She spotted him half-hidden beneath the ash tree in her yard, shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his elbows, hacking away at what was left of that old tree limb.
Cain.
What was he doing up so early? Maybe he figured to finish the job and leave before she could get him to change his mind.
Maybe he hadn't slept any better than she had.
She'd spent most of the night thinking about him, her situation, and the impossible scenarios she'd constructed around how she could save her home—everything from auctioning off the nonessential contents of her house to taking up striptease dancing at the local hangout. But none was as far-fetched as the one that had hit her sometime before she'd drifted into an uneasy sleep. It was too insane to even consider. Really. And Cain would probably call the men in the little white suits to come and take her away for even suggesting it.
Maggie chewed on her thumbnail, watching him bend over to scoop up an armload of wood. The muscles in his thighs bunched like liquid iron. He was strong. And if she didn't miss her guess, a little reckless and maybe even a little desperate. Exactly the sort of man she needed.
It's not over, the voice on the phone echoed in her mind. Neither was she, she decided. Not while she still had a shred of hope.
* * *
With a grateful smile, Cain took the glass of lemonade from her hand and guzzled the cold liquid down. The afternoon heat had backed up in the barn where he was shoveling out stalls and he'd taken off his shirt again. He didn't miss the way her gaze traveled across his bare chest, or the way that little bead of sweat had gathered above her lip.
"Where's yours?" he asked.
She jerked her gaze upward with a flustered little flush of color. "What?"
"Your lemonade," he said.
"Oh. Um." She took the empty glass from him. "I … I'm not thirsty."
He nodded, not believing her for a second. She'd been working her butt off in the pole corral with that demon seed, Geronimo, for the last two hours, getting nowhere. But she looked like she had more important things on her mind.
She'd been quiet at lunch, but he'd figured those dark circles under her eyes might explain that. She looked like she hadn't slept any better than he had. But work, for him, was like a tonic. It made him feel useful. She looked plain worn down.
Or maybe she'd decided he'd worn out his welcome.
He braced a hand on his pitchfork and stabbed at the dirty straw near his feet. "I got that gate latch working again. It just needed a little grease, a couple of screws."
"Gate latch?" she asked, lost.
"By the paddock." When she still looked blank, he pointed. "By the north pasture?"
"Oh! The gate latch! Of course … the gate … latch. Thank you. Thanks…" She squeezed her palms together, as if she were looking to enhance her bustline. Something, as far as he was concerned, she didn't need to do.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asked.
"Wrong? No." She smiled broadly. "Nothing's wrong."
Her teeth tugged nervously at her lower lip for the second time since she'd come in here, and she turned away from him, pacing to the other side of the barn hallway.
He couldn't help but notice the way her jeans hugged those long legs of hers, curving against her backside. Nor did he miss the way that little sleeveless cotton blouse of hers outlined the slenderness of her waist and pulled against the fullness of her small breasts. Thoughts he had no business having pulsed through him with little jabs of awareness in regions he'd been ignoring for far too long. But, hell, no matter what his convictions, he was still a man. And she was a—
"I'm just going to say it," she blurted out, whirling back toward him. "There's no point beating around the bush. I have a proposition."
His eyebrows went up. He liked the sound of this already.
"Cain?" she said in a voice usually reserved for pleas to the executioner. "Will you marry me?"
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Following a moment of protracted silence, he laughed out loud. "Man, for a minute there, I thought you asked me to marry you."
Her face had gone two shades of red. "I did."
The smile slipped disbelievingly from his expression. Cain stared at her, dumbfounded Standing up to his ankles in the horse dung and straw he'd swept out of the stables, he nearly sat down where he was.
"Not a real marriage, of course. Don't look at me that way. I know how this sounds."
Cain snorted, thinking it sounded like he'd been transported into some weird alternative universe while he wasn't looking. "You do?"
