by Jeanne Allan
Cheyenne didn’t blame Allie for not answering. They’d been having this discussion, admittedly more of a monologue on her part, since yesterday. Every time she thought of Thomas Steele brazenly standing there in her family’s barn saying they were getting married, she wanted to throw back her head and shriek. Break things Break Thomas’s head.
How could he do that to her?
So she’d kissed him. With enthusiasm. She didn’t deny it. Anyone with more brains than ego—which certainly excluded Thomas Steele—would have realized her kisses were the aftermath of being scared half to death and had nothing at all to do with passion or even liking Thomas Steele.
Once she’d thought she’d fallen in love with him. She knew better now. Even she wasn’t stupid enough to fall in love with an egotistical idiot.
Thomas had obviously thought so, announcing they were getting married.
If she never saw him again she’d be perfectly happy. Ecstatic.
“Do you want the last of this cereal?” Allie asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night.”
Cheyenne spun around and stared blindly out the window, hiding her face from Allie. How was she supposed to eat when her insides had been replaced with a huge, aching, black hole?
Maybe she had loved him. So what? It was yesterday’s news.
If he’d cared for her the tiniest little bit, he wouldn’t have treated her so shabbily. He cared about nothing beyond his own selfish need to find someone to care for Davy.
Cheyenne ignored the ringing phone.
It wouldn’t be Thomas. After she’d walked out of the barn, he hadn’t followed her. Hadn’t bothered to try and convince her he loved her. Not that he could convince her. She knew exactly how he felt about her.
The lump in her throat grew painfully large. Allie was right. She had to quit thinking about it. About him.
She’d concentrate on business. Allie could take the day off. Cheyenne turned to her sister.
Allie was on the phone. “Quit laughing, Worth,” she said, laughing herself, “I can’t understand you. What? Yes, the paper’s here. No, we haven’t read... What? Quit laughing. You’re kidding? What page?” She listened a minute. “Sure, sacrifice me,” Allie said and hung up the phone.
“What was that all about?”
“Worth being Worth. Where’s that page?” Allie muttered to herself, leafing furiously through the newspaper. She stopped turning pages, held up the paper and started reading. Chuckles came from behind the paper.
“What?”
“Just a minute.” Allie moved the paper out of Cheyenne’s reach. “Let me finish, then you can have—” A choke of laughter cut off her words.
Cheyenne tried to read over Allie’s shoulder, but her sister bumped her away. “Wait your turn.”
“You’re reading the Want Ads. What can be so funny about them?”
Allie laid down the newspaper. “Start at the top left,” she said, “and keep going.”
Cheyenne read the first Want Ad. Blinked and read it again in disbelief.
Want wife. Has to like little boys, tall buildings, kissing on barn floors, fishing, horseback riding and hopeless men. Room 301, The St. Christopher Hotel, Aspen.
The next ad read:
Want wife. Has to have sport-utility vehicle, dangerous pocketknife, long legs and huge heart. Room 301, The St. Christopher Hotel, Aspen.
The ads continued down the page and spilled over to the next column. And the next and the next. Cheyenne gave Allie a horrified look and kept reading. Each ad was different.
Each ridiculed Cheyenne. This was Thomas Steele’s idea of revenge.
She was going to kill him.
“I can’t decide which is my favorite,” Allie said, “this one or this one” She pointed out two ads in the last column.
Cheyenne hadn’t read that far. She read them now.
Want wife. Has to have frizzy blond—not bleached—hair and muddy blue eyes. Room 301, the St Christopher Hotel, Aspen.
Want wife Has to be busybody with answer for everything. Make my answer yes. Room 301, the St. Christopher Hotel, Aspen.
Cheyenne quit reading She grabbed the newspaper and headed for the front door.
“You might want to change your clothes first,” Allie called.
Looking down at her pajamas, Cheyenne skidded to a halt. She couldn’t np him apart from head to toe wearing pajamas.
