His Perfect Bride: Hired by the Cowboy / Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek / Coming Home to the Cattleman

The one time he relaxed was in the evenings, coming in to Alex’s and Gram’s company. Their happy chatter and laughter lightened his load more than he wanted to admit.

Two days after the shopping trip, he escaped to the den to work on the computer. Grace Lundquist had been by with the account book, and it didn’t look good. He sighed, rubbing his temples as he rested his elbows on the desk. He wished he could put it aside and maybe watch some television with Alex and Gram. Resolutely he set his jaw. There had to be a way to work the numbers. He went over the columns again, wondering where he could save and what absolutely needed to be spent.

“Long day?”

Alex’s voice interrupted him, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him with just a few words from her lips. “The longest.”

“Can I come in?”

He swiveled in his chair, turned to see her hesitating in the doorway, her form backlit by the light from the kitchen. “Of course you can.”

She offered a small smile, stepped lightly inside. “I forgot to give you something the other day. It’s not much, but…”

She held out the bag containing the shirts. “I thought you could use a new supply.”

He took the bag from her hands, peering inside. “T-shirts.” He looked up, a smile smoothing the lines of worry from his face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She sighed. “I couldn’t spend the whole day shopping and not bring something home for you. I only wish I could have…well, never mind.”

“They’re great. I appreciate the thought as much as the gift, Alex.” It had been many years since anyone had thought to give him a present “just because.”

Her eyes slid to the computer screen and the open books on the desk. “It’s bad, isn’t it, Connor? I can tell by the stress written all over your face.”

He didn’t even attempt to hide it as wrinkles marred his brow. “It’s bad. The whole industry is crumpling around us.”

“Will we make it? Won’t your trust fund money help?”

His throat grew so dry it hurt. She had said “we”, not “you”. He wasn’t sure if it helped knowing she was in it with him or not.

His ancestors had started with nothing and made this place work. His great-grandfather had persevered throughout the Depression when other farmers had abandoned their land, looking for work. It damn near killed him to admit, “I don’t know. It’ll help for a while, but I don’t know.”

She nodded, but he saw the flicker of uncertainty on her face. “Alex, no matter what happens with Windover, I made you a promise. I said I would help provide for you and your baby, and I will.”

“You always keep your promises, don’t you? Don’t worry about the baby and me. We’re all in this together.” She came even closer, close enough that he had to lift his chin to look in her eyes, see the faint flush on her cheeks.

She smiled down at him, her face soft with understanding. “If it’ll help, we can just have a Justice of the Peace here for the wedding. I don’t need all the trappings that Johanna seems determined to have.”

There was no way he was going to deprive her of a nice wedding. Not after all she was willing to go through to make this whole plan work. “It’s not that much when you look at the big picture,” he conceded. “A small, intimate affair is no problem. And secretly…” he smiled up at her “…I think Gram is having a marvelous time.”

She leaned back against the desk, resting her hips there. He saw the pouch forming at her waist and wondered at the tiny life growing inside her. When he looked up and met her eyes again, she was smiling. It was a smile of contentment, of happiness, of peace.

“He’s growing.”

“I noticed.” He realized she had called the baby “he” and wondered if she had some maternal instinct that told her it was a boy.

“Each day I feel stronger. Each day,” she said softly, “I know I’m happy I’m going to be a mother. That’s not something I expected. That’s something I can thank you for.”

“Me?” How in the world was he possibly responsible for that?

“I had no idea what I was going to do when I found out I was pregnant. When Ryan left me I…well, I certainly knew I was on my own. But you…being here…it’s given me something. I don’t know if it’s Windover, or the open space, or the kindness you and your grandmother have shown me…” She shrugged. “But I’m not afraid now. I don’t feel alone. Thank you for that.”

Instead of making him feel better, he felt the weight of increased responsibility. For several years now his whole life had been responsibility—running Windover single-handedly, finding a way to keep it. Now he was responsible for this slip of a girl, one who’d been hurt as much as he, and her unborn child.

