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Billionaire Bridegroom
Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication Acknowledgments About the Author “What’s Happening in Royal?” Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Epilogue Teaser chapter Copyright
This month, in
BILLIONAIRE BRIDEGROOM
by Peggy Moreland,
meet Forrest Cunningham—
cattle baron of The Golden Steer.
When deciding to settle down,
Forrest gets more than he bargained for with
Becky Sullivan—
a tomboy all grown up who wants more than a
duty-bound marriage pact!
SILHOUETTE DESIRE
IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE
Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members
of the state’s most exclusive club—set out on a
mission to rescue a princess...and find true love.
And don’t miss SECRET AGENT DAD by
Metsy Hingie, next month’s installment of the
Texas Cattleman’s Club, available in
Silhouette Desire!
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stones that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who expenence the full emotional intensity of falling in love!
This October you’ll love our new MAN OF THE MONTH title by Barbara Boswell, Forever Flint. Opposites attract when a city girl becomes the pregnant bride of a millionaire outdoorsman.
Be sure to “rope in” the next installment of the exciting Desire minisenes TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB with Billionaire Bridegroom by Peggy Moreland. When cattle baron Forrest Cunningham wants to wed childhood friend Becky Sullivan, she puts his love to an unexpected test.
The always-wonderful Jennifer Greene returns to Desire with her magical series HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Kiss Your Prince Charying is a modern fairy tale starring an unforgettable “frog prince.” In a sexy battle-of-the-sexes tale, Lass Small offers you The Catch of Texas. Anne Eames continues her popular minisenes MONTANA MALONES with The Unknown Malone. And Sheri WhiteFeather makes her explosive Desire debut with Warrior’s Baby, a story of surrogate motherhood with a twist.
Next month, you’ll really feel the power of the passion when you see our new provocative cover design. Underneath our new covers, you will still find six exhilarating journeys into the seductive world of romance, with a guaranteed happy ending‘
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S. 3010 Walden Ave, PO Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O Box 609, Fort Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3
Billionaire Bridegroom
Peggy Moreland
a
To Dixie, Jen, Metsy and Cindy, who share with me the distinction of being
the only females to gam entrance to the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club—
other than Miss Manie, of course It’s been fun, ladies Let’s do this again‘
Special thanks to Mr and Mrs Larry Hunt of the H & B Cattle Company
in Monahans, Texas, for giving me a tour of their ranch and for so
generously sharing their knowledge of ranch life with me And thanks,
too, to Jackie Youngblood, for her assistance in researching West Texas
and Wade County
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Peggy Moreland for her contribution to the
Texas Cattleman’s Club miniseries
PEGGY MORELAND
published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989. She’s a natural storyteller with a sense of humor that will tickle your fancy, and Peggy’s goal is to write a story that readers will remember long after the last page is turned. Winner of the 1992 National Readers’ Choice Award and a 1994 RITA finalist, Peggy frequently appears on bestseller lists around the country. A native Texan, she and her family live in Round Rock, Texas.
“What’s Happening in Royal?”
NEWS FLASH, October 1999—
Forrest Cunningham, owner of the prestigious cattle ranch. The Golden Steer, is apparently trying to fulfill the marriage pact he made with next-door neighbor Becky Sullivan twelve years ago. Problem is, Ms. Sullivan seems to already have a fiancé, and a mystery one at that....
And a strange, rather aristocratic gentleman has been sighted walking about the town of Royal. Who could he be, and what does he want?
Our Texas Cattleman’s Club members seem more secretive than ever.... What could be brewing?
Prologue
Royal, Texas, 1987
Sweat poured down Forrest Cunningham’s face, plastered his shirt to his chest and back, and ran in rivulets down his spine, soaking the waist of his faded jeans a darker blue. After chasing steers through the scrub brush all afternoon under a hot West Texas sun, his boots—and his butt—were dragging as he led his horse to the rails of the corral.
