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“A month ago.”
Her clipped tones didn’t invite conversation.
He frowned. The lady was presenting a puzzle. He assumed she’d been told to approach him by one of the matchmakers. Maybe he was wrong. “Look, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I figured Mabel or Florence or—” He stopped as her cheeks flooded with color. Guilt if he ever saw it.
“How did you know?” she asked with gasp.
He didn’t answer at once. The pie and ice cream, already melting, demanded his attention. After he’d digested a tasty bite, he grinned. “Everyone in town knows those ladies are determined to marry off every single man in the county.” He shook his head, still grinning. “Not that I’m accusing you of trying to marry me. They usually start off with a date to one of the barn dances they have around here.”
He thought she’d be even more embarrassed, maybe even back out of asking him. Too bad. He might have enjoyed dancing with Miss Megan Ford.
Taking another bite, he was enjoying the combination of warm fruit pie and cold ice cream, when she spoke.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Astin. We’re skipping the date part and going straight to the wedding vows. I’m asking you to marry me.”
He sputtered pie and ice cream across the table.
NOT HER MOST shining moment, Megan decided.
She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but the man was so sure she was eager to fall at his feet in adoration.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she added sharply as he stared at her. “I’m not in admiration of your masculine charms. But I need a husband.”
He gave a low chuckle that shivered down her nerves as he wiped off the table. “That’s sure a unique approach, Miss Ford.”
“I’m serious!” she snapped.
That fascinating left brow slipped up toward his dark hair, but he was still grinning. “Yeah, and I’m the Easter bunny.”
Okay, so she hadn’t handled it right, but the man didn’t have to be sarcastic. She gritted her teeth and waited for him to stop laughing.
“I can offer you five thousand dollars,” she said grimly.
The mention of money seemed to sober him up. She’d thought it would. He didn’t have the look of a wealthy man. Mabel Baxter had told her he was trying to operate his ranch on a shoestring, doing most of the work himself.
He put down his fork and leaned forward. “Let me get this straight. You’re offering me five thousand dollars to marry you?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She twisted her hands together. The explanation wasn’t as simple as the request. And a lot depended on her convincing the stranger across from her to agree to her proposal. “It’s complicated.”
“Getting married always is.”
His drawl carried a note of bitterness.
“You’ve been married before?”
He gave a brief nod.
“Do you have children?” That would really make things complicated.
“Nope. I’m not cut out to be a father.” He put more pie on his fork. “You’re not going to surprise me again, are you?”
The twinkle of humor in his brown eyes was reassuring. When she shook her head no, he even smiled, which made him more handsome.
“Um, the reason I need to marry is to get custody of my niece and nephew.” If the man didn’t like kids, he probably wouldn’t agree. Why hadn’t Mabel said anything? She knew why Megan was looking for a husband.
His chewing slowed, as if he was considering her explanation. After swallowing, he leaned forward. “Where are their parents?”
Her eyes filled with tears. After all, it had only been a few months since she’d lost her sister. “My…my sister’s dead.”
“And her husband?”
Husband. That word had once meant good things to her. Until Drake Moody had come into her sister’s life. “He’s in prison.”
She could tell her abrupt answer had surprised him, but at least he didn’t lose any food. He put his fork down and stared at her. Finally, he said, “Looks to me like you won’t have much competition for guardianship.”
She pressed her lips tightly together before drawing a deep breath. Then she forced herself to relax. “He’ll get out soon. And he’ll come after them. Mr. Gibbons said I’d stand a better chance if I’m married.”
“Mac? You talked to Mac?”
“Yes, Dr. Gibbons’s husband.”
“He’s good.”
“Yes.” She knew the man was a good attorney. He’d been honest with her, not offering false promises. That’s why she’d made the desperate move of asking this man to marry her.
“Well? What’s your answer?” she prodded, staring at him.
RICK BLEW OUT his breath, leaning back against the booth. She wanted an answer now? Automatically, a no rose in his throat. After all, he’d tried marriage once. Who would consider a second marriage? Not him.
“I might be able to come up with another twenty-five hundred,” she said, pleading with her blue eyes.
He shook his head, frowning. The money didn’t matter. Not that he could tell her that. Someone might discover his secret. Which made his answer hard to explain.
“I’ve been married once. I don’t want to do that again.”
“We’re not talking about a real marriage. It would be a marriage on paper. We’d stay married until I get the children. Then…then we’ll get a divorce.”
“Won’t the courts be suspicious?” What was he doing, arguing with her?
“We…we might have to wait six months. I could ask Mr. Gibbons.”
Damn, he didn’t want to tell her no. Those blue eyes tugged at his heart. “Look, we’d have to live together. You don’t want to do that.”
