by Dara Girard
Jameson heard the distinct sound of a camera lens coming into focus. “I don’t want to make you regret taking that picture,” he said.
He heard a gasp of surprise and hid a grin.
“Not even just one?” a feminine voice said.
Jameson pushed his hat back and looked up. The voice belonged to a citified version of a Southern belle, from the French twist in her hair to her expensive leather heels. “No.”
“It’s just that I’ve never seen a real live cowboy before.”
“How do you know I am one?”
“You look the part.”
He sighed. Most people were as shallow as a dried-up creek. “Looks can be deceiving.”
The attractive lady lifted her camera and flashed a flirty grin. “Come on, just one little picture as a souvenir.”
“I’m being polite now, but I can be mean. I can guarantee you don’t want to see that side of me.”
Something in his tone wiped the smile from her face. The woman tucked her camera away in the large designer bag slung over her shoulder and hurried to her car.
Jameson raised his glass, as if offering a silent toast of victory, then took a drink, wishing he could get rid of all the outsiders as easily.
“Don’t you think you’re laying the surly cowboy act on a bit too thick?” Brooke said behind him.
Jameson stiffened, annoyed that the sound of her voice sent a fissure of awareness through him, then he quickly recovered himself. “It’s not an act. It’s how I am.”
Brooke sat down in front of him. “You weren’t always like that.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Me, too.”
He lifted a brow, doubtful.
“I’ve gotten older, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed.” A little more than I want to. He sipped his drink and looked around. This place was more Wes’s scene than his. If he’d really wanted to be left alone, he should have gone for a ride. Yes, a long trek up one of the mountains would have been a better option. Instead of having to listen to the sound of raucous music emanating from the saloon and being bothered by uninvited women on the street.
“Dance with me.”
Jameson took a long swallow, his gaze focused on the street. “Why?”
“People are already talking. I think we should add more chapters to this story.”
Jameson finished his drink and set the glass down. “I don’t dance.”
“I can teach you.”
He stood. “Bye.”
“Don’t you think we should have one date before we get married?”
Jameson looked at her confused. “Date?”
“Yes. We should at least show people that we’re a couple.”
“They’ll know for sure the moment you walk down the aisle. I have nothing to prove.”
“Please.”
Jameson studied her for a moment. She was being sincere and he knew he was disappointing her, but he didn’t dance well and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself for anyone. Besides, he was tired. He’d gotten up at four in the morning and it had been a long day. But she was right, they should give the town something to talk about. And he needed to show his father that marrying Brooke wasn’t some twisted plot of revenge. He looked inside the bar then thought of an idea. “Darts.”
Brooke frowned. “What?”
“You once asked me to teach you how to throw darts.”
Brooke threw up her hands in apparent exasperation. “Jameson, that was years ago. I must have been twelve.”
“Well, I’m ready to teach you.” He grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside and headed over to the dartboard.
Jameson patiently told her the rules of the game, then showed her how to hold the dart and aim. “It takes practice, but it’s fun. Now you try.”
* * *
Brook took a dart, threw it with the skill of a champion and hit the bull’s-eye. “You mean like this?” She threw another dart, again hitting dead center. “Or like this?” She threw it a third time. “Or maybe like this.”
Jameson rested his hands on his hips. “I didn’t realize I was such a good teacher,” he said in a dry tone.
Brooke laughed, pleased that he didn’t mind her teasing. “I couldn’t wait around for you, so I found someone else to teach me.”
“Who?”
“You wouldn’t know him.”
“Him?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“No.”
Brooke wished it did. She wanted him to be curious, even a little jealous, but he wasn’t. Jameson left after giving her a quick peck on the lips, just for show. Maybe she shouldn’t have shown off. She liked having him trying to teach her. She remembered her back pressing against his chest. The feel of his strong hand steadying her arm. She didn’t blame the lady visitor for wanting to take a picture of him. He may not appreciate attention from the fairer sex, but he certainly encouraged it without effort. He was a fine specimen of a man.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and saw a waitress holding out a tray with a drink. “This is for you. It’s from the man over there.”
Brooke turned and saw Mitch grinning at her. She took the drink and walked over to his table. “What’s this for?”
“I thought you’d need the courage to keep this charade up.”
“Charade?”
Mitch nodded to the dartboard. “That was quite a show you two put on, but it won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know this engagement thing is a fake, and if your marriage lasts longer than a week, I’ll eat my hat.”
Brooke smiled, pressing back a sense of unease. “Good. I’ll be there to grill it for you.”
