Billy looked down at it, then at her. "I think you're supposed to put the saw in a cake you've baked," he advised with a glint of laughter.
"Would you stop being funny and open it?" Shiloh snapped, exasperated.
So he pulled it from her hand, obligingly tore one end open, arid let the contents spill out into his hand.
"My God," he breathed at last, staring down at the green bills that covered his palm.
"You can count it if you want to. But I can tell you, there's thirty-five hundred dollars there," Shiloh said, offhandedly.
His eyes, nearly black with shock, lifted to stare at her. "What's this for?"
"You said you needed this much to pay your fine—and get out. Wasn't it thirty-five hundred?" she asked anxiously.
His face darkened, and he frowned as he crumpled up the bills by closing his hand over them, and crammed them, helter-skelter, back down into the envelope. Then he shoved it at her. "I'm not your charity case," he said fiercely. "I don't need your money."
But Shiloh backed away from his reaching hand and the envelope he held.
"It's not charity. I want you to—to earn it."
"Earn it?" he repeated slowly. "What do I have to do? Murder somebody? Your old man, maybe?"
"No. I just want you to sell—" No, that was the wrong approach. So what in the world was the right one? she wondered. "I want to buy something."
He frowned, puzzled. "I know this can't be about my horse, so I don't—"
She snapped her teeth together and said sharply, "I want to buy you, Billy Bob."
As he stared, she flushed a brilliant red. That had not come out right at all.
"It's just for a little while. Nothing permanent. A few months, that's all. Then we can divorce. And I'm not asking for anything but your name. That's all. It's in name only, see?"
He stopped her rambling words. "Are you asking me to—to marry you?" His voice rose higher in surprise with every syllable.
"Not exactly. I mean, not asking. I do need you to marry me, but I'm asking to buy it—you—" she stumbled to a halt.
His face had gone unexpectedly white and stem.
"And just why," he demanded harshly, "are you in need of a husband so fast?" Unwillingly, his eyes traveled down her body, lingering on her abdomen.
When she caught his meaning, she jumped back even farther from him. "I'm not pregnant!"
"Then why?" he asked persistently.
"I told you, I can't marry Michael. And if I don't do something, Sam's going to push me into it. This way"— she flung up her head—"I get what I want—no marriage—and he gets what he wants."
"I don't see how Pennington—"
"He wants me to many 'the judge's son.' His exact words," Shiloh answered defiantly.
She had his attention now. He stared again, then began to laugh, but it was not the laughter of amusement.
"This is no joke," she said heatedly. "I mean it."
"You kill me," he said at last. "You want a husband— why, I don't know, you've turned down two—so you just calmly go shopping for one. You're burned up at your father, but this is just like him."
"My money's as good as his, too," she retorted, both angry and embarrassed. "I figured this was his."
"I got it by selling the Porsche to Randy Tate. What's wrong with it? It's the amount you needed, isn't it?"
He pulled the crumpled envelope back in toward him, and there was a flash of blue fire in his gaze.
"You're awful sure of me, seems like," he said with an edge of distaste.
"No, I'm not," she denied, letting out a long breath. "But I know what I need, and I knew what you needed, and this way, it works for both of us." In her mind she heard Sam's words, and she repeated them now, wryly, "It's good business." Maybe she was like him; maybe she could beat him at his own game.
"Good business." Billy Bob repeated the words, too. "So, let me get this straight. I get the money free and clear—mine for good—if I marry you."
"That's right."
Billy leaned even closer to the bars. "I don't reckon it's crossed your mind yet that taking marriage vows ought to be something different."
Shiloh moved uncomfortably. "I know all that. I'm surprised you do. But I've torn myself up over it for the last day, trying to decide, and I mean to marry somebody."
"Any body, is that who?" he asked disparagingly.
"I haven't thought of anybody else but you to ask," she told him honestly. "And this will be a pretend marriage. We won't live together. We won't—won't do other things. It'll never be real, so the divorce won't count. And nobody but Sam—and Michael—ever have to know."
"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" His voice was resentful. "And what's your daddy gonna do to me when you throw the wrong judge's son in his teeth?"
"Nothing. And even if he does, you won't care," Shiloh answered shrewdly. "You'd like to get at Sam—and your own father. This is the way to do it."
He didn't like that she knew him that well. "And when do you plan to let them in on this little secret? So I'll know when to run," Billy Bob added.
He was going to say yes, she thought, and she wasn't sure if it was panic or pleasure that hit her.
"I don't know. Just. . . when I need to. And it will be ended the day either one of us wants it to be."
They looked at each other a long, searching moment. Each had reasons and motives.
Then Billy Bob looked down at the money again before turning to pace the little cell once or twice like a caged animal.
"When would we—"
"When do you get out?" She answered his question with her own.
"With this"—he held up the envelope—"in two days. Monday."
"We could—could do it then. We can cross the state line. There's no waiting period in Tennessee. It would all be over and done by Monday night," Shiloh answered hurriedly, and a little tingle of apprehension skated down her spine.
"You've got this all planned," he said angrily, "too planned."
