Surrender to a Playboy

by Renee Roszel

  She swallowed hard. This was awful, horrible, the worst humiliation she could imagine. Bonn, with his insidious genius to appear sincere and sympathetic, had been laughing at her behind her back the whole time!

  Mary forced her jumbled, wounded emotions into some semblance of order. Though weak in the knees, she pushed herself up to stand. Her posture stiff and proud, she said, “I appreciate your—concern, Lee. But—it’s unnecessary. I detest Mr. Wittering more than any human being on earth.” She stepped off the blanket and headed down the slope toward the brook. “Feel free to quote me!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TAGGART awoke Tuesday, July twenty-ninth, to the news that it was Founder’s Day in Wittering, Colorado. According to Ruby and Pauline, the only people in the kitchen when he had come down to breakfast, Founder’s Day was a local holiday, complete with a carnival, topped off by a dance in the town hall that night. He didn’t recall hearing a word about it until now, but he’d been too blasted preoccupied, especially since the picnic, to know much of anything that didn’t involve Mary.

  When he’d come back to the high country meadow after fifteen minutes of watching the family of elk, Lee sat alone, a Cheshire cat grin on her face. She’d insisted—on her honor as an officer of the court—that she hadn’t said anything to Mary about his confession of love, hadn’t called her “Myrtle” or made any insulting remarks. Lee insisted Mary had simply said she had work to do and hurried off.

  Taggart wasn’t stupid. He knew something had happened, and berated himself for leaving the two of them alone. The minute he’d gotten out of earshot he’d felt in his gut it wasn’t a bright thing to do. Why hadn’t he gone with his instincts? Why did he continue to trust Lee? She was devious, and heaven only knew what trouble she might concoct, just for fun.

  The next time Taggart saw Mary, the antagonism in her eyes scalded the very air in his lungs. If he’d thought she’d hated him before, he’d been a naive idiot. She detested him now with a laser-hot passion. Every time he chanced to gaze into those smoky eyes, the incendiary flare scorched him to the depths of his being.

  His heart was charred, his soul gutted, because that’s what the absence of hope did to a man. He had no choice but to hide his pain. He’d made a promise to Bonner that had to be kept, no matter how bitterly he suffered. He liked Miz Witty, and the last thing on earth he planned to do was break her heart.

  The eldery Mrs. Wittering was the one bright spot for Taggart on this balmy Founder’s Day. Since Mary had the afternoon off to spend with her half sister, Becca, Taggart volunteered to wheel Bonner’s grandmother through the carnival booths and rides. She was full of fun, and plainly relished every minute she spent with the man she believed to be her grandson. Her joy even managed to elevate Taggart’s dour mood somewhat.

  On the other hand, Lee’s possessive presence wore at him, threatening to drag his mood back down. Taggart’s law partner was at her most charming in front of Miz Witty, but he knew she would love to lock the elderly Mrs. Wittering in a closet rather than spend a minute with her, let alone a whole afternoon. Although Miz Witty was equally cheerful and appeared to be delighted with the threesome, Taggart sensed that deep down, she disliked the blond lawyer from Boston.

  Consequently, they were a trio of actors on the Wittering town stage, showing little, if any, of their true feelings. The outing would have been an excruciating sham, except for the unexpected satisfaction he felt every time Miz Witty looked at him with tenderness and love in her eyes. Though he knew she thought he was somebody else, he relished her grand-motherly affection. Except for his wife, Annalisa, in his whole life, Taggart could hardly recall seeing expressions of unconditional love from anyone. He’d never known his own grandparents, and he’d been so young when his parents died.

  He was stunned to realize that in just over a week he’d become quite attached to Bonner’s grandmother. He was amazed at how much like family he felt toward her. She was a bright, optimistic person with a generous nature and a kind heart. She deserved to be happy, to be cherished by her only living relative, not abandoned by him.

  Taggart could tell he wasn’t the only person who felt that way about her, by the enthusiastic way townsfolk greeted her. She was unquestionably a much loved and revered woman. He despised himself for deceiving her. Yet, how much more would she be hurt if she knew the truth? How much of a jolt could her heart stand? No. Telling her the truth was a chance he didn’t dare take.

