The Rancher's Surprise Marriage

The music on the jukebox stopped. He was thinking about choosing some songs when the two other women in the place went over and plunked some quarters in the machine. One of them gave him the eye, smiling a little. Hell, she was young enough to be his…well, his little sister, anyway. He was forty, and she probably hadn’t been legal for long. He looked away, then something made him look back. She was focusing on Maggie McShane with her cell phone camera.

Tony let his chair drop to all fours. He shoved himself up and moved into her line of vision, then kept going forward, hitching a thumb toward Tex to take care of the woman. Tony kept walking until he came up behind Maggie, still blocking the view.

Maggie straightened slowly. He didn’t move. Although he wasn’t quite touching her, he was close enough to feel heat, so he knew she could, too.

“Move back,” she said calmly.

Her friends descended on him. He stopped them with a look, then waited for Maggie to turn around and face him, which she finally did, blushing slightly when she met his gaze.

“Unless you want a photograph of your pretty little behind spreading like wildfire around the Internet, you’ll stay right here with me until Tex deals with that amateur paparazzi over by the jukebox. She got a good bead on you when you were chuggin’ your beer, America’s Sweetheart,” he said, continuing to be her personal barricade from photo ops. “And maybe you could call off your posse, too, since I’m just tryin’ to help.”

“It’s you,” she whispered. “John Wayne.”

“No,” he said slowly, wondering about her sanity. “The name’s Tony Young.”

“Oh, I—I know. I asked…”

She’d asked? About him? When? Why?

“You own the ranch.”

“Well, technically, it owns me,” he said, then was bumped from behind by one of her friends.

“Look, cowboy, you need to give her space. Now.”

He did. Not because the guy said to, but because he could see Tex escorting the picture taker and her friend out of the bar. Two men followed, swearing the whole way, but whether it was at Tex or the women, Tony didn’t know. Maggie peeked around him, watching the scene.

Heat. She was all fire and heat. On top of that, up close she was stunning, all bright blue eyes and dark, rich hair and soft, full lips—and freckles, pale and scattered across her nose and cheeks.

“She’s used to having her picture taken wherever she goes,” her friend said.

“I don’t doubt that.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, and she was staring right back.

“I appreciate your running interference, Mr. Young,” she said.

“Tony.” Her head reached his chin. It was rare for a woman to match him so well in height. “Where’s your entourage?”

“I ditched them. I…needed to get out. Had something to think over.” She leaned around him again and said to her friends, “I’ve taken enough of your hard-earned dollars tonight.”

Tony noticed her smile didn’t reach her eyes. He also noticed she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. Woman like that should be sporting a rock that would blind you. “You know the two-step?” he asked her.

Her brows arched high. “Actually I just learned it for the movie. Big scene at a barn dance. Why?”

He tossed his hat onto a nearby table and held out a hand in invitation. “Let’s see if you had a good teacher.”

It took her a few seconds but she finally stepped into his arms, where she fit perfectly. Tony liked the two-step. It was one of those dances where the closer you got, the better you did together. Man leads, woman follows. Simple. Could be a sexy dance, depending, but didn’t have to be. Given the heat flowing from both of them, though, he figured it was going to knock sexy into the next territory.

He was right. The heat was combustible as he drew her a little closer every so often, until he could feel her breasts touch his chest. He heard her suck in a breath, but she didn’t try to move back. Their thighs glided against each other—

“How am I doing?” she asked, a little breathless, her gaze not leaving his.

The music stopped, leaving only the sound of their boots against the old wood-plank floor. He didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to let go of her.

“One more dance, and you’re probably good to go,” he said as another song started.

She moved herself even closer and stared at his mouth. “You’re easy to follow.”

“That’s my job. I’m easy about other things, too.”

Her lips parted. “Yeah? Like what?”

“For one, listening when a pretty lady has a problem.”

“What makes you think I have a problem?” she asked, her gaze lifting to meet his again.

