Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy

by Linda Goodnight

  The jitters danced up his arms again. The wedding.

  As the cab pulled away beneath a cool morning sun, Holt stewed. How was he supposed to handle this wedding thing? It was essential to convince Jacey that the marriage was real, but he didn’t want to upset AnnaLeigh either. She didn’t want a big wedding fuss any more than he did.

  Thanks to his overzealous daughter, the whole charade had gotten out of hand.

  But, he reminded himself, this wedding business required only one day. One brief afternoon, to be exact. He could do this. He could pretend to be a happy groom in love. Because of AnnaLeigh’s easygoing, accommodating sweetness, he’d done a pretty good job of it so far.

  What difference would a few more hours make?

  AnnaLeigh had never felt more nervous nor more like a fake in her entire life.

  She slid shaky palms over the sleek, fitted wedding dress she’d allowed Jacey to choose.

  She’d drawn the line at the child’s first choices—Cinderella ball gowns with yards of train and tulle—and narrowed the choices to two elegant but simple tea-length dresses, sans train. Jacey had chosen the fitted one with the jewel neckline and lacy sleeves.

  She had to admit she loved it.

  She almost felt like a real bride.

  “You look beautiful, Miss AnnaLeigh.”

  Beautiful? No way. Perhaps more presentable than she’d been in days, but definitely not beautiful. Any woman looked better in a pretty dress and heels with her hair swept back on the sides and held with a pearl-and-crystal headband.

  AnnaLeigh smoothed her hands over the silky material once more. The dress was impractical and expensive, but she loved it. This was as close to a real wedding—and a real wedding gown—as she’d ever get. Better try to enjoy it.

  She and Jacey were inside the dressing room of one of the many wedding chapels scattered up and down the Las Vegas strip. The white wooden building resembled a real church, and she wondered if church service was held here or only weddings. The sanctuary had already been decorated, the same decorations dozens of couples had likely used. White tulle and bows festooned the short, wooden pews while tall, lighted candelabras fake-flickered on each side of the platform. A giant cross hung on the front wall.

  She hadn’t planned on any of this fuss and bother. But because of Jacey’s enthusiasm, she was scrambling to give the child the fairy-tale wedding she desired. So was Holt.

  How crazy was that? An entire sham of a wedding to please a six-year-old?

  That’s how much Holt McNeil loved his daughter.

  A man who could love like that—AnnaLeigh slammed her eyes shut, stopping the thought. Today was about mutual need and a business deal, not love.

  As a reminder of that fact, she’d kept to Holt’s rule number three and used her own money to rent the dress instead of buying it. Why keep a dress that had no meaning?

  “You’re the one who’s beautiful,” she told Jacey. “Look in the mirror.”

  The exuberant six-year-old twirled in a circle, grin so wide her freckles consolidated into one small beige spot on her nose. She was adorable. The mothering part of AnnaLeigh’s deal with Holt would be easy. She already loved her new daughter.

  “Take my picture. Take my picture!”

  Grabbing her phone, AnnaLeigh snapped several photos, including a selfie of the two them, before a knock sounded on the dressing room door.

  Her heart jerked. It was time.

  She was about to marry a stranger, about to become a mother to this rough-and-tumble cowgirl who looked like a princess in her white-and-pink ball gown and white patent shoes.

  All the moisture sucked from AnnaLeigh’s mouth. She licked her lips, grimacing as she tasted the lipstick she rarely wore. Pink to match Jacey’s sash, the basketful of rose petals, and the pink flowers AnnaLeigh had laced through the child’s shoulder-length curls.

  A hand to her belly to still the shakes, she pulled in a steadying breath.

  “Ready?” She turned her focus to Jacey. This wedding was for her. And for the baby no one else knew about.

  Jacey grabbed her basket, spilling petals as she yanked the door open. “Let’s go!”

  AnnaLeigh touched the child’s shoulder, slowing her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  If she didn’t throw up first. And the nausea had nothing to do with morning sickness.

