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And why, considering the current pickle he found himself in, was he thinking about her when he should be focusing on convincing Gram to release his trust fund?
“Connor?”
“Yes, Gram,” he answered sharply, turning back to the woman who looked so much like his father. Right now her expressive eyes were troubled, and the mouth that always looked like it held a secret joke was a thin line.
“Look,” he relented, “you know as well as I do why I’m here. There’s already a ban imposed on beef exports. It’s the same scenario as before, only this time it’ll be harder to convince the world our beef is safe. Meanwhile I have a herd, a growing herd, that I can’t slaughter but that still has to be fed and cared for.”
“And you want the cash?”
“My birthday is less than a year away. Surely you can release it a little early?”
Her blue hawk-like eyes bored into his as she folded her hands in her lap. Hands that had once been rough and workworn but now held a small smattering of delightful rings. “No, my grandson, I can’t do that. Your parents’ will clearly states that those monies be held in trust for you until your thirtieth.”
Connor cursed fluently; Johanna merely raised an elegant eyebrow. He glared at her, and she stared him down.
Damn it. She was strong—too strong. She’d lived her life, worked the ranch herself, knew what tough meant. She’d chosen comfort, a condo with a mountain view for her retirement. But she’d lost none of that prairie woman’s steel.
“Gram. I can’t do it. Not without the resources.”
“You are your father’s son. You can.”
“He never had to deal with this.” He said it and knew without a doubt he was right. The last scare had nearly bankrupted them, and they’d kept going by the skin of their teeth. But now…there was nothing in reserve. The only way to keep Windover running was with cold, hard cash. And it was clear now she wasn’t going to give him any. His heart sank. He’d fail after all.
Like hell I will. His lips thinned with frustration and determination.
“Legally I can’t release the money, Connor. You know I would if I could.”
Her eyes softened just a little, and he saw the deepening wrinkles there.
“I don’t want to see Windover go under either,” she continued. “It means as much to me as it does to you. You know that.”
He did know it. She’d spent all her married life there, had delivered his father, seen grandchildren grow and thrive.
“I’m just trying to find a way, and everywhere I turn there seems to be a roadblock.” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair.
“There is one other provision, remember?” she remarked blandly.
She couldn’t be serious.
“The one other way for me to claim that trust fund is to get married. Gram, I’m not even seeing anyone! What do you want me to do? Post an ad at the general store? Perhaps I could find a mail order bride on the Internet!”
She shrugged, undaunted by his sarcasm. “Mail order brides have worked in the past, as you well know.” She rose from her chair and stood, her five-foot-ten frame slim and imperious, but mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I suggest you get busy, my boy.”
“Busy? Doing what?”
She laughed again, throwing him a flirtatious wink. “Why, courting, of course!”
Courting. Hmmph. Connor snorted as he accelerated through the exit ramp onto Highway Two. The idea was as preposterous as the old-fashioned word. Courting. As if he had time to romance a woman, entice her to marry him and have the ceremony before the banks called in their loans. Besides, who did he know that was single?
He came from a community where everyone had known each other from diapers. Most of the town women he knew were married, or on their way to the altar. There was no one he could think of that he would consider marrying. And if it got out that he was looking for a stand-in wife he’d be laughed out of town. And what woman would settle for that anyway? What woman should have to?
Nope. He’d simply have to come up with a different solution.
There would be government money—aid for farmers affected. At least he wouldn’t have to cull—for now. But the aid cheque wouldn’t be enough to cover the growing mountain of expenses while on-the-hoof prices cratered.
He could sell the southwest parcel.
Just the thought of parting with that spectacular piece of land caused physical pain to slice through his gut. His father would never have split up the farm, and Connor knew he couldn’t either. Even in the lean years, during the Depression, when farmers had left their land behind to look for work, the Madsens had stayed and made it through. It was what they did.
He missed the sound of his dad’s voice, and his strength. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for that wisdom now, to sit at the kitchen table working through it. Together—Connor, Jim, and Dad—they would have come up with a plan. Only now it was up to him.
He turned up the radio to drown out the thunder that was exploding around him. It had been stuffy, sweltering today. The rain would cool things down, and hopefully there wouldn’t be any hail. He was going to need all the feed crops he could get. When you couldn’t sell beef, you still had to feed it.
