His Tomboy Bride

He had an urge to let her fall on her rump, as he might have if she were an obnoxious twelve-year-old. Then he could clear his mind, stay focused, make sure she’d made the right decision and leave. Instead, against his better judgment, he held her tight against him, his hands secure on her waist. In a thick voice, he asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah. My boot got caught.” She pushed away from his shoulder and stood firmly on her own two feet, the way she always had, never leaning on anyone, never showing any weakness. She carried the heavy load of responsibility she’d been left with well. Nick admired her for her ability to withstand adversity.

Two years ago he’d understood her pride dictated her rejection of his offer to help with the Rocking G. But should he have insisted? Or had he only felt the barb that she no longer needed or wanted him? Regret shamed him. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed away.

“Boots! Where are your wedding shoes? They are perfect for the dress,” Rosa was saying, her brow wrinkling with concern.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to stand around in them for hours at the wedding and reception,” Billie complained.

“It’s only for one day.” Martha soothed her daughter. “The right shoes are so important”

“Why?” Billie asked. “Who’s going to see them under this skirt?” She lifted the hem, giving Nick a glimpse of one silk-covered foot rubbing across the top of the other.

“Everyone,” her mother answered. “You’ll have to lift your skirt so Doug can remove your garter to throw to the single men.”

Nick gritted his teeth. Doug. It had to be a mistake. The groom couldn’t be Doug “Blockhead” Schaeffer!

“Besides,” Martha continued, “you’ll have so many other things to think about you won’t even notice your feet. You’ll be floating on cloud nine. That’s how I was when your daddy and I wed.” A wistful look came into her soft blue eyes.

“I’m sure I will, Mother.”

Had Nick heard a note of doubt in Billie’s voice? Or had he only wanted to?

Scowling, he watched her maneuver toward the step stool in her oversize skirt. The heavy material rustled and swayed, emphasizing the movement of her hips. He stayed close enough to offer assistance if she tripped again, but far enough not to breathe in her secretive scent or reach out to feel the silky strands of her shoulder-length blond hair. Hiking up the skirt to her knees, she climbed onto the footstool, unassisted. Nick caught a better view of shimmery hose covering slender legs.

“Who’s the lucky groom?” he asked, averting his gaze and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Doug Schaeffer.”

Something irrational and dangerous exploded inside Nick. He thought he’d prepared himself to hear that name, but obviously not enough. “Are you nuts?”

She propped her hands on her hips and gave him a stubborn I-dare-you-to-say-another-word stare. “Yes.”

He managed to close his mouth and rein in his confusion... irritation...contempt. How could Billie possibly fall for that bastard? What could she see in him? Of all the men to win Billie! Smug and arrogant were two of Dong’s best traits. The heir to Schaeffer Enterprises should never have been a contender.

He remembered Doug, flaunting his daddy’s bucks, cruising around in a fancy convertible that probably had the same price tag as the house Nick had been raised in. He’d been too rich for his own good, too self-assured, too...too much. Had he overwhelmed Billie with all that glitter and gold? If so, then Billie wasn’t the girl he remembered. Maybe now she was more like his ex-wife.

“Where is Schaeffer?” Nick asked, his teeth clenched. Billie’s father never would have welcomed Schaeffer into the family. And Jake would have booted his butt across the Texas border. Nick would settle this quick and take great pleasure in shoving Schaeffer out of the picture.

“Oh, the groom should not be here to see the bride dressed in her gown.” Rosa shook her head. “Very bad luck.”

“Better than if Schaeffer saw her undressed,” Nick mumbled, his scowl deepening.

Rosa and Martha paid no attention to him. They concentrated on tucking and pinning pieces of the dress to Billie’s long, lithe form.

He wondered then if the bride and groom had been...intimate, if Schaeffer had held Billie, naked in his arms. A cold clamp tightened around Nick’s spine. He ground his teeth at the idea of Doug Schaeffer touching Billie, kissing her, making love to her. A headache twisted through his skull like steel screws digging into his scalp.

“Doug’s working,” Billie answered. The healthy glow across her cheeks brightened and made Nick imagine her lips swollen from kisses, her skin flushed, her hair tousled from lovemaking.

His hands balled into fists. “work was never in Schaeffer’s vocabulary.”

