Читать книгу In Name Only - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

Though it was almost dawn and the sky still clung to the colors of midnight, the street Troy drove his truck down was bright as midday.

Las Vegas.

He gave his head a shake, then angled it a bit to steal a glance at the woman who slept in the passenger seat beside him. She sat with her head tipped against the window, her bare feet tucked up underneath her and hidden by her full, broomstick skirt. She looked so innocent in sleep, like an angel, even more so than when she was awake, which was pretty darn angelic in Troy’s estimation. Something told him, though, that this little angel’s preacher-daddy wasn’t going to think too highly of a Las Vegas wedding for his daughter.

With another shake of his head, he turned his face to the windshield again and the street beyond. “Shelby?” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She shifted, snuggling a hand beneath her cheek, and a bare toe slipped from beneath the folds of her skirt, its nail painted a soft, shell-pink. As he watched, the toe curled as if inviting his touch.

Finding the sight oddly arousing—and himself more than a little tempted to accept the invitation and stroke a hand along that foot and up the smooth, bare leg beneath the skirt—he set his jaw and forced his gaze away. Clearing his throat, he tried not to think about that bare toe, or the stretch of leg attached to it, and attempted again to rouse her. “Shelby?”

“Hmmm?” she hummed sleepily.

“Better wake up. We’re here.”

Instantly alert, she straightened, slowly unwinding her legs and slipping her feet gracefully to the floor. Brushing her hair back from her face, she leaned forward to peer through the windshield. Her eyes grew wide at the sight that greeted her.

“Oh, my stars,” she murmured, darting her eyes from one side of the street to the other, where elaborately designed hotels and brightly lit casinos seemed to mushroom from the very edge of the sidewalk and shoot straight up to the sky. A billboard at the intersection they approached pictured a woman on a swing inside a gilded cage, wearing nothing but feathers and spangles.

“Did you see that?” she whispered on a long, disbelieving breath. As they passed through the intersection, she twisted her head around, keeping her gaze riveted on the scantily clad woman pictured on the massive billboard.

“Ever been to Las Vegas before?” Troy asked, unable to suppress the smile her shocked expression drew.

“No,” she said and turned to look at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed.

“Welcome to the den of iniquity,” he said, waving an expansive hand at the view before them.

She sank back against the seat and swallowed hard, staring. “Is it always like this?” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“So…so full of life,” she said, gesturing helplessly to the people who crowded the sidewalks.

“Yep. Nobody sleeps in Las Vegas. It’s one of the unwritten rules.” Realizing that he had no idea where he was headed, Troy steered the truck onto a side street beside a hotel’s entrance and stopped.

She peered through the window at the hotel’s revolving door, then turned slowly to look at him. “Why are you stopping here?”

He saw the suspicion in her eyes, heard it in her voice, and snorted, pulling on the emergency brake before killing the engine. “’Cause I don’t know where we’re going, that’s why,” he reminded her. “Do you?”

She turned to peer through the window again at the hotel beyond. “No,” she said, her nervousness obvious. “But I’d think we’d need to find a chapel or something, wouldn’t we? Not a hotel.”

“That’d be my guess.” He braced a hand against the steering wheel, inhaled deeply, then slowly released it, questioning again his sanity in allowing himself to be suckered into this crazy scheme of hers. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

She snapped her head around to peer at him, her eyes wider than before. “Yes! I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminded her. “You could always just tell your parents about the baby. They might be more understanding than you think.”

“Oh, no,” she said, frantically shaking her head. “My father would never understand.” She gulped, swallowed, then turned to stare at the windshield, though he was sure she saw nothing on the glass but an image of her father’s irate face. “Never,” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.

Troy sighed. “What about a friend, then? Surely there’s someone you know who would agree to marry you?”

“No,” she said, and shook her head again. “No one. Dunning is a small town. Everybody knows everybody.” She lifted a shoulder. “And even if I did ask someone, everyone in town, my father included, would know the real reason for the marriage before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. I won’t subject my family to that embarrassment.”

