The Bride Prize

But he was looking in this direction. He’d surely seen her old pickup and the rooster tail of dust it had kicked up, so she was as good as stuck.

Stuck being stupid and presumptuous and dressed like she was trying to look more feminine and attract a man. Stuck, and about to shame herself in front of the two men who’d inspired the foolish fantasies and outright overreaction that accounted for the insanity of the past couple of hours.

Pride wasn’t enough to help her salvage even a smidgen of that feeling of entitlement she’d had just a little over a half hour ago, but it was at least enough to help her get out of her twenty-year-old pickup without mussing the clean blanket she’d spread on the dusty seat to protect her clothes.

And though she didn’t have enough pride left over to help her hold her head high as she strode up the front walk, she had enough willpower to fill in as she struggled to give the impression that she dressed in pink and white all the time and was regularly invited to eat supper with handsome men.

If she survived the night, she’d dig out every remotely feminine thing she owned and burn them tomorrow. Then she’d never be tempted to repeat this mistake and embarrass herself again. Better to live alone the rest of her life than to chance being publicly humiliated. Or worse, cause folks to feel sorry for her.

With her insides churning, it took a lot to meet Nick Merrick’s dark eyes and force a faint smile she hoped would conceal her embarrassment. Only she couldn’t meet his gaze because it was traveling down her body in that same skim-and-linger way it had that afternoon.

A prickly kind of heat shot over her from scalp to toes and she steeled herself for some expression of either scorn or amusement. To her surprise, that dark, almost black gaze came back up and bore into hers with an intensity that made her feel invaded and a little weak.

She couldn’t detect either scorn or amusement, though she could see something there. Something a little like what she’d seen in Shane’s eyes that day, only now she felt breathless and she realized her body felt uncommonly warm in every place that gaze had lingered.

Nick’s low voice was a gravely drawl that made the phantom sensation of warmth repeat. “Evenin’, Miss Corrie. I’m glad you’re here.”

She gave a curt nod. “Thanks for having me.”

The stiff comeback was another excruciating little embarrassment, but if it had sounded wrong or awkward to Nick, he didn’t let on. He let her precede him inside the big house, and she tried to distract herself from his nearness by having a look around.

The two-story Victorian ranch house that had been expanded over the years was a showplace. The rooms inside were large—huge. The dark, high gloss oak floor of the entry hall had a large reddish-brown woven rug in the center of the floor that featured a heavy black outline of the Merrick brand. A wide, carpeted staircase curved up from the hall to the second story, and three portraits of what had to be Merrick ancestors had been placed at ascending intervals on the whitewashed wall by the staircase. Four other portraits were situated on the entry walls at eye level.

A hall table sat beneath an elaborately framed mirror to the right of the front door, and the moment Corrie took that in, her gaze flinched from the reflection of her wide-eyed gaze. She was barely into the house and she was already gawking like the backward hick she was.

From there, Nick took her past a formal parlor on the left and a library. A surreptitious glance into both rooms revealed plush carpets, elegant wood furniture with rich amber brocade upholstery and oil paintings that made both rooms look like pages out of a high-class decorating magazine. Corrie felt as out of place as a muddy work boot at a ballet, and wished—heartily wished—she’d not been so wildly eager to come here.

The big living room Nick escorted her into went all the way to a wall of gigantic multipane windows on either side of a set of wide French doors at the back of the house, which looked out on a large, deep patio and the swimming pool beyond. Shane had invited her over to swim a handful of times, so she’d known about the pool, though she’d never come over to use it.

Shane’s father had looked like a fierce, crabby man whenever she’d seen him, so she’d always been a little afraid of him. The fact that Jake Merrick had been in a wheelchair the last years of his life had only seemed to make him more surly. Shane had often been at odds with him, so she’d been leery of attracting the man’s choler. The best way to avoid that had been to keep her distance.

Her father had never had much to say about Jake Merrick, and his dealings with Merrick Ranch had been infrequent. He’d seemed to tolerate Shane, referring to him as “Merrick’s boy,” and warning her not to let that “rich boy” make a fool of her.