  Knees trembling, she tried to take pleasure in Jacey’s energetic joy as she tossed flowers down the chapel’s very short aisle. The child practically jitterbugged to the familiar piped wedding music. There were no guests, only a paid witness, but the little girl didn’t seem to mind. She decorated the empty pews with flowers and then tossed a few petals into the air, letting them rain down on her as she gazed upward, laughing.

  When Jacey reached the front of the chapel, AnnaLeigh lifted her eyes to the waiting man. Her heart lurched.

  Cowboy gorgeous, Holt had dressed up, too. For Jacey’s sake, of course. Black vest over a long-sleeved white shirt, a black hat, and a gleaming belt buckle above new jeans and the shiniest black boots she’d ever seen.

  He even wore a tie, and he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

  Sudden, unexpected strains of the Wedding March jolted through Holt like lightning through a tree trunk. He cleared his throat, once, twice.

  Watching his delighted daughter prance down the aisle had made him smile. Looking at AnnaLeigh, sleek and classy in a dress that displayed curves he didn’t know she had, took his breath.

  For one second, one teeny, infinitesimal second, he forgot she was hardly more than a stranger. He saw her as his bride. A beautiful bride. Which was entirely wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be pretty. That was part of the deal. He wasn’t supposed to notice the smooth curve of her neck, the graceful way she moved, or the pink quivering lips.

  He settled there, on those quivering lips. She was nervous. Or maybe she was scared. Of him. Of this insane decision she’d made to marry him. The thought turned in his chest. He didn’t want her to be afraid. He kept his promises. He’d be good to her, provide for her. He wasn’t a monster.

  He longed to hold her and promise again to be a good husband.

  While his heart thumped, his beautiful bride glided toward him clutching a pink bouquet tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her hands trembled.

  That did it.

  Holt stepped toward her, eyes on hers.

  In a whisper designed only for her ears, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  She licked her pink lips and swallowed. “Yes. Are you?”

  The question curved his mouth. Was he okay? Not even close. “All good. We got this.”

  He glanced down at his daughter, whose green eyes glowed with happiness. For her, anything.

  Taking his bride’s elbow, he guided her into place before a short, round minister with smile wrinkles in his dark brown face.

  “Dearly beloved,” the man began, his Spanish accent pronounced.

  “And me too,” Jacey piped up. “I’m the flower maid.”

  The minister’s smile set his wrinkles into action. “Dearly beloved and beautiful little flower maid, we are gathered here in the sight of God, our Father, and in the sight of this witness…”

  Holt didn’t hear another word. God was watching. Jacey’s prayers had led them to this moment. Even though his pulse rattled and he could barely catch his breath, Holt had to believe he was doing the right thing.

  Hadn’t God arranged marriages in the Old Testament? Isaac and Jacob, for certain. Boaz and Ruth. Moses, too. They barely knew their wives before the wedding, especially poor old Jacob, who’d had a big surprise waiting under his bride’s veil.

  Right. Exactly. None of the love and romance stuff until after the marriage.

  Not that he’d change his mind about that either.

  Every cowboy was nervous on his wedding day. It was natural. Just as it was natural to think his bride was breathtaking, even if he barely knew her.

  He slid a glance at AnnaLeigh.
She’d pulled her hair up on the sides and curled the ends over one shoulder. The hairdo accented her profile, her feminine chin and cheekbones and long eyelashes darkened by mascara. Her lips, those full pink lips, hung open slightly as if she couldn’t breathe either.

  He’d already thought she was a nice woman. Why’d she have to look so pretty?

  It freaked him out a little.

  Vaguely, he heard his name and tuned back in.

  “Is there a ring?” the minister asked.

  Holt fumbled in his vest pocket and produced a white-gold band embellished with trinity knots and tiny diamonds. He didn’t know what had possessed him to buy any ring at all, especially this one that held significance to his Celtic roots. Jacey, he supposed. She’d say he couldn’t get married without a ring. And he didn’t want anyone thinking he was too cheap to buy a nice ring for his wife.

  At the minister’s instructions, he turned to face his bride, taking her hands in his. They repeated some words he’d never recall, but he got the gist. Marriage was not to be entered into lightly. It was a binding, eternal commitment ordained by God.

