by Joanne Rock
He blinked and the look vanished as though it had never been, but she was left with an understanding that should have been there all along. She, who thought she knew him so well, hadn’t seen the most obvious answer.
Dempsey Reynaud had never been in love. Had probably never spoken the words in his life to anyone. There was certainly never a mention of love in those notes she’d written to accompany the parting gifts to his old girlfriends.
“I understand.” She nodded, the full weight of his explanation settling on her, yet still not quelling her concerns about the future, the ache of her heart. “But you can see why I’d want to feel loved and to hear that I’m loved if I was going to be your wife?”
She edged closer to him again, understanding now that she didn’t need to worry about protecting her heart. If anything, she ought to think about his.
“I understand now. But it took three days of hell—not sleeping, not eating, missing you every second and damn near killing every guy on a fifty-three-man roster—to get it through my head.” He swallowed hard. Tipped his forehead to hers. “So please, Adelaide, let me slide this ring on your right hand. And I want you to wear it forever because our friendship is even more beautiful now than when I gave you that bracelet so long ago.”
She took a moment to think, to look in his eyes and see the truth. That they were bound together through years of love and friendship, tied together in a way that was strong. Lasting.
“Yes.” She nodded. Kissed his rough cheek and liked it so much she kissed the other one, too. “But it’s going to be hard being just friends after—”
He produced the second ring.
She made an unintelligible sound that might have been a cry of relief, hope or pure joy. She wasn’t sure. She could feel her legs going unsteady beneath her, though.
“I brought this back with me, too.” He held it between them, their foreheads still tipped together.
“It hurt leaving it behind.” A few of her tears splashed down on it.
“It tore my heart from my chest to find it.” He leaned back to kiss her forehead. Her temples. “But since I didn’t get to personally put it on your finger the first time, I’m looking at this as my chance to do something right.”
He got down on one knee in her tiny, ancient kitchen, his handsome face so intent on her that her heart did backflips.
“Adelaide Thibodeaux,” he continued. “You are my heart and I am not whole without you. I love you more than anything. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Speechless because her heart was in her throat, she nodded. But as the beautiful yellow diamond slid into place on her left hand, Adelaide recovered enough to fling her arms around him.
“I love you more than anything, too. And that was my favorite proposal yet.” Her voice was all wobbly, along with the rest of her.
Her big, strong future husband lifted her off her feet and pressed his lips to hers, his arms banded around her waist. He took his time with the kiss, making up for the days and nights they’d missed each other. Heat tingled over her skin, awakening every part of her. She was breathless and a little light-headed by the time he broke contact.
“I meant it as a compliment that I wanted you to be on my team.” He smiled up at her and she laughed.
“I am complimented.” Her heart swelled with love for him. She bracketed his face in her hands while he carried her into her bedroom. “But thank you for letting me be more than that.”
“I’m going to be the best husband you can imagine,” he promised, his golden-brown eyes dazzling her more than either of the rings on her fingers.
“I’m going to remind you every day that I love you,” she promised him in return, her body sinking into the bed as Dempsey laid her down.
He stretched out next to her, his muscular frame filling her small bed so that he crowded her in the most delicious ways.
“I’d like to start now, by adoring every inch of you.” His words were warm on her neck as he kissed that vulnerable spot.
“That’s perfect, because every inch of me has missed you.” She trailed a hand through his dark hair, knowing she was the luckiest woman on earth.
Her fairy tale hadn’t ended. The best part was just beginning.
* * * * *
If you loved this novel, pick up all the books in the BAYOU BILLIONAIRES series from USA TODAY bestselling author Catherine Mann and Joanne Rock
HIS PREGNANT PRINCESS BRIDE
by Catherine Mann
HIS SECRETARY’S SURPRISE FIANCÉ
by Joanne Rock
and
REUNITED WITH THE REBEL BILLIONAIRE
by Catherine Mann
Available April 2016!
SECRET BABY SCANDAL
by Joanne Rock
Available May 2016!
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The Rancher’s Marriage Pact
by Kristi Gold
One
The Last Chance Ranch...
Her first thought, as she left her compact sedan and strode toward the single-story white stone structure set somewhere between San Antonio and the middle of nowhere. Her second thought—the South Texas weather was ridiculously hot for March. She should never have worn the tailored black blazer and skirt. Fortunately she’d twisted her hair up and off her neck that was now damp with perspiration. Of course in part, her current predicament could be attributed to nerves, not the afternoon sun. And a good dose of desperation.