Minutes later, dressed for battle in blue jeans and a black sweatshirt, she marched through the streets of Aspen. She hadn’t gone ten feet before it became apparent the entire population of town had read the newspaper and knew who was Thomas Steele’s target. Red flags of mortification waved on her cheeks as she passed friends and neighbors, all of whom could barely control their amusement.
Thomas Steele was going to pay.
Maybe she had interfered. Maybe she should have minded her own business. Not the first time. Nobody could fault her for checking on the well-being of a child. But once she’d satisfied herself Davy wasn’t abused, she didn’t have to stick around and try and mold Thomas and Davy into a family unit. She’d been so certain she knew all the answers.
She knew she’d interfered for Davy’s sake.
Had she?
Or because she’d been attracted to Thomas?
Which proved she was an idiot. Attracted to an egotistical male who hated her so much, he’d plastered his ill will all over the newspaper.
She stoked her anger. Anger left no room for hurt. And betrayal. She could accept he couldn’t love her. Eventually. The pain came in acknowledging he didn’t even want friendship from her. She dashed away a tear. She didn’t want friendship from a jerk like him. She wouldn’t cry.
Not now.
She’d barely beat once on the door to his suite before Thomas flung open the door and hauled her inside.
“Where the hell have you been? Davy, go tell McCall if he puts through one more phone call, unless it’s from a Lassiter, I’ll rip out the phone lines.”
“Okay.” Davy beamed at Cheyenne. “We’re gonna have champagne and strawberries.”
“Go.” Thomas pointed to the door.
“Okay.” Davy continued to beam at Cheyenne. “I wanted to put in about baking cookies, but Uncle Thomas said as long as we can eat your mom’s chocolate cake, it don’t matter if you can bake cookies.”
“Out!”
“Okay.” Davy stopped in the middle of closing the door and grinned at Cheyenne. “I’ll be back.”
Cheyenne gaped at the closed door as the ramifications of Davy’s behavior sank in. She’d been wrong about Thomas’s motivation in placing the ads. The ads weren’t about revenge. Thomas was still trying to force her into marrying him so she could take care of Davy. Totally ignoring her feelings, Thomas had increased the pressure on her. He didn’t think she could turn him down in front of the entire town. Even worse, he’d enlisted Davy. If by some chance, she didn’t care that she was the laughingstock of Aspen, then she wouldn’t turn him down for fear of breaking a little boy’s heart.
As she worked out Thomas’s diabolical scheme, the rate at which she batted her leg with the rolled-up newspaper increased a thousand percent. “I’m not going to marry you,” she said through clenched teeth, “and I want an apology—in print—for that garbage you put in the paper today.”
“What took you so long to read the paper and get over here? People born on a ranch are supposed to get up with the sun. Do you have any idea how many women have answered those ads? The phone started ringing at six-thirty, and there’s been a parade of women claiming to have frizzy hair and muddy blue eyes. Most of them are tourists. What are tourists doing reading the Want Ads in the newspaper? They’re on vacation.”
She couldn’t believe the outrage in his voice. How dare he be outraged! She swung the newspaper at him.
Thomas ducked, grabbed the paper and tossed it across the room. “Wait a minute. Are you mad at me?”
&nb
sp; All power of speech failed her. She could only stare at him.
“I’m sorry. The morning hasn’t gone quite as I planned.” He gestured at himself. “I haven’t shaved, and I know how you feel about knobby knees. I can’t do anything about the knees.”
His hair stood up in tufts, he wore the silk bathrobe, and stubble on his face made him look twice as sexy. She didn’t trust the smile on his face. Thomas Steele didn’t have tentative smiles. He didn’t know the meaning of the word uncertain. He couldn’t possibly be as confused as she was.
Cheyenne backed toward the door. “I came to tell you I want a retraction.” How did one retract a Want Ad? “Or whatever.”