  He swallowed. Hard.

  AnnaLeigh’s fingers were cold as he slid the ring into place. It was too big. His fault for not asking.

  She stared down at the ring for several long seconds before raising her eyes to his. Hers swam with tears. Oh, man. Tears. Not good. Was she upset because the ring didn’t fit? Or crying because she’d made a big mistake in marrying him?

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Kiss her? Why hadn’t he seen that coming? Fear stampeded through his chest, a herd of wild mustangs.

  What if he kissed her and liked it? What then?

  Thinking fast, he leaned in, grazed AnnaLeigh’s cheek with his lips while trying not to notice her sexy perfume and the velvety softness of her skin.

  “Daddy.” Jacey’s voice was insistent. “Like in the movies.”

  Right. The charade. This was a play for his daughter’s sake. He didn’t have to like the kiss. Wouldn’t let himself like it.

  Taking AnnaLeigh’s face between his hands, he pressed his lips to hers. She made a tiny, breathy noise.

  And the earth moved.

  AnnaLeigh’s head swam. She staggered. Holt’s strong hands gripped her shoulders.

  “Hey, now.” His voice was soft, whispery against her mouth.

  She opened her eyes, only now aware that she’d closed them when he had kissed her. Really kissed her. Kissed her like he’d meant it. She hadn’t expected that.

  The man was a good actor.

  And she was a total fool to let a quickie wedding and an experienced kisser rattle her bones and shake her resolve.

  He was a handsome, popular cowboy. He’d kissed plenty of women with enough feeling to make their toes curl and their heads swim. She should nix the wishful fantasies.

  A pair of childish arms embraced her waist. “You’re my mommy now!”

  To hide her befuddlement and calm the pounding, throbbing of her pulse, she avoided Holt’s gaze and crouched in front of her new daughter. Her silky dress rustled. “I have always wanted a little girl exactly like you.”

  To further unsettle her, Holt crouched too, balanced on his boot tips. She felt him at her side, brushing her shoulder with his, his scent making her dizzy all over again.

  “Got you a present,” he told Jacey.

  The child cocked her head. “But AnnaLeigh is my present.”

  “Yes, she is. So to commemorate this day, I got you this.” He held out a small square jewelry case.

  Jacey lifted the spring-loaded lid.

  Inside was a small heart locket with engraving AnnaLeigh couldn’t quite read, but she recognized today’s date. This was quality jewelry from a jeweler.

  When had he found time to shop for a ring and necklace?

  “Oh, Daddy, I love it. Put it on me. Put it on me.” Jacey whipped around, a swirl of tulle and chiffon.

  Holt hooked the little necklace, his manly hands appearing big and strong against his daughter’s tiny back. “Meant to give it to you before the wedding, but…well…” He shot a glance toward AnnaLeigh.

  He’d been as nervous as she was.

  For some reason, she found the silent admission reassuring. Endearing, too.

  Holt rose and reached out a hand, pulling her to her feet. He shifted on his boots, glanced to one side and then back to her. Here was the awkward cowboy she’d first met.

  Thank goodness. Mr. Suave and Charm was doing crazy things to her head.

  “I bought one for you, too.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  He handed her a jeweler’s case. “I thought you and Jacey…I don’t know. Matching necklaces seemed appropriate.”

  The nerves came back.

  AnnaLeigh’s hands shook as she opened the box to an adult-sized locket almost identical to her new daughter’s. The edges were embellished with the same unique design as the wedding ring, the inside engraved with today’s date, a small diamond sparkling in the center. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

  With an odd quirk to his mouth, Holt took the chain from her and made a circle in the air with one finger. AnnaLeigh turned around. As her new husband’s fingers grazed her neck, goose bumps skittered over her skin.

  The kiss had stunned her. The necklace made her want to weep.

  9

  Through the next few minutes, AnnaLeigh held back the tears. She wasn’t a weeper. She took life on the chin and kept on moving, head up.

