by Day Leclaire
“That was cool!” Buster enthused. “Will you teach me how to use a gun like that?”
“Absolutely not,” Wynne answered, reluctantly leaving Jake’s arms.
“You’ll be far too busy packing,” he added smoothly.
“Packing?” All four turned to stare at him.
He folded his arms across his chest, his chin set at a familiarly stubborn angle. “It’s not safe at Lost Trail. So, we’re moving over to my grandfather’s ranch.”
Dusty’s jaw dropped. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “You’re movin’ them over to the Chesterfield spread because of one little ol’ snake?”
“Yes.”
“What for? That diamondback happens to be the most common in the whole gol’ dern state of Texas. It’s not like you can put up No Trespassing signs to keep it off Chesterfield property, you know.”
“We’re moving and that’s final.” Jake glared at his foreman, daring him to argue further. “Any other objections?”
Wynne cleared her throat. “What about my cookies?”
He stared at her blankly. “Come again?”
“We have cookies to bake for Mrs. McCracken.” She gestured toward a large ceramic bowl sitting on the table. “I have the dough ready and everything.”
Jake frowned. “Who’s Mrs. McCracken?”
“You know,” Dusty said. “That cranky ol’ bitty who lives next to the schoolhouse. Enjoys poor health. Always has some ailment or other to moan about.”
“She’s laid up with sciatica, I saw a notice at Belle’s. So I thought the boys and I could take a few things over to her. I’m sure she’d enjoy the company.”
“You’re jes a regular ol’ Polly—butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth—anna, ain’t you?” Dusty muttered. “Cookies for this charity, brownies for that. Cakes for the poor little orphans.”
Wynne looked alarmed. “What orphans? I didn’t hear about them.”
“There aren’t any orphans, ya dang…” Dusty yanked his hat so low it hid half his face. “Never mind.”
She tilted her head to one side, a sudden thought occurring to her. “You know, I think I made way too large a batch. I just might have a few cookies left over. I don’t suppose…” She heaved a sigh. “No, I guess not.”
Dusty clutched the snake to his chest, a greedy expression creeping across his wrinkled countenance. “Don’t suppose, what?”
“That you and the men might like some.” She gave him an innocent look. “Or don’t cowboys eat cookies?”
Dusty scowled, clearly fighting a battle between pride and stomach. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings by refusin’,” he said at last. “I guess we could get rid of them if nobody else will.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said, deciding then and there to have extra cookies available on a regular basis. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Crossing to the ceramic bowl, she fished out her wedding ring and slipped it back on her finger. She peeked over at Jake. “That snake distracted me so badly, I’d almost forgotten it had fallen off.”
“We should have that sized before you really lose it.” He turned to scowl at the woodbox. “As for your cookies…Load your dough into the truck. You can bake them over at my grandfather’s.” That should help the ranch house smell like a home—that and Wynne’s heady brand of scent. “Let’s move, people. We have work to do.”
Dusty shook his head, muttering, “First we live here for a spell. Then we up and move to Mr. Chesterfield’s place when he got hisself sick. Then we move ev’rbody to Lost Trail ‘cause you’re gettin’ married. Now we’re goin’ back again after jes ten bitty days.” He stomped toward the door. “I wish you’d make up your blasted mind, Boss. I’m gettin’ dizzy.”
The shift from Lost Trail to the Chesterfield ranch took longer than anticipated, the move not finalized until the day of the dinner party. Wynne didn’t bother unpacking her personal possessions, instead focusing on getting ready for the evening. Carrying a stack of plates into the dining room, she placed them on the sideboard and glanced around in satisfaction. The table could seat a dozen people, which was more than adequate for their plans. It would also be perfect for Thanksgiving.
“Hello? Anybody home?” A man carrying a huge bouquet of flowers appeared in the doorway, stopping dead at the sight of her. “You’re Wynne?” he demanded. “Jake’s wife?”
“That’s right,” she confirmed, wondering why he found her identity so amazing. “And you’re…?”
