“You Sound Nervous, Carey. Do I Make You Nervous? I Don’t Mean To.”

“You don’t.” Carey dismissed his comment with a false laugh.

Luke took a very deliberate step toward her, forcing her back against the edge of the counter. “What are you worried about?” Luke asked quietly. “Afraid I might demand my conjugal rights? Being it is our wedding night and all?”

“Of course not,” she said flatly. “Besides, we have an agreement, and I expect you to respect it.” Then, bolder, she added, “While we’re on the subject…that kiss at the ceremony? Totally out of line.” Luke’s expression was a perfect picture of smug male superiority.

“Funny how I didn’t hear too many complaints at the time. In fact, if I didn’t know better,” he added, trying not to grin, “I would have sworn you enjoyed it.”

Dear Reader,

In keeping with the celebration of Silhouette’s 20th anniversary in 2000, what better way to enjoy the new century’s first Valentine’s Day than to read six passionate, powerful, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Beloved author Dixie Browning returns to Desire’s MAN OF THE MONTH promotion with A Bride for Jackson Powers, also the launch title for the series THE PASSIONATE POWERS. Enjoy this gem about a single dad who becomes stranded with a beautiful widow who’s his exact opposite.

Get ready to be seduced when Alexandra Sellers offers you another sheikh hero from her SONS OF THE DESERT miniseries with Sheikh’s Temptation. Maureen Child’s popular series BACHELOR BATTALION continues with The Daddy Salute—a marine turns helpless when he must take care of his baby, and he asks the heroine for help.

Kate Little brings you a keeper with Husband for Keeps, in which the heroine needs an in-name-only husband in order to hold on to her ranch. A fabulously sexy doctor returns to the woman he could never forget in The Magnificent M.D. by Carol Grace. And exciting newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero in Jesse Hawk: Brave Father.

We hope you will indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day with all six of these passionate romances, only from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Husband for Keeps
Kate Little

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE LITTLE

claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives in Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

One

Storm clouds, heavy with rain, swiftly moving across a wide sky. The ominous rumble of thunder in the distance. Wind rising, blowing dust and brush across the front yard.

A woman in a doorway, a wedding bouquet in her hands, anxiously watching the distant road for an approaching car.

A jagged bolt of lightning cutting across the sky.

The hands of the clock moving quickly toward high noon—the showdown hour….

It was all too much like a scene from a bad movie, Carey Winslow reflected. And she’d acted in enough of them to know.

She watched as the first heavy drops darkened the ground and splashed on the porch railing. Then the wind picked up, the rainfall gusting into a heavy, wet curtain.

The predictions she’d heard this morning on the radio had come to pass, and Carey knew from the forecast that a front of severe storms was going to sweep across the entire state. Including the airport, several hours away by car.

Kyle would never get here in time now. Carey felt her stomach clench at the hard truth. His car—some cheap rental with no pickup and even less traction—will slide off the side of the road. Why did he have to time it down to the very last minute? Wasn’t that just like a man?

She sighed and stepped back from the front door, setting the small bouquet of white sweetheart roses on the hallway table.

“Your fiancé here yet?” Ophelia’s calm voice echoed down the hallway of the gracious old house. “The judge is getting antsy. Says if the fellow doesn’t come soon, might as well not bother. Being as the rain’s started and all….”

“Yes, I know. I won’t wait much longer.” Carey smoothed down the sleeveless white chiffon dress with a scattered print of green and red blossoms. Her only jewelry was a cameo broach, a treasured remembrance of her mother. A garland of miniature white roses and baby’s breath in her hair completed the outfit: her wedding outfit.

Not the traditional gown and veil, but she was certainly not the conventional bride. The outfit—as were the rest of the preparations—was makeshift. Less than traditional, yet enough to keep up appearances. Just enough to fulfill the terms of her father’s will and gain her inheritance.

But nothing would be gained without a groom, Carey despaired. And time was running out.

“Ask the judge if he wants some lunch while he’s waiting. I’d better go out and look for my betrothed.”

“In that weather?” Ophelia squawked. “You’ll make your clothes a mess. Why don’t you wait till Willie gets back? He’ll find the fella for you.”

The confident tone she used to volunteer her husband’s aid tugged at Carey’s heart. Her mother had died when Carey was only seven years old, and her father had never remarried. Ophelia and Willie, who had been indispensable in the running of Whispering Oaks for over twenty-five years, had supplied Carey’s only example of what a loving lifetime bond between a man and woman could be. It was the kind of relationship she’d always hoped for, imagined she would begin on her own wedding day. But, like so many childhood hopes and dreams, it was sadly not to be.

If he’d been present, Carey knew Willie Jackson would have eagerly braved the rain and wind to help her. But Willie, who was filling in for the ranch’s missing foreman at the moment, was out in the heavy weather, checking on the stock.

“I can’t wait for Willie. Like the judge said, if I wait any longer I might as well not bother.”

Carey pulled a bright-yellow rain slicker off the antique coatrack in the hall and slid the rough clothing over her formal outfit. She kicked off her dressy pumps and dashed back to the mudroom off the kitchen to grab a pair of high rubber boots, mostly used for tramping around the barnyard and horse stalls.

