His Tomboy Bride. Leanna Wilson
nickname. The memory brought a sharp, double-edged pain to her heart.
Rosa secured the veil across the top of Billie’s head with hairpins, then stepped back. Satisfied with her creation, she beamed, her wide smile splitting her coppery face. “Ah, so beautiful!” Her solid black gaze narrowed and her brow withered into a frown. “Why this face?” She lifted Billie’s chin a notch. “Why so sad?”
Billie shrugged. “I’m okay. I was thinking about Jake and...” She stopped, shaking her head, trying to shrug off her sorrow like a pesky injury. But this ache wouldn’t go away. He’d been too young, too foolish driving his truck hell-bent for leather. She couldn’t think about her brother now. Nor would she think about Nick Latham. His memory would bring a different kind of pang. He’d moved out of Bonnet, Texas, and on with his own life...without her.
No longer a kid with fanciful dreams, she was a full-grown woman of twenty-three. She drew in a confident breath and adjusted the material bunching around her shoulders. How difficult could parading around like a Barbie doll be? It couldn’t be harder than running her daddy’s ranch, juggling the finances or marrying a man she didn’t love.
Responsibility constricted her like the dress tried to cut off her circulation above her waist. She never could stay ahead of the demands on her time or bank account. Her father’s sudden death five years ago had heaped half the responsibility on her narrow shoulders. In his will, he’d left Billie and Jake the ranch, knowing their mother would never be able to take care of it on her own. Two years later Jake’s death had left her with a barnyard of unexpected debts and all the responsibility. Now, her desperation, her determination, had brought her to this—her wedding.
Reality had a sharper edge and required practical decisions. This marriage solved a truckload of problems for her. She’d face her future with the same grit that had helped her through each tragedy in her life. This time, the things she cared about wouldn’t be taken away from her. This time, she’d take the reins in her own hands and guide her own destiny.
Marriage didn’t come wrapped up in a nice, neat package with frilly ribbons and bows. Billie would not risk her heart on her fiancé or anyone else. She’d tried that once. And failed. With deep scars as proof, she’d learned once too often that love hurt. She could do without any more pain.
Rosa sniffed. “Too much sorrow for one family. Let us think of your wedding. Put on your shoes and come. Let’s not keep your mother waiting.”
Ignoring the satin pumps that looked about as comfortable as the strapless underwire bra she wore beneath her dress, Billie pulled her fancy white boots out of the closet. She hadn’t worn these since she’d gone boot-scootin’ in high school. At least the boots were comfortable.
She left her bedroom, lifting the heavy skirt out of the way, the lush satin brushing against her legs and rustling with each step. She moved past framed pictures of family vacations in the Rocky Mountains, her and Jake huddled in front of a tilted Christmas tree, and school pictures chronicling Billie’s blackened eyes, pigtails and braces. The fond memories fortified her with the courage she needed to face her future.
“Here comes the bride!” Martha Gunther sang, her voice warbling like an old-fashioned organ. Her face crinkled with a warm smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
Feeling less like a bride and more like a trussed up heifer, Billie waddled into the den. Shoulders back, she gave her mother her best, most optimistic smile, the same one she used after she paid each month’s bills and counted the leftover money in the checking account.
A movement in the corner of the living room caught her eye. She squinted against the afternoon sunlight pouring through the bay window across the front of her parents’ house. The tall, dark, masculine frame had broad shoulders and a height that would put most men to shame. Her breath caught in her lungs. Had Doug, her fiancé, come early? Maybe the light distorted his size, making him larger than his normally slight, elegant build. Her groom shouldn’t be seeing her wedding dress. It was bad luck. And that was one thing she didn’t need any more of.
“Billie the Kid?” The warm, deep, masculine voice jolted her like a bolt of electricity.
Her breath whooshed out of her. For a second she felt dizzy, her world tilting off center. Nick!
Nicholas Barrett Latham stepped toward her, effectively blocking the sun slanting through the window behind him. She met his gold-flecked amber gaze. Something warm and uncomfortable, something she hadn’t experienced in years, stirred inside her. He ran his fingers through his thick chestnut hair. A grin split his chiseled, tanned features and zapped the strength right out of her knees.
“Well,” he said, rubbing his hand against his square jaw, “I’ll be damned.”
Nick wasn’t her groom, but he was bad luck, all right. She wished her dress would swallow her whole and bury her beneath the yards of lace and satin. So help her, if he laughed at her in this dress, she’d deck him. In anticipation of having to do just that, her hands curled into fists.
“Isn’t it wonderful for Nick to visit us, honey?” her mother said, hugging her own middle as if she might burst with excitement.
Billie nodded automatically. For once in her life words failed her. Or maybe for the second time. The first had been when she’d kissed Nick. She’d grown up since that hot summer day when she’d been a naive sixteen-year-old. But with Nick’s irresistible smile and curious gaze settling on her now, her insides felt mushy once again, like jelly left out of the refrigerator for too long.
“I heard you were getting married,” he said in a rumbling voice that made her stomach roll. “Had to see it for myself.”
His surprise ruffled her feathers. She met his intense gaze squarely. “Why? Is it so impossible to believe someone would want me?”
“I didn’t mean...I... No. ’Course not.” His features twisted with confusion. He stepped forward and awkwardly brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Congratulations, Billie.”
The warmth of his lips sent a surge of heat through her body. She drew in a quick, inadequate breath. Nick stood so close she could have touched him if she’d dared. She smelled his clean, spicy scent, which reminded her of the sharpness of cedar after a summer rain. Her voice caught on the words, “Welcome home, Nick.”
His hand slid around her cinched-in waist and pulled her close against his chest. She felt the hardness of his muscles, the strength in his arms, the gentleness of his words as his breath warmed her ear. “It’s good to see you again, Billie.”
His solid embrace made her feel weak as a newborn colt. She stepped back on the hem of her dress. To her chagrin, Nick steadied her with a hand under her elbow. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her breath came hard and fast, as if she’d run up a steep hill.
“How long has it been?” she asked, knowing it had been exactly two years, one month and sixteen days. She didn’t ask herself how she knew or why. She didn’t want to question whether it was because she so clearly remembered the cool, rainy spring day when she’d stood at her brother’s graveside or because Nick had been there.
“Too long,” he answered.
Knee-deep in grief at her brother’s funeral, Billie remembered Nick’s fierce hug, an awkward pat on her shoulders, a gruff, “I’m so sorry, Billie.” She’d been unable to restrain the resentment at seeing his pretty wife standing beside him. Maybe that’s why she’d been so damned determined to handle the Rocking G Ranch on her own. If she couldn’t have Nick’s love, then by God she’d have his respect. That’s why he couldn’t know she was selling out now...to marriage.
So much had changed since that rainy day. Regret swept through her. She alone bore the guilt of why Nick hadn’t visited the Gunthers since his best friend’s funeral. Instinctively she sensed Nick had changed, too. Something in his face, his eyes. A harder glint had replaced the mischievous glimmer of his youth. Feeling his gaze on her like a warm caress, her dress suddenly felt tight, the air thin, her blood thick as molasses.
“We