by Mindy Neff
“Not tonight, girl. I mean it.”
She glanced at the blood-pressure machine, then back at her father. Arguing would only increase his stress level. “You’re a stubborn, bossy man, but I love you.”
Jerald waved and Linc steered her out of the room, holding her hand in his. All the way to the elevator, he kept her close.
She was grateful for his steadiness. The morning had taken a lot out of her. First waiting for the angiogram results, finding out her father would undergo open heart surgery, then the marriage ceremony.
And that kiss. Dear heaven, that kiss.
The minute the elevator doors closed, he let go of her hand and abruptly moved away.
Disappointment dredged a path from the pit of her stomach to the base of her throat. She’d almost gotten caught up in the event, almost convinced herself this was real.
Reality check, Tracy Lynn.
The air grew rife with tension as they both stared at the lighted number panel—typical elevator behavior of perfect strangers who dared not look in each other’s direction for fear they’d have to speak.
This was ridiculous.
“So what’s next?” she asked, determined not to let her emotions show.
He shrugged, still staring straight ahead. “I suppose we head for my place. I can give you a tour, get your input on what kind of decorating it needs.”
“Maybe we should stop by my house first so I can get some clothes? I mean…I’m staying at your place, right?”
“That’s the plan,” he said, finally turning toward her. “Especially since you still live with your father.”
“Is that a criticism?”
“No.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m walking blind through this just like you are.”
“Are you sorry?”
The elevator doors opened to the main lobby. Without answering, he slid his arm around her waist.
Tracy Lynn stiffened.
“Snuggle up, babe. Gotta keep up appearances.”
She put her arm around his waist purely for self-preservation. Otherwise, the awkward gait might land her flat on her face. “No one in the lobby knows we’re married,” she whispered.
“They will by tomorrow’s paper. You want one of these folks reading about us and thinking back to seeing us get off the elevator looking as though we’d never met?”
He was the one acting as if she had girl cooties. “How’s the paper going to know?”
“I’m going to call them. Quickest way to get the news out so that when it’s announced we’re expecting, no one’ll be surprised.”
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
“Ashamed of your husband?” he asked.
“Darn it, Linc! Why do you insist on painting me as a snob?” She was teetering on the edge of a crying jag. “This was your idea.”
When they stepped through the automatic door into the chilly afternoon air, he swung her around and pulled her against his chest, his hand on the back of her head.
“I apologize—for that comment,” he clarified. “I’m being an ass, and I have no idea why.”
“I do,” she said, her voice muffled in the front of his white shirt. “You’ve just been railroaded into marriage.”
“That was my choice. And to answer your question, no, I’m not sorry.” He pulled the edges of his jacket around her when she shivered. “Where’s your coat?”
“In my car. I forgot to put it on.” He started to remove his jacket, but she stopped him. “I’m fine, Linc. I’ll just have to take it off again in a few minutes. I hate to drive with a coat on.”
“Then let’s get you inside your car.” He tucked her under his arm and shielded her from the chill wind as they walked through the parking lot to her flashy red Mustang convertible.
“I’ll follow you to your place, then we’ll head on over to mine. Sound like a plan?”
She nodded, then looked up at him. “This is going to work, isn’t it? I mean, we did the right thing, didn’t we?”
His gaze lingered on her mouth for a long moment. “You’re just changing residences for a while, babe. It’s not that big a deal.”
“It feels like a big deal. I’ve never been married before.”
“Neither have I. So I guess we’ll muddle through together. As soon as your dad’s on his feet, we’ll come clean. I’d planned to go back to Dallas some time after the first of the year. If need be, we can use that time to ease folks into accepting that the marriage didn’t work out.”
She rested her forehead against his chest. “I never thought I’d be discussing divorce on my wedding day.”
With a finger under her chin, he lifted her head. “Then let’s not.” He opened her car door. “Try to keep the shiny side up, speed racer.”
She tsked and slid into the driver’s seat of her Mustang. “Why does everyone pick on my driving? I hardly ever get a speeding ticket.”
