Книга - The Rancher’s Marriage Pact

The Rancher's Marriage Pact
KRISTI GOLD


A marriage of convenience, Texas-styleDallas Calloway is desperate to find a bride. If the billionaire ex-rodeo champ’s not married by his birthday, his dreams for the D-bar-C will end thanks to his father’s will. So Paris Reynolds’s arrival at the ranch looks like the answer to his prayers.The ravishing interior designer is desperate for a job. And Dallas has a proposition he hopes she can’t refuse—marry him for one year, in name only, then get an annulment. But with the irresistible passion raging between them, how will they ever make it a year without sharing a marriage bed?









“I should never have let that happen.”


Neither should he, Dallas thought. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m not that tipsy,” Paris said, her speech slurred. “I came here to convince you to hire me, not to make out with you.”

“It was just a kiss, Paris. And I’m the one who should’ve stopped it.”

Paris dropped down onto the mattress. “I’m not … normally … like this.” She followed the comment with a hiccup and a giggle.

“You’ve got a good excuse. Now lie down and sleep it off.”

“Thank you, Dallas Calloway. You’re a nice man. I’m sorry I’m not acting like a nice girl.”

“No need to apologize.”

She sent him a sleepy smile. “Since I probably blew my chances at the job, I wouldn’t mind a kiss goodnight.”

He might have laughed if he hadn’t been so damn tempted.

* * *

The Rancher’s Marriage Pact

is part of the Texas Extreme series:

Six rich and sexy cowboy brothers

live—and love—to the extreme!




The Rancher’s Marriage Pact

Kristi Gold





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KRISTI GOLD has a fondness for beaches, baseball and bridal reality shows. She firmly believes that love has remarkable healing powers, and she feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of love and commitment. As a bestselling author, a National Readers’ Choice Award winner and a Romance Writers of America three-time RITA


Award finalist, Kristi has learned that although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from networking with readers. She can be reached through her website at www.kristigold.com (http://www.kristigold.com), or through Facebook.


To my childhood companion, very best friend and surrogate sister, Charlotte L.


Contents

Cover (#u720eceb0-9e2f-5fcf-a9e4-be871894d7e5)

Introduction (#u3423e8d8-5eb1-5a4a-845c-ad7abf8437b3)

Title Page (#ue3421055-bfd1-5730-ad32-136666c37770)

About the Author (#ua8c99e76-0a39-5127-9524-f97cce3d7534)

Dedication (#u13f5c3b9-3e83-56ee-aacf-a1fb59b511fb)

One (#ufe89d23c-0bda-521c-a795-559673ed4634)

Two (#ua8f6c57b-6364-5e30-bfe5-2e4c6fbf7538)

Three (#u58be17aa-369f-5a76-98b1-ba191d13f8b4)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_5523c15b-1fba-5d01-a1a1-d600d77f9a9d)

The Last Chance Ranch...

Her first thought, as she left her compact sedan and strode toward the single-story white stone structure set somewhere between San Antonio and the middle of nowhere. Her second thought—the South Texas weather was ridiculously hot for March. She should never have worn the tailored black blazer and skirt. Fortunately she’d twisted her hair up and off her neck that was now damp with perspiration. Of course in part, her current predicament could be attributed to nerves, not the afternoon sun. And a good dose of desperation.

Once she reached the threshold, Paris flipped her sunglasses up onto her head and noted the wooden plaque to the right of the entry.

“Welcome to the D Bar C, where cowboys and hospitality rule. Take off your boots, hang your hat and come in to sit a spell. And if we don’t happen to be here, just reach out and ring the bell.”

Cute. Very cute. Unfortunately she wasn’t wearing a hat or boots, but what she wouldn’t give to kick off her three-inch heels and barrel in barefoot. Not a banner idea when applying for a job, and boy did she need this job. Of course, the position hadn’t exactly been announced, yet that hadn’t stopped her from showing up, uninvited, which could result in rejection. Nothing new there.

After smoothing a palm down her jacket, Paris drew in a calming breath as she clutched the strap of the teal briefcase hanging from her shoulder. She exhaled slowly before opening the heavy mahogany door to find the place blessedly cool, otherwise she might have shed her blazer to reveal the sheer sleeveless white shell. The area happened to be completely deserted, not one soul in sight behind the lengthy mahogany counter, yet she did spot the aforementioned bell.

She could ring it to summon someone, or she could wait. She could leave, or she could convene some courage and see this through. But she had come too far to give up now.

In a fit of sheer procrastination, Paris took a few moments to study the area with a designer’s eye. Aside from the usual office equipment behind the counter, she discovered typical Western decor—burnt-orange-and-white cowhide chairs set about the waiting area, massive stone fireplace with a heavy wood mantel, a set of horns hanging above said mantel. She moved closer to read the bronze plaque below the sad symbol of human cruelty to find it etched with “Prize twelve-point buck bagged by J. D. Calloway.”

Lovely. Just lovely. She supposed she should be thankful dear J.D. had only saved the horns as a souvenir and not the poor deer’s entire head.

More than ready to see this spontaneous plan through, Paris turned back to the counter and reached for the bell with a trembling hand. But before she could pick it up, a tall, dark-haired man emerged from an entry at the far end of the office, looking as if he had walked right out of an Old West time warp and into the future. He kept his attention trained on a document clasped in his rather large and masculine hands as he strode toward her, the jingle of spurs echoing against the beige walls, providing her the prime opportunity to do a comprehensive inspection. He was every bit a cowboy, from the top of his tan hat to the tip of his brown leather boots. He wore a faded blue shirt and equally faded blue jeans, yet the large silver belt buckle drew her immediate focus. She noticed the word Champion before her gaze traveled lower to a place no self-respecting, professional woman should go.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

At the sound of the incredibly deep voice, Paris’s attention returned to the cowboy’s face, her cheeks flaming from mortification. “Uh, actually, I’m...” Heavens, the impact of his silver-blue eyes caused her to forget her name. She’d seen several photographs of him, yet none had done Dallas Calloway justice.

He reacted to her momentary mental lapse with a half smile, revealing a deep dimple creasing the left of his whisker-shaded jaw. “Are you lost?”

“Not really,” she managed to say although in a sense she did feel a bit lost. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”

He leaned over the counter and offered a hand. “Dallas Calloway. What can I do for you?”

That question was as loaded as a shotgun. But since this man could hold the key to her future financial security, she had to regain her composure. “I’m here about your new venture.”

Before he could respond, a petite woman dressed in a plain tailored floral blouse covering faded jeans, her silver-and-brown hair twisted into a braid, strode into the room and pulled up short when she caught sight of the pair. She eyed Paris with suspicion as she made her way to Dallas’s side. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”

Paris had the feeling no one crossed this woman and lived to tell about it. “I’m not selling anything but my services.”

She huffed. “For your information, my stepson doesn’t have to pay for it.”

