And Cowboy Makes Three (Cowboys To The Rescue 2)

by Martha Shields

  “You got a license to prove it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Better lay it out, then. I’ll be down there tomorrow to check it out.”

  Jake smiled grimly. Far from being offended by Hank’s gruff manner, he approved of her brother’s protectiveness. “I’ll pick you up at the airport myself if you feel you have to come, but I’ve got a better idea.”

  “Oh, yeah? What?”

  “Thanksgiving is next week. Why don’t you bring the whole family and spend it with us?”

  Claire emitted a strangled choke.

  “You trying to buy time?” Hank asked suspiciously.

  “Hell, no,” Jake replied. “If you want to see the marriage license, I’ll have it faxed to you within the hour. I just thought this would be an opportunity for you to look me over. And I know Claire misses her family.”

  Claire’s hands clamped on his arm and she shook her head violently, mouthing, “No!”

  “You got enough room there in your fancy apartment?” Hank asked.

  “I thought we’d spend the weekend at the Bar Hanging Seven.” Jake ignored his wife’s gasp. “There’s plenty of room out there.”

  “The Bar Hanging Seven near Pawnee?” Hank’s voice sounded decidedly impressed.

  Jake easily held the phone away from Claire as she lunged at him and tried to grab it out of his hand. “You know it?”

  “Who doesn’t? You’ve got the purest herd of Black Angus in the country. I’ve got over thirty heifers out of your bulls.”

  “You pleased with them?”

  “Sure am. I run a small herd now, concentrating on top quality.”

  “We’ll talk about swapping a couple of bulls when you get here. That going to be tomorrow or next week?”

  “Ah, hell. Let me ask Alex.”

  Amazed the domineering brother Claire had described needed to ask his wife’s permission to visit, Jake turned to his wife. She watched him with accusing eyes.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked in an angry whisper.

  “I thought you loved your family,” he said.

  “I do,” she said hotly. “I just...”

  “Just what?”

  “I just wanted a little more time before I had to face them.”

  Jake leaned down to place a kiss on her tight lips. “Don’t wony, angel. I’ll be there to face them with you.”

  Her frown deepened. “At your ranch. Why didn’t you tell me you had a ranch?”

  Before Jake could answer, Hank came back on the line.

  “Alex says we can come, though I need to see if a couple of the hands will work over the holiday weekend. In fact, she’s excited about coming down.” Hank chuckled. “But she wants to know if Claire’s going to cook the turkey.”

  Taking Hank seriously, Jake told Claire, “Alex wants to know if you’re going to cook the turkey.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “Ha ha.”

  His brow lifting at the inside joke, Jake said to Hank, “I don’t think so.”

  Hank laughed. “At least I know one thing. You didn’t marry my sister for her cooking.”

  “I’ll send my plane to get you on Wednesday. I guess Jackson Hole’s the nearest airport where a small jet can land. Say around two?”

  “All right. But I got to tell you one thing. Neither you nor Claire have answered all my questions. Not by a long shot.”

  “Can they wait until then?”

  “Hell, I reckon. Alex wants to say something to Claire.”

  Jake handed the phone over.

  Claire jerked it from him. “What? Oh, hi, Alex. Can’t you stop him from—” She sighed heavily. “All right.... I know... Okay... Okay. Bye.”

  She threw the phone back in the cradle and spun around to face him. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “What’d your sister-in-law say?” he asked, hoping to stave off her attack.

  She threw him a withering glare. “That she was going to e-mail me a shopping list. But that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. How dare you invite my family down?” Her eyes narrowed even more. “And to your ranch, no less. How dare you have a ranch and not tell me about it?”

  “Is that a problem? I suggested we go there because they’re ranch people, and I thought they’d be more comfortable. If you think they’d rather be in town, we’ll stay at the penthouse.”

  She studied him closely, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth, then she gave her head a small shake. “I don’t want them here at all.”

  “You’re going to have to face them sooner or later. Might as well get the dog and pony show over. At least now you’ll have nearly a week to prepare. Your brother would’ve flown down tomorrow.”

  “But he would’ve only stayed for a few hours, maybe overnight. Now we’ll have them for five days.” She threw her hands up. “In five days, they’re sure to realize our marriage is a sham.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Our marriage is as real as anyone else’s.”

  “You know what I mean. They’ll see we’re not in love.”

  He pulled her against him. “You told your brother you love me. I heard you.”

  Pain flashed across her face, and she dropped her gaze to his throat. “What was I supposed to say? They wouldn’t understand about our marriage being just a business arrangement. They married for love.”

  He forced her chin up and asked harshly, “So you lied to him?”

  She searched his face for a long moment. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away angrily. “What do you want me to say? That I love you? Well, I won’t. I already told you I refuse to be in love by myself.”

  Frustration burned through him. “Damn it, Claire, what more can I do?”

  “You can love me.”

  “Don’t you understand? I—” Jake spun away from her. Stalking over to the window, he shoved a hand back through his hair. How could he tell her he didn’t begin to know how to love? That there was something so lacking in him that no one had ever loved him? He was afraid she’d walk out on him before she took another breath.

