The Texan's Convenient Marriage. Peggy Moreland
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“Why Would You Want To Help Me? You Don’t Even Know Me.”
Mack kept his gaze fixed on hers. “I know more than you might think. I know that the father of your baby isn’t going to be around to take care of you or the child.”
Addy’s jaw dropped, then closed with an angry click of teeth. “You don’t know any such thing.”
“Yes, I do,” he replied calmly. “If his past actions are any indication, you’ll never hear from Ty again.”
Her eyes widened. “You—you know Ty?”
“He’s my half brother.”
“You mean, you knew about me and the baby before—”
“Yes, that’s why I dropped by your house. I was there to offer you money.”
Steam all but came out of her ears. “Well, you can tell Ty to keep his damn money. I don’t want it.”
“The money’s not Ty’s. It’s mine.”
“Well, I don’t want your money, either, Mack McGruder.” She pointed a stiff finger at the door. “Get out. And don’t bother coming back.”
The Texan’s Convenient Marriage
Peggy Moreland
MILLS & BOON
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PEGGY MORELAND
published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989, and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for Romantic Times BOOKclub Reviewer’s Choice Award and a two-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award, Peggy’s books frequently appear on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. When not writing, you can usually find Peggy outside, tending the cattle, goats and other critters on the ranch she shares with her husband. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 1099, Florence, TX 76527-1099, or e-mail her at [email protected].
To my daughter, Hilary. Thanks for your willingness to read my work, your encouragement when I need it most and for the smile you put in my heart.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Prologue
War is fear cloaked in courage.
—William Westmoreland
Smoke hung in the air cloaking the darkness, its acrid scent burning the noses of the soldiers hiding in the tall grass. Some had taken advantage of the lull in activity and had stretched out, eyes closed, their guns held at the ready across their chests, their packs pillowed beneath their heads. Others were hunkered down, watching…and waiting.
Antonio Rocci, or Romeo as he was called by his friends, wanted to sleep but couldn’t. Fear kept his eyes open and his ears cocked for any sound of movement in the inky darkness. In the distance, red embers and thin curls of smoke marked where a small village had once stood. Reconnaissance had reported that Vietcong soldiers had infiltrated the village and were using the area to store artillery. Earlier that day, while the sun was still up, an air attack had taken place. Constructed mainly of grasses and bamboo gathered from the surrounding countryside, the hooches that had once formed the small village had gone up like dry kindling. All that remained were burning embers and the cloying smell of smoke.
When morning came, it was the job of Romeo and the other soldiers in his unit to go into the village and search for the cache of artillery and ammunition reportedly hidden there. A side duty was checking for survivors and counting the dead. Bile rose in Romeo’s throat at the thought of what he might face, and he quickly swallowed it down. It’s war, he reminded himself. It’s either us or them, and he’d a hell of a lot rather it be them.
“Romeo?”
He jumped at the voice, then forced the tension from his body when he realized it was Pops, their team leader, who had spoken.
He set his jaw to steady his voice, hide the fear. “Over here.”
He heard a slight rustle of grass, and angled his head, watching as Pop’s shadowed form moved closer.
“You okay?” Pops whispered.
Romeo released his grip on his gun long enough to drag his arm across the nervous perspiration that beaded his forehead, then settled his finger over the trigger again. “Yeah, but I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew we were the only ones out here.”
“Yeah,” Pops agreed soberly. “I hear you.”
Silence settled between them, as both continued to watch the darkness.
Romeo would never admit it, but he felt safer, less vulnerable with Pops at his side. Older than most of the others in the unit, Pops—the nickname given to Larry Blair by the rest of the team—had already completed one tour of duty in Vietnam and was working on his second. Romeo couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly sign on for another tour. From the day he’d arrived in country, he’d felt as if he’d been dropped down into the bowels of hell and couldn’t wait for the day he could board the plane that would carry him home.
“Pops?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever regret signing on for a second tour?”
“No sense regretting what you can’t change.”
Romeo angled his head to peer at the man whose opinion he respected as much as he would his father’s. “Do you ever get scared, Pops?”
“Yeah,” Pops admitted quietly. “It’s the soldier who fears nothing that gets himself killed. If you use fear to your advantage, it’ll keep you alert, on guard, prepared. Give in to it and it’ll make you helpless, weak.”
Romeo considered that for a moment, but found little comfort in Pop’s advice. He’d always considered himself brave, even cocky. Now he wondered if he had a bright-yellow stripe running down his back.
“Is being afraid the same as being a coward?” he asked hesitantly.
“No. A coward runs and hides.”
“Some of the guys think Preacher’s a coward.”
“Well, they’re wrong. Preacher just can’t bear the thought of taking a human life. It’s his beliefs he struggles with, not cowardice.”
Romeo considered that a moment, then shook his head sadly. “Hell, it doesn’t matter if you’re