Читать книгу A Convenient Texas Wedding - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 8

One

Allison Cartwright was in a pickle. The dill of all dills, she thought. The big, fat sour kind sold in American delicatessens, known for making one’s face pucker. She might as well be making that expression right now.

Her temporary visa would be expiring soon, and she didn’t want to return to her family’s sheep farm in Kenmare, Ireland, bleating like a lost lamb.

Presently, she sat in the passenger seat of an Uber car. The driver had picked her up at her apartment in Dallas, Texas, and was taking her to the exclusive Bellamy resort in Royal, Texas.

On this hot summer afternoon, she’d donned a sleeveless blouse and a long, pleated skirt with side pockets. Her deep red hair was smooth and straight, and her fair skin was scrubbed clean. Although she’d gotten used to thinking of herself as more plain than pretty, she sometimes wondered what being the sophisticated type would be like. But she had plenty of other things, besides her lack of glamour, to occupy her mind.

As the vehicle advanced on the interstate highway that led to Royal, she glanced down at her cowgirl-style boots with their brown leather, blue stitching and pointed toes. She’d purchased them when she first arrived in Texas, and this was where she wanted to stay. Even as a child, she’d been consumed with America, most specifically Texas, studying about it every chance she got. She’d always dreamed of living here.

During her teenage years, she helped out on her family’s farm and took online writing courses. Once she became an adult, she sold magazine articles to a variety of publications. But she also had a regular job, waiting tables in a popular tourist spot. She worked her tail off, saving practically everything she earned so she could visit the States one day and write an epic novel with a dashing Texas hero.

Then, just this year, she’d had an affair with the worst person imaginable, a handsome rancher and businessman who’d charmed her from the first moment he’d come into the restaurant. She’d followed him here to Texas with romantic notions and had spent three months growing closer to the man she’d known as Will Sanders. But that wasn’t who he was. About a month ago, she’d learned that his real name was Rich Lowell. By then, he was gone, completely out of her life. But that was a complex situation, too. When they were still together, she’d been informed that he’d been killed in a plane crash.

The funeral had been horrific. But the kicker? The real Will Sanders had shown up, walking straight into the service and stunning everyone in attendance. Allison had been shocked beyond belief, particularly when she’d discovered the truth. At the time, she’d thought the man who’d died, the man with whom she’d had an affair, was Will Sanders.

The impostor had even stolen Will’s face, altering his appearance to look just like him. Allison wasn’t privy to the details of where Will had been during the nearly two years that Rich had taken over his life. But she’d been supplied with enough information to know that Will had been recovering from injuries Rich had inflicted upon him.

At this point, Rich was presumed dead. But while the case was still under investigation, the people who’d attended the funeral had been warned to keep what they knew among themselves. For however long it took to fit the pieces altogether, the authorities wanted Will to stay out of sight and “play” dead, as if there had only ever been one Will Sanders all along.

In some ways, Allison felt like a ghost, too, floating around with her pain. Fool that she was, she’d given the impostor her life savings, right along with a piece of her naive heart.

But she was venturing forward, one cautious step at a time. She’d received an anonymous note to meet with someone at 2:00 p.m. today at the statue of Diana in the gardens of The Bellamy. In part the note read: I heard that your visa is set to expire. Do you want a green card? If you do, I have an interesting proposal for you. Yours, Mr. X.

She had no idea who this Mr. X was or where he’d heard about her visa or what made him assume that she might want a green card. He could have come to her home since he obviously knew her address, having sent her the note. But he’d invited her to meet in a public place instead. She hoped that meant he wasn’t a raving lunatic.

However, just in case, she was armed with a can of pepper spray in her right skirt pocket. Also, she figured that in an establishment like The Bellamy with security on staff, she could scream if he tried to accost her. Allison intended to be extra careful. Still, this was a risk, meeting a stranger and making herself vulnerable to him.

