The Cowboy's Bride

by Starla Kaye

  The reporter snagged his attention once more at the mention of the team’s owners. There would be a thorough investigation of the situation. Until the outcome of it, Lee Grayson would be suspended. The reporter went on to hint that there could even be criminal consequences to be paid. If Ms. Ward pressed charges, the famed quarterback could do jail time.

  Lee slumped on the side of the bed. Molly was right; this was seriously bad stuff. He looked at a grim-faced Amy now leaning against the triple dresser across the room.

  “I didn’t,” he stated in determination, thrusting out his chin. “I wouldn’t ever do that.” God, he could only imagine what parents were saying to the young boys who’d once idolized him. He wouldn’t want a kid of his looking up at a man who’d go so low as to drug a woman to get in her pants.

  Besides that, he really could go to jail. Innocent men went to prison all the time. His stomach tightened. He felt sick, scared shitless. “I’m ruined, completely.” He hated the thought, but it could very well be true.

  His cell phone rang somewhere in the room. He didn’t want to answer it, didn’t even bother looking for it.

  Molly studied him, pity in her eyes. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But we probably need to get in touch with your lawyer.”

  Surprising them both, Amy straightened and anger flashed in her eyes. “It’s a lie!”

  “Welcome to my world,” Lee grumbled. He couldn’t count the number of lies that had been told about him even in the last year. Why had he put up with it? Hadn’t his adopted father warned him that allowing such nonsense to go on would one day bite him the ass? Samuel would support him through whatever happened next, like he supported every one of the troubled kids he’d taken in over the years. But it sickened him to think Samuel would even for a second think he might be capable of something like this.

  “I might have briefly thought you had given me something.” Amy began pacing in front of the dresser, finally stopping to power off the TV. “But not anymore. I’ve read about the affects of date rape drugs. I’m a modern woman and I used to date a lot. A woman has to watch out for herself.”

  His whole body felt tense, but somehow watching the tall, slender yet shapely woman prance around in frustration took some of the edge off him. Waist-length red-brown hair that he’d seen her finger comb lie in a mass of waves down her back. She had slender feet with red-painted toes that caught his attention. But it was the bounce of the nicely plump breasts barely held in place by the black thigh-length dress that skimmed her body that really captured his interest.

  “I didn’t drug you, I swear I didn’t. Hell, I feel pretty damn bad, too.” He hesitated, thinking hard, finally recalling something. “I vaguely remember carrying you up here.” His dick was hard as a rock and he sure didn’t think he’d gotten off last night. “I’m almost certain we didn’t…” He glanced awkwardly at Molly. “You know.”

  Molly groaned and focused on the carpet at her feet. “I don’t really want to know what you and my friend might or might not have done.”

  “We didn’t,” Amy insisted. Then she heaved a sigh. “At least I’m pretty sure we didn’t.”

  Molly turned red again and avoided looking at either of them. He hated talking about this in front of her, too. But he was more intrigued by Amy. She’d sounded…almost disappointed. He would sure be willing to correct that situation. No! Keep your distance from this woman. She’s Molly’s BFF. Off limits

  Now his landline phone rang on the bedside table. He couldn’t avoid answering the phones forever.

  “Call Samuel,” Molly urged, meeting his gaze. “He’ll have an idea or two about how to deal with this. He always comes through for us.”

  Lee closed his eyes. How many times had the old rancher saved his ass? Kicked it, too, so to speak. But he really should be able to deal with his own problems. Dammit, he was thirty-four years old, a man! Then he thought about Amy. What would this do to her reputation? She seemed tough, but was she really? The media would be all over both of them by the end of the day. He had to protect her from the coming disaster.

  He’d been through many such instances…well, none quite this bad. But she wouldn’t have had to deal with the paparazzi hounding her, never giving her a minute’s peace because they were after a juicy story.

  “We need to get out of town. All of us.” He stood, walked toward the bathroom. He and Amy needed to be far away and soon. And he wouldn’t leave Molly behind to deal with any of this. “If the media isn’t already camped on my front doorstep, they will be soon enough.”