"I-I said it all wrong. Actually," she said, wrinkling her brow, "there is no right way to ask a complete stranger to marry you."
He let the pitchfork's handle thunk against the silvery old wood of the stall door. "Stranger being the operative word."
"I know." Maggie turned and paced to the other side of the barn's main hallway. "I know. Don't you think this sounds crazy to me, too?"
He shook his head, still not comprehending. "Then why—?"
"Because I need a husband, Cain. Technically. I need a husband or I'm going to lose this place."
The gears began to lock in place in his brain. "Look," he began, "I'm sorry to hear that. But I don't see what that has to do with me."
"Believe me," she said, pacing from one side of the hallway to the other, "no one is more surprised by what I'm suggesting than I am."
"Really." Cain tore off one work glove and slapped it against his knee. Fragrant bits of straw dust swirled in the air between them. "I don't think I want to know … but what exactly are you suggesting?"
She stopped pacing. "An arrangement."
"Arrangement." Even his voice sounded odd. And was it suddenly hotter in here?
"Yes. It would be strictly a business arrangement. With a contract. Guidelines. That sort of thing."
"Guidelines."
"You're horrified."
Cain rubbed his temple. "Horrified isn't exactly—"
"Because I'd be horrified if I were you. I mean, after all, all you did was ride onto my place and innocently ask for a job and here I am—"
"Speechless is more the word I'd go for."
"Right. I understand. But this could benefit us both."
This he had to hear. "How?"
"Well, first of all, there's the obvious. I need a husband to qualify for the loan I need to save this place. You seem to need a place to be. I just thought, since you weren't heading anywhere in particular—"
"Did I say that?"
Her lips parted in surprise and he cursed himself for snapping at her.
"I … I—" she stammered, "maybe not."
"I never said that."
She nodded. "All right. At any rate, I wouldn't ask you to do me this favor without compensation. I'm prepared to offer you—"she swallowed hard "—five hundred acres of my land in exchange for posing as my husband."
Five hundred—! Cain nearly choked.
"To be delivered after our arrangement is terminated."
Cain was still stuck on the five hundred acres of prime cattle country she'd offered. Something old and rusty lurched back to life inside him. A dream he'd thought long dead. Land.
Land that he could call his own. Maybe the old dream wasn't as dead as he'd thought it was.
"Cain? Did you hear me?"
He dragged himself back. "What?"
"I said, you'd have to promise to stay—play my husband that whole time. If you broke your end of the bargain, or if we fail to make this place work … I'll lose the ranch. And your part with it."
She was right. It was a gamble. If she lost, he'd be out six months and the prospect of a place to start over. If she won, though … what? He'd settle down? Build a house and a picket fence and pretend he could ever have go back to the life he'd walked away from?
He reached for the pitchfork again, and just for the hell of it, asked, "How far do you mean to take this little fantasy of yours?"
"W
hat do you mean?"
He turned back to her. "You and me. How far do you intend to take this marriage charade?"
"I told you. It's a business arrangement. You will, of course, sleep in the tack room."
"The tack room. You want me to play your husband from the tack room."
She cleared her throat. "Yes. No one needs to know."
Images of another wedding and another time clicked through his brain. Pictures that turned like a Rolodex in his mind whenever the hell they wanted to. He turned away from Maggie. Hell, what was he thinking? That he could ever start over? Be that man he'd been once? That anyone would ever let him forget where he'd been?
"No," he said, shoving the pitchfork into the last of the soiled bedding in the stall.
Maggie let her arms drop to her sides. "No … as in you won't sleep in the barn? Or—"
"No … as in I won't marry you." He dumped the load of dirty straw at Maggie's feet and turned back to toss the fresh flake of straw around the clean floor.
Behind him, Maggie was silent for the space of ten heartbeats. But that didn't last.
"You could … think about it." Her voice was small and sounded thin. "We could … discuss—"
"I don't need to think about it. I'm not in the market. I told you. I'm just passin' through."
