His Shotgun Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Abbie stopped abruptly, only a step inside the room. “I thought he was making that up. You mean, he’s not really American? Not really a Texan?”

  “Don’t let any one of them hear you say that. They’re Texans through and through,” Jessica said with a laugh. “They’ve always had dual citizenship because their mother, my aunt Rose, didn’t give up her citizenship when she married the crown prince of Sorajhee. It was a big scandal in their country at the time, but she became a beloved queen in spite of it. Then when King Ibrahim was murdered, Aunt Rose believed her sons were in danger and got my dad to help smuggle the three boys out of the country and that’s how they ended up as Colemans in Bridle, Texas. It’s quite a story, but I won’t drown you in the family history—as interesting as it is—until you’ve been here at least long enough to unpack your bags.”

  Abbie sank onto the edge of the bed as if her legs weren’t strong enough to support her. “You mean, he’s really a…a prince?”

  “Mac?” Aha, Jessica thought, pretending to take no notice that of the three male cousins, Abbie had twice now referred only to one. Of course, she had yet to meet Alex and Cade, and she had just spent the long ride from the airport to the ranch alone with Mac, but still…“Prince of aggravation, if you want my true opinion,” Jess said with an affectionate laugh. “They came to live with Mom and Dad before I was even born, so they’re more like brothers than cousins and Mac is the worst when it comes to teasing me. When he really wants to get me riled, he calls me ‘Husky’ because that breed of dog often has eyes that are different colored and he knows how much I hate having one blue eye and one green one. When he just wants to agitate me a little, he calls me Blondie.” She touched her carroty red hair, wishing it was blond or black, or even a nice sandy-brown like Abbie’s.

  Abbie offered a small smile, but it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere.

  “Well, listen to me, nattering at you about my cousins, when it’s clear you need a chance to catch your breath and get your bearings. I don’t know what’s keeping Mac.” She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him clear the landing and stalk down the hall towards the guest room, a bag under each arm and one in each hand. His whole expression was as dark as a Texas tornado and Jessica couldn’t keep her eyebrows from arching in sharpening suspicion. As curious as it seemed, something unpleasant must have happened between her cousin and her friend on the trip out from Austin.

  “You want to be in or out?” he asked, his tone of voice as tight and short as the check rein on a green colt. “I can’t get all these bags through the doorway with you standing in it.”

  Jessica stepped farther into the room, clearing the doorway for him and his temper. He took two long strides into the room and dumped all four suitcases onto the bed. “Miss Jones. Jessica,” he said, acknowledging and dismissing their presence in three cool-as-icicles words. Then, without a glance at Abbie, who was now surrounded by a motley assortment of luggage, he strode out of the room as if somebody had insulted every single one of his prize Arabians. The thud of his boot heels on the stairs echoed with military precision and then, in final salute to his dark mood, the front door slammed behind him.

  Jessie blinked. She’d never seen Mac act that way before. He could be as charming as a patch of bluebells in the spring, or as haughty as Jabbar, the Desert Rose foundation sire, a black Arabian stallion who, on occasion, took his status as champion entirely too seriously. But she’d never seen Mac be rude to anyone and especially not to a female. And one of her good friends, at that. Her gaze swung back to Abbie as suspicion crystallized and ran rampant in her thoughts. What could have caused the two of them to take such an instant dislike to the other? Could Abbie have inadvertently said something to set off an exchange of words? Maybe Mac had uttered some ill-advised statement. But they’d only just met. What could possibly have caused a rift of this magnitude in a drive of barely an hour?

  Filing away her questions, Jessie indicated the adjoining bath with a gesture. “There’s the bath. It opens into my room on the other side, so just lock that door when you go in, and don’t forget to unlock it when you leave. I’ll get out of here and let you rest a little while before dinner. Unpack or take a nap or a shower, or whatever you feel like doing. I’ll be downstairs in the office, if you need anything or when you’re ready for the grand tour. Dinner’s at six. We’re pretty casual, although Mom has been known to check for dirt on the knuckles or behind the ears, so be forewarned.”