  Amy stopped pacing, gazed in distress at the man who was partially responsible for upsetting her world as he headed into the other room. She hadn’t wanted to come to the party but Molly had insisted. She’d been hearing about Lee ever since she’d roomed with Molly at the University of Denver. Saint Lee had been Molly’s rock during her troubled teen years. Whatever mess she’d gotten into—and there had been plenty of them—he’d helped her out of it, along with Samuel Grayson. Another saint, in Molly’s book.

  She knew the other side of him, the favorite gossip subject of many newspapers and TV celebrity talk shows. The man was one of the top quarterbacks in the NFL. He was also a manager’s nightmare off the playing field. He went from one scandal to another. She knew because she’d secretly followed every mention of him, watched every game she could catch. Not that she’d shared any of that with Molly. Amy didn’t share Molly’s respect for him, but she couldn’t stop her fascination with him.

  She couldn’t help admiring his fine ass before he shut the door behind him. She was almost certain they hadn’t made love—had sex—last night. Her body didn’t feel satisfied. No, she felt an intense need, an ache low in her body. Her desire for him was far stronger than the persistent lingering headache, the fading sense of nausea, the aftereffects of whatever they’d been given. She knew in her gut that Lee had been given whatever it was, too. He had been able to function longer. Enough to strip her of her clothes? Enough to strip himself? That was a troublesome thought, but better than thinking someone else had undressed them both, staged this whole thing. Why would someone set this up? To turn this into another scandal, a worse one than he’d faced before? For money?

  “He really leads a pitiful life, doesn’t he?” Amy asked, without expecting an answer.

  Molly began picking up his discarded clothes. “It comes with being a mega-big sports star. It’s even worse, I think, because he’s single.” She looked at Amy, love for her brother clear in her expression. “He’s not really the wild, sex-loving playboy extraordinaire the media makes him look. Oh, sure, he’s dated a lot, but he sticks with a woman until she can’t take the paparazzi hounding her any longer.”

  Amy went to the drape-covered window and tugged it open a few more inches. The bedroom overlooked the carefully landscaped front lawn, brown now that it was early December. There was a circle drive that led out toward a tall, intricately designed metal gate. Beyond the gate she spotted several TV vans and at least a dozen reporters and photographers standing around, focused on the house.

  She scooted back as soon as someone appeared to look in her direction. Her stomach knotted. “The media slime has slithered here.” She had no use for reporters who made their living harassing celebrities, often creating stories where there really weren’t any.

  Molly’s eyes widened and she dashed to the closed bathroom door. She pounded on it and shouted, “They’re here already!”

  Amy thought she heard him grumble “shit” but she couldn’t be sure, and then he added some words she didn’t want to decipher. For the first time she wondered how she was going to get out of here. She didn’t want to face the reporters, even if it was to tell them this was all a mistake. She doubted they would believe her. They wouldn’t want to believe her because they would lose their scandalous story.

  “Call Samuel,” Lee stuck his head out of the bathroom to look directly at Molly. “Tell him to send his helicopter.” He disappeared again and she heard an
electric razor.

  “Helicopter?” Amy questioned, surprised. “I thought your father was a simple rancher, a big-hearted rancher considering all the kids he’s helped over the years. Still, just a rancher.”

  Molly pulled a cell phone out of her jeans pocket. “He is and he isn’t. The Last Chance Ranch is—”

  “The Last Chance Ranch! You always called it the Grayson Ranch before now.” She knew about the enormous Last Chance Ranch. If you had anything at all to do with ranching, you had heard about it. She’d grown up around ranches, traveling with her horse trainer father all over the West. Yet he’d never worked that particular ranch, probably because of his reputation as an alcoholic. Fewer and fewer ranchers had been willing to put up with him during the last years of his life. She was a trained horse farrier and blacksmith, but she couldn’t find a rancher willing to give her a chance because of her father.

