COURT-APPOINTED MARRIAGE

by Dianne Castell

  From the look on Pru's face right now and the bits and pieces of conversation drifting his way, Brice figured she was giving her relatives the same lecture he'd just delivered to his—go home, stay out of trouble and leave us alone.

  Brice touched the corner of his left eye, testing the discomfort level. Right now it was registering about four on the ouch scale. His lip had diminished to a three. This was the best he'd felt in the past few hours, except for when he'd kissed Pru. Kissing her had been unexpected ecstasy.

  When she'd parted her lips and his tongue had grazed hers for only a second, he'd never felt better in his life. In spite of the pandemonium it would have caused, he'd felt an almost uncontrollable urge to make love to her right there in the middle of a Randolph-McCormack fistfight, surrounded by screaming ladies and overturned flowerpots.

  Blast it all! Why did he feel this way? He and Pru weren't in love. They weren't even in like. How could Brice even be attracted to Pru? Then he looked at her, standing on the courthouse steps, and knew the answer to his own question. She had a great body, sexy-as-hell lips, and an energy and confidence that intrigued him more than that of any other woman he'd ever met.

  Brice gave himself a mental shake. He'd just have to ignore Prudence Randolph's desirable attributes—he'd ignored them for the past twenty-eight years, hadn't he?—and concentrate on the aspects of Pru that drove him nuts. Then they could get through this marriage business till Willis realized the error of his ways, and they could part company and forget this marriage ever happened.

  "Well," Brice said, when Pru came his way. They were the only two left on the courthouse steps, and a single overhead lamp swung gently to and fro, casting shadows against the columns. "You have any suggestions what we should do tonight?"

  Very deep sigh. "Run away, change our names to Smith and join the French Foreign Legion?"

  He felt a grin coming on. "We'd never make it over the county line before old Willis would drag our sorry butts back. Leaving our families alone right now would turn Serenity into a first-class war zone." He raked his hand through his hair. "I suppose we should scrap our honeymoon plans."

  Pru gasped. "No honeymoon? Not that!" She put her palms to her cheeks and shook her head. "I was so looking forward to the cattle auction in Amarillo. Woe is me."

  He folded his arms. "Hey, I can't help it if I had that auction planned for months. I need a bull."

  A devilish smile rippled across her face. It unnerved him when he saw Pru like that. It was as if he got a glimpse of some part of her that he didn't know at all.

  She said, "It seems to me, cowboy, there's already more than enough bull at the Half-Circle."

  "Cute."

  "Couldn't resist." She planted her hands on her hips. "You do know the McCormacks threw the first punch in this little altercation over at the Powder Keg tonight, don't you?"

  "Cripes, Pru." His grin faded, right along with hers. It was back to business as usual. "Only after your uncle Roy pushed Granddad off his bar stool. That was a heck of a thing to do."

  Her eyes widened. "Is that what Wes told you? Ha! He was so inebriated, he fell off that stool. He's trying to blame—"

  Brice threw his hands in the air. "All right, all right, all right. I'm not into arguing with you right now. It's going on midnight, and I'm too dog-tired to fight about our families." Was this lawyer-woman really the sweet, innocent-looking, barefoot bride who'd walked down the aisle to marry him? The one who nearly knocked him off his feet with one kiss? What had happened to transform her back into the attorney from hell?

  Defending the Randolphs—that's what had happened. Then again, defending the McCormacks didn't exactly turn him into Mr. Wonderful. Their first allegiance was, and always would be, to their families, and that didn't leave room for much compromise between the two of them.

  "We can spend the night at the River's Edge Inn—it's just around the corner."

  Pru's slacks and blouse were mussed, and her fancy wedding hairdo had been reduced to a mass of auburn springs. He'd never realized her hair was so … lively, since she always wore it pinned up or pulled back. Who would have thought someone so perfectly neat and organized had hair that was anything but.

  Pru said, "If we go to the inn, we'll have to ask for two rooms."

  She shook her head, freeing a few more strands to curl around her face. Damn, he liked her hair.

