by Jeanne Allan
Matthew stuck his hands in his pockets, studying her through narrowed eyes. “I thought the offer I made for buying everything was reasonable, but I take it you want more.”
She was going about this all wrong. She tried again. “Last night you said you wouldn’t marry me because I didn’t trust you. Suppose I were to tell you the water rights would be the bride’s gift to the groom?” Her words were met with a charged silence.
After several long moments, Matthew said abruptly, “The letters from Chick. I suppose he wrote Charlie about your mother and his plans to marry her.”
The cold anger in his eyes stunned her. “I don’t see—”
“Obviously,” Matthew snapped. “You just can’t separate me from your father or your grandfather, can you? Chick wasn’t as bad as you thought, therefore, neither am I.” He strode to the door and yanked it open. “End of conversation.”
Charlotte moved in a daze across the room. Matters had gone awry, and she wasn’t sure...the letters. She stopped in front of Matthew. “Do you think the only reason I’m willing to trust you is because of something I read in Chick Gannen’s letters?”
“Not Chick Gannen,” he snarled. “Your father. Say it. Chick Gannen was your father.” He crossed to the window, his back rigid. “Say it and then get out.” He flung the words over his shoulder.
Charlotte pushed the door shut, backing against it. “Chick Gannen was my biological father. I’ve always known that, but I wanted a real father, the kind of father you are to Tim.”
“I can’t help you with that.”
On either side of her thighs her splayed fingers pressed against the metal door. “You were right last night. I hated them both for not giving me what I wanted so badly. I told myself if they knew me, they’d have loved me and wanted me.”
Without turning, Matthew said, “They would have.”
At least he was listening. “Maybe. I didn’t want to go to the ranch. As long as I didn’t know for sure, I could tell myself anything I wanted. Now, I don’t know. My thinking is all muddled. What Charles Gannen did to my mother was unforgivable, but maybe he wasn’t all bad. As for Chick—” she hesitated “—as for my father, my mother loved him. She never had doubts. I should have trusted her feelings.”
“Because Chick told Charlie he wanted to marry your mother?”
“I haven’t read the letters. I will because I can’t give them to Mom unless I know there’s nothing in them to hurt her, but last night—” she swallowed hard “—I had other things on my mind.” It was now or never. She plunged ahead. “I was wondering if I’d fit into that wedding dress your mom was unpacking, and wondering what kind of mother I’d make Tim and any strawberry-blond babies.”
Matthew slowly turned. “Tim would be happy with any woman who likes rats and who would save him from having Paula as a stepmother.”
He couldn’t have misunderstood she was saying she’d marry him, but he was hardly rushing to her side. She knew why. Lara. The metal door was cold against her spine. Cold for courage, she told herself. “I know you’ll always love Lara. In a way you’re lucky. I’m probably the one person in the world who understands how some people are able to give their heart only once. I mean, look at my mother. After Chick, my father, there was never anyone else for her. I understand you can’t love me.” Matthew was backlit by the window, his face in shadow. “Honestly I do, so I won’t be making demands, at least that kind, on you. And Tim needs a mother, and I’m not the one you’d pick, but it could work.” His watchful stillness and continued silence spurred her nervously into further speech. “And the kissing’s OK. You seem to enjoy that so I don’t think we’ll have trouble there. You said Tim wants a little baby and I wouldn’t mind. If you don’t. People have satisfactory, uh, bedroom lives even if they’re not in love.” She ran out of words, defeated by his lack of response.
Matthew stirred. “After Lara died, I knew the bullet that robbed her of life also robbed me of the ability to love other women. And that was fine with me. I knew I could never endure that kind of pain again. Then I came to Denver and saw you. I disliked you on sight.”
Intense pain slashed through her.
“You looked soft and frivolous and about as necessary and use useful as a prom dress on a milk cow,” he said quietly, resting a hip on the windowsill and crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “And I wanted, with an intensity I’ve never ever known, to have you in my bed.”
The astonishing words spoken in such a casual voice rendered Charlotte speechless.
“You were so full of hate for Charlie, and so damned stubborn, I expect the sexual attraction you held for me would have quickly evaporated. Then I saw the way you yielded to your mother’s wishes, and it was crystal clear I was the only one in the room surprised by your willingness to sacrifice for her. Which meant there was more to you than I thought, making you more dangerous.” He uttered a hard laugh. “I was caught between a rock and a hard spot. I wanted the ranch and the water, but I sure as hell didn’t want you around complicating my life. You owe me for a lot of sleepless nights, cream puff.”
She felt faint. Matthew was trying to explain why he wouldn’t marry her. “Never mind.” She fumbled for the doorknob.
“I convinced myself I’d imagined my reaction to you. Even believed it until you walked through the door at the airport. I felt like a horse had kicked me in the stomach. I figured my choices were a quick affair or keep out of your way. I should have known no redheaded granddaughter of Charlie’s would cooperate. The one thing I did know was that I’d already had one wife decide ranch living wasn’t exciting and glamorous enough for her. I sure as hell never considered you for my wife.”