  “I do understand,” she said quietly, her voice shaky. “You don’t believe in love. But knowing how you feel doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “Call them back, then, and tell them not to come,” he said bitterly.

  “It’s too late. Now you’ve got Alex all hyped up about cooking Thanksgiving dinner for you. She’s probably already told the kids.”

  Jake rubbed his neck, searching his brain for a solution. In desperation he turned to her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know. What if we... No, that wouldn’t work.”

  “What?”

  She studied him, as if probing for weaknesses, then shook her head. “You wouldn’t be any good at it.”

  Her words stung, though he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Good at what?”

  “Pretending.”

  “You mean pretend we’re in love?”

  She shook her head again. “No, I told you it wouldn’t work.”

  Jake’s eyes drifted away from her face. It was the only way to make her happy about her family coming to visit, but he couldn’t pretend to be in love. He didn’t know how.

  Then the answer hit him like a smack up the side of the head. He lived in the Information Age. He could find out how people acted when they’re in love. There had to be a hundred books on the subject, thousands of articles on the Internet. He had nearly a week to study. And if all else failed, he could watch her brother and act the same way toward Claire that Hank acted toward Alex.

  He turned back to his wife. “We can make it work.”

  She watched him dubiously as he walked confidently over and took her hands in his. “How?”

  He wasn’t about to tell her he was going to thoroughly research the subject. “People in love desire the object of their affections, don’t they?”

  She nodded.

  “Then half the battle is won.” He placed a tender
kiss on her lips. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman in my life.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and sank against him. “Oh, Jake, what have we gotten ourselves into? You don’t know my family.”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They already think we’re in love, don’t they? They won’t be looking for us to trip up. People tend to see what they want to see.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said with a sigh.

  He hoped he was right, too. What would the Edens do if the pretense failed? Would they urge Claire to leave him?

  Pain stabbed through his heart, and he tightened his arms around her. God help her brothers if they tried to take her away. He’d never let her go.

  Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, Jake threw the book under the pillow at his side and snatched up the Wall Street Journal in his lap.

  Mrs. Sanchez stuck her head in the room. “We’re going home now, Mr. Anderson. See you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Sanchez.”

  As the housekeeper left, Jake tossed the paper aside and drew out the book. Twenty-One Steps to a Loving Relationship. Big help.

  Jake pulled himself to his feet and dropped the book in the file drawer where he kept the stack hidden from Claire. Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Love But Were Afraid to Ask and Zen and the Art of Love were just a couple of the titles.

  What he wanted were concrete answers, specific suggestions on how to act, what to buy, what to say, where to take her.

  What he got scared his socks off.

  According to every expert the bookstores stocked, love wasn’t as easy as A-B-C. It wasn’t even a twelve-step program. He couldn’t use any part of his vast fortune, all he could rely on was himself.

  Give of himself, the books said. Share his inner feelings, honestly and frankly and without restraint. And demand the same in return.

  Jake spun around and stared blindly out the window at the sprawling city lights below. He’d never opened up to anyone in his life, not to share the deepest, darkest parts of himself. Not even with Alan. He never told Alan how he felt about his father’s harsh treatment. When they were younger they talked about riding bulls or fast horses. In high school they talked about driving cars, and fast girls. Later, they talked about the company.

  Could he bare his soul to Claire? How did one begin such a conversation? Did she even want to hear about his sordid childhood or his engagement to Melissa? What would it accomplish? Those things were in the past. Over with. Finished.

  Jake wiped a hand down his face. Somehow, someway, he had to dredge up enough courage to try. Otherwise she’d never love him, and he wanted her love more than he wanted to see tomorrow.

  “That’s the ranch house?” Claire exclaimed as they rounded the last curve. The two-story white clapboard home sat on a small rise above what was obviously a year-round creek, judging from the curving line of cottonwoods on the other side. A green-roofed porch wrapped around every side she could see, and the steep green roof had two gables on each side. Four brick chimneys poked out the top.

  “You don’t like it?” Jake guided his Jeep over the rough gravel road.

  “It’s just that I was expecting something different. Something newer. This house is...old.”

  “Ninety-seven years,” Jake told her proudly. “My great-grandfather built it.”

  Claire frowned. There were generations of history attached to Jake’s ranch, like with her home in Wyoming. No wonder Jake reminded her of Hank. He was Hank. Ranch bred and raised, only scrubbed up and dressed in an Armani suit while he rounded up cash instead of cattle.

  Dear God, what had she done?

  No. She refused to believe it. She did not marry a cowboy.

  Did she?

  He slowed the Jeep down to a crawl half a mile from the house and made a sweeping glance of the rolling grassland surrounding them. “This is where it all began.”

  She brought her mind back to the conversation. “Where what began?”

  “Pawnee Investments. Alan and I had to do something to save our ranches from bankruptcy. We took a big gamble on our first investment because we used all the money from the sale of beef that year. If we’d lost—”

  He didn’t have to finish. The same thing had nearly happened to her own family home in Wyoming’s Wind River Valley. Only her brothers’ hard work, ingenuity and most important—diversification—saved the Garden.

