by Dara Girard
Jameson sat back and released her. It was as if the sound of her sister’s name built an instant barrier between them. “But Meredith has no interest in ranch life.”
Brooke met his gaze. “I know, and she’s been approached by a private broker who is offering her a fortune to sell her half.” Ironic as it sounded, Brooke knew she couldn’t do that because her father stipulated that in order to inherit the ranch they both had to be married. The only solution Brooke had been able to come up with was that once she was married she would buy out her sister’s half.
“What happens if you don’t marry?” Jameson asked.
Brooke sighed. “The ranch will remain with Mitch, our ranch foreman.” Mitch Stokel had been at her father’s side for years. He was trustworthy and a hard worker. “Daddy feared that I wouldn’t be able to run the ranch on my own, and he’s right.”
“Then what’s the rush? You’re a beautiful woman. You’ll have no trouble finding a husband when you’re ready.”
He thinks I’m beautiful! Brooke had to bite back a smile of satisfaction. She knew she was attractive, and she had grown used to male attention. But Jameson’s was the only one that mattered to her. If he liked her looks, did that also mean he was attracted to her? “I don’t have time to wait. In the will he also stipulated that if I’m not married within thirty days of the reading of the will, ownership of the ranch will legally pass over to Mitch. I’ll be allowed to stay on the ranch as long as I live, and I’ll receive a handsome share of the profit if Mitch ever decides to sell, but the ranch won’t be mine. And, as I said, Meredith is anxious to get her hands on her half so that she can make money from it. I don’t know why he wrote the will the way he did. It seems as if it was his strange way of making sure both his daughters would be married. I don’t understand.”
Jameson rubbed his chin and frowned. “This has to be illegal. It’s blackmail. Have you gotten an attorney to—”
“I’ve had my attorneys look the will over and it’s ironclad. I think, odd though it may seem, my father did this to help me.” As a child, Brooke had always been more expressive than Meredith about how much she didn’t want to stay on the ranch when she grew up. Although she knew her way around, she’d always been more interested in pursuing her art. She made Western-style pottery. She knew her father didn’t want her to feel burdened or obligated. She suspected he felt guilty that the pressure he’d put on his daughters had driven Meredith away. But as she grew Brooke’s feelings had changed. She wished now that she had told her father, before he died, how much she had come to love the ranch.
“I know how much your father loved you,” Jameson said. “Ray Palmer was a person I admired and a savvy businessman. But this codicil still makes no sense. Why not just let you sell the place? Forcing his daughters to get married in order to keep their own land that they have rightfully inherited makes no sense.”
Brooke had asked herself the same question, and she still didn’t know the answer. Perhaps it had to do with her father’s loneliness. Her mother had died when Brooke was five, and her father had never remarried. Maybe by stipulating they both get married, he wanted to make sure that she and her sister didn’t wind up alone. They had been close to their father. He was their life and had always made sure they were provided for. At times spoiling them more than guiding them.
Brooke remembered the many summers the two of them spent going down the Blackfoot River in an inner tube with him. One of the favorite things she liked to do with her father was fly-fishing. Although he wasn’t much of a talker, she simply loved being in his presence. He was a good teacher and was always patient, even when she wasn’t. The last time they had gone fishing together, they had traveled up the mountain to a stream where he loved to go. Just to get away. On that trip she had caught a bounty of fish. He had been overjoyed and had congratulated her.
“So, I am a means to an end?” Jameson asked, breaking her reverie.
Brooke blushed. He would be a dream come true, but she couldn’t’ tell him that. She hoped that her story and situation would be persuasive enough. He was an honorable man. “Like I said, I couldn’t think of any other way out of this, and you were the first person I thought of.”
Jameson stood and grabbed his hat. “I can’t help you. I can’t be your fake husband.” He was polite, but it was still a rejection.
Brooke should have expected his response, but it was still devastating. Her heart shriveled a little. She understood. He had a life and he didn’t want it tied to hers. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I’ll lose everything. And the implications are bigger than you think. Mitch has already been talking to the broker who represents Samara Lionne and she’s interested in buying Meredith’s half of the property. It won’t be long before Samara Lionne owns half of Granger. I have to do something now.”
* * *
Jameson paused. Samara Lionne? The same Hollywood starlet who’d bought Wes’s property? To hear that woman’s name twice in one day wasn’t a good sign. “What does she need with a second ranch?”
“Second?”
Jameson set his hat down. “Yes. Wes sold his parcel of land to her. What could she be up to?”
“I don’t know. But there is one thing I do know, and that is if I don’t get married the entire ranch goes to Mitch, and I’m afraid he’ll sell.”
This changed everything. At first when she’d talked about getting married, he’d thought it was a joke. A mockery. Did she really think he would marry her? Hell, he didn’t even feel like dating. He wasn’t ready to think of marriage, let alone marrying the little sister of the woman who left him. Besides, it didn’t make sense. Brooke could easily get any man she wanted and probably a host of those she didn’t. When he’d first seen her today, it wasn’t her mane of wild curls or her hazel eyes that caught his eye; it was her shy smile.
