Mail-order bridegroom

This book made available by the Internet Archive.

PROLOGUE

Husband Wanted/

Woman rancher in immediate and desperate need of a man! Interested applicants should:

1. Be 25-45 years of age and looking for a permanent relationship—a kind and gentle personality is a plus!

2. Have extensive ranching background—be able to sit a horse, deal fairly with employees, herd cattle, etc.

3. Have solid business know-how—particularly the type necessary to please a bullheaded banker.

I am a twenty-six-year-old woman and can offer you a comfortable home, three square meals and some of the most beautiful scenery in Texas Hill Country. (Details of a more personal nature are open to negotiation.) Interested parties should send a letter of introduction, a resume and references to 'Miss Bluebonnet', Box 42, Crossroads, Texas.

Hunter Pryde picked up the newspaper ad and reread it, a remorseless smile edging his mouth. So Leah was in 'desperate need' of a husband. How interesting. How very, very interesting...

CHAPTER ONE

'This will be a real marriage, right?' the applicant interrupted. 'I cain't take over the place 'lessen it's a real marriage.'

Leah glanced up from the resume" of one Titus T. Culpepper and regarded the man in question with a cool gaze. 'Could you by any chance be referring to your conjugal rights, Mr Culpepper?'

'If that means us sleepin' together, then that's what I'm referring to. Hell, yes, I mean conjugal rights.' He rocked his chair back on to two legs, her grandmother's precious Chippendale groaning beneath his bulky frame. 'You're a fine-looking woman, Miz Hampton. Always was partial to blue-eyed blondes.'

She stiffened, struggling to hide her distaste. 'I'm...flattered, but '

'Like a bit of sweet-talk, do you?' He offered a toothy grin. 'So long as it'll get me what I want, I don't mind. Because as far as I'm concerned there's not much point in gettin' hitched if we ain't gonna share a bed.'

'I think any discussion about rights—conjugal or otherwise—is a trifle premature at this point,' she informed him shortly. Especially when she intended to find a nice, tame husband, willing to agree to a safe, platonic relationship. One brief, youthful brush with the more volatile type of emotions had been quite sufficient. 'About your resume^ Mr Culpepper '

'Titus TV

'Pardon me?'

'Most folks call me Titus T. If n we're to be wed, you might as well get used to calling me by my proper name/ He winked.

'I see.' Leah glanced at the papers before her with a jaundiced eye. This interview was definitely not turning out as she'd hoped. Unfortunately she'd already eliminated all the other applicants, except Titus T. and one other—H.P. Smith, her final interview of the day. She didn't have any choice but to give Mr Culpepper a fair and thorough hearing. 'It says here that you have extensive ranching experience.'

'Fact is, it was a farm I ran. But ranch...farm.' He shrugged. 'Same difference. So long's I can tell which end of a cow to stick the bucket under it don't matter, right?'

She stared, appalled. 'Actually, it does.'

'Not to my way of thinking.' Before she had a chance to argue the point he leaned forward, studying her intently. 'Your ad also says you need a businessman. Why's that?'

He'd hit on the main reason for her ad. While she could run a ranch with no problem, she needed a husband well-skilled in business to handle her financial obligations. Leah hesitated, reluctant to explain the pre-cariousness of her monetary situation, but knowing she didn't have much choice.

'The ranch is experiencing financial difficulties,' she admitted. 'In all honesty, we face bankruptcy if I can't obtain a loan. Our banker suggested that if I were married to an experienced rancher who had a strong business background they'd be willing to make that loan. That's why I placed the ad.'

Titus T. nodded, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. 'I can understand a sweet thing like you having trouble with ciphering, so I'd be more than happy to keep track

of the money for you.' An expansive smile slid across his face. 'Matter of fact, it might be a good idea to put all the accounts and such in my name for safekeeping. Then I'll talk the bank into giving us a nice fat loan. Don't you worry your head none about that.'

Leah fought to conceal her horror. There wasn't any point in continuing the interview. She knew a con-man when she met one. How had she managed to get herself into this predicament? She should have found some excuse the minute he opened his mouth. If she hadn't been so desperate, she would have. Determined to tread warily, she inclined her head, as though she found his every word to be perfectly acceptable.

