bankrupted them, and they’d kept going by the skin of their teeth. But now…there was nothing in reserve. The only way to keep Windover running was with cold, hard cash. And it was clear now she wasn’t going to give him any. His heart sank. He’d fail after all.

Like hell I will. His lips thinned with frustration and determination.

“Legally I can’t release the money, Connor. You know I would if I could.”

Her eyes softened just a little, and he saw the deepening wrinkles there.

“I don’t want to see Windover go under either,” she continued. “It means as much to me as it does to you. You know that.”

He did know it. She’d spent all her married life there, had delivered his father, seen grandchildren grow and thrive.

“I’m just trying to find a way, and everywhere I turn there seems to be a roadblock.” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“There is one other provision, remember?” she remarked blandly.

She couldn’t be serious.

“The one other way for me to claim that trust fund is to get married. Gram, I’m not even seeing anyone! What do you want me to do? Post an ad at the general store? Perhaps I could find a mail order bride on the Internet!”

She shrugged, undaunted by his sarcasm. “Mail order brides have worked in the past, as you well know.” She rose from her chair and stood, her five-foot-ten frame slim and imperious, but mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

She laughed again, throwing him a flirtatious wink. “Why, courting, of course!”

* * *

COURTING. HMMPH. Connor snorted as he accelerated through the exit ramp onto Highway Two. The idea was as preposterous as the old-fashioned word. Courting. As if he had time to romance a woman, entice her to marry him and have the ceremony before the banks called in their loans. Besides, who did he know that was single?

He came from a community where everyone had known each other from diapers. Most of the town women he knew were married, or on their way to the altar. There was no one he could think of that he would consider marrying. And if it got out that he was looking for a stand-in wife he’d be laughed out of town. And what woman would settle for that anyway? What woman should have to?

Nope. He’d simply have to come up with a different solution.

There would be government money—aid for farmers affected. At least he wouldn’t have to cull—for now. But the aid cheque wouldn’t be enough to cover the growing mountain of expenses while on-the-hoof prices cratered.

He could sell the southwest parcel.

Just the thought of parting with that spectacular piece of land caused physical pain to slice through his gut. His father would never have split up the farm, and Connor knew he couldn’t either. Even in the lean years, during the Depression, when farmers had left their land behind to look for work, the Madsens had stayed and made it through. It was what they did.

He missed the sound of his dad’s voice, and his strength. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for that wisdom now, to sit at the kitchen table working through it. Together—Connor, Jim, and Dad—they would have come up with a plan. Only now it was up to him.

He turned up the radio to drown out the thunder that was exploding around him. It had been stuffy, sweltering today. The rain would cool things down, and hopefully there wouldn’t be any hail. He was going to need all the feed crops he could get. When you couldn’t sell beef, you still had to feed it.

Connor sighed, wrestling with his tie with one hand while steering the truck with the other. He’d put on the suit to meet with the bankers—and, yes, he admitted it, to impress his grandmother. It hadn’t worked, in either case.

Which brought him right back to courting.

Marriage was for a lifetime. Or at least he intended it to be. And as such it wasn’t something he glibly approached. It would be a huge mistake to find someone suitable and marry her in haste. He wanted to be in love with his bride. He wanted it to be someone he cherished and honored and wanted to build a family with. And he didn’t want to be pushed. He wanted it to be in his own good time, and when the time was right.

There had to be a way. A way he could bring the ranch back from the brink. His parents had been smart when they’d set up the trust the way they had. There was more than enough money in the trust account to keep things afloat while he restructured, figured out where to go next. If he were careful. But how to get his hands on it…?

“I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

His grandmother’s words rang in his ears as he headed north. What he needed was a practical solution. Something black and white and easy—something that made sense. What he needed to do was stop worrying and take action.

He envied the optimism that Alex had shown today… “I’ll manage. I always do.” Even in her dire straits she seemed capable, even though he knew she was pregnant and alone and without her own place to call home. She had an intrinsic faith that things would work out in the end.

