Dude Ranch Bride

by Madeline Baker

  Feeling like a prisoner, he went to stare out the window. From his vantage point he could see a tennis court, a large swimming pool with a Jacuzzi and a waterfall, a lawn that looked like green velvet, a well-tended flower garden, several fruit trees and a gazebo.

  Turning away from the window, he muttered, “You’re in way over your head here, Stormwalker.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Damn, he thought, he was losing his edge if a white woman could sneak up on him. Dressed in a dark pink sweater and a pair of white pants, she looked as fresh as a prairie flower. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, just the way he liked it.

  She cocked her head to one side, regarding him through guileless eyes. “Well?”

  “I don’t belong here.”

  “That again.” In the past, it had been a constant argument between them, his stubborn belief that the differences in their backgrounds and religion would forever keep them apart.

  He shook his head, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “You just don’t see it, do you?”

  She closed the distance between them and slipped her arms around his neck. “Haven’t you heard? Love conquers all.”

  He made a low sound of disbelief. “Sure it does, if you’re Cinderella.” He cupped her nape with his hand, loving the way silky strands curled around his fingers when he slid them through her hair.

  “I believe in happy endings,” she said, smiling up at him. “Don’t you?”

  He kissed her because he couldn’t resist the temptation of her lips any more than he could refuse to draw his next breath. She went up on her tiptoes, her arms tightening around his neck. Her breasts were warm and soft against his chest, and the scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. He drew her up against him, one hand curving over her buttocks, molding their bodies together from shoulder to thigh.

  He kissed her until he wanted more than kisses, and then drew back. “Cinderella wouldn’t have had such a happy ending if she’d married a pauper instead of a prince.”

  Cindy punched him on the arm. “You’re not a pauper!”

  He made a broad gesture that encompassed the house and the grounds beyond. “I am compared to all this.”

  She blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Come on, Pauper, let’s go get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

  He regarded her quizzically. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  She made a face at him. “I can’t,” she said, taking him by the hand. “Come on.”

  They didn’t eat in the kitchen or the dining room, but in something she called the breakfast room. It was located on the east side of the house. The furniture was dark, the chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet. One wall was mostly windows, offering a clear view of the morning sun and the yard. There was an abstract painting on the opposite wall.

  The maid who served them wore a gray uniform. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, making him think she’d probably been with the family for a good many years. She looked at him with barely concealed surprise, obviously somewhat taken aback at finding a stranger at the breakfast table. She recovered quickly and laid out a breakfast fit for a king, asked if there would be anything else, and left the room.

  Ethan glanced at the bounty spread before them. Cindy had told the maid to bring “the usual.”

  He looked at Cindy. “You eat like this every day?”

  “Well, I don’t. But my mom and dad can never agree on what to have for breakfast, so the cook just makes a little of everything and the help eats whatever is left over.”

  Breakfast was practically a seven-course meal. Orange juice, coffee, eggs—poached, scrambled, fried and over easy—bacon, hash browns, strawberry waffles, a basket of rolls and muffins, a plate of pastries. The table was laid with gleaming silver and delicate plates with a flowered pattern around the edges. The glassware was crystal.

  “Where’s the rest of your family?” he asked.

  “Probably still asleep. It’s not even eight yet.”

  “Yeah. What are you doing up so early?”

  “I heard you moving around and thought you might be hungry, or at least in need of caffeine.”

  Regarding her over his coffee cup, he nodded. “Good call. What’s your mother going to say when she finds out I spent the night here?”

  “I don’t know. I know Joe won’t like it, but I don’t think my mother will care. She always liked you.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “Well, not in the beginning maybe,” Cindy allowed. “How long can you stay?”

  He shrugged. “As long as you need me.”

  She smiled at him, and it went straight to his heart. “Then you’ll never go home.”

  He started to reach for her hand, then drew back when the maid entered the room. “Will there be anything else, Miss Cindy? More coffee?”

  “More coffee sounds good. Do you want anything else, Ethan?”

  He shook his head.

  “Just coffee then, Adele.”

  The maid nodded and left the room.

  A few moments later, Joe entered the room. He paused in midstride, his eyes narrowing when he saw Ethan at the table. “What’s he doing here?” He spoke to Cindy, but his eyes remained on Ethan.

  “He’s here at my invitation,” she replied coolly.

  “Does Mother know?” Joe asked.

  “Of course Mother knows,” Claire Wagner said.

  Cindy and her brother both turned as their mother stepped into the room.

  Ethan started to rise, but Claire waved him off as she took a seat beside Cindy. “Sit down, Joe, and stop acting like an ill-bred bore.”

  Joe did as he was told, his expression mutinous.

  “How are you feeling, Mom?” Cindy asked.

  “Better. The hospital just called. They’re going to move your father into a private room this morning.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Cindy took her mother’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “I told you he’d be all right.”