“You’re a sight in that getup.” Ophelia waved a dishcloth at Carey as she passed through the kitchen, heading back to the front door. “You’ll scare the poor guy off, if you ever do find him.”

“Not likely.” Carey grunted as she yanked on the high boots. The only thing that would scare Kyle Keeler off at this point, Carey reflected, was a cut in his fee.

Besides, Carey knew that Kyle—who fit into every stereotype of a vain actor—would be too mesmerized by his own looks to spare her a glance. And, of course, he’d be fantasizing about how he’d spend his payoff.

Kyle Keeler, struggling actor, longtime friend, was in it for the money; specifically, the generous sum Carey had promised him to take on the role of husband-in-name-only for a suitable period of time. During which, she would receive her inheritance, the Whispering Oaks Ranch, which she planned on selling as quickly as possible.

After six months or so, they would divorce. Kyle would get his loot and return to sunny Hollywood. Carey would get on with her life, sell the ranch and maybe return to school for a college degree, leaving her less than notable screen career behind her.

Ophelia knew all this. Ophelia knew everything. But somehow, she couldn’t help but act as if this whole charade was a love match. She’d even baked a grand-looking, three-tiered cake and mixed a champagne punch. Well, Ophie always loved a party, Carey knew.

Carey glanced fondly at her housekeeper, who now stood scowling with arms crossed across her ample chest.

“If Kyle calls, tell him I’ve gone out looking for him and I’ll be back in an hour,” she instructed. She grabbed the keys to the pickup off the foyer table, then checked her watch.

While Ophelia tisked and shook her head, Carey gathered up her skirt and made a run for the truck, fat drops of rain pelting her face and clinging to her long, golden brown hair.

She jumped inside, jammed the key into the ignition and prayed under her breath. “Just turn over, please,” she begged the old truck. “Just this once, don’t give me a problem.”

In his final years her father had let just about everything on the place go, including the vehicles and equipment. Carey had no idea how bad things had gotten. Her relationship with him had been strained ever since Carey had left home at age eighteen. There’d been little contact and even fewer visits.

The old truck sputtered ominously, and Carey nearly lost heart. Then suddenly the engine turned over with a roar.

She carefully put the truck in gear and headed down the long ranch road, the wipers and weak defogger doing only a passable job on the rain-drenched, fogged-up windshield. The truck bounced along through the ruts and holes, giving Carey a ride like a rodeo bronco. But despite the punishment, she didn’t slow down.

When she reached the main road, she turned left. If her groom had followed the careful directions from the airport, she knew he would be approaching from that direction.

Carey spared a quick glance at her image in the rearview mirror. Ophie, bless her soul, had been right. She did look a sight.

Some bride. More like the bride of Frankenstein!

If only this was a real wedding day, with a man I could truly pledge my heart to, could lovingly promise to honor and cherish, Carey thought wistfully. It would certainly make Ophie happy.

And my father, rest his soul.

She shook the errant thought from her head. As if she had ever met a man she would want to marry—truly. Oh, she’d had some romances, some that even seemed serious for a time. But when it came down to the question of marriage, the very idea of a pledge so permanent, so all encompassing, scared her silly. She wasn’t quite sure why, when part of her seemed to yearn so for such a union.

Perhaps it was the idea of giving up so much of the independence she’d struggled so hard to win and preserve, but which lately had provided little more than cold comfort on a long lonely night. Especially here, out on the ranch, where there were far fewer escapes and distractions from that empty, aching feeling than there’d been in Los Angeles.

Still, she wasn’t ready for marriage. Not now. Maybe not ever—though she did love children and often felt an urge toward motherhood. But a woman didn’t necessarily have to be married these days to have children. Hollywood stars were going the single-mom route every day. And once she sold the ranch, Carey reflected, the money would give her the freedom to do as she wished. To map out a whole new plan for her future.

As Carey’s thoughts wandered, her gaze searched the road for any sign of Kyle. All she had to do was find Kyle and bring him back before the judge flew the coop. Once the stroke of midnight sounded, marking her thirtieth birthday, she would lose everything if she was still single.

But if Kyle was stuck someplace in the rain, or worse yet, if his flight had been forced to land at some distant airport, she was sunk. Who in the world could she find to marry her at this late hour in the game?

Carey took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t do any good to dwell on the worst possibilities. You have to think positively, she coached herself, trying to pump up her positive energy as she’d learned to do from stepping into a tough audition. You have to picture yourself standing in front of that judge, saying “I do!”

As Carey coaxed mental images of her nuptials, the wipers struggled to keep up with the driving rain. Carey leaned forward and whisked some fog from the windshield with the edge of her sleeve. She could barely see even a few yards ahead of her.

Not that there was much to see. The road was not well traveled even on the fairest days. This morning, she reasoned, anyone with any sense in their head had pulled over to wait out the worst of the storm.

Then suddenly she spotted the dark form of a vehicle up ahead, parked on the side of the road. Kyle’s rental car! Yes! Her heart lurched hopefully. See what a little positive thinking can do? She congratulated herself.

Then she drew closer. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Not Kyle’s car as she hoped. Her spirits sank again as she took in the sight of a black flatbed pickup, its emergency lights flashing. A blue bandanna was tied to the radio antenna, hanging limp and drenched with rain. Clearly the troubled traveler had been sitting there for some time.

