Cowboy in My Pocket (5 page)

“Uh, I, um . . .”

“Good girl,” he said, patting her hand. “Yep, I think it’s gonna work. We’ll do just fine together.”

She glanced wildly about the room, at the old cowboy standing by the door, then back to the dark blue eyes gazing directly into her own. Oh yeah, just fine, she thought. Absolutely, one hundred percent fine.

She really should get a prize for keeping her smile intact. Maybe Betsy Mae was blackmailing her? Maybe Lee’d done something so appalling, she’d do anything not to be caught, up to and including marriage to this guy.

But when Lee tried to remember there was nothing but a huge void where her past should be, and the threat of another headache. “Why don’t you fill me in again on the details,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers.

“It won’t be that difficult.” Tag looked back at Coop, as if searching for instructions, but the old cowboy just shrugged his shoulders. “You just have to, uh, do bride stuff. You know, repeat after the minister, look, well, like you’re head over heels in love with me. You know, act like a bride.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to keep it simple. Nothing personal, you understand, but I’m really only doing this for my grandmother.”

“His gramma’s been threatening to . . .”

“Find me a wife if I don’t find one myself before I turn forty,” Tag said, interrupting Coop. “It was all Coop’s idea. I thought at first it was pretty dumb, but once Betsy Mae agreed, we figured, well, hey, it’ll work.”

“It’s called a marriage of convenience,” the old cowboy said. “I’ve read about ’em before.”

Lee wondered what kind of reading material Coop preferred.

Tag picked up the conversation as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Then Betsy Mae flaked out on us. I sure appreciate you taking her place. My grandmother’s wanted me hitched for years. Lately she’s really stepped up the pressure. Betsy Mae said it sounded like fun, until she fell in love with that clown.” He snorted. “Her timing couldn’t have been worse, but I think my grandmother will like you a lot, Lee. That’s really what’s important, isn’t it? That’s the reason you’re here.”

He smiled that perfect, lopsided smile at Lee. “Just to make an old woman happy.”

“I see,” Lee said, though she wasn’t sure she saw anything at all. So he hadn’t been in love with Betsy Mae after all. Obviously he didn’t care who he married, as long as dear Grandma approved. Could he be gay?

Impossible. She’d know that, wouldn’t she? “And this wedding is . . . ?”

“Just like I told you.” He looked at his watch again. “In the front room, in less than an hour. We’ve got the preacher and the marriage license and everything.” Tag smiled like a man with a winning plan.

“But I don’t have anything to wear,” she said, perfectly aware there were a lot of other, more important things she should be wondering about.

Like how Betsy Mae had talked her into something as stupid as a marriage of convenience.

Like who she really was and what she was doing here.

Like where the bride and groom were going to sleep.

Tag looked at Coop. Coop shrugged his shoulders. Tag glanced around the room, finally settling on the closet door. “I figured Betsy Mae would have taken care of that. Guess she didn’t. My mother was about your size. Maybe something of hers?”

“Okay, I guess.” No, it’s not okay! But he talked like she’d already agreed to this, so her so-called friend Betsy Mae had to have talked her into it.
Why can’t I remember?

“Does your grandmother know Betsy Mae arranged this, um, marriage?”

“No,” Tag muttered. “That’s something we’d rather she didn’t find out. The story’s gonna be that we met at the rodeo down in Durango, fell in love, and decided to tie the knot. Think you can carry it off?”

“You want her to believe we’re in love? We don’t even know each other!”
For crying out loud, I don’t even know myself!
She sensed another headache beginning, and lowered her voice. “She’s going to realize we’re pretending, don’t you think?”

Tag’s grin slipped, and the look he flashed at the old man could only be described as one of pure panic. “You’re right, I guess. Like I said, we’re, uh, still working out the details.” He took a deep breath, then once more grasped her hands between his. “Maybe we can, umm, work on, our, umm, rela . . . well, get to know each other. Just to make it look realistic,” he added in a rush of words.

“I gotta go check the preparations, Tag.” Coop suddenly came to life and skittered for the door. “I’ll take care of everything for you. You just get to know the little lady.” He checked his watch. “But make it quick, okay?”

