Hitched! Page 11

  “You know what I like?”

  She gave him a curious glance. “What?”

  “You.” He turned down the road leading to the ranch. “That’s why I said what I did earlier. I like you, Max, and I want to keep it there. You’ve been a great sport. You don’t whine, you don’t make demands, you don’t back off from anything. I hope when this is over, we can part friends.”

  “That seems unlikely, Rand.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Think about it. We’re talking different worlds.” She gave a short sharp laugh. “I’m working-class Chicago and you’re upper-crust Boston. I’m thrifty and you’re extravagant. We have absolutely nothing in common and never will.”

  “Maybe, but there’s something kinda special going on here. I’ve never been friends with a woman before—just friends, no sex, you know? Feels weird, in a nice kinda way.”

  “It’s only possible,” she said sarcastically, “because I’m not your type.”

  “Not for a quick romance,” he admitted. “For the long haul, friendship might be better. Who the hell knows?”

  He pointed suddenly toward a log cabin nestled in an oak grove well back from the road. A stone chimney indicated a fireplace, and a porch wrapped around one end and half the front. “That’s the original ranch building,” he said. “That’s where my folks honeymooned and that’s where they made up. On up ahead—”

  They drove out of the trees. Before them sprawled the new ranch house—new only in the sense that it had been constructed long after the original cabin, which continued to be used as a vacation destination for Taggarts. Jesse built the new house for Meg shortly after he left the professional rodeo circuit, not long after they’d patched up their marriage.

  Outbuildings and log corrals circled the house, giving it an air of permanency. Sleek horses ran in fenced pastures alongside the road, and when they drove up to the hitching racks at the side of the house, a black Border collie leaped off the porch and bounded toward them.

  Max pointed. “Is that a cow dog?”

  Rand grinned. “Around here he’s more like a horse dog, if there is such a critter.” He touched her hand where it rested at the edge of her bucket seat. “Are you ready?”

  She took a deep breath, her smile fading. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “In that case…” Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth lightly to hers. Or at least that was what he’d intended. But her lips felt so surprisingly soft and inviting that he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and deepened the kiss into something entirely different.

  For a moment she was docile and unprotesting in his embrace. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and let her lips part, let him slide his tongue inside her mouth—

  A pounding on the window brought them springing apart guiltily. Made dim-witted by the unexpected potency of that kiss, Rand fumbled to open the door.

  His mother stood there, alternately frowning and smiling. Get it together, Rand warned himself. Get it together or you can write off the Rocking T.

  NUMBLY MAXI WATCHED Rand fold his arms around the beautiful blond woman who’d interrupted the most passionate kiss she’d ever received. For a shocked instant, she thought this must be an old girlfriend. Then the woman leaned down to smile through the open door and Maxi realized this was his mother.

  Meg Taggart was gorgeous, with her unlined face and melting brown eyes. Trim and toned as a model, she had a pampered and expensive air about her.

  It was easy to see where Rand got his good looks—or was until his father stepped off the porch.

  Jesse James Taggart radiated power the way a stove radiated heat. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, he ambled forward with that easy Western walk. Shoving his hat back on his head, he revealed hair so dark as to be nearly black, with only a hint of distinguished gray.

  Maxi saw welcome on his face, but he didn’t embrace his son. Instead he extended a hand, which Rand took in the fast shake he’d give a stranger. Then he turned immediately back to the car.

  “Folks,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my wife, Maxine.” He opened her door and helped her out.

  Feeling awkward and out of place, Maxi wished she were here as herself, not this dowdy impostor. But it was far too late for second thoughts, so she squared her shoulders and braced for the worst.

  Meg stepped closer with a smile. “Maxine, dear. Welcome to our family.” She embraced the taller woman.

  “Th-thank you.” It had been much easier to play games with Rand’s aunt and uncle than with his parents, Maxi was quickly realizing.

  Jesse said, “Maxine,” and dipped his head.

