“He even wrapped it,” Brock chuckled. “Nice touch.”
“Oh, that was my idea. Considering the contents, I figured you would want to keep them a mystery until you were ready to reveal what was in there,” she shrugged. “He would have come himself, but he had a meeting with the board.”
“That’s fine. Tell him I understand.”
Mary Ellen cleared her throat, bringing the talking pair’s attention back to her. “Brock, would you like to introduce your friend to me,” she growled, glaring at him, then his still bare chest.
He gave her another confused look before mumbling, “Mary Ellen, this is Michelle Silverman. My cousin Jacob’s wife. Michelle, this is Mary Ellen Silverman. Despite her beliefs on the matter, my wife.”
Mary Ellen gave him a murderous look before turning to walk off, grumbling low, “We’ll not be married until you get Pastor Macy to perform the ceremony. I already told you that.”
“Whoa,” Michelle said in true surprise. “He didn’t say anything about you two getting married while you were here.”
“He wouldn’t have known to. Things got out of order,” he said, turning red from embarrassment. “We were both drunk.”
“Oh, I see,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’m going to get out of here. I’ve got a long drive back.”
“You could eat breakfast with us down in the restaurant before you leave,” he said, reaching out a hand to stop her. “I’ll pay.”
She shook her head, glancing at Mary Ellen. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I think your wife wants you to herself for the time being. Jacob’s planning on coming to see everyone for New Year’s. I’m pretty sure that it’s a firm decision, not just something that’s rolling around in his head. We already have plane tickets. Hopefully, your wife and I will be able to take the time to get to know each other a little then.”
“Okay,” he said, glancing over at Mary Ellen with a still confused look. “Then we’ll see you in another week or so.”
10:32am
Brock shook his head in frustration, trying to figure out what he’d done now. “Okay, Mary Ellen, what are you angry about now?” If it hadn’t been for some of the things she had already said, more than once, he’d be worried about whether or not they were going to stay married. At this point, he honestly believed she wanted to be married to him. He just knew there were no promises things were going to be easy for him until he straightened things out. He was just going to have to figure out how to meet her requirements for her to acknowledge they were married.
“Angry, again?” she asked, eyeing him with indignation. “I haven’t stopped being angry since I woke up and found you in bed with me.”
“You weren’t angry at first,” he smirked. “And I might add, you didn’t seem all that angry in the shower.” Then he immediately groaned from the memory of what she looked like with the soap and water running off her body. Thankfully she had thrown a longer, flowy top on over her tank top thing, covering all that fantastic cleavage. But she still had the skin-tight leggings on. She’d told him, with a snap, what they were called earlier when he’d asked her if she was going to cover them up as well. He’d mistakenly figured they were some female version of long-johns after she’d covered up the top she had on.
The elevator picked that moment to come to a stop and open. She just gave him a dirty look like she wasn’t happy about the reminder, then turned and walked out, heading for the check-in desk.
He followed behind her, frowning at the back of her head. “Are you done talking to me for the day?” he asked, wondering if he could kiss her into submission.
She thought about telling him she wasn’t going to talk to him until he fixed the current problem of their state of matrimony, but that would require her talking to him. So, she continued to ignore him. Until a member of the Las Vegas Police Department brought them to a stand-still halfway to the check-out desk.
“Sir, we need to speak with you and your friend here.”
Brock reached out a hand to greet the officer. “Yes, Sir. Of course. I’m Brock Silverman and this is my wife, Mary Ellen. Please, excuse her. She’s a little put out at me, right now. How can we help you?”
“Your wife?” the officer asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he pulled his hand back after shaking Brock’s. “We were led to believe she was a prostitute and that’s actually illegal in Las Vegas, even though a lot of people from out of town don’t realize that.”
“Oh, that idiot again,” Brock growled in response, eyeing the man from last night. “We explained to him last night she wasn’t a hooker. After he told her he could pay her more for one night than she usually made in a year. For your information,” he added as politely as he could. “She’s an executive assistant at the paper I own and run in the small town where we live in Missouri.”
The man snorted. “You implied you were rich last night.”
“I’m also part owner of the largest cattle operation in Southern Missouri. I have two brothers that run it most of the time on their own. What help I can give them, has to be on the weekends. I also have other money-making endeavors that I’m not going to bother to list,” Brock grumbled, rubbing his hand over his face. “Something else you might need to know,” he added, looking back to the officer. “I also told him last night, I’d punch his lights out if he insulted her again. He’s extremely lucky you’re standing here.”
The officer chuckled, shaking his head, not doubting for a minute the larger man could do exactly that. He’d figured when he saw the two exiting the elevator with luggage, the suit that had pointed them out was full of crap. He was only slightly more surprised at their claim to be married than he was to find the other man had obviously just been angry when he hadn’t gotten his night with the pretty blonde. “Please, understand I believe what you’re saying, but you’re going to have to prove it for me to walk away.”