“That’s because one of your best friends is married to the sheriff.”
Rolling her eyes, she shut the car door, closing out the chill, and watched him amble over to his truck.
Her husband.
He made her pulse race with only a look.
And now she was going home to pack her clothes and move in with him.
Lord, what had she done?
LINC CHECKED HIS REARVIEW mirror as he drove beneath the canopy of live oaks and pulled up in front of his house. Tracy Lynn’s red Mustang was right on his tail, her blond head bobbing to the beat of whatever was playing on the car’s stereo.
His wife.
Man alive, living in close proximity to this woman and keeping his hands to himself was going to be pure torture. She had a body that wouldn’t quit and a face that made a man want to just sit and look at her for a good long while.
But she was sweet, too, and fun. Even finding herself in the midst of a grave situation, hanging out at hospitals and all, she could still laugh—and make him laugh, too.
He realized that he was looking forward to showing her his world—the house, the horses…he wished like crazy he could do more than show her his bedroom.
Not watching where he was going, he nearly rear-ended his brother’s pickup. “What the…? Bad time for a visit, bro,” he muttered.
Looking around, he saw Donetta’s red Tahoe, Storm’s cruiser with the county sheriff’s emblem on the side, and Becca Sue’s dinky Volkswagen.
He parked, hefted Tracy Lynn’s suitcases from the bed of the truck and waited for her to join him. Before they’d left her father’s house, she’d changed into a pair of body-hugging jeans that made her legs look a mile long, and a tight little top that played peek-a-boo with her navel every time she moved.
For his own peace of mind, he wondered if he could talk her into leaving on the denim jacket once they got inside, then decided it didn’t much matter. He could still see smooth skin with or without the jacket.
“Welcome to the south half of the Forked S ranch,” he said when she reached his side. “Looks like your sweetheart pals are helping themselves to my new house for a get-together.”
Tracy Lynn sighed. “I told Becca to spread the word about our marriage. I didn’t expect them to rush right over.”
“Guess I won’t need to run the article in the paper, after all.”
“Daddy might feel better if we made a formal announcement. I’ll ask him later, okay? Then we can decide.”
“Babe, stand still. There’s a bee buzzing around you. Seems to think your hair is a flower.”
She froze as if he’d told her a rattler was circling her feet. A split second later, she flailed her arms wildly, ducked, then gave a tiny shriek and nearly body-slammed him. Grabbing his jacket, she whirled him around, using him as a shield between her and the poor insect.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did tell you.”
“Is it gone?” she asked.
“Yep. You scared him pretty good.” She let go of his jacket and gave his back
a light thump. Straightening the hem of her top, she lifted her chin. “Some people are allergic to bee stings, you know.”
Ah, hell. “Are you?”
“No. But I could have been. You should think about that before making fun.”
He chuckled. “I have a feeling you’re going to be quite entertaining.”
“Entertainment is my forte. And isn’t that lucky, seeing as we’re apparently about to host our very first party together.” She grinned at him, deliberately misunderstanding his comment. “Shall we go greet our guests?”
“I imagine that’d be the proper thing to do.” Linc stepped ahead of her through the double-door entry, and his chocolate Lab trotted out to meet them.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Tracy Lynn crooned.
Linc’s heart jumped and his head whipped around in surprise. He felt like a fool when he realized she was talking to his dog.
“That’s Starbuck,” he said. “Better known as Buck.”
Kneeling, she lavished Buck with hugs and pats as though this was a reunion instead of an introduction.
Before he could set down the luggage, Sunny’s huge, goofy-looking hound came around the corner, slipping and sliding over the tile entry floor like Scooby-Doo on roller skates executing four-legged splits.
“Heads up!” Linc warned.
“Simba!” Sunny yelled at the same time. The dog, which was nearly the size of a month-old colt, skidded to a stop, but momentum worked against him and he kept right on sliding. Buck managed to jump clear of the canine menace, but Tracy Lynn ended up on her behind.