  He offered nothing more, just looked her over with a narrow-eyed glance that made her want to squirm.

  “It’s been so long,” Meg went on. “Come inside, darlings. The cook’s made up a batch of those pecan cookies you like so much, Randy, and we’ve got a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”

  Rand fell in beside his mother, leaving Maxi to walk with his father. Jesse gave her an overly casual glance and asked, “You ride?”

  “You mean horses?”

  He sounded astonished. “What else is there to ride?”

  She laughed. “Where I come from, bikes and buses would be more likely. But in answer to your question, no, I don’t ride. I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”

  “That’s a downright cryin’ shame.” He appeared almost comically sorry for her.

  “I suspect there’s someone around here who can rectify that sad situation.”

  “You got that right!” His grin carried almost as much wattage as his son’s.

  OVER A PLATE of cookies and tall glasses of iced tea, the older generation and the younger fenced cautiously.

  Or so it seemed to Rand, who grew more and more tense with every passing minute. He could handle his mother; he always had. His father was another story. He never knew what Jesse was thinking or what he’d do next. It had been that way for nearly thirty years and Rand had no particular hope that this would change any time soon.

  Meg, who’d been chattering on about her latest trip to Boston, turned to Max. “Clementine will be here later,” she said. “Randy did tell you he has a sister, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “She’s about your age, I suspect. Twenty-one?”

  Rand didn’t groan, but he wanted to. Talk about obvious!

  “I’m twenty-five,” Max said calmly. “Close enough, I guess.”

  “Absolutely.” Meg looked relieved. “I was twenty-one when I got married myself. Believe me, it was much too young.”

  Jesse laughed. “I robbed the cradle. Then I had to wait for her to grow up.”

  “Oh, you.” Meg made a face. “It’s just better not to jump into marriage so young, don’t you agree? Fortunately Clemmie’s busy with her career. She works in Houston for Taggart Oil—did Rand tell you?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  “Enough about family.” Meg rose, slender and graceful in matching silk trousers and shirt. “Randy, please put your suitcases in the guest suite.”

  “Ah, Mom, I thought we could stay at the cabin.” Had counted on staying at the cabin, in fact.

  “Absolutely not. We want you closer than that—both of you.”

  “But—”

  “Jesse, speak to your son.”

  “Kid, your mother says—”

  “I heard her, Dad. I’m not deaf.”

  “Did I say you’re deaf?” Jesse rose abruptly. “Good meeting you, Maxine. Now I’ve got to get back to work with that three-year-old. Danged horse is just about halfway broke. See you at supper.”

  He strode from the room. Glancing at Rand, Maxi saw a look of naked longing on his face—longing for his father’s approval but total denial of that desire.

  Meg apparently saw nothing she hadn’t seen a thousand times. She patted her son’s shoulder and turned to his new wife. “Let’s go into my sitting room. We can have a nice t
alk while Randy carries in your suitcases. There’s so much I’m dying to know….”

  RAND WAS ALONE on the broad porch when Clemmie drove into the yard in a silver Porsche. She leaped out and rushed to throw her arms around her brother.

  He held her close, recognizing a faithful and badly needed ally.

  She pushed back, her gray Taggart eyes laughing. It occurred to him then that his kid sister had grown up to be a real knockout.

  “Where is she?” Clemmie demanded. “When Mom told me you were married, I almost drove off the road.”

  “Never relay important news to a person on a cell phone.”

  “You got that right. So fess up. Are you just trying to get your inheritance or are you crazy in love with her?”

  “Both,” he said, knowing he couldn’t tell a barefaced lie to his sister and get away with it. Despite the difference in their ages, she’d always seen right through him.

  “Really?” The gray eyes narrowed. “You’re crazy in love with her?”

  Be careful, he warned himself. “Okay, I’ll level with you, but you’ve got to keep your mouth shut. I guess you could say I’m crazy in like with her.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not a bit. Max is just about the smartest, bravest—”

  “When was there occasion to test her bravery?” Clemmie looked appalled.