But damn it, she wanted a green card more than ever, especially after everything she’d been through. Forging ahead was a means of gaining her independence and restoring her self-worth, of not letting the man who’d broken her heart and stolen her money destroy what was left of her already fractured spirit.

Determined to stay strong, she glanced out the window, preparing for her meeting with Mr. X.

When she arrived at the hotel, she thanked the driver and exited the car. Making haste, she entered the lobby and checked her smartphone for the time. She had twenty minutes to spare.

She went over to the concierge and retrieved a map of the resort so she could make her way to the statue. The Bellamy sat on fifty-plus acres of lavish gardens. She wasn’t going to wander the grounds without direction.

Thankfully, the marble statue was easy to find. As Allison crossed the lawn, she spotted it in the distance. Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, the moon, and nature, proved strong and beautiful, reaching for an arrow from her quiver.

But it wasn’t only Diana that Allison saw. As she moved closer, she noticed a tall, striking man. He stood in front of the statue, with his stylishly messy black hair shining in the sun, and he was dressed in a button-down shirt and business tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and with how powerful his aura was, he could’ve been daring the goddess to hand over one of her prized arrows to him.

Allison’s breaths grew labored. He wasn’t looking her way. His head was turned, his profile thrillingly familiar. Even from this range, she recognized him as Rand Gibson. He was closely associated with the real Will Sanders, and like Allison, he’d been at the funeral when all hell had broken loose.

Rand turned, all too suddenly, and appeared to catch sight of her from across the grass that separated them. She hoped that she didn’t lose her footing and fall flat on her bum. Rand was a local celebrity of sorts, a much-talked-about millionaire playboy with a huge social media following. In her mind, he would make the quintessential book hero, the wild type who made women swoon. Even she had the maddest crush on him, and considering her latest ordeal, she shouldn’t be having crushes on anyone.

In the real world, she barely knew Rand. Over the past month, since Will’s funeral, they’d crossed paths a few times at the Texas Cattleman’s Club here in Royal. Allison wasn’t a member of the club. She’d been invited to go there by Megan Phillips, one of the other women who’d been hurt by Rich Lowell. But for now Allison was immersed in the mystery of Mr. X and how that was going to play out.

Rand couldn’t be Mr. X, could he? No, she thought. It wasn’t even two o’clock yet. Mr. X simply wasn’t there yet. Besides, why would Rand offer to help her get a green card? And why would he send her an anonymous note? It didn’t add up.

Yet, he seemed as if he were waiting for someone. Most likely he was there to rendezvous with one of his many lovers. Any moment now, a pleasure-seeking beauty was going to emerge from the other side of the garden and catwalk straight into his arms.

So what should Allison do? Keep heading toward the statue to wait for Mr. X? It was too late to hide behind a tree until Rand was gone. He’d already seen her.

If he knew she was there to meet a stranger, with a can of pepper spray in her skirt pocket, would he shake his head and tell her to go home? Not to Dallas, but back to Kenmare, where she belonged?

With the stubbornness associated with redheads, Allison lifted her chin and flicked back her hair. She wasn’t going anywhere, except straight over to that damnable statue. When Mr. X arrived, she would have to lead him away from Rand, if Rand was still milling about. Of course Mr. X might stand her up altogether. She could very well be the butt of a joke. But that was a chance she was willing to take.

As she cut a determined path toward the marble goddess, Rand set out, too, striding, it seemed, in Allison’s direction.

He moved at an easy pace, a flicker of a smile forming on his lips. Allison tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, making certain there wasn’t another woman behind her that Rand was smiling at. Nope. She was the only female there. Saints preserve her, but maybe he was Mr. X.

They came face-to-face, and her heart stuttered in her chest. His electric-green eyes bore into hers. She had green eyes, too, the same noticeably bright shade as his. But on him, she thought the color looked far more intense. Everything about him was supernaturally gorgeous. He stood broad-shouldered and regal, with features consisting of darkly arched eyebrows, a straight, strongly formed nose and a prominent jaw peppered with perfectly defined, expertly trimmed beard stubble. But the final dream factor was his supremely kissable mouth. Insane as it was, she actually imagined taking long, luscious, forbidden tastes of him.

