Laird's face went a dangerous shade of angry. "You know who you're talkin' to, boy?"
"One."
"Don't, Cain," she warned. "He's not worth it."
"Cain?" mimicked Laird. "Like the Bible Cain? The coward who backstabbed his own brother?"
"Two…"
He'd taken enough heat over his name in his lifetime that it shouldn't bother him now. It had been his old man's first mistake, and last laugh, naming his son after a notorious sinner. But coming from this bully who seemed bent on making life hard on the first person to treat him kindly in years, made Cain want to take the arrogant bastard apart, piece by ugly piece. It had been a while since he'd had a good brawl and frankly, he was in the mood. He saw that fact register on the other man's face as he took a step closer.
Laird sent Cain an insolent smile, but backed up as he replaced his hat. "That's highway trash for you, Maggie. Leading with his fists."
Maggie grabbed Cain's arm, or he would've taken the idiot's head off.
"I have more civilized ways of dealing with problems," Laird said. "So call your ape off, Maggie. I'm goin'. I've wasted too much of my busy day already." He touched the brim of his three-hundred-dollar Stetson at Maggie. "We'll be talking."
He didn't hurry back to his truck, but sauntered to it, like he already owned every scrawny blade of grass beneath his feet. Cain watched him go, feeling like he just might explode.
He must be losing his touch, he thought. Inside, he wouldn't have waited for the count of three. He would've jumped him on two, before he had to worry that some hand-made shiv was going to turn up unexpectedly in his back one sunny afternoon on the exercise yard.
He waited until the pickup roared to life and tore out of Maggie's yard, before he slammed the toe of his boot into the steel bucket near his foot, sending it spinning across the yard with a clatter that spooked the horses tied to the rail. He grabbed their reins and settled them down before he noticed Maggie wandering, loose-kneed toward the fence.
He grabbed her before she could fall. "Hey—"
She landed flush against him, curling her fingers into his jacket. Her smallness surprised him, even though he'd held her once before. Maybe because she had such an attitude, he reasoned. Or because she'd managed to make him believe that she'd be fine no matter what. But alarms went off in his head and elsewhere, lower down, despite his best intentions as he took in the feel of her against him.
"I'm all right," she argued, pushing away from him. "I just need to sit." Her face had lost most of its color and she was shaking as she lowered herself to the ground. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
He wasn't. "You okay?"
She nodded.
"He bully everybody like that?"
"Donnelly does what he does because he can," she said, dragging her hair back away from her face.
Cain slumped down in the dirt beside the knapsack he'd dropped earlier. "I should have taken him apart."
"No." Maggie held her head in her hands and closed her eyes. The clouds made way for the sun, warming the chill that had settled around the shadows. "Listen, I appreciate what you did for me. But we both know this isn't your problem. And I don't want you getting in any deeper than you already are. You don't know Donnelly. He's like a timber rattler. The kind that lies on a warm rock in the sun, looking like a piece of the stone. But if you make him mad, he'll come after you. And you've done that. You should go. Now."
Like hell. "Do I look scared to you?"
She turned to stare at him. "You're angry. That's even more dangerous."
Cain stared off at the mountains, forcing himself back under control. "What does he want?"
She rubbed her face with both hands, then sighed, staring out across her yard. "My land."
"I'd say that's not all he wants."
With a shake of her head, she said, "Yes, but I'm only a side bet."
He'd been near her for two days now. He wasn't so sure about that. "How long has this been going on?"
She looked away.
"How long?" he insisted.
"Two years. Give or take a few months. Since before my husband died."
Cain swivelled a look at her. "Your husband's … dead?"
"Yes. What did you think?"
"Moody didn't say. I thought … he left you."
Her gaze slid away from his. "He did. In a way."
"Did he know about Donnelly?"
Maggie sighed. "About this? I couldn't tell him. For … a lot of reasons. Look, let's just forget this happened. I was careless. I won't be the next time." She got to her feet, brushing off the dust from the seat of her jeans. "You said you were leaving. You should go before it gets dark."