  “I’ll explain that later. She’s the smartest, bravest, most interesting, most honest—”

  “I’m not hearing beautiful, sexy or sophisticated in there,” Clementine broke in.

  “She’s beautiful inside.”

  His sister stared at him as if he’d lost his marbles. “You, of all people, have married a woman who’s beautiful inside? Holy cow, Rand, this must be love! So where is this woman who’s done the impossible by snagging my elusive brother?”

  “With Mom in her sitting room.”

  “Then she’s in dire need of rescuing.” Clemmie hesitated. “But before I go, how’s…everything else? The camp, Laura and the kids…?”

  “Getting by.” Why had he ever told her?

  “Oh, you!” Clementine touched her fingertips to her lips, then planted the kiss on his cheek. “Big brother, you’ll be a mystery to me until the day I die. Most people—” She frowned, shrugged. “Forget most people. We’ll talk more later, okay? In the meantime, try not to start World War III with Daddy.”

  And she was gone.

  Rand was alone again, not an unusual circumstance at the Hells Bells Ranch.

  MAXI DIDN’T KNOW what the third degree was until Meg Taggart got hold of her. Fortunately Meg’s questions were usually followed up by her own answers, or speculations, or guesses, or elaborations. Even so, by the time Clementine dashed in, Maxi was in a cold sweat.

  Clementine was adorable: long blond hair and long-lashed gray eyes in a perfect oval face, a neat figure like her mother’s, clothing that Maxi instinctively recognized as designer quality.

  She was definitely her mother’s daughter, but with her father’s down-home manner about her. Bending, she kissed her mother’s cheek, giving Maxi a conspiratorial wink.

  “Hi, Mama. I take it this is the newest member of the clan.”

  “Hello, darling. This is Maxine, your brother’s wife.”

  Clementine smiled. “Welcome to the Taggart family, Max. If you can survive us, you can survive anything.”

  “Thank you. Everyone’s been wonderful.”

  “When did you and my handsome brother get married?”

  “A few days ago.”

  “How long have you known each other?”

  “Long enough.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  Clementine burst out laughing. “Okay, those are the necessary questions.” She dropped her shoulder bag onto a chair. “Would you like a tour before dinner, Max? I hope you don’t mind me calling you ‘Max,’ but that’s what Randy called you. Mama, want to come along?”

  “Maxine’s tired, Clemmie,” Meg objected. “Why don’t you entertain your brother while Maxine and I continue with our nice chat.”

  “Being grilled by your new mother-in-law is definitely not in the ‘nice chat’ category. Let’s go, Max!”

  Maxi shrugged helplessly to indicate that this wasn’t her idea, then followed Clementine from the room. Once the door closed behind them, she turned to Rand’s sister and said, “If you were a guy, I’d kiss you for that.”

  “If I were a guy, I’d let you. Come on before she comes after us.”

  “WHAT DO YOU think of her?” Meg demanded of Jesse hours later, pausing with the brush poised for another stroke.

  He shrugged broad bare shoulders. The rest of him was bare, too. Jesse refused to wear anything to bed and always had. It was one of many things Meg had come to appreciate about him.

  “No, really,” she insisted. “Tell me.”

  “She seems okay.”

  “Jesse!” Meg threw down the brush and stood up, shoving the dressing-table bench aside. “She’s not the girl for him.”

  “That’s not for us to judge.”

  “She’s all wrong for him. I can see what’s in this for him—the Rocking T, although why he wants it now I don’t know. But what’s in this for her?”

  “You think it’s so far-fetched that she might love him?”

  “No,” Meg said slowly, “but…”

  She went on about it at great length while Jesse tuned her out as he’d been doing for years. He didn’t know what Randy was up to and didn’t intend to lose any more sleep over it. Jesse didn’t understand his son and didn’t expect he ever would. He’d liked Maxine from the get-go, but considering how riled up Meg was, that wasn’t going to pack a whole helluva lot of weight.

