Rags To Riches: A Desire To Serve. Janice Maynard
she’s concerned. Mother’s not getting any younger,” he reminded her coolly. “And if something should happen to me or Alex…”
He was too good an attorney to overstate his case. Shrugging, he let her mull over the possibilities.
Grace did, with ever increasing indignation. She couldn’t believe it! He’d trapped her in her own web of lies and half-truths. If she wanted to see Molly—which she did, desperately!—she would have to play the game by his rules.
But marriage? Could she tie her future to his for the sake of the baby? The prospect dismayed her enough to produce a sharp round of questions.
“What about love, Blake? And sex? And everything else that goes into a marriage? Don’t you want that?”
With a smooth move, he pushed off the sofa. Grace rose hastily as well and was almost prepared when he stopped mere inches away.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Of course I do!”
For the first time she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. “Then I don’t see a problem. The sex is certainly doable. We can work on the love.”
Dammit! She couldn’t form a coherent thought with him standing so close. Between that and the blood pounding in her ears, she was forced to fight for every breath. It had to be oxygen deprivation that made her agree to his outrageous proposal.
“All right, counselor. You’ve made your case. I want to be part of Molly’s life. I’ll marry you.”
She thought that would elicit a positive response. At least a nod. Wasn’t that what he wanted? What he’d flown down here for? So why the hell did his brows snap together and he looked as though he seriously regretted his offer?
Let them snap! They’d both gone too far to back down now. But there was one final gauntlet she had to throw down.
“I just have one condition.”
“And that is?”
“We play this marriage very low-key. No formal announcement. No fancy ceremony. No big, expensive reception with pictures splashed across the society page.”
She paced the room, thinking furiously. She’d covered her tracks in Oklahoma City. She was sure of it. Still, it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“If anyone asks, we met several months ago. Fell in love, but needed time to be sure. Decided it was for real when you flew down here to see me this weekend, so we found a justice of the peace and did the deed. Period. End of story.”
She turned, hands on hips, and waited for his response. It was slow coming. Extremely slow.
“Well?” she demanded, refusing to let his stony silence unnerve her. “Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
He held out a hand. To shake on their bargain, she realized as the full ramifications of what she’d just agreed to sank in. If her cousin’s horrific experience hadn’t killed most of Grace’s girlish fantasies about marriage, this coolly negotiated business arrangement would have done the trick.
Except Blake didn’t take the hand she extended. To her surprise, he elbowed her arm aside, hooked her waist and brought her up against his chest.
“If we’re going to project a pretense of being in love, we’d better practice for the cameras.”
“No! No cameras, remember? No splashy… Mmmmph!”
She ended on a strangled note as his mouth came down on hers. The kiss was harder than it needed to be. It was also everything that she’d imagined it might be! Her blood leaping, she gloried in the press of his body against hers for a moment or two or ten.
Then reality hit. This was payback for the secrets she still refused to reveal. A taste of the sex he’d so generously offered to provide. She bristled, fully intending to jerk out of his hold, but he moved first.
Dropping his arm, he put a few inches between them. He’d lost that granite look, but she wasn’t sure she liked the self-disgust much better.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” she threw back. “Manhandling me isn’t part of our deal.”
“You’re right. That was uncalled for.”
It certainly was. Yet for some perverse reason, the apology irritated her more than the kiss.
“Do we need to negotiate an addendum?” she asked acidly. “Something to the effect that physical contact must be mutually agreed to?”
Red singed his cheeks. “Amendment accepted. If you still want to go through with the contract, that is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I do, too.”
“Fine.” His glance swept over her, lingering again momentarily on her legs. “You’d better get changed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You scripted the scenario. I flew down to see you. We decided it was for real. We hunted down a justice of the peace. Period. End of story.”
She threw an incredulous glance at the window. Rain still banged against the panes. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“You want to get married today?”
“Why not?”
She could think of a hundred reasons, not least of which was the fact that she had yet to completely recover from that kiss.
“What about blood tests?” she protested. “The seventy-two-hour mandatory waiting period?”
“Texas doesn’t require blood tests. I’ve checked.”
Of course he had.
“And the seventy-two-hour waiting period can be waived if you know the right people.”
Which he did. Grace should have known he would cover every contingency with his usual attention to detail.
“We’ll get the marriage license at the Bexar County Courthouse. One of my father’s old cronies is a circuit judge. I’ll call and see if he’s available to perform the ceremony.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Pack what you need to take back to Oklahoma with you. We’ll arrange for a moving company to take care of the rest.”
The speed of it, the meticulous preplanning and swift execution, left her breathless.
“You were that sure of me?” she asked, feeling dazed and off balance.
He paused in the act of scrolling through the phone’s address book. “I was that sure of how much you love Molly.”
* * *
They left for the county courthouse a little more than three hours later. Blake was driving the Lincoln town car his efficient staff had arranged for him. As Grace stared through the Lincoln’s rain-streaked window, she grappled with a growing sense of unreality.
Like all young girls, she and her cousin had spent hours with an old lace tablecloth wrapped around their shoulders, playing bride. During giggly sleepovers, they’d imagined numerous iterations of her wedding day. Grace’s favorite consisted of a church fragrant with flowers and perfumed candles, a radiant bride in filmy white and friends packed into the pews.
After that came the smaller, more intimate version. Just her, her cousin as her attendant, a handsome groom and the pastor in a shingle-roofed gazebo while her family beamed from white plastic folding chairs. She’d even toyed occasionally with the idea of Elvis walking her down the aisle in one of Vegas’s wedding chapels. This hurried, unromantic version had never figured in her imagination, however.
The reality of it hit home when they walked across a rain-washed plaza to the Bexar County Courthouse. The building was listed on the National Register of Historic