Rescued by a Rancher

by Mindy Neff

  Linc’s demeanor clearly indicated he took orders from no one.

  Well, this was a fine time to toss a fly in the buttermilk, she thought. He’d placed himself in the hot seat with his hasty declaration, and now he’d turned mute. Had he forgotten about the no-stress mandate?

  Jerald was the first to concede, thank goodness. Otherwise, they’d have been standing here all night.

  “If something should happen to me, Tracy Lynn,” he said, “I want to know you’re settled with your husband and taken care of.”

  “Daddy, you just worry about getting well. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of getting married without you.”

  “There’s no room for dreaming, girl. Randolphs don’t go off havin’ babies by themselves. First thing tomorrow morning, you be over at the courthouse. I’ll call Judge Timber and let him know you’re coming. He’s a friend, he’ll be discreet, and he’ll cut a few inches off the red tape. You and Lincoln can be married by noon tomorrow.”

  Married? Tomorrow? Her gaze whipped to Linc’s. Now, what? This is only supposed to be pretend. Do something!

  The pressure cuff on her father’s arm inflated, then slowly deflated as the electronic box on wheels measured his vitals. His blood pressure was 190 over 130.

  Tracy Lynn’s fingers tightened around Linc’s hand, her nails digging into his palm. Linc squeezed her hand and let go, then moved closer to the bed.

  “Leave the judge and the details to me, Jerald. You just concentrate on relaxing.”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you came back to town. I appreciate a man who betters himself.” Her father paused, pulled oxygen through the tubes in his nose. “Takes a lot of grit. I’d have felt a little more kindly, though, if you’d stated your intentions toward my daughter sooner, instead of slipping around in secret.”

  Linc’s features remained affable, but Tracy Lynn saw his shoulders tense. She stepped forward and eased her hand between his shoulder blades.

  “Daddy, Linc learned about the baby the same time you did. We haven’t even had a chance to discuss anything and—“

  “Babe.” Linc slid his arm around her waist, discreetly tipped his head toward the blood-pressure machine. “Let’s talk about this later.”

  A nurse hurried into the room, cutting off any protest Jerald might have made. “Visiting time’s up. You, Mr. Randolph, have orders to rest. And we need to get this pressure down. Open up. Nitroglycerine,” she said as she popped a small pill under his tongue. She punched buttons on the machine and began to manually check his vitals. “I’m Ellie, the RN in this unit. You keep running up these numbers like this, sugar, and Dr. Bruley is going to accuse me of getting you all excited.” She winked and leaned over him, pressing a stethoscope to his chest.

  Tracy Lynn was close to tears. She’d never seen her strong father looking so weak and vulnerable. Her fear changed to a pang of censure when she saw the brief spark of masculine appreciation in his eyes as he gazed up at Ellie, who, at maybe forty-five, was trim and pretty. Mama had been dead for more than ten years, and there was no reason for Daddy to live like a monk. Still, the thought of him flirting or, worse, caring about another woman felt like a betrayal.

  When Ellie straightened, Tracy Lynn lifted her father’s hand, careful of the IV taped to his arm, and kissed his knuckles. “I’ll see you in the morning, Daddy. You mind the doctors and nurses, now.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Ellie said. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  Tracy Lynn nodded stiffly and allowed Linc to maneuver her toward the door.

  “Bring me that paper we talked about,” Jerald called cryptically. “You know what’s at stake.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Ellie said, misunderstanding. “There will be no paperwork done in my ward unless it involves your health, and I’m the one doing the writing. Now, shoo, you two, before Mayor Randolph gets it in his head to request a city council meeting.”

  Tracy Lynn waited until they’d reached the elevators before she spoke. She felt as though she was walking a high wire and the hole in the safety net below her kept getting bigger and bigger.

  My gosh, her father had just insisted she get married! Tomorrow!

