Читать книгу The Inheritance - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 7

The last thing Rafe Maitland wanted to see at the end of a long, hard day, spent mostly in the saddle overseeing the hundred and one things that went into running a smooth ranching operation for his boss, was a prim, proper-looking woman standing in front of his door wearing a slate-gray suit, sensible shoes and oversize glasses.

His annoyed gaze swept quickly over her. The woman was clutching some kind of briefcase.

Saleswoman?

As he walked toward her, feeling every one of the twelve hours he’d put in since before dawn, the ends of his temper unraveled a little more with each step he took. Never one to run off at the mouth, he was feeling even more uncommunicative than usual. He just wanted a long, hot shower and some time to himself before the evening had a chance to unfold in front of him. Half an hour by himself. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so.

The woman looked like someone’s timid maiden aunt, right down to her brown hair, which was pulled back in what, in his book, amounted to a no-nonsense hairdo. A woman’s hair should be soft, flowing, Rafe thought critically. Tempting a man to run his fingers through it, not silently ordering “hands off.”

Who was she and what the hell was she doing here in the middle of almost nowhere?

If he’d had put in an order for a woman on his doorstep, it would have been the vibrant, curvaceous type. And soft, the kind of soft that made a man’s mouth water, not the kind of soft that indicated an untoned body.

Not that he had the energy for the former type of woman these days, he thought. Not with the hours he was putting in on what amounted to next to no sleep. He figured the sleep would come once he got used to being a substitute parent. And Bethany finally got used to having him around and stopped calling out for her parents.

That was the worst of it, hearing her crying the baby words in the middle of the night and knowing that when he appeared, it wouldn’t cause her to stop, to smile the way she had when either Lil or Rory had come to scoop her out of her crib. He was just her godfather, not her parent. But he intended to be much more. All he needed was a little time. And luck.

Rafe swallowed the weary, sad sigh that materialized out of nowhere before it had a chance to escape. He didn’t allow himself to display signs of weakness—even if he was ready to drop in his tracks.

His eyes narrowed as he arrived at his doorstep. The woman looked as if she wanted to flinch but was struggling not to. What was that about? Mentally, he shrugged away the stray bit of curiosity.

Nope, he certainly had enough on his plate without having to put up with any sort of an intrusion. Seeing her open her mouth, he stopped her before she could launch into some kind of a sales pitch.

“Sorry if they misdirected you at the main house, ma’am, but whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying, so you might as well leave.”

Greer Lawford gripped the handle of the leather briefcase she was holding in both hands a little more tightly as the word went through her. Ma’am. The polite address made her wince inwardly. It also made her feel a thousand years old instead of thirty and a great deal older than this handsome, rugged-looking cowboy standing in front of her. She was hot, somewhat irritable even though she was at the tail end of the long trip she’d been on since yesterday morning and, quite honestly, more than a little tense. She had no intention of being cavalierly dismissed, or even of accepting no for an answer.

Greer was, quite simply, on a mission. Sent by her employer, Megan Maitland, she had been told to do whatever it took to lure this somewhat larger-than-life specimen of manhood to Austin, Texas, and keep him there as the rest of the clan gathered together for what promised to be a huge family celebration.

And whatever Megan Maitland wanted, the matriarch of the Maitland family was accustomed to getting. Not because she was pandered to, or because of any supposed divine right of the moneyed class, but because Megan Maitland’s heart was always behind her requests and everyone took pleasure in making her happy. Greer was no exception.

That this latest request involved gathering together all the heretofore unknown factions of the Maitland clan under one large roof at one time just made Greer that much more determined to see it happen. She’d never had a family and felt she could be forgiven if she acted as though the Maitland family were her own. She had dutifully sent out all the invitations, but when Robert Maitland’s estranged branch of the family had not responded, she’d taken it upon herself to ferret them out even before Mrs. Maitland had said anything. She saw it as a challenge. Rafe Maitland, the youngest, had been her first target.

She felt her palms grow just the slightest bit damp. This was about Christmas, she told herself, the time for peace and goodwill toward men. Even somewhat hostile ones like this one appeared to be.

“I’m not selling anything,” she told him firmly, watching as he opened the door to his small ranch house. Very quickly, she scooted inside before he had a chance to close it. The interior was sparsely furnished, and what furniture there was, was dark, wooden and massive. It suited him, she thought. She turned to look up at him. “I’m Greer Lawford—”

She got no further than that. Rafe raised one brow quizzically as he looked at her.