  Taggart heard a familiar voice and turned to see Pauline smiling at him from inside the kissing booth. She waved. “Come on over, Mr. Wittering,” she said. “It’s all for a good cause.” She was dressed in the usual plaid shirt and jeans, the buttons all doing their job.

  She indicated Jed, standing alongside the booth, his expression quietly pleased. “Don’t worry, my sweetie here will keep everything on the up-and-up.” She reached out and affectionately touched Jed’s arm. “One kiss, one dollar. No hands or tongues. Help buy new computers for Wittering Middle School.”

  “Go on, Bonny,” Miz Witty said, reaching back and caressing his hand, resting on the chair handle. “Then we can wheel over to the other kissing booth for Lee and me.”

  “Other kissing booth?” Taggart asked, with a questioning grin.

  Miz Witty wagged her brows, impishly. “Yes, other! I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, but Wittering’s become very progressive. For the last five Founder’s Days we’ve had a kissing booth for the women, too.”

  “Well, that is progressive,” Taggart said with a chuckle. He wheeled Miz Witty to Pauline’s booth and fished a five dollar bill from his wallet. “Here you go,” he said.

  Pauline took it, looked at it and grinned. “Five kisses, it is.” She placed the bill in a metal box on the counter and presented Taggart with puckered lips.

  He leaned over the booth’s partition, kissed her cheek, then stepped back to grin at her. “It’s intimidating kissing a woman in front of her boyfriend.” He indicated the mechanic. “He’s pretty big.”

  Jed smiled shyly but didn’t speak.

  Pauline guffawed. “You got a point.” She jerked a thumb toward Lee. “Your lady lawyer ain’t no stringbean, either.”

  Taggart chuckled, experiencing a surge of true amusement for the first time since the picnic. His sideways glance at Lee told him she hadn’t found the exchange particularly entertaining. Indicating the lawyer, he said, “She’s tall, but she hardly weighs a thing.” He winked at Pauline. “She told me so herself.”

  “Hilarious,” Lee said through thinned lips. “Where’s that other kissing booth?” She directed her question at Jed, who averted his eyes, indicating the location with the jerk of his chin. “Thanks,” Lee said, sounding sarcastic. “Word to the wise, fella—don’t chatter so much.” She took Taggart’s arm as he wheeled Miz Witty away through the milling, laughing throng. “When can we dump the old lady and be alone?” she whispered.

  Taggart gave her a look that didn’t bode well for her fantasy life. “When she wants to go home, we go.”

  “Oh, pleeeease,” she moaned in his ear.

  “Stanton,” he muttered, under his breath, “nobody forced you to come.”

  “Why there’s Mary and Becca,” Miz Witty said, waving. “Mary!” she called. “Mary O’Mara!”

  Taggart spotted her beyond the throng. She and a waif of a little girl with long, straight blond hair sat on a bench at the trolley stop. They were across the street from the supermarket parking lot serving as the carnival grounds. The town’s main thoroughfare had been blocked off to automobile traffic for the Founder’s Day celebration.

  Becca sat in Mary’s lap, her thin arms curled about her big sister’s neck. The child’s face was animated. She smiled broadly as she talked. Mary held her, looking sweetly maternal, stroking her little sister’s hair.

  Too many people ambled about, laughing and chitchatting. Too much noise rang through the air, with hawkers calling folks to their booths and the loud, tinny musi
c piped from the towering Ferris wheel. A nearby merry-go-round spun, filled with children shrieking with laughter. Colored lights flashed in time to its tooting tune, drowning out any hope that Miz Witty’s greeting could be heard.

  “Oh, let’s not bother them,” Miz Witty said, to Taggart. Her tone suggested she was touched by the heartwarming sight. “Let’s leave them alone. Mary and Becca get so little time together, and they look so happy.”

  “Excellent idea.” Lee tugged on Taggart’s elbow. “Let’s find the beer tent.”

  “Oh, dear me, no,” Miz Witty said to Lee. “I don’t believe in imbibing.” She pointed off in another direction, beyond the merry-go-round. “There’s Joshua Hanna, our best-looking local hunk, manning the women’s kissing booth. He’s such a dear. Let’s go give to charity until it hurts.”