The idea hit him fast and hard, and he almost steered the truck into the ditch as lightning forked in the sky ahead of him.

Alex. He needed a wife. She needed a place to call home for a while, and resources. They could help each other. He hadn’t been mistaken in the connection they’d made today as she’d held out her hand and he’d taken her smaller one in his. They could become friends, he was sure. He could do her a favor and she could help him save the family spread.

He remembered how they’d parted. He’d given her a business card.

“Why would I do that?” she’d asked, and he’d known she was too independent to rely on a stranger for help.

But perhaps if she knew he needed her help as much as she needed his…

He changed lanes, steered the truck over the grass median, and gunned it out on the highway in the opposite direction, heading back to town. His heart pounded with anticipation and apprehension.

How did you propose marriage to someone you’d met only hours before?

* * *

THE PHONE RANG as Alex came out of the bathroom, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She answered it, expecting it to be someone for one of her temporary roommates. Instead it was the pub—asking her to cover a shift. Peggy had up and quit with no notice.

She looked out the window at the rain streaming down the pane. The walk would be hell, even if it was only a few blocks. But it was extra money…and the tips were always better in the evenings.

With a sigh she agreed, and changed into a pair of jeans and her work T-shirt: snug white, with a picture of a whistling pig on the front. She gathered her hair into a careless ponytail, the black ends touching the top of her spine. For a moment she paused, watching as lightning forked across the sky. If she didn’t need the money…

But she did. So she grabbed her umbrella from behind the door and made the trek to the pub in the downpour.

It was dim and smoky inside, and for a minute she contemplated the effects of second-hand smoke on herself and her baby. But this was the only job she had, and she couldn’t afford to quit while she looked for something else. She had to eat. She had to think of how she was going to feed herself and care for an infant. Tying a black apron around her waist, she grabbed an empty tray and started cleaning up empties and taking orders.

* * *

IT WAS ONLY nine when he came in.

The door thumped open the same as it did a hundred times a night, but for some reason she turned towards it. When Connor stepped in, shaking the water from his coat and instantly scanning the room, her pulse jumped. It was too coincidental. He had come looking for her.

When his eyes met hers across the hazy room she knew she was right. He smiled, a lazy, melting smile, and she braced herself. Men who smiled like that were deadly. And the last thing she needed was a distraction as lethal as Connor Madsen.

He made his way through the crush of people to her side. “Hi,” he said loudly, over the pulse of country music and boisterous laughter. “Can we talk?”

“Hey, Alex! Table ten needs another round! We don’t pay you to stand around all night!”

Alex nodded at Pete, the bartender and owner. Pete came across as all gruff, but she knew he had a heart of gold and a protective streak a mile long. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed as long as she had. As long as Pete was watching, she wouldn’t have to worry.

Alex looked up at Connor with consternation twisting her face. “I can’t talk right now, I’m working.”

“It’s important.”

“So’s my job.” She turned away, heading to the bar to pick up the round of beers.

His hand was firm on her arm. “If you care about your baby’s future, you’ll listen.”

That got her attention.

She stared up at him with eyes narrowed, curious despite herself. “Fine, then. But not now. Another time, when I’m not carting beers around.”

“What time are you through?”

“One.”

“In the morning?”

She laughed then, at his dismayed expression. “Yes, I have four more hours of being on my feet.”

He followed her to the bar. Pete asked a question with his eyes, but she gave a slight shake of her head: No, he wasn’t bothering her.

“I’ll come back and walk you home. I really do need to talk to you.”

She sighed. “Fine. But for now you’re costing me my tips, in case you didn’t notice. I need to get back to work. I won’t make much money with you standing glowering over me.”

She shouldered past him, pasting a smile on her face as she apologized to the patrons at table ten for the delay. When she turned back, he was gone.

