Ryder's Wife

by Sharon Sala

  A grimy ceiling fan spun overhead, stirring the hot, muggy air without actually cooling it. He lifted the long-neck bottle, intent on draining what was left in one swallow when the door flew open and the woman walked into the room. Her appearance was sudden, as was the swift jolt of interest he felt when she lifted her hand to her face, pushing at the black tangle of her windblown hair that had fallen across her forehead.

  She was taller than average, and the kind of woman who, at first glance, seemed on the verge of skinny. Except for the voluptuous curves of her breasts beneath the black, clinging fabric of her dress, she appeared shapeless. And then she turned suddenly, startled by the man who came in behind her, and as she did, the dress she was wearing flared, cupping slim, shapely hips before falling back into loose, generic folds.

  Ryder’s interest grew. It was fairly obvious that she wasn’t the kind of woman who frequented places like this. Her movements were short, almost jerky, as if she were as surprised to find herself here as the men were to see her. And although he was some distance away, he thought she looked as if she’d been crying.

  Who hurt you, pretty girl? What drove you into the flatlands ?

  The beer forgotten, he leaned forward, studying her face as one might study a map, wondering what—or who—had backed her into a corner. And he was certain she’d been backed into a corner or she wouldn’t be here. He knew the look of desperation. It stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror. And like every other man in the place, he sat with anticipation, waiting for her to make the first move.

  * * *

  A half dozen dirty yellow lightbulbs dangled from a sagging fixture in the middle of the room. Only four of the bulbs were burning, cloaking the fog of cigarette smoke and dust with a sickly amber glow.

  Heads turned and the understated rumble of voices trickled to a halt as Casey’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. When she was certain she’d seen the location of every man in the place, she took a deep breath and sauntered into the middle of the room, well aware that each man was mentally stripping her—from the black silk dress flaring just above her knees to the opaque black stockings on her legs.

  Behind her, she heard the bartender gasp then mutter the name Ruban. She’d been recognized! Her lips firmed. It would seem that even down here in the Delta she was unable to escape the power of Delaney Ruban’s name.

  Smoke drifted, burning her eyes and searing her nostrils with the acrid odor, yet she refused to move away. She turned slowly, judging the faces before her, looking for a man who might have the guts to consider what she was about to ask.

  The bartender interrupted her train of thought.

  “Miss, is there something I can do? Are you having car trouble? If you are, I’d be more than glad to call a tow truck for you.”

  There was nervous fear on the bartender’s face. Casey knew just how he felt. Her own stomach was doing a few flops of its own. She shivered anxiously, and at that point, almost walked out of the room. But as she turned to go, the image of Lash Marlow’s face slid into her mind. It was all the impetus she needed. She turned again, this time putting herself between the men and the door.

  “I need something all right,” Casey said, and when she heard her voice break, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. This time when she spoke, her words came out loud and clear. “I don’t need a tow truck. I need a man.”

  The bartender grabbed a shotgun from beneath the bar and jacked a shell into the chamber as the room erupted.

  Wide-eyed, Casey spun toward the sound.

  The appearance of the gun was enough to quiet the ruckus she’d started, but only momentarily. When the bartender began to speak, she knew her chances of succeeding were swiftly fading.

  “Hold your seats, men. That there is Casey Ruban. Old Delaney Ruban’s granddaughter, so unless you’re real tired of living, I suggest you suck it up and stay where you’re at. This shotgun won’t do nearly as much harm to you as the Rubans can.”

  “I heard he’s dead,” someone muttered from the back of the room.

  “But the rest of them aren’t,” the bartender said.

  Casey spun toward the men in sudden anger. “Let me finish.”

  At that point, they were so caught up in what she’d said, they would have let her do anything she asked.

  “I need a husband.”

  Someone cursed, another laughed a little nervously.

  Casey chose to ignore it all. “I’m willing to marry the first unattached man who’s got the guts to stand with me against my family.”

  When no one moved or spoke, hope began to die. This was a crazy idea, as crazy as what Delaney had done to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to quit. Not yet.

  With an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and a shame unlike anything she’d ever known, she lifted her head, selling herself in the only way she knew how. She started walking, moving between the tables, staying just out of reach of the daring men’s grasp.

  “I’ll live with you. Cook your food. I’ll even share your bed.”

  Total silence reigned and Casey could hear their harsh, rasping breaths as they considered taking her to bed and suffering the consequences. If this hadn’t been so pitiful, she would have smiled. It would seem that Delaney was going to win after all.

  A sound came out of the shadows. The sound of chair legs scraping against the grit and dirt on the old wooden floor, and the unmistakable rap of boot heels marking off the distance between Casey and the back of the room. She squinted against the smoke and the harsh, overhead glare, trying to see, and then when she did, felt an overwhelming urge to run.

  The man had don’t care in his walk and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. Their deep gray-blue cast was the color of a Mississippi sky running before a storm front. An old, olive drab duffel bag hung awkwardly on the breadth of his shoulders, as if it had to find a place of its own somewhere between the chip and the weight of the world.

