Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (11 page)

“Lynn.” His voice was tender. And suddenly, so
were his eyes. “You wouldn't want to find yourself married to someone like me.”

“Oh, and why is that?” she asked, much more casually than she felt.

For a moment she thought he might actually tell her. But then he only repeated what he'd said before. “You just wouldn't, that's all.”

She longed to ask why again. And again and again. Until he told her the secrets of his shadowed heart. But no. Not now. There would be time for that in the weeks ahead.

She spoke briskly. “Well, all right, then. It will last for a month. And I'll be the one who breaks it off when the month is up.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that I'm taking you up on your offer. We'll pretend you're my fiancé. For one month.”

There was blank disbelief on his face. “You're kidding.”

“No. I'm as serious as a visit to the principal's office.”

“But I thought you…” The words trailed off into nothing. He seemed totally at a loss as to what to say next.

That was all right with her. She knew exactly what
she
wanted to say. “There would have to be certain ground rules.”

He actually gulped. “Ground rules?”

“We would have to really spend time together. See each other two or three times a week, at least. I mean, that's what people who are going to get married usually do, isn't it?”

“Well. Yes. Yes, I suppose they do. But—”

She cut him off before he could get rolling with
any more objections. “Could you handle that? Seeing me two or three times a week for the next month or so?”

He scowled. “Of course I could.”

“You don't look terribly thrilled at the prospect.”

He swore. “Of course I'm thrilled.”

She chose not to belabor that point, but went on. “And you wouldn't be able to have any other lady friends—I mean, until the month is up and it's time for me to decide that you're not the man for me.”

He looked insulted. “I don't have any ‘lady friends' currently—other than you.”

She felt a blush rising and resisted the urge to draw attention to it by pressing cool hands to her hot cheeks. “Well. I suppose after last night, I would count as a lady friend.”

He said nothing. But what she saw in his eyes made a thousand little fluttery things come to life in her solar plexus. She tightened her stomach muscles, hoping to make them be still. They wouldn't, so she set her sights on ignoring them.

“All right, then,” she said. “We'll see each other often. It will be exclusive while it lasts. And I think…” She cast about for a delicate way of putting what she had to say next.

“You think
what?
”

“I think we'd better avoid nights like last night.”

He got the message. “No sex, you mean.”

“Yes. That's what I mean.”

“That's fine.” He sounded more grim than sincere. “It's appropriate, I think.”

“Yes. I think so, too.” And she did. Or at least, the Lynn Taylor she'd always thought she was until last night did.

But that other Lynn Taylor—the one who had worn a red cashmere dress and slept in his arms—
that
Lynn Taylor felt her throat clutching with regret.

He was leaning forward in the chair now. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. But he said, “Okay. It's settled.” He rose to his feet.

She followed him to the door for the second time that night. Before he went out, she told him, “We might as well get started tomorrow.”

He looked at her sideways. “Get started?”

She nodded. “Since it's Saturday, I won't be at the school. You can pick me up here. At noon?”

“To do what?”

“We'll have lunch together. At the Hip Hop Café.”

H
e arrived right on time. He was wearing a different jacket again, different slacks and
another
pair of beautiful calfskin boots. He was also smiling.

Irritation sizzled through her. Here they were about to stroll into the Hip Hop together, as bold as you please, to pretend to be sweethearts—and he was smiling as if the idea actually pleased him. She'd had second thoughts for hours after he left last night—was
still
having second thoughts, as a matter of fact.

And beyond her second thoughts, she'd had a terrible time deciding what to wear. Everything she owned, except the red dress, which would hardly be suitable for a casual Saturday lunch at the local café, was just…boring. Brown and gray. Variations on the same monotonous theme.

For something like this, she needed
color,
for heaven's sake. In fact, as soon as she got the oppor
tunity, she was heading for Billings to take care of the problem.

She'd settled on a pair of black jeans and a fluffy white sweater. Both hugged her new curves, and the sweater had a rather flattering V neck. It was the best she could do on such short notice.

His dark glance flicked over her. The appreciation in it eased her nerves just a little. “Ready?”

“You seem awfully cheerful about this, all of a sudden.” The edginess she felt was there in her tone.

He either didn't notice—or decided not to let it bother him. “Hey, we agreed to do this. No need to act like we're headed for a funeral.”

She opened her mouth to let out a sharp retort—and had to admit to herself that he probably had a point. “Here.” She held out a white legal-sized envelope.

“What's that? A subpoena?”

“Very funny. It's the report on Jenny you asked me for.” She'd been awake half the night anyway, so she'd decided she might as well make use of the time.

“Great.” He tucked it into an inside pocket of his jacket. “Shall we go?”

Let's not, she thought, a shiver of dread slithering up her spine at the prospect of walking into the Hip Hop on this man's arm. After all, by now a lot of people in town had to know how and where she'd spent her birthday night. The fact that they were “engaged” would help—but as the old saying went, they were only shutting the barn door after the cow had got out.