When awareness dawned, another bout of embarrassment plagued Paris. “You’ve definitely misunderstood my motives. I’m here to discuss a business proposition.” Not that the explanation sounded much better, evidenced by the woman’s raised eyebrows.

“Stop jumping to conclusions, Mom,” Dallas interjected. “I’m fairly sure that’s not what she’s selling.”

The woman propped a hand on her hip and sneered. “Dallas deals on a daily basis with females who come here under the guise of business.”

“Oh, so true, Maria,” came from behind Paris. “Our stepson is a regular chick magnet.”

Paris turned to find a pretty middle-aged blonde dressed in a chic coral sundress, standing at the front door. Apparently the place was rife with the now-deceased J. D. Calloway’s wives. Determined to get off on the right foot with this one, she held out her hand and smiled. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”

The blonde returned her smile and shook her hand with much more gusto than Paris expected. “I’m Jenny Parks Calloway, J.D.’s third wife.”

“Not officially,” Maria added in a sour tone.

Paris assumed there must be a story behind that comment, but chose to remain silent and await the fallout between the feuding former spouses.

It came out in Jenny’s intense frown. “Please forgive the second missus. Sometimes Maria forgets her manners. What shade on the color chart is your blond, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Paris’s hand immediately went to her hair. “I wouldn’t know. I’m actually a natural blonde.”

Jenny chuckled. “Oh, so am I.”

“And I’m the queen of Texas,” Maria said with a smirk.

Ignoring the other mother, Jenny turned her smile back on Paris. “By the way, I love, love, love your suit, sugar.”

Paris grasped to find a return compliment. “Thank you, and I love your bracelet.”

Jenny twisted the diamond and silver leaf bauble around her wrist. “And thank you. I picked this up at a silent auction at the art center in San Antonio last month.”

Unbelievable. “Really? I was there, too.” But she hadn’t had the funds to bid. She’d been there to drum up business. An unsuccessful plan that had led her to this remote ranch.

Jenny laid a hand beneath the strand of pearls at her throat. “A small, small world it is.”

“Way too small if you ask me,” Maria grumbled.

Jenny sent her another scowl. “No one asked you, Maria, and no one appreciates your attitude or your sarcasm. You really should learn some Southern decorum.”

“I think we all can work on that,” Dallas chimed in as he opened the half door built into the counter. “Ms. Reynolds, if you’ll follow me to my office, we can get away from all this verbal sparring and you can tell me what you need.”

“But make it quick,” Maria added. “He has work to do.”

“Oh, hush,” Jenny replied as Paris stepped through the opening. “He’s not too busy to entertain a pretty girl. Also, their names go so well together—Paris and Dallas. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“Sounds like an airport flight schedule,” Maria muttered.

“It’s high time he meets a nice girl, Maria,” Jenny added. “Don’t forget what’s coming up at the end of the week and we both know what that means.”

If only Paris knew what that meant. Regardless, she could tell Dallas wasn’t comfortable with the conversation when he rushed toward an opening to his left without responding.

With her mind riddled with confusion, Paris followed Dallas down a lengthy corridor, all the while unsuccessfully trying to keep her eyes off his derriere. She found the way he dangled his arms at his sides, his perfect lean build and the roll of his hips quite fascinating.

Good grief. Evidently the lengthy amount of time she’d been without male companionship had her falling head over common sense over some cowboy. Okay, not just any cowboy. An extremely gorgeous, rich cowboy who had succeeded at everything he’d tried, from rodeo to ranching, according to what she’d read on the internet. A far cry from her seedy ex-husband who’d managed to screw up everything he’d endeavored, including their marriage.

Dallas soon paused to lead Paris into a well-appointed office that served as a tribute to his success. The lush brown leather sofa and love seat set near the window complemented his masculine aura, and the massive mahogany desk spoke to his rugged persona. The hand-scraped dark wood floors topped off the decor that couldn’t have been done any better if she’d done it herself, even if it wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as he crossed the room to the elaborate granite-covered wet bar in the corner.

“Water would be fine,” she said, although wine would be better, she thought.

“Water it is. Have a seat.”

After settling in a beige club chair across from the desk, Paris set her case on the floor, crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt and prepared to make her pitch. She decided to begin with casual conversation and in the same instant, assuage her natural curiosity. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s coming up at the end of the week?”

“I turn thirty-eight on Saturday,” he said as he retrieved a crystal highball glass from the upper cabinet.

Six years her senior. Not too bad. Not that it mattered. “Big party planned?”

Once he filled the tumbler with ice from a bucket on the counter, then poured water into it from a pitcher he pulled from the built-in stainless refrigerator, he returned to the desk and set the glass on a coaster before her. “I hope like hell that’s not going to happen. I’m not one for having people making a big deal over my birthday.”

She sensed he would be that kind of man. “I have a feeling your stepmothers might be planning a big deal.”

He dropped down into the chair behind the desk, leaned back and affected a relaxed posture, but his expression said he didn’t exactly appreciate her conjecture. “They know better than to pull that on me.”

Paris gathered he might be suffering from a severe case of the birthday blues. “Are you sure? It sounded as if at least one of them wants you to have a date for some soiree, hence the nice girl comment.”

He sent her that sexy, crooked smile again. “If that’s the case, are you volunteering to fill the role?”

If she were only that brave. Then again, if it helped her secure the job... “I generally avoid mixing business with pleasure, although your family seemed to jump to the conclusion that my business is pleasure.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her straight on. “Speaking of that, what exactly do you do for a living?”

The suspicion in his tone ruffled her feminine feathers. “It doesn’t involve a nine hundred number or a pimp, I promise you that.”

Now he looked amused. “Glad you cleared the air.”

So was she, and she planned to be perfectly clear. “In reality, I’m—”

“Wait. Let me guess.” He inclined his head and pointed at her. “You’re a stockbroker and you want to get your hands on my investments.”

She might like to get her hands on something of his that happened to be a far cry from his portfolio. Since when had she become a purveyor of naughty thoughts? “Not even close.”

He rubbed a palm over his chin. “I would bet the back forty you have an accounting degree.”

If he only knew about her lack of accounting skills, he would never have assumed such a thing. That downfall had landed her in deep trouble and served as another reason for being there, about to beg for employment. “Believe me, math is not my forte.”

“Marketing?”

In an effort to clear her parched throat, Paris took a quick sip of water. “Try again.”

His gaze landed on her fingers still wrapped around the glass. “Considering your perfectly manicured nails, I’m guessing you’re not a ranch hand.”

“I haven’t even seen a cow up close.”

“Not even on your dinner plate in the form of filet mignon?”

“I’m primarily a vegetarian.”

“I’m strictly a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”

What a shocker. “I won’t judge your food preferences if you won’t judge mine.”

