“You can just hush!” Orla retorted brokenly, shooting him a wounded look. “You’re not my husband or my fiancé or even my boyfriend! So, I’ll cry if I want to, you overgrown bully, and there’s not a single, solitary thing you can do to stop me! In case you missed it, I’m now homeless because of you,” she wailed.
“Well, hell,” he mumbled, running a hand down his face and tugging at his beard thoughtfully. It appeared that he’d screwed things up royally with this little ball of fury. Seeing her sniffle and wipe her eyes, he opened his mouth to try and console her, only to be cut-off by his step mother.
“Jethro, do be quiet before I decide it would be better just to rip out your tongue entirely,” Lydia hissed, moving to the younger woman and wrapping one arm around Orla’s narrow shoulders. “Dear, you do have a home. With us,” she said, shooting Jethro a quelling look that promised him grim death if he so much as uttered a syllable while she held the tearful, young woman against her side. “If Jethro won’t marry you, I’ll simply hire you on as my companion and my youngest son’s nanny. It’ll be a live-in position and I’ll make arrangements in my will for it to be a position that continues after I’ve passed on.”
“What?” Jethro yelped, shocked. There was no way he could see this woman day after day inside his own home and not end up hauling her into his bed. Hells bells, he might as well marry her if that’s how Lydia intended to address the problem of his unwanted mate.
“You heard me,” Lydia returned sharply to her stepson. “This girl is going to be a part of our family in one way or another, Jethro. I promise you that. After you ran off every viable bridal candidate in the area, I had to broaden my search. After months of looking for the perfect woman, I managed to find you a wonderful potential bride, you ungrateful wretch. And, true to form, you’re doing your level best to scare her off, too. Well, this time, I won’t have it!” she spat, her gaunt face filling with color. “I’ve probably only got months left, boy. You heard the doctor last month just like I did. I know you don’t want to think about it, but my cancer is spreading. And by God, before I die, I’m going to make certain Hawthorne has a decent female figure in his life before I depart this Earth. You’re simply not enough, honey. I know you want to be, but you’re stretched too thin as it is on the farm.”
“Mother, that doc doesn’t know everything,” Jethro rumbled, his face tightening with pain as the thought of losing her, too, chilled his blood.
“He knows enough, Jethro. Listen to me. That farm is too much for one man, alone. Not even your daddy, God rest his soul, could run that spread on his own. He had you. He had me. He had help. Besides, a boy as energetic as Hawthorne needs a mother figure to help settle him. Now, I’ve gotten to know this young lady through her letters, and I know down to my soul that she’s a good, God fearing girl with only the best of intentions. She wants a family to call her own, and we have one in desperate need of some feminine influence. Now, I’ve chosen Orla to fill my place when I’m gone. It’s what I want. My dying wish, mind you, if that’s what you need to hear. Either marry her or prepare to pay her for the next six years because she’s the woman that I want raising Hawk when I’m gone!”
Jethro frowned. He hated being backed into a corner, but what Lydia said was true. He couldn’t finish raising his younger brother alone and keep the farm running all on his own. Hawk was a good kid, but with only Jethro as his example once Lydia passed, he wasn’t sure what would happen to the kid. “Damn it,” he muttered as he gestured toward the small woman. “Look at her, Lydia. She won’t survive the first winter out here. She’s nothing but skin and bones.”
Orla’s jaw dropped and her small body stiffened. “I’m a perfectly normal-sized woman. I can’t help it if you grow ‘em large up here in the hills.”
Lydia chuckled. “That’s it, darlin’. Don’t let that big oaf cow you! Speak up for yourself,” she whispered in Orla’s ear.
Lifting a hand to tug at his beard thoughtfully as he considered her, he couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Even worried out of her mind over her current predicament, Orla still stood up to him. Not many, woman or man, were brave enough to do that. His height and breadth alone usually were enough to silence most folks before they ever opened their mouths. But not this brave little bit of fluff. “Simmer down, tidbit. I suppose I’ll have to marry you after all. I don’t hire women, and even somebody as surly as me can’t walk away and leave you homeless,” Jethro returned, his deep voice rough as he met Orla’s wet eyes.
