The Texas Wildcatter's Baby

Irked, she narrowed her eyes at him and slapped her hat back on her head. “Whatever.” Although to be truthful she couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. “As far as you and I are concerned, however, this is only a temporary arrangement. One that can be undone as soon after the baby is born as possible.”

“And in the meantime?”

Ginger shrugged. “We don’t even have to live together. Well, not really,” she added hastily. “Especially if you end up working in another part of the state—”

“Not happening. I’m consulting in Summit County until the boom is over, same as you.”

She had been afraid of that. “Then we’ll get a place with separate bedrooms.”

“Why?” He smirked in a way meant to infuriate. “We’ll only end up in the same one.”

“No. We. Won’t. Sleeping together is what got us into this mess.”

He rubbed his jaw with maddening nonchalance. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart.” The corner of his mouth twitched in barely checked amusement. “That’s one vow you’ll never keep.”

Flustered by his blatant delight at her frustration, Ginger shoved her hand through her hair. She didn’t know why she let him get to her this way. “I don’t know what it is about you and me that has us arguing every time we’re around each other,” she complained.

The wicked gleam in his eyes said he did.

“But right now,” Ginger continued single-mindedly, “we need to focus on the least disruptive and most expedient way to say our I Do’s.”

Rand looked no more eager to head home and involve their families than she did. “Right here in Summit County is fine with me.”

“Me, too,” Ginger breathed, glad they were finally in concert about something. But then she felt the compelling pull of his gaze and her relief fizzled away. Steadfastly ignoring the shimmer of awareness sifting through her, she went back to her truck to collect the research she had already gathered, in preparation. Returning, she handed him his copy. “So here’s the plan....”

* * *

RAND HAD NEVER been one to let a woman take the lead. It just wasn’t in his nature. However, he knew that Ginger was right; they needed to get married as quickly as possible. Otherwise, Ginger was likely to change her mind and bolt again. Only this time she’d be taking his unborn child with her.

So the two of them left the creek bed and went straight to the county clerk’s office in Summit, Texas. They applied for a marriage license and made an appointment with a justice of the peace for as soon as the three-day waiting period expired.

“So I’ll see you here Thursday at noon?” Ginger said on the courthouse steps after they had finished the paperwork.

Rand nodded. “You want to meet here? Or have me pick you up?”

“We can meet here.”

He had figured she would say that. Although that, too, was going to have to change. Married people rode in the same vehicle, at least from time to time.

Pausing again, Ginger eyed him cautiously. “I’m just going to wear jeans...”

He shrugged. What did it matter since this wasn’t a real marriage? “Okay.”

“So no tie or anything,” Ginger persisted.

He hooked his thumbs through the loops on either side of his fly. “Shirt and shoes optional, too?”

Flushing slightly, she told him archly, “You know what I mean.”

He sure did. He rocked forward on his toes. “How about flowers? You want a corsage or anything?”

“Certainly not!” She appeared insulted at the thought.

He lowered his face until they were nose to nose. “You’re bringing your own?”

She scoffed in disgust and stepped back in a drift of orange blossom perfume. “I’m not having any.”

Of course she wasn’t. Aware Ginger brought the D to difficult, Rand retorted, “Is everything about us—as a couple—going to be this nonsensical?”

“Ultra casual,” she corrected. “And probably.”

Rand could only imagine how their families were going to take to that. His parents didn’t necessarily want everything to be fancy, but they did expect occasions such as weddings to be incredibly special. He’d only met Ginger’s mother once—in passing—but Cordelia Rollins had struck him as the ultimate helicopter parent. And one who would definitely want a big elaborate wedding for her only daughter. Not a hasty elopement.

“All right, then,” Rand said finally, making note not to adorn his new bride with any gift of a sentimental nature. “Good to know.”

Ginger’s hands flew to her hips. “You don’t have to be so caustic.”

As if he had started it. He let his gaze drift lazily over her before returning to her beautiful, emerald eyes. “You don’t have to be so prickly,” he shot back.

Her chin lifted in that all-too-familiar way. She sized him up for a long, thoughtful moment, then stepped a little closer. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing you’re so impossible.”

