Too Stubborn To Marry

by Cathie Linz

  “Right,” he scoffed. “And if I believe that, you’ve got some oceanfront property in Kansas you’d like to sell me real cheap. Forget it.”

  Her brown eyes flashed with anger, all thoughts of being cool or calm disappearing. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

  “I’m saying that you have a misguided sense of loyalty to your uncle and that may be clouding your judgment. Not that your judgment was ever the clearest.”

  “That was the old Courtney,” she said caustically. “The one who misjudged you. The new Courtney has twenty-twenty judgment vision.”

  “If you say so.” He clearly wasn’t buying her claim. “The bottom line is that I have a job to do and I aim on doing it.”

  “I’ve got a job to do, too. And I can’t do it with you getting in my way.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll just sit over there—” he indicated a chair on the other side of the lobby “—until closing time. It’s only a few minutes away. You close early on Saturdays, right?”

  Courtney felt frustration eating away at her control. How dare Ryan order her around? “That might take care of today, but what about Monday? I’m telling you, you can’t spy on me at work. There’s no way I could explain your continued presence.”

  “Tell your boss I’m besotted with you and can’t let you out of my sight.”

  Courtney snorted.

  “You don’t think she’d believe it?” Ryan demanded with feigned indignation. “I can look besotted if I need to. Here, watch.” He opened his hazel eyes wide, as if to give her a better view of the smoldering passion in them. All he accomplished was making her more aware of the thickness of his eyelashes. The downward slope of his lids gave him bedroom eyes, while the crinkles in the corners indicated that this was a man who liked laughter.

  Courtney refused to allow herself to be drawn in. “You look like a cross between a myopic Mr. Magoo and Pepe Le Pew.”

  “You’re still a fan of classic cartoons?”

  She nodded, adding, “Laughter is good for the soul. You aren’t”

  Ryan smacked his hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  He’d wounded her plenty. And now he had the nerve to try to charm her when the truth was that he’d only looked her up because of his job. That damn job. It had been the reason they’d broken up.

  No, that wasn’t true. It had been the excuse, the reason was Ryan’s insistence on doing his own thing and not involving her in his decisions. When he’d told her that his future had nothing to do with her, he’d made it clear that she had no real importance to him, that she was a warm body in his bed but not a partner in his life.

  She’d wanted more. Damn it, she deserved more. For the first few months after she’d walked out, she’d secretly hoped Ryan would see the light, that he’d be miserable without her and realize his mistake.

  Looking at him now, she saw no signs of misery or heartbreak. Instead she saw six feet of muscular dynamite just waiting to be detonated. Well, she was no longer the kind of woman interested in playing with fire, let alone explosives. She’d learned her lesson well.

  These days she wanted security not passion. Slow and steady wins the race. Which is why she’d worked hard to change her image, to damper her more dramatically outrageous side and restrain it in a buttoned-down beige suit. Here in Fell she was known as a quiet, well-behaved young woman, and that was exactly the way she wanted it.

  Her card-dealing days were behind her. Her unconventional nomadic life-style was a thing of the past She was ready to settle down. She wanted a family. She wanted roots.

  Try as her uncle had, he hadn’t been able to replace her parents. She could still remember the security she’d felt in her father’s arms, the certainty she’d always had of her mother’s love. And while she loved her uncle and he loved her, security and certainty didn’t go with his personality.

  He’d done his best. He’d always made her feel that she was important to him and that life was filled with endless possibilities, usually right around the next corner or over the stateline. They’d moved a lot. From New Jersey to Pennsylvania to Ohio to Michigan to Illinois and so on.

  She’d moved enough. Back in Chicago she’d believed in possibilities, allowed passion to rule her life. The results had been a broken heart. Now it was time to grow up, time to settle down. She didn’t want Ryan interfering with her plans and ruining the new life she’d made for herself.

  “Can’t you wait for me outside and then we can discuss this situation in private?” she demanded, aware of the suspicious looks Francis was darting her way.

  “And have you slip out the back door?” Ryan mocked. “No way. I told you, I’m just doing my job.”

  “And getting a great deal of pleasure out of aggravating me. Look, I’ve got a new life here. I don’t need you hanging around messing things up for me.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he warned her, “or you’ll have that dragon lady breathing down our necks again. If it will make you feel any better, I’ll speak to the bank manager and explain my presence.”

  “No!” She grabbed Ryan’s hand to stop him. How long had it been since she’d touched him? Too long, yet not long enough to have gotten over the rush of exhilaration. It was discouraging to think that after three years she was still susceptible to his touch.

  And it wasn’t even as if he’d been the first one to initiate the contact. No, she’d been the blockhead who’d done that. Who was still doing that, belatedly realizing she still had a hold on his hand. She released her grip so suddenly his hand dropped to her desktop with a thump. “I don’t want Fred knowing about you. I don’t want him thinking I’ve done something to warrant the attention of the U.S. Marshals Service.”

  Ryan gave her a curious look. “Why would he think that?”

