The Maverick's Accidental Bride. Christine Rimmer
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“This isn’t the first time you’ve acted like you want to call it off.”
“Call it off?” she repeated in a stark whisper.
Will nodded. “I don’t like it, but I can accept that maybe this just isn’t something you’re willing to do. You can move back to the boardinghouse. We’ll tell everyone we realized it wouldn’t work, after all. But then, if there’s a baby, I want you to promise me that you’ll come back.”
Call it off…
Did she want that?
They’d been “married” for just three days. Not only did Jordyn Leigh have to deal with her guilt over the lies they were telling, but sometimes when she told a lie, it came out seeming way too much like the truth.
The stuff she’d just said to Cece, for instance. About how wonderful Will was, how superhot and protective, how when he kissed her, she melted…
Well, she found it easy to tell those lies because those lies felt so very true.
It didn’t seem possible. She didn’t know how it had happened. But somehow, Will Clifton was beginning to look like her dream man.
***
Montana Mavericks:
What Happened at the Wedding?
A weekend Rust Creek Falls will never forget!
The Maverick’s Accidental Bride
Christine Rimmer
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com.
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
“You remind me of a girl I used to know,” said a way-too-familiar deep voice in Jordyn Leigh Cates’s ear. “She was just a kid, really. Pretty little thing, always following me around...”
Jordyn whirled on the killer handsome cowboy she’d known all her life. “Will Clifton, you liar. I never, ever followed you around.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
She laughed. “You know we sound like a couple of overgrown brats, right?”
“Speak for yourself.” Will gave her the sexy half smile that had broken more than one girl’s heart back home in Thunder Canyon. “Never could resist teasing you.”
Jordyn sipped from her paper cup of delicious wedding punch. “I heard that you were in town.”
“Craig, Jonathan and Rob, too.” Those were his brothers. “We’re staying out at Maverick Manor.” Formerly known as Bledsoe’s Folly, the giant, long-deserted log mansion southeast of town had been transformed the year before into an upscale hotel with a rustic flair.
She gave him a teasing look from under her lashes. “I also heard a rumor that you bought a place right here in Rust Creek Falls...?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” There was real pride in his voice, and his gorgeous blue eyes shone bright with satisfaction. “Beautiful spread in the Rust Creek Valley, east of town, not far from the Traub ranch. Escrow closes on Tuesday.”
Jordyn was happy for him. It had always been Will’s dream to have his own ranch. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
They grinned at each other. She thought he looked even hunkier than usual in a white dress shirt, a coffee-colored Western-cut vest and a bolo tie. He’d polished his belt buckle to a proud shine, and his black jeans broke just right over his black dress boots.
He reached out a hand and tugged on a blond curl that trailed loose from her updo. “You’re lookin’ good.”
A warm lick of pleasure stole through her. He was five years her senior, and he’d always treated her like a kid. But right now, the way he gazed at her? She didn’t feel like a kid in the least. She dared to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Thank you, Will.”
He tipped his black Stetson. “It’s only the truth. You look great—not to mention, patriotic.”
“Red, white and blue all the way.” She flicked a glance down at her strapless knee-length chiffon bridesmaid’s dress. It was Old-Glory Blue.
Just a couple of hours ago, Braden Traub, second oldest of the Rust