He shortened the distance between them even more, until only mere inches remained, then drawled, “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“Because then it won’t be a surprise to anyone when we decide to go our separate ways a year from now.”

“Or sooner,” he allowed with a sigh, not seeing at that moment how they were going to make it one month as a married couple, much less all the way to their baby’s birth.

“So...I’ll see you Thursday?” she said finally.

He held her gaze, aware that for reasons he preferred not to examine too closely, he was looking forward to their next step every bit as much as she seemed to be openly dreading it. “At noon.”

Her mouth twitching with satisfaction, she decreed, “I’ll see you then,” and sashayed off toward her pickup without a backward glance.

Chapter Two

True to her word, Ginger showed up on the courthouse steps Thursday at noon. In worn jeans, fancy Western boots, a white, lace-trimmed knit shirt and rose-colored vest, she looked pretty as a picture. “Ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rand returned, more than ready to get the formality over with, too.

They walked into the courthouse, side by side. Only to promptly discover, to their mutual dismay, that all was not as it should be, after all.

“What do you mean we can’t get married today?” Ginger lamented when they found out the justice of the peace set to conduct their ceremony was not even on the premises. “We made an appointment to get married at noon!”

“I know.” The middle-aged court clerk swept a hand over his buzz-cut hair. “And believe me, the justice is sorry, but it can’t be helped. It’s a ‘family’ thing.” Then he continued, a little lamely, “So if you all want the J.P. to marry you, you’re going to have to reschedule...”

Not about to give up that easily, Rand asked, “Is there someone else who could perform the ceremony?”

“Not today. But...” The clerk studied the calendar on the computer in front of him. “The J.P. could fit you in a week from now, at three.”

A week was too long to wait. Rand could see his bride-to-be thought so, too.

Ginger swung toward him, her body nudging his in the process. “What are we going to do?” she asked plaintively. “You told your parents you’re coming to Laramie this evening to see them.” She threw up her hands. “My mother is expecting me in San Angelo first thing tomorrow morning.”

They hadn’t told either of their families they weren’t coming alone. That news, they had figured, could wait until they arrived, announced their “elopement” and introduced their new spouse, all in one fell swoop.

Aware she was sounding a little more emotional than usual—probably due to her pregnancy—Rand felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him. He gave Ginger’s hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. “And we’ll keep those promises,” he said.

He dropped her hand and turned back to the clerk with a possible solution. “Do we have to get married in Summit County for our license to be valid?”

The beleaguered clerk perked up. “No, sir. Anywhere in the State of Texas is fine.”

Rand thanked the clerk and they left the justice of the peace’s office.

Ginger shot Rand a sidelong glance as they walked toward the exit. Their footsteps echoed on the polished marble floors. “I gather you have a plan?” she asked.

“I do.” He held the door for her, and accompanied her out into the midday heat of the spring day and down the broad limestone steps. “Even better, the place is sort of a McCabe family tradition. Which means—” he paused to give her a level look, hoping she would cooperate with him just this once “—it’ll give our union an air of authenticity we probably wouldn’t get any other way.”

Although they hadn’t talked about it, Ginger seemed to know what a hard sell their surprise elopement was going to be—for both families. Their eyes met and held once again. After a moment she took a deep breath, squared her slender shoulders and vowed softly, “Then I’m all-in.”

* * *

AT RAND’S INSISTENCE, they would leave her truck behind and take his pickup for the drive north.

At Ginger’s insistence, they phoned ahead to their destination, to make sure that Jeff-Paul Randall could marry them. The internet-certified minister slash business owner promised to be there when they arrived around five o’clock.

Relieved to have that arranged, Ginger climbed into the passenger seat of Rand’s gray hybrid pickup and settled in beside the tall, broad-shouldered Texan.

Trying not to think about the fact he would soon be her husband, at least in name only, Ginger turned her attention to the rugged scenery. The creosote flats peppered with yucca and cholla cactus gradually gave way to elevations of higher rainfall, pinyon pine and scrub oak. Oil wells, cattle ranches and the occasional wind farm abounded, but towns were few and far between as they traversed the canyons, landed on Interstate 20 and gradually left the desert prairies and majestic mountains of the Trans-Pecos behind.