“Oh, drat.” Carey slapped the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

Just what I need, a chance to play Good Samaritan. Don’t I have more important things to do than rescue stranded neighbors right now? If I don’t find Kyle out here somewhere within the next fifteen minutes, my entire life is down the toilet.

She approached the truck and carefully applied the brakes. Her own truck skidded and veered to the side but finally stopped safely on the road shoulder. She cut the engine and pressed on her emergency lights.

When she looked back at the black pickup, she caught sight of a small face, staring at her through a circle in the fogged window. A little boy’s face, his dark eyes wide and frightened.

She forgot about her missing groom and spoiled plans and was suddenly happy she’d stopped. She pushed her door open, and a gust of rain hit her with a blast as she hopped out of the truck. Her boots sank into the mud several inches.

The door of the black truck swung open, and Carey found herself staring at the driver. His serious, impassive expression, strong features and compelling dark eyes made her breath catch and froze her in her tracks.

“Thanks for stopping,” he said, unsmiling. His voice was deep, rough, disturbingly masculine.

“No problem,” she replied evenly. “Why don’t you leave your truck here, and I’ll give you a lift back to my place? It’s only a few miles west.”

As Carey spoke she felt increasingly self-conscious under his assessing glance. She realized what a sight she must seem, from the garland of wilted flowers in her matted hair, to her long, wet, mud-splattered skirt.

Suddenly the boy’s dark head popped up from behind one broad shoulder. Carey smiled at his wide-eyed expression. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment.

“Hey, Luke, has that lady come to help us?” she heard him whisper into the driver’s ear.

“Sure thing, pal,” the driver said. “I told you someone would come,” the man named Luke added in a quiet, reassuring tone. “Tyler doesn’t care much for thunderstorms,” he explained, glancing with a sympathetic gaze at the boy.

“Oh…I see.” Carey peeked over Luke’s broad shoulder at Tyler’s small, wary expression. “Well, here I am. Your official rescue squad.” She offered a wide smile in the boy’s direction. “When I was a kid I didn’t like storms, either. But my mother used to tell me it was only angels bowling.”

Tyler’s uneasy expression slowly changed to a smile. “That’s silly,” he said.

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Carey agreed with a little laugh.

Then she met Luke’s gaze and felt mesmerized as a slow, reluctant smile transformed his hard, impassive features. Not the sly, come-on smile Carey normally drew from members of the opposite sex. This was different. Completely different.

Deep dimples creased his tanned cheeks; even, white teeth flashed against tanned skin, a sudden light in his dark eyes glowed as he met her gaze. Carey smiled back, feeling a curious, punched-in-the-gut sensation again. As if, during that instant his gaze had met and held hers, somehow he’d tapped a direct line to her heart.

Gratitude, perhaps, for the comfort she offered his small scared companion. Or simply the glance two adults exchange when caring for a child.

But just as quickly his expression returned to the shuttered mask that had first greeted her. She had the oddest feeling he regretted allowing himself even that single, simple instant of intimacy.

He turned abruptly to the boy. “Let me help you out on this side, Ty. There’s a big puddle on yours. And don’t forget your hat.”

“I’ll wait in the truck for you,” Carey said curtly. She turned and tramped off to her truck, putting some much-needed distance between herself and her newfound passengers.

Her reaction to this guy had been…ridiculous. It had to be the stress of this everything-gone-wrong day—when so much depended on things going right for her, just this once.

Luke and Tyler soon appeared at the passenger side of the truck, and Luke opened the door and helped the boy climb in.

“Just wait here with the lady a minute,” Luke instructed him. “I need to go back to the truck. I’ll just be a minute,” he told Carey.

Once Carey and Tyler were alone, he glanced up at her warily. “My name is Tyler,” he offered politely, reminding her that she hadn’t introduced herself by name yet.

“I’m Carey,” she returned. “Carey Winslow.” Then, not knowing what else to say as he continued to stare up at her so solemnly, she added, “How old are you?”

“I’m four. Almost going to be five.”

Carey, who wasn’t around small children much, didn’t know how to keep the conversation going. Thunder rolled loudly nearby, and she saw the child grow tense again.

“Do you like horses?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“I guess,” he said hesitantly, his answer surprising her. What four-year-old boy didn’t like horses?

“I’ve only seen a few close up. I never rode one,” he explained. The he looked back up at her, his expression very serious. “Luke has. He’s been on a lot of horses.”

Carey, who knew a full-blooded cowboy when she saw one, laughed lightly. “I bet he has. Maybe he’ll teach you to ride them someday, too. You’d like it. It’s fun.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tyler replied. He continued to stare at her and did not smile back.

Carey looked for Luke and saw him moving bags from the truck bed into the cab. She glanced at her watch, wishing she could deliver these two hapless travelers back to the house and get on the road again.

“Carey, can I ask you something?” Tyler’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“Are you…are you like a fairy princess or something? Like in a book?” His question would have made her burst out in laughter, if not for the solemn expression of his small round face and dark-brown eyes. Eyes a lot like Luke’s—though it was still unclear what the relationship was between the man and boy.