“You look so tired,” she whispered, and her finger moved of its own accord, tracing along the edge of his face, tucking some errant hair over his ear. “Why do you put so much on yourself?”

“Because there’s no one else,” he replied, his voice weary and worn.

She tilted up his chin. “Not any more. Let me help you, Connor, like you help me.”

He reached down and touched her hand, gripping her fingers and pulling her down until she sat on his lap, while the chair leaned back with a resonant creak. Her hands fell instinctively over his shoulders, and wordlessly he looped his hands around her hips, holding her close.

She was warm, comforting, solid. Someone he could lean on and not fall. Her heart beat steadily against his shoulder and he pulled her closer. “Just this,” he whispered and, somehow knowing exactly what he needed, she lifted her knees until she was snuggled in his arms.

And they sat that way in the twilight, until the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the moon rose over the prairie.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CONNOR stood in the centre of the dressing room at a formal wear shop in Red Deer, rolling his eyes as the salesman fluttered around, checking seams and hems. This had been his grandmother’s idea. He had thought he’d wear one of the two suits hanging in his closet. But, no, Gram had insisted he buy a new one. At least she wasn’t asking him to rent a tuxedo. The plain black suit was well cut and of fine material. The shirt he wore was snowy white and stiff, contrasting with the light blue silk tie. It was more than he was used to, but he had to admit it looked nice.

He had considered resisting, but then he’d thought of Alex and her wedding dress in the plastic garment bag in her closet. He remembered how she’d sat on his lap, saying nothing, just being there for him, and he knew he would do it for her. For Connor, the week before the wedding had passed in a blur. Between working, the stress of dealing with the industry crisis, and wedding plans, he’d hardly had a moment to call his own. He should have been preoccupied with thoughts of the ranch, but instead all he’d been able to think about was marrying Alex.

He’d asked her for a paper marriage. Certainly he couldn’t show her that his feelings were changing. Thankfully, he hadn’t had any moments to share with Alex this week. After their intimate scene the other night, it was far better to keep some distance between them. Especially since it was the very last thing he wanted. But what would happen after Gram left, and the two of them were left alone at Windover? He couldn’t avoid her forever. And being near her…did something to him so unexpected and astonishing that he wanted to run from it as much as he wanted to run to it.

He removed his jacket and handed it back to the salesman. He’d have to be very careful. They hadn’t discussed any sort of time frame, yet he knew that when the baby was born and she was on her feet she’d want to be on her own, to start her own life—one that didn’t include him. That was the arrangement they’d made, and he’d honor it.

He’d passed by the baby keepsakes in the jewelry store yesterday, wanting to buy a gift for her child yet knowing it would be a mistake. In the end he’d walked away from the silver money banks and cups. It was not his place to do such a thing, and no matter how his heart longed to, he knew it was impossible.

He had to guard his heart. Because she could have it all too easily.

When he stepped into the house, his errand finished and the garment bag in his hand, everything was quiet and still. “Alex?” His voice echoed through. Knitting his brows, he hung his suit over a doorknob and went in search of her.

He found them, together, in the garden in the mid-after-noon sun, their heads shaded from the sun. Gram wore her wide-brimmed straw hat, and Alex had taken one of his battered ball caps from the hook and pulled her dark ponytail through the back.

For a while he indulged himself and watched. They were laughing and chatting, Gram’s knees resting on a green foam pad and Alex, more flexible, squatting beside a row of peas, pulling out weeds and depositing them in a metal bucket. Gram said something under her breath, and Alex’s lilting laughter floated across the air to him. He smiled in response to the happy sound.

When he’d brought her here, she hadn’t known a pea plant from a dandelion.

Alex reached for a weed, a little too far, lost her balance, and landed on her rump in the dirt.

Johanna lifted her head, tilted back her hat, and laughed heartily. He couldn’t help but join in, and Alex swiveled her head to the sound.

He was chuckling, and she turned a brilliant shade of red that had nothing to do with hours in the sun.

“Sitting down on the job, Alex?” His long legs stepped over the rows of vegetables until he stood before her, offering his hand. “Gram won’t give you a break? She always was a slave driver.”