  She continued. "It would take about ten minutes for that tasty little morsel to get dished all over town, and our cover as the lovey-dovey couple would be blown. Willis would never believe it was an accident, and things would be worse than ever. We'll spend the night at my apartment—you get the couch."

  "But—"

  "And I've been thinking about where we should live. Twin Pines has some great condos. In the morning we can look for a permanent residence there."

  Pru started down the stairs, but Brice caught her arm, turning her toward him. "Hold on there just a minute, city girl."

  "Now what?"

  "For openers, I'm not spending the night at your place, connected to your dad's house and next to your uncle Roy's. I like my head and other vital body parts attached where they are, thank you. And," he rushed on before Pru could interrupt, "what made you think we're going to live in town in some damn condo?"

  She wrinkled her nose, looking confused. "Of course we're living in town. I've always lived in town. And in case you forgot, that's where I work. Town it is."

  "In case you forgot, I run the Half-Circle. I can't live here, especially in a condo." The thought of such a confined place made his stomach turn. "How does anyone survive in those damn little boxes that all look alike, anyway?"

  She put her nose to within an inch of his. That was as tall as her tiptoes would make her. Her breath warmed his lips, and her eyes danced in the moonlight. Pru was one damn attractive female, but he still wasn't living in any pigeonhole condo.

  "Apartments and condos are great," she said. "And as for the Half-Circle, you can drive there in your macho black truck. That's what roads are for. If there's a problem, heaven knows there are lots and lots of McCormacks around the ranch to handle things. And," she added, "hear this, cowboy, I may have had to marry a McCormack, but I'm not living on McCormack land, ever."

  "Tell you what, we'll just solve this the democratic way—we'll flip to see where we stay." He pulled his fifty-cent piece from the watch pocket of his jeans, then tossed it in the air, calling "heads" before Pru could object. "Gee, Pru," he said as he gazed at the coin in his palm, "it's—"

  "I don't give a rat's behind what that coin says, I'm not living in a ranch house, and definitely not a McCormack ranch house."

  She looked tired but full of fight. Could this day get any worse? "You're a McCormack now, don't forget."

  Fire blazed in her eyes. Hmm, guess that wasn't the best thing to say. Her face took on a purple-red hue. She was going to pop something if she wasn't careful. She tried to speak but words refused to come out.

  "Ah!" she finally managed to say. "Like I want to be a McCormack? That name is yours, and you can keep and put it—"

  "Got a piece of paper and a pen in your purse?"

  "What in the world for?"

  He gave her an exasperated look. "Do you or not?"

  "Good grief," she mumbled, then snapped open her bag. "I've got a pen." She held it up.

  Brice searched his pockets, locating a scrap of paper.

  "What's that?"

  He tilted it up to the dim light. "Looks like a receipt for Big Al's Buffalo Wings." He looked closer. "Double order. Extra spicy. Side order of chili fries with cheese and a large soda. Sounds mighty tasty about now."

  Prudence huffed. "What in blue blazes do buffalo wings have to do with all this? And," she added, nodding at the paper, "I can't believe you really ate all that and lived."

  "That's man's food."

  "No wonder women live longer."

  He snatched the pen from Prudence's fingers, turned the receipt over and held it aga
inst one of the wood columns. Then he wrote.

  He could feel her gaze on him. More times than not he could feel when she was looking at him or even when she walked into a room. Must be some sixth sense from being in each other's hair for so damn long.

  She asked, "What are you doing? We have a problem here that's not going to be settled over buffalo wings—that much I can tell you."

  "Just hold your horses a second, will you?" He wrote a few more lines, then handed it to her. "Here—" he said. "Now you don't have to worry about living in a 'McCormack' ranch house. There's a new barn and a farm house on some property we bought last fall. It added land to our west range, where I intend to raise some stock on strictly organic grains. Anyway, the place is about five miles outside of town." He nodded at the paper in her hand. "I just deeded you the house. It's yours, for as long as we're married. Now will you agree to live in it?"