“Agreed.” He took off his hat to place it brim up on the desk, then forked a hand through his dark brown hair that worked well with those deadly blue eyes. “If you’re a beautician, I don’t need one. Just a quick round with the clippers and I’m good to go.”

Yes, he was. Good enough to go anywhere he might want to take her. “No, I’m not a hairstylist. Do you give up now?”

“Yep. I’m all out of guesses.”

The time had come to lay all her cards on the table, less a few secrets he didn’t need to know. “I’m a commercial interior designer.” Disgraced designer.

“No kidding?” he said, sounding somewhat awed over the admission.

“No kidding. And that’s why I’m here. I wanted to speak to you about—”

“Hey, Dallas, I’m about to head out.”

Paris shifted in her seat to see a young, buff blond guy filling the doorway. Aside from the tattered jeans and worn cowboy boots, he looked more surfer than rancher. Or body builder in light of the fit of the lime-green T-shirt hugging his muscled arms and torso.

“Where are you going now?” Dallas asked, looking and sounding none too pleased.

“To the beach for the weekend,” the stranger replied as he strode to the wet bar.

Aha! Paris had pegged him right on his surfer status, though she still didn’t know his relationship to the Calloways. He certainly didn’t resemble Dallas.

“Did you talk to Fort yet, Worth?” Dallas asked.

“I called him,” the man with the unusual name said as he pulled a soda from the fridge and popped it open. “But he’s still pissed I left him high and dry and came here. He refuses to call me back.”

“Figures,” Dallas muttered. “By the way, does Houston know you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, and Austin’s agreed to hang around in case any of the heifers calve.”

“That’s good because Tyler’s going to be gone until Monday.”

Paris felt as though she’d just gone on a Cities of Texas tour. Without further hesitation, she stood to face Surfer Worth and smiled, bent on introducing herself since her potential boss evidently wasn’t going to do the honors. “Hi, my name is Paris Reynolds.”

Worth grinned and shook her extended hand, revealing the same dimple Dallas sported. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Are you a friend of my big brother’s?”

That confirmed her supposition that he was a Calloway sibling, although she couldn’t recall any mention of him in any of the press releases she’d recently read. “Actually, we just met today.”

Worth winked. “Well, if he doesn’t treat you right, you’re welcome to come to Padre Island with me. I’m a helluva lot more fun.”

And way too young for her, Paris decided. Plus, she had always been attracted to brown-haired men, like the one seated not far away.

Dallas pointed at the door. “Get out, Worthless. Ms. Reynolds doesn’t need you coming on to her.”

Worth backed toward the exit with hands held up, palms forward. “All right. And when you find out where the hell you left your sense of humor, let me know.”

With that, the younger Calloway son winked at Paris again before striding out of the room.

“I apologize for his behavior,” Dallas said as he resumed holding cowboy court from his place behind the desk.

Paris dropped back down into her designated chair. “No need. He seems relatively harmless.”

“He’s a skirt chaser, according to his mother, and I’ve seen more than enough evidence of that fact.”

The identity of Worth’s mother didn’t require a lot of guessing. “Is that Jenny?”

“Yeah, my father’s third wife. Maria is the second.”

“And your mother is?”

Dallas’s gaze drifted away for a moment. “Gone. She died when I was pretty young.”

“I’m sorry, Dallas.” And she sincerely was. “I’m sure that’s been really difficult for you.”

“Not so much,” he said. “I barely remember her. Now let’s get back to the reason why you’re here.”

Being summarily dismissed wasn’t all that surprising to Paris. Most men clammed up when it came to emotional issues, including her own father. “Well, as I was saying, I’m a commercial interior designer, and since it’s apparent you’ll need my services soon, I’m here to apply for the position.”

He frowned. “Why do you believe I need an interior decorator?”

She wasn’t certain if he was kidding, or he really didn’t have a clue. “Look, I saw an article in the San Antonio paper about this Texas Extreme project and how you’re going to cater to people who want to enjoy the whole high-risk rodeo experience.” Though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that. “I also read about your plans to build a lodge to house your guests, and that’s where I come in. I would like the opportunity to oversee the design of that lodge.”

“We haven’t even broken ground yet,” he said. “In fact, we haven’t seen the final plans from the architect.”

That could definitely work to her advantage. “All the better. If I’m involved in the beginning, then I can make suggestions that will only enhance the guests’ experience. I have extensive knowledge in hotel design. I have a strong attention to detail and—”

“Ms. Reynolds—”

“Paris.”

“Okay, Paris, first of all, these guests are wannabe cowboys. They don’t need a fancy room. They only need a bunk and a bathroom. Hell, they might be satisfied with an outhouse and a creek.”

The thought made her shudder. Yet he had made a good point, darn it. Still... “What if some of them want to bring their wives? Women have much higher standards. What if some of the wives or girlfriends want to participate, too?”

He mulled that over a moment before addressing her again. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Now she was getting somewhere. “Have you given any consideration to the kitchen? You are having one installed, aren’t you? Or will you be roasting marshmallows and wieners?”

He favored her with a sexy grin. “That’s a thought.”

“Seriously? A wiener roast for every meal?”

“Maybe that’s not a great idea. But the kitchen doesn’t have to be all that elaborate. Just the basics.”

He truly didn’t grasp the concept of hospitality. “How many people do you plan to house at one time?”

“Fifty if we’re at capacity, but we want to be able to accommodate more in the future.”

“Feeding fifty hungry men and/or women will require more than a four-burner stove, a side-by-side refrigerator and a single oven. You’ll need commercial-grade appliances, plenty of prep space—”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he said, effectively cutting her off. “But we don’t plan to open for business for a year, maybe longer if we can’t get all the facilities set up by then. Not only do we have to build the lodge, we have to build a new arena and catch pens, plus a first-aid station and acquire rodeo stock. I wouldn’t even need you for a good six months.”

She would be destitute in two months. The unwelcome sense of extreme anxiety came home to roost, prompting Paris to make a final plea. “Again, you would be better off hiring me now than fixing something later. That will only cost you more money. I could meet with the architect before the plans are finalized. I could take care of all the details from the ground up. Besides, I live in San Antonio and since that’s only an hour and a half away, that’s convenient for us both. And I’m going to work cheaper than many firms you might decide to hire, but I don’t do cheap work or cut corners. To be perfectly honest, you can’t do better than me. And most important, I really, really need this job.”

He tilted his head again and eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re so good at it, why is that?”

She’d gone too far with the tirade, and probably blown any chance at the opportunity to oversee his project. Yet she was somewhat bolstered by the fact he hadn’t kicked her out...yet. “Due to personal circumstances beyond my control, I’ve been forced to start over, but I won’t bother you with the details. I would like to show you my work.”

As she drew a breath, Paris fumbled for the briefcase resting on the floor and lifted it up. “I have my portfolio right here if you care to take a quick look.”