  “Well, well,” Lee said, apparently pleased with what she saw. “I, for one, suddenly feel extremely civic-minded. I think I’ll make a large donation, too.”

  As they moved off toward the local hunk, Taggart divided his attention between their destination and Mary. She laughed at something Becca said. Her features were beautiful in happy animation. Though he couldn’t hear her, he imagined the light, tinkling sound, and experienced a gut punch of desire. She kissed her sister’s forehead and smoothed her yellow sweater.

  A man, appearing around fifty years old, came up behind them and said something that made them both jump and stare. The man was stocky, with a noticeable paunch. His squared-off features were shadowed by several days growth of gray beard, his salt-and-pepper hair unkempt. He wore a black T-shirt with a heavy metal band’s name emblazoned in red across the front. A tattoo covered his left arm from wrist to elbow. He looked angry, shouted something and grasped Becca by the wrist.

  Mary stood up, hiking the child on one hip, but the man didn’t release the tiny wrist.

  “Who’s that with Mary and her sister?” Taggart asked, drawing Miz Witty’s attention back to the bench.

  “Oh, dear!” She sounded upset. “That’s Joe Lukins, Becca’s father.”

  The man pulled Becca bodily away from Mary, lifting her over the back of the bench. Becca burst into tears and Mary said something to the man, her body language making her anger clear. Joe Lukins made a brusque, dismissive gesture and turned away to stalk off. Mary rounded the bench, grasped his arm, but he dislodged her hold with a jerk.

  “Oh, no,” Miz Witty said. “That barbarian promised he’d let Becca stay at the carnival all afternoon.” She looked at her wristwatch. “It’s barely three!”

  Taggart experienced a surge of outrage as Mary chased the rapidly retreating Joe. She exhibited her fury, shouting, curling her hands into fists of frustration. Becca sobbed, stretching her spindly arms back over her father’s shoulder in a pleading gesture.

  “That bastard.” He released Miz Witty’s chair, intent on stopping the jerk.

  “Hold it there, Boy Scout.” Lee clutched his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He gave her a hostile glare. “That bastard can’t do that.”

  “Yes, that bastard can,” she said, with a cautioning lift of an eyebrow. “If that’s the kid’s father, he can do whatever he wants. I’m a lawyer,” she said, her emphasis on the word a not-so-subtle warning. “We lawyers know these things.”

  He clenched his teeth, scowling at her, wishing she were wrong. A moment later he refocused on Mary and her troubles. By now, she’d stopped chasing Lukins, and Becca’s thin arms no longer reached out. Her little fists covered her eyes and she cried helplessly.

  The scene was difficult to watch and do nothing about. But Lee was right. His interference would do no good. Lukins had done nothing that was against any law. If Taggart butted in, the jerk would have every right to call the sheriff. Taggart couldn’t afford that. Any involvement with law enforcement would expose his real identity. The trip was almost over, almost a success—at least as far as Miz Witty’s happiness was concerned.

  Lips thinned, nostrils flaring at being reduced to the status of powerless spectator, he glared at Lukins. The man appeared unmoved by his daughter’s grief as he stalked to a pickup truck, its tailgate butted up to the temporary road barrier. He opened the passenger door and dumped the fragile child into the arms of a frowzy redhead.

  “Who’s the woman?” he asked.

  “Joe’s latest girlfriend, I suppose.” Miz Witty shook her head. “Poor Becca. Poor Mary.” She fisted her pale, blue-veined hands on the arms of her wheelchair. “That cold-hearted brute doesn’t deserve that child.”

  Joe slammed the passenger door, tramped around to the driver’s side and jumped in. A minute later the truck disappeared down the street.

  “Come on, Bonny,” Miz Witty coaxed, touching his hand. “It’s a sad situation, but there’s nothing we can do. Joe’s the child’s father. I wish we could comfort Mary, but knowing her as I do, she’ll want to be alone—so she can gather herself together. She’s very private that way.” Miz Witty’s touch drew his attention but not his gaze. He continued to watch Mary.

  She stood with her back to them, her long, shiny hair fluttering in the breeze. Her posture spoke of her dejection, her head down, one hand covering her mouth. Even from a distance of at least ten car lengths, Taggart swore he could detect her fingers trembling.