“We…we can give you your own room. I’ll take the children in with me and—”
“Lady, I have to live on the ranch. I have a lot of work to do. I can’t live in town.” Okay, here was his out. He’d given himself a year to prove himself. He had four months to go.
“Do you have a house?”
“Yeah.” He had a big old house, made for families. Too much house for him. He didn’t have the time to clean it. He barely kept the kitchen decent. Maybe decent was too nice a word. But he couldn’t afford a housekeeper. Not on his present budget. Things had cost more than he’d thought.
“We could move into your house. We’d be quiet. We wouldn’t cause you any trouble.”
She was desperate, he realized. So desperate she was on the verge of tears. Walking away from Megan Ford would be hard to do. He’d be haunted forever by those big blue eyes.
“What kind of coffee do you make?”
She blinked several times. “What kind? I…I usually grind my own beans. I like—”
“Grind your own beans? Are you serious?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Tell me you can cook, too.”
She gave him a befuddled stare. “Yes, though not as good as my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“There’s four of us. Me and my mother and the two kids. But two rooms would be enough. I promise we wouldn’t take up much space.”
“Can you clean house?”
“I don’t—why are you asking me these questions?”
“I need a housekeeper and I can’t afford to hire one.” The idea that had struck him sent a surge of adrenaline through him. He could have a housekeeper and it wouldn’t cost him anything. In return, he’d help Megan gain custody of two little kids.
Not a bad trade-off.
“What do you think?” he asked, as she continued to stare at him.
“You’re serious?”
“Why not? We’d each get what we needed. A temporary husband for you and a housekeeper for me. Sounds like the perfect bargain.” He grinned at her, hoping to chase away those tears that still lingered.
Her eyes narrowed. “I shouldn’t have to pay you if I’m going to work for you. Oh! I mean, I already have a job. But Mother and I together could—”
“I agree. No money. Does your mother keep the kids while you’re working?” His wife had never worked. Or cleaned house for that matter. He’d had a housekeeper. He wished he still had her. In fact, he’d been having dreams about Maria and her enchiladas, but she’d retired when he left Austin.
“What can you cook?” he asked, his gaze intent on her face.
“You seem to be fixated on food,” she muttered, frowning at him.
“If you’d been eating what I have, you would, too.”
“You don’t have enough money for food?” she asked, her voice rising in horror.
“I have enough money for food, but when I come dragging in at dusk, after putting in twelve or fourteen hours, I don’t have the energy to cook anything. Or find a clean pan,” he added under his breath, hoping she didn’t hear him.
“You don’t have any pots and pans?”
“I’ve got a few.” But they were all dirty. He pictured his kitchen as he’d left it this morning. Not a pretty sight.
“We have plenty of kitchen things. We could bring ours and then there’d be enough. We’re renting a place month-to-month, so we could move in at the end of the month.”
He barely heard her words. All he could think about was sitting down to a decent meal at the end of the day. Coming home to a clean house. Maybe even having his laundry done for him.
Maria had taken care of all that stuff for him. He hadn’t even considered those aspects of his life when he left Austin. He’d thought of a breeding bull. Fencing materials. A secondhand tractor. A couple of trucks.
Nothing for the kitchen.
“So, you still haven’t told me. What can you cook?”
Chapter Two
“What did he say?” Faith asked, meeting her daughter at the door of their small apartment.
Megan tried to smile. She wanted to reassure her mother. The past year had been hard on her. “He said yes.”
Faith closed the door and turned back to Megan. “You don’t sound happy about it. Have you changed your mind? You shouldn’t marry him if it’s not what you want to do, Meggie.”
“Megan?” a shrill little voice sounded only seconds before her niece burst into the small living area. “You’re here!” Victoria squealed and launched herself into her aunt’s arms.
Megan held her close, kissing her little cheek. The child’s warmth against her chased away the chill she’d been feeling. She looked over Torie’s shoulder. “I’m happy about it, Mom. He’s…he’s a little strange, but nice,” she hurriedly added.
“Where did you go?” Torie demanded, putting her hands on Megan’s cheeks and turning her face to her.
“I had to go to a meeting. Were you good for Grandma?”
“Very good. I took my nap, didn’t I, Grandma?”
“She did. She just woke up a few minutes ago. Andrew is still sleeping.”
The guilty look that covered Victoria’s face, plus the cry from another room, told its own story.
“You woke up your brother?” Megan asked Torie.
“I didn’t mean to. I thought he would play with me,” Torie responded, her eyes filling with tears.
Megan knew she had to be stern with her niece, but not now, not today. She hugged the three-year-old closer. “Then let’s go see if he wants to play.”
When she and Torie, along with nine-month-old Andrew, returned to the living area, Faith was seated at the breakfast table.
“Let the children play and you come talk to me,” Faith ordered.