"I could even pay you a small salary when I get the loan. Enough to get you started—"
"Not interested."
Maggie studied one of her palms. "Right. Okay."
Cain leaned against the pitchfork, staring at the dirt floor. He should've left this morning. Early. He didn't want to hear the need in her voice or ponder what it meant to leave her alone here on this place when she was begging him to stay. The flash of anger her offer had set off in him subsided. He wasn't sure where it had even come from. All he knew was that it was time to get out of here.
He combed a hand through his hair. "It's probably best if I go now. I've stayed too long already."
Straightening her shoulders, she started backing out of the barn. "Right. You have to do what you have to do. I'd, uh, better get back to the horses. Please, say goodbye before you go." She turned on her heel and walked out of the barn like a queen. Untouchable. Surrounded by glass.
But he suspected that underneath all that glass was a real woman whose passions ran deep. A woman who, in some other time or place, he would have wanted to get to know.
Did that make him a heel for turning her down? For not wanting to get involved in her troubles? Hell, he'd had enough troubles of his own for more years than he cared to remember. He didn't need anyone else's.
He ground the tines of the pitchfork into the dirt, and headed into the tack room to gather up the few things he'd unpacked there and shove them back in his knapsack.
He'd get on his bike and ride to the next place. And after that, he'd ride some more. Because he had places to go and things to forget.
* * *
Maggie managed to reach the pole corral at the far side of the yard before she allowed herself to crumble inside. Grabbing hold of the bark-covered lodgepole fence rail, she climbed up it and wrapped her arms around the top rail: inside the corral, Geronimo was doing his imitation of a caged cat in the afternoon sun. She knew just how he felt.
Dammit all!
She'd had her share of humiliating moments in this lifetime, but this one just might be the topper.
What had she been thinking? That he'd say yes? That he'd bite on the bribe she'd dangled in front of him in exchange for yoking him with a marriage he didn't want? God. What idiot would want to burden himself with a woman he didn't even know? One that was sinking up to her neck in troubles? Certainly not Cain MacCallister. Nor could she blame him.
Fine, she thought. Let him go. Let him ride off into the sunset. She'd find a way. With him or without him! She wouldn't fail. She simply couldn't. This was the first real home she'd ever had. The ranch meant everything to her and they'd have to physically drag her off, kicking and screaming, before she'd allow them to take it from her.
Geronimo cruised by her, his tail set high, his ears pitched forward at full attention. A shrill sound came from his throat, like the sound wild stallions make when they're gathering their remuda of mares together. He was beautiful, with the conformation of the champions that ran in his bloodline. He wasn't meant to be put behind fences or separated from his kind. Headstrong and a more than a little wild, he had a good heart. A strong heart. She recognized the same qualities in Cain, too. But he was meant for the road, too. A man like him didn't operate under contracts or guidelines. The man was like the horse. Probably untamable and most definitely dangerous to her.
The sight of a truck and a horse trailer coming down her road made Maggie hop down from the fence rail and brush away the moisture that had dampened her cheeks. She cursed under her breath.
Donnelly.
Her heart began to race and she backed toward the house, trying not to panic. She'd left Jigger sleeping inside, dreaming about chasing rabbits. She hadn't had the heart to wake him. But now he was barking worriedly inside the house.
The truck pulled into the yard, spitting gravel and crunching it beneath its tires. Laird was behind the wheel. The passenger seat was empty.
She actually pictured Ben's rifle, tucked safely away in the closet of her bedroom. Too far to help her now. And it was probably just as well because in the mood she was in, she might be tempted to use it on him for simply getting out of his truck.
Laird pulled to a stop not five feet from her. "Told you I'd come by with your mares."
"Don't bother to get out, Laird," she told him. "I'll unload them."
He opened the door anyway and unfolded himself from the truck. "That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it? After all, I brought the ladies all the way back here…"
"I mean it. Don't come near me."