* * *
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jameson went to bed in a nasty mood and woke up in an even meaner one. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sly grin Brooke had given him at the bar after hitting three bull’s-eyes. Each time he felt as if she were aiming at his heart. No, not his heart, much lower than that and to a much more delicate part of his anatomy. He’d been turned on by the shape of her butt in her tight-fitting jeans and the feel of her soft skin under his fingers as he taught her how to hold and throw a dart. He could still smell her perfume.
He’d gotten too close, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had to stay away from her. Unfortunately, Brooke didn’t give him the opportunity. She showed up on the ranch the next day while he was busying himself looking over some of the calves.
“I forgot to tell you something.”
Jameson stiffened. Wasn’t marrying her enough? “What?”
“It’s about my studio.”
He felt himself relax and returned his gaze to the herd. “What about it?” he asked absently as his gaze focused on a calf that looked listless. Not a good sign.
“I need one. Can I have a space in your house?”
“Hmm.”
“Jameson, are you listening to me? It’s important that I have the space I need.”
“You’ll get it,” he said, noticing another calf that didn’t look healthy. It wasn’t playing or running like the others. “Excuse me.”
“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked, following close behind him.
He walked over to the calf and pointed. “Tell me what you see.”
“She doesn’t look good.”
Jameson silently swore. They’d had a great calving season, but it was still a delicate time for the newborn calves. He had to keep constant watch for broken bones from being stomped on by the herd or for infections. He still felt bad about the call from his foreman, telling him he’d lost a horse he’d hoped to rescue and the second one was still touch and go. He didn’t need more
bad news. He walked over and pulled the skin on one of the calf’s necks. It lacked the elasticity he expected, meaning it was dehydrated. He watched Brooke do the same with another calf.
“This one is dehydrated, but I don’t see any of the others looking as bad.”
Jameson called over a ranch hand, Frank, and they checked the calves’ body temperatures. They were running too hot. “Separate these two,” he told Frank. “And you know the rest.” Jameson and Frank knew they’d need to get the fluids the vet had provided to the calves quickly in order not to lose them.
“Brooke,” Jameson said with a note of apology. “We’ll talk about the studio later. Okay?”
“No problem.”
The following day the calves were doing much better, but Jameson’s mood hadn’t improved much. He kept thinking about Brooke checking the calf for dehydration. She’d sprung into action without him asking her or telling her what needed to be done. It had felt good to have her at his side...too good. He couldn’t afford to feel this way. He had to think business. He called his lawyer. “I need you to do something for me. Fast.”
The next day Jameson sat in Brooke’s front room with a legal prenuptial agreement and a pen ready. It was two days before their wedding, and he wanted to get something settled. “I need you to read this agreement, then sign,” he said more brusquely than he meant to.
Brooke lifted the papers. “What is it?”
“A business agreement. This will protect you as much as it does me.”
She set the papers down. “I don’t need to sign.”
“If you want this marriage to go through, you will.”
“I don’t want anything from you except to save my legacy.”
“Then sign and there won’t be a problem.” He knew that people’s intentions could change. He was sure she meant well now, but he’d been burned before, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of trusting a woman twice. “This is strictly business. As your father stipulated in his will, we have to stay married for at least a year. After that we’ll part ways and you’ll get your ranch.”
“You certainly know how to make a girl feel wanted. I’ll sign, but you can’t keep treating our relationship this way.”
“What way?”
“Like we’re business colleagues.”
Jameson nodded, pleased with the description. “That’s essentially what we are.”
Brooke lowered her voice, although no one was around to overhear. “Only we know that, but others can’t think so. If I sign this, I need you to play the part of my husband. A devoted husband.”
Jameson shrugged with nonchalance. “I can do that.”
“Prove it.”
“I did. In the saloon—”
“You treated me like your kid sister,” Brooke interrupted. “Not your fiancée. Mitch is already laughing about how fake this engagement looks and he’s sharing his opinions. What does your family think?”
“I guess you have a point,” Jameson agreed with reluctance. “Okay. I promise I’ll play the role so you get to keep your family homestead.” He held the pen out.
Brooke shook her head. “I said prove it.”
Jameson looked around. “Why? Nobody’s watching.”
“Then it’s a good time to practice, don’t you think?”
“Practice what?”
“Being a husband.”
Jameson waved the pen. “And you won’t sign until I do?”
Brooke crossed her legs and sat back with a satisfied grin. “That’s right.”
“Quite a negotiation tactic, but you have a lot more to lose than I do.”
“I grew up with a rancher, I know that most things in life are a gamble. One just needs to weigh his or her options.”
“When you gamble you should make sure the odds are in your favor. What makes you think I’ll do what you ask? What will you do if I say no?”
Her grin widened. “You won’t.”
“You sound sure about that.”
“I am because I know you like a challenge as much as I do.”