  Fortunately it was Randy’s problem, not his father’s.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CLEMENTINE’S DEPARTURE Sunday afternoon was a real downer for Maxi. Clemmie was her only support in this place, friendly and fun and willing to take everything at face value.

  Meg took nothing at face value, while Jesse seemed more interested in avoiding Rand than in anything else. He was rarely around and when he was seemed preoccupied.

  The week would be a long one, Maxi thought.

  The nights weren’t going all that well, either. Maxi and Rand shared a king-size bed in the guest suite Saturday night and it should have been fine, a piece of cake. After all, she’d argued with herself, it wasn’t as if this were the first time. But for some reason, this felt different. Maxi wondered if that kiss in the car was to blame.

  Kissing Rand Taggart was obviously not something she could do with impunity. Maybe this was true because her love life had been so nonexistent for so long, or maybe it was because Rand was just too damn attractive. Whatever the reason, she felt a new and nerve-jangling awareness, especially when they were alone.

  Luckily she saw no indication that he felt anything at all.

  When he announced Sunday night that he’d be sleeping on the couch in the small sitting-dressing room, he took her by complete surprise. He didn’t look at her when he said it, just pulled an extra blanket and pillow from the closet and ambled out of the bedroom.

  She glared after him, furious. Sleeping next to him wasn’t easy on her, either, but did she go slinking away like a coward? The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became. It wasn’t that she considered herself irresistible or anything, although plenty of men had told her she was, after seeing her in her underwear in the Violet’s Advantage catalog. But she had never expected to find herself cooped up with a man who barely even saw her.

  To hell with that!

  The next morning she waited until he went into the bathroom and then, in a fit of pique, proceeded to half undress while waiting for him to reappear. He walked out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a towel, with which he then vigorously rubbed his wet hair. His glance touched her and screeched to a halt, his eyes widening in disbelief.

  She grabbe
d her dress off the bed and held it haphazardly in front of her plain white cotton bra and equally plain panties. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “You—you startled me!”

  “Sorry about that.” Head down, he almost ran across the room and out the door.

  She finished dressing, allowing herself a smug smile, which slipped when she reminded herself that she was playing a dangerous game. She mustn’t do that again. After retrieving the phone, she dialed the Chicago number of R. Renwood Keever.

  “IS THAT YOU, Mr. Keever? This is Helen Reed’s sister, Maxine Rafferty. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

  Woody Keever gripped the receiver, his eyes bulging in a most unattractive manner that mocked him from the ornate gold-framed mirror opposite his mahogany-and-leather-tooled desk. Although he’d managed to hang on to his luxurious offices in an upscale Chicago suburb, he’d been forced to let all the help go. That was what happened when you put all your eggs in the wrong basket. After Coconutty, his few remaining clients had departed in droves.

  Which was why he’d picked up the telephone himself. That he’d had to was humiliating, but he controlled his ire. “Yes, Ms. Rafferty. My secretary just stepped away from her desk. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me how my sister is.”

  “Fine, she’s doing fine. Or at least as fine as possible while incarcerated.”

  “I wanted to bail her out, Mr. Keever. She wouldn’t let me.”

  No, because the silly bitch was waiting for her boyfriend to ride to her rescue. Like Bill Overton cared. “She doesn’t want you to become involved in her troubles,” he said sanctimoniously. “She was quite adamant about that.”

  “Yes, but I had to do something so…” Long silence and then she said, “I’m in Texas with Rand Taggart. I’m…trying to get the goods on him so I can help Helen.”

  At mention of the Taggart name, a shiver shot down Woody’s back and he sat up straighter. “Rand Taggart? My God, that’s dangerous! Whatever possessed you—”

  “He’s not dangerous,” she interrupted quickly. “Being around him tends to be, though. Did you hear about that Chicago plane hijacked to Mexico a few days ago? We were on it.”