Feeling as parched as the land he walked on, he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and winced when grit scraped across his lips like coarse sandpaper. Thank goodness his partner on the roundup was an experienced wrangler, otherwise he was sure he’d have spewed cotton—and no words—if he’d been required to offer up any instruction. He was that dry.
With his thoughts focused on the beer iced down and waiting for him in a cooler propped on the tailgate, he tied his horse to the corral’s top rail, then cut a quick path to the rear of the truck. He fished a cold brew from the cooler, popped the top, then, with a sigh of purest pleasure, lifted the beer.
“Hey, Woody! Wait! I get first sip!”
His mouth open and ready, his tongue and throat primed for that first thirst-quenching swig, Forrest considered pretending he hadn’t heard Becky’s request...but then he sighed and dutifully lowered the can. It was a ritual. Becky always got the first sip. And Forrest allowed it. Just as he allowed her to call him “Woody” and live to tell it. Five years his junior, and a neighbor for as long as he could remember, Becky Sullivan was like a kid sister to him and, as such, enjoyed full rights.
He angled his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, as he watched her charging toward him, her long legs churning, her hand flattened on the top of her battered cowboy hat to keep the wind from ripping it off her head. “You’re too young to drink, kid,” he called out to her. “You’re only eighteen.”
She skidded to a stop in front of him, snatched the can from his hand and shot him a scowl. “Yeah? So arrest me.” She bumped the can against the brim of her hat, knocking it off, and thick red hair fell to pool around her shoulders. Lifting the beer in a silent toast, she shot Forrest a wink, then tipped back her head and drank deeply.
Forrest focused on the long, smooth column of her throat—and knew damn good and well he could kiss that beer goodbye. Becky Sullivan might be only eighteen, but she drank like a man, and held her liquor like one, too. He knew this for a fact because she’d drunk him under the table a time or two.
Truth be told, Becky could do most things as well as a man. She could outride, outrope and outshoot just about any male in Ward county. He supposed she’d learned these skills out of necessity, being as she’d pretty much raised herself and was responsible for whatever work was accomplished on her family’s ranch, the Rusty Corral. The fact that he’d had a hand in teaching her a few of those skills brought a swell of pride. And the fact that she was a good student was why he’d sought her help today in rounding up some of his cattle rather than that of one of his own cowboys from the Golden Steer.
“Okay, brat,” he muttered, wrestling the can from her grip. “Save some for me.”
She backhanded the moisture from her mouth and grinned up at him. “You thirsty?”
“Damn straight.” He tipped back his head and lifted the can, prepared to finish off the beer.
“Course you know,” she added, “all that’s left is backwash, but if you really want it—”
Beer spewed from Forrest’s mouth. “Gawldangit, Becky,” he complained, dragging a hand across his mouth. “Why’d you have to go and say that for?”
“Sorry,” she said, though he could tell by the impish gleam in her eyes she wasn’t one damn bit sorry. “Just thought I’d better warn you.”
He chunked the empty can into the bed of his truck, then buried his hand in the cooler, searching for another beer. “Like I said. You’re a brat.” He fished out a new can from the cooler, turned—and immediately bumped against Becky’s outstretched hand. With a resigned sigh, he tossed her the beer, then retrieved another for himself. After popping the top, he hooked an arm around her slim shoulders and headed her toward the shade provided by the trailer. “So where’s your daddy gone this time?”
Her shoulder moved under his arm in a shrug. “Didn’t say. Probably Riodoso, though. They’re racing there this weekend.”
Forrest plopped down beside the trailer, resting his back against its side and looked up at her. He’d figured it was horse racing, though Shorty Sullivan was never short on excuses for leaving the care of his ranch up to his young daughter...and her alone. “So you’re batching?”
“Yep,” Becky replied, dropping down next to him.
Shoulder to shoulder they stared out across the pasture, sippmg their beers, while the cattle bawled pitifully in the corral, the silence between them a comfortable one.