  “I’ll be sure and wash my ears, then,” Abbie said, trying for a smile but looking mainly mad and scared and like the smallest gust of wind would send her tumbling backward into the pile of suitcases. “Hands, too.”

  “Mom will be pleased. She’s looking forward to meeting you, as is everyone. I’ve talked about you so much and they’re all excited that you’re going to help out in the office. I’m so happy you’re here, Abbie. And so glad you felt you could call me when you lost your job. I hope you’ll feel right at home here at the Desert Rose and I want you to stay as long as you want.”

  Abbie’s smile quavered even more at that. “I don’t know, Jessie.”

  “Don’t feel you have to give us any time frame at all. I mean it. You’re doing me such a favor by helping out. I’ve been buried in paperwork the last couple of months and still it keeps pouring in! You may run away screaming when you see my desk. It’s just awful.” Jess knew she was blathering on and on, but the atmosphere was charged somehow with an element she couldn’t put her finger on or identify. “I haven’t told anyone except Mom and Aunt Rose about your being pregnant and losing your job and needing a place to get your thoughts together, so don’t feel as if you need to explain anything to anyone. Not even me.”

  “Not much to tell.” Abbie stood and smoothed the shirt over her belly to reveal the firm roundness of it. “I haven’t even told my parents yet, and look at me. Already as ripe as a June melon.” She sighed. “I’m in such a mess, Jessie, and I’m grateful beyond words that you invited me here, but I just don’t think I can stay. Not now.”

  “You’re staying,” Jessica said firmly. “And if Mac said anything to upset you, I’ll wring his neck in three places.”

  Abbie’s eyes went wide with panic. “No, please, don’t. I mean, why would you think he upset me?”

  Bingo, Jess thought, although she still couldn’t quite tally the clues into a clear and likely conclusion. “Well, no more talk about not staying, then. Get unpacked and don’t worry about a thing. I mean it! You need a couple of weeks to get your thoughts together and decide what you want to do. This is the perfect place. No one will bother you, I promise. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ll probably pester you to death with office work, but other than that, you’ll have plenty of time to rest and make a few decisions. Then, when the moment comes to tell your folks, you’ll know what you want to say.” She smiled broadly. “Now, telling your brothers may be a different story, if they’re as zealously overprotective as you’ve said they are.”

  “Whatever I told you about them was an understatement,” Abbie said with a rueful sigh. “They’re going to drive me crazy with their ideas on what I need to do and when, where, how, and why I need to do it. I’m really, really, really dreading the moment they have to know.”

  “Well, for now, at least, you’ll have some peace and quiet so you can make your own decisions before you have to face them.”

  “I just hope they don’t find me in the meantime.” Abbie opened her purse and pulled out a compact cell phone. “I’m going to use this phone whenever I call home and even then, I’m going to be very careful about what I say. On the off chance they call you, just tell them that as far as you know, I’m spending the summer at a math and science camp in the Catskills.”

  “If that’s your story, I’ll stick to it until you tell me otherwise.” Jess couldn’t help it. She gave Abbie a hug. “This is going to work out great for both of us, Abbie. Everything will turn out for the best, I just know it. Now I’m really get
ting out of here and giving you some time to settle in.” Bouncing on her heels, she grinned at Abbie and walked to the door, looking back to see if her friend’s expression was in any degree lighter. It was. In fact, Abbie was looking around the room as if she couldn’t imagine a nicer place to call her temporary home. “And on the off chance Mac did say something stupid on the drive out, don’t take it personally,” Jessie cautioned. “He’s just been in a very black mood for the past few months.”

  Abbie looked up, startled into a revealing expression. “Mac didn’t say anything,” she declared, too quickly to be believable. “Please don’t mention to him that you thought he had.”