Dallas sat in silence for a few moments while Paris’s pulse raced out of control. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified for the job,” he finally said, “but like I told you, I don’t see the need to hire a decorator—”

“Designer,” Paris corrected without regard to helping her cause.

“Hiring a designer right now doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Plagued with the bitter taste of defeat, Paris stood. “Fine, but you should be aware, in six months, I might not be available.” She might even be in jail. Or worse—living with her folks on a potato farm in Idaho. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

Dallas came to his feet and rounded the desk. “One question before you leave. What exactly did you mean by having to start over?”

She certainly wasn’t prepared to get into that, but if it meant he might possibly reconsider, she would tell him everything. Almost everything. “Okay, as long as you understand I’m not looking for pity.”

“Understood.”

Oh, how she hated having to explain the sordid details. “Almost two years ago, my ex-husband left in the middle of the night, took every penny I owned and then took off to the Dominican Republic to get a quickie divorce.”

The anger that flashed in his eyes took her aback. “Where is the bastard now?”

“Still there, with my hard-earned money and a new girlfriend. Shortly thereafter, the firm where I’d been working for eight years laid me off. I have very few funds to maintain my apartment for much longer, so I might be forced to move in with my family until I get back on my feet.” That last part had wounded her pride beyond belief. The part she’d left out—the reasons why she’d lost her job—had caused her great shame.

He attempted a slight smile. “I can relate to living with family.”

“Your stepmothers live with you?”

“No, they live in the main house. I built my own place a few years ago. But I see them every day, whether I want to or not.”

They just stood there in uncomfortable silence until Paris decided to end the meeting and escape from her humiliating revelations. She retrieved a card from her bag’s side pocket and offered it to him. “If you happen to change your mind, here’s my contact information. If not, I wish you the best of luck with your new venture.”

“Good luck to you, too,” he said as he escorted her to the door. “And if I happen to need a date to a surprise birthday party, I just might give you a call.”

Oh, sure he would. In some ways she wished he would. Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening with a gorgeous macho guy? And since he obviously wasn’t going to hire her...“You know, I just might take you up on the invitation.”

Without gauging his response, Paris worked her way back to the front office and out the door, pausing only long enough to tell both mothers to have a good day. Once she slid into her car, she experienced overwhelming dejection over the epic failure. But she refused to cry. She’d already done enough of that to last a lifetime.

* * *

“Why in the hell did you let her leave, Dallas?”

At the moment, a lecture from Maria—his long time maternal influence—was the very last thing Dallas needed. He still hadn’t gotten over the impact of the pretty green-eyed, golden-haired, determined woman named after a European city who had landed on his doorstep. He didn’t quite understand his reaction to her, either. A strong reaction that had had him wanting to suggest things to her that any man with an ounce of honor wouldn’t dare mention to a woman he’d just met. And if Maria Leone Calloway could read his mind, she would nix the speech and wash his mouth out with homemade soap even if he hadn’t uttered a dirty word.

He cleared the uncomfortable hitch from his throat and shifted in his chair. “I don’t know why her departure is bothering you, Mom. I figured you didn’t like her all that much.”

Without invitation, the current burr in his backside took the seat Paris Reynolds had vacated a few minutes before. “She’s a little too uppity in my opinion, mijo. But as bad as I hate to admit it, Jenny was right about one thing. You need to find a woman, and maybe this Paris is that woman.”

Dallas rocked back in his chair and sighed. “First of all, you both need to forget about that. It’s too late. Secondly, I’ve come to terms with staying single and you just need to accept it.”

Maria narrowed her dark eyes. “You’re telling me you’re going to let your no-account little brother gain control over this ranch?”

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. “Blame your husband for putting that stupid marriage codicil in the will, although it still doesn’t make any sense why Dad would leave this place to Fort. From what Jenny says, the kid was a rebel most of his life, plus he already owns the horse farm in Louisiana.”

Maria tightened the band securing her braid, a nervous habit for as long as Dallas could remember. “You’re right. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense what J.D. did, particularly since Fort wants nothing to do with you or any of his brothers. Then again, what your father did to me and Jenny didn’t make any sense, either.”

Dallas would never forget that day six years ago when during the reading of his father’s will, he’d not only discovered he had twin half-brothers, he’d learned his father had been living as a bigamist. “I’m hoping Fort’s disdain for the family will be enough for him to ignore the stipulation.” Even if he wasn’t banking on it.

“That’s a big chance you’d be taking, Dallas,” Maria said. “If you’re wrong, he’ll put a stop to your dream of turning this place into Texas Extreme. Hell, he could even toss you and your brothers off the property, take over the houses you all built and legally he could do it.”

He knew that all too well. He also knew Fort would probably turn the place into a subdivision just to spite them. “I don’t have a choice, Mom. I can’t find a proper wife in four days, nor do I even want to attempt it.”

The other mother—every bit the Southern belle—suddenly breezed into the room and stood behind Maria. “I think Paris is quite proper and sophisticated, and a man of your financial means and social status needs that in a life partner. If you make an effort to get to know her, who knows what could happen in a few days? You might find yourself falling hopelessly in love for the first time in your life, sugar. Why, I met your father on a Saturday night and we were married two weeks later.”

“And look how that turned out, Jenny,” Maria said. “Don’t give him reason not to give this a shot.”

Over the past few years, Dallas had learned one important thing about Jenny Parks Calloway—she was a flighty romantic who spent most of her days with stars in her eyes. “That’s good in theory, Jen, but the chances of it happening are slim to none. And even if I wanted to pursue a relationship with Paris Reynolds, who’s to say she would agree? And even if she did agree to go out with me, do you really think she’d jump at the chance to marry me two days later? Get real.”

“She sounded pretty desperate to us,” Jenny chimed in, then clamped her mouth closed after Maria shot her a nasty look over her shoulder.

Dallas wasn’t all that shocked, but he was pretty pissed off over the intrusion. “You two were listening to our conversation?”

“Just a little bit,” Jenny said sheepishly. “Your phone’s intercom was on.”

He looked at the key pad, noted the button was depressed and then muttered a few mild oaths. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We didn’t want to disturb you, mijo,” Maria said.

Dallas didn’t buy that for a minute. “You wanted to eavesdrop. Regardless of how desperate Paris might be, I don’t see her as the kind of woman who’d agree to marry a stranger in exchange for a job. And I’m not the kind of man who would ask that of any woman.”

Jenny put on her sweeter-than-honey expression. “Sugar, I love my son, but I also know Fort doesn’t deserve this place given how much grief he’s showered on me and Worth. Why don’t you just invite Paris to dinner tonight and see what happens?”

He’d like to see what happened, but not in the way she was thinking. “I’m sure she’s already halfway to San Antonio by now and I’ve got a lot do before I fly to Houston in two days.”

“You can take one night off,” Maria stated, a totally out-of-character comment.

“Yes, you can, for the cause,” Jenny added. “Now go after her, sugar, and escort her back here. I can make you both my famous chateaubriand.”

