Almost a Bride (Wyoming Wildflowers Book 1)

by Patricia McLinn

  "Our prenup–?" Matty glared at him. "You worried I'm going to try to rob you, Currick?"

  Taylor looked up quickly.

  "No, of course not, dear." Dave reached across the narrow chasm between their chairs and took her hand. She tried to snatch it back. His hold tightened enough to make her wince.

  "You must have jumped right on this. You had it drafted by yesterday afternoon? And it was only two days ago that we–"

  "I know it was only two days ago that we set the date for sure," he interrupted with a warning in his eyes. And he was right–another half sentence and she would have given it away. "But since we'd been talking about marriage for so long, I'd had it on my mind. With land holdings like ours it's best to set everything out beforehand."

  "That's true, Matty," Taylor added earnestly. "And this agreement safeguards the Flying W as thoroughly as the Slash-C. The boundaries would revert to what they are now, and the income generated, plus equipment or stock bought during the period of the marriage would be divided fifty-fifty."

  "Oh."

  Dave gave her an ironic little nod at her deflated tone, which Taylor didn't see because she was looking at the papers. It was beyond equal, since the Slash-C would no doubt generate more income and buy more equipment than the Flying W would.

  "In fact, it's an extremely fair document. The only thing is..."

  "What?" Matty demanded, suspicions aroused again.

  "There's a rather odd clause about if you should divorce, you both agree to breed Brandeis and Juno, with Dave getting first live foal."

  "Oh, that. That's okay."

  Taylor's frown deepened. "Then it says that if you initiate divorce proceedings any time after two years of marriage, Dave gets Juno outright."

  "What!"

  "Now, Matty," Dave said in a mockingly soothing rumble. "It's only fair. I was thinking and thinking about it, and it seems to me that getting a divorce the first two years shows the marriage was just a pure mistake–the kind anybody can make. But after that, it starts to look like carelessness to pull apart a marriage."

  Matty opened her mouth, but Dave kept on talking. "Course, if I initiate divorce proceedings any time after two years, then I don't get a thing. And it's not like it's a life sentence. After all, nobody can expect Juno to live more than another, oh, fifteen years, twenty at the most. After that you could divorce me and walk away free."

  Oh, he was clever, Mr. Attorney Currick. She saw clear as day that the clause was to make sure she didn't hold him to the marriage longer than the twenty-two months they'd agreed on, with two months thrown in like a sale on donuts.

  "It's all right, Taylor. I'll accept that clause. After all, we won't be using it, will we, dear?" She gazed into his face, a small smile pulling at her lips, and had the pleasure of seeing wariness skim across his eyes.

  "Of course, we're all optimistic that none of these clauses will ever be used," said Taylor, though her reasons for that expectation were probably quite different from Matty's. Matty intended to end the mock marriage right on schedule, while Taylor was probably romantically thinking the marriage would never end–Hah!

  "But just in case... " Matty put a finger to her chin as if suddenly struck by a thought. "It only seems right that we have a clause that if you initiate divorce proceedings after two years, I get Brandeis free and clear. To keep things even."

  Dave gave a strangled cough, which Matty was fairly certain had started as a laugh.

  "Well done," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. Then he added at regular volume. "Matty's got a point, Taylor. If you insert the clause, I'll initial it and we can sign right now."

  * * * *

  "Well, that's done," Matty said, pulling the short tail of straight hair at the end of her braid free from her collar.

  Dave knew that it used to drive her nuts in high school that she had straight hair. After he and Matty had shifted from buddies to dating, he'd probably spent a thousand hours in the Flying W's kitchen talking with Grams, waiting for Matty to do something or other to her hair that would make it curl...until the first lick of Wyoming wind got to it.

  She didn't even seem to notice now.

  He'd always liked it straight. Straight and silky, and with a thousand colors streaked into the natural light brown by days in the sun. He could spend the rest of his life cataloguing the different colors there.

  "Yup, it's done."

  "What next?"

  "Want some ice cream?"