Alex took his hand. It was warm and rough, and her face flamed more at the touch. Since that night in the study she’d been careful to keep her hands to herself. And perhaps it was silly to get worked up over a little bit of contact. But each time he touched her it was easier to imagine things weren’t as platonic as they seemed. She withdrew her fingers slowly, savoring the touch. It was all she would allow herself. It wouldn’t do for her to get fanciful ideas only to have it ruin the tentative friendship they’d forged. Friends were hard to come by, and she’d had precious few over the years.

“Perhaps some lemonade’s in order.” Johanna’s voice intruded. “I’ll go in and whip some up.”

Alex pulled her hand from Connor’s and tried to smile at Johanna. “Let me help you.”

“Alex, wait.” Connor’s voice stopped her. “Gram, we’ll meet you inside in a minute.” He turned back to Alex. “There’s something I want to show you first.”

He took her hand and led her around the side of the house towards the east lawn, where the ceremony was to be held. She followed, brushing her free hand against her leg to try and rid it of the garden dirt. “I hope the weather holds for Saturday,” she tried cheerfully, knowing she sounded overly chatty but unable to stop the nervous quiver in her voice. “If it rains, I suppose we’ll have to move everything inside.”

“That would be a shame,” he rejoined smoothly, and her feet stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted her.

“You…did you…make this yourself?”

She stared at a pristine white arch, perfectly curved and accented with fine half-inch lattice. She’d thought the only canopy they’d have on Saturday would be the fluttering leaves on the poplar tree, but this would add a special touch.

“I did.”

“When did you find the time?” She pulled her hand from his, all eyes for the fine craftsmanship. Her fingers ran down the side, imagining it twined with ivy and a few roses here and there. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Connor. Simply beautiful.”

She turned back to him, gratified to see him smiling widely at her.

“You really like it? I wasn’t sure it would fit in with your plans. This wedding stuff is a little out of my league. My brain shuts off when I hear the words ‘floral arrangements’ and ‘table linens’.”

“Fit in? It’s perfect. Is this why you were spending all your evenings in the barn? I thought you were working with the livestock.”

He raised his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

She circled it, smoothing it with her hand, making it almost a caress. “I’ve always wanted one, but I figured the cost to rent one was too much, so I never even mentioned it.”

Her voice trailed away. “I’ll shut up now,” she whispered, blushing while he stuck his hands in his pockets and laughed.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. It’s perfect.” Like you, she thought suddenly. He was nearly perfect. The perfect gentleman, solicitous and caring, generous and understanding. Hardworking and modest, and willing to accept her and her unborn child without judgement.

He stared at his feet suddenly. “I know Saturday isn’t a regular wedding day, but…”

“I know what you meant by the thought, Connor.” She smiled, a little ray of shy intimacy. “It’s a romantic notion for a rancher, you know. And I appreciate it more than I can say.”

Against her better judgement she went to stand before him and laid a hand on his forearm. “It’s not wrong to have wishes, to pretend that this is something that it isn’t. If we just went through with it, no fuss, no muss, it’d be cold…I’m glad you’re not that type of person. It means a lot, knowing you want it to be special in some way. Even if it’s not the real way.” Even as she said it she felt wishes of her own start to rise up, and she pushed them down, struggling to remain practical.

His hand slid out of his pocket, folding her palm in his as his dark eyes plumbed her lighter blue ones. For a long moment he seemed to search for words, finding none.

Alex squeezed his hand, longing to stand on tiptoe and reassure him with a kiss, knowing she could not. The moment dragged on until she could hardly bear it.

“Gram probably has that lemonade ready,” he murmured roughly. “We should go in.” He touched a finger to her nose. “You’re getting sunburn, and I’m sure you don’t want to walk down the aisle with a red nose.”

She put a testing hand up to her face. “You’re right. Let’s go in.”

He led the way, and all the while Alex felt like she was getting in far deeper than was prudent.

“I got my suit today,” he said, taking a seat at the table and stretching out his legs. “Another thing you can check off your list.”