  “Sure thing. There’s soap and extra towels in the armoire by the bathroom door. Anything else you need, just ask. And thanks, Abbie, for coming. It means a lot to me to have you here.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her before Abbie felt obligated to reply. Jessie couldn’t imagine what had happened between her cousin and her friend, but she was determined to get to the bottom of it by noon tomorrow—or give Mac a major headache in the attempt.

  MAC SLAMMED THE DOOR of his pickup, unable to vent the depth of his frustration no matter how many doors he slammed. He’d avoided Abigail Jones and her crass accusations by avoiding everyone. He’d dumped her bags in the guest room, slammed the front door behind him and hightailed it off the ranch. He wanted nothing to do with her and didn’t trust himself to stay away from her, so he climbed right back into his pickup—slamming the door so hard, he was surprised the window didn’t break—and drove off without a word to anyone.

  He’d driven with a scowl all the way into Fredericksburg, where he’d ordered a dinner he didn’t eat and a beer he didn’t drink, and stared out the restaurant window until the waiter asked for the umpteenth time if everything was satisfactory, to which Mac had replied finally “No. No, it isn’t.” Then he’d thrown who knows how much money onto the table to make up for not touching the food and drink and walked out, every bit as miserable as when he’d walked in. Driving west to San Marcos, he’d stopped to skip rocks into the muddy Blanco River, then slammed the pickup door once again and driven a succession of winding roads back to Bridle and the ranch, a round trip of close to two hundred miles. And all he’d accomplished was to shift his mood from black to gloomy gray.

  He figured Abbie had told her lies to the whole family by now, and his absence had only given them validity. But what did he care? His family would stand shoulder to shoulder with him when they knew the truth. He could count on them. If there was anything in life he was certain of, it was that family mattered. Right now, they might all be wondering why he’d allowed Abbie to lure him into the same trap Gillian had set for him only a couple of years before. On the other hand, they might have greeted Abbie’s tale of woe with a sympathetic ear. But once he revealed her for the fraud she was, his family would stand with him against her. He knew they would.

  Of course, it probably would have made things easier for them if he’d stood his ground tonight instead of running like a coward who had something to hide. But he just couldn’t bear the thought of sitting across the dinner table from the woman who’d haunted his dreams for months now, knowing her for the schemer she obviously had been all along. So he ran. Running from the memory of Gillian’s betrayal two years ago. Running from the memory of how sweet Abbie’s kiss had seemed five months earlier. Running from his own traitorous heart, which couldn’t seem to distinguish between lust and love. It was nearly midnight now and for all the miles he’d gone, he hadn’t outrun even one of the voices in his head. Gillian had lied to him. Abbie had lied to him. Women could not be trusted. There wasn’t an ounce of honor among them.

  Okay, so there were a few good ones out there. His two new sisters-in-law, Hannah and Serena, for example. Neither of them would have considered resorting to trickery and treachery to gain the name of Coleman. He couldn’t imagine them staking the life of a child against the possibility of an advantageous marriage, as Gillian had done. As Abbie was doing. His cousin, too, was as moral and honest as any old-fashioned girl, but then Jessie was born a Coleman and had been raised with the proper respect for the truth. Olivia Smith, the young ranch hand he’d taken on as an assistant trainer, was as wholesome as fresh butter and far too good with horses to harbor any deceit. Horses, especially Arabians, had a keen sense of just who could be trusted and who couldn’t. Then, on the list of honorable women, there was Aunt Vi, who couldn’t even tell a fib without blushing a vivid, culpable red. And although Mac had only recently begun to know his mother, Rose, he refused to believe she had ever stooped to duplicity when it came to dealing with his father, or any other man.

  But for every female who deserved a man’s trust and respect, there was another like Abigail Jones. A schemer. A manipulator. A liar. She was lying. She had to be lying, because…

  There was no because. She was as bad as he believed her to be. Worse even than Gillian, who had had, at least at one time, some genuine feeling for him. Gillian’s mistake had been in thinking Mac was so much in love with her he would never believe she could do what she had, in fact, done. Abbie’s mistake was in coming to the Desert Rose, thinking she could manipulate him, and his family, into aiding and abetting her schemes.

