Hitched! Page 4

  Embarrassed but too tired and annoyed to apologize, Rand plunged ahead. “Room one—that sounds good. Best in the house, right?” He handed the key to Maxine. “That’ll do for the lady. Now, how about me?”

  “I told you, room number one. That’s all we got left. It’s downstairs next to an air conditioner. We don’t usually rent it, but since you ask so damn nice—” José’s mouth curled up. He was really enjoying this.

  Rand stared at the key, then at the clerk. “If I apologize and ask real nice, do you think you could find one more room?”

  The man’s slowly shaking head ended that line of questioning. “This is all we got. Take it or leave it.”

  Rand glanced at Maxine. “Do we take it?”

  “Have we got a choice?”

  “Apparently not.” His stomach rumbled. “Any chance we can get something to eat?” he asked José.

  The clerk seemed to relent a bit. “I guess I could send something to your room. Nothing fancy, though. A couple of burritos, maybe a quesadilla.”

  “That sounds great.” Rand’s mouth watered at the mere mention of food. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, if you didn’t count a couple of cheese cubes and a package of pretzels. He looked around. “There wouldn’t be anybody handy to show us the way?” José’s expression made him add, “No, I suppose not.”

  “It’s just me,” the clerk said with a shrug. “I can take you to the room or bring food, your choice.”

  It really wasn’t a choice at all.

  RAND’S CLOSET in Boston was bigger than this room. His sister’s childhood playhouse behind the Rocking T ranch house was bigger than this room. The desk clerk’s ego was bigger than this room.

  Maxine took the high road. “At least it looks reasonably clean,” she said primly, dropping her suitcase at the foot of the bed.

  “Reasonably.” Rand sat down cautiously on the double bed. Other than that, the only furniture in the tiny room was a small chest of drawers and a night table with lamp.

  “If you hadn’t been such a jerk, this wouldn’t have happened,” she said, abandoning the high road.

  “That’s harsh.” He gave her a reproving glance.

  “Reality’s harsh,” she countered. “And the reality is, I’m stuck in this cubbyhole with a complete stranger. I don’t deserve this.”

  “If it’s any comfort, neither do I.”

  “No comfort at all.” She opened the top drawer of the bureau and looked in curiously. “How are you going to explain this to your girlfriend?”

  “What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

  “You do, don’t you?”

  “I sure as hell don’t.” But he wished he did, because then he wouldn’t have to figure out how to get around his great-grandpa’s will. He could just get married and be done with it. “How about you?” he added.

  “How about me what?”

  “Got a boyfriend?” As unlikely as that seemed.

  Her eyes flashed behind the unattractive glasses. “As a matter of fact—”

  A knock on the door interrupted. He pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her since she was nearer the door than he and the room wasn’t big enough to get past without major maneuvering. She glanced at the bill and her eyes widened; then she passed it on before accepting a small metal tray from unseen hands.

  Sitting on the foot of the bed, she put down the tray and lifted the light cloth covering. “On top of everything else, you’re an overtipper.”

  “Hell,” he said, “I can afford it.” Or could once, but that was none of her damn business.

  The heady aromas of spicy Mexican food floated up to him, and his mouth watered again in anticipation. “I’m starved.” He reached for a burrito.

  “Me, too.” She chose a wedge of quesadilla oozing cheese. They ate in silence for a few moments, then opened the two bottles of water and drank.

  Eventually she said out of the clear blue, “I wonder what will become of the hijackers.”

  “I hope whoever locks them up throws away the key.” He selected another burrito. He could hardly believe she’d been thinking about those two jerks. “They sure played hell with my life,” he went on. “I should be in Hells Bells, Texas, right about now, trying to—” He shut up, musing that he was probably better off stranded here than trying to fast-talk his father.

  “Trying to what?”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

  “Yes.” She gave him that assessing look again. “Does it have anything to do with you giving all the credit for stopping those hijackers to that guy from Dubuque?”

  “What if it does? I just don’t want my name in the newspapers. What’s so strange about that?” One thing would lead to another. If anything got printed about his recent business reverses, he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing his judges that he was a changed man. “Besides,” he added, “I didn’t do all that much.”

  “A guy saves an entire plane full of people and dodges credit for it. You don’t consider that a bit peculiar?”

  “No stranger than setting out for San Antonio and ending up lost in Baja California,” he improvised. “Besides, my mother would probably have a heart attack if she heard about this. I want to keep her in a good mood and this wouldn’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to keep your mother in a good mood?”

  “Because…” Fed up with her questions, he glared—and gave in. “Look, I’m on my way to Texas to claim an inheritance. I need my mom’s cooperation.”

  “That sounds simple enough.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt.

  “You’d think so.” Shut up, Rand. “Unfortunately there’s nothing simple about it. I don’t meet the conditions of the will because, for starters, I’m not married.” Now, why had he said that? Maybe because he was sick and tired of keeping his problems to himself.

  She was incredulous. “You’ve got to be married to get whatever this is?”