“Looks like we've got a major case of cold feet
going here,” he said, still in that annoyingly lighthearted tone.

“Not at all,” she baldly lied. “Just let me get my coat.”

 

The Hip Hop Café was decorated in what Lynn had always thought of as Early Thrift Store. The tables were covered in red-checked oilcloths and none of the chairs matched. A stunning variety of bargain-basement treasures adorned the walls, everything from framed samplers with little homilies embroidered on them to a velvet painting of Geronimo, and a huge moth-eaten moose head.

A definite hush descended when Lynn walked in on Ross's arm. Lynn spotted Lily Mae Wheeler immediately. The bighearted busybody sat at her favorite table, near the far wall, where she would have a good view of whoever came in and out. Winona Cobbs sat beside her.

At the sight of the two women, Lynn held Ross's arm tighter. He responded by laying his big, warm hand over hers and granting her a smile that could only be defined as fond and reassuring.

Real or part of the act? she started to wonder—and then told herself it didn't matter. He might be a little too cheerful to suit her at the moment, but he was here, at her side, facing her town with her.
That
was what mattered.

Lily Mae banished the silence with a girlish giggle. “If it isn't our lovebirds!”

Ross pulled Lynn a fraction closer. She wanted to sag against him—and jerk away at the same time. She did neither, just plastered a smile on her face and hoped she didn't look as frazzled as she felt.

And then he actually nuzzled her hair, right there at the door to the Hip Hop, with everyone watching. “Remember,” he whispered, under the pretense of nuzzling. “Coming here was your idea….”

Lynn decided not to reply. She didn't have time, anyway. Lily Mae had started waving. The bracelet on her arm, which appeared to be made of heavy gold links and big hunks of caramel-colored rock, rattled imperiously. “Come on now, you two. Mosey on over here and say hi.”

They moseyed, murmuring hellos to people they knew as they moved by the other tables. To Lynn, the short walk felt like a marathon.

At last they stood at Lily Mae's table. The good-natured gossip wasted no time. She got straight to the point. “I hear a wedding's in the offing.”

Lynn slid a glance toward Winona. The older woman was smiling. It seemed an alert kind of smile. Lynn sincerely hoped she wouldn't choose this opportunity to slip into another trance and start babbling away about princes and rings and dark nights of fear and misery.

“Well, hon?” demanded Lily. “Are you and this fella getting hitched or not?”

Lynn cleared her throat. “Uh, we…”

Ross picked up the ball. “Yes, Mrs. Wheeler. Lynn has made me the happiest man alive. She's agreed to become Mrs. Ross Garrison.”

Lynn shot him a quelling glance, thinking, the happiest man alive? Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?

He gave her that too-ardent smile of his in response.

“Congratulations,” said Lily Mae. “You are a very lucky man.”

“I know.” He sounded utterly sincere.

So why did she want to brain him?

“I don't see a ring.” Lily Mae clucked her tongue. “Lynn, honey, where is it?”

“Yes,” said Winona sweetly. “There must be a ring.”

Lynn shifted her glance to the psychic again. The woman still looked fully conscious, thank God—though wasn't there something just a little bit sly in those wise eyes of hers? “I, uh, well…this has all been so sudden. We haven't…”

Ross came to her rescue again. “We're on our way to take care of that. As soon as we've eaten.”

“Uh. We are?” The incredulous words escaped her before she had a chance to consider how strange they would sound.

Lily Mae granted Ross a raised eyebrow.

Ross didn't miss a beat. “It was a surprise. But I guess the cat's out of the bag now. The minute we leave here, I'm taking her to a certain jewelry store I know of in Billings so that she can choose the one she wants.”

“Well, now.” Lily Mae was beaming. “Isn't that just lovely?”

“Yes,” agreed Winona. “Lovely.”

“Do get her a nice big diamond, Mr. Garrison,” Lily Mae instructed. “There's nothing like a diamond to make a girl feel a man's devotion.”

“I'll remember that,” Ross said. “And now, if you ladies will excuse us?”

The big brown rocks on Lily Mae's bracelet
started rattling again. “Go on, go on. Find yourselves a nice private corner.”

Lynn waited until Janie, the waitress who managed the place, had seated them and taken their order before she leaned toward Ross and whispered, “Billings? We're going to Billings?”

He shrugged. “I had to say something when Lily Mae asked. And you do need a ring. Darling.”

She didn't like the way he said that. Darling. As if it were their own private joke.

Or maybe she did like it. And only wished it had sounded a tad more sincere.

There was a small plastic stand in the center of the table, with pictures of various desserts on it. Ross picked it up. “Hmm. Banana cream pie. Looks good.”

“We haven't even had our sandwiches yet.”

“I'm just planning ahead.”

“Well,” she said sourly, “don't plan for me. I'm skipping dessert.”

He set the stand down. “Maybe I can tempt you.”

She thought of chocolate truffle cake. Of vanilla bean ice cream, melting on her tongue.