  He was tall, his clothing worn and ragged. But it was the still expression on his tanned, handsome face that gave her pause.

  Before she had time to consider the odds of winding up facedown and dead in a ditch at some murderer’s hands, he was standing before her.

  Casey took a deep breath. Murderer be damned. Her grandfather had already signed her fate. At least she was going to be the one who controlled the strings to which it was attached.

  “Well?” she asked, and surprised herself by not flinching when he reached out and brushed at a wild strand of hair that had been stuck to her cheek.

  Ryder Justice was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. He’d been around long enough to know when someone was afraid. From the moment she’d walked into the room, her fear had been palpable, yet just now when he’d touched her, she hadn’t blinked. And the power in her voice told him there was more to her backbone than the soft, silky skin obviously covering it. He also knew what it felt like to be backed into a corner, and for some reason this woman was as far in a hole as a person could get and not be buried. And, he was tired of running. So damned tired he couldn’t think.

  “Well, what?” he asked.

  Casey’s breath caught on a gasp. His voice was low and deep and an image of him whispering in her ear shattered what was left of her composure. Hang in there, she warned herself, then lifted her chin.

  “I asked a question. Do you have an answer?”

  Ryder touched the side of her cheek and felt an odd sense of pride when, once again, she stood without flinching.

  “About the only thing I have to my name is guts. If that’s all you need, then I’m your man.”

  “Hey, man, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” the bartender warned.

  Ryder’s gaze never wavered from Casey Ruban’s face. Once again, his voice broke the quiet, wrapping around Casey’s senses and making her shake from within.

  “I know enough,” he said.

  “My name is Casey Ruban,” she said. “What’s yours?”

&nb
sp; “Ryder Justice.”

  Justice! Casey took it as a sign. Justice was exactly what she’d been searching for.

  “You swear you are free to marry?”

  He nodded.

  “My grandfather always said his handshake was as good as his word,” Casey said, and offered her hand.

  Without pause, Ryder enfolded it within the breadth of his own and once again, Casey felt herself being swallowed whole. Her gaze centered on their hands entwined and she had a sudden image of their bodies in similar positions. She bit her lip and stifled a shudder. Now was not the time to get queasy. She had an empire to save.

  “Come with me,” she said shortly. “We have a little over twenty-four hours to get blood tests, apply for a license, and find a justice of the peace.”

  At the mention of haste, his gaze instinctively drifted toward her belly partially concealed beneath the loose-fitting dress.

  Once, being an unwed mother might have horrified Casey. Now she wished that was all she was facing.

  “Wrong guess, Mr. Justice. It’s just that I’ve got myself in a race with the devil, and I don’t like to lose.”

  Ryder followed without comment. He’d been on a first-name basis with the old hound himself for some time now. He never thought to consider the fact that the devil was giving someone else a hard time as well.

  The room erupted into a roar as they stepped outside, and Casey found herself all but running toward her car. Only after she slid behind the wheel and locked them in did she feel safe. And then she glanced toward the man beside her and knew she was fooling herself.

  His presence dwarfed the sports car’s interior. He scooted the seat as far back as it would go and still his knees were up against the dash. The duffel bag he’d had on his shoulders was now between his feet, and Casey imagined she could hear the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat as he turned a cool, calculating gaze her way.

  “Buckle up, Mr. Justice.”

  He reached for the seat belt out of reflex, then gave Casey another longer, calculating look.

  “I have a question,” he said.

  Casey’s heart dropped. Please stranger, don’t back out on me now.

  “I have one for you, too,” she said quickly.

  “Ladies first.”

  She almost smiled. “Do you have a home? Do you have a job?”

  His expression blanked, and Casey would have sworn she saw pain on his face before he answered.

  “I don’t have an address or a job. Does it matter?”

  She thought fast, remembering the conditions of the will. She had to live in her husband’s residence and under his protection. This was good news. It was something she could control.

  “Do you have a driver’s license?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good, then you’re hired.”

  He cocked an eyebrow as Casey started the car.

  “Exactly what have I been hired to do?”

  “You’re going to be the new chauffeur for the Ruban family. You… I mean… we… will live in the apartment over the garage on Delaney’s…I mean, on my estate.”

  Ryder frowned. “Lady, I have to ask. Why marry a stranger?”

  She backed out of the parking lot, the tires spinning on loose gravel as she drove onto the road, heading back the same way she’d come.

  “Because I will be damned before I let myself be forced into marriage with a man I can’t abide.”

  He wondered about the man she’d obviously left behind. “You don’t know me. What if you can’t abide me, either?”

  Her gaze was fixed on the patch of road visible in the twin beams of her headlights.

  “Living a year with a total stranger is better than living one night under Lash Marlow’s roof. Besides, I don’t like to be told what to do.”

  So, his name is Lash Marlow. This time Ryder did smile, but only a little.

  “Casey.”

  Startled by the sound of her name on his lips, she turned her gaze from the road to his face.

  “What?”

  “I think you should try calling me Ryder. I’ve never gone to bed with a woman who called me Mister, and I don’t intend to start now.”

