"Everyone depends on me. Guess I forgot how bad this place was." At least he had the decency to sound contrite about that.
He continued. "To tell you the truth, I really expected us to figure a way out of this marriage before it happened. I never gave much thought to the 'where we'd live' part of the plan, 'cause I was hoping we wouldn't make it to the 'I do' part."
"Yeah, me, too." She yawned and opened both eyes. Little pinpricks of fatigue stabbed her muscles and the back of her neck. "There are beds in there, right?" She pointed to the house.
"Do sleeping bags count?"
She wasn't a whiner, but was giving serious consideration to converting.
"What's wrong with sleeping bags?"
"Only a McCormack would ask that question," she said, more to herself than to Brice. Suddenly she bolted straight up and nailed Brice with a hard look.
"What?"
"If—" she took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, trying not to think the very worst "—if there isn't indoor plumbing in that house, Brice McCormack, you better start running because—"
He cupped her cheeks with his hands—he really did have great hands—and gazed into her eyes.
"Now, Pru, would I give you a house that didn't have running water?"
"In a heartbeat." She pulled her face from his fingers before his touch became lethal to logical thinking. She poked Brice in the chest with her index finger, ignoring the way his soft navy shirt hugged his shoulders and fell over his flat stomach. She concentrated on her anger. "Unlike your granddaddy swindling my granddaddy, you're going to pay for this … this lie, Brice McCormack, and it sure as heck isn't going to take seventy long years. That you can count on."
* * *
Brice knew Pru wasn't kidding, and, if truth be told, he didn't blame her one iota for being mad. He wouldn't have pulled this stunt if he hadn't been at his wits' end.
"Come on," he said, opening the door to the truck. "Let's go inside. It's getting cold out here."
"That means the place has heat?" Pru asked with a hint of hope in her voice. Or was that just plain desperation?
Brice snatched her bag and his from the back of the truck. "The house has a fireplace. Bet you always wanted a house with a big fireplace, huh?"
"We have four fireplaces at Randolph House." He could almost hear her teeth grinding as she sidestepped mud clods and made her way over to his side of the truck. Her shoes, which were nothing more than strips of leather, wouldn't cut it out here on this ranch. But Pru in boots was a picture he couldn't conjure up.
All things considered, though, she'd been pretty good about the house business. Hey, he was still alive, wasn't he? He knew women who'd have taken care of that situation right off the bat. She hadn't burst into tears, though Pru wasn't the teary type. She was more the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later type. And she hadn't even insisted that he take her back to town, which he'd fully expected her to do.
Then again, she hadn't seen the inside of the house. Oh, boy. Instead of pocketing the truck keys, Brice tossed them back inside the cab. They'd be easier to find that way.
"Guess grand theft auto isn't a high probability around here?"
He held Pru's arm so she wouldn't stumble in the ruts. "Well, there you are. Living in rural America has some definite advantages. You never have to go key-hunting, since you just leave them in the car. And listen to all those frogs and crickets, Pru. You don't hear them in town, now, do you?"
"Of course I do. I play my Sounds of the Deep Forest CD all the time. It has waterfalls and rain and crickets and frogs and other stuff."
Rain on demand? Nature goes platinum? She just didn't get it. He pushed open the door to the house, and the squeak of rusted hinges not wanting to budge echoed in the room.
"Where's the light switch?" Pru asked.
He could see the silhouette of her hand feeling along the wall. "Electricity's turned off. But," he rushed on so she couldn't dwell on that one little point, "we have quaint little lanterns, and there's that firepl—"
"Brice."
The tone of her voice sent a chill clear up his spine, and he hadn't felt like that since a tomcat trapped him in a box canyon on the north range two years ago. "If there's no electricity, and you didn't mention a generator, that means there's no running water. You said—"
"I said there was indoor plumbing. And there is. But at the moment it's not work—" The rest of his breath rushed out in one long whoosh as a sharp kick landed against his shin. Little city shoes could do more harm than he'd have imagined. "Guess I had that coming." He rubbed his leg, then gingerly put his weight on it. The woman kicked like a mule.