  “It was my great-grandpa’s bright idea. He left me his ranch and everything on it, which adds up to a small fortune. But to get it, I have to not only be married but be happily married before I turn thirty.”

  “Which is—?”

  “September 30…less than two weeks.”

  “Gee, you are in trouble.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Look at the bright side. The key word is married, because once you’ve done that, who’s to judge what happily means?”

  “That’s easy—my parents and two sets of aunts and uncles. The final say is theirs. But since I’m not married, happily or otherwise, it’s a moot point.”

  “What is it you’re trying to get out of them, exactly?”

  “I want to break my great-grandpa’s will. The only way I can do that is with their help.”

  “And your chances of pulling that off are…?”

  “Only slightly less than slim and none.” He was desperate enough to give it a try, however. Cocking his head, he considered. Now that he’d had a little food, he felt worlds better. But he was talking way too much, so he changed the subject. “How about you? How important is that job in San Antonio?”

  “You mean the one with the interview set for tomorrow morning at ten—make that this morning at ten?” She sighed a bit dramatically. “Not that important, I suppose, since it’s out the window now.”

  “Surely they’ll reschedule when they learn what happened.”

  “I doubt it. I only got the interview as a favor to my sister, who used to date—oh, never mind.” She shook her head wearily. “My life’s a mess, so what difference will it make if this job doesn’t pan out?”

  He felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re young. You have skills. You can find something. Hell, I’ll help you.”

  “You? But you said you don’t even have a job yourself. You’re just some rich guy who—”

  “Hold on there!” Incensed, he glared at her. “I’m not just some rich guy. I have�
��business interests.” Yeah, failed business interests. But the situation might improve if he could get his hands on Bill Overton for five minutes. “I also have a certain amount of influence here and there—and even if I didn’t, I could get you a job. How hard can it be?”

  “Have you ever done it? Gotten anybody a job, I mean.”

  He had very little experience with gainful employment.

  “Your hesitation speaks volumes,” she said. “What do your business interests include?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” Damn, that sounded hostile.

  “I see. You’re clamming up on me again.”

  “Not really. I’m a dull boy.”

  “Sure you are.” She gave him a disgusted glance and rose, still cold. “Thanks so much for your offer of help, but I think I’ll find my own job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hunt down the bathroom.”

  “Okay.” He also rose, disconcerted by her attitude. “Don’t wake me when you come back in.”

  She looked him in the eye, which was easy enough at her height, although he himself was a good six-foot-plus. “That brings up something else. I’m here because I have no choice—here sharing this room with you, I mean.”

  “I know that,” he said, annoyed.

  “I’ll stay on my side of the bed and you stay on yours. If you so much as touch me, I’ll…I’ll make you regret it.”

  He rolled his eyes, tempted to say that if he touched her it would only be because he was asleep or delirious. “I have no intention of touching you.”

  She didn’t appear to believe him, despite the nod. “I’m going to sleep fully clothed and I suggest you do the same.”

  “Dressed? I can’t sleep in my clothes.”

  “Under the circumstances, I insist. Your other option is to bed down in the lobby.”

  He sighed. “Okay, Maxine. We’ll do it your way…this time”

  But never again. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was protection against Rand Taggart.

  PLATILLO VOLANTE LOOKED even drearier by the light of day. Dirt roads and adobe buildings were the norm, with a few dilapidated hotels and more gracious dwellings perched on the surrounding hills. But the air was sweet and clear. Rand drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders for the inevitable crises to come and walked back inside to join Maxine in the crowded dining room for breakfast.

  José, the expatriate Los Angeleno, appeared with menus.

  Maxine spoke to him in Spanish.

  As usual, José answered in English. “I recommend the huevos rancheros.”

  “Works for me.” Rand closed his menu.

  Maxine nodded. “Me, too.”

  “Can I ask a question?”

  They both looked at Rand as if he were a nuisance.

  “What does Platillo Volante mean?” he asked.

  José grinned. “It means flying saucer. They say one visited here in the late forties. Everybody thought it would come back, which is why they changed the town’s name and built that campo de aviación—the flying field that saved your lives. Several fancy hotels went up—” He gestured to the spacious if shabby room. “Rich American tourists came in droves for a while, but when no more flying saucers dropped by, they got mad and went home. By the mid-fifties, the boom was all over.” He shook his head in wonder. “Flying saucers—do you believe it? Some people will fall for anything.”

  Rand didn’t need anybody telling him that.

  THE TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD wound its way through some of the most beautiful country in Mexico or anywhere else. On the left lay the ocean, miles and miles of unspoiled beaches; on the right a range of low mountains shimmered green in the distance.

  Rand and Maxine sat near the front of the rattle-trap bus, sweltering in noonday heat. Rand’s thoughts were not pleasant.

  The hijacking had turned out all right, but unfortunately the Mexican detour had given him time he didn’t need, or want, to brood, to question his plan—and to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion that he was on a fool’s errand.

