Husband For Keeps. Kate Little
heading back to the front door. “You’ll scare the poor guy off, if you ever do find him.”
“Not likely.” Carey grunted as she yanked on the high boots. The only thing that would scare Kyle Keeler off at this point, Carey reflected, was a cut in his fee.
Besides, Carey knew that Kyle—who fit into every stereotype of a vain actor—would be too mesmerized by his own looks to spare her a glance. And, of course, he’d be fantasizing about how he’d spend his payoff.
Kyle Keeler, struggling actor, longtime friend, was in it for the money; specifically, the generous sum Carey had promised him to take on the role of husband-in-name-only for a suitable period of time. During which, she would receive her inheritance, the Whispering Oaks Ranch, which she planned on selling as quickly as possible.
After six months or so, they would divorce. Kyle would get his loot and return to sunny Hollywood. Carey would get on with her life, sell the ranch and maybe return to school for a college degree, leaving her less than notable screen career behind her.
Ophelia knew all this. Ophelia knew everything. But somehow, she couldn’t help but act as if this whole charade was a love match. She’d even baked a grand-looking, three-tiered cake and mixed a champagne punch. Well, Ophie always loved a party, Carey knew.
Carey glanced fondly at her housekeeper, who now stood scowling with arms crossed across her ample chest.
“If Kyle calls, tell him I’ve gone out looking for him and I’ll be back in an hour,” she instructed. She grabbed the keys to the pickup off the foyer table, then checked her watch.
While Ophelia tisked and shook her head, Carey gathered up her skirt and made a run for the truck, fat drops of rain pelting her face and clinging to her long, golden brown hair.
She jumped inside, jammed the key into the ignition and prayed under her breath. “Just turn over, please,” she begged the old truck. “Just this once, don’t give me a problem.”
In his final years her father had let just about everything on the place go, including the vehicles and equipment. Carey had no idea how bad things had gotten. Her relationship with him had been strained ever since Carey had left home at age eighteen. There’d been little contact and even fewer visits.
The old truck sputtered ominously, and Carey nearly lost heart. Then suddenly the engine turned over with a roar.
She carefully put the truck in gear and headed down the long ranch road, the wipers and weak defogger doing only a passable job on the rain-drenched, fogged-up windshield. The truck bounced along through the ruts and holes, giving Carey a ride like a rodeo bronco. But despite the punishment, she didn’t slow down.
When she reached the main road, she turned left. If her groom had followed the careful directions from the airport, she knew he would be approaching from that direction.
Carey spared a quick glance at her image in the rearview mirror. Ophie, bless her soul, had been right. She did look a sight.
Some bride. More like the bride of Frankenstein!
If only this was a real wedding day, with a man I could truly pledge my heart to, could lovingly promise to honor and cherish, Carey thought wistfully. It would certainly make Ophie happy.
And my father, rest his soul.
She shook the errant thought from her head. As if she had ever met a man she would want to marry—truly. Oh, she’d had some romances, some that even seemed serious for a time. But when it came down to the question of marriage, the very idea of a pledge so permanent, so all encompassing, scared her silly. She wasn’t quite sure why, when part of her seemed to yearn so for such a union.
Perhaps it was the idea of giving up so much of the independence she’d struggled so hard to win and preserve, but which lately had provided little more than cold comfort on a long lonely night. Especially here, out on the ranch, where there were far fewer escapes and distractions from that empty, aching feeling than there’d been in Los Angeles.
Still, she wasn’t ready for marriage. Not now. Maybe not ever—though she did love children and often felt an urge toward motherhood. But a woman didn’t necessarily have to be married these days to have children. Hollywood stars were going the single-mom route every day. And once she sold the ranch, Carey reflected, the money would give her the freedom to do as she wished. To map out a whole new plan for her future.
As Carey’s thoughts wandered, her gaze searched the road for any sign of Kyle. All she had to do was find Kyle and bring him back before the judge flew the coop. Once the stroke of midnight sounded, marking her thirtieth birthday, she would lose everything if she was still single.
But if Kyle was stuck someplace in the rain, or worse yet, if his flight had been forced to land at some distant airport, she was sunk. Who in the world could she find to marry her at this late hour in the game?
Carey took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t do any good to dwell on the worst possibilities. You have to think positively, she coached herself, trying to pump up her positive energy as she’d learned to do from stepping into a tough audition. You have to picture yourself standing in front of that judge, saying “I do!”
As Carey coaxed mental images of her nuptials, the wipers struggled to keep up with the driving rain. Carey leaned forward and whisked some fog from the windshield with the edge of her sleeve. She could barely see even a few yards ahead of her.
Not that there was much to see. The road was not well traveled even on the fairest days. This morning, she reasoned, anyone with any sense in their head had pulled over to wait out the worst of the storm.
Then suddenly she spotted the dark form of a vehicle up ahead, parked on the side of the road. Kyle’s rental car! Yes! Her heart lurched hopefully. See what a little positive thinking can do? She congratulated herself.
Then she drew closer. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Not Kyle’s car as she hoped. Her spirits sank again as she took in the sight of a black flatbed pickup, its emergency lights flashing. A blue bandanna was tied to the radio antenna, hanging limp and drenched with rain. Clearly the troubled traveler had been sitting there for some time.
“Oh, drat.” Carey slapped the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.
Just what I need, a chance to play Good Samaritan. Don’t I have more important things to do than rescue stranded neighbors right now? If I don’t find Kyle out here somewhere within the next fifteen minutes, my entire life is down the toilet.
She approached the truck and carefully applied the brakes. Her own truck skidded and veered to the side but finally stopped safely on the road shoulder. She cut the engine and pressed on her emergency lights.
When she looked back at the black pickup, she caught sight of a small face, staring at her through a circle in the fogged window. A little boy’s face, his dark eyes wide and frightened.
She forgot about her missing groom and spoiled plans and was suddenly happy she’d stopped. She pushed her door open, and a gust of rain hit her with a blast as she hopped out of the truck. Her boots sank into the mud several inches.
The door of the black truck swung open, and Carey found herself staring at the driver. His serious, impassive expression, strong features and compelling dark eyes made her breath catch and froze her in her tracks.
“Thanks for stopping,” he said, unsmiling. His voice was deep, rough, disturbingly masculine.
“No problem,” she replied evenly. “Why don’t you leave your truck here, and I’ll give you a lift back to my place? It’s only a few miles west.”
As Carey spoke she felt increasingly self-conscious under his assessing glance. She realized what a sight she must seem, from the garland of wilted flowers in her matted hair, to her long, wet, mud-splattered skirt.
Suddenly the boy’s dark head popped up from behind one broad shoulder. Carey smiled at his wide-eyed expression. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment.
“Hey,