“I vote for whatever.” Thomas beat her to the door and stood in front of it, a solid barrier between her and escape. “Such as you marrying me.”
Quick tears sprang to her eyes. “Let it go. I said no.”
“Say yes.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry. It tears up my insides when you cry. Yesterday—” He cleared his throat. “After yesterday, I think I can deal with about anything. Except you not marrying me.”
“Thomas, don’t...”
“I thought I could walk away from Davy. Yesterday I knew I was lying to myself. I can’t walk away from him. Davy and I need each other.”
She’d longed for him to say those very words.
They cut painfully deep. Why couldn’t he need her?
The way she needed him.
He had the most beautiful throat. And chest. His silk robe slid partially open. She wanted to burrow into his warm body.
“We need you.”
She shook her head without looking up. If she looked up, she’d kiss him. If she kissed him... She loved his bony knees. “You can take care of Davy without me.”
“I know that.”
The simple admission brought her head sharply up. Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. She shook her head slowly. She must be wrong.
“Stop saying no, and listen.” Thomas captured her face and held it immobile between his hands. His eyes blazed down at her. “Whatever happens to us, Davy is moving in with me. What’s between you and me has nothing to do with Davy.”
“Physical attraction,” Cheyenne croaked.
“Hell, yes. It’s all I can do not to tear your clothes off right now, but... Damn it, I’ve been practicing all morning. Let me get the words out.”
She didn’t want to hear. She couldn’t bear it if she was wrong.
His hands pressed against her cheeks, he wouldn’t let her shake her head. “Listen, damn it. I thought I could walk away from you. I was a fool, an idiot, call me whatever name you want, you can’t call me worse than I’ve called myself. You were right. I am stupid.”
She couldn’t have moved if he’d let her. Or taken her eyes from his face. A face which spoke more than words. Hope began filling her heart.
“You have no idea how much I need you. I want to walk into a room and have you welcome me into your arms, the way you welcome Davy. I want to hear your laughter. I want to wake up with your hair tickling my nose. I want you to care about me, to tell me when I’m wrong, approve when I’m right. I want you to bear my children and rock them in my grandmother’s rocking chair. I want to tell you about my life. I want to know every detail of yours. I want to know your favorite foods, your favorite movies. I want you in my life. I want in your life. I need you.”
Cheyenne burst into tears.
Thomas dropped his hands. “I’m sorry.” He stepped around her and walked away. “I know you said you didn’t want to marry me. I thought, I hoped, if you knew I wanted to marry you for reasons other than to be Davy’s mother, it might make a difference to you. I won’t bother you again. I’ll put something in the paper tomorrow. I don’t know what. I’ll think of something.”
Cheyenne turned. He stood at the window with his back to her, his head bowed, his hands braced against the windowsill. She wiped her cheeks and sniffed. “From the back, your knees aren’t that bad.”
He slowly straightened. “What?”
Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she blew hard. “I could probably get used to them if the contract is right.”
“Contract?” he repeated in a carefully neutral voice.
“The one covering all the eventualities. The assets you’re offering me.”
“Are you saying you’ll marry me if we have a contract?”
Cheyenne almost laughed at his incredulous tone of voice. “You haven’t asked me yet.”
He turned slowly. “Cheyenne Lassiter, will you marry me? Will you be my wife for richer and poorer and all that stuff? Will you love me?”
“How could I turn down all those hotel suites?”
He didn’t move. “Yes or no, damn it!”
“Yes.”
He closed the distance between them. Some minutes later, Cheyenne drew back. Not that she wanted to stop kissing him. She never wanted to stop kissing him, but she’d remembered Davy’s words. “Davy,” she muttered, slapping Thomas’s hands aside and pulling down her sweatshirt.
“Let him find his own girl.”
“He said he’d be back.”
“Uh-huh.” Thomas lifted her sweatshirt again and lowered his head.