“You can’t seriously believe what he’s saying,” the man screeched. “Mary Ellen? He obviously doesn’t even know her real name and just made one up for her. He probably got it from that old television show. The one with Mary Ellen and John Boy.”
“I grew up in a small town with another girl named Mary. She goes by Mary Jo and I go by Mary Ellen. It saved us the confusion. And I’m named for a great aunt, not Mary Ellen off the Walton’s,” she growled back at the man. Finally, having dug her wallet out of her purse, she handed the officer her driver’s license, giving him a much politer smile. “My name is Mary Ellen Edwards. We were married last night.”
“Yeah, he showed me the marriage license,” he grinned back before looking down at the license in his hand. After a few seconds he handed it back to her. “You two are in the clear. You’re free to go.”
“You can’t seriously be buying all of this,” the man screeched. “She’s obviously a hooker. I mean, look at her. There’s no way she’s some executive assistant for some paper. Even in Missouri,” he snarled in exaggerated disgust.
Brock gave the man a truly disgusted look, wishing, in vain, the two officers weren’t still standing there. “You seriously need to stop insulting her. She practically runs the paper herself. All I really do anymore is approve what decisions she’s made. She’s extremely intelligent and efficient at her job. While she is definitely one sexy little package, she is not a bimbo, and I do not appreciate you implying she is.”
The officer who had been doing all the talking had fallen silent for several seconds. He’d been eyeing the man with a contemplative frown. He shot a glance at his partner, then glanced back at the man with a hard stare. “Why do you look familiar?”
“Well, why should I know?” the arrogant fool hissed. Despite his attempt at false bravado, it was obvious he’d suddenly become very nervous. “I know I’ve never met you before.”
“Oh, I know who you are now,” the officer smirked. “You’re that Texas playboy with the super-rich daddy. He’s got you under some kind of house arrest. It was a deal he made with the judge to keep
you from getting thrown in jail for the next three years. I’ve seen you on the national news a couple of times. My guess is, your daddy’s in this hotel somewhere. He’s not supposed to let you leave the house without him.”
“That’s hardly any of your business,” the man snarled, managing to look down his nose at the officer. Which was quite a feat, considering he had to be at least five inches shorter than the officer. Brock was starting to think half of the guys attitude was anger over being so short. He couldn’t have been more than five six. The other half was obviously from believing his daddy’s money could buy him out of any trouble he managed to come across.
“I’d watch the attitude if I were you,” the officer snorted. “The only reason I’m not charging you with soliciting a prostitute, is it’d just be your word against theirs. I’m sure with your arrogance, you’d just deny it. As for them, they have documentation proving their story. She’s not a hooker. Not that she even looks like one.”
“Oh, are you really still saying she’s a hooker?” someone asked from behind the officer, obviously holding back a chuckle.
The officer turned to get a look at the newcomer to find one of the hotel bartenders standing behind him. “Hello, Martin. Do you have something to add to this story?”
“Hey, Greg,” he nodded at the officer. The two had obviously crossed paths before. “Yeah, the idiot over there tried to pay her for sex last night, even though she told him she wouldn’t have sex with him no matter how much money he promised her and that she was waiting on him,” he said, pointing at Brock. “I tried to explain to him, more than once, that she wasn’t a hooker. Even took the time to explain that prostitution is actually illegal in Las Vegas. He really didn’t care about any of it, until her man there showed up and nearly scared the pee out of him.”
“Seems the ground you’re on is starting to get really shaky there, Rupert Garrison the third,” the officer said, raising an eyebrow. “You might better find your father.”
“I don’t need my father,” the smaller man snarled. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Rupert, what have you done now?” was growled from behind him. “You weren’t supposed to leave your room until Nicholas came for you. You promised me you’d be on your best behavior if your mother and I brought you with us.”
The small man jumped and spun to see an older man behind him. “Hello, Father. I haven’t done anything. It’s these two who are causing trouble,” he added, pointing at Brock and Mary Ellen.
“Why do I have my doubts about that?” the older Rupert Garrison grumbled. “You’re always causing some kind of trouble.”
“She’s the hooker I was telling you about,” he mumbled under his breath.
“That young lady is no more a hooker than your mother is,” the older man said, shaking his head. “I’m surprised her man hasn’t already beaten you to a pulp and left you for dead. I really should have let that judge throw you in jail for a few years. It might have taught you a valuable lesson.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, if that’s the way you feel, why didn’t you?” Brock asked, giving the distinguished looking, gray haired man a considering look.
“His mother told me she would make my life a living purgatory if I allowed him to go to prison. She’s babied him his whole life. It’s why he is the way he is now. She seems to think he’s too good to have to obey the law like the rest of the world.”
“I don’t think you’ve done him or yourself any favors. All that’s going to happen is you’re going to be following him around putting out his fires for the rest of your life. Or his. Depending on which one ends first,” the officer who had remained quiet until now said with a very knowing look. “The way he’s going, it just may very well be his life that ends first.”