And she knew that
he
knew what she was thinking.

“Not today,” she said firmly.

He heaved a big fake sigh and set the dessert stand back in its place. “There's nothing wrong with a little dessert now and then.”

“No, there is not. But I…have to watch my weight.”

“Your weight, huh?” It was a taunt, pure and simple. He didn't believe her. He thought that this exchange was about the way he had tempted her two nights before.

And it was. Mostly.

“I do have to watch my weight,” she said, feeling defensive. And irritated. And foolish, as well.

“Why? Your weight is just right.”

That pleased her. It truly did. Too bad she didn't feel in a mood to be pleased. “It didn't used to be—and do you think we could talk about something else?” She cast a significant glance around the bustling restaurant. No one seemed to be listening, but you could never tell.

“Sure.” He rested his forearms on the table, leaned toward her and whispered, “And what would you like to talk about?”

She whispered right back. “Just…keep it light, okay? Act affectionate.”

“I can do that.”

“I noticed.” You're very good at deception, she was thinking. Too good…

Janie wove her way through the lunchtime crowd, bearing their sandwiches. With a high degree of relief Lynn watched the waitress approach. “Let's just eat and get out of here.”

“Your wish is my command.”

 

Twenty minutes later they were in his Mercedes, on their way to Billings.

“It's a beautiful day,” he said as they sped up the highway, barbed wire and drift fences flowing past on either side. “The sun is shining. The cattle are grazing. The sky is as blue as your eyes.” He sent her a quick look, then focused on the road again and asked flatly, “What's the matter now?”

Oh, nothing much, she thought. Except I think I love you. And I wish this was for real.

He shot her another look. “Have you changed your mind about this thing, is that it?”

“No.” She really hadn't. She wanted this chance with him, wanted to turn this lie into truth.

“Then why are you behaving like a damn brat? This isn't like you.”

She longed to turn on him, to screech, How do you know what I'm like? You've only known me for two days!

But she stopped herself.

He was right. She
was
behaving like a brat. She was
feeling
like a brat. Testy and ready to pitch herself a hissy fit.

And it
wasn't
like her. She did have faults, a number of them. But sheer brattiness wasn't one.

She just…didn't like this deception. She didn't approve of it. Any more than she approved of the fact that she'd gone to bed with this man on the first night she'd met him.

But she had done it.
Was
doing it, acting out a lie.

And if she intended to keep on doing it, she'd better make her peace with it somehow, now, hadn't she?

He asked, sounding honestly concerned, “Are you worried about your family?”

Her heart contracted. “Yes,” she admitted in a small voice.

“It was really that bad? The scene with them yesterday?”

He was offering her a chance to talk about it, as much as saying he was willing to listen. A warmth spread through her. It wasn't exactly what she'd planned; she wanted to get
him
to open up to
her.

But maybe if she shared a few hard truths of her own, he'd feel safer sharing his.

She confessed, “It was awful. My stepmother called me a snake in the grass. And Arlene said I was trash. And Trish…well, you can imagine.”

Apparently he could. “Trish sobbed and shouted and accused you of stealing her boyfriend—me.”

All Lynn could manage right then was a small sound in the affirmative.

“I was not her boyfriend, Lynn. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I made that very clear to her. Repeatedly.” He shifted his grip on the steering wheel. “I suppose she told you that she quit.”

“Yes, she did.” She looked over at him. His eyes remained on the road ahead. “I guess you're relieved—and never mind. Don't answer that. I understand. I do know my sister….” She heaved a sigh. “She moved out of my house. She said she wasn't going to spend another minute around someone like me.”

“I have to say it. It sounds to me like you're better off without her. And Jewel and Arlene, too.”

Lynn looked away from him, out her side window at a patch of rocky outcroppings and dry scrub brush. “I've thought that once or twice myself.”

“You're mumbling.”

She turned to him. “They are difficult. And I guess they've kept me down, over the years. I wanted them to love me. And maybe I hid my true self from them, to make our lives run more smoothly. I'm not willing to do that anymore. And so there's a problem. But I still remember Jewel fussing over me, staying up all night to watch over me when I was fourteen and had pneumonia. I remember her hand on my
forehead, checking my fever. There
was
love in that hand.

“And once, a boy at school called me a big, fat cow. Trish spit in his face and then blacked his eye. Said he'd better not disrespect her sister if he knew what was good for him. She got suspended for a week for doing that.”

The smallest hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Trish is a fighter. I'll say that much for her.”

“Yes. And Arlene…”

“Arlene what?”

“Well, six years ago, when she married Clyde—that's her husband, Clyde—she really wanted me for a bridesmaid, made a big deal about my dress. She wanted me to have a color I liked, wanted the fit to flatter my…generous curves. And then, when she threw her bouquet, she threw it to me.” Lynn couldn't help chuckling. “I don't think Trish has ever forgiven her. But I guess Arlene figured I needed that bouquet more than Trish did.”

Ross looked at her then. “Arlene miscalculated.”