Linc abandoned the luggage and reach down a hand to help her up, snapping his fingers at both dogs and pointing in the opposite direction. Well trained, the animals gave them room.
“You okay, babe?” he asked.
Tracy Lynn laughed. “Fine. I’m used to Simba’s exuberance.” She glanced past him. “Hey, y’all.”
Linc looked back at his sister-in-law, who’d been joined by Jack and their nine-year-old daughter, Tori, plus Donetta and Storm, and Becca Sue. Simba and Buck, tongues lolling, were sitting politely beside Tori. A moment later, Beau Thompson ambled into the entry hall, followed by Cora Harriet.
“What in tarnation is all the hollering about? Oh. The newlyweds are here.” Tall and skinny, gray-haired and bowlegged as a barrel hoop, Beau frowned and wiped his hands on the apron he wore over blue jeans and a snap-front shirt.
Semiretired now, Beau had been the number-one cowboy on the Forked S for as long as Linc could remember. Nowadays Beau spent his time in the kitchen over at Jack’s place, arguing with the house-keeper, Cora, over which one of them was the boss.
“Well, don’t just stand there draggin’ yer rope,” Beau said. “Get on in here and eat some of this food Becca Sue’s had me fixin’.”
Cora whacked Beau on the arm. “You could at least ask after Tracy Lynn’s relations before you go braying like a sore-headed mule!”
“Beg pardon, Miss Tracy Lynn. How’s that daddy of yours holding up?”
“Ornery as ever. The tests show he has serious blockage in his arteries. The doctor wants to do a quadruple bypass in a couple of days—if they feel he’s strong enough to tolerate the surgery.”
“Well, don’t you worry none,” Beau said. “That Jerald’s got plenty of fur on his brisket. He’ll come through jest fine. Now, can we get this here show on the road?”
“I hadn’t realized we were having a party,” Linc said. He looked at his brother. “Did we get our wires crossed on the reason for the occasion?”
Beau answered before Jack could. “Boy, it don’t matter if a neighbor’s steer wandered over jest to drink out of the trough. Women folk’ll use any excuse for socializing. Now, make yourself useful and put your wife’s belongings someplace other than in the dadgum doorway where a body’s likely to trip over them.-“
“Language!” Cora scolded.
Beau rolled his eyes. “Beg pardon, Miss Victoria,” he said glancing at Tori. Turning back to Cora, he squinted at her. “Though, I’d like to know what book says dadgum is a cuss word.”
“My book does, you old goat,” Cora answered, perching her hands on her hips.
Obviously realizing he was outgunned, he turned his sights back on Linc. “Fan the fat, man. There’s work to be done. Jack and Storm managed to get that fancy barbecue of yours fired up, but I imagine they could do with a few pointers so they don’t go ruining my spareribs.”
“A man ought not to get bossed around in his own home,” Linc grumbled, feeling a smile tug at his mouth when Beau just squinted his eyes again and headed back to the kitchen.
Sunny stepped forward and plopped a straw cowboy hat on Tracy Lynn’s head. Attached to the hat-band was a white fluff of netting.
A wedding veil.
Man alive. They were having a wedding reception.
And when it was over, he couldn’t even look forward to taking his bride to bed.
Since Tracy Lynn was being whisked away by the Sweethearts, he carried her bags upstairs and put them in the spare bedroom, glad to see that Jack had brought over a bed and dresser.
The house was sparsely furnished, and the only other sleeping accommodations were in the master bedroom—and sharing that with Tracy Lynn wasn’t part of the deal. So, he’d had to call Jack and ask him to haul a mattress and box spring out of the attic in the old homestead.
He traced one of the bluebonnets on the quilt that either Jack or Sunny had spread over the bed. His mother’s work. Countless nights he’d watched as Doris Slade had hand-stitched intricate patterns on material that had ended up on their beds, been given as gifts or sold at church auctions.
A wave of sadness caught him by surprise. He missed his mother’s sweet voice, her gentle touch. He wondered what she would have thought about his marriage to Tracy Lynn, wondered if she would have seen more in his motives than he wanted to admit to.