"What in the world are we supposed to do now? We can't see worth diddly. There's no running water, no bed, no bathroom, no…"
The rest of her words faded as Brice struck a match, illuminating a small space around them. Then he took a lantern from a peg on the wall, and lit it. As the wick caught and the flame grew, a warm golden glow filled the hallway where they stood. Thank heavens, lantern light was flattering. He took a few steps into the next room and held the lantern high.
"See," Brice said, hoping the raised stone hearth in the living room would take some of the sting out of seeing worn wood floors, cracked walls and ceiling, and piles of boxes in the corner. "We have this great fireplace here, and there's lots of dry wood for us to use. This place can be fixed up. It wouldn't take any time at all."
"You're not sweet-talking me into liking this dump, cowboy. If I wasn't so tired, I'd be on my way back to Serenity—after I buried your sorry butt in a shallow, unmarked grave."
This might be one heck of a good time to shut his trap, Brice decided as he set the lantern on the mantel that was really a log cut lengthwise. He grabbed some saplings, dry brush and a few chunks of wood piled alongside the hearth, hunkered down and tossed them into the grate.
Prudence hadn't moved, which meant she hadn't decided to go to town, and his sorry butt was safe for the moment. If he put her to work, maybe she'd lose some of her steam. "There are matches on the mantel. If you'll light the fire, I'll find another lantern and get us some water from the well out back. It can heat up by the fire. The sleeping bags are on a shelf in what's left of the kitchen."
"What's left?"
Her tone froze him. Bad choice of words. "I mean—"
"Never mind." She exhaled a long deep breath. "I don't even want to know."
She sighed, it was a sound that suggested resignation. Hey, resignation was good, beat the heck out of her last suggestions.
She said, "I'll get the water."
He stood and looked at her in the lamplight. She was tired, tired to the bone, just the way he was. "I'll go. The bucket's heavy, and there might be spiders. I know how city girls like—"
"Brice." Her eyes darkened. "You know Pine Tree Ridge?"
He frowned. "I know where it is. Everyone does. Fact is, Sheriff caught two of my nephews over there on four-wheelers the other night, tearing up the turf. He gave 'em hell. What about it?"
"The last time I had a match in my hands, two acres there went up in flames, and I never did get my Outdoor Cook badge for scouting. Any of this ring a bell?"
"A distant one. That happened a long, long time ago, Pru."
"Same week you got your Eagle Scout badge. We both made the front page of The Serenity Star. Dad still has the newspaper clippings and hasn't allowed a match in our house for fifteen years. There's a message here."
Fifteen years? Hell, yes, there was a message—Bob Randolph was a jerk. Brush fires were not all that uncommon. Forgive and forget were not words in Bob Randolph's vocabulary. That didn't surprise Brice, but he was surprised to find that it angered him. Pru had been a kid when that happened. It was an accident, and there were adults around who should have made certain everything was safe.
Brice stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. "Tell you what—we'll flip to see who gets the water." He plucked his favorite fifty-cent piece from his pocket and sent it tumbling into the air. "Heads
," he called as he watched it drop onto the hearth with a clank. "Heads it is." Brice snatched up the coin and pocketed it.
Pru sounded anxious when she said, "Me and matches shouldn't be reunited on the toss of a coin, Brice. Trust me on this one."
He ignored her and took the matches from the mantel. He walked over to her and pressed them into her hand. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly in question. The lucky coin strikes again. Even a Randolph had a right to a second chance.
Brice said, "The fire's set. You light it." He found another lantern and left.
Fifteen minutes later, Brice was back with the water. Spring rains had filled the well, and getting the water was easier than giving away beer at a picnic, though finding the bucket in the dark had been another story.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth now. Brice smiled to himself. The familiar hissing and crackling of burning logs and the aroma of warm hickory gave a feeling of comfort and home to the old place. The tension across his back eased for the first time all day.