But Cain didn't move. Instead, he draped his wrists over his knees and leaned back against the rail fence, staring at the two-story house Maggie lived in. Winter-bare rose climbers sprouting mauve-colored leaves ambled up the trellis on either side of the front porch. The paint there and everywhere else was peeling from the Montana weather, and the overhang on the front porch sagged in the middle, bent from the weight of too many snowfalls.
But summer was sneaking up on her valley. The electric sound of a cicadas spun out on the warm afternoon air and overhead, swallows dipped in and out of the barn rafters, feeding their young.
Cain exhaled slowly and got to his feet beside her. "Five hundred acres isn't enough to run a herd."
She swivelled an incredulous look at him. "What?"
"Or form much a barrier between you and Donnelly."
She blinked. Twice.
"That was your intention, wasn't it? To put me between you and him?"
She didn't even try to lie. "Yes."
He nodded, still watching her. "A thousand acres on the other hand. A man could start something with a thousand—"
"Done."
Now it was his turn to stare.
"A thousand acres in exchange for a marriage certificate and your promise to stay with me until fall."
He narrowed his eyes against the glare. "Fall sounds vague."
"Six months. October first. I'll have the cutting horses trained by then. Ready for sale. I'll pay off the loan and be back in the black again. And then, the land's all yours. If I fail to do that, the land belongs to the bank. It's as simple as that. That way you have a stake in my success."
Cain didn't answer for a full minute. He was nuts. Psych ward eligible. It was one thing to hold a job that long. Another entirely to play house with a woman who made him hard by simply looking at him with those big brown eyes of hers.
Behind them, Geronimo scraped his hoof in the dirt and whickered softly at the mares Maggie had left tied to the rail. They sniffed each other as the warm May breeze lifted their manes and carried the redolent scent of hay out of the nearby loft.
"I'll need a contract," he began.
"We'll visit my attorney tomorrow. Draw one up. It'll all be legal."
Cain plunged his fingers through his hair, staring off into the distance. "All right," he said at last. "You got yourself a deal. I'll play your husband—"
Maggie launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you. Thank you."
The feel of her firm breasts pressed flush against him traveled through him like an electric current. She smelled sweet and fine, and it reminded him with a jolt how long it had been since he'd actually wanted a woman who didn't come with a glass of whiskey in her hand and a trail of bad decisions behind her.
It only lasted the space of three or four heartbeats, though, because Maggie pulled back, embarrassed. The loss of contact almost made him wince.
"Oh, God. I—I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't know what came over me. I'm very grateful to you. That's all."
Cain gathered his wits and scrubbed a hand over his chin. "Yeah, well," he began, "don't be too grateful yet. I've got a few ground rules of my own."
Maggie lifted her chin. "All right."
"Number one, I won't sleep in the barn. If I'm g
onna play your husband, I sleep in the house."
She took a deep breath. "What else?"
"I'm no monk. You should know that up front. Six months is a lot to ask of a man if you don't intend to share his bed."
"Share your—? I hope you don't think that just because I—before … that wasn't—"
"We're both adults, Maggie. We've both been alone a long time. "His eyes darkened as he watched her. "You wouldn't be sorry. I'd make it good for you."
Maggie blinked at him in shock. A vivid, mental picture of just how good he could make it skittered through her mind and heated her insides: his hands sliding against her skin, his mouth on her—
"You're totally off base here on this."
"Am I?" He sounded unconvinced.
"Yes. I don't want that," she said unequivocally. "Sex, I mean."
He watched her with a frown, not saying anything.
She longed for a glass of water. "This marriage is strictly a business arrangement."
"Okay." He reached for the knapsack he'd dropped on the ground at her feet. "But you can't expect me to give up sex as part of the deal. So, you have a choice. Either that's part of the bargain—you and me—or I make my own … arrangements on the side."