The man had a one-track mind about everything. “Thomas.” She repeated his name louder.
“What?”
“I love you.”
“Good.”
“You’re supposed to say you love me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh, what? Uh-huh, you know you’re supposed to, or uh-huh, you love me?”
“The latter.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I guess Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
He lifted his head and straightened her sweatshirt. “I love the way you laugh. Your wrinkled eyes. I love your teeth.”
“I am not even going to ask.”
He grinned. “I better get dressed before everyone gets here.”
Cheyenne froze. “Everyone gets here?”
“Didn’t you hear Davy? Champagne and strawberries. Your family should be here by now. Don’t give me that killing look. You already said yes. You can’t back out now.”
She would not respond to that loving smile on his face. If she let him manipulate her now... She folded her arms across her chest. “I haven’t signed anything. Like a contract.”
“Will you quit with the contract? It was stupid I was stupid. There is not going to be any damned contract.”
“I’m not getting married without a contract.”
Her words wiped the remaining remnants of a gnn off his face. “I refuse to believe you want a contract. You know everything I have will be yours.”
She tapped her foot. “I want a contract.”
“Hell.” He strode over to the armoire and grabbed a pad and pencil. “All right Tell me what the hell you want and we’ll sign it right now.” He slammed the pad on the table and sat. “Tell me. Name it. Whatever you want.”
“Number one. From now on, I select your ties.”
“What?”
She pointed to the pad. “Write it down.” She waited until he’d finished. “Number two. You have to say I love you, the words—I love you—by our twenty-fifth anniversary. Write it down. Now sign it.”
He hesitated, then signed his name. Carefully he placed the pen beside the pad, lining the two up with exact precision. “Will it bother you until I say it?” he asked without looking up.
“No. If I can live with your bony knees, I can live with anything.”
Pulling her down on his lap, he brushed aside her hair and framed her face with his hands. “I love your frizzy hair and I love your muddy blue eyes. I love the way you care about other people. I love the way you try and do what’s right.”
She smoothed a tuft of hair. “I love you, too.”
“Wait. I’m not done.” He took a big breath. “Cheyenne Lassiter, I love you. I love you more than I love the Steele hotels.”
Eventually she had to quit kissing him and come up for air. “As much as I love you in that bathrobe, Thomas, you aren’t going to be in it much longer if you don’t quit kissing me like that.”
He gave her a sexy smile. “I don’t mind.”
“Davy and my family might.”
“Damn. Me and my great idea of a champagne celebration.” He lifted her from his lap, stood, then set her on the chair. “Don’t go away while I get dressed.” Through the open bedroom door, he yelled, “I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Steele.”
She knew she had a sappy grin on her face. She didn’t care. The notepad caught her eye, and an irresistible urge to tease him seized her. “I think turquoise with fuchsia and orange stripes will be perfect.”
Knotting a burgundy-colored tie, Thomas stuck his head through the door. “What are you talking about?”
“The tie I’m going to buy you to wear for our wedding.”
His fingers froze. From across the room she watched him swallow.
He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it and tried once more. “If that’s what you want me to wear,” he swallowed again, “then it’s perfect.”
Her man of steel. With a loving heart.
EPILOGUE
THOMAS tipped the bellman, shut and locked the door to the suite at St. Chris’s, then swung Cheyenne up into his arms. He loved the way she threw back her head and laughed. He loved everything about her, from her curly blond hair to the pink toenails peeking from her sandals. “Welcome home, Mrs. Steele.”
She laughed again. “You’re going to throw out your back if you don’t quit carrying me across the threshold of our room in every Steele hotel we visit.”
Besides the one in St. Bart’s, which he hadn’t even signed the papers on, he’d carried her across thresholds in New Orleans and Charleston. Now he smiled down at her. “I love carrying you. When I run out of thresholds, I’ll buy more hotels.”
Cheyenne laid her head on his shoulder. “Have I told you how much I love you?”