  She stared at the paper, then at Brice, then back at the paper. "You gave me a house?"

  "Yeah, city girl, I gave you a house, a ranch house. The old Dullard place. It's yours."

  "You really gave me a house?"

  Her eyes were so big and blue. Even in the dim light he could see their clear, bright color that reminded him of a Texas summer sky. A twinge of guilt that he tried to ignore rippled across his shoulders. He had to stay on the Half-Circle, no matter what it took. No one knew the operation the way he did, and everyone depended on him. "So, can we go now, or what?"

  She looked a little less tired, and Brice's guilty twinge felt more like a quake when she said, "We have to live somewhere—guess it might as well be in my … house. I never had a house of my own before." She skipped down the steps, heading for her Lincoln parked at the curb. She called over her shoulder, "Did you decorate the place yourself or have someone do it for you?"

  Decorate? Maybe he shouldn't have called it a house. Maybe he should have said … cottage. Yeah, cottage would have been better. It was kind of a woodsy place, as he remembered from when he and his new cow pony had bunked down there in the rain storms and cold weather. Couldn't leave his horse in a leaky barn now, could he? Then he recalled how the house hadn't been much better. 'Course, he'd built a new barn since then, but the house—

  "Does it have a nice yard?" Pru asked, sounding much too cheery for Brice's peace of mind. "I haven't seen the Dullard place since I was a kid." She stopped by his truck and looked up at him, then smiled.

  Aw, hell! Did she have to smile? Brice ambled down the steps. "The house is hard to find at night. The road's not in the best of shape. I'll drive us out. We can stop by the Willises' and get your things on the way, then pick your car up tomorrow."

  As he helped Pru into the truck, he decided he should have called the place a cabin. Cabin would have been much better. Sandbagging his new wife on her wedding night wasn't a very nice thing to do, even if she was a Randolph. Besides, there was also the possibility that once Pru saw the … house … cottage … cabin, she might strangle Brice with her bare hands.

  Married life had some mighty serious pitfalls, especially if the marriage was between a Randolph and a McCormack. Brice had the unsettling feeling that this was to be the first of many.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Prudence held on to the dashboard of Brice's pickup and tried to steady herself, as it bounced into another pothole. "Jeez, where is this house of mine, anyway?"

  "We're almost there."

  The truck lurched again, making her head snap back as if it were spring-mounted and her hand slip, landing on Brice's thigh. His firm leg muscles flexed under her fingers. His body heat radiated through his worn-smooth jeans, instantly warming her from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she slid her hand away.

  How could just touching Brice make her feel so … hot? Something was wrong with the truck, like a malfunctioning heating system, she decided, because she certainly wasn't that enamored with Brice. So he was a great kisser. Lots of guys were great kissers. And the fact they were married didn't change that he was her arch enemy. He was still the very same person her father had always compared her to, the one person she never quite measured up to, the one person she had prayed would run away from home and leave her in peace. She refused to be attracted to Brice McCormack now or ever, married or not.

  The truck lurched again, and this time she kept her hand on the seat. "Well, you're right about one thing—my Lincoln would never make it up this road."

  "This isn't exactly a road. It's what's called a two-track 'cause it's only wide enough for one wagon leaving two tracks in the dirt." Low branches swished across the windshield, momentarily plunging them into darkness, cutting them off from the illumination of the headlights. "You should get a truck. Something with four-wheel drive. Lincoln's a sissy car, anyway."

  "Hey, watch that sissy stuff. My Town Car has spunk, grit and fights rush hour with uncommon valor. The Lincoln stays."

  "Pru." He glanced sideways at her. "Look around. This ain't town."

  He had a point. "So this house, is sort of … rustic, then?"

  "Rustic? You could call it rustic."

  Prudence watched Brice for a moment. He looked tense, even edgy, and seemed to be getting edgier by the minute. But it had been that kind of day. How many grooms got a split lip and black eye at their own wedding, then had to bail their kin out of jail after the ceremony? Brice would feel better once they got to the house, she was sure of it.