  “Sorry. We get in the habit of calling it Grayson Ranch.” Molly focused on speed-dialing her father. The conversation lasted maybe thirty seconds once the phone was answered on the other end. All she said was, “Lee needs a helicopter out of here.”

  She’d no sooner ended the call than Lee strolled out of the bathroom and walked determinedly into the walk-in closet. When he came back out carrying jeans, a shirt, boots, and a sheepskin-lined coat, he glanced at Amy. “There will be clothes you can wear at the ranch.”

  “At the ranch?” She was confused.

  He tossed the clothing on the bed and went to dig in the dresser for socks. “You’re coming with us, of course.”

  “But I…” What? She was going to make her way on foot past the media parked out front? She was going to let them follow her back to her tiny trailer? Resigned to needing his help for the moment, she sighed. “Of course.”

  Even knowing she had no other real options, Amy dragged her feet about leaving the “safety” of Lee’s bedroom. She’d watched him dress—what a shame to cover up all of that very fine body. She’d slipped on her heels and thought about all that had happened, all the “firsts” in her life. She’d come to her first fancy party in a mansion, wearing her first designer dress and expensive shoes, both borrowed because she certainly never could have afforded them. Then she’d woken up in bed with her first super stud boy quarterback.

  Molly waited impatiently at the bedroom door, looking curiously at her. What? Had she been standing there drooling over Lee? Probably. Which was wrong on so many levels.

  “Time to get the hell out of here.” Lee broke into her thoughts and snagged her arm when she didn’t move. “Now.”

  Molly raced ahead down the hall toward the staircase which continued up another floor. “It’s already here, on the roof.”

  Amy heard the strange whoop-whoop-whoop sound above them and her heart raced. What was she doing? She was a simple cowgirl who lived in a run-down trailer, didn’t own a wardrobe much beyond jeans and T-shirts. She wasn’t the kind of person who fled into the great blue sky in a helicopter. She didn’t lead that kind of exciting life. Well, she hadn’t until now.

  She stumbled on her heels and would have fallen if Lee hadn’t turned to catch her. He held her a second, his nostrils flaring at their closeness. Her heart foolishly raced at the feel of him against her.

  Then he frowned and set her away from him. His voice was husky as he said, “Do I need to carry you?”

  “Yes.” Her face heated in embarrassment at the slip of tongue. She promptly shook her head and snapped, “No!” Then she shot around him and after Molly.

  Seconds later she hurried out onto the roof of Lee’s sprawling mansion. She froze at the oddity of the moment. Then she spotted the mass of reporters and cameramen lining the front gate, all focused on the escaping celebrities and the helicopter.

  Celebrity? Her? No, she was more like the slut woman of the hour, being made infamous by the media desperate for yet another tantalizing story about Lee Grayson.

  The man turning her from a woman who usually blended into the background into a scandalous drugged lover, nudged her from behind. He shouted over the loud whoop-whoop-whoop of the whirling blades, “Get that sweet ass moving!”

  She shot him an indignant scowl and then sped after Molly who was climbing into the backseat of the helicopter. As she scooted over to make room for her, Amy gaped in dismay at how high she would have to step up, thinking about the far too short dress she had on.

  Solving the problem, Lee grabbed her around the waist and all but tossed her into the backseat. Her face flamed and she refused to look at him, knowing what a view he must have gotten.

  Fortunately he didn’t comment, simply closed her door, and quickly climbed into the seat next to the pilot.

  She’d barely had time to latch her seatbelt before the blades picked up speed. Her heart thundered; her ears suffered from the extremely loud noise. Then Molly leaned over to snag a pair of large headphones, handed them to her, and motioned to how she wore hers. Her friend gave her a reassuring smile as she slid them over her head and sighed in blessed relief.

  After that she sat back and absorbed the wonder of this strange moment in her life. Her stomach knotted as she glanced down at the mansion and the ant-sized people at the fence. She’d only flown in an airplane once in her life. It had been nothing like this. The plane had been considerably bigger, filled with a hundred-some passengers, quieter. And definitely a lot less exciting. She liked this, not that she probably would ever do something like it again.