She shook her head, pursing her lips to keep from smiling too broadly. “No, not at all. Just a regular person… Whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged, a small movement under his thin, baseball-style jacket. “I just thought maybe you were. You look like the pictures of one in a book I used to have. Like that crown thing in your hair and your long dress and all,” he explained, seeming a bit embarrassed.

“Oh—” She glanced down at her long skirt, then remembered the garland of soggy flowers in her hair. “Oh, sure. I see…I’m just dressed…special today,” she tried to explain. “For a special occasion.”

He seemed satisfied with that explanation, his expression lighting up in anticipation. “Like a party you mean?”

“Hmmm. Sort of,” she hedged, thinking of the three-tiered cake and the bowl of punch.

The passenger side door swung open and a gust of rain blew into the cozy truck cab. Just outside the truck, Luke removed his Stetson, shook the water off quickly, then ducked inside and slammed the door. Tyler quickly scooted close to Carey to make room for him.

“Well, put it in gear and let’s see what we’ve got,” Luke said. “If we’re stuck, I’ll get out and push.”

He wiped his damp hair back off his brow with a quick, sweeping motion of his hand. She suddenly noticed he was in need of a shave, though the observation did nothing to detract from his dark good looks. Carey forced herself to look away.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Carey replied, as she slipped the transmission in low gear. The truck wheels spun for a long, agonizing moment, then suddenly gripped the mud as the vehicle lurched out onto the road.

Carey quietly sighed with relief and thought she heard the same from Luke’s end of the cab. “You shouldn’t have parked so far onto the shoulder like that. We might have been stuck in the mud,” he observed.

“Well, we weren’t, so that’s mud under the bridge in my book.” Her reply was delivered in a cheerful, even tone, though she actually felt put out by the need to explain herself to a stranger. For goodness’ sake, he was lucky she’d come along when she had and offered him a ride.

“My name is Carey, by the way,” she added. “Carey Winslow.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him glance her way over Tyler’s head. Then he looked back out at the road.

“Luke Redstone,” he replied. “And this is Tyler…my nephew.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve been getting acquainted.” Carey glanced down warmly at the boy.

Luke looked at him, too. A questioning look, as if he was worried about what the boy had said in his absence. “We were just talking about horses,” Tyler explained in a quiet voice to his uncle.

Luke seemed satisfied with that reply, his features fixed in the serious, thoughtful expression that was quickly becoming familiar to her.

“And I asked her about, you know, what I thought,” Tyler added in an even quieter voice. “And you were right. What you said. She’s not…one. She’s just dressed up that way for a party.”

Taking her eyes off the treacherous road for a moment, Carey noticed that this last comment caused a slight grin to soften Luke’s expression.

“Well, that makes some sense, I suppose,” he replied to Tyler. Then to Carey he said, “I did notice that you weren’t quite dressed for the weather.”

He turned, his gaze moving slowly down her body with an assessing, slightly amused light dancing in his dark eyes.

She knew she looked a sight, from the circle of wilted flowers in her long, wind-whipped hair, to the soggy skirt that clung damply to her legs. His appraisal of her appearance unnerved her. Annoyed her, actually.

“It’s not a party exactly,” Carey replied, unsure of how much she was willing to disclose about her present predicament. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”

The words just burst out. Maybe just to shock that amused, slightly smug look off his handsome face, she realized.

And she’d succeeded, she noticed.

“Married? Today?” His gaze narrowed, attractive little creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Carey nodded, pulling hard—but carefully—on the wheel as the truck swerved on a wide stretch of flooded blacktop.

Carey was suddenly conscious of how her passengers held their breath for a second, waiting to see if she had saved them from skidding off the road.

She had. The truck bumped along in a straight path once more.

“Congratulations,” Luke said quietly.

“Thanks.” Carey wasn’t quite sure if he was congratulating her on her driving skills or her upcoming marriage, but she didn’t bother to ask.

He sat silently for a moment, then added, “Can I ask you what you’re doing riding around out here if you’re supposed to be getting married? High-tailing it from the poor groom?”

These last words were spoken lightly. But the underlying bitter note in his accusation was not lost on Carey. Not a man with a very high opinion of women, was he?

“Actually, it’s sort of the opposite,” Carey kept her eyes glued to the road, noticing that they were finally approaching the ranch. “So far, the groom is the no-show. I came out looking for him…and found you.”

She felt him looking at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. She couldn’t say he looked contrite or apologetic for assuming the worst about her, but a bit mollified, perhaps.

“Probably just stuck in the rain,” Luke offered.

“Probably,” Carey agreed. Though she knew Luke couldn’t imagine what this minor delay would cost her.

In most any other case, a delayed groom would be the cause of some inconvenience, some change in plans. But the show would go on. In her case, however, it was a pure and simple catastrophe.

But she didn’t need to explain that to Luke Redstone. Didn’t even want to try. Everything about him, from his worn, wide-brimmed hat to the scuffed toes of his black boots spoke of a practical man, a straightforward man, who would neither understand nor approve of her sham wedding plan. No, she thought, stealing a quick glance in his direction, he wouldn’t understand. Her plan was pure Hollywood, and he was clearly 100 percent all-American cowboy. The stuff legends were made of. And she had to admit that she herself wasn’t entirely proud of this plan: though not illegal, as her attorney assured her, it was certainly a willful misinterpretation of her father’s final wishes.