“That’s good. Because you’ve got two days before the wedding and everything is pretty much done.” Johanna put a pitcher of pale yellow liquid in the middle of the table while Alex took out three glasses.

“Johanna’s taken care of everything,” she said, placing a tumbler before him. “Things are all set for Saturday. I could never have done it alone.”

Doing it alone probably would have consisted of a Justice of the Peace in the living room, but watching Alex blossom under his grandmother’s attention had been rewarding. She was more open, smiled more. There was a warmth that had been missing before that now radiated from her. Gram had been right. Alex had been hungry for love. The way she was appreciative of everything, how she seemed to understand the meaning behind the smallest gesture, made him realize she took nothing for granted. It saddened him that her life had been difficult, yet it was singularly the strongest thing that drew him to her.

She certainly did not deserve to be hurt again, and he’d make sure that their relationship stayed in a place where they could always be friends. If his wedding promises meant nothing else, they would mean that.

In forty-eight hours, she’d be Mrs. Alexis Madsen. The minister would pronounce them husband and wife and he’d kiss her and they’d cut the cake and…

And he’d kiss her.

Dear Lord, he hadn’t thought of that. His hand swiped over his mouth. Kissing Alex, in front of witnesses. If holding her hand caused her to blush, what would a kiss do? Would she sense his hesitation, or wonder at his motives? Could he satisfy himself with one kiss?

Connor pushed his chair away hastily, rising and putting his glass in the sink. “Thanks for the lemonade. I’ve gotta go.”

Alex stared after Connor with wide eyes, hearing the screen door slap into the frame with a bang.

“What got into him?”

Johanna laughed, eyes twinkling. “I think he’s realized he’s getting married in two days.”

Alex’s eyes stared at the door as if she could see him on the other side of it, hurrying to the barn. “Two days,” she whispered, desperate to quiet her churning nerves at the thought. In two days they would stand before his family and friends and make promises they didn’t intend to keep.

Alex swallowed the lump in her throat, watching him cross the yard with long strides. Before that happened Alex knew they had to talk. Because there were promises, real ones, that needed to be made before they proceeded with this sham of a marriage.

The portable arch was in place beneath the huge old poplar, and the white folding chairs, numbering only twenty-four, were in small, precise rows. Several feet away, over by the deck, was a dance floor, large and roughly constructed of plywood by an obliging neighbor. Leaned up against the deck were four long, foldable tables that tomorrow would be adorned with white tablecloths, all borrowed from the church. Inside the house, small cakes and sweets were in boxes in the freezer. Millie, Johanna’s longtime friend, was providing the wedding feast. On one hand Alex was touched by the willingness of the Madsens’ friends to help, yet on the other it only increased the pressure she felt, knowing she would be Mrs. Connor Madsen in name only.

Alex surveyed the backyard, her hands twisting nervously. She wasn’t entirely sure Connor was going to go through with it. Ever since yesterday afternoon he’d made darn sure he’d kept his distance, only appearing when absolutely necessary. If he were having second thoughts, she wished he’d come and say so, put her out of her misery. One minute she was nervous as sin about the ceremony, and the next she was petrified she’d have to send the guests home due to lack of a groom.

Today he’d escaped early to the fields, only coming in for meals. The minister had arrived at five sharp, and Connor had rushed in from the barn to hastily go over the details of the ceremony tomorrow. But he’d been distracted, fidgeting like he wanted to be anywhere else. And who could blame him? She wasn’t the world’s greatest catch, now, was she? Granted, she’d improved, thanks to Johanna’s help. She was learning about gardening and her cooking was getting better. She was for the first time putting down some roots, just like the fragile green plants sprouting in the garden.

Roots that were going to make it even harder to leave when the time came. But the fact remained she was pregnant with another man’s baby. And even if she wanted to help Connor financially, her earning potential was severely limited. She’d never gone to school beyond twelfth grade. She knew in her head that this was only for a few months, but her heart was constantly disagreeing with her, picturing much, much more.

A real marriage. A real husband and a real home and a real family.

She laughed to herself. Well, if that wasn’t putting the cart before the horse. This whole situation was so unorthodox she could do nothing more than shake her head at her turbulent feelings and hope for the best.