  She frowned at him fiercely. "I meant what other stuff do we have to get out of the way before we get married?"

  "Oh. Not much."

  He fought a grin. Wait until she found out that they could have gone and gotten married that first day–no blood test, no waiting period, fill out the form at the county courthouse, find a judge, then back to the courthouse to register the marriage certificate.

  Except he'd hadn't been willing to take that risk. If he'd gone along with Matty's rush to marry, she'd have either gone running or she'd have clamped down hard on her stubbornness to see this through–whatever the hell this was–and he'd never know what was really behind this move. This way, with time to think things over, she'd eventually back out. But with some luck, they would have mended enough bridges by then to at least keep talking to each other.

  That was a lot after more than six years of pretending that their lifetime of friendship, infatuation and love hadn't existed. An awful lot.

  Though he had a feeling it might not be enough.

  "Let's see, this is Friday. Doc said he'd hurry the blood tests for us, and the prenup's all signed, so... I'd say we could get married Tuesday."

  "Tuesday?" She sounded as if someone had his hands around her throat, cutting off her air.

  "Wednesday better for you?"

  She'd caught the glint of laughter in his eyes. He knew that when she snapped, "Tuesday will do fine."

  "Tuesday it is then. I'll come by Monday morning and pick up your things."

  "My things?"

  "Clothes and such. If you want to bring some furniture to the Slash-C, we can arrange that later on."

  He could read her face so easily–she hadn't thought about moving in with him being one of the results of saying she wanted to marry him. But she recovered quickly, his Matty did. Quickly enough to rap out a terse, "Fine."

  "'Bout nine o'clock, say?"

  "Fine."

  "Fine," he echoed. "How 'bout getting ice cream before you head back to the ranch?"

  "Uh, no. No thanks. I–there's something else I need to talk to Taylor about."

  She was gone in a second, and he was left contemplating the closed door, wondering if that had been the truth or if the reality of what she'd signed on to do was finally starting to penetrate her stubborn head.

  * * * *

  When you'd had as bad a weekend as Matty had had, Monday ought to be different. No such luck.

  First, the ranch pickup's transmission seized up Saturday morning as Cal was heading out to check stock in the west range. Cal did what he could, but it was going to need to go to the shop. And they were funny about wanting money for the parts and labor the old heap kept sucking up.

  Then, a pair of late-calving heifers started having trouble. The first finally gave birth to a sickly calf. They'd done what they could for mother and calf, and were heading in for coffee when the second heifer started calving. As thanks for their troubles, the animal had kicked Matty in the hip. At least her calf survived. The first one died as the moon rose.

  Even allowing themselves only a few hours of sleep, they got a late start Sunday when they both finally rode out to the west range in a chilling rain. They found a section of fence down and Flying W head thoroughly intermingled with Bert Watson's Diamond D brand. Straightening that out and getting up a temporary fix on the fence ate the rest of daylight.

  Some day of rest.

  But of the whole miserable weekend, last night, when she'd told Cal Ruskoff about what the week ahead held, was the worst
.

  He'd come into the main house after supper to talk about what he would work on the next day over a cup of coffee, a custom he'd started with Great-Uncle Henry and continued with her.

  She'd debated not telling him at all. But that didn't seem fair–after all, it would affect his job. Besides, even a recluse like Cal would hear the talk from town eventually, and it might not make things look too good if her top hand didn't know she was married.

  She hadn't told him before that moment because... well, she didn't know precisely why. Maybe she'd needed to sleep on it. Or maybe she'd needed to give Dave a couple days to back out.

  But by last night, she'd known Dave wasn't going to change his mind. He was not the sort to leave a woman at the altar. No, he was the sort to take her out for a ride and tell her breaking up was for her own good.

  But this time, she hadn't heard from him since leaving him outside Taylor's office. So he wasn't backing out. And that meant she had to tell Cal.

  She'd taken a deep breath and said, as casually as she could, "Cal, I have something to tell you... I'm getting married. Tuesday. To Dave Currick."