He saw one big problem with that, and a prime excuse to halt all the nonsense. “She’s a vegetarian.”

Maria shook her head. “Yeah, we heard her say that, but it’s not normal. Not normal at all.”

“We’ll work around it,” Jenny said. “I’ll make a wonderful assortment of spring vegetables. That will allow Dallas and Paris to get to know each other better in an intimate setting, not a crowded restaurant.”

Dallas barked out a laugh. “Sure, while the two of you hang out in the next room, listening to every word we say.”

Jenny raised her hand like she was about to take an oath. “I swear I will leave as soon as the food is served. Maria will, too. Right?”

Maria stared up at Jenny. “Why do you need me there anyway?”

“For moral support,” Jenny answered. “And you can make Dallas his usual T-bone, since that’s not my forte.”

Maria sighed. “It’s easy. Remove the horns, slap it on the stove, make sure it’s not mooing and put it on the plate.”

Jenny ignored Maria and took his hand. “Sugar, we’ll work out the dinner details. In the meantime, you just have to convince Paris to join you by telling her you want to discuss the particulars of the job, sort of like an interview. Then you can see what comes up after that.”

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what would come up if he didn’t get a rein on his libido. Logical or not, he did like the plan, if for no other reason than to spend a little more time with Paris. As far as the mothers’ harebrained matrimony scheme was concerned, no way would that happen.

After pushing away from the desk, he stood and propped his hat on his head. “All right, you two. Get to cooking and I’ll go get the girl.”


Two (#ulink_4730874b-fccc-5d8b-b0bc-33d5cfe3711a)

Seated in her compact sedan, Paris stared at the private number displayed on her phone. Normally she would ignore the call, but some mysterious force propelled her to answer. “Hello?”

“Where are you right now?”

Overcome with sudden paranoia, she looked around the almost empty lot for some seedy no-account who’d magically come upon her cell number. “Who is this?”

“Sorry. It’s Dallas Calloway. Are you back in San Antonio?”

“No,” she said after she’d regained enough composure to speak. “I’m at a convenience store somewhere between Cotulla and Dilley. Or maybe I’ve already passed Dilley and missed it when I blinked.”

“Right off the interstate?”

“Yes. It’s a red-and-white building with some weird creature on the sign, but I can’t see the name from here.”

“I know the place. Stay put. I’ll be there in a few.”

Paris didn’t have the opportunity to say another word before the line went dead, leaving her with a laundry list of questions bombarding her brain. Why would he want to come after her? Had she left something important at the office? She glanced at the passenger seat to verify the presence of her briefcase, although only a few moments ago she’d just carried it into the store to pay for gas and buy a snack. Speaking of snacks...she yanked down the visor and pulled up the vanity mirror to check for the presence of chocolate, which she found smeared in the corner of her mouth.

Paris scrambled around in the center console for a napkin, then swiped furiously over the offensive spot while cursing herself for being such a cliché. Have stress, grab candy. Preferably chocolate candy. Dark, light, didn’t matter. As long as it contained cocoa and no nuts.

After reapplying her lipstick, and tightening the hair band securing the low twist at her nape, she waited for the enigmatic cowboy to arrive in a pickup, or possibly ride up on his trusty horse.

The first assumption had been correct, she realized, when a large dual-wheeled black monstrosity of a truck pulled in the space to her right and its dashing driver left the cab.

As Dallas approached the door, Paris powered down her window to find out what his surprise appearance was all about. “Did I forget something?” she asked as soon as he arrived.

“Nope,” he said. “But I forgot to ask you something.”

“What would that be, pray tell?”

“If you’d care to stay for dinner.”

Only moments ago, she’d consumed a large bar of candy and washed it down with cola so dinner wasn’t all that appealing. But maybe this was his way of saying he might be considering her for the position after all. “Dinner would be nice, but wouldn’t it have been much easier for you to call me and ask me to come back rather than you drive all the way here?”

“Yep, that fifteen-minute drive was a real hardship, but here the West is still wild, and the men go after their women.”

She’d give him a speech on the death of chauvinism if he didn’t look so gorgeous displaying that grin and a delightful dimple. “Far be it from me to question archaic tradition.”

He leaned over and folded his arms on the window’s ledge. “Are you going to follow me home, or do you want to ride with me and I’ll bring you back later to get your car?”

Although he seemed harmless enough, Paris wasn’t stupid. If she didn’t have her vehicle, she couldn’t determine when it was time to go. “I know the way now. I’ll drive.”

He pushed away from the car and straightened. “Fine by me. See you in a bit.”

In less time than it took Paris to fasten her seat belt, Dallas shot out of the lot on spinning tires, kicking up a flurry of dust in his wake as he turned onto the access road. She took a little more time following suit, still questioning the reason behind his surprise invitation.

Yet life wasn’t without risk, and she’d taken plenty in her formative years. Some had turned out well, others, not so much. She hoped this risk proved to be a good one.

After traveling ten or so miles, she found Dallas had pulled over on the shoulder to wait for her. He seemed to slow down to accommodate her caution, and remained that way until they turned off the interstate and onto the rural road leading to the ranch.

Once they traveled through the elaborate stone entry containing the iron sign announcing their arrival at the D Bar C, Dallas drove past the office where the barren terrain took a dramatic turn. Paris glanced from the road long enough to ogle the massive white rock ranch house to her left as Dallas continued on. They passed by several other large houses set back off the road, each one appearing to include transplanted trees, lovely landscaping, first-rate barns and expensive vehicles, including one black Porsche that she would wager belonged to Worth. After Dallas took a left, pavement soon turned to gravel as they navigated through pastureland lined with barbwire fence and dotted with mesquite.

They soon passed a large pond lined with weeping willows where a two-story, expansive home came into view, dealing Paris another stunning mental blow. The structure was also stone trimmed with cedar accents, like the rest of the residences, only this one had a gleaming silver metal roof and seemed to be twice the size, as well as a tad more elaborate. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she’d happened upon a resort hotel.

Dallas pulled beneath the portico and Paris followed his lead, half expecting to be greeted by a parking attendant. When that didn’t happen, she slid out of the car and joined her host for the evening at the entry. “Nice place you have here,” she said as he opened one of the heavy pine double doors.

“It’ll do,” he replied with surprising nonchalance.

It would more than do, she realized after she stepped over the threshold. A grand staircase with a wrought iron banister centered in the soaring foyer, and dark slate floors could be deemed somewhat elegant. Yet that was where the elegance ended, right before the West began.

As Paris trailed behind Dallas into the great room, the cowboy culture came shining through in the floor-to-ceiling rock fireplace anchoring the room along with the macho leather furniture in shades of gray and black. And hanging from the towering ceiling, a chandelier, for lack of a better term, appeared to be made out of metallic animal horns, although she would swear they weren’t authentic. At least she hoped not.