“And Tim forced your hand. I’m sorry.” Mortified by the scalding tears blurring her vision, she finally found the doorknob and tugged furiously, but the door refused to budge.
“The day you dumped me in the stock pond I swore to myself I was either going to marry you or strangle you.” Matthew stood in front of her, an outstretched arm holding the door firmly shut. “I decided to marry you.”
“Very funny!” All Charlotte wanted was to escape. Dodging his attempt to kiss her, she said, “I haven’t forgotten you’re planning to marry Paula.”
“I’m not marrying Paula.” He brushed a thumb lightly across her cheek. “How could I when all I think about is a certain redhead?” He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with a sensuous warmth.
Charlotte’s insides erupted into chaos. Concentrating on the pulse beating at the base of his throat, she breathlessly reminded him, “Paula told Tim you were marrying her. Your mom was unpacking a wedding dress for her.”
“Mom’s been digging into drawers and pulling out junk all week. When Tim and I had our conversation, I thought he was asking about you. As for Paula, she’s always been a liar.” He maneuvered her body between his hard strength and the door. “She’s Lara’s sister, but she has no claim on my heart.”
“I know.” Matthew’s hips scalded hers; the rise and fall of his s chest as he breathed brushed the sensitive tips of her breasts. Her heart pounded. “You still love Lara.” The pain hurt more than she thought it would.
Matthew tipped her face to meet his gaze, his hands encircled her neck. “I can’t change my past even if I wanted to. Lara and I shared a wonderful love, which was blessed and enriched by Tim. But the man who loved her is no longer who I am. Lara was my past.” He slid his palms along her shoulders. “My present and future is a redheaded lady who’s kind to small boys and rats, loyal to her family and pugnacious in their defense. She’s determined and courageous.”
She still dared not hope. “This isn’t because of what you think I did for your mother?” she asked slowly.
Matthew’s response was instantaneous, his fingers digging convulsively into her arms. “When I saw you standing on the road, covered with mud, your clothes torn...I was so damned scared and so grateful you were OK.” He cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “It wasn’t marriage I had on my
mind then, believe me. Realizing I might have lost you filled me with such overwhelming hunger and need, I wanted to strip you naked and make you mine right there in the mud.”
Charlotte felt light-headed; her blood surged through her veins. “I couldn’t have gotten any muddier.”
He planted a kiss on her nose. “I was working out how to court you when Tim jumped the gun.”
Happiness made her giddy. “The most romantic moment of my life. ‘Why don’t you marry Charlotte, Dad?’” she mimicked, making a face at him before pitching her voice lower. “‘Sure. Why not? What do you think, Charlotte?’”
Matthew grinned. “I suppose it did lack a certain something. Not that your proposals were much better. First, refusing to trust me, hardly the act of a woman in love. Then, babbling about how understanding you’d be.” The grin faded away. “I know living on a ranch and sleeping with a cowboy have never been your dream, but will you marry me and allow me to love you forever?” His kiss was gentle yet demanding, possessive yet generous, full of exotic promises and familiar pleasures.
When at last he raised his head, Charlotte felt flushed from head to toe. “I was so foolishly determined not to fall in love with you, I didn’t even realize I had.”
“I had no intention of letting you get away.” Matthew wove his fingers deep into her tousled hair. “Buying Charlie’s ranch was going to be the most prolonged business transaction you’d ever been involved in. I figured you’d marry me just to get away from the paperwork.” He gave her a mock scowl. “I may even forgive you for that damned impertinent prenuptial agreement nonsense.”
The trouble with cowboys, Charlotte thought, was they tended to be irritatingly smug and arrogant. She trailed a finger along his rock-solid jaw. “I’ve changed my mind about that.”
“I should think so.”
“I’ve changed it back. I want a prenuptial agreement.”
“Damn it, cream puff, you—”
Charlotte touched a finger to his lips. “First of all, I’ll expect you to use my name. Charlotte, not cream puff.”
Golden flames leaped in Matthew’s eyes. “I see.” He nibbled along the edge of her finger. “What else?”
“You won’t call me prissy.”
“Won’t I?” Having nibbled his way to her wrist, he was busy planting kisses there.
“You’re to agree my hair is strawberry-blond, not red.”
“Mmm.” He moved his attentions to her neck.
“And you have to promise,” she said desperately as Matthew painstakingly slid one button after another through narrow slits, “you’ll never buy me a flannel nightgown.”
“I solemnly promise, cream puff—” he dropped her silk blouse to the floor “—I will never, ever—” a wisp of peach-colored lace followed the blouse “—buy you a flannel nightgown.” With agonizingly slow deliberation he slid his hands to her waist. “I’ve been waiting a long time to find out just how far down freckles dare go on a certain redhaired lady.”
Later he even agreed the way she’d said his name wasn’t the least bit prissy.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8568-2
Charlotte’s Cowboy
Copyright © 1995 by Jeanne Allan
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