Temporary Husband (11 page)

She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. But fortunately that’s not a problem.” She gazed up at him with eyes as clear and vivid as spring grass, and a face as open and innocent as a newborn. “You couldn’t have given me anything nicer than this.”

Feeling like a total heel, he released her and stepped back. “I’m going out,” he informed her gruffly.

“Okay. When will you return?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well…While you’re gone I’ll just run into town for supplies.”

“No!” His hands balled into fists as he fought for control. “I mean, you can get supplies at the supermarket in Two Forks. When you get to the end of the driveway, turn left.”

“Right.”

“No, left. Got it? Left.”

She grinned. “Gotcha.”

He thrust a hand through his hair. “I’ll hire some people to clean the house. And I’ll pick up dinner at the local takeout. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

It was the least he could do, considering his duplicity. A tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Why was he doing this? Why drop her in a house that should have been condemned years ago when he could put her up in a place worthy of a queen? He knew why. If he took
her anywhere else, it would give her false hope. It would suggest a permanence he could never allow. Didn’t she understand? He wasn’t the marrying kind. Eventually he’d let her down. He’d shatter every hope and dream she’d ever possessed. And he couldn’t bear to look into those huge, limpid eyes of hers when he destroyed that final illusion. No. Once she’d been mired in this hellhole for a while, she’d be desperate to leave.

And maybe one or two of those dreams would remain intact when she did.

“Why don’t you look the place over and make a list of what you need?” His voice grated like steel wool on rust. “If you hit a snag, Dusty can help out. He should be around here someplace.”

“Dusty?”

“My foreman. Big hat, little guy. Spits a lot. You can’t miss him.”

She grinned. “He sounds like quite a character.”

“Yeah. He’s a character, all right.” Unable to help himself, he swept her into his arms and kissed her with unmistakable desperation. “You shouldn’t have married me,” he muttered when he finally released her. “You’ll live to regret it. I guarantee.”

“The only regrets I’ll have is when it’s time to leave.”

He closed his eyes. “But you will leave,” he told her in an inflexible voice.

“Do I have a choice?”

He hardened himself against the wistful plea tugging at the chip of stone that had once passed for his heart. “No. You don’t,” he said and walked out the door.

“Uh-oh,” Wynne murmured as she gripped the steering wheel and stared at her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Buster demanded.

Chick pointed at the pedals on the floor.

Buster frowned. “There’s three.” He eyed his aunt, a concerned expression creeping across his face. “You know how to drive a three-pedal car?”

She sighed. “’Fraid not.”

“That’s okay. I watched how Uncle Jake did it. And Dad’s car had an extra petal, too.” He stabbed a finger toward the first one. “That there makes it go. The middle makes it stop. And you push in that last one when you move this stick.” He yanked on the gear shift to demonstrate.

“I had that much figured out.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Maybe we should wait until Jake gets back. I don’t think I can make it all the way into Two Forks on my own.”

“I don’t wanna go to Two Forks, anyway,” Buster retorted. “And neither does Chick. Let’s go to that other town. The one with the cowboy statue. We like that town.”

“Me, too,” Wynne confessed.

“It’s not far. You can do it.”

Chick nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay,” she said with as much optimism as she could scrape together. “Here goes.”

She pushed in the clutch and turned the key, giving the engine some gas. It roared to life. But the second she lifted her foot off the clutch the car lurched to a stop and stalled.

“You gotta push hard on the gas and let that other one out real slow,” Buster instructed.

Wynne shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure about this.”

Chick patted her on the shoulder, his big blue eyes mirroring his absolute faith in her ability. With a sigh, she tried again and managed to keep the truck going long enough to turn it in a wide half circle. Engine screaming, they bounced down the dirt driveway.

“Move the stick!” shouted Buster.

Pushing in the clutch, she jerked the stick into a new setting. The pickup bucked angrily and stalled yet again, rolling to a halt at the end of the driveway.

“You’re…ah…you’re getting better,” Buster lied unconvincingly.

“But not good enough to risk going all the way to Two Forks, right?” she said dryly.

“No way.”

Chick shook his head emphatically.

“I guess that narrows our choices down to one. Chesterfield. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Buster confirmed.

