The Rancher's Surprise Marriage

“Where’re you staying?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go there.”

“Okay. Then where?”

“Someplace quiet.”

“Not sure there are too many places where you wouldn’t be recognized. And I don’t have connections for private rooms and such at restaurants.” He pretty much kept to himself, but he didn’t tell her that. She might think he was dangerous or something.

“There,” she said, pointing.

All he saw was the Red Rock Motor Inn. “The motel?”

She nodded.

“Look, I—”

“I’m not propositioning you,” she interrupted. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d check in, then I’ll use the room. I don’t want to go back to my hotel yet. I still have some thinking to do. Would they know you here?”

He pulled into the parking lot. “By name. Some folks, anyway.”

“If you pay cash, could you use an alias?”

“Don’t see why not.”

She reached into her pocket.

“I’ll get it,” he said and opened the car door before she could protest. The woman fascinated him. What was the big deal she needed to think about? Why had she intentionally kissed him for a photographer? She had a squeaky-clean image, yet was defying it now.

He registered, climbed back into the car and drove around to the back side of the complex, parking by the assigned room. “You’re registered as John Wayne,” he said, slanting her a look.

She laughed, a little shaky, but still a laugh. “Thanks.”

He walked her to the door, unlocked it, found the light switch. “Not what you’re used to,” he said as she walked past him.

“It’ll do.” She held out her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out. I feel horrible that you have to find your way back to your truck.”

He put the car key and room key in her hand, his fingers brushing her skin, cold to the touch now. He could’ve left her without too much problem, knowing she’d be on his ranch the next day. But the fact was, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d taken the room next to hers for the night. “Couldn’t let the Duke down, could I?”

She smiled. “The Code of the West is alive and well.”

“And we’re proud to say so.” He tipped his hat. “Good night, then, Miss McShane.” He got about six steps away when she called his name.

“It’s Maggie,” she said. “Call me Maggie.”

“Your given name Margaret?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Would you…like to come in for a bit?” she asked.

He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to go inside, but because he wondered what she wanted. Someone to listen? Someone to watch TV with? She didn’t strike him as a person who spent a lot of time by herself. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it. Maybe she was scared to be alone.

And maybe he was just too tempted by her. His body still hummed from the dance and the kiss.

“You’ll 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.