They drove on in silence, the wipers squeaking against the windshield and the truck’s thick tires making a muffled sound as they sped over the wet road.

She didn’t know why she should care what Luke Redstone thought of her. And quickly brushed the thought aside. She would take these two home, let them dry out and warm up, and as soon as they could get a tow truck out here, she’d never see them again.

Two

“Well, here we are. Almost,” Carey announced as she steered the swerving truck off the main road and into the turnoff that led to the ranch.

“This is where you live?” Luke asked her.

“Used to be my dad’s place. I grew up here but moved to California right after high school. Hardly been back since,” she added.

She glanced over at him, willingly answering his unspoken questions. A man like this, clearly private and guarded himself, would never be pushy about pulling out personal information. But she didn’t mind disclosing a few basic facts.

“Where’s your dad?” he asked. Did his tone imply that it seemed unlikely that a woman alone—especially one rushing around in a thunderstorm, dressed like a “fairy princess”—would be up to the task of running a ranch on her own?

“He passed on.” Carey replied without turning her head

“Sorry for your loss,” Luke replied politely.

Carey nodded. “Thanks.”

It had been over six months since her father’s death. But talking about it aloud was still hard for her.

The long months since Jonah Winslow had passed away had been filled with mixed feelings of regret and resentment. She and her father had never quite settled their differences. Or forgiven each other completely for past hurts. Always the stoic hale-and-hearty rancher, Jonah Winslow never once let on that his health was deteriorating so rapidly, his heart giving out like a burned-out old engine.

Heart failure, the doctors had called it. That was the information she’d finally received upon her return. Medication at that point was only delaying the inevitable and eventually wouldn’t have much effect. Nothing short of a complete transplant could help him, and he was too advanced in age and his body too weak to be a candidate.

She’d planned a visit home in the summer months, anyway, but it was a call from Ophelia that had finally alerted her to the dire situation.

And once Carey had returned home, she’d found a once-intimidating, giant of a man reduced to such a pitiful shell she’d hadn’t the heart or will to take up old grievances with him. Heavens, no. She’d been thankful enough to make it back in time to offer some comfort to him at the end.

Her father had died peacefully in his sleep, less than two weeks after her return. It was a few days after the funeral, while Carey still coped with the first wave of shock and grief, that she learned of the unfortunate—no, make that ridiculous, archaic, moronic—stipulations in her father’s will.

At no small cost she had hired lawyers to break the will, and the document was contested for months. But to no avail. Only a few weeks ago, Carey learned that the court upheld her father’s will and that his requirement for her inheritance would remain as he had decreed.

Just thinking about it made her blood simmer. The gentler, kinder feelings she’d developed for her father during his last days were shadowed by the knowledge that even after death, he would insist on controlling her, forcing her to conform to his standards, his plans for her life.

They drove beneath the arch that bore the words Whispering Oaks and Carey noticed Luke sit and up take notice.

“This is your place?”

“That’s right.” She turned to him, wondering why the news had inspired that look on his face.

He glanced down at his watch and smiled. “Then it looks like I won’t be that late for my interview after all.”

“Your interview?” Now it was Carey’s turn to be surprised. “Here?”

“I have an appointment with a fellow by the name of—” Luke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper “—here it is, Willie Jackson. I heard you were in need of a foreman, and I called from town this morning. He told me to come right over. In fact, I was on my way when my truck broke down. Some coincidence, huh?”

Carey had to agree. “Yeah, a doozy.”

So maybe these two lost souls weren’t going to disappear as quickly as she had expected after all. The thought of Luke Redstone taking up residence on the ranch as her foreman flashed through her mind—both exciting and frightening at the same time.

If he passed Willie’s interrogation, the final decision would be left up to her, of course. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hire him. Though a man traveling in search of work with a small boy in tow was hard to turn away without a substantial reason.

She wasn’t sure why this man was so unsettling to her. She rarely met a man who managed to make any real impression, to penetrate her “force field.”

But this one—this one jammed her radar with a glance.

She liked it. And then again she didn’t.

She gave herself a mental shake. Living in Hollywood, she had been around some good-looking men. Some remarkably good-looking men. She believed she’d become if not numb, then certainly distant and carefully delayed her reactions, preferring instead to find out what was under all the attractive wrapping before she allowed herself to walk out of the store with the package.

But for some strange reason this man was in a different league altogether. His looks, not typically handsome at all, certainly not movie-star smooth or polished, were totally arresting.

His straight, thick, black hair, damp with rain and slicked back from his brow, emphasized strong features—wide cheekbones, a hard, square jaw and a straight blade of nose, set above a firm, sensuously wide mouth. And those eyes, nearly black in color and bottomless. She’d never seen eyes so dark, she thought.

Dark and deep enough for a woman to easily lose herself in them. But not this woman, she promised herself.

“Are we there yet?” Tyler murmured groggily.

Tyler. The boy had been sitting through the ride so quietly she’d nearly forgotten about him. As Carey glanced down, she could see that he was more than half-asleep, lulled by the stuffy warmth of the cab and the slow, steady beat of the wipers.