Corrie couldn’t help feeling a little as if she was about to be made a fool of, though if it happened tonight it wouldn’t be Shane’s doing but her own. It was at least some comfort that this room was less formal than what she’d seen of the house so far.

Nick gestured toward the leather furniture grouped in front of the wall of windows. “Go ahead and sit down. I thought you might like to look at a video of one of Shane’s winning rides. Unless you’ve seen it.”

Corrie chose a place at one end of the long sofa just as the housekeeper came bustling in and halted next to Nick.

“Might as well get to the introductions,” he said. “Miss Louise? This is Miss Corrie. Miss Corrie, this is Miss Louise. The best cook in Texas.” Corrie smiled and they exchanged hellos.

Then Nick asked, “What would you like to drink? We’ve got just about anything you want. Louise can get it, or if you’d rather have a mixed drink, I can take care of it. And we’ve got wine, don’t we, Louise?” He looked over at the woman to catch her nod.

Corrie’s first impulse was to decline all the choices, but it might be rude to do that. If Nick was only being polite and didn’t mean to have something himself, she didn’t want anything either. It seemed more mannerly to find out what he was having or not having, and follow his lead.

“What are you having?” she asked, then realized she was nervously chafing her palms on the thighs of her white jeans. She made herself stop and clenched her fingers to quell the impulse.

“I was going to mix a drink. Would you like one too?”

She’d never had alcohol of any kind and hadn’t wanted any. She didn’t really want any now, but she gave a nod. “Whatever you’re having.”

Corrie caught a glint in his dark gaze that came and went so quickly she could easily have missed it. What did that mean? Was that amusement she’d seen? Did he realize she was no drinker? It probably didn’t take much for him to figure out she hadn’t indulged in very many of the adult things he took for granted, like drinking alcohol.

Miss Louise went out and Nick walked to the liquor cabinet at the side of the room and opened one of the doors. The forest of bottles inside looked like a section in a liquor store and Corrie realized she was out of her league on yet another score. Were the Merricks serious drinkers? It wasn’t an idea she liked.

Shane had told her about a beer party or two he’d gone to, but that had seemed to be the usual high school jock thing to do in these parts. Her father had kept one bottle of whiskey in a kitchen cabinet, but it had sat for years unopened.

The glassware above the bottles must have been crystal, and she watched as he selected a couple of stout tumblers and set them out, then opened a silver ice bucket and used the silver tongs that went with it to put ice cubes in the tumblers. He picked out a bottle that read Vodka, and poured an amount into each glass. When he finished, he opened a lower cabinet that turned out to be a tiny refrigerator. He took out a glass pitcher of what was obviously orange juice, used the glass stirrer to give the pulpy drink a few brisk turns, then poured some in each of the vodka tumblers.

It seemed like a lot of fuss, and Corrie was surprised that he did it himself, instead of having Louise do it. Her father had been very rigid about things like that, so at least this part made a favorable impression on her.

Corrie liked orange juice, so this might not be such a risk, though she’d heard things about vodka. Surely Nick wouldn’t notice she wasn’t drinking much if she only sipped from time to time.

And where was Shane? She’d feel far more at ease if he were here, though she didn’t think she should ask about him this soon. It would make her look overeager to see him again.

Nick picked up the tumblers and came her way, handing her one before he sat down in the leather chair nearest her end of the sofa. She give him a slight smile along with a soft “Thanks,” before she set the tumbler on her thigh, untasted, and remembered to slide her pinkie finger beneath it to keep condensation from putting a damp ring on her jeans.

“We’re just waiting for Shane,” he told her as he settled back and tasted his drink. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on that afternoon, so he really hadn’t wanted to change into something more formal for supper tonight. She noted then that his stark white shirt had long sleeves that he wore folded back almost exactly the same as hers. She felt a pang of regret over that, and wondered if wearing her sleeves folded was considered more mannish than feminine. She’d never thought to pay attention before.

But when her gaze came back up to his she felt an unsettling ripple of excitement at the dark glitter in his eyes. The white shirt set off his weathered tan and black hair and emphasized his rugged looks. Somehow the way he looked gripped her more now than it had earlier. Enough so that it took her a moment to realize he was still speaking.

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