  “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do,” Tracy Lynn said. “How did I manage to live with that man for nearly thirty years and not realize how adamantly he feels about public opinion? I never would’ve imagined I’d be an embarrassment to my family.” An ache built in her chest. She’d been loved well all her life, and her father’s judgment and disapproval felt like a rejection. It hurt.

  “And to compound matters,” she went on, “you’ve been dragged in with me. Some Pandora’s box, huh? Open it a crack and now the whole lid has blown off. I’m afraid to wonder what’ll happen next.”

  He held the elevator door and she stepped in, still talking. “Maybe I ought to leave town until the baby is born.”

  “That won’t make the problem go away, babe. The way I understand it, your father intends to run for the senate.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “And he’s worried about his family—you—suffering because of campaign mud-slinging. But relocating won’t prevent that. The opposition’s dirt sleuth will still dig up every grain of information about you.”

  “Artificial insemination is no big deal, for goodness’ sake. It’s not a scandal.” Realizing the elevator hadn’t moved, she reached around him and stabbed the “lobby” button.

  “After the town blows it out of proportion, your means of conception will be a moot point,” he said. “The damage will have been done.”

  “Why are you trying to talk me out of leaving?”

  “Whether you stay or go is your call, babe. I’m just playing the devil’s advocate. And I admit, I’m inclined to side with the devil on this one. Besides, the most important point at the moment is your dad’s recovery, not his political aspirations.”

  “So you’re saying you’re willing to go along with this charade? You’re suggesting we actually get married?”

  “My mother taught me to respect and protect a woman, and to be man enough to accept the responsibilities for the consequences of my actions. My lie got us into this, and I don’t especially want to find myself staring down the barrel of your daddy’s shotgun…or causing him permanent disability or death.”

  Death. The word was like an icy knife piercing her chest. The air around her seemed to thicken, become too dense to inhale. She felt smothered, panicked.

  Linc slapped his palm against the red “stop” button and the elevator lurched to a halt. So did her heart.

  “What in the world…?”

  He cupped her face in his hands, bent his knees so that he was at eye level with her. “Look at me, Tracy Lynn.”

  She dragged her gaze from the elevator panel.

  “I made a stupid call by saying I was your baby’s father, but it’s not the end of the world. We can deal with this. We’ll only be going through the motions.”

  “You heard Daddy. He wants to see the marriage certificate. We can hold hands and call each other sweetie pie, but that piece of paper isn’t easy to fake.”

  “So we’ll get the certificate. Make the marriage legal—on paper,” he stressed. “The gossipmongers won’t be able to light a good tongue fire, and your dad can relax and heal.”

  “Are you serious? Linc, I can’t marry you.”

  “Sure you can. We’re not talking about sharing a bed. Just an address. Temporarily.”

  She studied him for a long moment, even though standing in an elevator suspended between floors wasn’t entirely to her liking.

  “What do you get out of the deal?” she asked when he dropped his hands from her face. “Why would you agree to tie yourself down this way?”

  “If we’re only acting, how can we be tied down?”

  “You can’t very well go out with other women if you marry me, for goodness’ sake!” She impatiently flicked her hair behind h
er ears. “Oh, my gosh, I hadn’t even thought about…Are you already in a relationship with someone?”

  “My work doesn’t leave a lot of time for a social life.”

  “Now you sound like my father. Always thinking about work.”

  “Keeps a roof over my head.”

  “But does one man need such a big house?” She’d seen the palatial ranch he’d built. “I’d think as long as the rain’s not dripping on you, that should be sufficient.”

  “Strange, coming from an uptown woman who’s used to living in mansions.”

  “Mama and I would have been just as happy with a smaller house if it meant Daddy would’ve been home more.”

  “Since my work is at my home, I think I’ll refrain from tearing down walls. And we’ve veered off the subject. What I’d get out of a temporary marriage to you is—” he paused as if considering “—an interior decorator. I need someone to fix up my house, pick out furniture and stuff.”

  “I’m not an interior decorator.”