  First he'd gone silent. Then he'd commented that Henry had told him not to let Dave Currick set foot on the Flying W.

  "Oh, that. Great-Uncle Henry got it into his head that he hated Dave because Dave broke up with me back when we were kids. You know how Henry was."

  "He broke up with you. You've been gone years. Been working too hard to see anybody these weeks you've been back. And now you're getting married. What's going on, Matty?"

  She'd started explaining. Mostly explaining why she couldn't explain. At least not the whole thing. Not right now. But that when she did explain the whole thing, he'd see that it was really the best thing for the ranch. And how it wasn't hurting anyone.

  It was a little disjointed as explanations went, but it made sense, she knew it did. The more she'd talked, however, the more he'd gotten all stiff-jawed. And when she'd finished, he'd slammed his fist against her kitchen table, told her she was a fool and walked out. She'd been too stunned to do any more than sit there.

  She'd spent a restless night, arguing with that word "fool"–without even knowing how he meant it. Jealousy didn't enter into it, because there wasn't that kind of feeling between her and Cal.

  This morning, she hadn't seen so much as Cal's shadow...not until Dave pulled up by the back door in his midnight blue pickup that hummed like a barbershop quartet. Of course, a Slash-C pickup's transmission wouldn't even think of seizing up.

  Dave stepped out of the truck, wearing the snug, worn jeans and faded shirt that proclaimed that this day he was working as ranch owner and not lawyer. Matty was suddenly deeply grateful for her rotten weekend and for Cal's strange reaction. They'd kept her too busy to think of Dave as anything other than a means to her end.

  Because with him right in front of her, the movement of his thighs as he got out of the truck, the flex of his shoulders as he gave the door a push to close it, the turn of his head as his gaze zeroed in on her, the end she found her thoughts drifting to was the taut one encased in his jeans.

  To her relief, Cal came sauntering out of the garage/shed behind the house, as if she hadn't just been in there calling his name, after a futile stretch looking for him at his cabin and the main outbuildings further up the rough ranch road.

  She glared at him–that way she couldn't stare at Dave.

  "Morning, Matty. You got your things ready?" When she didn't answer right away, Dave turned, looking over his shoulder, probably to see what she was looking at. "Morning, Cal," he added in a neutral voice. "I suppose you've heard that congratulations are in order?"

  By this time Cal had come up even with Dave, and she'd advanced so the three of them stood in a loose triangle.

  "Yeah? Do you love her?"

  "Cal–!" she started.

  Dave cut her off. His easy smile was gone, but his voice was nearly as unhurried as ever. "You don't know me well enough to be asking me that, Ruskoff." He settled his hat lower, shadowing his eyes. "Why don't you ask her?"

  "All right, I will." Cal stepped toward her. "Do you, Matty? Do you love him?"

  Her eyes flicked to Dave, then away.

  Love him? The phrase seemed to reverberate in her head and her heart, picking up an echo of Grams' voice.

  Do you love him, girl? Truly love him? Or are you set on him because that's what you've always expected of yourself. Think about it hard, Matty. Do you love him?

  "Well, Matty?" Cal insisted. "Are you marrying Currick because you love him?"

  Almost grateful, she looked fully at him. "Cal, I told you last night, there're other things involved. Besides–" she added strongly as he opened his mouth. "It's between Dave and me. Whatever we do shouldn't matter to anyone else."

  "She's got you there, Ruskoff," Dave murmured. And even without looking at him, Matty was certain his lips were twitching.

  Cal paid him no heed, continuing to stare at her. "You can't do this, Matty."

  "Cal, don't go making a tragedy out of something that's no big deal. Dave and I worked it out. It'll all be fine. You'll see. I'll go get my stuff."

  She turned on her heel and didn't look back.

  It was really kind of sweet of Cal, she thought as she opened the screen door to the back hall. She never would have expected the silent ranch hand to worry about such things as love.

  As the door swung closed behind her, she heard Dave's voice from outside, and stopped.

  "You obviously don't know your employer well, Ruskoff."