  She’d taken her bad situation and done something about it, something scary and unorthodox, but not as scary as letting her ex-boyfriend get his criminal hands on her child. Alan would never find her now. She was Mrs. Holt McNeil. AnnaLeigh McNeil.

  After some paperwork, on which she signed her new name, she moved in a daze down the aisle toward the exit, Holt’s steady hand at her back. His touch unsettled her further. Could he feel the occasional shudders that ran through her body?

  Outside the chapel, a hoodie-wearing opportunist with a fancy camera waited to snap photos. Jacey danced and twirled in the sunlight with such happiness that AnnaLeigh looked at Holt and laughed. At least one person was delighted with the marriage.

  The child paused long enough to blow bubbles from a tiny bottle at the newlyweds and proclaim to the photographer, “I have a new mommy.”

  She twirled again, trailing iridescent bubbles in her wake.

  The photographer grinned and snapped her photo again and again while she pranced and posed. Smart man. Holt wouldn’t resist such pictures of his child.

  Sure enough, Holt took the man’s card and stuck it in his back pocket. She didn’t even want to look at the poses between her and Holt.

  As they headed to Holt’s truck, Jacey tugged their hands together. “There. That’s better.”

  The adults exchanged glances. Holt pulled her to his side and nuzzled her ear, his breath warm and ticklish. The fantasy fairies started up again. The dress, the venue, the jewelry, and the cowboy had her momentarily envisioning the impossible.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  The fantasy flew out into the busy street and died beneath the heavy traffic.

  Another fake pose, another moment of pretense for his daughter’s benefit.

  Which was exactly what AnnaLeigh had bargained for.

  And since that was the case, why did she need, so desperately, to cry?

  The rest of the Vegas trip was a whirlwind of rodeo events, swimming with Jacey, shows and music, and the crowded shopping at Cowboy Christmas, an enormous collection of venders that sold any and everything the western-oriented shopper could want. Holt told her he’d bought his rustic windmill clock there a couple of years back, as well as Jacey’s saddle.

  “A great place to Christmas shop,” he’d said.

  So she did, confident that there she could buy something he and Jacey would like. It was strange buying gifts for a husband and child
and hearing people comment on her unique wedding ring. She wondered if she should buy one for Holt but decided against it. He probably wouldn’t wear a ring.

  The trip home was driven straight through with stops only for food, gas, and the bathrooms.

  Fighting queasiness again, AnnaLeigh managed to keep her problem to herself and took her turn at the wheel, letting Holt rest. He’d burned the candle at both ends during the days in Vegas, and, if the glassy red eyes were indicators, he was exhausted.

  Miles and traffic flashed by in a blur of headlights and darkness. She glanced at her sleeping husband—his head against the window, his handsome face relaxed, his scruff growing out again.

  Husband.

  She’d married a good man. A man who’d agreed never to love her, never to be a real husband to her.

  By the time they arrived at his ranch, now her residence, though it would never really be her home, second thoughts tormented AnnaLeigh.

  Her only consolation slept beneath her ribcage. Her baby had a good man for his daddy. He was legally a McNeil.

  Though the other worries came, fears that Holt might kick her out and divorce her when he discovered her secret, she clung to the here and now and the fact that she and her husband had signed a contract. He’d promised to protect and provide for her for the rest of their lives. Her baby was part of her. Didn’t that count?

  She had to believe Holt McNeil was a man of his word. It was all the hope she had.

  Over the next week, Holt threw himself into his work. He had no choice. Vegas had proved to a success business-wise, and he gave God all the praise and all the credit for opening so many doors. He was truly thankful. But the workload was immense.

  Hired man at his side, he leaned on the fence railing inside his arena barn and watched a young bull buck at a mechanical dummy. Arena dust stirred in his nostrils.

  Business, however, wasn’t on his mind at the moment. His thoughts were on his new wife.

  They’d had fun together in Vegas. She was friendly and uncomplaining. Interesting too. In the scarce moments of free time late at night or over dinner, they’d had some conversations about rodeo, raising kids, life in general. His new wife was nobody’s dummy.