'Of course. I don't see any problem with that,' she lied without a qualm, and stood, brushing her waist-length braid back over her shoulder. 'But I'm afraid our time is up. My next appointment is due any minute.' She could only pray that the final applicant would prove more suitable. The alternatives were unthinkable.

'Now, Miz Hampton...'

'I appreciate your coming,' she said, not giving him an opportunity to debate the issue. Loath as she was to come out from behind the protection of her father's huge oak desk, she wanted Titus T. Culpepper out of her study and on his way. Heading for the door, she kept a wary eye on him, hoping it wouldn't be necessary to call for Patrick, her foreman. 'I'll be making my decision in the next few days and will let you know.'

A trifle reluctantly he gained his feet and approached. 'You best think about one more thing afore you make that decision.'

She never saw it coming. Moving with amazing speed for a man of his size, he closed the distance separating them and snatched her into his arms. She turned her

head just in time, his clumsy attempt at a kiss landing on her cheek instead of her mouth.

'Come on, sweetpea,' he growled, tightening his hold. 'How're you gonna know what sort of husband I'd be without a smooch or two?*

'Let go of me!'

Thoroughly disgusted and more than a little frightened, she fought his hold with a desperation that must have taken him by surprise, for his grip slackened just enough for her to wriggle out of his embrace. Taking instant advantage, Leah bolted across the room to the gun-rack. Snatching free her rifle, she rammed several slugs into the magazine and confronted Titus T.

'Time to leave, Mr Culpepper. And I do mean now,' she announced in a furious voice, giving him a brisk poke in the gut with the barrel of the rifle.

To her relief, he didn't require any further encouragement. His hands shot into the air and he took a hasty step backward. 'Now, Miz Hampton,' he protested. 'No need to get yourself in an uproar. It were jez a kiss. If we're to be wed '

'I think you can forget that idea,' she cut in with conviction. Wisps of silver-blonde hair drifted into her eyes, but she didn't dare release her grip on the rifle long enough to push them back.

He glared in outrage. 'You sayin' no because of a little bitty kiss? Unless you marry a mouse, any man worthy of the name's gonna want a hell of a lot more from you than that.'

She refused to debate the point.. .especially when she'd lose the argument. It was the one detail in this whole crazy scheme that she preferred not to dwell on. 'It's not your problem, Mr Culpepper, since you won't be that man.'

'Damned tootinV He reached out and snatched a battered hat from off the rack by the study door. 'Don't know why you put an ad in the paper, if'n you didn't want a real husband. False advertising, that's what I call it.'

He stomped from the room and Leah followed, still carrying the rifle. No point in taking unnecessary risks. If nothing else, it would give Titus T. pause should he decide to turn amorous again. She needn't have worried. Without another word, he marched across the front porch and down the steps. Climbing into his battered flatbed truck, he slammed the rusty door closed. A minute later he disappeared down the drive.

Watching him leave, Leah's shoulders sagged. 'I must have been crazy to believe this would work,' she muttered, rubbing a weary hand across her brow. 'What am I doing?'

But she knew the answer to that. She was doing exactly what her father would have wanted her to do when faced with a buy-out attempt from one of the largest and most ruthless companies in the state: protecting the ranch and her grandmother by marrying. While every last ranch in the area had caved in to Lyon Enterprises' ruthless tactics and sold their property, Hampton Homestead remained firm. Even completely surrounded by the 'enemy', they refused to sell, no matter what.

Of course, there had been no other choice but to defy Lyon. For, as much as the ranch meant to Leah, it meant even more to Grandmother Rose. And Leah would do anything for her grandmother. Anything. Even stand up to a huge, ruthless company against overwhelming odds. Even offer herself in marriage in order to get the money necessary to win their fight.

'We're not selling the place; I don't care what dirty tricks they pull,' the elderly woman had announced just

that morning, after the latest offer from Lyon Enterprises had arrived. 'The only way they'll get me out of here is in a pine box! My grandfather died fighting for this land. So did my father. And so will I, if that's what it comes to.'