His small body was nestled cozily against Luke’s side, with Luke’s arm draped around his shoulders.

Luke roughed up Tyler’s hair with one large hand. “Almost there, pal. See, there’s the house up ahead.”

The ranch house had finally come into view, and Carey headed straight for it, thankful they’d arrived. Tyler sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Good,” he mumbled. “I really need to use the bathroom.”

Carey couldn’t help but laugh, and heard Luke’s deep chuckle, as well. They shared a quick glance over the top of the boy’s head, and she felt that peculiar ping in her chest when his gaze met her own.

She quickly looked away, steering the truck around the front yard and parking as close to the front door as she was able.

She spotted Judge Kendall’s car and was thankful that he had waited. Carey guessed she had Ophelia to thank for that small miracle. Carey imagined that the judge was now working his way through the last tasty rounds of a five-course lunch.

Luke hopped out of the truck, then stretched out his arms to catch Tyler. “Let’s get in there and find the facilities,” she heard him whisper in a fatherly fashion.

“I’m okay,” Tyler balked.

Though Luke offered to carry him to the porch, the boy insisted on walking himself, one hand grasping Luke’s as his feet slipped and slid on through the puddle-covered path. Carey noticed then that the child was wearing only sneakers, not boots or heavy outdoor footwear.

Luke had introduced himself as the boy’s uncle. But it appeared to Carey that the boy was in his care. And maybe Luke didn’t have the money to buy more expensive shoes right now, she thought. She guessed he really needed this job.

Luke and Tyler waited politely at the door until Carey had made her way up to the covered porch. She opened the front door and ushered them in, showed them where to leave their wet jackets and shoes, then pointed out the closest bathroom.

“Just come back to the kitchen when you’re ready. You both most be starved,” Carey said as she headed toward the kitchen herself. “Ophelia will make you some lunch. Ophelia?”

Carey swung open the kitchen door and was greeted by the expectant look on her housekeeper’s face. Ophelia waved a note at Carey and proceeded to relate the message before handing it over. “Your fellow, Kyle, called a few minutes ago,” Ophelia told her immediately. “He’s stuck in the storm. But I didn’t tell the judge,” she added in a whisper. “He’s just finishing up his lunch.”

She tilted her head in the direction of the dining room where Carey could see the judge sitting comfortably at the long table. He appeared to be quite content and in no hurry to leave, a plate of layer cake and cup of coffee set before him while he worked a newspaper crossword puzzle.

Carey carefully closed the door between the dining room and kitchen. She took the note Ophelia handed her, and even though she already knew the message, she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, stamping her booted feet as she vented her frustration.

“Damn it! Damn, damn, damn. Damn!”

When she opened her eyes, Luke Redstone stood watching her, Tyler by his side. The corner of his mouth turned up and he almost smiled. Then suddenly he looked down at the floor and coughed into his hand.

“Bad news from the groom?”

“Very bad,” Carey replied, her heartfelt despair underlying her tone. When she met Luke’s gaze, he looked as if he wanted to ask more, offer his help.

“So, who are these two fellows you brought back with you?” Ophelia’s question startled Carey. The older woman stared at Luke and Tyler.

“Mr. Redstone’s truck broke down. I stopped to help out.”

“Luke Redstone, ma’am. This is my nephew, Tyler.” Luke stepped forward and politely offered his hand to Ophelia. She shook it, and Carey could tell that even Ophelia was not unaffected by the man’s dark good looks and heart-stopping smile.

Carey sat down in a kitchen chair and began tugging off her boots. Tyler came over and, without Carey asking, helped her.

“Stuck on the road? In this weather? Lucky Carey came along and found you.” Ophelia bustled over to Tyler and took his small hands into her own. “Your hands are like ice, child. We’ve got to get you warmed up before you catch a chill.”

She led him to the table and sat him down. Having raised five children and now the proud grandmother of eleven, Ophelia had a way with kids, Carey knew. And with adults, too, come to think about it. And if Tyler had mistaken Carey for some kind of storybook princess, he was now gazing up at Ophelia as if he’d finally met his long-lost fairy godmother, Carey noticed.

“Now let me get you boys something to eat.” Ophelia turned back to the stove. “I’ve got some roast beef sandwiches and some nice vegetable soup. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great. If it’s not too much trouble,” Luke replied.

“No trouble at all.” Ophelia took soup bowls and plates from the cabinets, and Luke carried them to the table.

“How about you, Carey? Will you have something?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” Carey sat staring down at the kitchen floor, wiggling her near-frozen toes as she contemplated the truth of her situation.

Kyle was not coming.

The airport in Denver had been closed, all flights going in or out, canceled. His plane had been diverted, turned around, forced to land in Wyoming.

There would be no wedding by midnight.

No marriage and no inheritance.

The ranch and all her father’s savings and investments, except for a very small gift, would go to her cousin, Roger Burkett. A spiteful bully as a boy, who had grown into an even more malicious adult, Roger had been sniffing around ever since her father’s passing, counting down the hours until the ranch would be his if Carey failed to marry.

Well, maybe that’s the way her father had wanted it anyway. The marriage deadline codicil had merely been another way to reprimand her. Her father had always wanted a son to carry on the family name and run the ranch. And for years Roger had tried his insufferable, phony best to fit himself into Jonah’s lost dream.

Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Carey knew she was not a materialistic person. If so, she would have succumbed to the many bribes her father had waggled under nose over the years, trying to tempt her to give up acting and return to the ranch. But she had held on to her independence, living a meager existence most of the time without complaint.

Her heartbreak at losing the ranch, though, was not about money, she’d come to realize over the past few months. It was about her father, who had given her so little love and approval as a child. And now Carey felt entitled to the one thing he could give her, a sign that she was indeed loved by him—the gift of Whispering Oaks.

“Carey? Are you okay, hon?” Carey felt Ophelia’s hand on her shoulder. A steaming bowl of soup appeared on the table before her. “Here, have something to eat. Can’t think clear on an empty stomach. You’ve got some time to figure this out. Why, you’ve got hours yet to skin this cat,” Ophelia added optimistically.

Carey lifted her head and sniffed. Luke was politely gazing down at his soup, while at the far end of the table Tyler sat staring at her with wide-open brown eyes.

“Why is Carey crying?” Carey heard the boy whisper to Luke. “Did something bad happen?”

“I guess so. I guess she’s sad about something,” Luke answered him. “But that’s none of our business. Now be quiet and eat your lunch,” Luke instructed as he took his own advice. “This soup is delicious,” Luke said to Ophelia.

“Thanks. There’s chocolate cake for dessert. If the judge didn’t eat the whole thing by himself,” she added in a softer tone.

The judge. Holy Hannah. Carey had forgotten all about him. It was time to send him back to town, she supposed, but she felt utterly deflated. Her lethargic body wouldn’t budge.

Carey sighed. “Guess I’d better tell the judge that the wedding’s been rained out.”

“I suppose,” Ophelia agreed with a reluctant sigh.

Carey looked up at Ophelia’s sympathetic expression. Then she saw a flash in the familiar, blue eyes. A flash that sent off warning bells within. She watched as Ophelia’s thoughtful gaze traveled to Luke and a mischievous smile softened the older woman’s careworn features. Carey could suddenly read Ophelia’s mind. And she didn’t like it one bit.

But couldn’t stop her in time.

“Say, I’ve got a brainstorm,” Ophelia said, happily waving her hands in the air as she practically skipped across the kitchen toward Carey. “Maybe Mr. Redstone here will marry you!”

“Ophelia, please—” Carey shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her hand.

“Well, you don’t know unless you ask him,” Ophelia insisted. “You ought to just tell Luke what the deal is. See if he’s interested. You were going to give that no-show Kyle a wagonload of money, and a lot men wouldn’t mind—”

“Ophelia!” Carey interrupted her..

“All right. Whatever.” Ophelia stepped back, raising her hands in a sign of surrender. “Sorry for butting in. Fry your own bacon, missy, if you want. But I can smell something burning,” Ophelia mumbled under her breath and shook her head. “I’d better check on the judge.”

As Ophelia retreated, Carey dared to cast a slow glance in Luke’s direction. She watched as he carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin, pushed his empty bowl to one side and sat back from the table. She didn’t know what it was about this man—why even his simplest motion fascinated her. Made her lose her train of thought. Completely….

He stared straight back at her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

“So…what is the deal here?” he asked point-blank.

Three

“Well…umm…” Carey wasn’t sure where to begin.

Wasn’t sure if she should begin. His dark gaze froze her, fixed her, like a butterfly stuck on a pin. Damn it all. Why did he have to be so darn good-looking? she silently lamented.

“Sleeping like a baby,” Ophelia announced as she returned from peeking into the dining room. “Listen…” She paused theatrically and cupped her ear. “He’s snoring to beat the band. Must be his afternoon siesta.”

Carey heard the judge’s resonant snores and thanked her lucky stars.

“Hey, Tyler, want to help me feed a bunch of puppies?” Ophelia’s enticing invitation suddenly cut through the silence.

“Puppies? Where?” The little boy leapt up out of his chair and eagerly took Ophelia’s hand. Then, turning to Luke, he added, “Can I?”

“Sure thing,” Luke said, waving his hand in approval.

“Tyler and I have some chores to do,” Ophelia said over her shoulder as she led the boy from the room. “You two just sit and get acquainted. There’s more coffee on the stove.”

Before Carey could protest, the incorrigible matchmaker was out the door with Tyler in tow. Luke cleared his throat with a low rumbling sound, drawing Carey’s attention from her swirling thoughts.

“You were saying?” he prompted.

“Actually, I was not saying,” she replied firmly, then added, “Listen, you don’t have to get involved in this. I— It was a ridiculous idea to begin with.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He stood up from his chair and walked over to the stove with his coffee cup.

Until now, Carey hadn’t taken a really good, long look at Luke with his denim jacket off, and she suddenly couldn’t take her eyes off him. A clean but worn tan work shirt strained over powerful shoulders, and the muscles of his impressive physique were the type developed from long hours of outdoor work, not brief workouts in an air-conditioned gym. The faded jeans that covered his long legs hung from his slim hips like a magazine ad for masculine allure.

She watched as he poured his coffee, then added a splash of milk from the creamer on the counter. His movements were smooth, economical, unhurried. And somehow deeply disturbing to her peace of mind.