The door bounced shut behind the old cowboy, leaving absolute silence in its wake. And Lee, alone in a strange bedroom with a devastatingly handsome man she didn’t know a thing about, except that in less than an hour he was going to be her husband.

But first, he wanted to work on a relationship.

Not a real relationship, of course. He didn’t love her, but he wanted a bride to make his grandmother happy? This would be weird even if she did recall what she’d agreed to do!

She fought the urge to tug her hands out of Tag’s, and instead looked down at their linked fingers. She quietly contemplated her fingernails. They were perfectly manicured, the polish only slightly marred, each nail a flawless oval. They certainly didn’t look like the nails of a horsewoman.

Her hands were so smooth. Tag’s hands were rough and work-worn, with deep ridges where the leather reins must pass between his thumb and forefinger. She thought about his hands, their strength and size, and how gentle they felt.

Gentle, strong and warm. A woman would feel sheltered by those hands. Sheltered and protected from just about anything.

She looked up into those midnight blue eyes staring back at her and wondered if he had any idea how confused she felt at this moment. There was no reason to believe she wasn’t exactly what he’d said, an ex–barrel racer now a bride of convenience he’d lined up with the help of his ex-fiancée, Betsy Mae.

But none of it felt right.

Why was her head so full of rodeo, images of such static clarity they might have been photographs? Why did this man beside her look familiar, when she shouldn’t even know him?

Why can’t I remember?

A teasing image flashed across her mind, tall buildings and crowded sidewalks and a taxi blaring, then just as quickly the image faded.

Leaving another tremendous headache in its wake.

“Are you all right?” He reached out and lifted her chin with one finger. His eyes darkened with concern.

“Just a headache,” she replied honestly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He squeezed her fingers, took another deep breath, and she heard him swallow. “Then kiss me.”

“What?” She yanked her hands out of his and scooted away.

“Kiss me. Or I can kiss you. Whichever.” The expression on his face was one of grim determination. In fact, she thought he looked like a man facing an IRS audit.

“I don’t think so.” She glared at him out of narrowed eyes. She really wasn’t ready for this. Not yet, anyway. Obviously, neither was he.

“You’ll have to kiss me at the wedding,” Tag said. “I think we need to practice or we’ll look like a couple of fools. My grandmother will never believe we’re in love, much less married.” He reached up and twisted one long strand of her hair around his fingers. For a moment the look that crossed his face was one of loss and longing.

“That’s all, Lee. Just a few kisses to convince my grandmother. You don’t have to lie about who you are or what you did for a living, where you come from, anything other than how we met.” His gentle words took on a forceful note. “I know you’ve decided to get out of rodeo. Betsy Mae told Will you really need the money. The simpler we keep this, the better. But you’ll have to kiss me occasionally or my grandmother’ll guess in a heartbeat.”

So many questions, and absolutely no answers. Why did her body respond to his touch, when her mind screamed
beware
?

Everything depended on her success at the Double Eagle. Why did she know that? How would Betsy Mae know she needed money? Lee tilted her head and studied his wary expression. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to kiss her all that much. “So you think we need to practice?” she said, watching his expression and stalling for time. When he nodded his head, she looked down and smoothed the covers across her lap.

“Just a little,” he said, dropping the strand of hair to lightly stroke her shoulder. “Just enough to be convincing.”

“Oh.” She shivered under the light caress, suddenly so aware of him, of his size, his presence, his almost careless sensuality. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be difficult at all to make this convincing.

The hard part would be remembering, not her past, but the reality of the present. This meant nothing to him.

Playacting, to put one over on a little old lady. She’d have to give that some thought as well. Lying didn’t set well with her at all. She might not be positive that Lee Stetson was really her name, but she knew she was an honest woman.

She knew she’d been lonely. With that knowledge came awareness, and an almost shameful sense of vulnerability. How easy it could be to forget this was basically theater to him.

It was up to her to prevent it from becoming a tragedy.

He studied her intently a moment longer, until Lee felt almost preternaturally aware of herself, of the rate of her heartbeat, the sudden dryness to her lips, the essence of the man leaning almost imperceptibly closer.