“Don’t do me any favors,” Orla mumbled, wiping at her damp cheeks with the back of her hands.
“Oh, I’m not. Being married to me isn’t gonna exactly be a picnic,” Jethro warned truthfully. “It’ll be hard work each and every day of our lives, but in return, I’ll take care of you. Put a solid roof over your head and decent food in your belly,” he promised firmly.
“Yes, you’ve made it fairly clear that being married to you will be the toughest job I’ll ever know,” Orla sassed tartly. “Especially since you’re already such a trial to my patience.”
Lydia clapped her hands in approval as Nellie hooted with laughter from behind the counter, a burst of lively Christmas music suddenly sounding from the radio on the scarred counter. “This is wonderful. I’m so glad you’ve seen the light, Jethro. Since we got off on the wrong foot, maybe we should take a moment and formally introduce the two of you. Jethro Ellison McKinnon, it’s a pleasure to introduce you to your fiancée. Orla Jane Pearson,” she said proudly, squeezing the younger woman around the shoulders. “Now, I hate to do this,” she continued quickly although her tone made it plain that she wasn’t the least bit sorry for what she was about to say, “… but, I promised Sister Goodkind that I’d stay with her tonight.”
“What?” Jethro balked, jerking his head toward Lydia. Was the woman crazy? She couldn’t possibly be considering dumping him with his gorgeous future bride for the night. That was insane. He was no saint, and his mother knew it, damn it! There was no way he’d be able to stay in the house with her, unchaperoned, and not find his way between those slender thighs of hers by nightfall. Orla Pearson might be a trial to his patience, but she was also a temptation he’d be hard pressed to resist. Because even though his head knew better than to wander down that road, his cock emphatically disagreed.
“Oh, now. Don’t start carrying on so. You’ll have Hawthorne there to watch over you two, and it’s not as if you won’t be wed by…”
“Wednesday,” Jethro supplied gruffly. “It’s the only day I can spare the time,” he added when Orla inhaled sharply.
“Wait!” Orla gasped with eyes that nearly bugged out of her head. “Wednesday? As in, this Wednesday? The day after tomorrow - Wednesday? I thought the letter I received said the wedding would take place a week from today?” she asked in a voice that grew progressively higher with every word she spoke. Shaking her head, it was clear the insolent man in front of her had no idea how much work went into having a wedding. Sure, she had no family, but it was clear that he did!
“Well, since I didn’t actually pen that letter, I’d say those plans are null and void,” Jethro replied with a bitter smile.
“Wednesday or a week from now, it’s all the same, doll,” Nellie chuckled from behind the counter. “Either way, you’re marryin’ the same ruffian,” she declared with a nod to where Jethro stood tall, his posture as rigid as a board.
“Listen, on Wednesday, I can spare the time away from the farm. We’ll have the tobacco strippin’ done this evening, we’ll carry it to sale tomorrow, and on Thursday, the hands and I are raising the frame on the new barn for the west pasture. So, if the Tidbit here wants my ring on her finger, I’ll be putting it there in two days’ time,” Jethro growled with a hard look at Orla. “No sooner and no later,” he continued, unwilling to compromise since being married to her or anyone else was the last thing he wanted to do anyway even though his dick strenuously accused him of being a big, fat liar. “But, you do need to come home with us
tonight, Mother McKinnon. I hardly think the church’s womenfolk will consider my twelve-year-old brother to be an adequate chaperone and you’d hate for there to be any kind of nasty talk about your future daughter-in-law.”
Lydia waved an unconcerned hand in the air. “By the time any ugly town gossip could start, you’ll already be safely wed. Goodness, you’ll even be married before the next Sunday service! It’s perfect. Besides, you know how lonely Sister Goodkind’s been since she lost her husband, Frank. The ladies of the church decided that we’d organize to each spend a night with her during the week. Tonight is my night and I need to do it since I’m feeling fairly well. Jethro, you’ll need to take Orla back up to the house, show her around, and get her set up in the spare bedroom across from yours. I made it up this morning.”