Once she reached the threshold, Paris flipped her sunglasses up onto her head and noted the wooden plaque to the right of the entry.
“Welcome to the D Bar C, where cowboys and hospitality rule. Take off your boots, hang your hat and come in to sit a spell. And if we don’t happen to be here, just reach out and ring the bell.”
Cute. Very cute. Unfortunately she wasn’t wearing a hat or boots, but what she wouldn’t give to kick off her three-inch heels and barrel in barefoot. Not a banner idea when applying for a job, and boy did she need this job. Of course, the
position hadn’t exactly been announced, yet that hadn’t stopped her from showing up, uninvited, which could result in rejection. Nothing new there.
After smoothing a palm down her jacket, Paris drew in a calming breath as she clutched the strap of the teal briefcase hanging from her shoulder. She exhaled slowly before opening the heavy mahogany door to find the place blessedly cool, otherwise she might have shed her blazer to reveal the sheer sleeveless white shell. The area happened to be completely deserted, not one soul in sight behind the lengthy mahogany counter, yet she did spot the aforementioned bell.
She could ring it to summon someone, or she could wait. She could leave, or she could convene some courage and see this through. But she had come too far to give up now.
In a fit of sheer procrastination, Paris took a few moments to study the area with a designer’s eye. Aside from the usual office equipment behind the counter, she discovered typical Western decor—burnt-orange-and-white cowhide chairs set about the waiting area, massive stone fireplace with a heavy wood mantel, a set of horns hanging above said mantel. She moved closer to read the bronze plaque below the sad symbol of human cruelty to find it etched with “Prize twelve-point buck bagged by J. D. Calloway.”
Lovely. Just lovely. She supposed she should be thankful dear J.D. had only saved the horns as a souvenir and not the poor deer’s entire head.
More than ready to see this spontaneous plan through, Paris turned back to the counter and reached for the bell with a trembling hand. But before she could pick it up, a tall, dark-haired man emerged from an entry at the far end of the office, looking as if he had walked right out of an Old West time warp and into the future. He kept his attention trained on a document clasped in his rather large and masculine hands as he strode toward her, the jingle of spurs echoing against the beige walls, providing her the prime opportunity to do a comprehensive inspection. He was every bit a cowboy, from the top of his tan hat to the tip of his brown leather boots. He wore a faded blue shirt and equally faded blue jeans, yet the large silver belt buckle drew her immediate focus. She noticed the word Champion before her gaze traveled lower to a place no self-respecting, professional woman should go.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
At the sound of the incredibly deep voice, Paris’s attention returned to the cowboy’s face, her cheeks flaming from mortification. “Uh, actually, I’m...” Heavens, the impact of his silver-blue eyes caused her to forget her name. She’d seen several photographs of him, yet none had done Dallas Calloway justice.
He reacted to her momentary mental lapse with a half smile, revealing a deep dimple creasing the left of his whisker-shaded jaw. “Are you lost?”
“Not really,” she managed to say although in a sense she did feel a bit lost. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
He leaned over the counter and offered a hand. “Dallas Calloway. What can I do for you?”
That question was as loaded as a shotgun. But since this man could hold the key to her future financial security, she had to regain her composure. “I’m here about your new venture.”
Before he could respond, a petite woman dressed in a plain tailored floral blouse covering faded jeans, her silver-and-brown hair twisted into a braid, strode into the room and pulled up short when she caught sight of the pair. She eyed Paris with suspicion as she made her way to Dallas’s side. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”
Paris had the feeling no one crossed this woman and lived to tell about it. “I’m not selling anything but my services.”
She huffed. “For your information, my stepson doesn’t have to pay for it.”
When awareness dawned, another bout of embarrassment plagued Paris. “You’ve definitely misunderstood my motives. I’m here to discuss a business proposition.” Not that the explanation sounded much better, evidenced by the woman’s raised eyebrows.
“Stop jumping to conclusions, Mom,” Dallas interjected. “I’m fairly sure that’s not what she’s selling.”
The woman propped a hand on her hip and sneered. “Dallas deals on a daily basis with females who come here under the guise of business.”
“Oh, so true, Maria,” came from behind Paris. “Our stepson is a regular chick magnet.”
Paris turned to find a pretty middle-aged blonde dressed in a chic coral sundress, standing at the front door. Apparently the place was rife with the now-deceased J. D. Calloway’s wives. Determined to get off on the right foot with this one, she held out her hand and smiled. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
The blonde returned her smile and shook her hand with much more gusto than Paris expected. “I’m Jenny Parks Calloway, J.D.’s third wife.”