At one a.m. they ushered out the last customer and Alex locked the door. Pete eyed her over the bar as he started counting out the float for morning. “Go home,” he said, “and I’ll finish this. That’s the second double you’ve pulled this week. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks, Pete.” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous. If she left now, Connor might be outside waiting. If she didn’t, he’d probably get tired of waiting around. On one hand she wanted to see him, see what was so important. On the other she knew it probably wasn’t best. She didn’t need any extra complications right now—her life was already full of too many.

She grabbed her umbrella from behind the bar and saluted him. “Tomorrow at four?”

“G’night, darlin’,” he answered. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

When she stepped out into the darkness Connor was waiting, standing next to a bench beneath a streetlight. His tie from earlier was gone, and he looked sexily rumpled in the dim light. She swallowed, thankful that she’d spent enough time alone to have some street smarts. And to follow her instincts. Right now her instincts were telling her she wasn’t in mortal danger. But the way her body was reacting to seeing him again told her loud and clear that she was in danger of another kind.

She should turn around and go back inside. She reached for the handle, only to hear the lock click into place.

She could handle this. She could.

“My mother used to warn me about strange men and dark streets late at night.”

He turned, and in his arms was a bouquet of lemon-colored roses. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we have a streetlight and we’ve already met. I can’t do anything about the hour, though.”

He held out the roses and she was too stupefied to do anything besides take them, the clear cellophane wrapping crackling in her hands. Where had he found roses after nine p.m.?

And, a better question, why? What was so important he needed to butter her up with flowers first?

Warning bells screamed through her head. Whatever he wanted was something big. She’d only received flowers once before in her life. It had been roses then, too, pink ones. And the gist of the card had been Thanks for the memories.

“Thank you,” she said clearly. “But I don’t quite understand what is so important you think you need to impress me with roses. Even if they are quite stunning,” she admitted, sniffing the yellow blossoms.

She laughed a little to herself, remembered reading somewhere that yellow roses signified unrequited love. She needed that like she needed a hole in her head.

“You’d better get to the point,” she suggested. “The novelty of these will probably wear off pretty fast.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

She began walking, and he fell into step beside her.

“What sort of proposition?”

“I want you to marry me.”

Her feet simply stopped working, and she halted, frozen to the sidewalk. He what? What sort of cruel joke was this? Poor, pregnant Alex. Surely he didn’t think she was that desperate! He could take his pity and—

Her head lifted until she looked down her nose at him. “I couldn’t have just heard you correctly.”

He grabbed her forearms, turning her to face him, his hand catching on the umbrella dangling from her wrist. “I want you to marry me.” He huffed out a laugh of surprise. “That wasn’t how I planned to say it, but there you go.”

He wanted her to marry him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. What on earth? She realized he was completely in earnest. He was proposing to her in the middle of the street at one-twenty-two in the morning.

“I met you less than twelve hours ago. You’re insane. Good night, Connor.”

She turned to walk away, and made it a few steps.

“Wait.”

The desperation in his voice caught at her and she stopped. “Wait for what? You can’t be serious about this.”

“I am. And I’ll explain it if you’ll only listen.”

His suit was rather rumpled, and his hair looked as if he’d spent the better part of the evening running his hands through it. Against her better judgment she capitulated. He’d helped her this afternoon, and she felt obligated to him. “You have five minutes.”

“Let’s keep walking.”

Shoulder to shoulder they headed down the street. It was considerably cool after the violence of the earlier shower, and Alex shivered in the damp air. Gallantly he removed his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. If nothing else, all his actions said he was a gentleman.

“I went to see my grandmother today. I have a trust fund, but I can’t access it until I’m thirty.”

“So old? I thought most of those were age of consent, or twenty-one or whatever?”

“My parents set it up that way. Anyway, I’m twenty-nine. But I need the cash now.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.” She kept walking, her eyes straight ahead. If she looked into his, all dark and earnest, she knew she’d be taken in. She’d been in danger of it earlier today.

She knew what it was to be fooled by a pair of beautiful peepers. And now she knew better than to do it again.