“Greer?” It sounded like the name of some long-ago screen siren. “What kind of a name is that?”

“A short one,” Greer answered tersely.

She gripped her briefcase more tightly, her knuckles aching a little. The man looked like one of those rough-and-tumble cowboys who used to populate the Saturday morning serial westerns of long ago. The kind who brooked no nonsense and listened only to his inner voice, rather than to anything anyone around him had to say. An alpha male, carved out of rock. That, no doubt, included his head.

But Mrs. Maitland wanted this man at the party and Greer was bound and determined to prove herself invaluable to the matriarch she had come very quickly to hold in the highest regard.

A look of disinterest and dismissal slipped over his face and he began to walk away from her. Surprised, Greer strode quickly to catch up and placed herself in front of him.

“My name,” she continued, “isn’t important—”

The look in his green eyes darkened. “And, no offense, unless you’re here to hand me a million dollar check, neither is your reason for being here.”

He wanted her gone and his temporary solitude restored. Pulling the tails of his work shirt out of his jeans, Rafe started unbuttoning it, figuring that would be the end of it.

Greer blinked at being so summarily dismissed. She tried not to watch the progress his fingers were making with the buttons on his shirt, or take any note of the hard, smooth chest that was beginning to emerge from beneath the parting material.

Feeling just the slightest bit shaky, she cleared her throat. It was obvious the man hadn’t gotten the invitation, otherwise he would have guessed the reason for her sudden appearance.

“Aren’t you even mildly interested why I’m here?”

“Nope.” And he meant it. Being curious just got you in trouble and he’d had more than his share of trouble in his life. Like now. “What I’m interested in is getting cleaned up.”

Finished unbuttoning his shirt, Rafe looked at her expectantly. Why wasn’t the woman with the improbable name taking her cue and leaving? He couldn’t be any clearer about his disinterest unless he gave her the bum’s rush.

The woman, her eyes rather wide behind her oversize light-gray-rimmed glasses, remained where she was.

Rafe unnotched his belt and loosened it.

Greer noticed a shift in the temperature within the room. It was definitely getting warmer. She could feel a blush beginning to climb up her body. The embarrassment that caused just heightened the color altering her skin tone.

“Are you planning on getting undressed?” She congratulated herself on not swallowing nervously before she asked the question.

His eyes met hers as he sat down on the arm of the overstuffed wine-colored leather sofa. The aged furniture creaked slightly. Rafe gripped one boot and pulled it off. “Never took a shower with my clothes on if I could help it.”

The second boot came off. Her nerve endings frayed a little more as it hit the floor with a thud.

Oh, God, the next minute he was going to take off his jeans. She wasn’t sure which way to avert her eyes and called herself an idiot for feeling this unsettled at her age. But the feeling wouldn’t leave.

“Please,” Greer said rather loudly, her hand on his arm, stilling any further progress that would fuel her embarrassment, “if you’d just hear me out.”

He had to admit that he found the pink blush that was even now furiously climbing up her neck rather intriguing as well as amusing. If he’d been given to placing bets, the way his late father had with a remarkable and unalterable passion, Rafe wouldn’t have guessed that the pushy woman before him was a blusher. The women of his acquaintance didn’t turn pink unless they’d spent too much time in the sun.

Time was running out. Alyssa would be here shortly with Bethany and he wanted to get cleaned up before then. He damn well wouldn’t get a chance once he was alone with the toddler. At a little more than one, Bethany had conquered walking a month ago and was into everything from the moment she set foot in the house unless he deposited her in her playpen. He knew he was living on borrowed time. Any day now, Bethany was going to discover a way to escape the small, confining area.

“All right—” he glanced at his watch “—you’ve got five minutes. Talk.”

Despite her background in the high-tech professional world she used to inhabit, Greer wasn’t accustomed to talking fast. That was why she enjoyed working for Megan; she liked having time to lay things out.

“You’re going to time me?”

“Yup.” His eyes returned to his watch. “And you’re wasting it.”

Like a marathon swimmer who’d heard the gun go off, Greer took a deep breath and plunged in. “I represent Megan Maitland—”

A muscle twisted in Rafe’s rigid jaw. “Never heard of her.”