Suddenly their mouths were touching. Startled by the contact, she jerked away, but his broad hand gently cupped her skull, lightly restrained her, calmed her nervous reaction. He smiled against her mouth, and his lips explored with infinite slowness, his taste every bit as warm and wonderful as she’d imagined a lover’s could be. “See,” he groaned. “That’s not so bad, is it?” He leaned closer and swept his hand through her hair, tangling his fingers in the thick strands.

She tilted her head to fit more perfectly to him. Her lips parted as naturally as if they’d been lovers forever. Tag cupped her head in both his hands, steadying her as his tongue swept the inner recesses of her mouth. She drew him in, suckling, tasting, needing. Her arms encircled his waist, drawing him down, drawing him closer until he sprawled across her body, weighting her with the hard length and breadth of him.

She whimpered, a soft catch in the back of her throat, and her hands slipped beneath his jacket and tugged at his shirt, pulling the crisp fabric free of his dress slacks. Tag’s hand swept along her side, then back across the silky gown to cup her full breast in his palm. The tiny nub came to life beneath his touch. Lee whimpered again, and arched her hips against him.

The instinctive return of pressure, the groan she heard from deep within his throat, the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against that sensitive spot between her thighs, jolted Lee’s senses as nothing else could.

Her hands, once grasping his hips to pull him closer, now clutched at the leather belt he wore and shoved.

He didn’t budge at first, but the sudden restraint in his embrace told her he got the message.

He ended the kiss abruptly, rolled away, and draped his forearm across his eyes. She scooted back up to a sitting position, tugging the blankets with her. His breathing was as ragged as her own, his chest rising and falling with each gasp.

“Okay,” he said, a long moment later. “I think that’s convincing.” He rolled his head to one side and stared up at her, his eyes even darker than before. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to let that . . . I mean . . .” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and propped himself up on one elbow. “It wasn’t supposed to happen quite like that, Lee. I shouldn’t have let things get so out of hand. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He brushed his hand over his eyes. “You’ll still go through with this . . . you’ll still marry me, won’t you?”

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod
. . . She’d imagined kisses like that, but Lee knew she’d never, not ever in her life, experienced anything remotely like this cowboy’s kiss. She couldn’t possibly let him know how he’d affected her.

“Of course,” she lied. “I’m fine.” But would she ever be fine again? The man was willing to marry a stranger because he obviously didn’t want the commitment of a true marital relationship. The last thing she needed to do was let him think she was attracted to him. He’d have her out of here in a heartbeat, with absolutely no money to her name, no past, and no one to count on.

It wasn’t going to be easy. She couldn’t believe her body’s response! Her lips still tingled, her heart still thudded unevenly in her chest.

Just how real was this marriage to Tag Martin supposed to be? He didn’t actually expect to . . . No! He’d just promised not to kiss her like that again. Darn it! If he expected a more intimate relationship after they married, wouldn’t he have mentioned it?

Tag stood up with his back to Lee and quickly tucked his shirt back into his pants and straightened his coat. He finger-combed his hair, then turned around with that devilish lopsided grin back on his face.

“You’d best look for something in that closet.” He dimpled up again, as calm and relaxed as if he hadn’t just kissed her into oblivion. “I’m sure there’s something that’ll work.”

Suddenly, a cacophonous blast from a loud horn disturbed the quiet moment. Tag raced to the window with Lee right beside him. A bright red 1959 Cadillac coupe slid into the yard in a spray of gravel and mud, then spun to a stop in front of the porch. It was truly a sight to behold. What wasn’t painted fire engine red was covered with chrome, and its fins were so broad the thing looked as if it could take off.

“My Lord, she drove the beast out by herself,” Tag muttered. “I thought Gramma Lenore said she was too old to drive that thing.” He whirled around and pinned Lee with what he hoped was a convincing stare. “You stay here and get ready for the wedding. I’ll send Coop in to fetch you when it’s time.”

“But . . .”

“No buts.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried not to look too closely at the delicate gown she wore or the faint outline of some of the fascinatingly feminine body parts it barely disguised. It wasn’t easy, not when the fabric hinted at more than it covered.