Connor sighed, wrestling with his tie with one hand while steering the truck with the other. He’d put on the suit to meet with the bankers—and, yes, he admitted it, to impress his grandmother. It hadn’t worked, in either case.
Which brought him right back to courting.
Marriage was for a lifetime. Or at least he intended it to be. And as such it wasn’t something he glibly approached. It would be a huge mistake to find someone suitable and marry her in haste. He wanted to be in love with his bride. He wanted it to be someone he cherished and honored and wanted to build a family with. And he didn’t want to be pushed. He wanted it to be in his own good time, and when the time was right.
There had to be a way. A way he could bring the ranch back from the brink. His parents had been smart when they’d set up the trust the way they had. There was more than enough money in the trust account to keep things afloat while he restructured, figured out where to go next. If he were careful. But how to get his hands on it…?
“I suggest you get busy, my boy.”
His grandmother’s words rang in his ears as he headed north. What he needed was a practical solution. Something black and white and easy—something that made sense. What he needed to do was stop worrying and take action.
He envied the optimism that Alex had shown today…“I’ll manage. I always do.” Even in her dire straits she seemed capable, even though he knew she was pregnant and alone and without her own place to call home. She had an intrinsic faith that things would work out in the end.
The idea hit him fast and hard, and he almost steered the truck into the ditch as lightning forked in the sky ahead of him.
Alex. He needed a wife. She needed a place to call home for a while, and resources. They could help each other. He hadn’t been mistaken in the connection they’d made today as she’d held out her hand and he’d taken her smaller one in his. They could become friends, he was sure. He could do her a favor and she could help him save the family spread.
He remembered how they’d parted. He’d given her a business card.
“Why would I do that?” she’d asked, and he’d known she was too independent to rely on a stranger for help.
But perhaps if she knew he needed her help as much as she needed his…
He changed lanes, steered the truck over the grass median, and gunned it out on the highway in the opposite direction, heading back to town. His heart pounded with anticipation and apprehension.
How did you propose marriage to someone you’d met only hours before?
The phone rang as Alex came out of the bathroom, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She answered it, expecting it to be someone for one of her temporary roommates. Instead it was the pub—asking her to cover a shift. Peggy had up and quit with no notice.
She looked out the window at the rain streaming down the pane. The walk would be hell, even if it was only a few blocks. But it was extra money…and the tips were always better in the evenings.
With a sigh she agreed, and changed into a pair of jeans and her work T-shirt: snug white, with a picture of a whistling pig on the front. She gathered her hair into a careless ponytail, the black ends touching the top of her spine. For a moment she paused, watching as lightning forked across the sky. If she didn’t need the money…
But she did. So she grabbed her umbrella from behind the door and made the trek to the pub in the downpour.
It was dim and smoky inside, and for a minute she contemplated the effects of second-hand smoke on herself and her baby. But this was the only job she had, and she couldn’t afford to quit while she looked for something else. She had to eat. She had to think of how she was going to feed herself and care for an infant. Tying a black apron around her waist, she grabbed an empty tray and started cleaning up empties and taking orders.
It was only nine when he came in.
The door thumped open the same as it did a hundred times a night, but for some reason she turned towards it. When Connor stepped in, shaking the water from his coat and instantly scanning the room, her pulse jumped. It was too coincidental. He had come looking for her.
When his eyes met hers across the hazy room she knew she was right. He smiled, a lazy, melting smile, and she braced herself. Men who smiled like that were deadly. And the last thing she needed was a distraction as lethal as Connor Madsen.
He made his way through the crush of people to her side. “Hi,” he said loudly, over the pulse of country music and boisterous laughter. “Can we talk?”
“Hey, Alex! Table ten needs another round! We don’t pay you to stand around all night!”
Alex nodded at Pete, the bartender and owner. Pete came across as all gruff, but she knew he had a heart of gold and a protective streak a mile long. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed as long as she had. As long as Pete was watching, she wouldn’t have to worry.
Alex looked up at Connor with consternation twisting her face. “I can’t talk right now, I’m working.”
“It’s important.”
“So’s my job.” She turned away, heading to the bar to pick up the round of beers.
