Charm School for Cowboys

by Meg Maxwell

  She took a deep breath, suddenly wondering if her father had the right idea. An arranged marriage. No love, but a fondness, perhaps, an appreciation of the other. A true partnership where each provided prediscussed and settled-on contributions to the marriage. A father figure for her baby who’d be there, steady and sturdy. An arrangement.

  What happened to standing on her own two feet?

  Your baby needs a father. Stop being so selfish.

  Those were some of her father’s shots at her over the past month. Some women had babies on their own by choice. Emma didn’t think those women were selfish. Some women were left by their baby’s father.

  Maybe it didn’t matter what Emma thought about any of it. If she didn’t marry a “suitable man,” her father would sell her mother’s beloved farm. Her baby’s legacy. That couldn’t happen.

  “Well, look who it is,” Grizzle said as she entered the dining room. “The young lady who made me presentable enough for six dances with Michelle and a date with her on Wednesday.”

  Emma smiled. Grizzle’s hair was back to its usual ways. “That’s great! Congratulations!” Phew, she was relieved. If Grizzle had gone through all that transforming for nothing, he would be harder to convince to try again.

  “Turns out there’s more to Michelle than her height,” Grizzle added. “Did you know she’s read forty-seven books this year? She keeps a list. I know she’s a librarian, but still. She reads about two a week. Two a week!”

  “And here I am, reading the news digitally,” Jake said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Morning, Emma.”

  She could feel Jake watching her. From his expression she knew he was thinking about last night. Her father. The ultimatum. The unexpected kiss.

  Not to mention CJ. Jake Morrow had a whole lot going on in his own life and here she was, a couple days on the job and complicating it further.

  She’d meet candidate number one at two o’clock and the next guy at three and, as she’d decided last night, she’d simply stall a bit until she could figure out how to reach her father, make him see reason. As long as she kept reminding herself of that, the panic abated a bit. For two minutes. Then she’d think about the ultimatum her father had dropped on her, and the panic came rushing back. Along with a stabbing hurt.

  “Well, gotta run,” Grizzle said, taking a piece of bacon to go. “Golden promised to teach me how to text today.”

  Jake smiled. “Didn’t your daughter try last time she visited?”

  “Well, I’ve got to keep up with technology if I’m going to be dating. Plus Michelle said she’d text me with a book recommendation and I don’t want to miss it,” he said before hurrying out.

  Aww. Grizzle’s excitement was enough to pull Emma out of her worries. She laughed. “I love seeing Grizzle happy. Who knew a comb could work such magic?”

  “It’s nice to see you smiling too,” Jake said. “I know you couldn’t have slept much.”

  “I didn’t.” She went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of herbal tea, then came back into the dining room and sat across from Jake. “I still can’t believe my father is serious about sending these strangers over, but I know he is.”

  “So how are you going to run these husband candidate interviews, anyway?” Jake asked. “Will you come up with a list of questions?”

  Emma served herself some scrambled eggs and a slice of whole wheat toast. “A list? I don’t care what either man has to say about anything!”

  Jake took another sip of coffee. “Yes, but perhaps if you had a list of questions and neither man answered them to your satisfaction, you’d have something tangible to tell your dad about why neither was right for you while you worked on the stalling.”

  Evil genius! “That’s brilliant,” she said. “Will you help me come up with questions?”

  Jake stood and went into the kitchen and returned with a pencil and a legal pad of yellow paper. “Question one—‘How many diapers have you changed in your lifetime? What? None?’ You’ll just jot down that unsuitable answer. ‘Are you willing to attend a baby care class every night after work for two weeks and on Saturdays? Why yes, Candidate, of course I’m serious. You will be caring for the baby as an equal partner, won’t you? Won’t you?’”

  As Jake’s evil grin spread and he broke into laughter, Emma’s own smile faded.

  He put down the pen. “What’s wrong? Did I go too far?”

  “Well, it’s just that I figured I’d be raising my child myself.”

  “I know, but for the purposes of the interviews, well, that’s what a partner is for, Emma. To help you. To change diapers. To take care of the little one if you’re sick. To be there one hundred percent.”

  “Would be nice to count on someone,” Emma said. “But—”

  But like CJ had said last night, you could only count on yourself.

  Suddenly, Emma’s head wasn’t screwed on as straight as she thought. You had to count on people. You had to have faith in others. Or you’d be miserable. But here she was, acting like she was a lone wolf.

  Now she was back to wondering if an arranged marriage wasn’t such a terrible plan.

  “You know what I want answered most of all?” Emma said. “How you know which is the right way to go. Sometimes, one way seems right. But then the other route does too. How do you know you’re making the right choice?”

  “I think about that all the time,” he said. “Especially when it comes to CJ and looking for my twin,” he added on a whisper. “I haven’t asked Carson Ford—he’s the private investigator who first called me on behalf of my birth mother—to start the search because I don’t know if it’s the right choice. Right now. I’ve got to think about CJ. So I find myself holding off. That’s allowing your gut to choose. And I think that sometimes, that’s the only way you can go.”

  She nodded and sipped her tea, the hot chamomile instantly soothing. What did her gut say right now? To count on herself.