He said, “You’re early.”

She replied, “So are you.” And now she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the person who’d sent her the note.

He pulled a hand through his already ruffled hair. “I can tell you’re surprised it was me.”

She was still trying to comprehend it. She was also trying to stop from fixating on his mouth. She even had the weirdly carnal urge to run her tongue along the chiseled edge of his jawline.

“Why did you call yourself Mr. X?” she asked, wishing she wasn’t having such bizarre thoughts about him.

“I heard that you’re a writer, and I thought you might enjoy a bit of intrigue.”

Allison only nodded. Besides being drawn to intrigue, being a freelance writer meant that she could travel and write from anywhere. Working in the States wasn’t a problem for her.

Rand gestured to a small, ornately designed bench adjacent to the statue. “We can sit, if you’d like. Or we can walk through the garden and talk. I’m good either way, as long as we keep our conversation private.”

“Let’s sit.” She didn’t know if she could walk and talk and breathe at the same time, not while she was in his company, anyway.

They made their way to the bench and sat side by side. His big, muscular arm was just centimeters from hers. But with how cozy the bench was, it couldn’t be helped. She should have chosen to stroll along the grounds instead, but she wasn’t going to suggest that they pop up and start walking now.

“Before we get to the green card business, I want to say that I’m sorry for what Rich Lowell did to you,” he began. “He fooled so many of us. Me included. But I didn’t see Rich all that much when he was impersonating Will. He spent more time in Dallas and abroad than he did in Royal.”

She had to ask, “Do you think Rich is really dead? Or do you think there could be more to this than meets the eye?”

“I don’t have all the facts, but I do know that the body was identified by a reliable source who assumed it was Will. So it sure seems as if he should be dead.” He paused for a second and added, “Will told me that the FBI sent the ashes from the urn out for DNA testing. The results aren’t in yet, but it’s probably just routine. Or I hope it is.”

Allison hoped so, too. “I hate that Rich used me the way he did. My heart still hurts from his betrayal, but giving him my life savings makes me feel like a total eejit.” When Rand gave her a perplexed look, she quickly clarified, “Sorry. Irish slang. It means idiot.”

He turned more fully toward her, angling his body on the bench. “I like the way you talk. Your brogue and whatnot.” He playfully added, “Did you know that Irish accents were voted as one of the sexiest in the world?”

Her heart scurried inside her chest. He’d just spun their conversation on its axis, taking it to a flirtatious level. “Who would vote on such a thing?”

“Folks on the internet. I can’t say I disagree. It is rather sexy.”

So was the slightly Southern way in which he talked. Not everyone in Texas sounded that way. He had a naughty twang that sent erotic ripples down her spine. Struggling to maintain her composure, she politely said, “I like your voice, too.”

“That’s good to know.” He furrowed his brow, squinting in the sun. “With what I have in mind, we need to like things about each other.”

Wondering what he meant, she waited for him to expound.

But instead, he asked, “Are you familiar with my position at Spark Energy Solutions?”

“I know that you were the second in command, and that Will was the CEO.” She also knew that it was a highly successful oil and energy company owned by Will’s family. “Initially, you worked under Will’s direction, but you also worked for Rich when you thought he was Will. Then, just recently, you took over as CEO when Will supposedly died. And now you’ll continue being the CEO until he can resume his life.” She tilted her head. “But what does any of that have to do with me getting a green card?”

“I need a wife, Allison. Someone who can help me combat my image and provide what people think is a sense of stability. In the past, the board of directors let my reputation slide. But now that I’m heading up the company, the chairmen are pressuring me to get my act together. They’re even threatening to fire me over it.” He paused for a beat. “There’s already enough uncertainty at work surrounding Will’s stolen identity and how long it’ll be before that gets resolved. The board can’t afford any issues with me.”