Sighing, Troy pushed open his door, but his foot had barely touched the ground before Shelby was diving across the console and grabbing his arm, stopping him.

“Where are you going?” she cried, her eyes wide with alarm.

He eased his arm from the death grip with which she held him. “I’m just going to step into that hotel there,” he said, nodding toward it, “and see if they have some brochures on wedding chapels in the area. I’ll be right back.”

Sinking back onto her seat, she slowly nodded. “Good idea,” she murmured, then caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned her face toward the passenger window. A woman strolled past, wearing three-inch-spike heels, her hips swaying suggestively beneath a skintight gold lamé miniskirt, her breasts overflowing the top of a leopard print bustier. The woman glanced Shelby’s way, puckered her heavily painted lips and blew a kiss.

Shelby gasped and whirled to look at Troy. “Did you see that?” she cried in a shocked whisper. “That woman was a man!”

“Transvestite,” Troy corrected, trying not to laugh. “You’ll see a lot of them around here.”

Shelby whipped her head back around to the window just as a man staggered by, obviously drunk. He fell against the hood of the truck, cursed soundly, then straightened and staggered on. Shelby gulped, then swallowed as she lifted a discreet hand to depress the door lock. “Maybe you better hurry, okay?” she whispered to Troy.

He planned to do just that, but hadn’t made it more than halfway up the hotel’s inclined drive when he heard the truck door slam. He glanced behind him and saw Shelby hurrying toward him, her shoulder bag hugged tight at her side.

“I thought I might just as well go with you,” she murmured, glancing nervously around. “Might save us a little time.”

Shaking his head, Troy took her by the elbow and guided her up the walk. An angel’s first visit to Sodom and Gomorrah, he thought wryly. He wondered if she’d get soot on her wings.

Stepping back, he allowed Shelby to enter the revolving door first, then slipped into the compartment behind her, following as she stepped out, gaping into the ornately decorated hotel. Seeing the concierge’s desk, he caught her elbow and quickly ushered her toward the rack of brochures displayed beside it. While she waited behind him, he thumbed through the brochures, selecting several that advertised wedding chapels.

“How about this one?” he asked, holding up a brochure over his shoulder for her approval. When she didn’t respond, he turned, and his heart skipped a beat when he found she wasn’t standing behind him. Sure that he’d lost her—or worse, someone had kidnapped her—he started walking, casting his gaze left and right, searching for her.

He found her not more than thirty feet away, standing in front of a slot machine, her eyes round in wonder as she stared at the machine’s flashing lights.

“Damn, Shelby,” he complained. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She jumped, startled, then turned to look guiltily up at him. “I’m sorry. But I’ve never seen a slot machine before and wanted to see how one works.”

Unable to believe that anyone was that innocent, he dug a hand in his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Here. Give it a try.”

She hesitated a second, biting her lower lip, then took the quarter from him and sat down in front of the machine. “What do I do?” she asked uncertainly, placing her purse primly on pressed-together knees.

“Just slip the quarter in that slot there,” he said, pointing, “then push the spin button. Or, if you want to do it the old-fashioned way, you can pull down the arm at the side of the machine.”

He bit back a grin when he saw the way her fingers trembled as she dropped the coin into the slot. Bracing his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward as she pulled down the arm, putting his face on the same level with hers, then watched with her as the images flashed by. When the wheel stopped, three cherries were displayed. Immediately lights started flashing, the national anthem blared from a hidden speaker within the machine…and Troy gaped.

She jumped up from the stool, nearly knocking him down. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, pressing herself against his side, trembling, as she stared in horror at the machine.

“Wrong?” Chuckling, Troy leaned over and punched the cash out button, and tokens clinked musically as they began to spill into the payoff return. “I’d say you definitely did something right. You hit the jackpot.”

“Jackpot?” she repeated, staring at him. Then her mouth dropped open and she let out a squeal that had more than a few heads turning their way. Before he had a chance to brace himself, she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Troy! That’s marvelous! You won! You won!”