“He’s running Schaeffer Enterprises.” Irritation made her snap the words. She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts higher until the soft mounds almost spilled out of the scooped neckline.

“I bet old man Schaeffer’s still pulling the strings.” Nick turned and drained the glass of iced tea as if it was a shot of whiskey. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the same numbing effect.

“Didn’t your father start that construction company you run, Nick?” Billie taunted.

Her barb hit its mark. He swung around to throw back another sharp retort, but her smug look killed it on his lips. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Martha uncrossed her daughter’s arms so the dress would hang right Rosa clucked her tongue and examined the hem.

“I didn’t have any choice,” he said finally, his voice cracking with suppressed anger. “My dad needed me. There were contracts pending, signed agreements that had to be met. Dad was injured. He didn’t have anyone to rely on...but me.” Billie had to understand that kind of responsibility. She’d done the same with the ranch. “Doug works for his daddy because he can’t do anything else.”

“How would you know?” Billie’s jaw squared in that old familiar way.

“You two,” Martha grumbled, pins stuck between her teeth. “Sounds like old times.”

“Then why doesn’t Doug do whatever he wants?” Nick asked, ignoring Billie’s mother.

“He is.” Billie smirked. “He’s marrying me.”

Touché. The muscles along Nick’s shoulders tensed, pinching the nerve endings like steel clamps. Her quick defense of Doug showed Nick he’d have to take another course. Irritating her wouldn’t help. Stroking his chin as Billie’s father had often done when confronted with one of his kid’s problems, Nick said, “What are Doug’s big plans for the future? Live off his healthy trust fund? Then what?”

“He has... We have plans. Lots of them. But I don’t see that it’s any business of yours, Nick Latham. You’re not my father...or brother.” Her voice deepened, a husky quality emphasizing her turbulent emotions. “You’re not even family.”

That hit another nerve. A raw one.

As if he’d taken a direct right hook to the jaw, he stepped back. His gaze locked with Billie’s. In that moment he knew she was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and mistakes. He’d have to let her make this one on her own. But he didn’t have to stay and watch.

“Billie Rae Gunther,” Martha snapped, “you apologize this minute.”

Nick met Billie’s gaze, saw the regret, the pain inside her reflecting his own. He hadn’t come here to argue. He’d come to help a girl who’d once been like a little sister. But that person no longer existed.

“She doesn’t have to.” He stepped toward the woman who’d been like a mother to him. “Billie’s right I’m intruding.” He gently kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I’ll come back later. Before the weekend’s over. So we can catch up.”

Shaking her head, Martha bent and pinned another part of Billie’s hem. “It’s just like when y’all were kids. Bickering and carrying on. How did Jake ever put up with the two of you?”

“He didn’t,” Billie said.

Nick caught the mischievous look in her eye and tension eased out of his body like air out of a balloon. “That’s right. He used to lock you in the barn.”

“Or toolshed,” she added with a tight laugh.

“Not a bad idea.” Maybe he’d give it a try. Let her stew until she came to her senses. Tempted to do just that, he wondered who would let her out now. He’d once been her rescuer. Not anymore. Was Schaeffer her knight in shining armor? His gut tightened. Schaeffer had never thought of anyone but himself. Shaking off his anger and concern. Nick reminded himself that Billie wasn’t his responsibility. She never had been.

With a soft, reluctant sigh, he turned away.

“Nick...” The soft lilt of Billie’s voice caught him off guard. He heard the rustle of her dress and a soft curse.

Turning back, he watched her hobble toward him.

Chagrin darkening her eyes to a deep blue, she said, “I’m sorry. You are family. It’s just been a long time since we’ve seen you. And the wedding has me all stirred up.”

Martha nodded. “Very emotional.”

Billie rolled her eyes and compressed her lips into a thin line. Had she matured more than he’d thought? Billie the Kid had never refrained from saying anything that was on her mind or in her heart. But she’d never cried. Not even when she’d fallen off a horse and separated her shoulder. She’d never apologized, either. Not even when she’d run away from home at the age of seven and scared the living daylights out of her family...and Nick.

Instead of relying on tears, she’d fought tooth and nail. She’d buried her emotions at her father’s funeral, acting brave and strong for her mother. He’d seen the need to grieve at her brother’s burial. But again, she’d suppressed it. Maybe falling in love had tapped into those hidden emotions, pulling them loose and helping her reach her full potential as a woman.

