Married To A Stranger

“Thought you were coming in next week.”

Realizing that he was wondering how far her toffee-brown hair would reach down her back if it weren’t twisted into that thick, roping braid, Tris deliberately stepped away from the doorway toward Sawyer. Okay, so he took one more look into the café before he did. What was the harm in looking? He was a man. She was a woman.

And his brother was the law now. Tris felt a smile growing on his face as his brother walked closer. The only indication of Sawyer’s new status as the sheriff was the star fastened unobtrusively to his leather belt. Except for the billed cap with a naval insignia that he wore, Sawyer looked much the same as the other men in the small rural town he now served. Well-worn blue jeans and a work shirt. “I was,” Tris finally answered with a grin. “You’re missing the Stetson and spurs.”

Sawyer shrugged, tucking the bow of his dark sunglasses in the collar of his shirt. “Left the spurs at home. Rebecca likes ’em, you know,” he said blandly.

Tris chuckled. “You wish. How is my newest doctor-in-law?”

“My wife is beautiful and totally in love with me. You can save your charms for someone else.” Sawyer leaned his back against the hood of a pickup parked at the curb. “You’re early.”

“So you already mentioned.” Tris looked back toward the café when he heard the soft jingle of a bell. All he saw, though, was the door closing. The blinds had been drawn across all the windows. “Cafe still closed during the afternoons?”

“Regular as rain.”

“She didn’t tell me,” he murmured.

“Ruby?”

“Hope.” He felt his brother’s look. “What?”

Sawyer just shook his head. “What do you do? Some kind of chant that brings women running?”

“All I had was a cup of coffee.” Ordinarily, Tris would have shrugged off his brother’s taunt without feeling a shred of defensiveness.

“Yeah, well, I know you. Hope teaches at the elementary school. Everyone in this town looks on her as their daughter, or their sister. So keep your mitts off.”

The fact that his brother seemed to think he needed the warning burned. “Thanks for the enthusiastic welcome home, bro.”

Sawyer’s expression didn’t change. Because he was the oldest of his brothers? Because he was the sheriff? Because he was one of Squire Clay’s sons and had picked up an endless amount of Clay nosiness along the way?

“Hope Leoni is,” sweet, unbearably sexy and way too innocent, “of no interest to me,” Tris said dismissively. Maybe if he said it with enough conviction, he’d make it true.

Hope’s fingers crushed the paper bag holding the rolls she was taking out to the Taggarts, when she heard Tristan’s voice, easily carried around the side of the café on the warm summer breeze.

She yanked open the door of her little green car and tossed the sack onto the passenger seat. “Of course you’re of no interest to him,” she muttered under her breath. She tossed her braid over her shoulder and pushed the key into the ignition, starting the engine with a roar. She threw it into gear and zipped around the side of the café, jouncing out onto Main.

In her rearview mirror she could see Tristan and the sheriff standing on the sidewalk talking. “Men like Tristan Clay don’t have interest in women like you.” Men in general don’t have interest in you. Most of the town still considered her Ruby’s “little” granddaughter.

She was a fully qualified teacher. She’d moved into her own house and, despite the barely hidden reluctance of the school board, obtained the teaching position at Weaver Elementary. She didn’t know what was worse—still being thought of as a teenager, or knowing that every move she made was measured and compared against the actions of her mother who’d had the temerity to be an unwed mother, twice, or her sister, who’d had to leave high school because of her wild ways.

Maybe she should accept the next time Larry Pope asked her out. He wasn’t a bad guy, after all. In fact, as the math teacher at the high school, he was respected and well liked. Maybe if she dated him a time or two, the town would see that she wasn’t her mother or her sister.

But surely that wasn’t a good enough reason to go out with a man? To prove she could date without bringing shame to her grandmother the way people seemed to believe her mother and sister had? Larry was nice, yes. He just didn’t make her forget her own name when she looked into his…his…what color were Larry’s eyes? Whatever color they were, they weren’t the deep blue that Tristan Clay’s were.

She made an impatient sound. Yes. The next time Larry Pope asked her out, she’d accept. It wasn’t as if there was a line of men beating down her door. It wasn’t as if she was “of interest” to any male other than Larry Pope.