  Before she could answer, a skinny blond-haired man wearing a finely cut suit, horn-rimmed glasses, and a supercilious manner joined them. Ryan disliked him on sight, probably because of the proprietary hand he placed on Courtney’s shoulder and the way he leaned over her as if claiming his ownership.

  Instead of shrugging the little pip-squeak off, Courtney actually gave him a glowing smile while gazing up at him as if he were God’s gift to women.

  “Everything under control here?”

  The man’s voice matched the rest of his appearance—condescending and nerdy at the same time.

  “Yes, Fred,” Courtney replied. “Everything is just fine.”

  “Ms. Grimshaw indicated you might be having trouble.”

  Ryan was certainly trouble, Courtney silently allowed, but she’d manage somehow. She didn’t like the way he was glaring at Fred, though. That didn’t bode well.

  “It’s my fault,” Ryan stated.

  You bet it is. Her thoughts quickly turned anxious as she wondered what Ryan would say next. Would he flash his badge in front of Fred?

  “I haven’t seen Courtney in so long,” Ryan continued.

  “And you are…?” Fred interrupted him to inquire.

  “Ryan Knight.”

  “I’m Fred Finley.” He held out his hand to Ryan. “I’m the bank manager. You and Courtney are acquainted then?”

  “More than merely acquainted, we’re very close.”

  Time for some immediate damage control, Courtney decided. “Of course we’re close,” she quickly interrupted. “He’s my…brother.”

  “Brother?” Fred’s sandy eyebrows rose. “You never told me you had a brother. His surname isn’t the same as yours.”

  “He’s my half brother.”

  “Which half?” was Ryan’s muttered aside, which thankfully only Courtney heard.

  “He’s just passing through town,” she added.

  “And staying with my sister for a while.”

  Ryan’s announcement made Fred frown. “Her apartment isn’t very big, you know.”

  This time it was Ryan’s turn to frown. “How do you know?”

  “Fred knows everything.” Courtney gave him a brilliant smile.
/>   Ryan didn’t like what he was seeing here. The guy with the pencil neck had a relationship with Courtney. What could she possibly see in Fred Finley? He was so staid he made tapioca look exotic. And his handshake had been limp and clammy.

  The old Courtney Delaney would have stayed a mile away from a guy like Fred. Or she would have given him a Looney Tunes tie to spice up his image. She would never have gazed up at him as if he were the be-all and end-all of her life.

  Had she really changed that much?

  What did he expect? He’d known she wouldn’t be pleased to see him after all this time. But he hadn’t expected her to be so different from the fun-loving, passionate woman he’d left in Chicago. He could have sworn she didn’t have a conservative bone in her body, but now he didn’t know what to think. Except that he was upset to see the changes in her.

  The geeky banker was speaking to him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Ryan.”

  “Same here, Frank.”

  Courtney glared at him, showing a flash of her old fire. “It’s Fred, not Frank.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Whatever.”

  After Fred had returned to his office, Ryan said, “Half brother? That was the best you could do? Why not tell him the truth?”

  “That you’re a pain in the butt?”

  “That I was your first lover.” Ryan took pleasure in the possessive sound of the word first.

  “But not my last.” It was a lie but Courtney wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

  Gritting his teeth, Ryan’s voice was brisk and all business. “I’ll follow you home in my car. Don’t try anything cute like trying to lose me. I know where you live.”

  “It’s in the file you no doubt have on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already knew the color of my bedsheets.” Bad choice of words, she belatedly decided.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not ever.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  It had been so strange seeing Fred and Ryan standing side by side—her past and her future. Two men couldn’t be more different. Ryan was rugged and powerful. His face looked lived-in. Fred, with his blond hair, pampered skin and meticulous manner, looked like a very pale and very distant imitation.

  No, she corrected herself. Not even an imitation. Another type entirely. Lacking the raw masculinity of Ryan. Lacking the flashes of humor, the lopsided grin. Her response to Ryan overwhelmed her, sweeping through her bloodstream like a drug.

  “You ready to leave?” Ryan demanded, tapping an impatient finger on the face of his watch. “The bank closed ten minutes ago.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you stay in my apartment.” If she was this susceptible to him in a public place like the bank, she could only imagine what it would it be like in the close confines of her tiny apartment.

  Ryan shrugged. “It’s my job.”

  “So you’ve said,” she muttered, gathering her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. “Why should I believe you?”

  “You shouldn’t.” Ryan took her elbow as soon as she came around the desk and guided her toward the exit. “Feel free to call my boss to verify it if you’d like.”

  “I’ll do that.” She yanked her arm away from his hold. “As soon as I get home and have some privacy.”

  “That’s right. There’ll be just you and me.”

  As Ryan followed her home from work, he was glad to discover one thing that hadn’t changed about Courtney—her car. She’d bought it used when he’d met her in Chicago, and it had had sixty-thousandsome miles on it then. He was willing to bet that the little red compact had to have doubled its mileage since then.

  It was comforting to see her in something familiar like the car. Her appearance had certainly taken him by surprise. She’d looked so…sedate. So conservative. So unlike herself.