But with Doug Schaeffer? He held his tongue. This wasn’t the time or place to challenge Billie about her choice of a groom. He’d spoken out of turn earlier. What would he have said if someone had bad-mouthed his bride? Actually, he wished someone had. It would have saved him a load of grief. But he wouldn’t have listened then, and he doubted Billie would listen now.

“I understand,” Nick said. “I’ve got bad timing.” As usual.

“No, it’s fate.” Martha’s cheeks dimpled and her gaze shifted between Nick and the bride-to-be. “You are the answer to my prayers. We need you to help us with the wedding.”

Great. He wanted no part of it. But how could he refuse? His love and concern for the Gunthers carved a deep groove in his heart.

“Whatever you need,” he said, trying to manage a convincing smile. “What can I do?”

“Billie and I were discussing this just last week,” Martha said. “Now that I think about it, you’d be perfect Since you’ve been like a big brother to her and a son to me.”

“Mother.” Billie gave her a warning look. “What are you saying?”

Martha’s gaze narrowed, then a grin split her face. “Nick, you should give away the bride.”

Give her away? He stared first at Martha, then his gaze flicked to Billie. How could he give her away? When all he wanted was to keep her for himself.

That thought hit him like a demolition ball. He crushed it with common sense. He didn’t want marriage, love or Billie the Kid Gunther. Keeping Billie for himself was a ridiculous notion. Marriage was not for him. Not anymore. Not since his had failed. His ex had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t have what it takes to be married. He didn’t understand the wants and needs of a woman. And he probably never would. He wouldn’t risk his heart again.

But he could make sure Billie wasn’t making a mistake. He owed Mr. Gunther and Jake that much. Before he left Bonnet, he’d make damn sure Billie loved Doug Schaeffer and vice versa. No matter how distasteful it seemed to Nick. For he knew the heartache of making the wrong choice. He wanted to spare Billie that much pain.

Giving away the bride gave him a responsibility... and maybe the excuse he needed to stay. Being a part of the wedding party would give him access to the bride and groom, to better evaluate if they were making the wrong decision. If they were, then he wouldn’t hesitate to step in and break it up...as a big brother.

Chapter Two

Fat chance she’d let Nick Latham walk her down the aisle! Tension crackled in the silence following her mother’s request. With an irritated flick of her wrist, Billie flung the veil off her shoulder. Her gaze collided with Nick’s and started a chain reaction along her spine. She had to nip her mother’s idea in the bud before it grew and took root. She couldn’t let Nick give her away. Not in a million years!

She ignored the pesky, unrealistic notions popping up in her mind. Nick would not whisk her away and keep her for himself. That was ridiculous! He didn’t want her. Not as a woman, anyway. He never had. And never would. She no longer wanted him, either. That had been a crazy childhood fantasy. Like other schoolgirl dreams, it had died.

Love hurts, she reminded herself. She wouldn‘t—couldn’t—love Nick anymore. It was only seeing him again, his whiskey-colored eyes and easy smile, that had her so...unsettled.

Tiny pinpricks of awareness made each millimeter of her skin feel vibrant and alive. Her insides burned. Ignoring the hot sensations Nick aroused, she turned away from him and focused on the one person who could stop this insanity.

“Mother,” Billie said, her voice rising with each pounding beat of her heart, “have you lost your mind?”

Her mother’s smug smile dimmed. Her eyebrows arched in that familiar you’ve-gone-too-far maternal look. “No, I have not. And I don’t appreciate your insinuation, young lady,” Martha admonished. “I’m being very practical, just like you always are. After all, since your dear father passed away, I’ve spent long nights worrying about things like this. You need someone to escort you down the aisle.”

“No, I don’t.” Billie planted her hands on her satincovered hips. “I’m more than capable of walking myself down the aisle.”

Her mother clucked her tongue. “That’s just not done.”

“Sure it is,” Nick interrupted.

Martha’s eyebrows slanted downward. Surprised he’d stood up for her, Billie cut her gaze toward him.

“Women do it all the time,” he continued. “Last week, I attended a wedding in Houston. The bride’s father had...well, not passed away, but he’d abandoned his family years before. The bride walked down the aisle by herself. She looked elegant and mature.”