She hit the brakes abruptly, nearly passing the turn-off to the Taggarts’ place.

Several minutes later, she pulled up in front of the partially completed log home that her friends were building. As soon as she stopped the car, the door flew open and Evan tumbled out, racing toward her. “Auntie Hope,” he squealed, launching his five-year-old self with considerable enthusiasm at her legs. Hope laughed, swinging the boy in a circle, before settling him back on his feet.

He beamed, gap-toothed, back at her. There was another male who was interested in her after all, Hope thought wryly. Only he was seventeen years her junior and had a seven o’clock bedtime. “Come on, you,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s hustle your folks along so we can finish writing your surprise story for your mom’s birthday.”

And maybe, while they were at it, she could rid herself of foolish thoughts about Tristan Clay.

Chapter Two

“Here. Hang these bows from the banister there.”

Tris heaved a sigh and lowered his arm that he’d laid across his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the light. “I didn’t think it possible, but marriage has actually made you more bossy,” he complained, looking up at his sister-in-law, Emily Clay. She’d been raised with Tris and his brothers after her parents had been killed when she was little. But she’d legally become a Clay when she’d married his brother, Jefferson. And now they even had two kids.

“And time has only made you more lazy. Move it.” Emily nudged him with her foot. “What are you doing lying here in the living room on the floor, anyway?”

“Trying to sleep,” he muttered. “So stop sticking your foot in my ribs.”

She crouched down beside him, propping her arms on her knees. Her long brown hair slid over her shoulder, rich and dark as coffee. A thought which immediately brought to mind Hope Leoni of the pink cheeks and sweet smile. He squelched a groan and concentrated on Emily, who was speaking to him, her eyebrows raised with curiosity. “You’re trying to sleep on the floor here in the living room because…?”

“The couch is hard as a rock.” He yawned and dropped his arm over his face again. “And because Gloria’s daughters are using the guest suite downstairs.”

“What about your old bedroom upstairs?”

“Full up with packing boxes from Gloria’s house. I’m told they were going to be gone by the time I was expected to arrive next week, but I have my doubts.”

“The couch in Matthew’s office?”

“Too short. And the rec room downstairs has paper doves and bells on every surface.” He flexed his fingers. “Doves, for God’s sake.”

“It’s for a wedding shower, ding dong. You could have stayed with Jefferson and me, you know. We’ve got room, even for a big dope like you.”

Tris knew that. He also knew that he could have bunked with Daniel or Sawyer, too. But staying at the main house of the ranch, the “big house,” as they all called it, had seemed the easiest choice. Whether or not his father ever said so, Tris knew that staying at the big house was what Squire expected. Available bed or not.

He sat up, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He needed a shave. He’d stayed at Sawyer and Rebecca’s place in town until nearly midnight. “What time is it? Where’s Squire?”

“Nearly two in the afternoon and he better be in town visiting the barber. Jaimie says you came in late last night, crashed out here and haven’t risen since. Hung over?”

“Listen runt, I haven’t had a hangover in a month of Sundays.” Hell, he rarely drank more than an occasional beer anymore. His days of excess had long passed.

“Then what? You sick?”

“No,” he said tolerantly. Em had been his best friend since they were bitty, so he made allowances for her that he ordinarily wouldn’t have. “Sleepy. It’s not a crime, last I checked.”

Her pansy-brown eyes narrowed. “I also heard you’ve been circling Hope Leoni. She’s a little—”

His “allowances” only went so far. “I don’t go around jumping the town virgins,” he said abruptly. “You know, if my love life was as active as everyone seems to think, I’d never get any work done.”

“And that work is…?” Her expression softened and she smiled peaceably. “Never mind. I learned just how close-mouthed you Hollins-Winword dudes are from my darling husband. Now, about these bows.”

Tris shook his head. “No wonder Jefferson finally succumbed to you. You’re worse than water torture.”

Her eyes danced. “That’s right. And only because I love you will I warn you that the dove-decorated shower is set to begin in less than an hour. There’ll be about twenty-five women trooping through this house, and I really don’t want to explain your presence on the floor. Might ruin your classy image.”