  But if she ignored her father’s ultimatum, she’d lose her mother’s farm.

  “What if someone else holds the cards, though?” she said.

  “Like your dad?” he asked.

  She nodded. She’d lost her appetite for the bacon she’d been craving a minute ago.

  “I think the same rule applies. Go with your gut. Right now it’s telling you to go along with his plans to stall him. So do that. Interview these two men. You can tell your father they’re not quite right and he’ll send another two. But at least you’ll have bought yourself a little time for getting your dad to see your point of view.”

  She took a deep breath. “Right. Thanks, Jake.”

  She wanted to add, Take me in your arms and kiss me like crazy the way you did yesterday so I can just sneak away from my brain for a little while.

  But that was exactly what had sent her off to the rodeo back in late January. Needing an escape from her issues with her dad. Finding it in a man’s arms.

  Well, hell no.

  She wasn’t marrying some stranger her dad was sending. And she wasn’t going to forget her problems by taking off her clothes. She would face her problems. She would deal with them.

  This “bring it on” attitude made her feel better and almost empowered for exactly two seconds. Because in a few hours, she’d be sitting across from Husband Candidate Number One.

  * * *

  Hell, yeah, Jake was sticking around to get a look at these two Suits. He was walking around with a clipboard, which was usually the foreman’s thing, so he would appear as though he was doing something ranch-official while he was actually just butting his nose into Emma’s business. This was his property, so technically, what happened here was his business.

  A pricey SUV came down the drive. Jake looked at his watch. It was 1:56. Humph. The first Suit was exactly on time. Neither too early nor late.


  The car stopped in the parking area, and a tall, reasonably attractive man in his late twenties got out. He, indeed, wore a suit. Jake watched the guy smooth his tie, and then check his reflection in the driver’s side window. He was either obsessed with his looks or simply cared about making a good impression and wanted to be sure he didn’t have a piece of corn muffin stuck in his teeth. So far, Jake had nothing bad to say about the guy, and he was hoping he could write him off before he even approached the house.

  Briefcase in hand, the guy headed toward the front door.

  Jake waved and walked over. “Hey there. I’m Jake Morrow, owner of the Full Circle. I understand you’re here to see Emma Hurley.”

  “That’s right,” the man said, clearing his throat. He straightened his tie again. “My name is John Wellington. The third.”

  Jake stared him down—well, looked him over, and the man didn’t flinch. Clearly not the wimpy type. “Well, follow me, Mr. Wellington.”

  “Everyone calls me Trey. It’s French for three even if it’s spelled the American way.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Follow me, Trey.”

  “Wow,” Trey said, his gaze on the small herd of cattle grazing in the nearest pasture. “Must be nice to walk outside to this kind of nature every morning. I grew up right in town, well, in Oak Creek.” He took a deep breath, as if smelling the country ranch air.

  Huh. Attractive enough. A third. Not wimpy. And he appreciated the ranch. Which meant he’d appreciate Emma’s farm. Emma might actually go for this...husband candidate.

  Jake’s stomach twisted again. Was someone pinching him along his shoulders and neck?

  He sighed inwardly and found himself doing the stalling by not opening the door. Not that Trey-French-For-Three seemed to care. He was smiling at how one of the bulls swatted his tail around. Dammit.

  Let’s get this over with before candidate number two arrives, he told himself. He opened the front door, and they stepped inside. He glanced for Emma in the living room and the game room–library. He didn’t see her. Maybe she was in the kitchen, preparing cheese and crackers or something. “Emma?” he called out. “Trey Wellington to see you.”

  Silence.

  “Emma?” he called again.

  Silence.

  Wellington bit his lip and looked around nervously.

  “She must be in her suite,” Jake said. “I’ll go fetch her.” Jake took the stairs two at a time. On the third floor, he knocked on Emma’s door. “Emma?”

  “You can come in,” she called. Weakly.

  He opened the door and peered in. She stood in front of the window, her back to him, her pretty light brown hair lit gold by the sun streaming in. She wore it in a low ponytail and had changed into a sundress with tiny purple flowers on it.

  “This is a mockery,” she said, turning around. “I can’t do this.”

  She looked so damned pretty. And for the first time, he noticed the slight swell of her belly. She was starting to show. “You have a good plan,” he reminded her. “You’re stalling, Emma. Just buying yourself some time. But if you don’t meet the guy, your father may think you’re not meeting him halfway and he could put the farm on the market immediately.”

  “I’m not really meeting him halfway, though.” She shook her head. “But if I don’t go through with these stupid interviews, I lose the place that means more to me than anything. I lose my mother’s family home. It’s my child’s legacy, Jake.”

  He walked over and reached up a hand to her face. He could see this was tearing her in two, breaking her heart. He’d never felt so powerless.

  “My father has been trying to control me my entire life,” she said. “And my entire life, I’ve stood up to him. But he’s never threatened to sell the farm, Jake. He’s won. All I have to do is marry someone I don’t love in a vetted partnership. And since I’m not remotely interested in love or getting married, maybe that’s not so bad, then. My baby will have a solid father figure, Reginald Hurley approved. What baby couldn’t use a good father figure?” she asked, moving over to the rocking chair and dropping onto the cushion.