Rand said little during the four-and-a-half-hour drive. Ginger was quiet, too. In truth, there wasn’t much to say. She just wanted the elopement to be over and done with. Although he didn’t say as much, she was pretty sure Rand felt that way, too.

Finally they hit the outskirts of Laramie County. Minutes later they approached their destination: J.P. Randall’s Bait and Tackle Shop. The squat, flat-roofed building with its peeling white paint was in the middle of nowhere, and just rundown enough to make it disreputable without being dangerous. Frequented by sportsmen and campers en route to Lake Laramie from the west, as well as people looking to fill up their gas tanks, or to be wed in a hurry, it was usually populated by a few cars and trucks.

Ginger knew, because she had stopped there herself a few times when in this part of the state. Never before, though, had she seen the establishment rimmed by three Laramie County Sheriff’s Department squad cars. “I wonder what’s going on.”

Rand frowned. “The lights aren’t flashing on the squad cars. Nothing is cordoned off by yellow tape...”

When Rand shrugged his broad shoulders, Ginger hitched in a breath. Masculine sinew strained against the soft chambray of his shirt, and she yearned to feel those smooth, rippled muscles beneath her fingertips....

“Maybe the deputies are just on a break,” he said, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Maybe.” Still, her feminine intuition told her it was more than that.

His expression serious, Rand pulled into the lot. The two of them got out of his pickup just as three men in khaki uniforms exited the shop. They grinned in recognition and Rand muttered a low curse as one of the men raised a hand in greeting. The other two deputies amiably followed suit.

Ginger pivoted to her husband-to-be.

So much for relative secrecy, she thought. “Obviously you know these men,” she drawled. No surprise, in a rural county, where he had not only been born, but grown up.

Rand locked eyes on the approaching trio of law enforcement officers. A half smile tugged at the corners of his lips, yet his gaze remained wary. “Yep.”

Her body tingling with a mixture of frustration and wariness, Ginger turned her attention back to the trio. All were about Rand’s age, which meant early-to mid-thirties. All were well over six feet tall with fit, muscular physiques, all teemed with testosterone. But one of them was more similar to Rand than the other two. The badge on his chest said Deputy Colt McCabe.

It was all Ginger could do not to groan. “Tell me you’re not related.”

“Okay, we’re not related,” Rand repeated facetiously.

Except they clearly were.

Deputy Colt McCabe slapped Rand on the back. “Hey, there, baby brother.”

Rand braced, as if ready for more teasing. “Colt.” The word was clipped and dry, yet oddly welcoming.

Colt McCabe’s wicked smile broadened. He inclined his fine-looking head at Ginger and asked his brother, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Keeping his gaze trained on his older brother’s, Rand angled his thumb at Ginger, as if they were no more than the most casual of acquaintances. A fact that for some unknown reason annoyed the heck out of her.

“This is Ginger Rollins.” He turned, briefly catching her eye. Warning flashed in his expression. He, too, thought something was up, and wordlessly urged her to play along with whatever he said and did.

And really, Ginger thought, what choice did she have?

“Ginger,” Rand continued with laudable politeness, “my brother Colt.”

Colt tipped his Stetson in her direction. “Pleased to meet you.”

Rand went on reluctantly. “This is Rio Vasquez.” He nodded at the olive-skinned lawman, then the dark-haired man beside him. “And my cousin, Kyle McCabe.”

Ginger shook all three deputies’ hands in turn and uttered a cheerful greeting to each.

“So what brings the two of you to the bait shop?” Colt asked.

Ginger had a feeling, from the way Colt McCabe’s eyes had initially been twinkling, that he already knew. So much for their plan of calling ahead to ensure there were no further delays.

Rand kept his poker face. “Nothing much,” he told his older brother. “You?”

Colt’s silence was answer enough.

Rio continued, in all seriousness, “We heard you have a marriage license in your possession that was issued in Summit County four days ago.”