  It was just too bad she wasn’t outside with him right now so he could tell her exactly what she could do with her malicious and misbegotten plans. Kicking at a bit of gravel, Mac headed for the darkened house, paying no attention to the sleepy sounds of a hot and humid night. A glimpse of movement, of something white where there should be only dark, caught his eye and he looked toward the lake and the section of dock that extended out into the water. Someone stood there and he told himself it might be his mother, out for a late-night walk around the ranch. Or maybe his aunt Vi, fretting about the fiftieth birthday that seemed to loom large and ponderously on her horizon. But even before the heels of his boots struck the redwood docking, he knew the figure bathed in moon glow was Abbie. Abbie, the schemer. Abbie, the liar. Abbie, with her hair curling loose and dusty gold about her shoulders. Abbie, with her face tilted to the night sky. Abbie, so beautiful his heart actually ached at the sight of her.

  Which was crazy. He had fallen in love with an illusion. The mystery woman he had been dreaming of for five long months had never existed except in his imagination. And here was Abbie to prove it.

  She turned at his approach, her hand grabbing the dock railing, her expression tightening, her eyes narrowing, her shoulders stiffening as if she expected trouble. Well, she was right on that count. She could look like an angel all she wanted, with her hair streaked silver by the moonlight and the shape of her body outlined softly beneath the loose white shirt she wore. He was trouble. And she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.

  “Can’t sleep?” he stopped, directly across from her, and leaned a hip against the railing. Fed by the boisterous Colorado River as it loped lazily through Texas, the lake lapped gently below the dock, lit by the light of a million stars and the shimmer of a moon reflected twice over in the dark water. “Conscience keeping you awake?”

  “Heartburn,” she said succinctly, turning in profile but clearly determined to stand her ground against him.

  “Really? I’ve never been bothered by heartburn.”

  “Yet another example of how Mother Nature allows men to escape responsibility for their actions.”

  “Ah, now. I expected better from you than that old life-is-unfair-to-the-female line. A woman of your imaginative talents can surely do better than that worn-out excuse.”

  Her gaze settled on him, narrowed and cool. “Look, Prince Not Charming, I came out here to be alone with my thoughts, and while I know it’s probably a lot to ask, I’d appreciate it if you left me the hell alone.”

  She was scrappy, he’d say that much for her. “Nicely put, but still just another lie.”

  “Another lie? You think I want you to stay out here and insult me?”

  “I think if you’d wanted me to leav
e you the hell alone, you’d have stayed the hell away from me in the first place.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits and he realized she wasn’t wearing the black glasses, which was why, probably, he couldn’t stop looking at her. That or the rather obvious fact that she didn’t appear to be wearing anything but the oversize white shirt, which was certainly modest enough, although unsettling in its brevity. “I don’t know how you ever managed to seduce me,” she said tightly.

  “Probably because it was the other way around. You seduced me.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it.”

  “No, that’s not the way you want me to remember it.”

  She sighed. “Okay, let me see if I’ve got your version of events down correctly. I planned the whole seduction. Bumped into you at the bar on purpose. Insisted on secrecy—no names, no phone numbers, no personal information. Had my wicked way with you all night, intentionally getting pregnant in the process. Slipped away the next morning, already plotting to run into you, by accident, five months later so I could make nefarious demands on your pristine name and fabulous fortune, which of course, I have researched to the last penny. Oh, yes, and then there’s your oh-so-precious royal blue blood, which I traced all the way back to Lawrence of Arabia. Did I miss anything, Your Highness?”

  He’d spent hours now going over just that scenario and, although it sounded ridiculous the way she said it, he thought there was as much evidence to support his theory as her claim that it was all sheer coincidence. Plus, he had the advantage of firsthand experience on just how duplicitous a woman could be and the lengths she would go to in order to get a wedding ring. “Only one small detail,” he said, attempting to pierce her facade of innocent outrage with a hard stare. “I don’t believe for a second I’m the father of that baby.”