Maggie gaped at him. "Are you saying that you're not capable of going six short months without—?"
He gave her a look that questioned her sanity. "Yes. Take it or leave it."
Equal measures of relief and disappointment eddied through her as it occurred to her it was simply sex he wanted and not specifically her.
"There's a second bedroom upstairs," she said. "You can sleep there. I lock my bedroom door at night."
A flash of anger crossed his expression. "Rape was never in my repertoire. If anything happened between us, darlin', it would be damn well be by your choice."
Heat traveled up her neck. "I didn't mean—"
"Sure you did. But that doesn't matter. I'll make my own arrangements."
"I'm sorry. You're right. You … do what you have to. But please remember, this is a very small town."
Anger shifted in the set of his shoulders. "I'll be discreet."
"There is no such thing in Fishhook. You'll have to go farther afield for your … extracurricular activities. I'll need your promise."
He touched the brim of his hat in a two-fingered salute. "I'll be the picture of discretion well outside the town limits."
"Fine."
"Fine," he repeated.
The mare beside her stomped her hoof and swished a fly off her back, glancing around at the two of them.
"We'll need blood tests," Maggie said, "and a license."
He stared at the ground with a nod.
"I'll call Harold and make an appointment for tomorrow."
"Harold?"
"Harold Levi," she said. "My attorney."
He shifted the backpack to his other shoulder. "Cain," she said, watching the shadows cross his face as the reality of what they'd been deciding sank in. "You can still change your mind. If it's not what you want."
He didn't answer immediately and Maggie held her breath, waiting for him to tell her that it had all been a mistake. That he'd agreed too quickly and he'd come to his senses.
But he didn't run. He didn't even move. He just stood there, staring at the ground, his jaw working rhythmically in time to her heartbeat.
"No," he said at last, looking up until his whiskey-colored eyes met hers. "I'm in. But I'm in for the land and that's all I'm in for. Understood?"
There wasn't any one thing about Cain MacCallister that was particularly perfect. His nose was slightly off center—as if it had been broken once or twice. His blue eyes had flecks of gold in them that made them seem odd and depthless at once. And the small cleft in his chin softened the steely expression he wore most of the time.
No, it wasn't the parts that made Cain what he was, but the sum of them—secrets and all. A package deal. And what he was making clear was that none of it could be hers.
Maggie smiled thinly. "Don't mistake my need for a husband with my desire for one. I've had what passes for a real marriage. And I have no desire to revisit that particular mistake." She ducked under the neck of the nearest mare and started toward the house. "Come in when you're ready for supper. That is, unless you're concerned about my domestic motives."
"Should I be?" he called after her.
She heard a reluctant grin in his voice and glanced back. "Only if you consider apple pie an extortion tool. In which case, Jigger will happily eat your share."
"I'd like to think I'm not that easy," Cain shouted after her.
Maggie pulled open the screen door and tossed a knowing smile back at him. "That's because you haven't tasted my pie yet."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"If there is anyone here who knows reason that these two people should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Standing before Judge Kimball in his small, mahogany-paneled chambers, Maggie felt her heart do a little extra ka-thump as the judge glanced around the room. Beside her, Moody Rivers stood, clutching Maggie's small bouquet of violets, looking like she'd just swallowed a chicken bone. Harold Levi hovered to Cain's right, staring at his shoes. And Cain…
She'd noticed that he didn't like crowds and even this small gathering had him itchy and feeling out of place. But if there were ever a man who belonged at the center of attention, it was Cain.
Standing there in the black sports coat, tie and crisp white shirt she'd bought him over in Marysville, and the black jeans that fit him like they were made for him, she guessed he was about the best-looking man in six counties.
But he seemed completely unaware of his looks. In all the hypothesizing she'd done about Cain, about who he was and where he'd come from, cover model/actor was definitely off the list.
"No one?" Judge Kimball prodded with one eyebrow raised.
