Her Torrid Temporary Marriage

“All right, how about Candice Webster?”

“She was the first nanny. And no. Definitely not.”

Biting her lip, Mattie glanced at him. He gave her one quick glance in return, and she looked into his eyes filled with determmation. When he returned his gaze to the road, she noticed a muscle flexing in his jaw.

“Alyssa Hagen?”

“Never. Woman never stops talking and has a laugh that would drive a man to flight.”

Worried, Mattie ran her gaze over her list. The man was damned particular! “Barb Crandall?”

He reached over and withdrew the list from Mattie’s fingers, balled it up and tossed it into a litter bag on the dash. “Thanks, anyway. I think I’ve made the best possible choice. And I’ve considered every female I’ve ever known.”

Mattie bit her lip again and turned to look at the land. She was flattered, astonished, wondering if she would ever get over her amazement. And she was uneasy. She couldn’t possibly marry Josh Brand. The notion was totally unthinkable. The man could have almost any woman he wanted. Why would he want her?

They rode in silence while her thoughts seethed. She should just outright ask him, but it was difficult. She couldn’t even deal with him on this introductory level. It was beyond imagination to think about marrying him and dealing with him daily about everything in her life. And he disturbed her. She was intensely aware of him. He was too attractive, too incredibly masculine. She rubbed her damp palms together nervously.

“Relax, Mattie,” he said quietly.

“It’s difficult under the circumstances.”

“We’re just going to a simple dinner and discuss our futures.”

She didn’t reply and watched the sun slanting in the sky, shadows growing slightly longer, until he turned onto his ranch road. Too soon to suit her, his sprawling ranch house came into view. She couldn’t recall having seen his home before. The house was long. The overhang of the sloping roof covered a porch that circled the house. Pots of flowers hung from the roof and more pots with bright red hibiscus stood on the porch. A hummingbird darted among the flowers. Beyond the house were various structures: a barn twice the size of hers, a corral, a bunkhouse, a shop, another building that might be an office, two small buildings. She saw a tractor in a shed and another pickup parked in front of the three-stall garage. The buildings were in good shape, and the place appeared thriving and welcoming. Josh parked the truck and came around to open the door.

“C’mon. I’ll show you the house. Rosalie took Elizabeth to her house. It’s just down that road a ways,” he said, pointing to a road that angled off from the house and disappeared between stands of oaks.

Nervous, Mattie climbed out of the pickup and followed him across the porch. He opened the back door and waited while she entered the kitchen.

“How about a beer? Wine? Iced tea?”

“Tea sounds good,” she said as she looked around at the oak cabinets and terrazzo floor. The room was spacious and inviting, the aroma of hot bread still hovering in the air. On the tile counter she saw two pans with golden loaves swelling over the sides.

He handed her a glass of iced tea. “Sugar or lemon?”

“No, thanks.”

He set his cold beer on the kitchen table and moved closer, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. The warmth of his hands kindled a responding warmth in her. She was intensely aware of him, suspecting he thought nothing of the casual touch of his hands on her or his standing so close to her.

“Mattie, relax. You look as if I’m the devil and I’ve asked you to sell your soul.”

“That’s sort of how I see you. Your proposal shocked me, and I think you should find a nanny and forget a loveless marriage,” she said, noticing his thick lashes, his sculpted lips. When he moved close to her, his presence made her more nervous than ever.

“Come look at my house,” he urged in a coaxing voice that she couldn’t resist.

She nodded, and he moved away. Even though the kitchen was spacious, he dominated it with his height and broad shoulders and his raw masculinity. Her gaze slid down his back to his slim hips, and her mouth went dry.

He turned to slant her a curious glance. “Are you with me?”

“Yes!” Burning with embarrassment because he had caught her studying his hips, she caught up and walked beside him into a large, comfortable family room, in forest green and brown decor, with a stone fireplace. A game table stood in one corner and an antique rifle was mounted above the fireplace. The furniture was large, as if it had been selected for a tall man. She crossed the room to a wall paneled in knotty pine and covered with pictures.

“That’s the rogues’ gallery,” Josh remarked, coming to stand beside her, his shoulder lightly brushing hers. “Here’s great-grandpa Daniel Brand.”

“Who tried to kill my great-grandfather,” she said with amusement as she moved closer to look at the faded picture of a bearded man with a beak of a nose above a thick mustache.

“I think it was the other way around,” Josh replied lightly, and she laughed.

“At least by the time our fathers took over the ranches, they weren’t shooting at each other. They just didn’t speak unless they had to.”

“That’s Daniel’s rifle mounted over the fireplace. He made that table,” Josh said, pointing to a sturdy, simple table that had nicks in the legs from hard use. He pointed to a picture of horses on the opposite wall. “My grandfather hung that picture. It was his favorite, so we’ve always kept it. The little rocker was my grandmother’s chair.”

“Your roots go back like my family’s.” Mattie moved along the row of pictures, examining another faded photograph of a dark-skinned, black-haired woman and Daniel Brand.

“That was Daniel’s wife, Little Star. She was full-blood Kiowa.”

“She’s a beautiful woman.”

“We have more Kiowa blood. Here’s the next generation. Grandpa Isaac was a half-breed. He married Summer Setaingia, another full-blood—here’s her picture,” Josh said, pointing to another husband-wife portrait that bore a family resemblance to Josh in their dark eyes and hair and prominent cheekbones. Mattie gazed at the pictures, but she was more aware of the tall man standing so close beside her, his body lightly touching hers. She walked along, gazing at pictures until she came to one that featured a small boy with brown eyes, flowing black hair and a cocky grin. She knew it had to be Josh. “This is you.”

“Yeah. Mom put these up. I’ve never bothered changing them, nor did Lisa.”

“This is the house you grew up in?”

“Yes. This room and the first two bedrooms are the original house that my great-grandpa Daniel built. Dad redid the kitchen and added the other rooms. After Dad died, Mom remarried and moved to Chicago. When Lisa and I married, we moved in here. Lisa had the house remodeled, but she didn’t change much in this room or the dining room. The dining room table was my grandfather’s. And there are a few old tables here that belonged to great-grandpa Daniel.”

“Sounds like our house.”

They moved to an adjoining formal living room that had an off-white carpet and the same forest green color in the upholstered furniture. “Lisa did this room over. I’m hardly ever in it,” he said in a flat voice, and Mattie realized that every time he mentioned his wife, he sounded pained.

She followed him into a dining room that held a long mahogany table with twelve chairs. A silver tea service gleamed on the polished sideboard. “You have a nice home.”

“Thanks. The bedrooms are down the hall,” he said casually. “Want to sit outside with me while I grill steaks?”

“Sure,” she answered, thinking both of them had roots that went far back in tune. Their backgrounds were the same, but there the similarities ended.

He returned to the kitchen to get a platter of steaks, and they stepped outside to a deck where he motioned toward lawn chairs. “Sit down while I cook these. Rosalie already prepared potatoes and carrots, so dinner’ll be ready soon.”

As soon as the steaks were on, he pulled a chair close and sat down facing her.

“You really have a beautiful place,” she remarked.

“The ranch has done well. I hear you just acquired two new quarter horses from Ed Williams’s stables.”

“I’m trying to improve our stock.”

“That should do it.” He studied her, and every time he gave her one of his long intense looks, she felt ensnared and at a disadvantage, as if he were trying to see into her soul and succeeding. “You don’t object to my Indian blood, do you?”

“Of course not,” she replied, startled.