For once grateful for his presence, Billie perked up, liking his impressions of a lone bride proving her independence. “See, Mother?”

“It’s disgraceful.” Martha stated.

Rolling her eyes, Billie knew her romantic mother would never understand. “Poodle skirt” ideals remained fashionable in Bonnet, Texas. Martha would keel over in a dead faint if she knew Billie was marrying Doug for any reason other than love. If Nick knew, he’d probably jump on her mother’s bandwagon, too. Which confirmed her conviction for keeping tight-lipped about her practical reasons.

Nick settled his hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Billie should do whatever she chooses. After all, it’s her wedding.”

His words reassured her. She had made-the right decision. Was Nick finally seeing her as a full-grown woman? The cocky slant of his eyebrow made her wonder. Maybe he was only looking for an excuse to get out of attending the wedding. Somehow that notion gave her an overwhelming sadness.

“Nick, honey—” Martha clutched at his arm “—I was counting on you to help me talk some sense into my daughter.”

He patted her hand. His gaze shifted to Billie. His pointed stare put her back on the defensive. “Oh, I’m going to do just that.”

His words held an ominous ring. What did he mean? Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood firm. She wouldn’t let him derail her or her goal. She had plans for herself. Plans she’d waited a long time to fulfill. If Nick tried to stop her, she’d run right over him. She’d made up her mind. She’d chosen a mate—for better or worse.

“Why don’t you finish with the dress fitting?” He nodded to Rosa who held her pincushion between her hands like a bouquet of delicate roses. “Billie and I can talk afterward. Privately.”

His arrogant wink unnerved her. Whatever he had in mind, she’d beat him at his own game. For a moment she felt as if she were ten years old, trying to compete with her older brother and Nick. She’d had to work twice as hard, most of the time she’d relied on brains instead of brawn. This time wouldn’t be any different.

But to best him, Billie needed to be on her own turf, not fumbling in a froufrou wedding dress in her mother’s dainty parlor. She felt about as feminine as a tractor plowing down summer daisies. Her regular work clothes would give her the surefooted competence she needed.

With a confident tilt of her head, she said, “Fine, I’ll show you the ranch.”

If he saw the changes she’d implemented on the Rocking G, then he’d know for certain she could make well-thought-out, intelligent decisions. Maybe he’d be impressed. He’d see she wasn’t a girl under the spell of puppy love. He’d see her as a strong-willed woman who could run a ranch and marry any man she damn well pleased.

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

His voice resonated inside her like a gust of warm air. His hot gaze traveled the length of her, tracing every curve from the round of her breast to the indentation of her waist and swell of her hips. Her body tingled with his lingering glance. Far more vulnerable in these layers of lace than she cared to admit, Billie longed for her denim jeans and muddy boots.

“She’ll probably put you to work.” Martha smiled and turned her attention to the satin trim along the bottom of the veil.

“I don’t mind hard work.” His rough, work-worn hands emphasized the truth of his statement. He gave Billie a mischievous grin that set her nerves on edge.

No one had ever looked at her as Nick did now. It unraveled her composure. It made her jittery. But it also gave her a smug confidence she’d never experienced. She’d always known she could ride or rope as well as any cowboy. But she’d never known she could turn a man’s head. Or was she only wishing she’d caught Nick’s attention now?

“And we’ll talk,” he warned.

Terrific, Billie thought, just what she needed—a heart-to-heart with the man who’d unknowingly stolen part of hers.

Inside the barn, Nick inhaled the musty scent of baled hay and the sweet aroma of rolled oats. Memories assaulted his senses, reminding him of long days spent in the saddle...backbreaking workdays, happy days when Mr. Gunther would ask him to give Jake and Billie a hand with their chores. Those times seemed old and dim compared to the vibrant image before him. Billie walked out of a stall leading a sleek, chestnut quarter horse.

Even though she tried to hide the facts under an oversize plaid shirt, the evidence was clear—she was all woman. Her faded jeans hugged her slim hips as intimately as a man longed to hold a woman. The soft denim clung to her long legs and ended with frayed threads curling across well-worn black boots that boasted more cow manure and scratches than shine. With each step, she exuded confidence. He couldn’t decide which way he liked her best—rough as an ordinary cowhand or elegant as any New York model. Or which wreaked more havoc on his libido.