  He would never gain his family’s support in challenging Thom T.’s will. Hell, he’d have a better shot at that inheritance if he hired some bimbo to play his wife and—

  An explosion rocked the bus. The driver dragged hard on the wheel, bumping to a stop on the shoulder. Rand let out the breath he’d been holding. That had been a close one.

  Maxine stared at him, eyes wide and a hand over her heart. “What happened?”

  “Flat tire, I think.”

  “Do you suppose he has a spare?”

  “Who the hell knows?”

  There was indeed a spare tire, but it was even balder than the one with the big old nail sticking out of it. While the driver grunted and cussed and toiled, passengers spilled out of the stifling bus and spread out in a vain attempt to find anything cool or shady. Maxine and a few others wandered across the narrow road to stand on the bluff overlooking the ocean.

  Finishing the job, the driver wiped sweat from his forehead and lowered the jack. As if sensing imminent departure, Maxine turned from the sea.

  Rand caught his breath. For just an instant she stood there framed against a pristine blue sky. Tendrils of hair blew around her face and the dowdy dress molded a figure he’d never imagined. Just for that moment, she looked…fantastic.

  But then she walked toward him and it was the same old Maxine who asked, “Are we ready to go?”

  He blinked, figuring he was in worse shape than he’d realized if he saw something that couldn’t possibly be there. “Yeah. Get in.”

  When everyone was aboard, the driver ground the gearshift into first and once more they were under way.

  Maxine said suddenly, “What if the bus driver keeled over with a heart attack or decided he’d had enough of this nonsense? Do you know how to drive a standard transmission?”

  “Maxine, don’t we have enough to worry about without that?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Yes, I know how to drive a standard transmission. My great-grandpa taught me out in the pasture in the middle of a bunch of longhorns.”

  “That’s a relief. The way things are going…” She relaxed back against the tattered seat cover. “Is that the same great-grandpa with the kooky will?”

  “The very same.”

  “He must have been a real character,” she said. “If you want that inheritance so much, I’m surprised you don’t just get married.”

  “You think that’s so easy?” he shot back.

  She shrugged. “Piece of cake. I’ll bet you’ve got girls lusting after you from coast to coast.”

  “Aren’t you funny.” He gave her a disapproving glance.

  “I notice you don’t deny it.”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “Probably not.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Maybe there’s one special girlfriend and you’d marry her, but she’s…I don’t know, unavailable or something.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be available?”

  “Lots of reasons. She could be out of the country. Or…in jail?”

  Rand laughed incredulously. “You’ve got the damnedest imagination of any woman I’ve ever met. Do I look like the kind of guy who’d hang with some babe who’d get thrown into jail? I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said stiffly. “If you don’t really care that much about your inheritance, I don’t suppose—”

  “I do care. I care a helluva lot. But I can’t go waltzing in with some bimbo and expect my family to fall into line.” He grimaced.

  “I don’t care for the word bimbo,” she said. “Just what does it cover?”

  “You want a definition? It means…Okay, how about this. A bimbo is a woman who goes to bed with a guy on the first date.”

  “You mean like me?”

  He was so shocked he nearly choked. “You didn’t—” But she had. She’d gone to bed with him and lain next to him all night, even though they were both fully clothed and wrap
ped in individual blanket cocoons.

  Embarrassed, he tried to turn aside her wrath. “Lighten up, Maxine. Don’t take it personal.” Uncomfortably aware that he’d blasted her pretty good without meaning to, he added, “You know what you are.”

  “Yes, but you don’t.” She sounded completely exasperated. “Inside, I could be…Madonna.” She glared at him.

  “Maybe so, but outside, where the rest of the world can see it, you’re…you’re…”

  “I’m what, Rand Taggart?”

  “You’re…” Inspiration hit him right between the eyes. “You’re not a bimbo. In fact, you’re just the kind of woman I need to get my family to approve my inheritance.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’M WHAT?”

  “Take it easy, Maxine. You’re just the kind of woman I need to get my family to—”

  “I heard that part. What I want to know is what you meant.”

  “Just that you’re smart,” he said quickly, wondering why she didn’t calm down. “Did we work great together to foil those hijackers or what?”

  “Yes, well—”

  “And you’re serious. I mean, you’re a serious person. You work for a living.”

  “You don’t. Does that mean you’re not a serious person?”

  That stung. “I’m getting serious, okay? It’s just a little case of arrested development.”

  “Oh, really.”

  Despite her scorn, the idea uttered in jest was seeping deeper into his consciousness. Maxine was an ideal candidate for a make-believe bride. Surely he could get her to see that.

  The bus rattled on down the road. After another ten miles or so she said, “I can’t imagine you’re talking about a real marriage.”

  “No way.” He shuddered. “I could just call my folks and tell them I’m married, let them speak to you, you back me up. Voilà! Inheritance released.”

  “Voilà! You’ve got to be joking. They’d fall for that?”

  “I don’t know. I never tried to scam my own family before.”

  “But you have scammed others?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He gave her an annoyed glance. “Hell, at this point, anything’s worth a shot.”

  “Desperate times…”

  “You got that right.”