  His stomach hurt. His collar felt very tight. He was about to jump out of his skin. He took a deep breath. Expelled it. Turned and paced the length of the bedroom. Looked at Emma. Looked out the window. Closed his eyes. Opened them and found her looking at him as though he might need medical attention. Which he might.

  He paced some more, then stopped. “Marry me, Emma. We’re both not looking for a real relationship or a real marriage. You’ll save the farm.”

  What the hell? Had he just said that? Had he just proposed to Emma?

  Good God, he had. Without thinking. Gun to head, what are you going to do, Morrow? Well, this was the answer.

  A marriage proposal.

  She stared at him. “Jake. You can’t be serious. What could you possibly get out of this?”

  “The best cook in Texas?” he said, managing a weak smile.

  Had he just said that? What the hell was wrong with him? If anyone needed Emma’s charm school for cowboys, he did. Good Lord.

  She glanced away and sucked in a breath, then stood. “I appreciate the offer, Jake. And your kindness, your willingness to do this, is...overwhelming. But it’s not the solution, either. Will you please tell Mr. Whoever that I’ll be right down?”

  Two-by-four right to the stomach. She was saying no? Wasn’t it the perfect solution to the problem? What was he missing?

  Something. Because she turned away again, this time toward the oval mirror over the bureau and she was smoothing her hair and lifting her chin. She was clearly bracing herself to meet Husband Candidate Number One.

  “I’m ready,” she said, giving him a tight smile. Then she marched out the door, leaving him standing there and wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Chapter Six

  Emma could barely walk down the stairs. Jake had proposed to her. Jake Morrow had asked her to marry him—for no other reason than to save her farm.

  She knew she was a good cook, but come on. A good steak couldn’t mean that much to him.

  He’d proposed because he could clearly see that she was between the ole rock and hard place and there was no place soft to land—except him, not that there was anything soft about Jake Morrow’s body. He was a stand-up guy, the very type of man her father would want her to marry. Gallant. Successful. Just the right this and that for the neighbors and board members.

  And if Emma wasn’t falling for Jake, she might even accept. Last night, when thinking about her father’s ultimatum had been too much, she’d thought of Jake instead. How she’d felt in his arms at the dance. How he’d tried to intervene with her father. With all due respect, Mr. Hurley... The kiss last night. The unbelievable, amazing, toe-curling kiss.

  How he’d talked this through with her.

  How he had moments ago proposed to save her farm.

  But he didn’t love her. Love wasn’t part of this. He had his own life complications right now and he was focused on those and building the ranch. She’d had her heart and expectations smashed by one magical night with a cowboy. Now she’d fallen for a cowboy for all the rightest and realest reasons. And how could she risk all that pain and heartache? They’d sleep in separate beds because it wasn’t a real marriage. They’d fake kiss in public and then resume their normal separate lives in private. How could she live that way? And if she married him and things blew up in their faces, her child would be left without the only father figure he or she knew and loved.

  She shook her head. She wasn’t playing games with her or her child’s feelings and heart and future. Maybe a dry-eyed, cold deal of an arranged marriage with someone she felt nothing for was the way to go. If she had to marry to keep the farm—it was.

  All that settled in her head, she reached the bottom step an
d saw a man standing up and watching her. Oh God, had he watched her descend like this was prom night?

  He was in the living room. Certainly she wasn’t going to interview him for the position of Husband right out in the open.

  “Trey Wellington,” he said, clutching a briefcase with one hand and extending his other to her. He looked eager and nervous.

  She forced herself to smile. “Very pleased to meet you. Let’s talk out on the patio. It’s a really nice afternoon.”

  He smiled and followed her. He had a nice enough face. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Silver-rimmed glasses. He wore a dark gray suit and had shiny black shoes. She wondered what could possibly be inside the briefcase. School transcripts? References from family and friends and neighbors?

  “I’ll cut to the chase,” Emma said as they sat down, the big gray-and-white umbrella shielding them from the bright sunshine. “As I’m sure you know, I’m pregnant and unmarried and my father doesn’t approve. He wants to find me a suitable husband and father for my baby. You’re applying for this role?”

  It sounded so ridiculous, so completely unbelievable that she expected Trey Wellington to get up and run out. But he just smiled and opened the briefcase and handed her what looked like a photo album.

  “I certainly am,” he said sincerely.

  She raised an eyebrow and flipped through. It was essentially a This Is Your Life type account, with photos of his childhood and adulthood, transcripts from college, letters of reference and his Eagle Scout patch.

  She set the album aside on the table. “Trey, can I ask honestly why you’re interested in what is essentially an arranged marriage? Why not just go out there and meet someone and fall madly in love?”

  “Been there, done that, Ms. Hurley. I’m not interested in going through that again. Anyway, what I really want is to move up at the firm. Your father is president and a board member. Marriage to his pregnant daughter, taking on the role as father to her child, would secure my future.”

  Good Lord. It was all so...unemotional. “Doesn’t that seem very impersonal to you? We’d be getting married.”