  "Dark as sin out here." She hadn't seen a street or traffic light or any kind of light anywhere since they'd left town.

  "Look up." Brice pointed outside.

  "Where? It's all black."

  Big sigh. "Just look up, will you."

  She gave an indignant sniff, pressed her nose to the glass and peered into the darkness … and the moonlight. She'd seen moonlight before, of course, but out here it was … brighter … bigger. There were stars, lots and lots of them, winking at her between the clouds. Was that the Big Dipper? Maybe it was the Little Dipper. It was some kind of dipper, and it was really nice and all, but she'd give a week's salary for the glow of fluorescent and neon that meant civilization was close.

  "You know," she said, "living out here's going to take some getting used to."

  Unexpectedly, he took her hand, squeezing her fingers hard but not enough to hurt. "I want you to try—really, really try—and remember that."

  Remember? The only thing she could remember at the moment was that Brice was holding her hand. His grip was strong, his palm rough and capable, his touch … memorable. Drat! She didn't need memorable.

  "Here we are," Brice said.

  Good grief, she hadn't even realized the truck had stopped. The headlights silhouetted a large tree, a line of broken fence and the side of some kind of dilapidated outbuilding.

  "Well, the fence needs work," she said, "but the tree's nice." He held her hand tighter. She hoped for an attack of amnesia. "That barn thing is really a wreck. I'm surprised you'd put those prize McCormack cattle you raise in a place like that."

  "I wouldn't. There's a new barn over there." He hitched his chin in the opposite direction.

  "You use this place for storage?"

  "It can be useful in emergencies. Pru—"

  "Whatever it is, it's a real eyesore. A liability. Burn it."

  "B-burn it? But you haven't seen the back, and look at that wraparound porch. It has a fine porch. Missing a few steps and some floorboards, but still a great porch."

  "Forget the porch." She wished she could forget Brice's hand over hers. It felt wonderful. Too wonderful. "This place will devalue your house, make that my house, and—"

  "Pru, this is the house." He drew in a deep breath. "The one I just deeded to you."

  Slowly she turned sideways and stared at him. She wanted to see the laughter in his one good eye that said "gotcha" because he'd pulled a joke on her. But his eye wasn't laughing. His lips weren't smiling. The m
an was dead serious.

  "You have the nerve to call this … this pile of boards, this good excuse for a bonfire, this mess, a house? Even a McCormack wouldn't call this a house."

  Brice rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess it's a little more rustic than I remembered."

  "You're a louse, Brice McCormack, you know that? A big fat, conniving louse. How could you drag me all the way out here for … for this? No wonder you deeded it to me." She pulled her hand from his and punched his arm, sure it hurt her more than it did him, since he didn't even flinch.

  "It's like you said—it just takes a little getting used to." He turned off the engine.

  "I was expecting the Ponderosa, Little Joe, Hoss, pretty pine trees and long lines of fences. This is just another McCormack trick to get what you want from a Randolph—to get me out here on your precious ranch so you can be close to your precious cows. No wonder Randolphs don't trust McCormacks."

  And to think that just moments ago, she'd felt all warm and fuzzy with him holding her hand. What was wrong with her? She knew better than to ever trust a McCormack. Hadn't her father drummed that into her head along with her ABCs and how to read the stock market page? There had to be some fitting retribution for Mr. Brice McCormack, like a noose hanging over a tree limb.

  Prudence plopped her head against the back of her seat and closed her eyes. "If I killed you dead, not a jury in the land would convict me."

  "Look, Pru, I have to stay at the Half-Circle. It's spring, and the ranch needs me. Things are always going haywire in the spring. I thought if you saw the house, the land, the moonlight—"

  "For crying in a bucket, Brice!" She pried open one tired eyelid and glared at him. "There are tons of McCormack kin to run the Half-Circle."

  "I run the Half-Circle, Pru."

  His voice was determined and full of conviction. And deep down, she knew he was right.