“The Texas Cattleman’s Ball is coming up in a couple of weeks,” Becky offered after a bit.
Forrest pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes and settled in for a nap. “Yeah, it is.”
“Who’re you takin‘?”
“Lyndean Sawyer from over in Midland.”
“Haven’t heard you mention her name before. She somebody new you’re courtin‘?”
Something in her voice made him nudge his hat from his eyes to peer at her. She was squinting hard at the sun, the corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown. “No. Just a date,” he said slowly. When her frown deepened, he said, “Why do you ask?”
She lifted her beer, her movements tense and jerky, and took a sip. “Just curious.”
“Are you going to the Ball this year?”
She pulled her spine away from the trailer, drawing her legs up, and draped an elbow over her knee as she squinted harder at something in the distance. “Nope”
“How come?”
“Nobody asked me.”
Surprised by the splotch of red that suddenly appeared on her cheeks, he gave her back a poke with his beer can. “Oh, come on. Quit your foolin‘. Surely someone has asked you.”
She angled her head far enough around to frown at him. “No one has, and no one will, either.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She turned away, setting her jaw. “Because I know. That’s how.”
“A pretty girl like you? Boys’ll be tripping all over themselves for the chance to ask you to the Ball. Just you wait and see.”
As he stared at her, he was sure that he saw her chin quiver. And were those tears making her eyes sparkle? Naw, he told himself. Becky wasn’t the crying type. Yet, as he watched, a fat tear slipped over her lid and down her cheek.
He tossed aside his beer and slung an arm around her shoulder, drawing her against his side. “Aw, Becky. Don’t cry. The dance is still a couple of weeks away. Somebody’ll ask you.”
She sniffed, dragging her sleeve beneath her nose, as she pulled away from him. “Who? Billy Ray? Johnny? They’ve already got dates.” She gave her head a quick shake, then pressed her cheek on her knee and began tracing a path in the dirt with the tip of her finger. “No. No one will ask me to the Ball. Maybe to head or heel for them at the next roping competition, but never on a date.”
Because he suspected what she said was probably true, Forrest remained silent.
After a while, she lifted her head and turned to look at him. “Woody, do you think I’ll ever get married?”
The hopelessness in her voice touched his heart—and made him a little uneasy. The word “marriage” always had that effect on Forrest. He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, Becky. I suppose you will, if you want to.”
She turned her gaze to the pasture, squinting hard, as if in doing so she might be able to see into the future. “I don’t think I will,” she murmured after a long moment. “All the guys just think of me as one of them, never as a female.” She choked back a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob. “I can see it now. Thirty years old, a dried-up old maid and still working the Rusty Corral all by myself.”
Forrest dug his boot heels in the heat-dried grass, bringing himself alongside her. He looped an arm around her shoulders, and hugged her to his side. “Aw, now, Becky. It’s not as bad as all that.”
“No,” she said miserably, “it’s worse.”
Forrest heard the defeat in her voice, as well as the loneliness. “Tell you what, Becky,” he offered. “If you’re not married by your thirtieth birthday, hell, I’ll marry you.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “Do you mean it?”
“Damn straight.” He pecked a kiss on her cheek, then scooted back against the trailer, dipping the bnm of his hat low over his eyes again. “Of course, by the time you turn thirty, you’ll probably be married and have a litter of snot-nosed kids hanging onto your belt loops.”
Or at least he hoped she did. Forrest Cunningham was a man whose word was as good as law...but he sure as hell wasn’t planning on getting married. Even the thought of marriage and spending the rest of his life saddled with one woman made him shudder in revulsion.
One
Royal, Texas 1999
West Texas.
Damn if it wasn’t the prettiest sight in the whole universe. And Forrest Cunningham should know. Over the years, his travels in the military and those as head of his family’s cattle empire had provided him with the opportunity to see a good portion of the world.