“How long has it been since you’ve ridden horseback?” Billie asked, a smirk tugging her lips into a half smile.

“High school, I guess,” he said, leaning against a stall door where he’d draped his jacket. The warmth of the day had encouraged him to roll up the sleeves of his starched white shirt “When Jake and I rode in that local rodeo. Remember? That was the day I knew I wasn’t cut out for getting dumped in the dirt and stomped on like a rag doll.”

Actually his dad’s dream of handing the business over to him had been the deciding factor. It had been his dream, too. But it hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined.

“You decided you’d rather dig in the dirt?” A teasing smile pulled at her mouth.

“I let others do the digging. I’m the boss, remember?” His grin slowly faded with well-worn memories. “I always did like working with my dad, though.”

He missed not being able to anymore. He’d always imagined them working side by side, building their construction company together. Tom Latham had retired and left his company entirely to his son’s management. Sink or swim, it was up to Nick. Over the past five years his enjoyment had been squashed under the impact of reality. He’d liked working with his hands, building things, taking pride in his work. Now, running Latham Construction on his own kept him busy with management problems, obtaining permits, bidding on new contracts, handling employee relations. All the work and none of the fun.

“How is your dad?” she asked, her eyes full of interest and concern.

“Fine. Enjoying the easy life.”

She nodded and turned back to her horse, smoothing her hand over the broad expanse of its back. “I remember your dad whooping and hollering for you at that rodeo,” she said with husky warmth in her voice. “Didn’t you get thrown?”

His shoulders snapped to attention. “Hell, who wouldn’t have? That was a rank ol’ bronc. If I recall, Jake didn’t fare so well, either. And your fiancé didn’t even have the guts to try.”

“A real man doesn’t have to ride a bronc to prove himself.”

“Ah, so that explains Schaeffer’s...disinterest.” Nick grinned.

She gave him a tight smile and slipped a snaffle bit into the horse’s mouth, then slid a bridle over its head. Each movement shifted the unbuttoned plaid shirt and gave him a glimpse of the skimpier white cotton top beneath. The material stretched across her full breasts and lifted a notch to expose her smooth, flat stomach, which was two shades paler than her face and arms. His gut clenched tight as a Boy Scout knot.

Guilt lifted his gaze and urged him to give her an apology. But she didn’t seem to notice him. Her attention was focused on the horse. She lovingly stroked the mare’s nose. She had a way with animals. Her father had often entrusted her to care for scrawny calves that wouldn’t nurse, and she’d turned them into big, strong beasts.

“I recall—” Nick rubbed his jaw “—you were plenty interested in cowboys back then. Weren’t you worried about me? Didn’t you run out into the arena to see if I was all right?”

He remembered Billie rushing toward him as he lay in the dirt, his pride bruised as much as his backside. Fear had creased her brow, clouded her eyes. Embarrassment had pushed him onto his feet despite the pain in his knee. He’d brushed past her, trying to hide his limp.

Now, for some odd reason, a part of him longed for her to show some concern again. It made no sense. He didn’t need her, any more than he needed anyone else. Being near her unsettled him. Maybe he was simply feeling nostalgic, wishing for a simpler, easier time.

Her cheeks brightened to an enticing pink. She reached for a blue-and-green-plaid saddle blanket. “I was a silly schoolgirl then.” One of her shoulders lifted as if she shrugged off the memory. “You were grumpy as an old bear, growling at me to leave you alone.”

He chuckled. She’d cared about him once. Had those feelings faded like the blue in her jeans? Of course they had, he realized as disappointment pinched his already knotted gut. “No guy wants attention drawn to him when he’s just landed on his rump in front of a hometown crowd. I wanted to lick my wounds in private.”

“Well, trust me, if you get thrown today, I’ll ignore You: ”

“No, you won’t. You’ll laugh.”

“Maybe.” She gave him a sly wink and laid the saddle blanket over the horse’s back.

“You won’t offer to kiss it and make it all better?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. They were a mistake. Instantly he regretted them, but he found himself holding his breath, watching her with more anticipation than he should have, waiting for her response.

Her eyes darkened like a cloud blotting out the sun. “I’m an engaged woman.”