Then she'd crossed her skinny arms across her nonexistent bosom, stuck her chin in the air and squeezed her eyes closed, as though waiting for the undertaker to arrive.

But Leah had believed her. If the ranch went bankrupt and they were forced off the land, it would kill her grandmother. It was that simple. Keeping the ranch in the family was essential, which meant finding a solution to their current predicament. The problem was, unless she found a way to pry some money from the local bank, losing the ranch would soon be inevitable.

It had taken three long years of arguing to realize that the bank wouldn't loan money to a single woman in her mid-twenties. They'd proven especially reluctant when they'd discovered that she alone shouldered the financial burden of an elderly grandmother and a ranch full of human and animal 'lame ducks'. Learning of this year's running battle to prevent a take-over bid from one of the most powerful companies in the state gave them the best excuse of all to refuse any aid.

On the other hand, she'd recently been told that lending money to a family whose male head consisted in equal parts of a businessman and a rancher was a different proposition altogether. And, though she didn't fully understand why that should matter, it provided the loophole for which she'd been so desperately searching.

She took instant advantage. She immediately set out to find herself just such a husband, even if it meant putting an ad in the paper and offering herself to the highest bidder. She frowned, thinking of Titus T. Un-

fortunately, she wouldn't be offering herself to any of the applicants she'd interviewed to date.

What she really needed was a knight in shining armor to come riding up her drive, ready and able to slay all her dragons. A foolish wish, she knew. But still... Some silly, romantic part of her couldn't help dreaming for the impossible.

Leah glanced at her watch. Her final interview should arrive any time. She could only hope that he'd prove more acceptable than the others—docile enough to agree to all her demands and yet skilled enough in business matters to satisfy the bank. As though in response to her silent wish, a solitary rider appeared over a low ridge, shadowed black against the burnt-orange glow of a low-hanging sun. She shaded her eyes and studied him with keen curiosity. Could this be H.P. Smith, her final applicant?

He rode easily, at home in the saddle, swaying with a natural, effortless rhythm. Even from a distance she could tell that his horse was a beauty—the pale tan coat without a blemish, the ebony mane and tail gleaming beneath the golden rays of a setting sun. The animal was also a handful. But a handful he mastered without difficulty.

She frowned, something about him bothering her. If only she could figure out what. Then it hit her. She knew the man. On some basic, intuitive level she recognized the way he sat his horse, the simple, decisive manner with which he controlled the animal, the square, authoritative set of his shoulders. Even the angle of his hat was faintly familiar.

But who the hell was he?

She waited and watched, intent on the stranger's every movement. He rode into the yard as though he owned the place...as though he were lord here and her purpose

in life was to cater to his every pleasure. From beneath the brim of his hat Leah caught a glimpse of jet-black hair and deep-set, watchful eyes, his shadowed features taut and angled, as though hewn from granite. Then he dismounted, tying his buckskin to the hitching post. Not giving the vaguest acknowledgement, he turned to cross the yard toward her.

He stripped his gloves from his hands as he came, tucking them into his belt, and she found herself staring at those hands, at the strength and power conveyed by his loosely held fists. She knew those hands... But where? A flash of memory hit her—the gentle sweep of callused fingers against her breasts, tender and yet forceful, pain mixed with ecstasy—and she gasped.

And that was when he looked up.

Full sunlight cast the shadow from his face and revealed to her the threat—and the promise—in his cold black eyes. In that instant she realized who he was, and why he'd come.

'This just isn't my day,' she muttered and, acting on blind instinct, shouldered her rifle and fired.

The first blast cratered the ground a foot in front of him. He didn't flinch. He didn't even break stride. He came at her, his steady gaze fixed firmly on her face. She jacked out the shell and pumped another into the chamber. The second blast landed square between his boots, showering the black leather with dirt and debris. Still he kept coming, faster now, hard-packed muscle moving with cat-like speed. She wasn't given the opportunity to get off another round.

He hit the porch steps two at a time. Not hesitating a moment, he grabbed the barrel of the rifle and yanked it from her grasp, tossing it aside. His hands landed heavily on her shoulder, catapulting her straight into his

arms. With a muffled shriek, she grabbed a fistful of shirt to keep from falling.