Firefighter Prudence, on the other hand, wasn't relaxed at all. She stood in front of the hearth, her hair down, kind of wild and untamed, her gaze glued to the flames. She held a shovel in a death grip. A spark popped and had the audacity to fly onto the stone apron of the hearth. Pru swiftly smashed it to smithereens, setting off a terrible clang that bounced off the bare walls and jarred Brice to the fillings in his teeth. So much for relaxation!
"Dang, girl."
"What?"
"Put down the shovel. The fireplace is solid stone. We're safe."
She didn't even glance at him. "Can't be sure."
He hadn't seen such determination on someone's face since Johnny Lugers punched out Hank the Hammer for messing with his girl.
Brice set the bucket and lantern on the hearth, then he reached around Pru and pried her fingers free of the shovel. The fresh vanilla scent of her hair filled his lungs and his head. She had incredible hair.
"What are you doing?"
"Preserving my eardrums" is what he said. Losing my mind over you is what he thought. She felt small and delicate caged against him for a moment. But he knew she was neither. She was the most determined female he'd ever encountered. Give Pru a job, and it was done if she had to move half of Texas to do it. He took the shovel as she turned to face him. "This is not Pine Tree Ridge."
Her eyebrows scrunched into a deep V.
"I know, I know," he said. "I'm a McCormack—how can you trust me? But this time I have as much at stake as you do. It might be your house, but my new barn's out back, and this is my land. Right?"
Some of the persistence sparking her eyes died. Bone-weary exhaustion took its place. She nodded. He said, "Now I'm going to get those sleeping bags. In the morning we'll have warm water so we can wash up." He hated to say the next words because they would get him into another passel of trouble, but he had to chance it. "There's an outhouse around back. That indoor plumbing I told you about needs help before we can use it."
When she didn't even take a swing at him, he knew she was asleep on her feet. He smiled. Sometimes exhaustion was a good thing. "Sit down, Pru. It's been a tough day." He took off his jacket and spread it out on the floor, before pushing gently on her shoulder, encouraging her to sit. "You okay?"
"Hmm." Her eyes were already half closed as she gazed into the fire, letting the flames hypnotize her into a dreamy state—at least, that's how it worked on him.
"You're sure about the fire?" she asked, her speech slurred a bit.
"It's staying right where it is."
"Promise?"
He smiled. "Cross my heart."
Brice went to get the bags, and when he came back he wasn't surprised to find Pru asleep on the floor, her head cradled in the crook of her arm, her legs bent at the knees. He wasn't even surprised to find the shovel at her side, her arm draped over the handle. Prudence Randolph wasn't the sort of person to make the same mistake twice. Everyone knew that.
He unzipped one sleeping bag and laid it beside her. He slipped off her shoes, and remembered seeing her hot-pink toenails peeking out from under her wedding dress. A smile crept across his lips. He knew he'd never forget Prudence in that dress, without shoes and veil and flowers, looking more lovely than any woman had a right to look.
He ignored the slow, steady thud of his heart, and instead considered how to get Pru into the sleeping bag. If he put one hand on her shoulder and one on her back, he could roll her into the bag and zip her up without even waking her. He owed her that much. It was a good plan—until he touched her shoulder.
Suddenly he was mesmerized by the tendrils of hair framing her face, as firelight wove golds, auburns and reds into spellbinding ribbons of color. Her face held a touch of spring sun, and her lips were smooth, soft and slightly parted. Brice wanted nothing more than to touch them with his own, just as he had only hours ago.
She stirred, her mouth parted just a breath more, and her hair fell to the side, exposing her lovely neck. A hint of vanilla scented the air and every muscle in his body went rock-hard. Desire thrust against the zipper of his jeans, and his blood felt hot in his veins.
Hell, he didn't need this in his life right now. He was tired, completely drained, and didn't have the energy to ward off lust, especially a strong attack like this. All he wanted to do was help Pru into a sleeping bag so that when she woke she wouldn't feel as if someone had tied her body into a pretzel knot. Then he wanted to crawl into his own sleeping bag. He watched the rise and fall of her blouse, of her well-rounded breasts. Actually, he'd rather crawl into Pru's sleeping bag.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Yeah, like that was going to work. Gritting his teeth against the hunger building inside him, Brice put his hand on Pru's back and gently rolled her over. Quickly he zipped her tempting body inside. Out of sight, out of mind, he reasoned. Ha!