  She didn’t like the obvious pride in Jake’s voice. Not one bit. It was one thing to hang on to the ranch for sentimental reasons. Quite another to love the place like Hank loved the Garden. “I thought the Bar Hanging Seven was just another investment. I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.”

  His look was clearly amazed. “It’s the most important thing I own. Why do you think I need an heir?”

  “For all your money.”

  “The money be damned.” His hand made a sweep of the rolling vista. “This has been Anderson land for nearly a hundred years. I couldn’t let the state have it. I thought I made this clear to you. When Alan died, I inherited his ranch because he’d never gotten around to marrying, either. I’m determined that’s not going to happen to the Bar Hanging Seven.”

  “No, you didn’t make that clear,” Claire murmured. This sounded worse and worse. She’d married a man who was her brother’s twin, personality-wise. Was he a cowboy on top of that? No, she shouldn’t panic. Just because he had an affection for the place where he grew up didn’t mean he was a cowboy. She’d never even seen him in a pair of jeans, for Pete’s sake.

  Jake pulled around to the rear of the house, and they entered through a back hall. As he showed her around the house, her own nostalgia crept up on her. Jake’s home reminded her of the Garden. Though a lot of money had obviously been spent on it during the past few years, the antiquity had been preserved. The hardwood floors had a polished shine. The antique furniture was in mint condition. The pictures on the walls displayed generations of Andersons who built the ranch.

  “Who takes care of the place?” Claire asked as they toured the six bedrooms upstairs. “I know you don’t spend much time here.”

  “Not nearly as much as I’d like,” he said. “Ray’s wife Diane comes in once a week to clean.”

  He’d already told her about the ranch hands. Ray Cooper had five been foreman since Eli Anderson died six years before. “Who cooks for you?”

  “I cook for myself or eat with the hands. Diane cooks for them, too.” Jake grinned. “Why are you so surprised? I can cook a steak and potato when I have to.”

  “Because you have servants who do everything but scrub your back when you bathe. Mrs. Sanchez won’t let me do anything, either. I haven’t washed a load of laundry or scrubbed a toilet since I married you.”

  He shrugged. “That’s what money is for, and the Sanchezes are grateful for the work. But when I come here, I want to be a regular person.”

  “Then you’ll cook for us tonight?” she asked with a playful grin.

  “You can’t cook at all?”

  “My single culinary creation is chocolate chip cookies. I generally whip up a batch when I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

  “I’ll take it as a compliment that you haven’t made any since we’ve been married.” He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her close. “Tell you what, I’ll cook the steaks and you provide dessert. Did you order the ingredients when you had the groceries delivered?”

  “Yes, my niece and nephews always insist on having Aunt Claire’s cookies.” She smiled wryly and leaned into him. “Don’t tell Alex I didn’t handpick every potato myself. I’ll never hear the end of it. But it sure was nice not having to spend hours at the grocery store deciphering the list she sent.”

  “Sometimes it’s nice having someone else do the grunt work, isn’t it?” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “I thought we came a day early to get the house ready.”

&nb
sp; The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “How much more ready can it be? All we have to do is unpack, and we can do that tonight. You’ve been working too hard lately. I wanted you to have a day to relax before your family gets here.” His lips touched hers gently. “And I wanted some time alone with you. We haven’t been alone without computers or tax files between us since Las Vegas.”

  She frowned. “I could’ve used the time at the office. I still haven’t—”

  “No. I’m not going to work this weekend, and neither are you. Your family is going to take all our concentration.”

  She sighed. “You’re right about that. And I do love to ride. That’s what I miss most about the Garden.”

  He kissed her again. “Come on, then. I’ve got a beautiful red mare that’s perfect for you.”

  Claire pulled the brush down the reddish-brown coat on Scarlet’s withers. Some people scorned the simple act of currying a horse, preferring to let the hands do it. But she’d never minded the work. After the mare had given her such pleasure, keeping up with Jake’s gelding, stride for stride, as they’d raced across the rolling grassland, the least Claire could do was give the horse something in return.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Scarlet swung her nose around and gently nudged Claire’s arm. With a chuckle, she rubbed the velvet nose. “You like this, don’t you? I don’t blame you. I’ve recently learned that being stroked can be a very pleasant experience.”

  Scarlet blew softly and returned to her oats.

  A few minutes later a raspy voice exclaimed, “Miz Anderson, you shouldn’t be messing your pretty hands up doing this. I’m gonna blister Cody’s ears for letting you—”

  “No, Ray, it’s not his fault,” Claire assured him. “In fact, I made him go away. I’ve been rubbing down my horses since I was a little girl. I’m not going to stop now.”

  The ranch foreman flashed an approving look, then watched as she brushed the mare’s coat. “Looks like you know your way around a horse.”

  She smiled at him. “I grew up on a ranch. I’ve been riding since I could walk.”

  Ray leaned against the stall door and pushed his hat back. “Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Yes sir, he surely does.”