The abrupt dismissal pulled her up short. It took Greer a little more than a beat to recover. “She’s your aunt.”

Rafe moved his shoulders in an indifferent shrug, his eyes flat. As were his feelings regarding that distant side of the family. Contrary to what he’d just said, he had heard of Megan Maitland. And her family. And her clinic. He’d made the connection after tossing away the invitation he’d received in the mail nearly a month ago. He didn’t want to get dragged into anything, especially not now.

Denial seemed the best way to go.

“Sorry.”

Greer supposed it was possible that the man hadn’t heard of Megan Maitland. If he’d been living in a cave for the last twenty-five years. Still, it wasn’t her place to call him a liar.

Ever the diplomat, she pretended she believed him and patiently explained, “She and her family run Maitland Maternity in Austin, Texas.”

Greer watched his generous lips draw together in slight disdain. She couldn’t tell if it was in response to her, her tone, or what she’d just said.

“I know where Austin is. Don’t know where the Maternity is and don’t rightly think I’ll be needing that information anytime soon.” He peeled off his thick gray socks and let them drop over his discarded boots.

Panic made a second appearance, assaulting her stomach. Any second, the man was going to start taking off his jeans, she just knew it. Desperation fueled her determination. “Will you listen to me and stop talking for a minute?”

Rafe’s eyes gave nothing away as he offered her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Greer pressed her lips together, trying not to dwell on how much she despised hearing that term applied to her. She’d heard it, time and again, years before she ever thought she deserved it. Years before she was ready for it. She hated the idea that she’d grown into a “ma’am” without ever having been a “miss” in anyone’s eyes. She couldn’t help feeling that somehow she’d arrived on the doorstep of settled maturity without having reaped the joys of youth along the way.

“Mrs. Maitland is throwing a Christmas party this December—”

Rafe snorted disparagingly. That was no concern of his. “Good time for it.”

Greer purposely ignored the blatant disdain in his voice. “—and she’d like you to attend. Actually, she’d like you to arrive there as early as possible so that she could get to know you.”

Standing up, he towered over her. His eyes holding hers, Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets. It caused his unsnapped jeans to sink dangerously low on hips that seemed rock solid.

“Why me?”

Her mouth went dry. Greer was having a great deal of difficulty in not noticing just how lean and hard Rafe Maitland was, how his years in the saddle had left him with a body that seemed sculpted out of granite.

Greer dropped her eyes to study the lone pillow haphazardly thrown onto the sofa, pretending to be interested in its Navajo pattern.

“Well, not you alone. You and all the other Maitlands.” She raised her head and looked up at him, wondering if his older brother and sister were going to be this difficult. “Mrs. Maitland wants this to be a family reunion.”

He’d just bet she did. Rafe scowled. Well, he had better things to do than dance like a wooden puppet because some rich dowager wanted to amuse herself and pull the strings.

“Sorry, I’m not much on family and I’ve got all I can handle at the moment.” His fingers resting on the tongue of his zipper, Rafe looked at Megan Maitland’s messenger, feeling the last of his patience leaving. “Now, if that’s all…”

Greer knew that part of her problem was that she appeared to be a complete pushover. But, in a way, that was also part of her strength, her secret weapon, because no one expected her to doggedly dig in. And she did. “No, that’s not all. You’re supposed to say yes.”

Now she was getting him angry. “Why? Because some rich lady says I am?”

Greer’s chin rose triumphantly. “Then you do know who she is.”

For a second, his attention fixed on the hint of a cleft in Greer’s chin. He shook off the sudden, unexpected impulse to run his finger along the indentation. He’d made a slip and he didn’t like making slips. Making slips was sloppy.

His brows drew together as his eyes darkened. Lesser men had backed down from him when he looked like that. That she didn’t look afraid both surprised and impressed him. But impressed or not, he didn’t have time for any nonsense, and this very definitely came under the heading of “nonsense.”

“Whether I do or don’t doesn’t make any difference. I don’t have time for parties, or for sitting around twiddling my thumbs because some woman claiming to be my aunt wants to ‘get to know me.’” He shot her words back at her. Rafe had no use for people who didn’t do an honest day’s work for a living. That had been his father’s way, living off others. Scamming, conniving, until the day he met his demise in an alley behind a casino in what had all the earmarks of a syndicate hit. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a working ranch and I’m one of the ones doing the working.”

