To Tame a Bride

Caitlin’s mother had just died and her father didn’t care about her either. With so much in common, they’d bonded to each other instantly. Madison had been so grateful for Caitlin’s unconditional friendship that she’d cried herself to sleep with happiness every night that first week.

Madison blinked away the sentimental sting. Caitlin... The painful moral dilemma she’d been wrestling with for weeks sent another wave of chaos through her heart. Could she truly forgive her cousin and dearest friend for what she’d done? Only the distraction of her mother’s phone call could have quieted that chaos and given her a strong enough focus to ignore it.

She walked into the library and paused to close the door. The moment she was certain she was alone, she dashed across to the big desk and snatched up the telephone receiver. She hesitated before she spoke, squeezing her eyes closed, trying to moderate her excited breaths to sound completely normal and composed. Her pulse rate accelerated until her heart battered her chest.

Her quiet, “Madison St. John,” was as unaffected as she could make it. She gripped the phone receiver so tightly that her fingers ached.

“Hello, Maddie! My goodness, you sound so grown-up—how are you, dear?”

Rosalind’s question was a practised social opener, not one she seriously wanted an answer to. Madison forced a smile into her voice and came right back with a saccharine, “How are you, Mother? You sound wonderful.”

“I’ve remarried,” Rosalind burst out, as if she were too happy to contain herself.

Madison lowered herself slowly to the swivel chair behind the desk and bit her lower lip viciously as she listened to her mother’s excited voice.

Rosalind had remarried. How many husbands did that make now? Her new husband, Roz said, was a very rich older man who showered her with attention and fun and the most exquisite gifts. His grown children adored her, and she was now a grandmother.

“Stepgrandmother, of course,” Rosalind chirped on. “Of course, no one can believe that I’m old enough to be a grandmother—” She paused to laugh at that. “I get so tired of everyone constantly remarking that I look too young to be a grandma. I’m thinking of simply claiming that I’m their mommy. Oh, they’re such little dears—three of them now—two precious, precious little girls, and one very handsome little boy...”

Madison bowed her head, hurt beyond words. The “little dears” must have had the good fortune to be born beautiful. And God, three of them!

“Hastings is eager to meet you, dear,” her mother went on, oblivious to the painful silence on Madison’s end of the line. “He wants you to come up to Aspen for the weekend. All the children will be here—”

Madison lifted her head as an agony of hope and excitement stormed through her. She’d never ever been invited anywhere by her mother. She was acutely aware of how long it had been since she’d even seen Rosalind, because some part of her heart had kept constant track. Twelve years, three months, a few odd weeks, a handful of days...

The reminder sent a flash of outrage through her as the truth dawned. The new husband—Hastings?—must have asked more questions than any of Roz’s other men had had the sense to. Rosalind probably felt compelled to summon her ugly duckling daughter to her side. Had she somehow found out that Madison had at long last grown into a swan? Maddie knew instantly that she would be expected to parade herself before Roz’s new husband and stepfamily to provide her errant mother with some sort of legitimacy and standing with them.

Hastings must be a billionaire.

The cynical thought came naturally to Madison. Her mind darted between the only two options she had, yes or no.

Yes, I’ll come today... No, you never wanted me...

Yes to the glimmer of hope? No to the nightmare of pretense. The pain and resentment of a lifetime gave her pride a hard nudge.

“I—I don’t know when I can get away,” she made herself say.

“Oh dear, we’ll only be here until Sunday afternoon!” The coaxing whine Madison had forgotten stirred up more old anger and made her grit her teeth.

“I’ll see what I can do, mother. It’s so hard to get away on such short notice.”

Rosalind was oblivious to the little dig. “Oh, sweetheart, do please try. Hastings and the children will be so disappointed. I’ll be just devastated if you can’t come up...” She let her voice trail away as if she’d become too emotional to go on.

Someone on Rosalind’s end of the line must have been close enough to eavesdrop, which accounted for her Oscar-worthy performance. Madison was suddenly and profoundly sick to her stomach.

“I’ll try, Mother,” she finally got out.

“Oh, that’s my darling.” Roz’s tone switched so quickly to business that she confirmed Madison’s suspicion that Roz’s pleading just seconds ago was a puton because she had an audience she wanted to impress.

Roz prattled off a series of directions to the Aspen residence—one of Hastings’s five homes in the U.S. Madison didn’t bother to write them down. Because they were her mother’s words, she’d remember each one as if they’d been carved on her heart with a dull knife.

Clearly confident that Madison would rush to Aspen, Roz ended the brief conversation and hung up.

Madison sat stiffly, dazed, her heart still beating wildly, her stomach still heavy with nausea. The dial tone droned unnoticed for several moments. Finally, she realized she was still pressing the receiver to her ear. She pulled it away and reached over to set it in its cradle. Her hand was shaking violently.