"No, I don't. Just what I had to do. I'm—I'm scared to death. But this time, I'm standing up to Sam. You told me to, Billy," she answered defensively.
"I don't like being bought like so much meat, no matter who you're standing up to, Shiloh," he said quietly. "And I gotta wonder what's going on, because you could'a had me a whole lot cheaper four years ago."
"This has nothing to do with that," she answered, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones for a long time.
"Oh, yes, it does," he murmured at last. "It's got everything to do with it, because if I didn't remember what you were then—what we were—no amount of money could make me say yes now." Then he carefully folded the envelope and slid it in the pocket of the T-shirt.
"You'll do it," she whispered in relief.
"I'd like to be pure and noble and play the outraged virgin," he said, with a glint in his eye, "but we both know it would be a lie. Besides, I need the money. This is so sudden, and all that—but I reckon I can marry you, honey. Yes, ma'am, I do." 6
Rain splattered against the brick-and-concrete facing of the jail window, spraying through the screen and the bars to fall on Billy's face as he stood like a sentinel leaning into the window, the same way he'd stood every night he'd been here.
The sweet spring shower had begun just as Shiloh left. She had parked in the bank's deserted lot tonight, and he'd stood watching her pull away, water dancing against her white headlights.
He wished he were at home, out on the farm. Bain didn't bother him; he'd have walked in it, wading through high wet grass, not caring when his clothes and his hair got soaked and clung to him, not caring when the wind shook the tall pecan trees and rained even more moisture down on. him.
Instead, he was caught here, with nothing to see but the concrete and the brick of this little town—and with his worry that tonight he'd made the biggest trouble of his life for himself.
There was an aching kind of pain down in the vicinity of his heart when he thought how he'd once offer
ed to give his all to Shiloh and it hadn't been enough. Now he was just dollars and cents, and that was what she wanted.
It was probably funny that four years ago, he'd lost out mostly because he was the judge's illegitimate son, but now, that very fact had walked him into this marriage.
A marriage. That was a scary word.
But it wasn't really marriage. They wouldn't see each other, and there d be no emotion involved. "Good business," she'd said coolly, and he'd had a flashing impulse to yank her up, kiss her hotly, and tell her what she could do with her "business."
But he was smarter than that now. He needed the money; he wanted out; and he'd enjoy thwarting the plans of the judge and Pennington. She was right about that, he admitted grudgingly.
He could do all of that, and still stay away from Shiloh. Not that he wanted to go near her. Love gone wrong was the worst medicine of all; it had turned him cold toward her.
And if he ever felt the slightest urge to be with Shiloh, all he had to remember was that Michael must have been with her, too—that ought to kill any longing he'd ever had.
He shut his eyes, blocking out the sight of the two of them together, but took time to wonder what Michael had, or hadn't, done to make her repudiate him. And the evil thought slid in before Billy could stop it: had Michael been the first man Shiloh had been with? Once he'd thought he would be—not just the first, but the last, too.
You big fool, he thought now, in amusement.
Sitting down on the cot, he pulled the money out of his pocket, examining it again. Not a real honorable way to make this money, but this was life, the real, down-and-dirty thing. Money mattered; ideals, like young dreams, didn't.
His grandpa wouldn't see it that way, and neither would his mother. They'd die of shame if they ever discovered what he had done.
But they weren't him, and their way had left all three of them victims.
He pushed the thoughts of them to the back of his head just as he pushed the money back into his pocket, and let his brain fill with the image of Robert Sewell. The man deserved this, especially if he'd paired Michael off with Shiloh for the reason Sweetwater said he had—to get Sam's money and power behind him for a run at politics. The Sewells might have social standing on their side, but there wasn't as much money as there once had been.
All of that was nothing to him. He was just Billy Bob Walker. Nobody expected too much from him, so if he chose to let Shiloh Pennington use him—if he chose to use her—it was his business.
Just business.
"I reckon you're popular tonight." T-Tommy's sharp words broke into his reverie, and as Billy Bob looked up, the sheriff ushered another female figure into the cell area.
Had Shiloh—
"Hi, Billy. Glad to see me?"
The drawling, sweet voice belonged to Angie Blake. So did the blond hair and the vivid blue eyes.
He swallowed his disappointment and stood slowly.
" 'Lo, Angie. No date tonight?"
"You're in here," she pointed out sassily, laughing.
"When the best isn't available . . ." She let the words trail off suggestively, reaching one hand through the bars to let her fingers run down his shirt.
"Yeah, sure," Billy Bob returned. "What you mean is, you're going somewhere and stopped by here on your way."
"Well, maybe," she answered archly. "But it won't be any fun without you."
He looked her over a minute, seeing the petite curves in the high-belted jeans, the shirt opened casually to reveal the two gold chains that wrapped her throat, the carefully done blond hair, shocking in its ultrashort swirl, the manicured, elegant nails. She looked as out of place in this little backwater jail as anything he'd seen yet.
Angie was a doll, to put it bluntly, and he didn't see why he shouldn't—every other soul in town did.
And she was fun, never still a minute, full of laughter and teasing and flirtatiousness, as heady as the rich Jungle Gardenia perfume she wore.