“What do you know about it?” was asked in a very snide voice from behind Mary Ellen. She jumped and spun, backing up against Brock. This whole mess was starting to make her more than a little jumpy. All she wanted was to get out of here and catch their plane back home.
“Well, now we’re all here,” the other officer cracked. “Mrs. Garrison, nice of you to join us.”
“The reason I know, is I’ve seen this kind of behavior a lot before. I know what he almost went to jail for. If you don’t let him suffer the consequences of his actions at some point, he’s going to end up getting himself killed. Whether in a car accident or drug overdose. Or from angering the wrong man over the wrong woman,” he added, eyeing Brock where he stood with his arm wrapped protectively around Mary Ellen’s shoulders, keeping her pulled snug against himself. “This gentleman, while he has admitted to threatening your son, has obviously got a very even temperament and is smart enough to think with his head. Your son might not be so lucky next time.”
“Well, why haven’t you arrested him for threatening him?” she snapped in indignation.
“Threats aren’t against the law. Actions are,” the officer chuckled. “Besides, you’d probably have a hard time getting any judge to give him more than a slap on the wrist. Your son has been more than a little insulting, and I believe the lady has felt threatened as well.”
“Yes, I have,” Mary Ellen agreed, nodding her head vigorously.
“Who, this tramp? She’s nothing,” Mrs. Garrison sneered. “Just some whore.”
“I’ll thank you kindly not to call my wife a whore. The next time one of you insults her, I’m pressing civil charges for slandering her character.”
The lady actually had the nerve to snort. “You don’t have the money to take us to court. I could buy you and sell you without even blinking.”
Brock eyed the older Rupert Garrison with a very serious look. “Sir, I know who you are. I also know you cannot say the same about me. But I can assure you this, I have more than enough money to make her eat those words. You need to get you wife and son under control, immediately.”
“Really? Who are you?” the older man asked, more out of curiosity than anything.
“I’m one third owner of the Triple S Ranch in Sapphire Springs, Missouri.”
“And you’re the one of the three that owns the newspaper, as well, aren’t you?” the man asked, suddenly turning very pale. “The one you run more to keep a family tradition alive and for the love of it, than for the need of the money it brings in.”
Brock’s only response was to nod.
“What does some ranch in Missouri have to do with anything?” the older woman sneered, still not grasping the dire straights she and her son were going to soon be in, if she didn’t shut her mouth.
“The man has more money than we do, and if you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to take all of your credit cards for the next year.”
“You wouldn’t,” the older woman hissed in shock. “It’s not possible for some country bumpkin from Missouri to have more money than you.”
“He’s one of the top ten richest men in the United States,” Mr. Garrison said, rubbing his temples. “And just so you know, Missouri, which you speak so disparagingly of, claims to be home to one of the other men on that list, as well.”
“Jeff Campbell,” Brock and Mary Ellen both chuckled at the same time.
“What, did you win the lottery? You don’t strike me as the type who would know how to amass that much money,” the woman actually had the nerve to snarl. “We’re talking billions of dollars. Not just millions.”
“I know exactly how much we’re talking,” he snarled back. “I don’t use an accountant. I keep track of my accounts on my own. My great-great-grandfather was a Jewish immigrant who converted to Christianity, but he still knew how to make money.”
“Oh, you inherited it,” she huffed, turning her nose up in the air.
“Be careful there, Woman,” her husband growled. “I inherited a great deal of my money as well.”
“Yeah, I inherited a great deal of money from my father and then my grandfather, but I’ve managed to amass quiet a bit more on my own. Not that it’s any of your business.”
>
“I seriously doubt you really know how to make money.”
“You know, she’s really snotty,” Brock said in a conversational tone to her husband. “How much money did she bring to the table?”
“How dare you?” she screeched, actually looking like an angry bird.
“It’s simple, really,” he said, shrugging. “As snotty as you’re being about where my money come from, you must have managed to amass quiet a lot on your own.”
“Amassing a fortune is the man’s job. Not the woman’s,” she huffed, throwing her nose in the air again.
“Wow,” Brock whistled, not sure how to respond to that. He couldn’t care less if Mary Ellen had a cent to her name, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him thinking she couldn’t earn her own living.
“Please, excuse her attitude,” her husband said, rubbing his temples in a sign of mental exhaustion. He’d had about as much of this craziness as he could take. “You seemed to know the other man who was in the top ten?”
“Yeah, he’s a friend and a police officer,” Brock answered, eyeing the younger Rupert Garrison. “Where we come from, having a lot of money doesn’t give you a license to ignore the law.”
“I remember the part about him being a police officer, but I thought he lived somewhere in Kansas City.”
“He did at one time,” Brock nodded. “He recently moved to Sapphire Springs to take care of his great grandfather.”
The more talkative of the two officers cleared his throat, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Well, if the lady and gentleman are willing to let it go, you can take your son and go home,” he said, eyeing the younger Rupert hard. “I would just recommend getting him out of Las Vegas before he manages to find more trouble. Or someone else to insult.”
Married by Christmas (Sapphire Springs Book 2) Page 11