As strikingly beautiful as she was, a man would expect a coy or sexy expression, not something shy and unassuming, almost sweet. Few things in his life were sweet, but Brooke Palmer’s grin definitely was. It stirred something in him. When he had turned to look at her, he had been surprised to see her, and he was a little glad, too, although he didn’t know why. He’d always liked her. As a child she seemed to appear at the strangest times, when he was roping or returning the cattle to the pen, and always with her little sketch pad. He didn’t mind her presence; she was never a bother or in his way.
He wanted to help her, but he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t plan to marry anyone. His focus was on BWB, but based on what she’d told him he understood her desperation. He didn’t want her to lose her land. Those facts united them in a way he hadn’t imagined. She understood what was at stake.
Brooke stood. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
Jameson stopped her. At first he’d thought her idea ridiculous, but he suddenly realized that her request wasn’t about romance or other fleeting emotions. This was a business deal. This was about saving history, their heritage. She understood it as much as he did. He met her startled hazel gaze. She really had grown into a beautiful woman. For a moment she made him think of the Calliope hummingbird—swift and bright. It was common to Montana and its name came from the Greek word meaning “little star.” With a woman like Brooke he could accomplish his goal. He was tired of outsiders messing with his town and interfering with the privacy they’d been able to maintain for generations. She wanted to use him, and he could use her. It would make them equals. A team.
“Brooke,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a groom.” He extended his hand to her. She took it and quickly let go.
* * *
Brooke wanted to hug him, kiss him, dance, maybe even laugh, but instead she rocked on her heels and hugged herself. “Great. We can go to the justice of the peace or just elope.”
Jameson shook his head. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it big.”
Her arm
s fell to her sides. “Big?”
“Yes, the bigger the better. Our wedding is going to be one this town will remember. We need to make a symbolic statement and show everyone that the families of Granger stick together.” His eyes were serious and probing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Brooke met his dark stare. He was giving her a chance to turn back and retain her dignity. He was offering her a warning that he wouldn’t be an easy man to marry, that his heart belonged to the BWB. Not her. But, instead of being uneasy, her resolve grew. Even if their marriage would just be for show, it would be a dream come true for her to walk down the aisle toward Jameson Broward. She knew she was taking a big gamble, but she didn’t care.
“Brooke?” Jameson repeated. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
She smiled. “With all my heart.” She was sure.
Chapter 4
Jameson was sure his mother hadn’t blinked for a full minute. His father just stared at him and then finally said, “You’re doing what?”
The three of them sat in the Great Room, where only yesterday they’d been discussing Wes’s property sale. “I’m getting married,” Jameson said.
“To Brooke Palmer?” Gwendolyn repeated, just to make sure she’d heard her son correctly the first time.
He nodded. “Yes. We’re getting married this month.”
“But you can’t be serious,” Gwendolyn said.
“I am. You know I don’t joke.”
“But Brooke is—”
“I know who she is,” he cut in, not wanting his mother to elaborate. “How I feel about her shocked me, too, but I can’t help it. We’ve been seeing each other for some time.”
“How long?”
“Long enough for me to know I want to marry her.”
“But it’s so sudden,” Steven said. “Why not wait?”
“I don’t want to wait. I asked and she accepted and that’s all there is to it.”
“Really?” Steven said, doubtful.
Gwendolyn frowned. “You know how this will look?”
Jameson couldn’t help a grin. “I plan to make it look spectacular, and I need your help. Brooke has no one to help her so I said I’d take care of everything, but since I don’t know much about weddings...” He let his words fade away and sent his mother a look of hope.
“You want me to organize everything,” Gwendolyn finished.
“With no expense spared.”
And he meant every word. So Gwendolyn went into “planning” mode, and before he knew it, a lavish wedding was quickly set into motion. She had their wedding invitations designed. She also put together a list of dignitaries and guests she knew absolutely had to be there and other lesser-known ones, just so that they didn’t feel snubbed. A wedding planner was hired to assist with the overall organization and all related events including interviewing a number of caterers. Brooke thought she would be able to get to do some things on her own, like select her dress, but Gwendolyn insisted on helping her select her wedding gown.
“No daughter-in-law of mine is going to wear an off-the-rack dress.” And she was good to her word. She flew Brooke, along with Laney, in a private plane to Atlanta, Georgia, where Gwendolyn had made an appointment with a top fashion designer to make a custom wedding dress for Brooke. It was stunning. It had a bare back that plunged just enough to be both revealing and modest, with transparent, off-the-shoulder sleeves that extended into beaded gloves and a cinched, gathered waist, with a long train and a full billowy embroidered silk skirt that accentuated Brooke’s drop-dead figure.
News of Brooke and Jameson’s engagement spread through Granger overnight, like wildfire. But, the closer they came to the actual date, the more concerned his family became. Although his mother no longer expressed her doubts and his grandfather kept whatever thoughts he had to himself, his father was more to the point. One late afternoon, Steven visited his son as Jameson went over some paperwork in his study.