Restarting the engine, she ground her way into first and turned to the right. Four stalls later, they reached the outskirts of town. The pickup jerked to a stop in front of the outdoor market and, deciding she’d pushed her luck as far as it would go, she coasted into a parking spot.

“Made it,” Wynne said with undisguised relief. “But there’s one small problem.”

“What’s that?” Buster demanded.

“I don’t know how to do reverse. We may be stuck here a while.” She brightened. “In the meantime, let’s find that general store. We have shopping to take care of.”

Jake turned his back on the window overlooking the colorful booths of the outdoor market and thrust his hands into his pockets. “It isn’t going to work, Peter. This marriage is a total disaster.”

Alarm appeared on the lawyer’s face. “What happened? Wouldn’t she sign the prenuptial agreement?”

“She signed it.”

“She knows the marriage is temporary? Is she going to create a scene when it’s time for a divorce?”

“She’s agreed to the divorce, and she won’t kick up a fuss.”

“What about fulfilling the conditions of the will? You two are…ah…wedded and bedded, right?”

Jake gritted his teeth, pushing the words out with an effort. “It’s been taken care of.”

“And she’ll admit as much? In open court?”

Jake’s mouth tightened. “We haven’t discussed it, yet. But knowing Wynne, she’ll do anything I ask.”

Peter stared, nonplussed. “Even a real wife wouldn’t do that. Where’s the problem? Your bride sounds damn near perfect to me.”

“She’s…Nice.”

“Hell. That
is
a problem.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm, Bryant,” Jake growled. “I’m serious. I’m in a real fix here.”

“How? You wanted a plain, practical and levelheaded woman who’d agree to a temporary arrangement. Isn’t that what you got?”

Jake frowned. “She isn’t exactly plain,” he admitted.

“No? You roped a pretty one, huh? What did you say her name was? Wynne?”

“Wynne Sommers. And she’s…” Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sweet.
Innocent.

“Practical?”

Jake couldn’t help smiling. “Not that I’ve noticed.” Determined. Whimsical. Adorable.
A starry-eyed dreamer.

“But at least she’s levelheaded.”

When her head wasn’t in the clouds—a rare occurrence he suspected. “She’s hard to describe.”

Peter didn’t bother to hide his confusion. “Uh-huh. Give it a shot, anyway.”

“She’s…”

* * *

“Nuts. Wait a minute, boys. We have another problem.” Wynne opened her purse and thumbed through her wallet, counting the last few dollars she had to her name. “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents. That’s not going to go very far.”

“Can you write a check?” Buster asked, ever practical.

“I closed my Maryland bank account. But maybe…” She grasped the boys by the hand and marched toward the front of the store. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the cash register. “Is the owner here?”

“You’re speakin’ to her, honey. Belle Blue’s the name. What can I do you for?”

“I’m Wynne Hondo. And these are my nephews, Buster and Chick. We just moved to Chesterfield and I came shopping while my husband ran errands and—”

“Did you say Hondo?” Belle repeated sharply.

“That’s right.” Wynne smiled in delight. “Do you know Jake?”

“Black hair, a heart of stone and the devil’s own eyes? Sure, I know him.”

Wynne frowned. “I think you must have him confused with someone else. Jake does have dark hair, but he’s the kindest man in the world. And his eyes are the most beautiful shade of gold I’ve ever seen.”

Belle stared in disbelief. “Somebody’s confused, that’s for darned sure. Who did you say you were?”

“Wynne Hondo.”

“And you’re Jake’s…” She seemed to have trouble getting the appropriate word out.

“Wife. Yes. We just got married.”

The woman eyed her suspiciously. “You have proof of that?”

“I think so.” Wynne dug in her purse, searching for the envelope she’d been given by the county clerk.

“Asa, come over here and listen to this,” the woman called out. “Jake’s gone and got himself a wife.” She
shook her head in wonder as a tall, gray-haired man joined them. “And Randolph claimed there wouldn’t be time enough. He is gonna be fit to be tied.”

Locating the gold-leafed certificate, Wynne offered it to Belle, aware that a small, curious crowd had started to collect around the register. “This is just for decoration, you understand. It’s not a legal document and I’m not supposed to pass it off as one, but—”

“Honey, any woman brave enough to throw a lasso around a man like Jake Hondo deserves a frame for that piece of paper—legal or otherwise. Consider it a wedding present from me and Asa.”

“Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Wynne’s smile wavered. “But I still have a small problem.”

“How can I help?”

“I only have fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents on me and I wondered—”

“We’ll put your purchases on Jake’s tab. No problem.” She winked. “It’s not like we won’t know where to find you when the bill comes due at the end of the month. That Chesterfield spread sure is a beauty, isn’t it?”

Wynne stared at the woman in bewilderment. “Excuse me?”

“The Chesterfield spread. The ranch house where you’re living.”

“Oh, you must mean Lost Trail. The boys and I love it.”

Belle gave her a strange look. “You’re stayin’ at Jake’s old place?”

“Well, it does need a lick and a shine.” A small murmur ran through the crowd of shoppers. “But we’ll get it into shape in no time,” she hastened to reassure.

“Oh, you will, will you?” Belle shook her head and muttered, “That Jake Hondo is some piece of work.”

Wynne laughed. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

* * *

“She’s…She’s something else,” Jake finally said.

“And this—something else—is a problem,” Peter guessed, still struggling to uncover the source of Jake’s displeasure. “I don’t understand. Didn’t she like the Chesterfield spread?”

“I don’t know. We’re living at my place.”

Peter stared, openmouthed. “You…you took her to that dump? Have you lost your mind? No wonder she’s upset. Take her to Chesterfield Ranch. She’ll cheer right up.”

If he took her to his grandfather’s house, she’d never leave—an untenable situation. Because one day soon the knight’s armor in which she’d sheathed him would begin to show its tarnish. And he couldn’t bear to live with her eventual disillusionment when she finally saw the man beneath the chain mail—the real man.

“Wynne’s not upset,” he retorted. “In fact, she likes my place. She’s thrilled to be living in a house instead of an apartment. She’s even going to clean it for me.”

“
What
!”

“Not that I’d let her,” he added defensively. “Which reminds me. I need to hire somebody to knock the place into shape. Give me some recommendations, will you?”

Peter wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Let me get this straight…You don’t like this woman, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not in love with her.”

Jake turned his back on Peter and poured himself a drink. It took a quick swig and several minutes of intense concentration to throw off a cool and adamant, “No.”

“And she’s thrilled to be living in that pigsty you call a house? She’ll even clean it for you?”

Jake shrugged. “I gather her previous accommodations weren’t as spacious.” He thought of her laborroughened hands. “Nor is she afraid of hard work.”

“And she’s not bad looking?”

Hair the color of moonlight, skin as pure and soft as virgin wool, eyes as serene as a forest glade. “She’s beautiful,” Jake admitted roughly.

“I want her.”

“
What
!”

“After your divorce, I want her. She sounds like a dream come true.”

“Go to hell, Bryant,” Jake snapped, and turned to stare out the window.

Wynne shook hands for the umpteenth time, introducing herself and the boys to yet another resident of Chesterfield. “This has to be the friendliest town in the whole world,” she marveled as she pushed her cart down the aisle.

“Kinda crowded,” Buster observed, dodging another shopper.

“I guess they didn’t feel like driving all the way into Two Forks any more than we did.”

“How come everyone wants to shake hands with us? Nobody ever did that when we went shopping in Maryland.”

“I guess that’s the way people do things in Texas.” She paused by the local bulletin board and studied the various announcements. “There’s a charity craft fair next weekend. I wonder if Jake’s donated anything. Maybe I can bake a cake if he hasn’t.”

Chick tugged on her arm and Buster said, “Chick wants you to bake cookies instead of cake. That way we can help fix ‘em.”

“Help eat them, you mean,” she said with a laugh. “Well, grab a couple bags of chocolate chips and walnuts. They’re on that bottom shelf over there. In fact, grab several. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and that means lots of baking. But cleaning the house comes
first, okay? I promised Jake. Cookies are a solid second.”

Jake tried to ignore the annoying buzz of Peter’s unending string of questions and stared moodily out the office window. Gradually he focused on the pickup parked across the street—a familiar-looking sleek, black, mud-spattered pickup. He frowned, suddenly realizing just why it looked so familiar. Dammit all! That sleek, black mud-splattered pickup was
his.