For a moment Troy could do nothing but hold on to her as she jumped up and down in his arms, painfully aware of the swell of her breasts chafing against his chest, the slender arms wrapped around his neck, her womanly scent. But then what she’d said slowly registered.

He’d won?

Before he could argue the point, she was whirling away and dropping to her knees to pick up coins from the floor as they spilled from the brimming payoff return. “Oh, my heavens, Troy!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining brighter than any star he’d ever seen light a night sky. “There must be hundreds of dollars here. Maybe thousands! You’re rich!”

“Me!” he said in dismay, staring at her as she scrambled around on the floor, retrieving dropped tokens. “Hell, that money’s not mine.”

She stopped suddenly and glanced up, looking like a kid who’d dropped her ice cream cone before she’d gotten the first lick. “It’s not?”

“Hell, no! That money’s yours! You were the one behind the controls.”

“Oh, no,” she said, and dropped the tokens back into the bin, then dusted her hands, as if to deny ownership. “It’s yours. It was your quarter that I inserted into the machine. Not mine.”

Troy stared at her a long moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. Any other woman would probably already be at the cashier’s box, cashing in the tokens and thinking about a zillion ways to spend the money, not arguing over ownership. Shaking his head, he pulled off his cowboy hat. “An angel,” he muttered under his breath as he stooped to scrape the mountain of tokens into the crown of his hat. And a lucky angel, at that.

As he straightened, having to use both hands to support the loaded hat, he glanced toward the crap tables, wondering if Shelby might like to try her hand at that game of chance. Lady Luck definitely seemed to be riding on her shoulder that night. But then he glanced back at her and saw her standing with her purse hugged at her side, peering at the entrance, that worried look in her eyes again.

Sighing, he jerked his chin in the direction of the cashier’s booth. “Let’s cash this in and get out of here,” he said gruffly. “We can fight over who gets stuck with the winnings later.”

“No,” Shelby said, frowning slightly as she studied the tiny chapel tucked against the side of the hotel. Red neon lights flashed on and off beneath an oversize set of plaster wedding bells draped with satin-like ribbon painted a garish silver. The blinking sign promised a drive-through wedding ceremony for under twenty-five dollars. “This one is just too…too…”

“Tacky?” Troy offered helpfully.

“Yes,” she replied, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Much too tacky.”

It was the fourth chapel Troy had driven by and the fourth Shelby had eliminated, for one reason or another. Personally, he thought the Elvis wedding might have been kind of fun, definitely something to tell the guys about later, but she had nixed that one with barely a glance.

Wearily he plucked another brochure from the pile littering the console. “How about this one?” he asked, holding the brochure out for her inspection. “The Little Church of the West. The name has a nice ring to it, plus it actually looks like a real church. See?”

Shelby studied the photo he indicated and the creases on her forehead slowly smoothed. “That’s it,” she said, then tipped her face up to Troy’s, her smile radiant. “That’s the one.”

“You sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Positive,” she said, and took the brochure from his hand. “And it isn’t too far,” she added, studying the map. She lifted a hand and pointed a finger. “Three blocks ahead, near the end of the strip. The chapel should be right there.”

Troy stood back while Shelby talked to the receptionist, his cowboy hat clasped between his wide hands, feeling much like what he thought a corpse might feel—if they could feel anything—while waiting for their casket to be selected.

“And which package would you like?” the receptionist asked, turning a colorfully printed brochure around on the desk for Shelby’s inspection. “A custom package? Or perhaps our luxury package?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shelby replied uncertainly, and turned to give Troy a helpless look. He arched a brow and lifted a shoulder, letting her know the decision was hers to make. “Just the basic one, I guess,” she said, turning back to the woman.

“We offer several services and items for our guests’ convenience. Surely you’d like to have a video recording of your ceremony to share with your family back home?”

“Oh, no,” Shelby said with a quick shake of her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“How about photographs, then? We have a professional photographer on hand who takes wonderful pictures. I’m sure you’ll want a set to commemorate the event.”