Tris made a face, but rolled to his feet. He rubbed Emily’s head, deliberately messing up her hair the way he’d done when they were kids, and headed upstairs, grabbing his duffel from where it still sat inside the dining room doorway.

He’d take a shower, then dive into a gallon of coffee. Then he’d consider hanging damned bows from the banister for his sister-in-law. Maybe.

Only, when he came out of the shower, considerably more alert and marginally more presentable in clean jeans and shirt, he could hear a horde of women chattering and laughing as they arrived. If he wanted coffee, he had to go down there among all of them to get it.

Not that he was ever averse to being among women. As far as Tris was concerned, it was one of the more pleasurable places to be. But this was a wedding shower.

Frankly, the whole notion made his skin itch.

He waited an interminable twenty caffeine-deprived minutes before he went downstairs to the now-empty kitchen, and the coffee pot that he prayed would be hot and full, as usual.

It was, and he stood there at the counter, singeing his tongue as he downed two fast cups, frowning at the playpen that sat on the floor on the other side of the table next to the wall. For now, it was empty of babies even though the family was full of them these days. Emily, Jaimie and Maggie had all had a baby within the last six months.

He shuddered, poured a third cup of coffee and carried it with him through the mudroom and outside.

The sun was bright. Warm. The air filled with the rich scent of mown grass. Across the gravel road separating the big house from the outbuildings and corrals, horses grazed and Matthew’s retriever chased a butterfly.

He squinted and poured more coffee down his throat. He was glad his brothers were busy with the hundred chores required every day to keep the place running. It meant that they were thoroughly busy, and Tris could find another place to grab a few more z’s, undisturbed.

He slowly wandered around the side of the house, past lilac bushes heavy with blossoms and immediately thought of Hope’s striking eyes. He stifled an oath. He’d learned a lot about Miss Hope Leoni while he’d been hanging out at Sawyer’s place the evening before. She was a paragon of virtue; an apparent candidate for sainthood.

Which meant the vivid dream he’d had about her that had awakened him around two in the morning was even more ill-advised.

He went up the front steps of the wide porch. Sighing with anticipation, he lowered himself onto the swing, propped his feet on the railing across from him, and dropped his head onto the wooden swing back.

Oh yeah. This was it. He yawned, scratched his jaw, and closed his eyes. This was the kind of break he needed. No noise, no tourists, no unexpected disasters at work. No wedding nonsense.

No damned dreams about innocent school teachers with violet eyes.

“Shhh.”

“Is he sleeping or is he dead?”

“His feet are big. They’re even bigger than Daddy’s, and I can put both my feet in his boot!”

“Girls, quiet down. You’ll wake him.”

“Do we have to share our juice with him? I don’t think we have enough for him. My mommy says Unca Twistin has a ’normous appa…appa—”

“Appetite.”

“Yeah. That.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want any juice. Come on now, we’re going to have our picnic over there by those three trees. Remember?”

“But what if he does want some?”

“If he does, we’ll share with him. It would be impolite not to.”

“But—”

“Sshh. Over to the trees before we wake him.”

Tris gritted his teeth, staring at the group of little girls, and one big girl through slitted eyes. “Too late.”

The little girls, his nieces, jumped and scattered as if he’d grown three heads. The big girl, however, nudged up her gold-rimmed glasses and blinked with dismay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to be out here sleeping, or I’d have talked the girls into having our picnic elsewhere.”

His coffee was cold. He finished it off, anyway, then pulled his feet off the rail and sat forward. “I didn’t expect to see you here, either.”

Hope moistened her lips. “Well. Sorry to have wakened you.” She hefted her caramel-colored wicker basket more firmly between her arms.

He was wakened all right. “What are you doing here?”

“Having a picnic with the girls.”

“No, I mean why are you with the kids and not at Gloria’s shower?”

“I’m watching the children. Well, these guys, anyway. The babies are with their moms.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I was asked to.” She shook her head as if the answer was obvious.

“How old are you, Hope?”

She looked over her shoulder at the children who were crossing the gravel drive toward the grass on the other side. “Nearly twenty-three. Sarah, honey, wait until you get to the grass before you take off your shoes,” she called.

