“I don’t mind my wife taking the lead once in a while.”
The room went deadly silent, shrouded in disbelief. The two sides regarded each other with uncomfortable wariness.
“Your what?” Ford thundered.
Archy glared accusingly at his daughter. “Is he the one who’s responsible?”
Rose lifted her chin. “If you mean responsible for making me happy, Dad, then yes, Matt’s the one who’s responsible.”
“Don’t play your word games with me, girl.” He pointed a short, stubby finger in Matt’s direction. “Is he the one who forced himself on you?”
Matt moved forward, about to defend himself, but Rose thrust her arm in front of him to hold him in place. The last thing she wanted was for the two men who meant the most to her to get into it right in front of her.
“Nobody forced anything, Dad. I love Matt Carson and he loves me.” She looked at Matt’s father. “And yes, Mr. Carson, there is a baby on the way. A baby who’s going to be half Carson, half Wainwright and who’s going to need all of your love.”
“Now, does the baby get it?” Matt wanted to know, looking from his father to Rose’s. “Or do we tell him that his grandfathers are stubborn old men who let pride and a stupid, ancient feud get in the way of the best thing that’s happened to their families in a long, long time? The choice is yours.”
Both men stood regarding one another and the situation in complete silence, searching for a way not to rend their families asunder any further while still saving face.
Archy spoke first. He looked at his daughter, love winning out over pride. “Married, huh?”
She nodded her head and held up her hand with the ring on it. “Married.”
He lifted his shoulder and let it drop in dismissive apathy. “Well, it don’t count if it happened in a place like New York City.”
She wasn’t going to be outbullied by her father. Not this time. Rose looked at him pugnaciously. “It counts.”
“No,” Archy insisted. “It don’t. Gotta do it up right.” He slanted a look toward Ford, daring the man to disagree with him. “Texas style if this marriage is going to have a chance.”
He took a step forward as he saw Ford approach Rose, but his ex-wife placed a restraining hand on his arm.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ford embraced his son’s new wife. When he released her, he echoed Archy’s words, surprising everyone.
“That’s my grandchild you’re carrying and his parents are going to get married right.”
“Don’t be telling my daughter what to do,” Archy warned darkly. Then his brow cleared slightly as he looked at Rose. “But for once in his life, Ford Carson’s right. If this marriage is going to take, you’ve got to have the wedding out here.” Grudgingly, he looked at Ford. Maybe it was time to put the past to rest. “At the place our grandfathers put together before things went sour.”
Presenting himself in front of Ford, Archy huffed, frowning. “I guess I’m willing to give a truce a chance, for the sake of the kids, if you are.” He put out his hand.
Ford stood regarding the hand that was being offered him. After a beat, he took it in his own callused one. “Never let it be said that a Wainwright’s a bigger man than a Carson—” His eyes washed over Archy’s less than trim waistline. “Unless they’re talking about weight, of course.”
Rose felt tears filling her eyes as she threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Dad.”
He stroked her head. “Anything for my little girl,” he said softly. Clearing his throat, he looked at Ford, who was embracing his own son in solemn congratulations. “Maybe it’s high time we called an end to this feud, anyway.”
Everyone in the room agreed with relief.
In another state, Dylan Bridges was dictating last-minute notes into his micro-recorder as he tossed clothes with his free hand into the suitcase that laid open on his bed.
There were myriad things to keep him here. In actuality, he had no time to spare. But time was the main factor now. He couldn’t seem to shake the sense of urgency that had overtaken and haunted him since his father’s telephone call.
He had a feeling that if he didn’t go to see the judge, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Stopping his tape recorder, he reached for the portable telephone and punched in the number for the local airport.
“Hello? Yes, I’d like a ticket to Mission Creek, Texas. What? One way—for now.”
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Marie Ferrarella for her contribution to the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7201-3
TEXAS ROSE
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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