He’d been sixteen when his mother had died—no, when his father had murdered her. He balled his hand into a fist, felt a twinge in his back, as though the scars had opened up.
In Linc’s mind, when a man got blind, stinking drunk and plowed the truck into a tree, killing his passenger, that was murder.
But Russell Slade had known how to get around the law. Linc still believed his father had slept all night in that wrecked pickup hidden in the trees, giving the alcohol level in his blood enough time to drop before he’d hiked home to call the authorities.
Swearing, Linc forced the images from his mind, whirled and left the room. Music played on the stereo downstairs, and voices rose in laughter, reminding him there was a reception being held in honor of his pretend marriage.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rang. He crossed the foyer and opened the door. Anna Carmichael, along with her mother, Birdie Alder, and Donetta’s grandmother, Betty Wagner—better known as Grandma Birdie and Grammy Betty—stood on the porch, each holding a covered dish. Millicent Lloyd, the blue-haired lady who owned half the town, was making her way up the steps behind them.
“Goodness me,” Birdie said. “I believe we ought to have a talk with the Man upstairs, don’t you think, Betty? We got gypped, because He sure didn’t make boys this handsome when we were girls.”
“Mother!” Anna exclaimed. “Hush up and behave.”
“I’m of a mind to agree with Birdie,” Betty commented. “Hello, Linc. Congratulations.”
Instead of responding verbally, he merely tipped his head in acknowledgment. He wasn’t sure how to react to the foursome, wondered if they knew the true situation. He’d have to get Jack off to the side and find out what was what.
“Are y’all going to stand on the porch all afternoon?” Millicent Lloyd demanded, skirting the group. “My hot tamales are turning to icicles. Step aside, Lincoln, and let’s have a look at this king-size manor you got the whole town speculatin’ on.”
“Good gawd, Millie. There you go, airing your mind before any of us has had a chance to even cuss and d
iscuss.” Birdie’s admonishment didn’t hold an ounce of credibility since she was right on Millicent’s heels, trying to see inside the house past the woman’s blue hair. “Gol, would you get a load of that chandelier. Imagine if it fell down. It’d squash you flat as a bug.”
Millicent rolled her eyes at Birdie, sniffed and headed in the direction of the kitchen as if she’d drawn up the architectural floor plan herself. Betty gave the area beneath the light fixture a wide berth.
Bemused, Linc shut the door behind Anna, who apologized profusely for the other three women.
What the hell had happened to his solitary, calm, sane lifestyle?
AFTER EATING WAY TOO MUCH food, Tracy Lynn took her herbal tea and followed Becca, Sunny and Donetta through the archway that separated the great room from the slightly smaller living room. Having her friends here to act as a buffer had taken away the anxiety of being alone with Linc, given her a chance to find her balance.
Typical of a couples get-together, the men migrated to one end of the room and the women to the other. The older generation—with the exception of Beau—had remained in the kitchen to tidy up and discuss the corns on Miz Lloyd’s feet, each woman having an opinion on the best way to deal with the pain.
Tracy Lynn remembered Donetta likening the grandmas and Miz Lloyd to the Ya-Ya sisters. She was starting to agree.
“How long do you think it’ll be before your dad’s able to handle the truth about you and Linc?” Donetta asked.
“I don’t know,” Tracy Lynn said. “That’s what makes this whole ordeal so scary. I’m used to calling the shots, knowing what I’ll be doing at any given time. Right now, I don’t even know what bed I’m sleeping in.”
Becca, of course, had to pounce. “The master bedroom is always a good choice. Especially if there’s a hottie like Linc in there.”
Donetta flicked her wild, curly red hair over her shoulder. “Becca Sue, you need a boyfriend. You practically pushed me into bed with Storm, and now you’re egging on Tracy Lynn with Linc.”
“Just because I’m a romantic doesn’t mean I need a boyfriend,” Becca said with a scowl. “Besides, wasn’t I right about you and Storm? And I happen to have two eyes in my head, and I can see that there’s chemistry between Tracy and Linc.”