“I just want to get it all straight. You need someone to marry you,” he said, returning to the table and sitting down directly across from her. “You’re willing to pay that person money.” His tone was objective and nonjudgmental. “Do I have it right so far?”

“Um—well, yes.” Carey nodded nervously, then tucked a straggling curl behind her ear. She could feel her cheeks growing redder by the second. It all sounded so pathetic. So downright desperate and humiliating when he said it. He must think she had something wrong with her.

“Well, there’s this will. My father’s will,” she explained. “You see, my father had very traditional ideas about women. He hated the idea that I was out in the world, working, having a career….”

“Whereabouts in the world were you?”

“California. Los Angeles, mostly. I was an actress.”

“Was? Meaning you’ve given that up to stay out here?”

“I’ve given up on acting. But not to stay out here,” she replied with a light, incredulous laugh. “Eventually I guess I’ll return to California and take some courses. Figure out something useful to do with my life.”

The line of his generous lips tightened almost imperceptibly at the news, Carey noticed. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased to learn she didn’t care for the rugged ranching life. Well, it was best that he knew from the start this was only a temporary arrangement.

“Go on,” he coaxed her. “You were telling me about your father?”

“My father firmly believed that I should be married. He believed it so much that his will states I cannot inherit this ranch and other assets, unless I’m married by time I’m thirty years old.”

She then explained how she had arranged for her friend Kyle to marry her for the period of time it would take to fix up the ranch and sell it. In exchange for Kyle’s help, she told Luke, she had agreed to give him a substantial sum, a down payment at the time of the marriage and the remainder to be collected when the ranch was sold.

When she named the actual figure, Luke’s eyebrows rose, and he emitted a soft whistle.

“But now Kyle is stuck in an airport in Wyoming, or maybe even on his way back to California,” she added, “and the whole scheme has been ruined.”

She’d noticed that his brow had been creased in concentration as he’d listened.

“Well, how old are you now, if I may ask?”

“Twenty-nine,” she replied, anticipating the question that would come next.

“And when’s your birthday?”

She took a deep breath and sat very tall in her seat before answering. “Tomorrow.”

A dazzling white smile flashed across his face. A deep dimple creased one cheek. She hadn’t noticed that before. “You’re kidding, right?”

She shook her head in reply. Curly strands of her golden-brown hair fell across her face, and she carelessly swiped them back with her hand.

“And what happens if you don’t get married by tomorrow?”

She shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“I lose it all. Everything goes to my cousin, Roger Burkett.”

“Oh.” The seriousness of her situation seemed to overtake Luke again. “You are stuck between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you, then?”

Carey started to answer, but her throat felt thick. His sympathetic tone and soft gaze were her undoing.

She nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes again as she felt Luke watching her. She stared down at her hands, clasped together on the table so tightly that her knuckles were white, and willed herself not to cry.

Suddenly Luke’s large, tanned hands reached out and covered hers.

“Hey, now.” His whisper was deep and rough, like the rustle of velvet. “Don’t cry, Carey. You seem like a hell of a sharp lady. I think you can figure this out.”

Carey did not answer. But neither did she remove her hands from his grasp. Though his touch was featherlight, she felt the work-toughened skin of his palms and the calluses on his fingers. Some errant part of her mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to feel that strong hand making slow contact with her bare skin….

“Carey…listen,” he said softly. He cleared his throat and she stared up into his dark eyes. “Maybe I can help you…” he suggested, his words trailing off. “Maybe I can marry you.”

“No,” she said, pulling her hands away and shaking her head. She didn’t mean to snap at him, but the word just burst out. “I don’t think so. Thanks…but…” She dared to glance at him. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, looking a bit insulted, but as if he was trying to take the blow to his pride in stride.

“Listen, thanks for the offer,” she added in a more conciliatory tone. “I know you’re just trying to help, but…”

“But what? You have—” he glanced at his watch “—about ten hours to tie the knot, and you’re stuck out on this ranch in a mother of a storm, short one groom.”

She had to agree with the logic of his argument yet tried to ignore it. “But we’re strangers. I don’t know anything about you. And you don’t know anything about me.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got news for you. Most people who get married the so-called normal way don’t know all that much about each other, either. Though they might think they do.” His tone was tinged with a bitter note, Carey noticed, which she strongly suspected arose from experience. But she didn’t have time to question him about it.

“Besides,” he continued. “What you’ve described isn’t a real marriage, anyway. It’s more of a business arrangement. I came here for a job interview, remember?” he reminded her. “Why don’t you just interview me, formal as you please, and see if I qualify?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’ve rarely been more serious. Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Tell me all about…the position.”

She coughed into her hand. “For instance?”

“Well, what are the hours? What are the duties, responsibilities? Don’t you want to know if I have any experience?”

“Do you?” she replied, struggling to suppress a playful grin.

“Plenty, ma’am,” he assured her, his gaze narrowed seductively, and the small smile that tilted his full lips made Carey’s heart skip a beat. “I even have a few letters of reference handy.” He pulled some folded pages from his shirt pocket and handed them over to Carey.

For a brief moment she was almost afraid to read them. He didn’t look like a professional gigolo…but how could a person tell such things?

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