“Sorry.” Recovering swiftly, he offered an engaging grin. “Peter Bryant, Jake’s lawyer and occasional friend. I didn’t mean to stare, but you aren’t quite what I expected. I didn’t know Jake had such good taste.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why occasional?”
“Pardon?”
“You said, ‘occasional friend.’ Why?”
“I have this annoying habit of ticking him off,” he confided.
Her mouth twitched. “And when that happens you’re not his friend anymore?”
“So he claims.”
She eyed the flowers. “Are those for me?”
“Oh, right.” He held them out. “It’s a welcome to the neighborhood gift. A little late, I’m afraid. But they’re actually just an excuse to meet you before dinner tonight.”
Wynne laughed. “You didn’t need an excuse. And you certainly don’t need flowers. You’re welcome anytime.”
“In all honesty, I wish I could claim I’d brought them out of the goodness of my heart. But the truth is I wanted to make sure we’re ready for tonight.”
She shot him a startled glance. Was this evening more important than she’d realized? “I think we are. Everything’s sort of hit at once—the move, the dinner party. Did you know that this will be our first night staying here?”
“Jake mentioned something to that effect. I couldn’t believe it when he said he planned to move you all over here.” Before she could ask why, he added, “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“About whether I’m ready for tonight?” She gestured toward the sideboard. “I’m setting the table right now. The meal won’t take anytime to put together and—”
“The house looks beautiful, and I’m sure dinner will be perfect,” he interrupted, a small frown furrowing his brow. “I guess what I really meant to ask was—how you’re doing. You’re not worried about the real reason for tonight’s gathering, are you?”
“The real reason…” She stilled, something in his tone warning her to tread cautiously. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” she offered.
“And some of those cookies I’ve heard so much about?” he suggested with boyish eagerness.
She managed a smile. “They certainly have helped cement my relationship with Dusty. It’s amazing what a man will do for a plateful of cookies.”
“They must be some cookies.” He followed her into the kitchen. Opening a cupboard with obvious familiarity, he removed two mugs and filled them with the coffee she’d just finished brewing. “How do you take it?”
“With milk and sugar.”
He poked his head in the refrigerator and removed the carton of milk. “I assume Jake’s spoken to you about tonight?”
“Sure.” She loaded up a plate with cookies and joined him at the table. “I was a bit surprised to hear Randolph is coming.”
Peter helped himself to an oatmeal raisin. “He wouldn’t miss it for the world. He still lives in hope that he can do Jake out of his inheritance.” He waved the cookie at her. “Hey, these are great. No wonder Dusty’s been jumping through hoops.”
“Thanks. So long as I keep the cookie jar filled, we’re the best of friends.” She hesitated, then asked, “I don’t understand something. Jake and I are legally married, right? So why would Randolph think he could win at this late stage?”
“Because Judge Graydon hasn’t recognized the marriage. He can’t until after he talks to you tonight and confirms that you…That you and Jake…You know.
” He snagged another cookie. “I thought Jake explained all this.”
She buried her nose in the coffee cup, suddenly aware that there was a whole lot she didn’t understand. “It must have slipped my mind.”
“If there weren’t so much at stake, it would be funny. Before Jake married you, it was all cut-and-dried. He’d pick out a plain, practical, levelheaded woman, marry her and then march her into court.”
“Practical? No wonder you were surprised when we first met,” she murmured.
“You don’t exactly fit the criteria,” he admitted, before hastening to add, “Not that it matters. The only vital requirement was that his wife be willing to stand up in front of the judge and half the world and make the necessary statement. But ever since he brought you home, he’s been all hot and bothered about fulfilling this particular condition.”
What condition? And what statement? She wished she could come right out and ask. But she didn’t dare. Peter obviously assumed Jake had explained it all to her. Which prompted yet another question: Why hadn’t he? “You said Jake was concerned about this part of the will. Why?”