Brice dropped an armful of logs on the fire, and heat filled the room. He pulled his sleeping bag far away from Pru and the blaze, figuring he was plenty hot enough already. He wanted Pru right now—he wanted her bad—but that was just a biological reaction to a pretty woman. A very pretty woman who happened to be his wife.
But they were enemies, had been since birth. And that would never change, no matter how much Judge Willis—or Brice's screaming hormones—wanted it to.
* * *
Prudence's stomach growled with hunger, and she opened her eyes to sunshine streaming through filthy windows. A blob of blue nylon that looked like the cocoon of a really big moth was stretched out on the floor some distance away.
Thin bands of smoke circled from dying embers in the hearth were all that remained of last night's fire. The fire she had lit, she reminded herself with satisfaction. The fire Brice had encouraged her to light, she reminded herself again. And he must have zipped her in this sleeping bag as well. She snuggled in a little deeper. Those were nice things for Brice to do, but they couldn't make up for this … this house, as if anyone in their right mind would call this a house.
Looking around, Prudence realized it was in even worse shape than she'd thought. Bigger cracks, more broken windows, crates and boxes here and there, water-stained ceilings. Roof leaks? What a mess.
At the moment, however, she had a more urgent problem. Where had Brice said that outhouse was?
Unzipping her bag, she braced herself for the morning chill that she already felt on her nose and cheeks. On the count of three, she threw off the covers. Yikes! Shivering, she found her shoes, her overnight bag and Brice's jacket on the floor. It fit more like a coat, and that's just what she needed this morning. She made her way to the back door, noticing a mudroom off to one side. To think there was running water but that she couldn't get to it made her insides weep.
She opened the squeaky back door, then closed it behind her and leaned against it for a moment, letting the sunshine warm her bones. Birds performed an early-morning tweeting serenade as she breathed in the fresh air and noticed the dew that clung to
raggedy clumps of grass and scraggly bushes and weeds. The little white run-down house behind a stand of birch trees was probably what she was looking for. All this was incredibly picturesque, real Norman Rockwell stuff, a true slice of rural Americana—and it was something she could very well do without, thank you.
And as outhouses went, she decided as she came out minutes later with the plank door banging shut behind her, this one wasn't just bad. It was horrible! It stunk to high heaven! It had a broken wood seat that actually pinched her, and there wasn't even a Sears Catalog. Wasn't that mandatory in such places?
If Brice tried to convince her to stay in this poor excuse of a house, she'd shoot him, stuff his carcass and hang it over that stone fireplace he liked so much. That way he could stay at his precious ranch as long as he wanted, and she could take his truck back to town.
"See you found the facilities," Brice called from the house. The back door stood open, and he was leaning against the paint-chipped frame. His eye looked better—only a bit of purple now with the yellow starting to show more.
Jeans rode low on his hips as he systematically buttoned a clean denim shirt. The tails flapping in the gentle morning breeze gave Pru diminishing glimpses of skin that held a hint of tan. She also caught sight of a fine line of black curly hair bisecting his middle and disappearing into his waistband just below his navel.
She swallowed a whimper as each button closed. By the time Brice secured the last one, her heartbeat had doubled and her insides were mush. How could this happen? She was angry as a cat caught in a thunderstorm because Brice had tricked her into staying in this wretched house. A minute ago she had fantasized about his body being stuffed and mounted. Now all she wanted to do was get her hands on … on his broad shoulders, flat stomach and tight-curled hair that ran down his middle to … to—
"Coffee's on," Brice said. "Should be ready any minute now."
Coffee? Oh yes, she needed it bad. Potfuls of the high-powered stuff to clear her brain and kill her sex drive. Hadn't she read somewhere that caffeine did that? She stole another quick look at Brice, and her stomach somersaulted. Maybe she should get coffee in town, where there were lots and lots of people around to distract her and her hormones.
COURT-APPOINTED MARRIAGE Page 6