“No,” Shelby said slowly, and Troy thought he heard tears in her voice. “I…I don’t think so.”

“Flowers?” the receptionist offered, peeking around Shelby to peer at Troy, her arched eyebrows indicating that she considered him to be the ultimate tightwad.

“N-no. Just—”

Troy saw Shelby’s chin begin to quiver and knew he hadn’t been mistaken. She was definitely about to turn on the waterworks, which didn’t surprise him. He was amazed she’d made it this far without falling apart. A woman like her had probably dreamed for years about her wedding day…and, more than likely, those dreams had never included a late-night drive to Las Vegas in a one-ton dually with some old cowboy she’d picked up at a truck stop.

And the receptionist wasn’t helping things a bit with her unending questions and suggestions. Though he realized that the woman had no clue about the circumstances behind this trumped-up marriage, he’d like nothing better than to wring her pretty neck for reminding Shelby of what all a wedding ceremony should consist of.

Feeling the need to intercede and spare Shelby any more anguish, he slipped between her and the receptionist and caught Shelby by the elbows, gently squeezing and forcing her gaze to his. “Why don’t you wait out in the truck?” he suggested quietly. “I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

Shelby nodded tearfully and turned away, pressing her fingers against her lips.

Troy waited until the door closed behind her, then dropped his hat on the desk and planted his wide hands on either side of it. He scowled down at the woman opposite him.

“We just want to get married, okay?” he said, struggling to remain calm. “Just the basics. A preacher, a little organ music and a witness to sign the certificate once we’re done. Think you can handle that?”

“Well, of course,” the woman replied in surprise. “We can provide any type of ceremony you wish.”

He straightened, dragging his hat from the desk and clamped it down over his head. “Good. ’Cause that lady waiting out in the truck is going to have a baby in a few months, and I’d like to think we can pull this wedding off before the kid hits the ground.”

The woman’s jaw dropped open, then closed with a click. She tore her gaze from his and opened a book. “W-we have an opening at ten this morning,” she stammered, obviously flustered. “Would that fit in with your schedule?”

Troy flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the tension there. “Yeah. That’d be just dandy.” He turned for the door, then stopped, paused a second, then glanced back. “And fix up a bouquet, would you? One with yellow rose buds. And throw in the cost of the photographer, too. Nothing fancy. Just a couple of shots.”

Whether Shelby considered herself a real bride, or not, Troy told himself as he pushed his way through the door, she deserved flowers, even if her wedding was nothing but a sham. And he would need the pictures as proof this wedding had taken place, because he had a feeling that without them his buddies, Pete and Clayton, would never believe him when he told them he’d taken a detour off the rodeo circuit to marry a pregnant preacher’s daughter in Las Vegas.

The line at the courthouse was longer than Troy had expected, and it took almost two hours for him and Shelby to acquire the paperwork required for a marriage in the state of Nevada.

Though he was sure his bride-to-be needed some time to compose herself before she was forced to lie, by pledging to love and honor a complete stranger for the rest of her life, Troy didn’t have it to give her. As it was, they arrived back at the chapel with only seconds to spare.

The ceremony itself was pretty much a blur to Troy. He remembered standing at the altar, waiting while Shelby walked down the aisle, her steps slow and careful, in perfect rhythm with the traditional wedding march played by the organist he’d requested. He remembered seeing her white-knuckled fingers clasped around the bouquet of tiny yellow rose buds, and the shiny satin ribbons that had cascaded from it brushing against her knees with each slow step. He remembered her turning, once she’d reached the altar, and looking up at him.

But it was at that point that his memory failed. When she’d lifted those wide blue eyes up to his, eyes that glistened with unshed tears, eyes filled with so much innocence, so much trust…well, the sight had rendered him speechless. He was sure he must have repeated the vows the preacher had fed to him, but he didn’t remember saying them, or even what they were. All he could remember were Shelby’s eyes.