His hand was firm on her arm. “If you care about your baby’s future, you’ll listen.”
That got her attention.
She stared up at him with eyes narrowed, curious despite herself. “Fine, then. But not now. Another time, when I’m not carting beers around.”
“What time are you through?”
“One.”
“In the morning?”
She laughed then, at his dismayed expression. “Yes, I have four more hours of being on my feet.”
He followed her to the bar. Pete asked a question with his eyes, but she gave a slight shake of her head: No, he wasn’t bothering her.
“I’ll come back and walk you home. I really do need to talk to you.”
She sighed. “Fine. But for now you’re costing me my tips, in case you didn’t notice. I need to get back to work. I won’t make much money with you standing glowering over me.”
She shouldered past him, pasting a smile on her face as she apologized to the patrons at table ten for the delay. When she turned back, he was gone.
At one a.m. they ushered out the last customer and Alex locked the door. Pete eyed her over the bar as he started counting out the float for morning. “Go home,” he said, “and I’ll finish this. That’s the second double you’ve pulled this week. You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks, Pete.” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous. If she left now, Connor might be outside waiting. If she didn’t, he’d probably get tired of waiting around. On one hand she wanted to see him, see what was so important. On the other she knew it probably wasn’t best. She didn’t need any extra complications right now—her life was already full of too many.
She grabbed her umbrella from behind the bar and saluted him. “Tomorrow at four?”
“G’night, darlin’,” he answered. “I’ll lock up behind you.”
When she stepped out into the darkness Connor was waiting, standing next to a bench beneath a streetlight. His tie from earlier was gone, and he looked sexily rumpled in the dim light. She swallowed, thankful that she’d spent enough time alone to have some street smarts. And to follow her instincts. Right now her instincts were telling her she wasn’t in mortal danger. But the way her body was reacting to seeing him again told her loud and clear that she was in danger of another kind.
She should turn around and go back inside. She reached for the handle, only to hear the lock click into place.
She could handle this. She could.
“My mother used to warn me about strange men and dark streets late at night.”
He turned, and in his arms was a bouquet of lemon-colored roses. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we have a streetlight and we’ve already met. I can’t do anything about the hour, though.”
He held out the roses and she was too stupefied to do anything besides take them, the clear cellophane wrapping crackling in her hands. Where had he found roses after nine p.m.?
And, a better question, why? What was so important he needed to butter her up with flowers first?
Warning bells screamed through her head. Whatever he wanted was something big. She’d only received flowers once before in her life. It had been roses then, too, pink ones. And the gist of the card had been Thanks for the memories.
“Thank you,” she said clearly. “But I don’t quite understand what is so important you think you need to impress me with roses. Even if they are quite stunning,” she admitted, sniffing the yellow blossoms.
She laughed a little to herself, remembered reading somewhere that yellow roses signified unrequited love. She needed that like she needed a hole in her head.
“You’d better get to the point,” she suggested. “The novelty of these will probably wear off pretty fast.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
She began walking, and he fell into step beside her.
“What sort of proposition?”
“I want you to marry me.”
Her feet simply stopped working, and she halted, frozen to the sidewalk. He what? What sort of cruel joke was this? Poor, pregnant Alex. Surely he didn’t think she was that desperate! He could take his pity and—
Her head lifted until she looked down her nose at him. “I couldn’t have just heard you correctly.”
He grabbed her forearms, turning her to face him, his hand catching on the umbrella dangling from her wrist. “I want you to marry me.” He huffed out a laugh of surprise. “That wasn’t how I planned to say it, but there you go.”
He wanted her to marry him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. What on earth? She realized he was completely in earnest. He was proposing to her in the middle of the street at one-twenty-two in the morning.
“I met you less than twelve hours ago. You’re insane. Goodnight, Connor.”
She turned to walk away, and made it a few steps.
“Wait.”
The desperation in his voice caught at her and she stopped. “Wait for what? You can’t be serious about this.”
“I am. And I’ll explain it if you’ll only listen.”
His suit was rather rumpled, and his hair looked as if he’d spent the better part of the evening running his hands through it. Against her better judgment she capitulated. He’d helped her this afternoon, and she felt obligated to him. “You have five minutes.”