  “You don’t need credentials to be good at something. You’ve got the know-how—my brother told me you helped him do up his house. I like your taste—classy, yet homey.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  “Besides,” he continued, setting the elevator back in motion, “we’re both wealthy, so neither of us has to worry about the other making off with a bundle of cash and assets when the playacting is over.” He shrugged. “I don’t see that we have an acceptable alternative here. Not with the shape your father’s in. So we might as well quit talking about it and just do it.”

  Tracy Lynn stared at Linc for a moment. She could see he was truly concerned—and prepared to take responsibility for his own part in her father’s suffering.

  She was worried sick about her father’s health, too.

  But marriage? To Lincoln Slade? In name only?

  Without sex?

  Somebody ought to just shoot her now and get it over with.

  Chapter Four

  “Do you want to stop at Anna’s and get something to eat?” Linc asked as he pulled his truck out of the hospital parking lot. Sunny’s mother had bought Wanda’s Diner and renamed it Anna’s Café. It was the most popular gathering place in town.

  “I’d just as soon go home, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. What about your car?”

  “It’s at the house. I walked to the courthouse.”

  He nodded and flicked off the radio as she retrieved her cell phone from her purse. Tracy Lynn spent the ride back to Hope Valley calling her friends to update them on her father’s condition. She didn’t mention the marriage demand. Her thoughts were too scattered on that subject.

  By the time they reached the Randolph mansion, night had fallen. The redbrick Colonial, with its forest-green shutters and white, three-story columns, loomed like the shadow of a hulking beast against the star-flecked sky. For the first time that Tracy Lynn could remember, not a single light illuminated the bevelled-pane windows.

  Linc walked with her to the door, frowning when she pushed it open without using a key.

  “I didn’t expect to be gone long,” she explained.

  “You don’t have live-in help? A cook or a housekeeper?” He reached around her to flick on the lights.

  “Suelinda has Mondays off.” She hesitated, looking inside, then back at him. “Do you want to come in? I could fix us some coffee. Or supper. The least I can do is feed you after all you’ve been through today on my behalf.”

  “I offered to buy dinner.”

  She moved into the foyer and set down her purse, leaving him to close the door behind them. “I didn’t feel like being around a crowd of people.” The phone rang and she slumped against the wall, closing her eyes.

  “You going to answer that?”

  “The machine will get it.”

  “It could be the hospital,” he reminded her gently.

  “I left them my cell phone number.” The ringing stopped, but the recorder was in another part of the house, too far away to hear who was calling.

  “When Mama was sick I spent most of my time on the telephone assuring everyone that she’d be just fine, that she was having a good day, and that between all of us, we could love her back into good health. She was so young, it seemed inconceivable that she wouldn’t beat the cancer. I was so positive…and then I fielded those same calls all over again, having to explain that she’d died in my arms.”

  “Babe.”

  She opened her eyes, found him standing directly in front of her. “I don’t know what to tell anybody, Linc…about Daddy. He might not be okay. And the thought terrifies me.”

  He pulled her against his chest and stroked her back through the soft knit of her sweater. Her hair smelled like orchids. He wanted to tell her not to worry…but he’d been there today, pumped on Jerald’s chest when the man’s heart had stopped beating. That wasn’t a good thing.

  “This morning, I was so excited about my baby,” she whispered. “About finally giving Daddy a grandchild…”

  “Shh.” Linc was in over his head, didn’t know what to say. He’d dealt with death, but not in the way Tracy Lynn had. He didn’t know if he’d have been strong enough to hold his own mother as she slipped away.

  She patted his chest as though he was the one in need of consoling, then stepped back, gathering her composure in one long, deep breath. “You poor thing. I’m sure you didn’t wake up this morning expecting to get caught up in a Randolph family drama.”

  He shrugged. “Life was getting a little stale. A good drama now and again keeps me in shape. Why don’t you point me in the direction of the kitchen, and I’ll fix the coffee.”