"Get on with it," Cain told him a little too sharply. Maggie noticed a bead of sweat working its way past his ear.
Judge Kimball nodded tightly. "Then … repeat after me. I, Cain MacCallister, take this woman…"
Maggie felt her throat closing up. Was it hot in here? She glanced up at Cain whose mouth was moving, though she couldn't hear a thing. This was the dumbest thing she'd ever done, a not-so-small voice told her. Marrying an absolute stranger whose best personal outfit included leather biker pants and a white T-shirt without stains.
"To have and to hold…"
She knew absolutely nothing about him. He could be a felon, a Hell's Angel, a polygamist! What was she thinking?
"…'til death do us part," Cain said, his gaze flicking toward her for the merest instant.
She was definitely going to be sick.
"Maggie?" Judge Kimball's voice penetrated her muzzy brain. "Repeat after me. I, Maggie Cortland, take this man…"
She cleared her throat. Her lips moved obediently, and somehow her voice followed. "…take you, Cain MacCallister … for richer or for poorer…" Was it too late to stop this? "…'til—" she hesitated long enough to draw Cain's glare—"'til death do us part."
"The ring?" Judge Kimball asked Cain.
A beat behind, Cain reached into his pocket for the ring Maggie had given him to use. It had been her grandmother's ring, not the one she'd worn with Ben.
Cain took her hand in his calloused one and fitted the ring gently onto her fourth finger. It fit her perfectly: a simple, slender gold band, etched with flowers. She'd always loved it and was glad there was some small part of this ceremony that felt right. When Cain had finished, he risked a look in her eyes.
She saw a thousand emotions settle there: sadness, fear, hopefulness, regret. The one emotion that should have been there—love—was conspicuously absent.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Kimball cleared his throat again. "You may, uh, kiss the bride."
This was, blessedly, the one part of the ceremony she'd been least worried about, bec
ause she knew, with absolute certainty that Cain would never even consider—
His fingers tucked against the side of her cheek and he leaned close.
Maggie's eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do. Under the watchful gaze of Judge Kimball, his wife, Harriet, Moody and Harold, Cain planted one on her—a long, healthy, toe-curling kiss that turned whatever was left of her insides instantly to warm mush. His mouth lingered on hers for a handful of heartbeats and in all that time, it never once occurred to her to pull away. In fact, to her horror, she found herself senselessly leaning into the kiss. She felt his arm slide around her back as her knees started to buckle and the intimate press of his well-muscled physique as she moved flush up against him. Her whole being tingled as his words came back to her.
You wouldn't be sorry, Maggie. I'd make it good for you.
He broke the kiss, heaven help her, not her. No, she was too busy trying to get her knees working again.
She was still reeling as he let her go. But before turning toward Harriet Kimball, the judge's wife who was reaching out to shake his hand in congratulations, his eyes went dark with the promise that whatever fantasies she'd entertained about keeping their relationship platonic were exactly that—a fantasy.
Maggie ran a hand over her hair to straighten out the place his hand had ruffled. She was going to have to have a talk with Cain. Reiterate the ground rules. Redraw the line in the—
"Congratulations, honey," Moody said, reaching around her neck to envelop her in a big hug. And in her ear she whispered, "You devil, you. An' I thought you said this was strictly an arrangement between you two."
Maggie cast a look back at Cain who was shaking Helen Kimball's hand. Helen looked a little flushed herself. "It is," she whispered back to Moody. "Believe me. That … kiss was all for show."
"Honey," Moody whispered back, "if that was for show, I'll sell bait at my café."
Maggie looked over at Cain who had moved toward the door, looking as itchy to be out of here as he did uncomfortable in the tie she'd bought him. He was a strong, vital man, as masculine as they come. He wasn't the sort of man who did anything halfway. That, she realized, extended even to his kisses. She'd simply have to be more careful. There was no reason why they would ever have to kiss again, or for that matter, touch. She was in control, after all. Not him.
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