  She looked back in time to see Cal spin around and face Dave. "Are you saying you think she should do this–marry you, in some damned fool scheme to help the ranch?"

  "She told you that's why she's marrying me?"

  "Not in so many words," he snapped.

  "But still, you think she's after my money?" Dave sounded only mildly interested.

  "No. Matty wouldn't–besides, she told me about that prenup."

  "I'd give her money, if that's what she wanted. And she knows it."

  "That's not the question. The question is if you're saying you think she should really go through with this hare-brained scheme."

  "I'm not putting forward an opinion one way or the other on whether she can or she should. But I am saying that the surest way of making damned sure that Matilda Brennan–soon to be Matilda Brennan Currick–" he inserted with emphasis, "will try something is to tell her she can't do it. The second surest way is to tell her she shouldn't do it."

  When Matty swung open the screen door, she had a moment's view of the two men looking at each other hard, nearly nose to nose, before they turned their heads toward her.

  This concern stuff was sweet, but it could get out of hand.

  "If you two are done acting like a couple of bull moose and talking about me like I'm not here, you could help me bring my things out instead of leaving me to do all the lugging."

  She had the satisfaction of seeing both men meekly turn and head into the house. Dave let Cal precede him. Cal shot her a look from the corner of his eye as she stood in the hallway with her arms crossed under her breasts, then kept moving.

  "Currick! Just for the record," she said as he reached her and stopped, "I don't want your money, and I wouldn't take it if you offered."

  Dave leaned one hand on the wall above her shoulder, crowding her in the narrow space. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the breeze and sun on him. He had dropped his chin to look at her; she stared back with her chin raised. If he simply bent his elbow, his mouth would meet hers and his body would press against hers. Would they fit together as well as they had from the first? Would his taste and feel be the same. Would the sensations–?

  No! All that was past. Long gone. Part of her childhood.

  She refused to move, but she won herself some mental space by asking, "Are you going to help or are you going to stand here all day, Currick?"

  He smiled down at her. "Wanted to point out that w
e were talking about you like you weren't there, because you weren't there." He straightened away from the wall and headed down the hallway in the direction Cal had disappeared in. "You were in here, listening through the door."

  "I was not! I was..." Well, come to think of it she was...

  Just before he turned the corner to the stairs Dave looked back; he was grinning.

  "I had every right to listen–you were talking about me and you're on my property!"

  All she heard was his chuckle.

  * * * *

  Dave came out of the courthouse in Jefferson late that afternoon whistling a song from the old movies his mother loved, and headed to where he'd parked his car.

  Things were as set for tomorrow as they could be. He couldn't pin everything down because a lot depended on exactly how and when Matty backed out of this.

  He'd had to line up a judge in case they made it that far, but he'd selected a long-time friend of the family. He'd even dropped a couple subtle hints to Judge Halloran, though the older man hadn't seemed to pick them up. But Dave hadn't wanted to be any more forthcoming. Judge Halloran had a habit of being forthright, and the last thing Dave wanted was for Halloran to say anything to Matty tomorrow morning along the lines of "Dave thought you'd chicken out."

  No, he wanted her to have no excuses to find fault with him. Because after she backed out, he intended to keep seeing her. At the very least, she'd have to come over to get her clothes and other personal effects back.

  A new store's sign caught his eye and he stopped whistling in the middle of "Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off and Start All Over Again."

  The flower shop sign advertised that it did weddings.

  Well, why not? A bride should have a bouquet, even one who wasn't going to go through with the ceremony. Besides, maybe giving Matty flowers would soften her up some more about agreeing to keep seeing him afterward.

  Five minutes after he'd pushed open the door he was regretting this decision.

  "A regular bunch of wedding flowers" hadn't satisfied the clerk with the t-shirt that read "True Flower Power." She'd barely contained her shock that he was doing the ordering– "And so late!"–instead of the bride. His not knowing anything about what Matty intended to wear also earned a disapproving stare.

  When she reeled off a list of possibilities that had his head swimming, a trickle of sweat worked down the center of his back.