  They flew out of the expensive neighborhood, over Denver, toward the Rockies. Molly looked out the other window, her hands fisted tensely in her lap. The pilot concentrated on his job. Lee appeared to be staring straight ahead.

  She sat warily, torn between feeling thrilled by her first ride in a helicopter and worried about the bizarre turn her world had taken. She wondered if her life would ever be normal again. Being splashed all over the news would make trying to find work as a farrier even harder. Her reputation was in tatters. Considering how her father’s reputation had suffered because of his being an alcoholic and how she’d suffered because of that… Well, now she really was in a mess.

  Of course it had been a mess without all of this added trouble. She didn’t have a job. Sure, she had plenty of feelers out, but there were no signs yet of anybody willing to take a chance on her. She lived in a beat-up travel trailer that made her feel claustrophobic. She had maybe $200 in the bank. Okay, her life was Pitiful with a huge capital ‘P.’

  Lee shifted around to look back at her, his expression serious. He did something with his headset and she heard an odd static sound. Then he said grimly, “I’ll fix this. Somehow.”

  She swallowed hard, warmed by his attempt to soothe her. She didn’t know how to talk into her headset, but she tried to mouth, “I can’t imagine how.”

  He must have gotten the general idea because he said, “Trust me.”

  She offered him a weak smile and a shrug, mouthed, “I’ll try.” Then she felt wetness on her cheek and was startled to realize she was crying. The craziness of the situation must have finally hit her. She dashed at the tears, blushing.

  He looked worried, uncomfortable. “You’ve got a right to be emotional right now.” He heaved a sigh. “If I wasn’t such a tough sonofabitch, I’d be crying, too. My life is a disaster and, unfortunately, you’ve been drawn into it.”

  He looked ready to say something else, then just frowned and shifted away once more. He settled back in his seat, no doubt trying to come to terms with what had happened in less than twelve hours. His own life had been turned upside down. He’d gone from the media’s favorite bad boy to a really bad boy. His career could end through no fault of his own. There were threats of criminal allegations. He would know any charges would be groundless. Still, she knew from reading the gossip columns that when such allegations were made, people came out of the woodwork eager to take advantage of the situation. They wanted money, fame, or their fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

  Amy shivered in her b
orrowed coat and looked solemnly out the window without really seeing any of the scenery. Lee had been through these nightmarish situations before, at least that’s what he’d told her as he’d hurriedly dressed. But she hadn’t. She was an everyday kind of woman, a simple soul. She didn’t make waves in the world, hadn’t even gotten a speeding ticket. Now she would be in gossip magazines, talked about in connection with Lee. Oh God, what a mess.

  Lee felt sick. He should have stopped all of the crazy PR crap the team’s publicist had kept leaking out to the paparazzi months ago. If he had maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. Celebrities were harassed all the time by the media, picked out as easy targets by lowlifes willing to cause trouble for notoriety or money.

  He was a football player, not a celebrity. At least that’s what he wanted to be. Somewhere along the way he’d allowed himself to be manipulated and had lost control of everything off the football field.

  He thought about Amy and felt even worse. She didn’t deserve to have her life destroyed because of him, because some jerk had managed to find a way to make a buck—probably a few thousand bucks—off of him. He vaguely remembered some grinning fool handing him and Amy drinks as they’d started to leave the party. Neither of them had wanted the drinks, but just to get rid of the guy, they’d taken them. Evidently they’d also downed them.

  Damn idiot was what he’d been.

  At the moment, Amy was the pitied woman he’d done wrong. From experience, he knew that in less than a day she would be painted by the media as a tramp who would do anything to snare a wealthy man like him. The piranhas who made up the media would eat her alive. He had to find a way to solve this problem.

  He’d managed to screw up another woman’s life enough that she’d committed suicide. Tonya hadn’t been able to handle a mutually agreed upon breakup and then deal with the reporters who had hounded her afterward. She’d seemed like a strong woman, but she’d not been strong enough.