“He doesn’t want you embarrassed. Told me to get the judge to agree to something more private.” Peter shrugged awkwardly. “At least you won’t have to stand up in court and inform the whole of Chesterfield that you consummated the marriage. Although doing it over dinner is bad enough, I suppose.”
She paled, her mug clattering against the table. “I have to—”
“Unbelievable isn’t it?” Peter shook his head. “Mr. Chesterfield sure was a crazy ol’ coot. But he was desperate to have Jake married in every sense of the word.”
“Why?” she asked again.
Peter shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll have to ask Jake about that.” He finished his coffee and stood, snitching an extra couple of cookies. “Well, sorry to eat and run. But as I said, I just needed to confirm that everything’s set.”
“I appreciate your stopping by.” More than he’d ever know.
“Thanks for your hospitality. I’ll see you later tonight.”
For the hour following Peter’s departure, Wynne finished setting the dining-room table, turning their conversation over in her mind as she did so. She kept coming back to the same concern. Why hadn’t Jake told her what to expect? Was he just going to drop it on her right before their guests arrived? It didn’t make sense.
By midafternoon, everything was ready. The silverware shone, she’d polished the fine cherrywood table to a lustrous finish and the flowers Peter had given her were arranged in a silver bowl as a centerpiece. All she had left to do was shower and dress.
Jake entered the bedroom just as she emerged from the bathroom. “I saw the table. You’ve done a wonderful job. Thanks.”
“I wouldn’t want Randolph to have room to complain.”
He grinned. “That won’t stop him. But I appreciate it, even if he doesn’t.”
“Have Dusty and the boys left?” she asked.
“Just now. They’re thrilled at the idea of camping overnight with real cowboys. Chick was so excited, I thought the words would bust right out of him.”
“He’s going to talk soon, I know he will.” Every day the knot of tension and grief that gripped his small body eased a little more. She literally lived for the day when the dam holding back his words finally burst wide open. “Everyone’s been so good to him—you and Dusty and the other wranglers. He feels comfortable with all of you. More importantly, he feels safe.”
“I’m glad. He’s a good kid who’s had a rotten break.” He took a deep breath, as though gathering strength, and approached. “Listen, I need to talk to you,” he said, coming up behind and slipping the towel from her head.
Here it comes, she thought. Now he’ll tell me the truth about this dinner. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem. But I think you should know…Judge Graydon may ask you some questions.”
“What sort of questions?”
“About our marriage.” He combed his fingers through her damp hair, caressing her nape. “He’s a nosy old man, so just humor him, okay?”
“But you want me to answer his questions?”
“Yes. I’ll cut him off if he goes too far.”
She turned around, about to reveal what Peter had told her. Then she looked into Jake’s eyes, the words dying on her lips unborn. Fierce pride and determination glittered within his golden gaze and in that instant she discovered the answers to all her earlier questions. He hadn’t told her the truth about the dinner because he was protecting her, she realized with a sense of wonder, trying to shield her from potential hurt—just as he had when Randolph had accosted her at Belle’s, just as he had with the snake. He hoped to pull off tonight without her ever having realized the true purpose of the evening.
Her knight was geared for battle.
“Oh, Jake,” she whispered. “Have I ever thanked you for coming into my life?”
He shut his eyes, the muscles knotting in his jaw. “Every day, elf.”
She slid her arms around his neck. “It can’t possibly be often enough.” More than anything she wanted to whisper three tiny words. Three precious, life-altering words. I love you. But though it would give her intense joy to speak them, it would cause him intense pain and conflict. And she wouldn’t make his life more difficult, not after all he’d done for her and the boys. Unable to resist, she gave him a soft, gentle kiss.
He groaned, his arms tightening around her. “We don’t have time for this, do we?”
“Not really. Not if we want to greet our guests when they arrive.”
“We could always leave the front door open and put out a make-yourself-at-home sign. If we’re long enough, the judge won’t even have to ask—” He shut his eyes, his mouth forming a thin, taut line.