Nearly twenty-three. Hell. How many women did he know who claimed to be nearly any age but one at least a decade younger than was true? And now he had the hots for the babysitter. Had he ever had a babysitter? He tried to remember. Couldn’t. Not enough coffee in him yet.

“I’ll watch the girls,” he said abruptly. They were sweet little things, and he liked playing the uncle. It was as close a relationship to kids as he intended to get. “You go join the women,” he finished telling Hope.

“I’m hardly dressed for a wedding shower.”

Which only brought his attention to the golden length of calf she displayed below the fringe of her knee-length, cut-off blue jeans. He’d have remembered if he’d ever had a babysitter with legs like that.

“Go on back and go to sleep,” she was saying, and he dragged his attention upward, over denim worn thin and…did she have to wear such a baggy T-shirt? The obnoxious lime-green cotton hung around her hips, frustratingly loose and boxy. The babysitter, for cryin’ out loud!

“But, um, thank you for the offer anyway.” She smiled shyly and turned to follow the children.

He gave himself a mental shake. Sleep. That’s what he needed. Then he wouldn’t feel so…hell, what did he feel? Off balance?

He yawned again, watching the graceful sway of her long braid as she walked away, joining the children.

J.D. and Angeline belonged to Daniel and Maggie. Leandra was Jefferson and Emily’s. And Sarah, the youngest, was Matthew and Jaimie’s. They all circled around Hope as she joined them and set them to work, spreading a bright yellow sheet.

He smiled faintly, though, when the girls didn’t dig into the feast—they were too far away for him to see exactly what it was. But he recognized what the little girls preferred over the food when dozens and dozens of small, opalescent bubbles started floating over their heads, bobbing, swaying, popping.

Even Hope was blowing bubbles. He rested his arms on the rail and watched her purse her lips, blow and set a wiggling, wobbling train of soap bubbles into the afternoon breeze. She certainly wasn’t shy when she dealt with the children.

He narrowed his eyes and pictured her face should he follow them. She’d probably stare at his feet or his left ear, and she’d turn white, then red. And all the while he’d be thinking he’d like to see her when she wasn’t wearing that baggy T-shirt that hid her curves from prying eyes like his.

God. He sat back in his chair and pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. He was every bit the lech that his family seemed to think he was.

But even that knowledge didn’t take him back inside the house. No, he propped his feet back on the rail and continued watching Hope. If the way she kept sneaking looks back toward the house now and again was any indication, she was doing some of her own watching, too.

“I thought I saw you driving a green car yesterday.”

Hope whirled around at the voice behind her. She was waiting in the kitchen of the ranch house for her ride back to Weaver. By the time she’d shepherded the girls back to the big house, the shower guests had departed. That’s what she got for letting the little ones talk her into walking all over creation—and the Double-C had plenty of interesting places to explore.

Now, Tristan was looking at her with his incredible eyes, waiting for an answer and she wished, cowardly, that the children were still with her instead of their parents.

“Yes, I have a car,” she admitted. “But I rode out here with Dr. Rebecca.”

“And where is Dr. Rebecca now?”

Hope curled her fingers over the back of one of the chairs at the enormous oval table that sat in the center of the big kitchen. “She was called away on a house call.”

“So you need a ride home, then.”

“Jaimie is going to drive me.”

“Jaimie drives like a bat out of hell. I’ll take you.”

Hope’s stomach jolted. He was far more harmless when he was sleeping. When he was wide awake and watching her from beneath heavy lids, he was totally devastating. Totally daunting. Why would he offer to drive her? It wasn’t as if she was “of interest” to him. “Jaimie has already offered.”

“You really prefer to ride with the speed demon?”

Hope swallowed. “I—”

“Stop tormenting our guest,” Jaimie chided sailing into the kitchen and poking her brother-in-law in the back. “And I haven’t gotten a speeding ticket in months.”

“That’s ’cause your daughter calls the sheriff uncle,” Tris countered dryly. “I want to go by and see Drew Taggart anyway. There’s no point in all of us driving into town.”

Hope folded her hands together and wished she’d driven herself. But Jaimie looked her way, eyebrows lifting. And Hope forced herself to shrug as if it didn’t matter in the least how she got back home.