Allison could do no more than blink at him. Her mind had gone numb. “Are you suggesting that we marry?”

He nodded. “With the time constraints involved, we should do it as quickly as we can.”

Again, she blinked at him. Rand Gibson was as far from husband material as a man could get. Not only was he a social media sensation, with tons of female followers hanging on his every word and sharing his pictures, his photos were sometimes made into sexy memes, garnering him even more attention.

Allison didn’t follow him on social media because she didn’t want him or anyone else to know that she found him so interesting. But she’d been poking around on his pages for longer than she cared to admit.

He continued, “At first people will be speculating as to whether a country girl like you can keep a playboy like me in line. But we’ll make lots of public appearances and show them that you can.”

She had no idea what keeping a playboy in line was like. She was already paying the price for dallying with a con man, and now she was being propositioned by a drop-dead gorgeous, modern-day Don Juan. The idea of getting close to Rand scared her senseless. He was everything she should be trying to avoid. Hot and seductive, she thought, and oozing with wealth and charm. Just like Rich when she’d first gotten to know him.

“How long would this marriage last?” she asked.

“It takes about three months to get the immigration interview. I have a friend who works for the USCIS, so I can try to pull some strings and get it moved up. He can definitely get your security clearance done faster.”

She wasn’t surprised that someone as well-off and socially connected as Rand would know someone at the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services.

“We’ll have to work out a prenup that’s comfortable for both of us,” he said. “I don’t want things to get sticky later. But either way, after you get your green card and after I prove myself to the board, we can decide when we should split up. We’ll part amicably. Then after the divorce, we can go our separate ways and no one will be the wiser.”

“I’m not interested in a financial settlement, so a prenup wouldn’t be a problem.” Being dependent on Rand to replace what Rich had stolen wasn’t the answer to restoring her self-worth. She would rather make her own way, even if she struggled to do it.

“So what do you think of my idea?” he asked.

She tried not to frown. “Of marrying you? What you’re proposing is considered fraud. If immigration found out that we faked a marriage, there would be penalties involved. I suspect that your friend at the USCIS wouldn’t appreciate you dragging him into a situation like that, either.”

“I know, and that’s why we couldn’t tell anyone the truth, not even our friends or families. In order to make something like this work, we’d have to live the lie.” Rand’s expression turned dark. “The pressure the board of directors is putting on me isn’t just to clean up my act. There’s a company here in Royal that they expect me to bring in as a new client. And if I don’t secure that account, I’ll be ousted for sure. I’ve been trying to set up meetings with the other company, but their CEO hasn’t responded to my calls. From what I’ve been told, he has concerns about my reputation, too.”

“And you think having a wife will help?”

“It’s the only solution I can think of that will improve my image in a quick and noticeable way.” His expression grew even stormier. “You know what makes it worse? My father was always telling me that I was too much of a party animal to be taken seriously, that someday my behavior would come back to bite me in the butt. He criticized me every chance he got, even when I was a kid.”

Allison considered how much information Rand was sharing. Rich used to confide in her, too. But all of his confessions were lies. She hoped Rand wasn’t embellishing his tales to create a false sense of intimacy. Although she didn’t doubt that he needed a wife, just how far would he go to get one?

“Where is your father now?” she asked.

“He died last year, but I’ve been feeling the brunt of his words more than ever now. I swear I can just hear him saying, ‘I told you so,’ along with everyone else who’s convinced I’m not worthy of my job.”

She couldn’t hear anything but the frustration in his voice. “Are you sure that people will even believe that we’re a true couple?”

“Granted, we’ll be an unlikely match, but you know what they say about opposites attracting.” He winked at her. “Especially if we show everyone how desperate we are for each other.”

Allison’s thoughts scrambled. Was their desperate union supposed to include sharing the same bed? Was that part of the plan of them seeming like a genuinely married couple? Just thinking about it was sending her into a tailspin.

She wanted to remain in the States, to defy the odds, to get her green card. But could she marry Rand? A man she didn’t even know if she could trust?