“Intuition.” He had a problem, too. A physical one, especially when she angled her body differently, pressing against his pelvis, a sparkle of something he couldn’t quite define in her eyes.

“You’re making me forget everything,” she said.

“Is that good?”

“I’m not sure.”

Time passed. Fire burned. Need intensified. “What was with the John Wayne deal?” he asked, changing subjects.

She looked away, as if deciding what to say. He waited. Patience was something he had plenty of, too. Plus, he was enjoying the hell out of dancing with her, her body close to him, all curves and temptation, his body painfully aroused as they moved around the floor, the rhythm of the music powerful and enticing. He wanted to find the nearest bed, and dance skin to skin.

“When I spotted you on the set today,” she said, “I thought you looked like him. John Wayne.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“You should. He’s my all-time favorite cowboy.”

“Okay. Except I’m a cattleman. Bit of a difference. Not taking into account that he was just an actor playing a part.”

The front door burst open, and a young man with a big, fancy camera came in, snapping as he went. “Look this way, Miss McShane!”

“Maybe I should get you out of here,” Tony said, intending to take her out the back way.

Her fingers dug into his arms. “No,” she said, almost a whisper, then louder, “no.”

He tried to be her barricade again but the photographer was moving fast to get them in his frame, bypassing the men going after him.

“I’ll do whatever you want, but you have to tell me,” he said, more than a little curious at her wild-eyed look, like she was about to go over the edge.

“Kiss me,” she said, harsh and low.

“What?” He couldn’t have heard her right.

“Kiss me. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

“Them who?”

“Everyone. The vultures. I’m so sick of it all. So sick of always doing the right thing. Please.”

Hell, he was only a man. How could he pass up an opportunity like that?

So he kissed her, a bare brush of lips, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, having seen in her eyes it was the wrong thing to do, for the wrong reasons. But reason flew out the window when his lips touched hers. He pulled her closer, looked deeper, and kissed her the way he’d wanted to since first laying eyes on her.

He heard her friends grapple with the photographer, then the door open and close. And then everything went quiet. No music. No conversation. No pool balls.

She put her hand to her mouth. “Get me out of here. Please,” she whispered, panic in her voice. She must have finally realized her mistake.

Tony didn’t ask questions, but pushed her ahead of him, scooping up his hat on the way. When they reached the back parking lot, he urged her toward his truck.

“I have a car,” she said, pointing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you going back to your hotel?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, do you know your way around?”

“I can stop for directions…”

Even as she said it, he saw her realize she probably couldn’t do that, either. It must be hell sometimes, being famous. He took over, taking her keys from her, maneuvering his big body into the driver’s seat, motioning to her to get in, his knees hitting the steering wheel, even with the seat all the way back. “You can trust me. I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“How will you get back to get your truck?” she asked after she slammed the passenger door shut.

“Walk. Hitch. Hell, that’s the least of it, don’t you think?” He revved the engine and took off, heading nowhere in particular. “Who do you think that was with the camera?”

“Who knows? Someone trying to make a fast buck. Lots of people have professional cameras these days. Maybe one of those women had called someone.”

So, he hadn’t been her hero, after all, hadn’t noticed anyone making a call, alerting someone to come and take shots—if that’s what had happened.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, looking straight out the windshield.

“What? Kissed me on purpose for the camera?”

“I don’t do things like that.”

He knew that much about her, too, even without really knowing her. Was more than a little curious himself, but she didn’t elaborate. After a few blocks with no one following, he said, “Where to?”

Her hands were clenched in her lap.

“Where’re you staying?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go there.”

“Okay. Then where?”

“Someplace quiet.”

“Not sure there are too many places where you wouldn’t be recognized. And I don’t have connections for private rooms and such at restaurants.” He pretty much kept to himself, but he didn’t tell her that. She might think he was dangerous or something.

“There,” she said, pointing.

All he saw was the Red Rock Motor Inn. “The motel?”

She nodded.

“Look, I—”

“I’m not propositioning you,” she interrupted. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d check in, then I’ll use the room. I don’t want to go back to my hotel yet. I still have some thinking to do. Would they know you here?”