Stunned speechless, Jethro could only stare at his wily stepmother. “That sure you could manage me to your satisfaction, were you?” he asked narrowly, his jaw clenching as he met the undaunted older woman’s stare.
Lydia offered her stepson a wry look. “I was married to your father, child. If I could handle him, you’re darn right that I can manage you, too.”
Jethro wanted to groan. As a thirty-one-year old man, he was obligated to hate it when she referred to him as a child. “I think we both know that I haven’t been a kid for quite some time, Mother McKinnon.”
“And yet, when you open your mouth lately, all I hear is a spoiled little boy that’s determined to avoid his most important chore,” Lydia snapped. “Now, I insist that you start showing your future wife some of the legendary McKinnon charm that your father was famous for. By the time I come home tomorrow, I want to see this wonderful girl beaming with happiness and pleased with the risk she took coming here to us, Jethro.”
Jethro smirked, his mind (and his dick...don’t forget his dick) already considering all of the ways that he could please the young woman in question, and not a one of them something that any of the polite society folks would find acceptable at all. “I’d like to get up tomorrow morning and have this entire day be a bad dream, but that’s not likely to happen either.”
Looking between Jethro and his stepmother, Orla nervously fidgeted with the buttons on her light sweater. “Maybe you should just send me back to Atlanta, Mrs. McKinnon. I’m not sure this arrangement is in my best interest any longer,” she remarked softly as her widened eyes connected with Jethro’s.
“Scared of me, Little Girl?” Jethro goaded, confused to find himself hoping she’d stand her ground with him instead of running back to the safety of her big city. His heart beat a little faster as she turned her face toward him and smiled sweetly.
“Scared of you?” she scoffed, her voice brimming with sugary innocence even though her eyes sparkled with angry intent. “Of course not. Not at all. However, Mr. McKinnon, I do have some substantial concerns for you.”
“That so?” Jethro drawled lazily as Orla’s head began to bob enthusiastically.
“Oh, yes!” she breathed, drawing out the word. “That’s absolutely so. In fact, I’m terrified for your continued safety. You see, I wonder that if I do you the very real honor of becoming your wife, you might not survive the wedding night. I’m almost certain I might end it smothering your overly inflated head with your very own pillow, and based on what I’ve both seen and heard of your character and attitude toward women, no court in this town would convict me!” she concluded on a shout, jabbing him in his flannel covered chest for emphasis.
Jethro tuned out the cackling laughter around him as he focused on the unapologetic, furious face of his intended. She might not have much substance to her, but he had to admit she had a fighting spirit, and spirit went a long way in the mountains. This might actually work out for him, especially if he got that pretty little mouth of hers wrapped around his dick every night. Lips kicking up at the side, he nodded appreciatively. “I think you just might be a risk I’m willing to take after all, Miss Pearson,” he declared, growing more and more intrigued by the woman in front of him.
Orla smiled coolly. “I’m glad one of us is, sir, but I remain unconvinced that you are what’s in my best interest. So far, I’m not exactly swooning over here. Especially since my bridegroom appears to be as stiff as a week-old corpse and twice as cold!”
Oh, she wanted to challenge him, Jethro thought with a small flare of masculine satisfaction. He loved a good contest of wills. Slowly, he returned her smile and took a sidling step toward her. Dropping his head until his lips grazed the shell of her perfectly formed ear. “I reckon it’s a good thing I’ve got an entire night alone with you to tell you all about some of my better qualities, isn’t it, Tidbit?” he whispered as his warm breath ghosted her cheek before quickly pulling back to look toward his stepmother.
“I think I’d like more of a show and less of a tell if it’s all the same to you, Mr. McKinnon,” Jethro was gratified to hear Orla inform him a tad breathlessly.
Grinning now, Jethro looked toward his satisfied stepmother. “Alright, Mother McKinnon, we’ll do things your way. I’ll take Miss Pearson back to the farm with me while you go attend the good Sister Goodkind. I’m sure she and I can find a pleasing way to pass the time together for one night. Maybe she’ll impress me with her cooking skills at dinner.”