“What we’ve been up to?” she finished lightly.
He released his breath in a gusty sigh. “Yeah.”
“How could they doubt it?” she teased. “What woman could possibly resist a man like you?”
His laugh rumbled close to her ear. “You’re pretty damned irresistible yourself. Put some clothes on, wife, while I take a shower. Otherwise, I’ll say to hell with our guests and take you to bed for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Tempting, Mr. Hondo. Very tempting.”
He kissed her, an intense, passionate kiss that told her more clearly than words how much he wanted her. It gave her hope.
Or was it false hope?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU MUST HAVE BEEN in quite a state when you saw that diamondback,” Judge Graydon said, shaking his head in amazement.
“About the same state I was in when Buster tried to ride Mad Dog,” Jake retorted dryly. “I think it’s called sheer unadulterated terror.”
The judge stirred his coffee, his gaze shrewd beneath heavy gray brows. “Having a family is quite a responsibility.”
“So I’ve discovered.”
“But worth it?”
Jake glanced at Wynne, the words torn from him. “Yes, it’s worth it.”
“Oh, please,” Randolph muttered in disgust. “What else is he going to say? He’ll do whatever it takes to inherit this place. Even lie.”
Wynne’s coffee cup clattered onto the saucer. “He doesn’t lie,” she informed him fiercely. “Nor do I. And just so you know, Jake and I did sleep together on our wedding night.” She hesitated, then grudgingly conceded, “Actually it was the next morning. But the point is, we’re a duly consummated couple. There. Now that we have that out of the way, how about cake?”
“Who told her?” Jake shot to his feet, his scorching gaze pinpointing each dinner guest in turn, before keying in on Peter. “You. This is your doing, isn’t it?”
“I—I came by earlier, sure,” the lawyer confessed. “But just to make certain everything was set for tonight.”
“You son of a—”
“Wait a minute,” Peter protested. “Why are you so upset? Didn’t you tell her what to expe
ct tonight?”
“No, I didn’t,” Jake snapped.
“But, you said you would.”
“I lied!”
“See, he does lie,” Randolph said, adding his twocents’ worth.
“Why the hell didn’t you explain it to her?” Peter questioned in exasperation. “What did you expect to have happen tonight?”
Jake folded his arms across his chest. “I expected a few subtle questions from the judge. Subtle enough that she wouldn’t catch on to the real reason behind his queries.”
Judge Graydon frowned in concern. “Why would you keep such a thing from her, Jake?”
He remained silent a long moment, then reluctantly admitted, “I’d hoped to spare her feelings.”
“He wanted to protect me,” Wynne explained, giving her husband a dazzling smile. “He’s just being his usual noble self.”
Randolph leapt to his feet, leveling a finger at Jake. “That man hasn’t got a noble bone in his body. Nor does he care about anybody’s tender feelings. I’ll tell you why he kept quiet about that clause…He knew she’d leave him. Any normal woman would, rather than be forced to discuss such intimate details in public.”
“Leave him?” Wynne shoved back her chair, her eyes flashing like gemstones. “You think I’m embarrassed or humiliated to admit I’m Jake’s wife in the truest sense of the word? I’m proud of it. I’d announce it to the entire world, if he asked me.”
“He’s just using you,” Randolph retorted, resentment gathering in his voice. “You must be blind not to see it.”
“If that’s what you believe, you can’t know Jake very well,” she stated with absolute conviction.
“I’ve known him for years. Unfortunately.” He glared at her in frustration. “You seem to have the mistaken impression that he’s some sort of domesticated lap cat. Well, you’re wrong. The man is a vicious predator who wandered over from the wrong side of the tracks. And the minute you turn your back on him, he’s going to rip you to shreds.”
Jake returned to his seat, a lazy smile creeping across his face. “Please, Chesterfield. Don’t bother to pull your punches.” He tipped the chair back onto two legs. “You’ve been dying to tell me what you really think for years now. Well, here’s your chance.”