  Ryan was disappointed to find that her apartment was as neutral as she was. He’d hoped to find signs of her passion and flair hidden here, hoped to find her living in some colorful, solar-heated building that was as unique as she was.

  The four-flat building was brick with a simple layout, two apartments up, two down. Hers was upstairs and faced west.

  She seemed nervous as she let him in. “I used to live downstairs, but you can see the sunset much better up here. I moved in about a month ago when it became vacant I still haven’t had time to change my driver’s license records to show my new apartment number, but you probably already know that, right?”

  Instead of replying, he said, “I notice your name isn’t on the mailbox in the foyer.”

  “The kid downstairs keeps peeling it off. He peels them all off.”

  As she spoke, Ryan automatically checked the lock on the sliding doors leading to her balcony, which held a single sickly-looking flower in a drab pot. She’d never had a green thumb, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying. “This lock is flimsy,” he noted with a frown of disapproval. “A two-year-old could open it.”

  Her voice was mocking as she noted, “Crime here in Fell isn’t exactly on the rise.”

  “It is now.” Spying a length of metal pipe propped in the corner, he dropped it into the slide of the doorjamb. “That’s better.”

  Ryan turned back to the apartment. More beige. She didn’t have much furniture. “What happened to that great fire-engine red beanbag chair you had?”

  “I sold it at a garage sale in Chicago.”

  “Too bad.” He had fond memories of that chair and their attempts to make love in it.

  At least the couch was comfortable, although it was about three feet too short for him to sleep on, which meant he’d have to fall back on plan B—spreading his sleeping bag out on the floor. Oh well, he’d had worse assignments, but no one had ever gotten under his skin like Courtney.

  “I’d like the name and phone number of your supervisor.” Her voice was businesslike, contrasting the few wayward tendrils of her blond hair that had escaped the tight bun.

  Ryan provided her with the information and watched her slender fingers impatiently punch out the numbers on her beige standard-issue phone. She didn’t wear any nail polish. She used to have a fondness for Passionate Pink and for running her painted nails and fingertips over every inch of his torso, pausing to torment and delight in some very sensitive spots.

  At the moment she seemed more interested in giving Wes Freeze a piece of her mind. “So basically you’re telling me that I have no choice, that I’m legally obligated to assist the U.S. Marshals Service. But why does that mean Ryan has to stay here in my apartment. Eating my food?” A pause. “Oh, so he’ll supply his own food. Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Another pause. “It’s for my own protection? Well, I think this stinks!” With that she slammed the phone receiver down. “What a boondoggle. Talk about a waste of taxpayers’ dollars.”

  He scowled at her. “Catching one of the northwest’s biggest counterfeiters is not a waste of taxpayers’ dollars.”

  “You’re not going to catch them by sleeping on my couch.”

  “I won’t be sleeping on your couch.” He waited for the startled look to flash in her big brown eyes. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “You are not sleeping in my bed.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

  “So you’ve already said. Your couch is too short so I’ll use the living room floor. There’s a sleeping bag and air mattress out in my car.”

  Five minutes later he had his stuff in her compact living room, spread out from one corner to the other.

  “Do you have to make such a mess?” she complained with an exasperated look. “I have company coming over this evening.”

  He quirked an inquisitive brow at her. “Company as in…?”

  “Fred. We have a date.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “You’re the practical joker in this room,” she retorted. “Not me.”

  The sound of her phone ringing made her jump.

  “Want me to get that?”
Ryan asked.

  “No! I can get it myself.” She grabbed for the phone.

  “Courtney, it’s me,” said the muffled male voice.

  She recognized her uncle’s voice immediately. “Yes.” Her cautious tone alerted her uncle.

  “Someone is with you?”

  “That’s right. How are things?” To Ryan she mouthed, “It’s a girlfriend of mine.” The answer seemed to satisfy him because he started unzipping his sleeping bag, but he stayed well within earshot.

  “Things they are complicated.”

  “I heard.”

  “Then you have heard that the Zopo brothers, they are bad people. They were not pleased to hear I might be testifying against them.” Anton’s Czech accent was more pronounced than usual, a sure sign he was upset. “There is so much to tell you, but I will be brief. Your phone might be tipped. No, that is not right. Tapped, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I did not do wrong. I am no counterfeiter.”

  “I know that.”

  “The Zopos own the print shop.” He spoke rapidly now, the words spilling out. “I was good manager. I mind my own business. But then I find a box. I should not have looked, but like Pandora I did. It was filled with blank checks. Fake checks. The government want me to testify about seeing the fake checks, the Zopos say they will do bad things if I do talk. So I take off. You know I do not think government is good at doing things, like protecting me from Zopos. I need time to think.”

  “I can understand that,” she said carefully. “You have to do what you think is best. Call me anytime.”

  “You be careful of Zopos.” Anton’s voice reflected his concern for her. “I wanted to warn you of this. I never told them about you, but they have ears in many places. Be careful.”

  “I will. You, too.”

  “I love you, malenka.” The line went dead.

  “What was that all about?” Ryan asked.