“You’re looking glum.”

Johanna’s voice intruded behind her and she jumped, startled. “Sorry.”

“Second thoughts?”

She turned to the older lady, seeing understanding on her face. “It’s just…so close, you know?”

“You’ll do fine. You’ve got backbone. You know what’s right.”

“But is this right?” she implored Johanna with her hands outstretched. “Is this fair to Connor? A temporary wife carrying someone else’s baby? I got so wrapped up in the fun of planning tomorrow that I forgot what it’s supposed to be about…and what it’s really about.”

Johanna’s eyes softened, a glimmer of a smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, putting a hand on Alex’s hair. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Alex swallowed. “But Connor…”

“Is upstairs in the shower, and hungry to boot. I’m off to Millie’s to look after some last-minute arrangements.”

So she and Connor would have time alone after all. Alex didn’t know whether to be grateful or petrified.

When Connor came downstairs, Alex had fixed him a plate. He was clean-shaven, his hair brushed back and glistening with water from his shower. She recognized the fresh smell of his deodorant and the slightly spicy scent of his shampoo, and her stomach clenched.

“I’ll get your chicken off the grill,” she explained, hurrying outside to the barbeque to retrieve his chicken breast. He sat down quietly as she placed the plate before him, heaped with mixed greens, chicken, and macaroni salad.

“Gram made this before she left?” he asked, putting some of the salad in his mouth.

“No, I did.”

His eyes met hers, and she sensed warmth in them for the first time in the past forty-eight hours.

“It tastes like hers. Exactly.”

Alex smiled. “Well, I did tell you I was a good student.”

“Aren’t you eating?” He gestured to the place across from him with his fork.

“I ate earlier.”

“I see.”

Alex made herself busy around the kitchen while Connor finished his meal, and then, clearing his plate, she took a breath. She had to be a grownup and do this. And do it now before she lost her nerve.

“I think we should talk.”

He stilled, wary, and Alex’s nerves twisted and turned as everything she’d planned to say went rushing out of her head completely.

“Talk about what?”

She put his dishes in the dishwasher, keeping her back towards him. Coward, she grumbled to herself. She had to do this. She was an adult. Difficult conversations had to be faced.

“About us. About what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

“I see.”

She turned, facing him, but his expression was flat and completely closed off, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Please, Connor. I can’t pretend that tomorrow is what it will look like.”

“I can’t either.”

His words left her feeling strangely empty. She shouldn’t want him to mean his vows, but somehow she did. It was wrong, and misguided, but she would admit only to herself that she had feelings for Connor. Deep feelings. Feelings he surely didn’t reciprocate, so she’d do the right thing here.

“Our vows tomorrow…they’re the forever kind.” She sat in the chair next to him, resting her hands in her lap, the backs pressed together between her knees. “We both know that forever isn’t what this is about.” No matter what my traitorous heart is saying right at this moment. “But I think we should make promises. To each other, tonight, about what we can expect over the next several months.”

“You mean temporary vows?”

“Yes,” she breathed with relief, glad he understood what she was getting at.

He sighed, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tuck that errant piece of hair behind his ear, the one that always seemed determined to curl. His eyes searched her face, and she knew that she would never be able to resist him when he looked at her that way.

“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow…we’ll just be making empty promises. I’m not comfortable with that. Because there are things I want to promise you. Truly.”

Trembling, she reached out and took his workworn hand in hers. “I promise you, Connor, that for the time we’re married I will do all I can to make your life easier, not harder. I’ll try my best to look after the beautiful home you’ve entrusted me with, and—” she smiled faintly “—I’ll try not to poison you with my bad cooking. I’ll be a friend to you, and a comfort, if you’ll let me. I’ll help you in any way I can. You’ve only to ask. Those are the promises I can make to you.”

Oh, his eyes. So warm, with compassion and understanding and with an edge of something she didn’t quite comprehend. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “I have promises to make to you, too,” he said softly. “Look at me, Alex,” he commanded, when she dropped her eyes.