“Welcome to Dallas’s little piece of heaven, Paris,” Jenny said as she floated into the room wearing a frilly pink apron and a vibrant smile.

Odd that Dallas didn’t have household staff and had to rely on his stepmother to play hostess. “Thanks for having me, and I have to agree. This place is paradise.”

Jenny’s grin deepened. “You should see the veranda overlooking the pool, which is where you two will dine so you can watch the sunset. The view is breathtaking.”

Dallas frowned. “I’m thinking the dining room might be better since it’s still fairly hot outside and the mosquitoes are big as airplanes.”

Jenny waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, posh, Dallas. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body. Besides, the temperature will go down with the sun and it’s too early in the year for a lot of bugs, including mosquitoes.”

A sunset dinner was conducive to romance, but Paris was not in the market for wining and dining or mosquitoes. “The dining room will be fine.” When Jenny looked absolutely disappointed, she added, “Or the veranda. I’m sure the sunset is very impressive.”

“The veranda it is,” Jenny said as she started to back away. “Dinner will be ready very soon and I assure you, Paris, I’m preparing a delectable vegetarian meal. In the meantime, Dallas can give you the VIP tour. His master suite is to die for.”

She questioned the wisdom in viewing Dallas’s bedroom. “I’m looking forward to it. The tour, I mean.”

Jenny smiled before she hurried away, leaving Dallas and Paris standing in the middle of the great room cloaked in uncomfortable silence.

“Are you ready for the tour?” he asked.

As long as he didn’t get too close to her in the boudoir; otherwise she might forget herself in the shadow of that smile. “I’m more than a little curious, so lead the way.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

And she did, up the stairs, trying desperately to avoid studying his butt before they took an immediate right at the top landing. They walked by several closed doors before reaching the end of the corridor where Dallas paused at a pair of double doors.

“Prepare yourself,” he said. “You’re about to see where all the action happens.”

Holding her breath, Paris expected to discover a large bed, but she only saw what appeared to be a cowboy man cave with an at least seventy-inch television screen, a large old-fashioned bar straight out of a saloon and a series of round wooden tables and straight-backed chairs. She strolled toward a large glass display case to her right that housed trophies and belt buckles and trinkets from days past. “Is this the Dallas Calloway Hall of Fame?”

“Not exactly,” he said from behind her. “If I had my way, those things would’ve stayed in the trunk in the tack room.”

She glanced at him over one shoulder. “You should be proud of these. Not many men can lay claim to being a three-time world champion all-around cowboy.”

“Funny, that’s what Maria said.” He came to her side, showing his handsome profile to full advantage. “She set this up after I built the house.”

Time to get to know him a bit better. “You two are close, huh?”

He streaked a palm over his neck. “Yeah. She’s the only mother I’ve ever really known. Then Jen came into the mix and now I have two mothers. Double trouble. They mean well but sometimes they’re both a little too motherly.”

“Right down to choosing your mate?”

He shot her a smile, throwing her for a mental loop. “They try but I don’t listen to them when it comes to my choice in female companionship.”

That led Paris to a question she’d been dying to ask, perhaps at her own detriment if she dared. “You really don’t have a girlfriend waiting somewhere in the wings?”

He turned those silver-blue eyes on her. “Nope. I’ve had a couple of steady girlfriends in the past, but rodeo and relationships didn’t mix well.”

“Apparently you no longer rodeo, so do you see yourself eventually settling down?”

He sent her an odd look before he brought his attention back to the mementos from his past. “Only if and when the time is right.”

“I’m sure you’re considered quite the catch in these parts. Probably throughout the state.”

He turned and leaned a shoulder against the case. “I’ve had my share of propositions, but it’s kind of hard to tell if they’re more interested in my personality, or my personal finances.”

Or his stellar physical attributes. “I’m sure more than a few are drawn to the cowboy fantasy and the notion you’ll scoop them up and ride off into the sunset.”

“Is that your fantasy?”

Not until that moment. Not until he favored her with that winning, dimpled grin again. “My exposure to cowboys has been nonexistent, so I’d have to say no.”

He inched a little closer. “Now that you’ve been exposed, do you think you might change your mind?”

Heaven help her, he was flirting like a teenage jock. And she responded like an adolescent schoolgirl with a self-conscious smile. “The jury is still out. I’ll let you know after dinner.”

“And I’ll do my best to show you there’s something to be said for the cowboy way.”

They stood there in silence, tension as thick as a morning haze hanging over them as Dallas’s focus landed on her mouth. Paris sensed if she moved just a little closer, gave him just a little encouragement, he might actually kiss her. And she might actually hurl caution to the warm wind and let him.

The sound of staccato footsteps interrupted the moment and drew Paris back into reality and her attention to the doorway where Jenny now stood sporting a knowing look. “Dinner is served, y’all. Just come on out to the veranda when you’re finished doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

As soon as Jenny disappeared, Paris turned back to Dallas. “Shall we go? I’m suddenly starving.”

“So am I,” he replied, keeping his gaze centered on hers. “Food sounds pretty good, too.”

Paris released a nervous laugh. “I can tell you have a little bad boy in you.”

“Yeah, darlin’, I do. But don’t ever doubt I’m every bit a man.”

That wasn’t up for debate. Paris had a sneaking suspicion if she hung around too long after dinner and let down her guard, she could very well see exactly how manly he could be.

* * *

She was getting under his skin, a dangerous prospect. He didn’t need to lose all control around her, but he almost had. He didn’t need a woman complicating his life, even if he couldn’t deny he needed a woman. But not just any woman. This woman.

Dallas pushed his empty plate aside and watched as Paris sipped at the second mint julep Jenny had served her. He’d settled for a beer, but only one, in order to keep his wits about him. He didn’t know enough about Paris to bring out the usual moves, even if those fantastic green eyes had reeled him in like a trout on a fly from the minute she’d walked into the office. He brought his attention to her hands, imagined those slender fingers raking across his chest, then traveling lower to the nagging place down south that craved some female attention.

Shaking off the images, Dallas thought it best to talk, not fantasize about her being naked beneath him. “How long have you been a vegetarian?”

She dabbed at her lips then set the napkin aside. “When I started college, I was determined not to gain the typical freshman fifteen. And honestly, when I was in my teens, I was somewhat...chunky.”

He couldn’t even imagine that. “Are you kidding?”

“It’s true. I wasn’t obese, but I was anything but thin. My family moved around a lot and I tended to use food to compensate for the fact I didn’t have time to make friends. Before I knew it, I was a regular porker who lived on cheeseburgers and fries.”

“The only way I’d believe that is to see some pictures.”

She shook her head. “No way. Besides, I think I probably destroyed all evidence.”

He downed the last of the beer and pushed the mug away. “You said you moved a lot. Why is that?”

“I was a navy brat. We were rarely in one place for any length of time.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“An older sister. She’s living around the corner from my parents in Idaho with her husband and three kids. My folks are so proud.”