  The phone started ringing again, and she groaned. “If I don’t answer that, one of Storm’s deputies will likely be knocking on my door, thinking I’ve gotten my foot stuck in the bathtub drain or something.”

  “Babe, if you get stuck in the bath, promise you’ll let me come to your rescue.”

  She laughed and ducked her head. “You’ve rescued above and beyond the call of duty today. Change the beverage menu to wine. I’ll probably need it. Kitchen’s through there.” She gestured toward the arched doorway of the living room, then sat on a dinky piece of furniture—part sofa, part table—and lifted the telephone receiver.

  Linc found the kitchen easily. The Randolph mansion was large, but the place he’d built out on his and his brother’s property was even more massive.

  He hadn’t been consciously competitive when he’d altered the plans the architect had presented, but now he realized he had increased the square footage of his ranch for the purpose of outdoing the Randolphs. A subtle statement that he could never again be judged and found lacking—at least not when it came to money and power.

  Never again would he feel trapped in poverty, suffer looks of pity or scorn from haughty people who had no idea what it was like to go to bed hungry or be forced to rummage through garbage cans just to survive. Never again would he be bullied…or beaten.

  The realization that he’d used the Randolphs as a success yardstick annoyed him. He’d come home to Hope Valley hoping to put the past behind him, to see if he could resolve his feelings about the deceased, abusive father he hated and a town that held mostly bad memories.

  He’d given himself six months. Four had already elapsed, and not once had he been able to step foot in the shed-row stable behind his brother’s house. He’d told himself that was merely because he was too busy building his own place.

  Which was a lie.

  Every morning he awoke in this town, the banked rage dogged him. And visiting the scene of his worst nightmare could do one of two things—give him peace…or break him.

  He hadn’t decided if the risk was worth taking.

  He rolled his shoulders, shook away the tension, then put on a pot of coffee, poured a glass of apple juice for Tracy Lynn and retraced his steps to the foyer.

  With the telephone receiver pressed to her ear, she accepted
the stemmed glass and took a sip. She frowned and looked at the beverage. He watched her eyes widen as understanding dawned. She’d asked for wine and he’d given her juice.

  One of them had remembered she was pregnant.

  Her expression went from surprise to dewy-eyed gratitude as she mouthed a heartfelt thank-you.

  For an instant, longing nearly buckled his knees. She was the image of everything he’d ever wanted in a woman.

  Her blond hair hung silky and straight to her shoulders. Eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets caressed him even as she continued her conversation on the phone. Her soft sweater skimmed her breasts, rested against her flat stomach, barely touching the low waist of her figure-hugging black slacks. She wore a lapis lazuli ring on her right hand—her birth-stone, he knew, because his was the same—and small diamond studs in her ears.

  She looked elegant, yet relaxed and approachable, the type of woman who’d welcome a man’s hands in her hair, wouldn’t pitch a fit if he had a mind to mess her up a bit.

  God help him, he’d offered to marry her in order to smooth her relationship with her father. Yet instead of feeling forced by circumstances he’d had a big hand in creating, he found himself looking forward to spending time with her under the same roof. His roof. Even if he did have to keep his hands off her.

  WHEN TRACY LYNN FINISHED her phone call, Linc cajoled her into eating one of the ham sandwiches he’d fixed, then he lit the logs in the living room fireplace while she went upstairs to change her clothes. He knew she was beat, but he was reluctant to leave her alone just yet.

  She came into the room carrying a bottle of wine and wearing roomy sweats that still managed to look sexy.

  “Do you want some wine?” she asked, holding up the bottle. “Just because I can’t imbibe doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy it.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Oh.”

  “Weird quirk,” he explained. “Comes from having an old man who wouldn’t know sober if it shook his hand.” He patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Come here.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then set the wine and stemmed glass on the coffee table and sat next to him, inhaling swiftly when he pulled her legs onto his lap.