  He ached to go to her, hold her, but he knew his attempt to comfort her would be as welcome as the sting of a scorpion.

  Mary could hardly tolerate the idea of going to the Founder’s Day dance. Her much anticipated afternoon with Becca had turned out so badly, ended so cruelly. She and Becca had spent little more than an hour together before Joe ruined everything by showing up, growling that Becca’d had enough “excitement” for one day, and dragged her off. What possible harm could it have done the five-year-old to spend two more measly hours at a carnival on a beautiful day, with her big sister?

  They hadn’t even begun to play games or go on rides. Having just finished lunch and thinking they had all the time in the world, they’d walked to the bench to visit and let the hot dogs and milkshakes settle. Then suddenly, blam, Becca was gone.

  Again.

  Mary had been surprised to see Joe with a vehicle, since he’d totaled his car last year. His license had been revoked for driving drunk. She feared he was driving without a license. Though she couldn’t be sure, she was terrified that he’d begun drinking again. If that were true, the man was a ticking time bomb. A wave of alarm had swept through her. How dare he put Becca at such great risk! When she’d challenged him, he cursed at her and threatened that she mind her own business or she’d be sorry.

  Mary was so emotionally devastated she would never have considered going to the dance, if it hadn’t been for Miz Witty’s insistence. She couldn’t imagine working up enough strength to do anything but stay in her room and cry her heart out. On the other hand, Mary felt an obligation toward her employer. Founder’s Day was a hugely important event for Miz Witty, especially since she was the only living descendant of the town’s founder. Well, except for Bonner Wittering.

  Her heart twisted at the thought of him. The insufferable egomaniac actually had the unmitigated gall to brag that she had a crush on him. And he’d bragged to—of all people—his equally insufferable lawyer-lover. Every time the thought reared its ugly head in her mind, she wanted to die. All this time, he’d been laughing at her!

  It made her crazy. She wanted to scratch out his eyes and kick his shins until they were black and blue and—and—and…she swallowed hard, blinking back tears. She was relieved the rustic town hall was lit with nothing more than rope after rope of tiny, white holiday lights, strung in twisted strands along the walls and cobwebbed across the ceiling like stars. She wanted so badly to feel nothing for Bonner she’d found herself wishing for release from his insidious charisma on the fake stars strung overhead. It hadn’t worked—but what did she expect from fake stars? Trying anything so bizarre only proved how far gone she was.

  She’d wiped aw
ay too many tears since she’d arrived at the dance, over her ridiculous fixation for such an amoral man. Thank heaven and the decorating committee for the dim lighting!

  A local Western band performed at the front of the auditorium. On the dance floor, couples shuffled cheek-to-cheek. Along the back of the room, a row of decorated tables trembled under the weight of delectable munchies contributed by the partygoers. A separate table held a huge bowl of sparkling punch and two urns of rich coffee. Metal folding chairs lined the side walls so Wittering citizens weary of dancing could relax and gossip.

  Much to Mary’s discomfort, the band had been playing more slow, romantic songs than rousing boot-stompin’ tunes. Sadly, she supposed she wasn’t dressed for boot-stomping, in three-inch heels and the gauzy, pink ankle-length dress she’d ordered from a catalog. The sleeveless, low cut style was too summery for high altitude evenings, that could be cold even in midsummer, so Miz Witty had insisted Mary borrow her exquisite pink, crocheted wrap, perfect for the dress and the chilly night air.

  Mary had never attended Wittering’s annual Founder’s Day dance until she started working for Miz Witty. Trailer Town teens rarely went. It was no fun going to a party when you knew your best dress was a hand-me-down or garage sale purchase from one of the better-off women who would be there.

  Working for Miz Witty, earning a living, made everything different. For the past two years, she’d enjoyed the dances. This year, however, she would have preferred to melt into the shadows. Her heart wasn’t in the mood—with Bonner and Becca both tugging on her heartstrings. The only problem with remaining in the shadows was the scarcity of unattached females. Wittering was one of the rare places where men outnumbered women. So, for Miz Witty, Mary put on her party face and danced and laughed and tried with all her might not to seek out Bonner Wittering with her eyes, her mind or her heart.