He pulled into the parking lot. “By name. Some folks, anyway.”

“If you pay cash, could you use an alias?”

“Don’t see why not.”

She reached into her pocket.

“I’ll get it,” he said and opened the car door before she could protest. The woman fascinated him. What was the big deal she needed to think about? Why had she intentionally kissed him for a photographer? She had a squeaky-clean image, yet was defying it now.

He registered, climbed back into the car and drove around to the back side of the complex, parking by the assigned room. “You’re registered as John Wayne,” he said, slanting her a look.

She laughed, a little shaky, but still a laugh. “Thanks.”

He walked her to the door, unlocked it, found the light switch. “Not what you’re used to,” he said as she walked past him.

“It’ll do.” She held out her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out. I feel horrible that you have to find your way back to your truck.”

He put the car key and room key in her hand, his fingers brushing her skin, cold to the touch now. He could’ve left her without too much problem, knowing she’d be on his ranch the next day. But the fact was, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d taken the room next to hers for the night. “Couldn’t let the Duke down, could I?”

She smiled. “The Code of the West is alive and well.”

“And we’re proud to say so.” He tipped his hat. “Good night, then, Miss McShane.” He got about six steps away when she called his name.

“It’s Maggie,” she said. “Call me Maggie.”

“Your given name Margaret?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Would you…like to come in for a bit?” she asked.

He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to go inside, but because he wondered what she wanted. Someone to listen? Someone to watch TV with? She didn’t strike him as a person who spent a lot of time by herself. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it. Maybe she was scared to be alone.

And maybe he was just too tempted by her. His body still hummed from the dance and the kiss.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said finally. He waited until she shut the door then went to the next room, opening the door quietly, creeping in. He didn’t turn on the television, didn’t make a sound, just propped himself against some pillows on the bed and read the brochures from the desktop.

The walls were thin. He heard her television come on, then go off again shortly. He heard her move around the room. Television on again. Off. She must not have bothered taking off her boots because he could hear her pace. Finally a new sound—crying. Then she told herself to stop it, and she did. No more sobs.

Vulnerable. He wouldn’t have put that word to her if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

She paced again. And the crying started again. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He went outside and tapped on her door. “It’s Tony,” he said quietly.

The curtain moved. He put himself in a position where she could see him. Then the door opened.

“Couldn’t you get a ride?” she asked.

He could see she was giving it her all to appear calm and composed. But for all her acting abilities, the look she gave him was anything but.

“Didn’t try. I wasn’t comfortable with leaving you here alone. Took the room next door. I could hear you—pacing. Figured, you know, maybe you might want to talk.”

She opened the door wider and stepped back, extending her invitation a second time, silently.

He took off his hat and went into the room, heard the door shut and the lock slide into place, then the chain being fastened. He tossed his hat onto the bed, a typical motel queen-size with a muted-stripes bedspread that had seen better days. Sterile room, usual odors of cleaning products and stale fabrics. He’d spent plenty of nights in ones just like this or worse. He’d bet she hadn’t.

He faced her. She hadn’t moved. And where her composure had failed when she’d answered the door, it was back now. She was a damn fine actress, he decided, to be able to make her face a blank like that. What was going on in her head? Why was he there?

“How can I help you?” he asked.

She tossed back her hair a little, bringing her chin up a notch. “I want to sleep with you.”

A stampede started in his midsection then branched out. He tried for as little expression as she had. “For the sake of clarification, ‘sleeping’ with me means?”

“More than actually sleeping in the same bed.”

“You want to have sex?”

“Yes.”

More questions came to mind. In particular, Why me? And, What about your famous fiancé?

Their kiss in the saloon reverberated in his head, made its way down his body. Who was he to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? The kind of guy who realized that maybe she didn’t mean what she was saying, he thought.

But then she started to pull the snaps on her shirt apart. He stopped her, his hand covering both of hers, his fingers pressed to her warm, cushiony chest.