But considering how, at the moment, his view of West Texas was limited to the interior of the Royal Diner with its smoke-stained walls, cracked vinyl-topped bar stools, chipped Formica-topped tables and a beat-up jukebox that had been sitting in the same spot since the Fifties...well, even thinking West Texas was the prettiest sight in the world was probably grounds enough to commit a man.
But, then, Forrest was already questioning his sanity.
It had all started a little over two weeks ago while he and several other members of the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club had been on a secret mission in Europe to rescue a princess and her young son.
He snorted at the reminder of the woman whose rescue seemed to be at the core of his current level of discontent. A princess for God’s sake. He glanced in the direction of the counter where the woman in question worked.
Beautiful. That was the only word to describe Anna von Oberland. A mane of thick blond hair. Dark green eyes. A figure that would make any man stand up at attention. Hell, even with an apron tied around her waist she managed to look regal.
A princess.
He snorted again and gave his head a shake as he turned his gaze to the smudged window and the view of the Royal Diner’s parking lot where the wind was thickening the air with sand. A princess in Royal, Texas. Who’d have ever thought? But she was there. And she was a princess. Forrest could attest to both because he’d played a part in snatching her away from the squirrely prince who had wanted to force her into a marriage after her sister’s tragic death so that he could gain control of her estate and merge their kingdoms.
The rescue mission—code-named Alpha—had been the brainchild of Gregory Hunt. Gregory’s brother Blake and Sterling Churchill had made up the rest of the team. Hank Langley had footed the bill for the mission, though Forrest knew damn good and well Hank would have preferred to have been in on the action, rather than staying home and overseeing the operation from the comfort and safety of his office above the Texas Cattleman’s Club.
The thought of his old friend and owner of the private men’s club plowed a deeper row of discontent on Forrest’s brow. Hank Langley was one of his oldest friends and the most eligible bachelor in Royal...or at least he had been. Now Hank was a married man.
And Sterling, too. Who would have ever thought Sterling would walk down that long aisle again? Not after his first marriage had gone sour on him. But he had. And now he had a wife, same as Hank, and seemed as happy as a dog with a new bone. And he was going to be a daddy before long.
Sterling a daddy...
Forrest felt the sense of desolation digging its way deeper inside of him and tried to rope it in before he sunk into a blue funk so deep he couldn’t crawl out. Hell, he told himself, he had just turned thirty-five, was in the prime of his life, had more money than he could shake a stick at, and was the owner of the biggest ranch in West Texas. What did he have to feel blue about?
His shoulders slumped in despair. He didn’t need a psychologist to figure out the answer to that question. He’d already spent hours cogitating on the problem himself and he’d finally come up with the answer.
He needed a wife.
And children.
What was the use of having an empire if a man didn’t have somebody to pass it on to? Someone to carry on the Cunningham name?
The problem was there wasn’t a woman in the entire county whom he wanted to marry. He’d already made a list of all the eligible females he knew, and one-by-one had crossed through their names, ruling them out as possible candidates for the position of the future Mrs. Forrest Cunningham.
“Would you like more coffee?”
Forrest whipped his head around to find Anna standing beside his booth. She held up the coffeepot in silent invitation, its chipped and scarred handle a startling contrast to the graceful and delicate fingers curled around it. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Royal Diner was the best place to try to hide a royal princess. Anna von Oberland—dubbed Annie Grace by the members of the Alpha team in an effort to hide her true identity—stuck out like a rose in a patch of grease wood. He reared back, giving her room, and gestured toward his cup. “Yeah, you can warm it up for me.”
She leaned over to pour and Forrest noticed that her hand shook a bit. Before he could dodge the hot steaming brew that sloshed over the cup’s rim, it splattered across his lap, soaking quickly through his jeans and scalding his flesh.
Seeing what she’d done, Anna cried, “Oh, no!” and whipped a dish towel from the waistband of her apron and began dabbing frantically at the stain. Forrest sucked in a raw breath as her fingers moved dangerously close to his privates. He quickly closed his hand over hers.