Rand pressed his fingers to his eyes and grimaced.

Wondering what her husband-to-be knew that she didn’t, Ginger asked, “Is there a problem?”

All three deputies exchanged looks. “Mind if we take a look at it?” Kyle McCabe asked.

Unhappy that their marriage license might somehow be suspect, Ginger took it out of her handbag and handed it over. Kyle inspected it, then showed it to Vasquez and McCabe. All three shook their heads in silent remonstration.

“Just as we thought,” Rio declared, eyes twinkling.

Kyle McCabe handed the license back to Ginger and said, “We’re going to need the two of you to get back in your vehicle and follow us.”

Whatever the joke, Rand was clearly not in the mood. He paused, as if weighing his options. “And if we don’t?” he challenged.

Colt McCabe gave his younger brother another long, provoking look. “I think you can imagine,” he retorted. “Sometimes it’s just best to go along to get along, if you know what I mean.”

“Go along with what?” Ginger asked.

Rand shoved a hand through his mahogany hair and muttered something under his breath that Ginger was just as glad not to be able to decipher. More meaning-laced looks passed between the four men.

Aware Rand seemed more exasperated and annoyed than concerned about whatever it was that was going on, Ginger knit her brow in consternation. “Is there something wrong with the marriage license?” Because if there was...

More looks. These seeming to tell Rand to keep her in the dark, at least for a little while longer.

Rand placed a protective hand at her back and turned Ginger toward his truck. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing her ear and muttered, “We only wish that were all this was.”

* * *

“YOU WANT TO tell me what’s really going on?” Ginger asked when the caravan had headed down the highway, in the opposite direction from which they’d come.

A mixture of resentment and resignation warred on his handsome face. “I’d rather not speculate,” he said finally.

Okay. Next question. “Do we even have to go with them, then?” The three lawmen had made it clear, as they were getting in their patrol cars, that they weren’t currently “on duty” with the sheriff’s department. Colt had just gotten off shift, Rio hadn’t yet started his and Kyle was on break. So, it was clear that whatever this was, it wasn’t exactly official.

“No,” Rand returned in a low voice. Having come to terms with their predicament, though, he was resigned to handling it with his usual good humor. “But we’d just be putting off until later what we may as well handle now.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Well, that clears things up.”

Rand reached over, put his hand on her knee and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Want my advice?”

Making no effort to hide her growing frustration, she plucked his hand from her leg as if it were an odious insect. “No, but I guess you’re going to give it to me anyway.”

Rand chuckled. “I suggest you relax and enjoy the peace and quiet, because it sure as heck won’t last for long.”

Turned out, Rand was right about that. The minute they passed beneath the wrought-iron archway announcing the spread owned by Wade and Josie McCabe, and headed down the tree-lined path to the big stone-and-cedar ranch house, they saw the catering trucks and the big white tents on the back lawn. Musicians were already setting up. Acutely aware of their casual attire, Ginger shot Rand a startled look. “Please tell me your parents are having a party.”

“It would appear so.”

She added the important caveat, “One that doesn’t involve us.”

“That, I can’t say one way or another. I can tell you all four of my brothers are already here. As well as...”

Ginger’s face fell. She recognized the white Cadillac sedan with the vanity plate #1TXMOM. Her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, no. My mother.” A litany of frustrated words followed.

Rand mirrored her feelings with a groan of his own as the front door to the ranch house swung open and a bevy of McCabes and Rollinses poured out.

Ginger’s mother was dressed in a beaded knee-length suit suitable for a mother of the bride. Perhaps because they were the ones throwing the bash, Josie and Wade were still in jeans, boots and loose-fitting cotton shirts. All three parents looked as privately exasperated and publicly determined as Rand and Ginger felt.

Rand and Ginger got out of the pickup, waved goodbye to the departing lawmen and met their families midyard. “How did you find out?” Rand asked.

Josie McCabe scowled at her youngest son. “A reporter from the Summit Journal-News called me three days ago to ask me how I felt about my environmentalist son marrying a rival lady wildcatter. From there it was easy enough to find out a marriage license had been issued, so I called Cordelia Rollins to find out what she knew...”