“Some reason why you’re in such an all-fired-up hurry?” he asked.

“Yes.” She yanked her shirt open, revealing a lacy red bra cupping not-girl-next-door breasts.

Usually he took his time to do things right. Less chance of regrets that way. And somehow he had a feeling that regrets were going to come fast and furious if he followed through. No way was he going to do this, even though it had been a while since he’d enjoyed a roll in the hay. But this woman had been occupying his thoughts for several days and nights, pretty much since he saw her walk onto his ranch a few days ago, and the moment she touched her lips to his, pressed herself against him, he was lost.

Her kisses seared him, her touch sent him soaring. He lost his ability to think clearly. They wasted no time in undressing and getting skin to skin on the bed. She was wild and demanding and giving. He barely managed to say, “Birth control?”

“On the pill,” she managed back.

And then he was inside her and she was arching and digging her fingers into him and making flattering sounds of pleasure, and then of satisfaction. A moment later, he did, too.

He eased to his side, taking her along. After a minute he realized she was crying. Again.

He didn’t ask her why, and she didn’t say.

Tony’s internal alarm clock woke him before dawn. He reached for Maggie, but his hand landed on a piece of paper instead of a warm, curvy body. He held the paper toward the window, where the outside light offered minimal illumination.

One word, printed as if in a rush: Thanks.

It should’ve made him happy, since he wasn’t much for mornings-after, either, but it only annoyed him.

He rolled off the bed and snagged his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, then called his foreman, Butch Kelly.

“I need a ride,” Tony said.

“Where are you?”

Tony could hear the rustle of clothing as Butch dressed. “Red Rock Motor Inn. Know where it is?”

“Spent my high-school graduation night there. Fond memories. So, where’s your truck?”

“Elsewhere.”

A beat passed then, “Okay. I’m on my way.”

Tony hung up and finished dressing. It was hard to believe she’d left without him hearing her go. He wondered how long ago she’d taken off. Sometime after three, because that was when they’d made love a second time.

He waited for Butch in front of the motel, his irritation increasing with each passing vehicle. Her note burned a hole in his shirt pocket. She could’ve said goodbye, at least. People who sleep together deserve that much.

She obviously didn’t deserve her driven-snow reputation—supposedly she was engaged to that Hollywood beefcake. She sure hadn’t acted engaged last night. In fact, she’d seemed like a woman who hadn’t been made love to in a long time. He wondered about that, and about her morals, sleeping with him like she had.

But, hell, who was he to spout morals? He’d had his share of affairs, some that never should’ve happened.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, and hunched against the cool morning, remembering. She was amazing in bed. He wouldn’t mind repeating the experience, not at all. Yeah, why not have some good times together while she was in town? They’d be private about it. He didn’t want or need media attention, and she would need secrecy from her fiancé. Could be tricky, though.

Where the hell was Butch, anyway?

He blew out a long breath, digging for the patience he was known for. It was probably just karma catching up with him, payback for the times in his youth he’d done the same thing, left a woman without saying goodbye, before he’d wised up and gotten civil about such things.

A Lucky Hand Ranch pickup pulled up to the curb. “Took you long enough,” Tony muttered as he climbed in, not feeling charitable, too much on his mind.

Butch shoved a to-go cup at him. Coffee, hot and black. “So, shoot me. Figured you’d need this, so I made a stop.”

They were the same age, had done the rodeo circuit together for years. Butch’s knees were worse than Tony’s, although Tony had broken more bones. “Okay. You’re forgiven,” Tony said.

Butch grinned. “So, can I ask what you were doin’ at the motel?”

Tony gave him a long look as he sipped his coffee. His cell rang. He checked to see who it was. “Pretty early, Mom, even for you,” he said after he opened the phone.

Sue-Ellen Young laughed. “I’ve already baked two pies and checked my e-mail. Nice picture of you, by the way, on celebrityscoop.com, kissing Maggie McShane.”

And so it began, Tony thought. But how would it end?

Chapter Three

Maggie’s stomach lurched as she focused on the computer screen being shoved close to her face.

