The Wife He Chose

Colleen was hardly the beauty her sister had been and now, with her dark hair a scant two inches long if that, she felt even less attractive than before the crash. She’d lost so much weight that she looked like a plain, effeminate boy. Men had rarely found her attractive and now they virtually ignored her except to stare at her cane and observe her awkward manner with a mix of curiosity and veiled pity.

All of that underscored the notion that little Beau and baby Amy were the only family she’d ever have. And though she’d loved both of them fiercely from birth, the circumstances of her bleak future made it imperative to be allowed access to them and permitted the joy and happy responsibility of being their aunt. She was the only closely related member from the James family that the two children had. Surely Cade Chalmers would see the importance of that.

Cade Chalmers was on his way to the kitchen from his office in the east wing, when he heard the car pull up out front. He walked to the entry hall to see who it was, but he didn’t recognize the thin, frail woman who stepped out and started toward the door. The black cane got his immediate attention and memory kicked in.

Colleen James walked stiffly, her every movement giving as much an impression of self-consciousness as of wary care. She used the support of the cane as if she needed it. So much so that he wondered why she was not on crutches.

Colleen was one person he didn’t care to see or have anything to do with. She’d let herself get too involved in the petty marital dispute that had resulted in the death of her sister and finally his brother, leaving a three-year-old and an infant orphaned. If she’d refused to let herself get drawn into it all, things might have been quickly resolved. It was his belief that flighty, irresponsible Sharon might have settled down easier to her family responsibilities if Colleen hadn’t been around to rescue her whenever she couldn’t get her way.

Sharon had been the kind of mercenary female he’d been pushing away all his adult life. His brother had fallen for her then let himself be dragged around like a lovesick fool. Sharon had paid him back by making his life hell.

And that hell had been the litmus test of Craig’s level of addiction to his beautiful, manipulative wife. Then she’d had the bad luck to die.

Following the accident, Cade had had a distraught brother to deal with, a bewildered toddler and a helpless infant on his hands. Colleen had been in a coma for weeks so the arrangements for her sister’s funeral had also fallen to him.

Craig had learned later that Colleen wanted no part of him or the kids, so Cade had rapidly put her out of his mind. He’d had enough to handle with the kids and the ranch and his younger brother’s descent into a bottle. Craig hadn’t been able to face life sober without his flighty wife.

But both of them were gone now. Gone and oblivious to the pain and hardship they’d left behind for their kids.

Why Colleen James suddenly decided to show up here was no more than a minor mystery for him. One that would surely take little time to uncover and was sure to amount to nothing of real consequence. Maybe she needed money. If she did, she was out of luck. James women had gotten their last dollar from Chalmers men.

He opened the door just as Colleen stepped into the shade of the veranda. The surprise of his appearance seemed to startle her and she faltered. But then the surprise was his as he saw her up close.

Her skin was pale, nearly translucent, and there were feathery lines of strain around her mouth. Weariness made her eyelids droop slightly, but the look in the clear blue of her eyes was almost spiritless.

She had been willowy before, but now she was thin and about as insubstantial as a strip of gauze. A light breeze would topple her and he was inclined to go easy on her.

His gaze flicked to the car behind her and he revised his impression. She was well enough to drive herself from San Antonio, so she was probably stronger than she looked.

Her sister had tried everyone’s patience with a list of minor infirmities that ran the gamut from headaches to frazzled nerves. She’d had a way of avoiding the daily care of her kids that had seemed selfish to him. And though hiring nannies and sitters had been a solution the Chalmers’ could easily afford and had, Sharon’s penchant for firing them or running them off with demands to lavish her with as much care and attention as they gave the kids, made the search for replacements a constant bother.

But as he stared at the changes in Colleen James, he felt guilty for the harsh comparison. He knew her injuries had been severe and it was obvious she was nowhere near a full recovery. And the frailty he saw would be impossible to fake. Curious now, he studied her more intently.

Her sable hair was too damned short. Short enough that it tried to stick out all over her head, but she’d smoothed it down with some kind of hair goo. Her eyes, a near robin’s egg color, were large and fringed with dark lashes. Her nose was fine and slim and her lips were only slightly full, though they looked tender and vulnerable to him—too tender and vulnerable to have had much kissing.

If she ever put on weight, her small body would be more feminine. The image the thought put in his mind startled him and caused a strong stir of attraction in spite of the frail boyish look she had now.

His gruff, “Miz James,” was formal and terse.

Her quiet, “Mr. Chalmers,” was equally formal, but he’d seen the quiver of anxiety that showed in her eyes. “May I come in?”