And something told him that those eyes, and the woman who possessed them, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Troy pulled his truck into the alleyway, following the red taillights of Shelby’s car. When she stopped, he did, too, then shut off the ignition and set the brake. Sighing wearily, he dragged a hand down his face before he opened the door and slid to the ground. He hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and the lack of rest was beginning to take its toll.

The long drive to Las Vegas. The return trip to Kingman, Arizona, where they’d retrieved Shelby’s car from the truck stop where they’d met. The drive to Dunning, New Mexico, with her in the lead, guiding him back to her hometown. And few, very few, stops in between.

He glanced up, noticing the hesitancy with which she approached him. But he understood her sudden shyness. He felt rather awkward himself. Sort of like he had the time Pete had suckered him into taking a woman on a blind date. The drive to Dunning, each alone in their own vehicles, had stripped them of what bit of easiness they’d managed to develop during the trip to Las Vegas and back, and left them strangers again.

Not sure what the game plan was, now that they’d arrived in Dunning, he gestured toward the trailer. “I need to unload my horse and walk him around a bit, if that’s okay.”

Tucking her arms beneath her breasts, she nodded and stepped out of his way, then followed him to the rear of the trailer and watched silently as he unlocked the door and lowered the ramp.

“Danny Boy, isn’t it?” she asked, obviously trying to make conversation as he backed the horse down the ramp.

“Yep. That’s his name all right,” he replied.

The horse spooked when his hooves hit the slick asphalt drive and skated a bit. Troy quickly tightened his grip on the lead rope. “Whoa, there, Danny Boy,” he murmured softly, reaching to pat the horse’s long neck. He glanced around as he soothed the animal, getting his bearings, then frowned. “Is this where you live?” he asked, turning his frown on Shelby.

She glanced over her shoulder at the block of dark, two-story buildings behind her. “Yes. I have an apartment over my shop.” She looked at Troy again and shrugged self-consciously. “It’s rather small, but it suits my needs.”

He blew out a long breath, wondering how anybody could stand to live in such close quarters. For himself, he preferred open country with green pastures, rolling hills and a lake to fish, much like the land that surrounded his own home in East Texas.

“My parents live a couple of blocks away,” she added. “In the parsonage beside the church.”

At the reminder of her parents and the confrontation that awaited him in a few hours, Troy gave the lead rope a gentle tug. “Walk with me,” he murmured, and caught Shelby’s hand when she hesitated, pulling her along with him. He’d intended to release her hand once he had her in motion, but after feeling the tremble in her fingers, he found himself lacing his own fingers through hers and squeezing, knowing she was thinking about the confrontation with her parents, too. “They’re going to be pretty disappointed, I’d guess,” he offered quietly.

He saw her chin quiver before she caught herself and gave it a defiant lift.

“Yes, but they’ll get over it.”

He snorted a laugh. “That’s yet to be seen.” Having reached the end of the alley, he made a wide turn, then started back the way they’d come, stopping to let Danny Boy graze on a clump of grass growing at the edge of the dark drive. “I’ll be leaving right after we tell them,” he said after a moment. “I have a rodeo in Pecos on Friday.”

He felt her fingers tense within his before she forced them to relax.

“That’s fine,” she replied, though he could tell the thought of being left alone to deal with her father scared the hell out of her. “I didn’t expect you to stay.”

“Exactly what am I supposed to say when we talk to them?”

“Nothing. I’ll do the talking. I just need you there as proof.”

“Proof,” he repeated, then snorted again and shook his head. He released her hand and moved to tie Danny Boy to the side of the trailer. “I don’t know what in the hell my being here proves.”

“That I really do have a husband,” she said in surprise, then clamped her lips together when he whipped his head around to look at her, one brow arched high. “Well, you know what I mean,” she said, flustered.

Chuckling, Troy hung a net filled with hay within Danny Boy’s reach, checked the level of water in the bucket, then placed a hand at the small of Shelby’s back as he guided her to the narrow iron stairs that snaked up the rear of the building. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He stepped out of the way while she dealt with the locks, then followed her into the dark apartment. He stopped, waiting for her to turn on some lights. When she did, he glanced around.