  Gone to bed with…!

  Almost too late she remembered what she was doing and swerved to avoid the ditch at which she was heading. By the time she had the car and herself under control, she was too desperate to argue the point.

  First things first. Marriage. Then rules. After that, take it one day at a time. It was the only way she knew.

  CHAPTER 2

  There was something to be said for the power of the Ruban name. It had gotten Casey and Ryder through blood tests without an appointment, gotten a court clerk out of bed and down to the county courthouse in the middle of the night to issue a marriage license, then dragged an old family friend out of bed before sunrise to perform the impromptu ceremony. The waiting period most people would have experienced was waived for Delaney Ruban’s granddaughter.

  “You all take yourselves a seat now,” Sudie Harris said, and pulled her housecoat a little tighter across her chest. “Judge will be here directly.”

  Casey dropped into the nearest chair, well aware that Harmon Harris’s wife had taken one look at Ryder Justice and found him lacking in both worth and substance. When Ryder refused a seat and walked to the window instead, something about the way he was standing made her nervous. What if he was already sorry he’d gotten into this mess? What if he was thinking about leaving? Nervously, she got up.

  “Mr. Justice, I—”

  He turned and she choked on her words. He was so big. So menacing. So much a stranger. What in God’s name had she done?

  “What did you call me?” he asked.

  She swallowed and the lump in her throat seemed to be getting larger by the minute. Oh, Lord. “Ryder. I meant to say, Ryder.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Casey Ruban was on the verge of a breakdown. She might not know it, but he recognized the signs. Her eyes were feverishly bright and the knuckles on her fingers had gone from red to white from the fists that she’d made. Add to that, a breathing pattern that was little more than a series of short, quick gasps, and he figured it wouldn’t take much for her to fall apart.

  “That’s better,” he said shortly. “Now sit down before you fall down.”

  Casey did as she was told and then tried not to look at his backside as he turned away. It was impossible. In a few short minutes she would be tied to this man as she’d never been bound before, not only by law, but in the closest of proximities. Wife! Dear God, she was going to be that man’s wife.

  She watched as he shrugged his shoulders in a quiet, almost weary gesture, rubbing at his neck and massaging the muscles with long, brown fingers. She couldn’t quit staring at his hands. Out of nowhere a random thought came barreling into her sleep-starved mind. I wonder if he’s a gentle lover.

  Startled, she shuddered and looked away, wishing Judge Harris would hurry. She doubted there was little about Ryder Justice that was gentle, and the tension between them was making her crazy.

  Tom between the fear that she was jumping into a worse mess than the one she was already in, and fear that at the last minute he wouldn’t go through with the ceremony, she wanted to cry. Instead, she closed her eyes. All I want to do is go to bed and sleep for a month, then wake up and find out this was all a bad dream, she thought.

  Somewhere in another part of the house a clock chimed five times. Startled, she glanced at her watch. Five o’clock! In a little over an hour the sun would be up. Footsteps sounded on the stairwell behind them. She stood and turned to face the man who was entering the room.

  From Harmon Harris’s expression, he was none too pleased to see who awaited him. “Casey Dee, what on earth are you doin’ here in the middle of the night?”

  “Getting married, and it’s not the middle of the night, it’s almost dawn.”

  Regardless of whether it was night or day, Ruban women did not sneak around to g
et married, and Harmon knew it. He stared at the man near his living room window, then glared at Casey.

  “Not to him?”

  She gritted her teeth, preparing herself for a fight.

  “Yes sir, to him. We have blood tests and the license right here.” She thrust the papers into the judge’s hands.

  When he noted the dates he frowned, staring at her hard and long, from her head to the middle of her belly. Like Ryder before him, Harmon was assuming the only reason a woman would rush into marriage was to give a bastard child a name.

  “Hell, girl, the ink is hardly dry on this stuff. What’s the big rush?”

  “You can get that look off your face,” Casey muttered. “I’m not pregnant. I haven’t even been exposed.”

  Bushy eyebrows lowered over his prominent nose as Harmon Harris laid the papers to one side and took Casey by the arm.

  “I’ve known you a long time, Honey, and this isn’t like you. Before I perform any ceremony, I want an explanation.”

  Casey’s gaze never wavered. “If Delaney were alive, you could ask him yourself. All I know is, I had forty-eight hours to find myself a husband or forfeit my inheritance to Miles and Erica.”

  The judge’s eyebrows rose perceptibly. “You’re joking!”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I wish I were.”

  He glanced over her shoulder to Ryder. “I don’t understand.”

  Then his voice lowered. “Why not marry Lash Marlow? You’ve known him nearly all your life. Why this man?”

  “Because he’s not Lash.”

  The judge didn’t comment. He didn’t have to. Casey’s answer pretty much said it all.

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Ryder Justice.”

  “I know that,” the judge said. “It says so on the papers. What I’m asking is who are his people?”

  Casey shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea, and quite frankly I don’t care. What I do know is I will not be coerced, especially by a dead man, into marrying someone I do not even like, never mind the fact that I don’t love him. Do you understand that?”