The question acknowledged his rudeness in staring at her, rather than immediately inviting her in. But it was also an acknowledgment of his right to deny her access to his home. Sharon wouldn’t have asked. She’d have helped herself and walked in. Or gone teary if she even imagined resistance.

Cade stepped aside to let her pass, then walked through the entry hall at her slow pace. He ushered her into the living room and as she chose a place to sit at the end of the sofa, he called his housekeeper. Esmerelda appeared at once.

“¿Sí?”

“Could you bring in a tray?”

“Coffee?”

Cade glanced at Colleen.

“Just water would be fine, thank you.”

His brisk, “And coffee for me, Esmerelda,” sent the housekeeper back to the kitchen. Cade took a seat in the big armchair that faced the sofa and watched coolly as Colleen set her cane aside.

“Thank you for seeing me. I was sorry to hear about Craig. It was a shock.”

Cade felt a nettle of anger. There’d been no acknowledgment from her of his brother’s death until this moment. It was almost as if she’d decided she needed to express her condolences now only because she wanted something from him. And he could tell when females wanted something from him. He could always tell.

She went on and he felt his irritation rise. “I realize the flowers and the card were too late for the funeral, but I didn’t find out until I read it in the papers.”

He caught the faint chastisement for not informing her himself, but she wasn’t pitiful enough to let her off the hook for lying about flowers and condolences.

“There were no flowers or card, Miz James,” he said bluntly. “Why are you here?”

Colleen felt the sting of his rebuke, but she was shocked that the flowers and card had not been delivered.

“There must be some mistake. Whatever had happened these past months, Craig was my brother-inlaw. I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I did send flowers and a card. I wouldn’t have let something that serious go by unacknowledged, even if it was belated.”

Her explanation did nothing but harden his rugged expression, and he’d never seemed more intimidating. His big body was wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and corded with heavy muscles that made him rock-solid and gave an impression of physical power that no one but a bodybuilder would dare to challenge.

But it was his face that held her attention, and always had. Rugged and no-nonsense, he had dark brows over deep-set eyes the color of aged bourbon. His cheekbones were high and prominent enough to suggest at least a trace of Native American ancestry. His nose was sharply bladed and gave the same impression of ancestry, but his mouth was a carved line that could go straight and hard with temper or—rarely—curve into a line that lit his face and made him seem years younger and surprisingly handsome.

Because Cade Chalmers was not handsome, not really. But he was impressive and his harsh, rugged looks were as charismatic as a movie star’s. It had always been a struggle not to stare at him, but he’d never caught her at it because she’d been virtually invisible to him. A lackluster, unremarkable female firmly in the shade of her beautiful, outgoing younger sister.

She stared at him now, though, almost more than she cared to, because he’d become impatient with her. And he was angry because he thought she’d lied to him.

“Why are you here?” The terse question closed the subject of the flowers and the card. He’d heard her explanation and judged her a liar. Distressed, she rallied to correct the judgment.

“I’m sure the florist kept a record of the order. It was a local shop. Josie’s Flowers, I think. And I used my Visa card.”

Cade’s dark brows lowered. He’d made up his mind and it was clear that he didn’t want to be confused by the facts. Colleen felt her dismay deepen. This was a terrible start.

“Is that why you didn’t answer my letters or return my calls,” she asked cautiously, “because I’d hurt your feelings?”

Because I’d hurt your feelings?

Colleen felt a jolt of horror. She’d not intended to put it that way! As if someone like her could ever be important enough to Cade Chalmers—or that anyone could—to hurt his feelings was preposterous.

Offend or insult him, yes; hurt his feelings, no. Men like Cade Chalmers were too macho to own up to feminine notions like hurt feelings. In this case, he’d probably been angered by what he’d consider an intentional snub. She should have worded it that way, but one of her problems after the crash was that she sometimes spoke imprecisely.

To her surprise, the hard slash of his stern mouth relaxed into the suggestion of a smile. His low-voiced, “What letters?” was not harsh at all then, as if his amusement over the hurt feelings remark had softened him.

Encouraged and distracted from correcting her remark, she answered. “Besides the flowers, I sent you three letters asking about the children and a condolence card, and I called here this week and left phone messages three times. One of those times was this morning.”

She hesitated, not certain it was possible that he couldn’t have seen or heard about the letters or the calls. Had he truly not received them? Or was he lying? If he was, then his earlier challenge to her honesty gave her grave concerns about his character, and she was suddenly worried about him raising Amy and Beau.