Madison retreated to her room and spent most of Friday pacing. How could Rosalind expect her to fall all over herself to get to Colorado? How could she possibly stay away? The dilemma tied her in knots that seemed to be spiked with thousands of sharp little pins.

She wrestled with the choice, reliving the pain of a lifetime, so wary of opening herself for more that she was literally unable to reach a decision that didn’t make her feel ill. By the time she went to bed that night, her head was pounding. She managed to sleep only because she’d worn herself out.

By morning, she convinced herself that she had to go to Colorado, and called the airlines in San Antonio to book a flight. She soon discovered that the world had conspired to keep her in Texas at least another day.

At first, she was merely annoyed that every flight with connections to Colorado was booked. By midmoming, she was desperate. She’d tried to hire a private flight out of Coulter City, but there were no local pilots available that day, no matter how much money she offered.

Just as she was about to pack and drive to San Antonio to wait on standby or hire a private flight from there, someone from the local airport called her to report that a private pilot had a cancellation and might be available for hire.

Madison rushed upstairs to her room where a maid was hastily packing her clothes.

“Not the gray silk, Charlene,” Madison said irritably as she snatched the delicate blouse from the garment bag and tossed it aside.

Her nerves were ragged and her tone was sharper than she’d meant, but she ignored the impulse to apologize and paced the room for a few moments while she supervised the packing. It was better not to become too approachable. She didn’t want to encourage a personal relationship with any member of her staff. She’d made that mistake in the past and had lived to regret it.

Growing more restless by the moment, she stalked to the bathroom to gather her toiletries for herself—she never trusted a maid with the task of ensuring that every one of her makeup and hair care items were packed.

Finally, she changed her clothes. She selected a red cotton blouse and a pair of khaki bush pants. The lowheeled hiking boots she chose were made of finegrained leather and lightweight suede. Ankle high, the boots had been chosen more for their chic, outdoorsy look than any true practicality, but they went well with the outfit.

Insecurity made her freshen her makeup, check her polished nails and carefully brush her hair before she scrutinized her image in the mirror. Would her mother even recognize her? Madison turned her head this way and that, searching critically for a glimmer of the homely child she’d been.

Her frequent trips to San Antonio to have her dull blond hair tinted a bright shade just short of platinum was well worth her time and money. She was fanatical about frequent touch-ups and trims. The sleek, collar-length pageboy cut, with the back trimmed slightly shorter than the sides, was simple, elegant and easy to maintain.

Her complexion was clear and the array of skin care products she used kept it flawless. Her delicate features had evened out, her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight after years of braces, and her slim figure was femininely curved and rigidly maintained by a careful diet. Only the deep blue of her eyes was the same.

Thrilled that the image in the mirror would surely exceed anything her mother could have hoped for, Madison grabbed her handbag and small case, then rushed from the bathroom. Her luggage had already been taken down to the car.

Her heart was pounding with excitement and dread by the time she settled on the backseat of her Cadillac and the chauffeur closed the gleaming black door. In seconds, they were speeding through Coulter City to the small airport past the edge of town, and Madison was so nervous that she felt light-headed.

“What do you mean, you can’t fly me to Aspen?”

Though the cultured feminine voice wasn’t loud or shrill, it carried from the tarmac on the airstrip side of the hangar to where Lincoln Coryell had parked his Jeep. He instantly recognized the cool, acid-edged tone and felt his good mood sour.

Madison St. John, the reigning queen of Coulter City, was obviously struggling to comprehend the word no. A grim smile slanted his lips as he lifted his gear out of the Jeep and shut the door.

Beautiful, elegant, and filthy rich, Ms. St. John should have been one of the most sought-after heiresses in Texas. Instead, men avoided the razortongued shrew as diligently as they would a hill of fire ants. Any man with sense found out right off that no amount of money was adequate compensation for the hell he’d have to endure to tangle with her. A fortune hunter or two had been brave enough to try, but she had the ability to send any man foolish enough to get near her running for the nearest mesquite patch.

She couldn’t be much older than twenty-three, but she viewed the world with the cynicism and arrogance of an embittered woman twice her age. Her grandmother, Clara Chandler, had been the same way, though age and meanness had made her far worse.

Madison hadn’t always been the way she was now. Linc had worked on the ranch her grandmother had owned years ago. He remembered Maddie St. John as an awkward, stick-thin adolescent with straggly hair and a mouth full of hardware. She’d been a sweet kid then, shy, soft-spoken, and polite to everyone.

But that sweet, shy girl had grown up into a spoiled, self-indulgent beauty, so changed that there was no sign that the child she’d been had ever existed.