“They’re not proud of you?”

She rimmed a fingertip around the edge of the glass. “Let’s just say they don’t understand my creative nature. Or at least my father never did. He preferred I become a nurse or teacher.”

“A traditionalist, huh?”

“More like a taskmaster. It was always his way or the highway.”

He could relate to that. His father was still controlling his life from the grave. “My dad never liked me devoting all my time to the rodeo. That made him a damn hypocrite since he met my mother on the circuit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was a barrel racer and he was a bulldogger.”

“Bulldogger?”

“Steer wrestler.”

She frowned. “Why would you want to wrestle a steer? That sounds rather dangerous.”

He chuckled over her lack of comprehension. “Sorry. I’m just surrounded by women who lived with rodeo cowboys. Most of the time they think they know more about it than I do.”

After downing the last of her drink, she took off her jacket and laid it in her lap, revealing a sleeveless silk top that sparked his imagination. And suddenly he started to sweat.

“Well, you’ll never have to worry about that with me,” she began, “because obviously I know nothing about the rodeo. Not that I’m averse to learning. I’m a quick study.”

Just seeing her bare arms, and a hint of cleavage, brought to mind a few lessons involving his second favorite sport. “I’m a good teacher.”

Smiling, she bent her elbow on the table and supported her cheek with her palm. “When is my first lesson?”

He wanted to suggest tonight, but the fact her voice sounded a little thick led him to believe she might be feeling the effects of the alcohol. “You name the place and the time, and I’ll be there.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she straightened and stared out at the horizon. “This place really surprised me. I was expecting a lot more desertlike terrain, not all this green pastureland. The scenery is really beautiful.”

So was she, and the fact she didn’t seem to realize that only elevated Dallas’s opinion of her. “Yeah, when the sky turns orange at sunset, it makes all the mesquite trees look good.”

She sent him a smile. “Where are you going to put the lodge?”

“On the east side of the property. We’ve surveyed about five acres that will be dedicated to Texas Extreme.”

“How many acres do you have?”

“Ten thousand.”

Her eyes went wide. “Wow. That’s a lot of land.”

He resisted reaching across the table and pushing the strand of hair away from her cheek. “We have a large herd of cattle. In fact, Texas Extreme is going to offer the experience of a good old-fashioned cattle drive, including a camp-out under the stars, complete with a chuck wagon.”

“That actually sounds fun. I’d like to join you.”

“You’d have to learn to ride a horse first.”

“I’m game, as long as it’s a gentle horse.”

“That can be arranged. I have a good gelding. He’s so broke I’d put a five-year-old on him.”

“That would be about my speed.”

“Something tells me you’d be a natural.”

Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Thanks, but don’t count on it. I’m not sure I’ve ever been a natural at anything except designing.”

That put all sorts of questionable images in his mind. “I doubt that. In fact, I’m fairly sure you’re a natural at several things.”

She barked out a soft laugh. “I can’t think of one.”

“I can, but I’m guessing your ex never tapped into your innate abilities.”

“My ex rarely tapped into anything after our first year of marriage.”

Without giving it a thought, Dallas reached over and pushed that sliver of golden hair away from her face. “The man had to be an idiot. Is that why you divorced him?”

She suddenly looked more than a little uncomfortable. “He divorced me, remember? Not that I thought the marriage had any chance of surviving at that juncture. Anyway, I should probably be going before it gets any later.”

He really didn’t want her to leave but he had no one to blame but himself for bringing up past history. “It’s barely eight.”

“And I still have to drive back to San Antonio.”

When Paris pushed back from the table, came to her feet and swayed, Dallas stood and caught her arm. “Are you okay?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “I was fine until I got up. Guess I’m a little tired. That drink went straight to my head.”

As he’d predicted, Jenny’s mint juleps had claimed another unsuspecting victim. He should’ve warned Paris that she could be heavy-handed with the bourbon. “Come to think of it, you had two.”

She sent him a shaky smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, which means you’re in no shape to drive.”

Her stern expression didn’t take away from her fantastic face. “I can’t very well stay here.”

“You can, and you will. I have several guest rooms. Five, in fact. Take your pick.” If he had his way, she’d pick his room. But he’d been taught never to take advantage of a woman under the influence.

“I didn’t pack a bag,” she protested. “I’m sure if I lie down for a little while, I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t have much faith in that. “We’ll see how you feel later, but I’m not going to let you get behind the wheel tonight if I think you’re not fit to drive. End of discussion.”

Clasping her elbow, Dallas led Paris through the double sliding doors, into the sunroom and guided her to the great room. He took one look at the towering staircase and decided showing her to his downstairs quarters would be the better part of valor.

He continued down the corridor and past the kitchen where he noticed Jenny cleaning up the dishes. He didn’t dare stop although he knew he’d have to do some serious explaining if she caught sight of them heading to the bedroom. He’d wager his inheritance she had. Not a problem. He had a bone to pick with her over the booze.

Once they arrived at the back of the house, he let go of Paris long enough to open the double doors before grasping her arm to steady her.

She took him by surprise when she wrenched out of his hold and headed to the bed. “This looks heavenly,” she said as she fell back on the mattress and laughed. “What a lovely guest room.”

“It’s my room,” he muttered. “I wasn’t sure you could make it up the stairs.”

She giggled again when she kicked off her shoes and one landed on top of the dresser several feet away, barely missing the mirror. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation, sir?”

“I’m trying to keep you from breaking your neck.” He crossed the room and held out his hands. “Hop up so I can turn down the covers.”

She accepted the gesture but instead of stepping aside, she stepped right into his arms. And then she did the one thing he’d been avoiding all night, yet wanted more than anything. She planted her mouth on his.

She looked like a saint and kissed like a sinner. Oh, yeah, she was a natural. She had mighty fine lips and met his tongue stroke for stroke. He roved his palms down her slender back and paused right before he reached her butt, which took a lot of effort.

He intended to stop it before they went too far. Stop short before it went too deep. But when she pressed that sweet body against his, he tossed all those well-intentioned plans to the plains. And the longer this went on, the more he wanted to take her back onto the bed...or ignore all formality and take her down to the floor.

Without warning, Paris pulled away and touched her fingertips to her mouth like she’d been burned. “I’m not normally that bold.”

He liked her that bold. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m a little bit tipsy,” she said, her speech slurred. “I came here to convince you to hire me, not to drink and make out with you.”

That made him feel like an oversexed teenager. “It was just a kiss, Paris.” One knock-em-dead kiss. “And I’m the one who should’ve stopped it.”

Paris dropped down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m really not...normally...like this.” She followed the comment with a hiccup and a giggle.

“You’ve got a good excuse,” he said as he pulled her up again and set her aside to turn down the comforter. “Now lie down and sleep it off.”