She didn't expect much, either. She'd been married once before to a brute who roughed her up before she finally threw him out. She made it a point to say that she wasn't looking for a second marriage, and she had other boyfriends once in a while. She was, Billy Bob supposed, perfect for a guy like him. Other men certainly seemed to think he was a lucky dog when he had her.
So it aggravated him to discover that he wished it had been Shiloh back a second time. And he didn't like it one little bit that there was a completely unexpected trace of guilt down inside him because Shiloh had been here first.
A man didn't flirt with one woman and let her run her hands all over him, the way Angie was doing now, and then up and marry another one two days later.
The second the sedate, righteous thought hit him,
Billy Bob got mad. She'd bought his name—that was all. It was all she wanted. He didn't owe Shiloh anything else.
"I've missed you, Billy," Angie told him huskily.
"I know the feeling, baby," he answered fervently, and leaned forward to let her press her fingers against his lips.
For the second night in a row, Shiloh refused to go downstairs for supper. She told Laura that her day had exhausted her and she wanted to rest. The housekeeper looked at her dubiously but said nothing, and Sam left her alone, too.
In fact, they'd been avoiding each other ever since yesterday morning, when he'd thrown down the gauntlet with a vengeance, when she'd seen clearly how determined he was.
Hurt and scorching embarrassment bubbled up in her every time she remembered what he'd said about Caroline—what he had hinted that he might believe about Shiloh. Maybe nothing could have hurt her more than that implied comparison to her mother. It wasn't true. Except for a long-ago night with Billy, she had made sure nobody could say anything about her.
In fact, she'd had little opportunity to date at all while she was growing up.
Sam had hovered over her and the boys who'd dared to show an interest in her from the time she was thirteen, and when she was fifteen and about to be a sophomore at the local high school, he'd taken her away from members of the male gender completely: he had sent her sixty miles away to a private school for girls.
Between classes and sports, Shiloh barely had time to breathe, let alone think about boys, and that was exactly the idea behind Mississippi Academy for Young Ladies.
Still, Shiloh didn't mind too much. Sam either came or sent Laura after her every Wednesday afternoon for a night at home, and she came home every Saturday to stay until Sunday night.
The few times she was sick, Sam dropped everything to come and get her.
She learned to love the place with its old graceful white buildings and big columns, with its rich, green rolling lawns and huge, ancient shadowy trees. She made friends there.
"This is the way I want you raised," Sam told her firmly. "Good atmosphere, good friends, good education. You're going to go a long way, Shiloh."
When she was a little girl, she'd thought maybe he meant the places he sometimes took her in the summer— Canada once, Japan once, England twice—when he had to go on business.
Then she began to understand that he meant something entirely different. He meant she was going to be Somebody.
Once she realized Sam's ambitions, she began to get nervous: what if she couldn't climb high enough to please him? And she felt trapped: why couldn't she just live a normal life?
The summer after she graduated, she felt like a bird about to take flight. Life was out there, just waiting. In a few months, she'd be on her own, even if she would be only an hour's drive away. Sam had reluctantly agreed to let her live in the dormitory at Ole Miss. It was close enough that he could still keep tabs on her, he figured.
Then one bright, hot June morning, so early that dew-still glistened on the grass, she walked outside, where a truck brimming over with landscaping supplies had pulled into their drive, and she ran smack into Life, not at the university, but in her own backyard.
Its name, she discovered, was Billy Bo
b Walker.
He was slender and slim hipped; if he weren't so tall, he'd look like a boy. And he moved like a well-oiled machine, his walk easy, sensual in its indolence.
Shiloh, standing on the porch, could see his blue eyes and the way they shone with humor even at this distance. Sam came outside, not even noticing her there in the shadows, and bounded off the porch.
"You're the landscaper?" he questioned. "You look awful young to me. I want this done right."
"I'm gettin' older by the second," the man said humorously. "But if you want. Grandpa can come every afternoon and check what I've done. He's the one who sent me, and he won't mind one bit settin' me straight."
Sam paused, as if startled. "You're Willie Walker's grandson?"
"That's right. Ellen Walker's my mother," the other man answered, a trace of defiance in his voice as he stared back.
Sam answered after a second or two, with a dismissive flip of his hand, "Let me show you what I want done."
As the two of them walked away, Shiloh watched the younger one. She liked him. It was that simple.
After Sam left for work and Laura was busy upstairs, Shiloh took a book and went back out to the porch, and wound up watching the man work. It fascinated her to see him, the way he got right down into the rich, loamy earth, reveling in its texture, completely unafraid of dirt or sweat.
He was whistling to himself when he straightened at last, turning back toward the truck for something, and just as he lifted his cap off his head to wipe his face with the crook of his elbow, he caught sight of Shiloh. Looking straight at him, she could see now that his eyes were long and slanting, so darkly blue they might have appeared black except in bright light.
She thought all of that in one fleeting second before she pulled back a little more in embarrassment at having been caught watching him.
He hesitated before he spoke.
"Hello."
She said something; at least she made a noise.
"I didn't see you sittin' there. I'm Billy Bob Walker, from Walker Farms. We do landscaping."
Billy Bob Walker Got Married Page 10