“Tell me this is a look-alike,” Leesa almost screamed. She’d stomped into Maggie’s hotel suite a minute ago, holding up her laptop. “One of those fake celebrities. Tell me that.”

Embarrassed by her behavior, Maggie picked up her purse and headed toward the door. “It’s not a look-alike.”

“How did this happen? When did it happen?”

“Last night. Are you ready to go? You know I don’t like being late to the set. Dino’s got the car waiting.” When she’d gotten back to her hotel room around 4:00 a.m. she’d had to memorize the day’s lines, meaning she’d had little sleep, only the two hours between the first and second time she and Tony had made love. Her makeup artist was going to get after her for the bags under her eyes.

“How can you be so blasé about this? You’re engaged! You were caught kissing a local cowboy at a bar!” She grabbed script pages and a couple other items off the table.

“Cattleman.”

Leesa stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“He’s a cattleman. He says there’s a difference.” It was costing Maggie to act unconcerned by the online-gossip site’s photo, but she had to. Until she came up with a plan, she had to seem as if she knew what she was doing. Appearances were everything. She didn’t want to compound stupidity with idiocy.

“I don’t get it,” Leesa said, exasperated. “Last night Scott was here. You asked for privacy for the whole night, just the two of you. What happened?”

They stepped onto the landing. Maggie put a hand on her friend’s arm. “The less you know, the better. For your sake, not mine, okay? You’re just going to have to trust me. I want you to be able to say it was a big surprise to you, too, and mean it.”

Leesa clamped her mouth hard for a minute, then said, “So, the rumors about Scott were true.”

“What rumors?”

“That he and Gennifer were messing around.”

So. Even Leesa had known. “Had you planned to tell me?” Maggie asked, hurt making her throat burn.

“They were only rumors. I’d been trying to get them confirmed, but no luck. I wouldn’t have let you marry him without telling you, Mags. Did you know already? Did you call it off?”

Dino pulled up in the car and got out. Maggie couldn’t tell from his expression if he knew about the photo, but he didn’t hold out his hand for her to pass him her engagement ring as he always did, which told her enough.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Just super.”

“You know, if you don’t trust me, you should fire me.”

She jerked back. “I trust you.”

“I wouldn’t have let anyone get a picture, and I don’t pass judgment. You shouldn’t leave me behind.”

“I had to.” She couldn’t tell him any more than that. Not yet.

“I’ll keep your secrets until the day I die, Maggie.”

She felt about a foot tall. How many people had she disappointed or hurt with her impulsive actions?

“Thank you, Dino. I do know that.” She climbed into the car and said to Leesa, “Let’s run lines.”

Leesa huffed but pulled out the pages.

At the location, Maggie went straight into hair and makeup. She’d barely settled into the chair when Mac Iverson came in. “Give us a few minutes,” the director said to the two women working on her, then he leaned against the counter and gave her the eye. “So. You’re big news today.”

She assumed that meant her photo was everywhere now. Her manager and publicist would already be fielding calls from the various media entertainment-news shows, and magazines, too. Leesa would be fielding calls from her manager and publicist, and any others who had her phone number.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said to Mac. She never brought controversy to a film. Mac wouldn’t work with her if she did. He was old-school, running a close-knit, familylike atmosphere, but demanding and getting the best work out of everyone. They’d worked together six times. There were good reasons for that.

“I met Tony Young for the first time last year when we were scouting locations,” Mac said. “I wanted realism, not a studio set. At the time he was living in the old homestead we’re shooting in, but his new house was almost ready. He agreed to hold off on remodeling the old place for his foreman until after we filmed, appreciating what I promised to bring to the movie—an honest portrayal of a cattleman’s life, not the romanticized version of most fiction. He’s a decent, hardworking, self-made man. He shouldn’t have to deal with the kind of media attention he’s bound to get now.”

Maggie felt like a child being chewed out by her favorite teacher, except…shouldn’t Tony take some of blame? She hadn’t acted alone. “I know.”