  “Yes, you did.” Claire looked across the table at Ethan. “It’s been a long time,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She gazed at him through eyes much like her daughter’s. “You’re looking well.”

  “Must be that big breakfast I just ate.”

  Claire smiled. “Yes, Maricela is a whiz in the kitchen.” She glanced at the covered dishes in the center of the table. “Did you leave anything for the rest of us?”

  He glanced at Cindy before replying. “Not much. We don’t get meals like this on the rez.”

  Claire laughed softly.

  Joe glared at him.

  “How long will you be in town, Ethan?” Claire asked.

  “As long as Cindy wants me to be.”

  Claire’s gaze rested briefly on her daughter’s face. “I see.”

  “You needn’t worry. I’ll be staying at my mother’s place.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” Claire said, and then added, “At least until my husband comes home.”

  Ethan looked at Cindy’s brother. “Thank you, Mrs. Wagner, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind.”

  The maid came in then, bearing a tray laden with covered plates. She had no more than set them on the table than Joe’s wife and kids breezed into the room.

  Cindy caught Ethan’s gaze. “What do you say we get out of here and give them some room?”

  He nodded.

  “Mom, I’m going to show Ethan the grounds. What time do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “The doctor said we could see your father about ten.”

  “All right, we’ll be ready.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, then took Ethan’s hand and they left the room.

  As soon as they were outside, Cindy put her arms around him. “I’m dying for a kiss,” she said with a saucy grin.

  He lifted one brow. “Are you?”

  “Definitely. I think I shall expire on the spot if yo
u don’t kiss me right now. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

  “Hell, no,” he muttered, and wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her until she was gasping for breath.

  “I may just die anyway,” she said, “but oh, what a way to go!”

  She felt good in his arms, warm and soft. His body reacted the way it always did when he held her, and he drew her close. “See what you do to me?” he asked, his voice thick. “I’m the one who’s dying here.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Hurting,” he said. “Hurting from wanting you.”

  She gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with so much love it made his heart ache. “I can stop the hurt.”

  “Cindy. . .” He buried his face in her hair, tempted for one moment to take what she offered, knowing he would hate himself for it.

  “I’m crazy about you, you know,” she whispered. “I guess I always have been.”

  He groaned softly. “Cindy, honey. . .”

  “Don’t start,” she warned. “I don’t want to hear about how you’re not good enough for me, or any of that other nonsense that pours out of you when things start to get serious between us.”

  He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m afraid of letting you down. I don’t want you to give up what you have here to be with me. I don’t want to be sitting across the table from you years from now and have you hate me because I can’t give you the kind of life you’re used to.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Hear me out. The ranch will be mine one day, but it’ll never make me rich, not the way your old man is rich. I’ll never be able to give you vacations in Europe, or buy you a new car every year—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He looked at the house and the acres that surrounded it, at the tennis court and the pool and the three-car garage. “Are you sure? You’ve seen where I live—a four-room cabin. Can you honestly tell me you’ll be happy living there? Hell, my place isn’t big enough to hold half your clothes.”

  She laughed softly. “Oh, Ethan, I think the question is can you handle living with me?”

  It was a good question, one for which he had no answer. They’d both been careful to avoid the word love, though they’d tiptoed around it.

  “We’ll work it out somehow,” he said. He smiled down at her. “If you can stand being married to a man who doesn’t have anything, I guess I’ll have to find a way to put up with a woman who has everything.”

  He just hoped he could, because he wasn’t sure he could let her go now that he’d found her again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  An hour later, they were on their way to the hospital. Cindy’s mother rode with Joe and his family. Jimmy and Ilsa followed in their BMW. Cindy rode with Ethan.

  At the hospital, he stayed in the waiting room while the family went in to see Cindy’s father. One thing was for sure—her father didn’t need to see him. Just knowing Ethan was in the building would probably give her old man a relapse.

  Ethan sat there for a few minutes, watching some silly soap opera on TV, and then went out to pace the hallway.

  He’d been walking up and down for about twenty minutes when Paul VanDerHyde rounded the corner. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Ethan, and the two men stared at each other across six feet of black and gray tile.

  Paul wore a pair of brown wool slacks, a beige polo shirt and brown loafers. His hair was slicked back. He looked exactly like what he was, vain and rich.

  “What are you doing here?” VanDerHyde asked. He looked Ethan up and down, a pinched expression on his face, as though he’d just found a worm in his salad.

  “Waiting for my girl,” Ethan replied, emphasizing the words my girl. “What are you doing here?”

  Paul snorted contemptuously. “She’s not your girl, and she never will be.”

  “Is that right? As I recall, she went home with me last night. Or should I say, I went home with her.”

  Paul’s complexion went white and then a mottled red as each word struck its target, sharp and clean as an arrow. Head high, he swept past Ethan and disappeared into Jordan Wagner’s room.