“Okay,” she said through a yawn. “But don’t let me sleep too long. I have to...” Her eyes drifted closed then opened again. “Hmmm. I have to do something tomorrow but I can’t remember what.”

Dallas suspected she’d be there all night, and he’d be spending the evening in another bed, wishing he was beside her. He hooked a thumb behind him. “The bathroom’s there if you need it. Make yourself at home.”

She pulled the band that secured her low ponytail and set it on the nightstand before she perched on the edge of the mattress. “Thank you, Dallas Calloway. You’re a nice man, and I’m sorry I’m not acting like a nice girl.”

He liked his girls a little naughty, he started to say, but began backing to the door when he noticed how sexy she looked with that blond hair curling around her shoulders. “No need to apologize. Just get some rest.”

She stretched her arms over her head and sent him a sleepy smile. “Since I probably blew my chances at the job, I wouldn’t mind another kiss good-night.” She tapped her cheek and smiled. “Just a peck.”

He might laugh at that if he hadn’t been so damn uncomfortable, or tempted to do more than give her just a peck. “We’ll talk later when you’re sober. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Before he traded in his honor and gave in to animal urges, Dallas rushed out of the room, closed the door behind him and then headed down the hall to confront the culprit who’d created the chaos. Once he reached the kitchen, he found Jenny loading the last of the dishes into the washer. “What in the hell did you put in those drinks?”

Jenny turned toward him and had the gall to look surprised. “Why, honey, just the usual. A little mint, some sugar and water, bourbon. And maybe a touch of tequila.”

That explained a lot. “You added tequila on top of the bourbon?”

She didn’t bother to look contrite. “Yes. It gives the julep that special kick everyone raves about.”

“It kicked my date right into drunk mode.”

Jenny grinned. “Your date?”

“Guest,” he corrected, although he didn’t see much point in getting the details right.

“Maybe I put a little too much alcohol into the drink,” she said, “but I thought it would help Paris relax.”

“Hell, she’s relaxed all right. She’s passed out in my bed.”

“Then why are you in here?”

He was asking himself that same question. “Because there is no way I’m going to seduce a woman who’s intoxicated.”

Jenny leaned back against the counter. “Of course you wouldn’t, sugar. You’re too good for that. However, she won’t be drunk in the morning.”

Of all the confounded suggestions. “I’m going to check on Paris and then I’m going upstairs.”

“I’ll have a nice breakfast waiting for the two of you in the morning.”

“Great.”

Without further comment, Dallas turned around and nearly ran into his other stepmother. “’Night,” he muttered, looking for a quick escape.

Maria had other ideas, he realized, when she grabbed his arm. “Why is the woman still here?”

He didn’t have the energy to explain. “Ask Jenny,” he said as he brushed past her and headed toward his bedroom.

Once there, he opened the door to find Paris curled up on her side, the covers shoved to the end of the bed. She’d stripped down to a white strapless bra and damn if she hadn’t taken off her skirt, giving him a prime view of a pair of lacy, black panties.

Damn, damn, damn...

He should probably turn tail and run, but he worried about leaving her all night in her current state. He could crawl in next to her, or he could be the man Maria had raised him to be. A gentleman.

With that in mind, he strode into the bathroom, dressed in his boxers and a T-shirt, then prepared to sleep in the lounger. But before he settled in for the duration, he paused a few moments to study the gorgeous woman in his bed.

With her arm crooked beneath her head, her hair a sexy, tangled mess, she looked somewhat innocent in sleep, and someone he wouldn’t mind waking up to in the morning. He liked her wit, her brain and her body. Definitely her body. Too bad he hadn’t met her a year ago, when he still had time to court a woman in an effort to meet his match, and circumvent the terms of the will.

But unfortunately that time had passed, and unless he wanted to propose to someone he’d met only a few hours ago, he could just let go of that pipe dream. Then something suddenly occurred to him. Something the mothers had suggested.

Nah. That would be too weird, not to mention she would never agree to it.

Following a quick shower, Dallas took one last look at the pretty lady, turned off the lights and kicked back in the lounge chair. He still had trouble shutting down his thoughts for several reasons, including the damned deadline on the will. He’d be better served if he accepted his fate—his youngest brother would have controlling interest over the ranch. Short of a miracle, that would come to pass. Unless...

Maybe the harebrained idea could work if he handled it right. If he made it worth Paris’s while. Or she could laugh in his face and leave. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask, if he found the courage to do it. Hell, he’d ridden some of the rankest bulls in the world. He could propose a marriage pact to a woman.

Probably best to sleep on it for now and decide in the morning—if he actually got any sleep at all.


Three (#ulink_cd421593-a0f7-553b-8fa1-4475096facfd)

Shaking off the fog of sleep, Paris came into consciousness slowly in reaction to a ribbon of light landing on her face. She opened her eyes and squinted at first, until she spotted the man with an open chambray shirt sitting in the chair in the corner, putting on his boots. Her eyes went wide when she remembered her current location—a stranger’s bed.

Then it all came back to her, one frame at a time, like a mortifying slide show. Dinner with Dallas Calloway. Two drinks. Getting drunk. Getting into his bed. And that kiss she’d instigated.

Paris resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head and hide away until he left. Or she could choose the mature path and apologize again for her stupid behavior.

After scooting up against the tufted leather headboard, Paris pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat to garner his attention. “What time is it?”

He glanced at her, rose to his feet and began buttoning his shirt, but not before she caught a good glimpse of his toned chest, ridged abdomen and the thin happy trail leading to his open fly. “It’s after nine,” he said. “I thought for a minute there you might sleep until lunchtime.”

She thought for a minute there she might swallow her tongue due to his sheer male perfection. “You should have woken me sooner.”

“I tried.”

“Apparently not very hard.”

“I nearly shook your shoulder off, but you didn’t budge.” He cracked a crooked smile. “How’s your head?”

“Fuzzy.” But not so fuzzy that she couldn’t recall what a fool she’d made of herself.

“Need an aspirin?” he asked as he tucked his shirt into the jeans’ waistband.

She needed an escape route when she noticed her skirt and top hanging on the end of the bedpost. “No, I’m fine,” she said as she clutched the covers tighter. “I do need to get dressed and go home.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s usually my morning line.”

It suddenly occurred to her she might not remember everything about their evening, although she couldn’t imagine forgetting that. “Uh, we didn’t do anything...you know.”

He buckled his belt and approached the side of the bed. “Unfortunately ‘you know’ wasn’t involved. You did strip down to your underwear, but I didn’t look.”

“I’ve definitely heard that before.” She determined an amendment would be best before he assumed she slept around. “From my ex-husband, and he was telling the truth. He rarely looked at me the last few years of our wedded non-bliss.”

“Your husband sounds like an idiot. No offense.”

“No offense taken. You’ve pegged him right, although my actions last evening would probably qualify as idiotic. I’m so sorry I subjected you to that.”





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