Ginger’s mom picked up where Josie left off. “And lo and behold, I knew nothing.”

Wade added, “We all talked and decided if you two were going to get married, you were going to do it with friends and family present.”

Josie nodded. “So I called the justice of the peace in Summit and asked him to hold off.”

That explained the mysterious family matter that had kept the court official from marrying Rand and Ginger. “We already knew you were coming home this evening, so it was...well, not easy—” Josie frowned “—but possible, with Cordelia’s help, to get a wedding set up here.”

Rand quirked a brow. “What if we had canceled our trip north this evening?”

Josie shrugged. “I would have invented an emergency to get you here anyway.”

“And what if we were already married when we got here?” Ginger asked her mother.

“Then you would have been married again, by a proper minister, in proper wedding clothes,” Cordelia replied, shaking her head in reproach. “Honestly, Ginger, you are my only daughter. Were you really going to deny me the chance to see you pledge your love to the man of your dreams? Even if I haven’t yet had the opportunity to even meet him, never mind give my blessing!”

If there was anything Ginger hated more than interference in her personal life, it was melodrama. “Well, as long as you put it that way,” she quipped, raking a hand through her hair.

“You, too, young man,” Josie scolded, stomping closer. “You know better!”

To Ginger’s relief, she wasn’t the only one taking exception to their public dressing down.

“Look,” Rand was saying to his mother, “it’s not as if I haven’t done this once before. I had a proper wedding the first time around.”

Rand had been married before? To whom? Ginger wondered, a tinge of jealousy trickling through her. But there was no time to delve into it. She could see that both mothers expected her, at least, to want the big, ultra-romantic wedding they had painstakingly organized, in lieu of the quick, no-frills elopement she and Rand had been hoping to have. Hence, Ginger had no choice but to set the record straight.

She sighed in exasperation. “I also had a big fancy wedding the first time.” A fact her mother well knew. Consequently there was no need to go through that circus again. Even if the union she and Rand were planning had been a real marriage, which it wasn’t.

Both mothers seemed stunned by the twin revelations.

Rand and Ginger turned to look at each other. Belatedly she realized she didn’t know much about Rand, except how he felt about the environment and how great he was in bed. He knew very little about her, as well.

Abruptly aware they had overlooked a very important part of the marriage process, Ginger looked at Rand. “I think I need a moment alone with my, uh, fiancé.”

“Good idea.” Rand took Ginger by the arm and they headed down the driveway, not stopping until they were well out of earshot of everyone. Pivoting so no one would be able to read her lips, Ginger said ruefully, “We probably should have written a prenup.”

* * *

LEAVE IT TO Ginger, Rand thought, taking in her soft, kissable lips and too vulnerable green eyes, to bring a highly emotional situation right back to cold, hard business. It was something she always did when she felt backed into a corner in any way. Something, in the end, that always drove him away.

Not this time. Not when she was carrying their child.

Aware all eyes were still likely upon them, Rand shrugged. “No time to do it tonight.”

Ginger blinked up at him and raked her teeth across her lower lip. A pulse worked in her throat. “But we’ll draw something up first chance we get?”

Rand nodded. As much as he would have preferred not to have to put themselves through that, Ginger had a point. It would make things simpler in the long run, if they put everything in writing well in advance of their divorce.

“In the meantime,” Ginger continued practically, “in lieu of an actual marriage contract...how about a handshake deal?”

Cocking his head, he studied her face. “I’m listening.”

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours. There will be no community property gained during the union for us to quarrel about.”

Her voice was calm enough, but he heard the steel-magnolia undertone. There would be no negotiating this or anything else in their union, at least as far as she was concerned.

He had a different idea.

Because he wasn’t about to be pushed around by Ginger or any one else. “Everything regarding custody of our child will be equal, too.”

This time she did not hesitate. “Right.”

He relaxed in relief. “Okay, then.” He tugged her in close and put one arm around her waist, shaking her other hand surreptitiously, in the age-old sign of a satisfactorily completed business deal. He whispered against her temple, “Let’s do it.”