The Rancher's Surprise Marriage. Susan Crosby
be safe here,” he said finally. He waited until she shut the door then went to the next room, opening the door quietly, creeping in. He didn’t turn on the television, didn’t make a sound, just propped himself against some pillows on the bed and read the brochures from the desktop.
The walls were thin. He heard her television come on, then go off again shortly. He heard her move around the room. Television on again. Off. She must not have bothered taking off her boots because he could hear her pace. Finally a new sound—crying. Then she told herself to stop it, and she did. No more sobs.
Vulnerable. He wouldn’t have put that word to her if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
She paced again. And the crying started again. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He went outside and tapped on her door. “It’s Tony,” he said quietly.
The curtain moved. He put himself in a position where she could see him. Then the door opened.
“Couldn’t you get a ride?” she asked.
He could see she was giving it her all to appear calm and composed. But for all her acting abilities, the look she gave him was anything but.
“Didn’t try. I wasn’t comfortable with leaving you here alone. Took the room next door. I could hear you—pacing. Figured, you know, maybe you might want to talk.”
She opened the door wider and stepped back, extending her invitation a second time, silently.
He took off his hat and went into the room, heard the door shut and the lock slide into place, then the chain being fastened. He tossed his hat onto the bed, a typical motel queen-size with a muted-stripes bedspread that had seen better days. Sterile room, usual odors of cleaning products and stale fabrics. He’d spent plenty of nights in ones just like this or worse. He’d bet she hadn’t.
He faced her. She hadn’t moved. And where her composure had failed when she’d answered the door, it was back now. She was a damn fine actress, he decided, to be able to make her face a blank like that. What was going on in her head? Why was he there?
“How can I help you?” he asked.
She tossed back her hair a little, bringing her chin up a notch. “I want to sleep with you.”
A stampede started in his midsection then branched out. He tried for as little expression as she had. “For the sake of clarification, ‘sleeping’ with me means?”
“More than actually sleeping in the same bed.”
“You want to have sex?”
“Yes.”
More questions came to mind. In particular, Why me? And, What about your famous fiancé?
Their kiss in the saloon reverberated in his head, made its way down his body. Who was he to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? The kind of guy who realized that maybe she didn’t mean what she was saying, he thought.
But then she started to pull the snaps on her shirt apart. He stopped her, his hand covering both of hers, his fingers pressed to her warm, cushiony chest.
“Some reason why you’re in such an all-fired-up hurry?” he asked.
“Yes.” She yanked her shirt open, revealing a lacy red bra cupping not-girl-next-door breasts.
Usually he took his time to do things right. Less chance of regrets that way. And somehow he had a feeling that regrets were going to come fast and furious if he followed through. No way was he going to do this, even though it had been a while since he’d enjoyed a roll in the hay. But this woman had been occupying his thoughts for several days and nights, pretty much since he saw her walk onto his ranch a few days ago, and the moment she touched her lips to his, pressed herself against him, he was lost.
Her kisses seared him, her touch sent him soaring. He lost his ability to think clearly. They wasted no time in undressing and getting skin to skin on the bed. She was wild and demanding and giving. He barely managed to say, “Birth control?”
“On the pill,” she managed back.
And then he was inside her and she was arching and digging her fingers into him and making flattering sounds of pleasure, and then of satisfaction. A moment later, he did, too.
He eased to his side, taking her along. After a minute he realized she was crying. Again.
He didn’t ask her why, and she didn’t say.
Tony’s internal alarm clock woke him before dawn. He reached for Maggie, but his hand landed on a piece of paper instead of a warm, curvy body. He held the paper toward the window, where the outside light offered minimal illumination.
One word, printed as if in a rush: Thanks.
It should’ve made him happy, since he wasn’t much for mornings-after, either, but it only annoyed him.
He rolled off the bed and snagged his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, then called his foreman, Butch Kelly.
“I need a ride,” Tony said.
“Where are you?”
Tony could hear the rustle of clothing as Butch dressed. “Red Rock Motor Inn. Know where it is?”
“Spent my high-school graduation night there. Fond memories. So, where’s your truck?”
“Elsewhere.”
A beat passed then, “Okay. I’m on my way.”
Tony hung up and finished dressing. It was hard to believe she’d left without him hearing her go. He wondered how long ago she’d taken off. Sometime after three, because that was when they’d made love a second time.
He waited for Butch in front of the motel, his irritation increasing with each passing vehicle. Her note burned a hole in his shirt pocket. She could’ve said goodbye, at least. People who sleep together deserve that much.
She obviously didn’t deserve her driven-snow reputation—supposedly she was engaged to that Hollywood beefcake. She sure hadn’t acted engaged last night. In fact, she’d seemed like a woman who hadn’t been made love to in a long time. He wondered about that, and about her morals, sleeping with him like she had.
But, hell, who was he to spout morals? He’d had his share of affairs, some that never should’ve happened.
He tucked his hands in his pockets, and hunched against the cool morning, remembering. She was amazing in bed. He wouldn’t mind repeating the experience, not at all. Yeah, why not have some good times together while she was in town? They’d be private about it. He didn’t want or need media attention, and she would need secrecy from her fiancé. Could be tricky, though.
Where the hell was Butch, anyway?
He blew out a long breath, digging for the patience he was known for. It was probably just karma catching up with him, payback for the times in his youth he’d done the same thing, left a woman without saying goodbye, before he’d wised up and gotten civil about such things.
A Lucky Hand Ranch pickup pulled up to the curb. “Took you long enough,” Tony muttered as he climbed in, not feeling charitable, too much on his mind.
Butch shoved a to-go cup at him. Coffee, hot and black. “So, shoot me. Figured you’d need this, so I made a stop.”
They were the same age, had done the rodeo circuit together for years. Butch’s knees were worse than Tony’s, although Tony had broken more bones. “Okay. You’re forgiven,” Tony said.
Butch grinned. “So, can I ask what you were doin’ at the motel?”
Tony gave him a long look as he sipped his coffee. His cell rang. He checked to see who it was. “Pretty early, Mom, even for you,” he said after he opened the phone.
Sue-Ellen Young laughed. “I’ve already baked two pies and checked my e-mail. Nice picture of you, by the way, on celebrityscoop.com, kissing Maggie McShane.”