"I came to pay a simple, friendly visit, Maggie."
"Nothing you do is either simple or friendly." She moved toward the back of the loaded horse van. She lifted the slide bolt and whacked it open with the heel of her hand. But as she swung the door open, Laird appeared beside her.
"Anybody ever tell you you've got a touch of paranoia, Maggie Mae?"
She shot an ugly look at him before climbing up into the trailer. "Don't call me that."
He followed her, crowding her in the dark, narrow space as she moved to unhook the first mare's halter from the stabilizing tether. She fumbled with the metal latch several times before she got it.
Laird moved to unhook a second mare, all the while watching her. "What?" he drawled. "I get no thank-you for goin' to all this trouble? It's not like I didn't have better things to do with my afternoon."
"You could have sent one of your men. God knows, you have enough to spare."
"True. But to tell you the truth, I was curious to see how you were holdin' up on your own out here. Without Ben."
Maggie ignored him and backed the mare down the ramp, clucking at her as she went. "Atta girl. There you go," she crooned.
Laird followed with the other mare, but he wasn't paying much attention to the horse. "He was a fool, your husband. Abandoning you the way he did."
"Go home, Laird. I mean it," she said, leading the mare to the paddock where she tied it up to the fence rail. Laird did the same with his horse but cornered her there against the fence before she could move.
Maggie swallowed hard. "Get out of my way."
"There's nobody else here, Maggie. Just us."
He was close enough that she could smell the stink of cattle on him, and whiskey if she wasn't mistaken. He'd been drinking. And cigars. He reeked of cigar smoke.
Her throat felt like it was closing up with each thudding beat of her pulse. "Don't."
"You know what your problem is? You been alone too long." He moved closer and Maggie's backside slammed against the fence rail. "You smell real good, Maggie. How come you always smell like a summer rose, working with these horses all day?"
She s
lapped him. Hard across the cheek.
Surprise flattened Laird's expression as his head jerked back from the force of the blow, but he didn't give her the chance to duck under his arm. His steely gray eyes went glacial as he caught her by the wrist and jerked her closer to him. "You shouldn't have done that, darlin'. I was just workin' up to another proposal, but now…" His gaze slid over her, as she twisted in his grip, "…now I think I'll just sit back and wait. And watch you go down all by your lonesome."
"Let her go!"
The command came from somewhere behind Laird, who whirled to see Cain striding toward them with a murderous look in his eyes. Laird didn't drop her wrist, he just dragged her with him as he turned on Cain like a bulldog with a bone.
"Now," Cain demanded without breaking stride.
"Who the hell are you?"
Cain walked straight to Maggie and hauled her toward him forcing Laird to drop her wrist.
"Are you okay?" Cain asked as he tucked her behind him.
"Who's this, Maggie?" Laird asked. "Your latest squeeze?"
She gave a growl of frustration before jerking her arm from Cain's grasp. "I'll call Sheriff Winston if you don't leave."
Laird laughed. "You go ahead. Fishhook's finest already knows I'm here. In fact, he advised me to trailer these mares back to you when I told him that you've been letting your fences go."
"You and your thugs have been cutting my fences yourselves, you—"
"You're overwrought, Maggie," Laird said, echoing the very words Ernie had used yesterday. "Otherwise you'd show some gratitude for my help."
Cain stepped in front of Maggie before she could launch herself at Laird. "Let me handle this."
"This is none of your business, boy," Laird told him.
Cain smiled slowly. "What'd you call me?"
"Why don't you get on back to the barn or wherever it was you crawled out from under, and leave business to me and Maggie?"
Maggie could've sworn she saw the hair bristle on the back of Cain's neck.
"I'm gonna give you to the count of three to get in that truck and get off Mrs. Cortland's land. Or you're gonna leave wondering how those little balls of yours wound up wrapped around your ears."
THIS PERFECT STRANGER Page 5