Jameson raised his brows. “You think you know me well?”
“Am I right?”
He folded his arms. “Okay, so you want me to act like your husband?”
“Devoted,” Brooke added with emphasis. “Convince me that I’m yours.”
“That shouldn’t be hard.”
“Let me see you try.”
“I don’t ‘try.’ I succeed.”
“So far you’re all talk.”
“You’re right.”
Jameson didn’t move. His arms remained folded. He didn’t move closer, but the air suddenly became still and charged with an electric heat like the coming of lightning. Brooke felt her throat grow dry as his gaze lazily appraised her in a way that was both intimate and naughty. His eyes undressed her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. But just as quickly as the expression came it disappeared and his face turned into a bland mask.
“Did you find that convincing?” he said in a flat tone.
Brooke could only nod, her mind spinning. She wanted to “practice” some more, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask him to. She’d been surprised she’d been able to get him to show false affection even once.
Jameson handed her the pen, a smile hovering over his lips. “Ready to say ‘I do’?”
Brooke took the pen from him, with slightly trembling fingers. She’d been ready for years.
Chapter 5
He dreamed about her that night. Jameson hadn’t dreamed about a woman in years. Usually around this time of the year he was focused on making sure the machines they used for feeding the cattle were in order. Instead, he replayed the sight of Brooke sitting in her front room, daring him to act like a devoted husband. He could tell by the flush on her cheeks that he’d made his point, but he’d burned himself in the process. He’d let himself imagine her riding on a horse, naked with her wild hair covering her like a Midwestern Lady Godiva. Then he pictured her naked with her hair pulled back so he could clearly see the curves of her body, her breasts and... He swore. The problem was he shouldn’t have pictured her naked at all.
That wasn’t part of the bargain. He had to take the lead in this. He had to be responsible. She trusted him. Jameson pounded his pillow then stared at the far wall. He didn’t trust closing his eyes yet. It must be all the wedding preparation that had gotten him off his game. It had altered his train of thought. Once he was married things would return to normal. For now, all that mattered was keeping Brooke’s ranch.
* * *
She dreamed about him that night, but it wasn’t like any dream Brooke ever had of Jameson before. Her mind didn’t wander to white dresses and wedding rings. She didn’t think about walking down the aisle or holding his hand. No, she didn’t dream the dreams of a young girl, but that of a woman. A woman whose secret love for a man had turned into something more. Something even she had never envisioned. Something raw, wild and thrilling. In her dream she made that brief look of lust that had entered his gaze real. She made him want her in a way he’d never craved a woman. She made his eyes fill with a passion so intense that he vowed he would never let her go. And in her dream, he saw her as more than just a challenge or even a possession. She was his true desire. Not her sister or the BWB, just her.
* * *
Mitch was about to take a nap on the wraparound porch of the Palmer property when he saw a sight he never expected to see: Steven Broward walking up the drive.
Mitch stood up. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Steven said as he took a seat next to him. “Tell me what you know.”
Mitch hesitated. “About what?”
“Brooke. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been spreading rumors about her relationship
with my son.”
“I wasn’t spreading rumors.”
“You don’t think it’s real and neither do I. Did you ever see them together?”
“No, but I’m usually working. She’s not my daughter to look after.”
“Do you know of any reason why this marriage shouldn’t go through?”
“No, sir.”
Steven was quiet for a long moment then said, “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
Mitch nodded, but Steven didn’t move.
“Is there something else?” Mitch asked.
“Yes, has anyone been asking you about this property?”
“You should ask Brooke about that.”
“Don’t try to BS me, Mitch. We both know you know a lot more about what goes on around the Palmer homestead than she does.”
It was a truth Mitch couldn’t deny, even though at that moment he wanted to. “Yes, there’s been interest from buyers but that’s no different than what others here in Granger are saying.”
“What are they saying?”
Mitch shrugged. “Just that it might be time to sell and move on.”
“You’re not telling me much.”
“Because there’s not much to say, really. I don’t know who the buyers are, just that they represent people, I don’t know how many, with a lot of money to throw around.” Mitch couldn’t help a grin. “Something you’d know a lot more about than me.”
Steven didn’t return the smile. “I would like to know why.”
“Why people are selling?”
“No. Who has caused this sudden interest in buying up land in Granger and why.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
Steven sent him a long look. “Nothing about Brooke and Jameson or these ‘secret’ investors, hmm? You know, there used to be a time when I knew all the landowners, and we never had to worry about anyone thinking of selling off their land. There was an unwritten rule that the heirs would inherit the land and everything would stay in the family. I guess it was foolish of us to think nothing would change. Even my own son got caught up in this money grabbing.”