“You sure you know what you’re doing marrying this woman?” Steven asked.
Jameson sniffed, more amused than offended by the question. “I always know what I’m doing.”
His father sat. “That’s what worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel as if you’re up to something. You can try to fool the rest of the family with your story about having a clandestine relationship, but I know you too well. I also know when I see a man in love and from what I’ve seen, that isn’t you.”
Jameson pushed his paperwork aside and rested his arms on the desk, prepared for a fight he planned to win. “I care about her.”
“You ‘care’ about your cattle, but when it comes to loving a woman, you need to feel a little bit more than that.” Steven folded his arms. “I know she loves you.” He smiled when he saw Jameson flinch. “Why does that surprise you?”
Because you’re wrong, Jameson wanted to say. He had to admire Brooke. She was playing her role as his fiancée better than he’d expected. “I didn’t say it did.”
“A look passed your face. If you don’t plan on accepting her love how can you give it back?”
“I’ll take good care of her.”
“There’s that word again. Care. Don’t shame me and Ray Palmer, but most of all, don’t shame her. If this is your idea of some sort of twisted revenge against Meredith, I want you to stop it.”
“It’s not. That happened more than ten years ago. I’m over it.”
“Are you?”
Jameson leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like you to ask me to repeat myself.”
“You two were inseparable in school. When she left you...” He sighed and cleared his throat, as if the topic embarrassed him. “We all know how devastated you were because you loved her so much.”
“Don’t talk to me about love,” Jameson said in a tight voice. “I know all about love and what it can do. My feelings for Meredith are strong and deep. She and I are getting married and I don’t have to defend myself against you.”
“Brooke,” Steven corrected in a soft tone.
“What?”
“You just said you were marrying Meredith.”
Jameson felt heat rush to his face, but he kept his gaze steady. He couldn’t back down now. “I meant Brooke.”
“Really? You think making a mistake like that is something trivial?”
Jameson sighed, annoyed by his slip. “No.”
“I hope you’re marrying Brooke for the right reasons.”
“I am.”
“Don’t throw away a lot of money on a gamble you plan to lose.”
“You know I don’t like to lose, so why would I start now?”
But Jameson already knew he had won. Yes, he was helping her, but she was also helping him. But was marrying Brooke a way to avenge himself? Was he ready to be Meredith’s brother-in-law? He’d be rebuilding a bond that had been broken, but it was a strategic tactic he believed his family would eventually understand and respect. However, his father was right—he didn’t love her. But Brooke didn’t love him either. His father was mistaken. It was gratitude he’d sensed, not love. But there was no need to tell him the truth.
Unfortunately, Jameson knew his father knew him too well, and his mother, too. He had to act more like the loving fiancé and later, husband, if he wanted to keep the questions at bay. He was pleased that his actions had alleviated some of the earlier worry they had about the selling of Granger land. He didn’t want them concerned about what Samara was up to. Maybe they should have just eloped, but no, that wasn’t his style. He had to let people know that the Browards were on the defensive. They hadn’t built a fortune by laying low. He wouldn’t be like his brother and disappear when it was time to fight.
* * *
That evening, Jameson went to the Shank of
the Evening saloon in downtown Granger to clear his head. He could take the curiosity of the town more than his family’s suspicions. Even his house manager, Cecelia, had had something to say about his upcoming wedding.
“The town is just buzzing about your wedding,” she said one evening as she cleared up Jameson’s dinner dishes. Her spiky red hair matched her ruddy cheeks and hinted at her Irish heritage. “It will be nice to have a woman around the house.”
Jameson picked up a magazine. “I thought you were enough.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her green eyes twinkled. “You are a sly one, seeing a woman on the side without anyone knowing.”
“Hmm...”
“But I’m surprised some woman hadn’t set her sights on you and reeled you in earlier.”
Jameson flipped through the magazine, used to Cecelia’s chatter. “Yes.”
“However, it does seem rather sudden. Is she?”
Jameson stopped and looked at her. “Is she what?”
“Expecting.”
“Expecting what?”
Her face reddened. “Don’t be stupid. You know what I’m talking about.”
Jameson cupped his chin and studied her. “Do I really look like the kind of man who’d get himself into that kind of trouble?”
“No, but—”
Jameson grinned and lifted his paper. He didn’t mind her questions. Cecelia was one of the few people he felt he could trust. She knew his ways and habits and gave him space when he wanted it. “There’s your answer.”
“I’m glad. But I hope you don’t wait too long to fill this big house with children.”
Jameson stopped listening to her after that. There would be no children, not for a long time.
At the bar Jameson sighed at the memory of Cecelia’s hopeful chatter, ordered a drink then took it outside to watch the traffic—what little there was of it—go by. He sat down, balanced his chair back on two legs and pushed his hat down low, ready to relax. Within seconds he saw a shapely pair of legs stop in front of him.