“Not officially,” Maria added in a sour tone.
Paris assumed there must be a story behind that comment, but chose to remain silent and await the fallout between the feuding former spouses.
It came out in Jenny’s intense frown. “Please forgive the second missus. Sometimes Maria forgets her manners. What shade on the color chart is your blond, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Paris’s hand immediately went to her hair. “I wouldn’t know. I’m actually a natural blonde.”
Jenny chuckled. “Oh, so am I.”
“And I’m the queen of Texas,” Maria said with a smirk.
Ignoring the other mother, Jenny turned her smile back on Paris. “By the way, I love, love, love your suit, sugar.”
Paris grasped to find a return compliment. “Thank you, and I love your bracelet.”
Jenny twisted the diamond and silver leaf bauble around her wrist. “And thank you. I picked this up at a silent auction at the art center in San Antonio last month.”
Unbelievable. “Really? I was there, too.” But she hadn’t had the funds to bid. She’d been there to drum up business. An unsuccessful plan that had led her to this remote ranch.
Jenny laid a hand beneath the strand of pearls at her throat. “A small, small world it is.”
“Way too small if you ask me,” Maria grumbled.
Jenny sent her another scowl. “No one asked you, Maria, and no one appreciates your attitude or your sarcasm. You really should learn some Southern decorum.”
“I think we all can work on that,” Dallas chimed in as he opened the half door built into the counter. “Ms. Reynolds, if you’ll follow me to my office, we can get away from all this verbal sparring and you can tell me what you need.”
“But make it quick,” Maria added. “He has work to do.”
“Oh, hush,” Jenny replied as Paris stepped through the opening. “He’s not too busy to entertain a pretty girl. Also, their names go so well together—Paris and Dallas. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Sounds like an airport flight schedule,” Maria muttered.
“It’s high time he meets a nice girl, Maria,” Jenny added. “Don’t forget what’s coming up at the end of the week and we both know what that means.”
If only Paris knew what that meant. Regardless, she could tell Dallas wasn’t comfortable with the conversation when he rushed toward an opening to his left without responding.
With her mind riddled with confusion, Paris followed Dallas down a lengthy corridor, all the while unsuccessfully trying to keep her eyes off his derriere. She found the way he dangled his arms at his sides, his perfect lean build and the roll of his hips quite fascinating.
Good grief. Evidently the lengthy amount of time she’d been without male companionship had her falling head over common sense over some cowboy. Okay, not just any cowboy. An extremely gorgeous, rich cowboy who had succeeded at everything he’d tried, from rodeo to ranching, according to what she’d read on the internet. A far cry from her seedy ex-husband who’d managed to screw up everything he’d endeavored, including their marriage.
Dallas soon paused to lead Paris into a well-appointed office th
at served as a tribute to his success. The lush brown leather sofa and love seat set near the window complemented his masculine aura, and the massive mahogany desk spoke to his rugged persona. The hand-scraped dark wood floors topped off the decor that couldn’t have been done any better if she’d done it herself, even if it wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as he crossed the room to the elaborate granite-covered wet bar in the corner.
“Water would be fine,” she said, although wine would be better, she thought.
“Water it is. Have a seat.”
After settling in a beige club chair across from the desk, Paris set her case on the floor, crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt and prepared to make her pitch. She decided to begin with casual conversation and in the same instant, assuage her natural curiosity. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s coming up at the end of the week?”
“I turn thirty-eight on Saturday,” he said as he retrieved a crystal highball glass from the upper cabinet.
Six years her senior. Not too bad. Not that it mattered. “Big party planned?”
Once he filled the tumbler with ice from a bucket on the counter, then poured water into it from a pitcher he pulled from the built-in stainless refrigerator, he returned to the desk and set the glass on a coaster before her. “I hope like hell that’s not going to happen. I’m not one for having people making a big deal over my birthday.”
She sensed he would be that kind of man. “I have a feeling your stepmothers might be planning a big deal.”
He dropped down into the chair behind the desk, leaned back and affected a relaxed posture, but his expression said he didn’t exactly appreciate her conjecture. “They know better than to pull that on me.”
Paris gathered he might be suffering from a severe case of the birthday blues. “Are you sure? It sounded as if at least one of them wants you to have a date for some soiree, hence the nice girl comment.”