Standing over her, he was so close that he seemed to be taking up all the available air. Determined to make him agree, Greer was still having trouble keeping her mind focused.

“Mr. Maitland, Mrs. Maitland has her heart set on getting everyone together.”

What some society woman did or didn’t want made no impression on him. He had to make his living out here, in the real world. He turned away from Megan Maitland’s little pit bull of a messenger and began to walk toward his bedroom and the shower that was just beyond.

“Well, then, I’m afraid her heart’s going to be broken, but I suspect she’ll live.”

Moving quickly, Greer got in front of him again, blocking his way out of the room. “Why don’t you at least think about it?”

Rafe paused, cocked his head as if shifting something over from one side to the other, then said, “There. I thought about it.” He looked her right in the eyes. “No,” he enunciated very firmly.

She felt her knees becoming less than solid. Envisioning Megan’s disappointment, Greer somehow managed to hold her ground. “Why?”

What was wrong with this woman? Why couldn’t she take no for an answer? “Because I plain don’t have the time or the inclination.” He had to really work to hold on to his temper. “Look, I don’t know this woman, and if she’s my aunt like you say—”

“She is—”

The look in his eyes froze any further words in her throat. “Then where was she before?”

“Before?” Greer echoed, not sure what he was referring to.

“Before now,” he ground out. He was tired, he was hungry and the unseasonable humidity was making the shoulder he’d injured years ago when he’d spilled off his horse ache. “Why no cards at Christmas? Why no visits in the last twenty-five years? No word while I was growing up? For all I know, Greer, this is just some big hoax—”

The flash of temper came out of nowhere, like a quick summer storm in the desert. She didn’t like the way he’d said her name, as if it were something comical. “It’s not.”

“Why should I go?” he wanted to know, looming over her again, his eyes holding hers. “Because you say so?”

She was utterly aware of him. The youngest of Mrs. Maitland’s long lost family was standing much too close to her. The fact that he was also bare-chested and sweaty was making it increasingly difficult for her to breathe. Telling herself that it was the heavy September air and not the man was a flat-out lie and she knew it.

Still, like a loyal terrier, she hung in. “No, because it’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing. What did someone with smooth, pampered hands and unbroken fingernails know about the right thing? What would she know about how hard it was to make a living in a hostile world? His lips curled in a sneer.

“The right thing, Greer, would be for you to retreat and tell Her Majesty that one of her relatives can’t be summoned to the gathering.” He paused at his bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sure I won’t be the only one sending his ‘regrets.’”

She wasn’t accustomed to lying, but she was beginning to think that perhaps there was a time and a place for everything.

“Yes, you will be,” Greer called after him.

He laughed under his breath and then turned to look at her over his shoulder, sincerely doubting her statement. “Well, I always did like standing out. Now, you’ve used up your five minutes, Greer, and I’d like to get on a first-name basis with my shower, so I figure you can see yourself out.”

With that he withdrew, leaving her flabbergasted and alone in his living room.

He shed his jeans as he walked toward his bathroom shower stall. Damn, where did she get off, being pushy like that? He had a hell of a lot more important things on his mind than prancing off to some society bigwig’s party and being treated like the long lost black sheep of the family.

Rafe turned on the water full blast and let the steam envelop him, kneading the tight, aching muscles.

Tilting his head up under the showerhead, he laughed to himself. Hell, the whole side of his family could be thought of as black sheep when it came to the Maitland clan. And he supposed he was the blackest for not having anything to do with any of them.

But there were reasons for that.

Besides, he thought, lathering quickly, he had more than enough to deal with, what with Rory and Lil dying and leaving him to care for Bethany. Him, a confirmed bachelor without a clue what to do with a baby that didn’t have four legs and a tail. If that wasn’t enough, Lil’s aunt and uncle had suddenly turned up after years of silence, demanding custody of the little girl.

He washed the soap from his body, turning up the heat another notch and standing there to absorb the hot water. Maybe he would even have let them have Bethany, if he hadn’t given his word to Lil that he wouldn’t. With almost the last breath in her body, she’d begged him not to let the pair get their hands on Bethany. Not to put her baby through the hell she’d lived through and barely survived as a child. Lil wanted something better for Bethany. And it was up to him to see that she got it.