  Ethan chuckled softly. “Bull’s-eye,” he muttered, and headed for the coffee machine at the end of the corridor.

  Cindy looked up when Paul entered the room. His face was red, and he looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. He said hello to her mother, who was sitting at her husband’s side, holding his hand. He acknowledged the rest of the family. Joe was sitting across from his mother. Rising, he shook Paul’s hand. Kim smiled and said how nice it was to see him again. The kids, intent on the show on the TV, ignored him.

  Moving closer to the bed, Paul nodded at Jordan. “Mr. Wagner, you’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thanks, son,” Jordan said weakly. “I’m feeling a lot better, too.”

  Paul smiled at him. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Jordan nodded. He glanced from Paul to his daughter. “Have you two worked things out between you?”

  “Not now, dear,” Claire said. Leaning forward, she brushed a wisp of hair from his forehead.

  Cindy looked at Paul, standing at her father’s bedside as if he belonged there. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was standing on the outside watching someone else’s family. Her father had accepted her embrace when she first arrived. He had been glad to see her, she had no doubt about that, but he had been cool, the air between them strained with the memory of their last conversation.

  She stood abruptly, feeling the need to get out of there, away from all of them.

  Her mother looked up. “Where are you going, honey?”

  “It’s crowded in here. I thought I’d step outside for a few minutes.”

  Her mother nodded, a knowing expression on her face

  Cindy moved to the bed and squeezed her father’s arm. ‘I’ll see you later, Dad.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything until Paul started to leave, too, and then he grabbed hold of Paul’s hand. “Stay.”

  Feeling jealous and relieved, Cindy left the room. Closing the door behind her, she stood there for a moment, taking slow deep breaths, and then she went in search of Ethan.

  She found him at the end of the corridor, gazing out the window. Just looking at him made all her senses come alive. Her heart beat faster, her skin felt warmer, there were butterflies in her stomach. Ethan.

  He must have seen her reflection in the glass for he turned slowly as she approached him. His gaze moved over her, and then he frowned. “What’s wrong? Is your father. . .?”

  “No, he’s fine.” She moved into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest.

  His hand automatically stroked her hair. “What is it, darlin’? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it. I was sitting in there, looking around, and. . .” She shrugged. “I looked at my father and my brother and I suddenly felt like I didn’t belong. I looked at them and they were strangers, all of them except my mother, and suddenly I had to find you.” She wrapped her fingers around his arm, reassured by the familiar strength she felt there. “I listened to Joe talking about his business and how well it was doing, and I watched Kim’s face and I knew she was thinking she’d rather have less money and more of her husband’s time. And I knew then that that was what my mother had tried to tell me on my wedding day, when she said Paul would never make me happy, that there was more to life than just the things money can buy, and. . .” She looked up at him. “And I love you.”

  “Cindy!” His arm tightened around her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I need to get away from here for a little while.”

  “Okay by me,” he said.

  They were waiting for the elevator when Paul came up behind them. Cindy glanced at Ethan, then at Paul, and prayed the elevator would come s
oon.

  “I can’t believe this is what you left me for,” Paul said, sneering. “The Marlboro Man on steroids.”

  “Paul,” she said wearily. “Just let it go.”

  “Your father will probably disown you if you marry this creep. And then what will you do? Go live on the reservation like some squaw and produce a dozen little redskin brats?”

  A muscle clenched in Ethan’s jaw. “My people don’t like the word squaw.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Paul!” Cindy glanced around, aware of the nurse’s station only a few yards away.

  “I’ll handle this.” Slowly and deliberately, Ethan put Cindy behind him.

  “My mother lived on the reservation. I think you owe her an apology. And Cindy, too.”

  “I don’t care what you think,” Paul said with a sneer. He grabbed Cindy, his fingers digging into her arm. “Tell him to get lost.”

  “Paul, let go! You’re hurting me.”

  “Take your hand off of her,” Ethan said, his voice deceptively mild.

  “Mind your own business, you dirty redskin.”

  “She is my business,” Ethan said, and without warning, he drove his fist into Paul’s face.

  Paul shrieked as blood spurted from his nose.

  The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Grabbing Cindy by the hand, Ethan stepped into the car and pulled her in after him.

  “How could you?” she asked as the doors closed. “I think you broke his nose.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t break his neck.”

  She stared at him a moment and then, as the tension flowed out of her, she began to laugh. “If we’re going to have a dozen kids, we’d better get started.”

  He grinned down at her. “Are you proposing to me?”

  “I guess so. Should I get down on one knee?”

  “No. Should I?” His expression turned serious as he took both of her hands in his. “Will you marry me, Cindy?”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O, but no sound emerged.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes! Do you mean it?”

  “I mean it. I love you, Cindy. I never stopped.”

  She threw herself into his arms and he stumbled backward, his arms locking around her waist. “And I love you!”