Though definitely larger than his horse trailer’s sleeping loft, which was home to him when he was on the road, the room was small, yet comfortable. A love seat, upholstered in a floral chintz, dominated the center of the room. Two wicker chairs, one covered in a cheerful yellow fabric, the other in mint-green, sat opposite. Between the sofa and chairs was a small trunk that served as a coffee table of sorts, he supposed. As he studied the cozy seating arrangement, he tried to imagine squeezing his large frame onto that little sofa and shook his head.

“I told you it was small,” she said as she headed for the kitchen tucked into a corner of the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. Just a place to stretch out and catch some shut-eye.”

She did a neat U-turn and lifted a hand to a panel of wood on the wall. Troy’s chin nearly hit the floor when the panel lowered, exposing a bed.

“It’s a Murphy bed,” she said in explanation as she fluffed pillows. “I don’t have a bedroom.”

He snapped his head up to look at her. “You don’t have a bedroom?”

Her cheeks pinkened, and she shook her head. “No. There’s just this room and a bath.” She settled the pillows at the head of the bed, then turned back the quilt, folding it neatly at the foot of the bed. “You can sleep here, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Troy shifted his gaze to the sofa. It was so small he doubted even Shelby would be able to comfortably sleep on it. “I have a better idea,” he said. “We’ll share the bed. Me on top, you underneath.” At the horrified look that came into her eyes, he felt his own cheeks heat. “The covers,” he growled with an impatient wave of his hand at the bed. “I’ll sleep on top of the covers, and you sleep underneath ’em.”

Acutely aware of the man who lay on the bed beside her, Shelby held the sheet to her chin, her eyes wide as she stared at the dark ceiling. For the past forty-eight hours, ever since leaving Derrick’s apartment after learning that he wanted nothing to do with her or their baby, she’d felt as if she was moving in a thick fog—lost, her thoughts jumbled, her nerves frayed—knowing that she couldn’t go home and face her parents. Not without a husband, not without a name for the baby she carried.

She stole a glance at Troy who lay beside her, his eyes closed, his breathing even. She was still unable to believe that she’d had the nerve to ask a complete stranger to marry her. But even now, as she looked at him sleeping in her bed beside her, she didn’t feel any fear. There was something about him—exactly what, she wasn’t sure, but something—that told her he was a man whom she could trust.

She supposed it was fate that had placed them both at the truck stop’s café at that exact moment in time. Her desperately in need of a husband to give her baby a name, and him in need of money so he wouldn’t have to sell his horse. But whether it was fate or God’s divining hand, she didn’t think she would ever in a million years be able to repay him for the sacrifice he was making for her and her baby.

Even as the gratitude swelled inside her, guilt stabbed at her conscience as she realized she’d never properly thanked him.

“Troy?” she whispered urgently.

“Hmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“No. But I’m working on it.”

“Oh,” she murmured in embarrassment, realizing too late how tired he must be. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” He stretched his arms up to the ceiling and his bare feet over the foot of the bed, growling, then sighed, relaxing his body as he laced his fingers across his bare chest. “Whatcha need?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to—” she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to find words adequate enough to convey the depth of her feelings “—to, well, to say thank you,” she finished futilely. “I don’t think I ever did.”

“No thanks needed,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, but there is,” she insisted, turning her head to peer at him in the darkness. “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your letting me use your name. And taking me to Las Vegas and handling all the arrangements,” she added. “I hadn’t thought about the time involved, obtaining a license and such. It was fortunate that you did.”

“Like I said,” he repeated. “No thanks needed. Now why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

She turned her face back to the ceiling and pulled the sheet to her chin once more, but was too keyed up to even think about sleeping.

“Troy?” she whispered again.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty in the darkness. “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“No,” she replied, and bit back a smile at his teasing. “I think I’m a little old for that.” She glanced over at him again and nervously pleated the sheet between her fingers. “But would you mind talking to me for a while?” she asked hopefully. “Just until I get sleepy?”