So he’d gone to a lawyer, first thing, and plunked down his hard-earned money, knowing that he needed help to allow him to keep his word. That stuck in his throat a little, not being able to do it alone. He was used to fighting his own battles, cleaning up his own messes. He’d been doing it ever since he could remember, raising himself because his parents were either too busy fighting or too busy living their own lives to take any notice of him.

Well, strictly speaking, he supposed his mother had tried her best. But the former showgirl was far more suited to dancing in skimpy outfits than to being a mother. She hadn’t the faintest idea what a kid needed. But Veronica Maitland had given him love and he supposed she had done her best.

He didn’t fault her. He faulted his father, who actually was a Maitland. In Rafe’s book, they were all probably like his old man. Out for themselves, self-serving. There had to be some kind of gimmick behind this invitation, he thought, and he wasn’t about to play along. Not if there wasn’t anything in it for him.

As seductive as standing under the shower was, Rafe forced himself to hurry. He didn’t want to greet the new cook’s daughter in his birthday suit. He’d seen the way the cook could swing a cleaver and wanted to take no chances on being on the receiving end of that.

Getting out, Rafe quickly toweled himself dry and slid on a clean pair of jeans. Alyssa, he figured, would be here with the baby any minute. They had an arrangement. She watched the baby during the day while he worked, and he was teaching her to ride. He figured he was getting the better end of the deal.

His hair still damp from the shower, his clean shirt only half buttoned, Rafe opened his bedroom door and walked out of the room to find that the woman in the large glasses and sensible shoes was once again standing in his living room.

“What the hell are you doing back?” he demanded.

Her back to him, Greer jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard the door open. She’d been waiting for him, trying to string together her words so that she could make an effective argument, and he’d surprised her.

She bit her lower lip. She was better at delivering an argument on paper than in person, but it was time she learned how to talk.

“I never left.”

Rafe indicated the door behind her. “Well, leave now.”

She stood her ground. “No, not until you actually hear me out.” And not until you say yes, she added silently. She began to talk quickly, knowing he was getting ready to cut her off. “The reason Mrs. Maitland never got in contact with you before is that, until just recently, she was as ignorant of you as you were of her. The point is—” Greer drew herself up “—you know about each other now and now is all that counts.”

He’d always admired guts, and he had to admit, she seemed to have guts in spades. Instead of throwing the woman out, he rethought the situation. If he gave her a condition she couldn’t meet, she’d be forced to withdraw and stop badgering him. And his conscience would be clean.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Now is all that counts. If you’re so hot to get me there, fine. But I need a favor.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Now.”

The nervousness she’d been experiencing ever since she’d seen him walking toward her like a stalking panther intensified.

“What kind of favor?” She failed to keep the tension out of her voice.

A fragment of what the lawyer he’d gone to had said to him came back to Rafe. The attorney had told him that he would have an easier time of gaining custody of Bethany if he was married or at least engaged.

Okay, that was it. He looked at her. “I need a fiancée.”

It was to Greer’s credit that her mouth didn’t drop open. “I beg your pardon?”

He had her, Rafe thought triumphantly. He could almost hear the door closing behind her already.

“No need to beg anything. I made a promise to two friends, the best friends a man could ever want, and in order to keep that promise, it looks like I’m going to need a fiancée. A wife, really, but I don’t think I have to carry this act too far.” She was going to turn tail and run any second, he promised himself. “Tell me, Greer, do you want me to go to this Christmas thing enough to pretend to be my fiancée?”

This was insane. What he was asking was plain crazy. It went way above and beyond the call of duty to the point of being absurd. A fiancée.

She had no idea why she was even considering it.

Because, a tiny voice within her whispered, in all likelihood, this was going to be the closest she would ever get to being anyone’s fiancée or to wearing an engagement ring, other than staring at one through Tiffany’s window.

Besides, more than likely, the man was bluffing. If she met his bluff, he’d be forced to give in and give up. She smiled at him with a shade of triumph. She had him.

“Yes.”

She saw surprise register on his lean, tanned face, followed by shock. Greer congratulated herself on guessing correctly.

Self-congratulations were short-lived as she saw a smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. Though it was a small smile, it seemed to make all the difference in the world. His austere face turned heart-stoppingly handsome.

Greer felt her heart go into double-time before she could think to rein it in. The air turned several degrees warmer than it already was.

An uneasiness began to spread through her. What in heaven’s name had she just gotten herself into?