“This’ll make sense, if you actually let me explain,” he answered. “There is a provision. I can have the money if I’m married.”

“I see.” She didn’t, really, but it was getting slightly less muddled.

“I think Mom and Dad set it up that way so I’d be old enough not to squander it, but that if I got married it would help me and my bride.”

“Good logic.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

She felt his eyes on her but refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t know you, Connor. But I agreed to listen, so I will.”

“Look,” he said, with a hand on her arm, stopping her. “If I don’t get some cash soon I’m going to lose our ranch. That ranch has been in our family for over a hundred years.”

“Why are you in such trouble?” The last thing she needed was a man who didn’t know how to manage his own affairs. Lord knew she’d screwed up enough on her own. But at least they’d been her mistakes to make and fix. What surprised her most was that she was already intrigued, instead of flatly telling him to take a hike. She couldn’t escape the gentle way he’d helped her this afternoon. How he’d bought her peppermint tea and actually seemed to care about what happened to her.

“There’s been an outbreak of cattle disease. It took everything I had to get us through the last crisis. But now…another case, up north. It’s going to cripple the whole industry. Yet, I’ve got a herd to sustain. A lot of farms will go under because of this. I refuse to let Windover be one of them.”

She’d read the news, and knew the situation was as serious as he said. This wasn’t mismanagement. This was a situation completely out of his control.

“You need some way to support yourself and the baby. What I’m talking about here is a mutually beneficial arrangement. You marry me, I get my trust fund, and Windover survives the crisis. After the baby is born, and you’re back on your feet, you can do what you choose, and I’ll make sure there’s money in your bank account every month.”

“A paper marriage, then?”

He sighed and looked down into her eyes. Yep, she’d been right. A woman could lose herself in those chocolate eyes and find herself agreeing to all kinds of madness.

“Yes. It won’t be a traditional marriage. Look, it’s not like this is what I wanted for myself. Believe me, I’ve exhausted every possible angle trying to find a way to keep things going. I’m looking at this practically. I get what I need and you get some help. We are both in predicaments here and are in the position of being able to help each other. Nothing more.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to be a business arrangement.”

That took him by surprise, she could tell. It probably did seem strange, coming from a woman who was practically homeless, single and pregnant. He might be shocked to discover how she truly felt about love and marriage. Not that she’d ever breathe a word of that to him. No way.

“I know. It’s supposed to be love and commitment forever. And I do want that someday.” His cheekbones softened as he looked away. “A wife who loves me as I love her, and children of our own. A partner to share the ups and downs with. Honor and strength, and knowing you’re stronger together than apart.”

A devastatingly sexy man with traditional values. Could he possibly know how rare that was?

“I’d be a means to an end,” she confirmed, the words coming out strangled. She shook off his hand and started walking again.

“That sounds cold,” he said gently. “We would be helping each other. I want that happy ending…and I’m assuming you do too. Someday in the future. We’d be doing what we need to do now to survive. I’m hoping we would become friends.”

Friends. Now, that sounded dangerous. Her footsteps made squishing noises in the film of water on the concrete. What he was suggesting was outrageous. Preposterous. Humiliating.

“I think you’re crazy.” She stopped outside a pale yellow house. “Thanks for the walk home.”

“Alex, please. Don’t say no yet, OK? Just think about it. I know it’s not romantic. But leave all that behind and look at the facts, OK? You’d have some security for yourself and the baby, and a comfortable place to live for the rest of your pregnancy. Your needs will be looked after, I promise.”

She shrugged out of his coat and handed it back.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend you can propose to?”

“No.” The answer was flat and final. “Take until Monday to consider it. I’ll be back in town then. If you take the time to think about it, you’ll see that you’d be helping me immensely. The least I can do is repay the favor.”

It was too practical, too perfect, and too convenient. Perfect plans always ended up getting blown to smithereens and leaving her standing alone after the dust had settled. If her life had taught her anything, it had taught her that.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Without looking back, she went inside and shut the door.