Startled, Orla looked up into the tall man’s face. “You expect me to cook for you? Tonight?” she asked tightly, suddenly looking more than a little nervous.
“Yeah. We mountain men enjoy a large evening meal. How else do you think we keep up our energy to wrestle bears and aggravate spouses up here in the back of beyond?” Jethro asked with a smirk before turning to head for the restaurant’s door, his long strides eating the distance in short order. “You can consider it an audition of sorts,” he called over his shoulder as he heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Audition? You want me to audition to be your wife? Like it’s some kind of high honor you’re bestowing on me? Of all the insufferable, highhanded, impolite…” he heard Orla begin to rant furiously, her lovely face glowing with irritation and annoyance.
“Fine. You can consider it an exchange of services. You provide me sustenance and I’ll provide you shelter for the evening. At any rate, you’ve got five minutes, City Girl, and then my truck pulls out of the parking lot whether you’re in it or not,” he warned, raising his voice to be heard over her rant as he paused at the door to look back at her as her petite frame nearly vibrated with rage. “Grab your bag, dump the sour attitude and get that fine fanny moving. And for the record, men like me like our womenfolk meek, mild and mostly mute. Just some food for thought to mull over on the drive home, Miss Pearson,” he added with a playful wink and a smug smile. And with that remark, he pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the cold December afternoon. Whistling Jingle Bells as he strolled back to his pickup truck, he wondered if this might be a much merrier Christmas after all.
Chapter Four
Orla
Studiously ignoring the smug grin on Jethro’s face as she sat stiffly beside him on the bench of the old red pickup he drove with his long arm draped behind her across the back of the seat, Orla Pearson wondered if it was possible to hate another person as much as she currently did when she’d scarcely known him an hour. Offering him a sidelong look, she tightened her fingers on the door handle when she heard his low chuckle over the country song playing softly on the radio and decided that yes, it was completely possible. Heck, it was even probable given her current circumstances. Biting the inside of her cheek as he apparently continued to laugh at her under his breath, she turned her head to face the man currently starring in her murder fantasy.
“I’m not sure what you find funny here,” she muttered, turning her gaze back to the window when the evil eye she’d given him didn’t work to shut him up.
“You,” he replied with an amused grunt.
“Me?” she asked, whipping her eyes back to his achingly attractive face – a face that, if she were a weaker woman would have distracted her
from her anger at him.
“You,” he confirmed with a nod. “You’re sittin’ over there poutin’ because you got exactly what you asked for. You city folk are funny as hell like that.”
Closing her eyes, Orla ground her teeth together. He had nerve; she’d give him that. Accusing her of having exactly what she wanted? He was either crazy, stupid, or clueless, and since she was stuck marrying him, she wasn’t sure which one she was hoping for. Had he not been paying attention? Nothing was turning out the way she wanted! “I assure you, I ain’t poutin’, Mr. McKinnon. I’m fuming.”
“Same difference.” Jethro shrugged his broad shoulders. “Both make you pissy as a horny rooster that’s been locked out of the henhouse.”
“There’s a big difference,” Orla snapped, glaring at him even though, somehow and for some strange reason, she wanted to smile at his lewd analogy. “And I can promise you that I most certainly did not get what I asked for, Mister! The letters I received convinced me I was going to be wedded to a kind, even-tempered, mild mannered sort of country gentleman.”
Jethro laughed deeply at that and cast her an almost pitying look. “Gentleman? Seriously? Man oh man, did you ever get snowed, Tidbit. I don’t know what kind of picture my stepmother painted of me, but I can tell you that I’m probably a far cry from what she wrote.” he shared easily. “Even-tempered and mild-mannered aren’t qualities I strive for, even though Mother McKinnon lives in hope that one day she’ll wake up and I’ll be as affable as a Golden Retriever. The truth is, I say what I think and do what I need to do when I need to do it and I don’t give a damn what anybody thinks about it. The good news is I’ve been real successful workin’ that way. Our farm operates in the black and has for the last decade. You could do a lot worse than me. Besides, you ain’t exactly what I was lookin’ for in a wife, either.”
Wed by Wednesday (Passion in Paradise #4.5) Page 4