She could feel his gaze as he turned his head to peer at her, though his features were nothing but a play of shadows in the darkness. “About what?”

“Anything. Just talk. Tell me where you’re from,” she suggested and rolled to her side, slipping a hand beneath her pillow to support her head as she peered at him in the darkness.

He turned his face away to stare at the ceiling. “Texas. I’ve got a place near Tyler. Know where that is?”

“Yes,” she said in surprise and pushed herself to an elbow. “I go to Canton for First Monday several times a year on buying trips. Tyler is near there, isn’t it?”

“Not far. First Monday, huh?” She could hear the smile in his voice, though his face remained in shadows, hiding his expression. “Now there’s a circus, if ever I’ve seen one.”

She smiled, too, remembering her reaction upon visiting the flea market for the first time and experiencing its vastness and the variety of merchandise displayed there. “Yes, it is, and just as much fun.”

“Haven’t been in years,” he replied absently, then added, “My place is about twenty or so miles from Canton.”

“Really?” she said, her curiosity piqued as she dropped her head back to the pillow.

“My grandparents’ place originally,” he clarified. “About three hundred acres, give or take a few. They farmed the land, but I never took to it. Preferred riding a horse to driving a tractor. I run a few cattle on the place now to keep the grass down. Probably will increase my herd when I quit rodeoing.”

“Are you planning on retiring soon?”

His shoulder brushed hers in a shrug. “Someday. Haven’t really given much thought as to when.”

With the sound of his husky voice beginning to relax her, Shelby murmured, “Who takes care of your cattle while you’re gone?”

“I stop in pretty regular, but I have a neighbor I pay to keep an eye on the place when I’m on the road.”

“What’s it like, traveling the—rodeo circuit? Isn’t that what it’s called?”

“Close enough.” He shifted his shoulders more comfortably on the bed. “It’s a lot of driving or flying when the schedule’s tight and the rodeos are on opposite sides of the country. Being wound up tighter than a new spring when it’s your turn to compete, and drained dry and limp as a wet rag once you’re done. Eating breakfast in one state, dinner in another, trying, best we can, to hit as many rodeos as possible. Me, Pete and Clayton have been rodeoing together for about three years now. We take turns with the driving, spelling each other so we all have a chance to catch some sleep.” He lifted a shoulder again. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Do you have family?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

He seemed to hesitate a moment, then replied, “A grandmother. But she’s in a nursing home now.”

“Is she ill?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“How sad,” Shelby said sympathetically, somewhat familiar with the disease. She stared at his profile a moment, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. “Will you tell her about our marriage?”

“No. Probably not. Half the time she doesn’t even recognize me. No need to confuse her more. Doubt she’d understand, anyway.”

Though she couldn’t see his expression, Shelby heard the regret in his voice, the sadness. Without thinking about the action, she reached over and placed her hand over his folded ones on his chest, giving them a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Troy,” she murmured. “That must be hard on you.”

Troy didn’t say anything in response, couldn’t. Just stared at the ceiling, trying his best to swallow the baseball-size wad of emotion that had risen to his throat. The comfort of her hand on his, the softness, the warmth as her body heat seeped slowly into his skin. He lay still as death, fearing if he moved she would, and not wanting to lose that contact. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted and relaxed in sleep. Careful not to disturb her, he turned his hand over, opened it beneath hers and wove their fingers together.

An angel, he thought wistfully, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Too bad he’d been handed a pitchfork at birth instead of a set of wings like hers. If he’d had the wings, maybe he could’ve flown with her, offered her more than just his name. Maybe he could have offered himself as a real husband to her and as a father to the child she carried.

As it was, the name he’d given her was sullied enough. No sense trying to tie her to the man folks claimed was responsible for dirtying the Jacobs name.

Sighing, he turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep with his fingers still woven through hers, steeped in her warmth and comforted by her touch.