So she found herself sitting beside him in the close confines of his rental car as he drove along the gravel drive toward the main gate of his family’s ranch. With each vibrating turn of the tires, Hope felt herself growing more uncomfortable. She was wrinkled and sweaty and her unmanageable hair was working loose from its ordinarily tidy braid. He, on the other hand, made his faded jeans seem like a sinful sight; and she swore she could still smell the freshness of his shower on that golden skin.

She stared out the window and banished thoughts of Tristan and showers.

He hadn’t turned on the radio. It was just the two of them and the sound of the tires. And Hope felt more tongue-tied than she’d ever felt in her life.

Considering she’d spent most of her life tongue-tied, that was quite a feat.

“Would you like to grab some dinner?”

She turned and looked at him, her lips parting soundlessly.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

He wasn’t asking her for dinner. He couldn’t be. Why would he? He was only driving her home because he’d been going by to see Drew anyway. “I don’t…ah, no. Thank you.”

“Why?”

She stared fixedly out at the passing landscape. “Excuse me?”

“Why won’t you have dinner with me? We could grab a steak at Colbys.”

“Why?” She glanced at him long enough to see the corner of his lips deepen.

“That was my question.”

She folded her arms. She didn’t like being teased. “I have plans.”

“Big date?”

Her cheeks burned. “Is that so hard to believe?”

He smiled faintly. “Not at all.”

It ought to be, she thought silently. The last time Hope had been on a date, she’d still been in college. And she may have entertained thoughts of agreeing if Larry Pope asked her out again, but that occasion hadn’t actually occurred. “I have to wash my hair.”

He raised his eyebrows. “In other words, you’re not interested.”

“No,” she blurted. “I mean, I…I do have to wash my hair. Church is tomorrow.”

His smile widened wryly. “Naturally. It’s been a while since I’ve been thrown over for shampoo and conditioner.”

Hope closed her eyes and wished for the drive to be over.

When they finally entered the official outskirts of town, Hope started to tell him where she lived, but without any prompting at all, he drove straight to the cozy little house she rented across the street from the park and the high school.

“Sawyer told me,” he said, as he parked in her narrow driveway.

Hope shoved open the car door, just glad to be home and certainly not willing to wonder why Tristan and his brother had even discussed the whereabouts of her home, but Tristan caught her arm before she could escape. Her throat tightened and she looked over her shoulder at him. “I appreciate the ride.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, Tris looked into her eyes.

They were the purest violet he’d ever seen, so dark he could barely distinguish the pupil from the iris. And the whites were whiter than any white that had ever existed. Annoyance and amazement churned inside him. A few days’ dalliance with this girl-woman was out of the question. He knew it. So why did he ask her for dinner? And why did it bug him to his core that she’d refused? “Eyes as clear as yours just don’t exist,” he murmured.

Her eyebrows popped up. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll bet you’ve never had a hangover. Never crossed the street against the light. Never stayed up later than you should.”

Color suffused her cheeks. “I have been to college.”

“Sweet pea, compared to the places I’ve been, that doesn’t mean diddly.” His voice lowered. “Never had an impure thought.”

Her eyes flickered and she hurriedly climbed from the car. Her thick braid bounced in counterpoint to her hasty steps as she walked away from him.

Let her go.

He swallowed an oath along with the common sense that told him to leave well enough alone. He caught up to her as she pushed open the front door of her little white house. The place was as neat and tidy as she was, with precise rows of summer flowers in the beds lining the sidewalk. He closed his hand around her elbow, pulling her up short before she could shut the door in his face.

“Wait.”

Her chin tilted, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“Why? So you can make fun of me some more?”

“I wasn’t.”

She didn’t answer. The way her soft lips twisted was answer enough.

He frowned. The bones in her elbow felt fragile. He slid his hand up her arm, curving around the taut flesh, feeling the flex of healthy muscle. Of skin that was smooth as satin against his fingertips. “I have to go back to Paris after the wedding.”

She blinked. Hesitated. “Congratulations.”

“It’s business,” he dismissed. “I travel a lot.” Too much, he thought vaguely. “I’m not going to be here for long. Why won’t you have dinner with me? I’m harmless.”