“Keep that up and you’re liable to warm up more than just my coffee.”
She snapped her gaze to his. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a perfect O as his meaning slowly registered. Quickly she snatched her hand from his and fisted it behind her back. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, dropping her gaze in embarrassment.
Damn, but she was pretty, Forrest thought as he watched her cheeks turn an engaging shade of pink. Maybe... He quickly squelched the idea. Though nothing had been said, he was sure that there was still something between Anna and his buddy Greg Hunt. After all, it was Greg who Anna had contacted for help, and it was Greg who had headed up the mission to rescue her. And Forrest Cunningham wasn’t the kind of man to trespass on another man’s territory.
He shot her a grin, hoping to put her at ease as he reached for a napkin to finish the job she’d started. “No damage done.”
She gave a cautious look around, then eased closer. “Forrest? I was wondering...have you heard anything from Blake?”
The worry in her voice was obvious and explained the trembling in her hands. He supposed he’d be worried, too, if he was in her shoes. Blake was the last leg of the Alpha mission, and the one assigned to deliver Anna’s niece and nephew to her in Royal.
A bachelor traveling halfway around the world with two babies in tow.
Forrest bit back a grin. He’d give anything to be a fly on the wall right now, so he could see Blake Hunt in the role of a nanny. Changing diapers, singing lullabies. Somehow the picture just didn’t fit. But if anybody could do it, Blake could, he reminded himself. Blake was nothing if he wasn’t resourceful.
Forrest gave Anna an encouraging smile. “Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours about Blake. He’ll get ‘em here safely. You’ll see.”
“It isn’t that I don’t trust him,” she said uneasily. She caught her lower lip between her teeth again. “It’s just that...well, being a single man, I doubt he knows very much about caring for infants.”
Forrest shot her a wink. “That’s what you think. Before he left on the mission, Blake spent days at the library reading every book they had on the subject. He even interviewed ladies around town on how to properly care for an infant. Created quite a stir with his questions, too,” he added, chuckling.
Anna inhaled deeply, then managed a smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She leaned to give his hand a grateful pat. “Thank you, Forrest. For everything,” she added in a whisper, before turning away.
Forrest watched her cross back to the bar, his eyes going unerringly to the seductive sway of her hips. He gave his head a shake and forced his gaze back to the window. Don’t even think it, he warned himself. Even if he didn’t suspect that Greg had a prior claim on the princess, he knew that Anna wasn’t the woman for him.
So who is? he asked himself, his frustration returning with a force stronger than the wind outside that was currently sandblasting his truck in the diner’s parking lot. He’d already ruled out every eligible woman within a three hundred mile radius of Royal. There wasn’t a single woman left with whom he’d want to share his name, much less his life.
Frowning, he glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was almost two. He had promised to meet Becky at twothirty and inspect a mare that he was having delivered to her ranch.
He started to rise, then slowly sank back down in the booth, his eyes going wide. “Rebecca Lee Sullivan,” he whispered under his breath. Why hadn’t he thought of Becky before now?
Becky as his wife. He toyed with the idea for a moment, weighing the possibilities. She’d lived next door to him for as long as he could remember and was as good a friend as a man could ask for. She liked ranching and horses and wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, unlike most of the women he knew. She wasn’t hard to look at, was self-reliant, and could rope and ride as well as any man, himself included.
Hell! Becky was the perfect woman for a rancher like him!
He quickly fished money from his pocket, tossed it on the table and grabbed his hat. As he strode for the door of the diner, he recalled a conversation that he and Becky had had years before, and a promise he’d made to her at the time.
If you’re not married by your thirtieth birthday, hell, I’ll marry you.
The good news was that Becky hadn’t married and, if memory served him right, her thirtieth birthday was in November, less than six weeks away.
It was all he could do to keep from kicking up his heels as he headed for his truck. If he had his way—and Forrest usually did—he and Miss Rebecca Lee Sullivan would be married by the time her birthday rolled around.
