Книга - In Name Only

In Name Only
Peggy Moreland


SHELBY HAD DREAMED OF MARRYING FOR LOVE…and in a way she had. True, Troy Jacobs was a total stranger, a steer wrestler she'd proposed to in a roadside café. Still, a pregnant preacher's daughter needed a husband! But what now that the love for her child…had spread to her groom?TROY HAD NEVER DREAMED OF MARRYING, PERIOD!But Shelby Cannon had been desperate and scared–and all she needed was a paper marriage. So why was Troy still protecting his pregnant bride? Was it possible he'd "accidentally" married for love…too?









“I Guess I Should Thank You For Saving My Honor.”


“You make me sound like some kind of white knight or something. A knight,” Troy repeated, then snorted a disbelieving laugh. He nestled his cheek against Shelby’s neck, then laid his head back down on the pillow.

He was a knight, she reflected wistfully, listening as his heavy breathing grew rhythmic. Troy had saved her family from the disgrace associated with having an unwed pregnant daughter, and he’d saved her child from the stigma of being born out of wedlock. Yes, he was a white knight, all right.

But could she keep this cowboy knight in her little Texas castle…forever?


Dear Reader,

Silhouette is celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000, and the latest powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire are as hot as that steamy summer weather!

For August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, the fabulous BJ James begins her brand-new miniseries, MEN OF BELLE TERRE. In The Return of Adams Cade, a self-made millionaire returns home to find redemption in the arms of his first love.

Beloved author Cait London delivers another knockout in THE TALLCHIEFS miniseries with Tallchief: The Homecoming, also part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL. And Desire is proud to present Bride of Fortune by Leanne Banks, the launch title of FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS, another exciting spin-off of the bestselling Silhouette FORTUNE’S CHILDREN continuity miniseries.

BACHELOR BATTALION marches on with Maureen Child’s The Last Santini Virgin, in which a military man’s passion for a feisty virgin weakens his resolve not to marry. In Name Only is how a sexy rodeo cowboy agrees to temporarily wed a pregnant preacher’s daughter in the second book of Peggy Moreland’s miniseries TEXAS GROOMS. And Christy Lockhart reconciles a once-married couple who are stranded together in a wintry cabin during One Snowbound Weekend.…

So indulge yourself by purchasing all six of these summer delights from Silhouette Desire…and read them in air-conditioned comfort.

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desired




In Name Only

Peggy Moreland







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


PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award and a finalist for the prestigious RITA Award, Peggy has appeared on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. When not writing, she enjoys spending time at the farm riding her quarter horse, Lo-Jump. She, her husband and three children make their home in Round Rock, Texas. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 2453, Round Rock, TX 78680-2453.




Contents


Chapter One (#u5e82b21f-324a-5ac4-b8b2-edd5dd60311b)

Chapter Two (#ub4035f5c-5774-51e6-a54c-98d9a95d1ff7)

Chapter Three (#u1bd8c7a9-1381-5e6f-b297-d5bde60f24b7)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)




One


A black cat streaked in front of the diner’s entrance and directly across Troy Jacobs’s path. Startled, Troy stumbled to a stop, then frowned as he watched the cat dart around the side of the building and disappear from sight. Well aware of the superstitions associated with black cats, he knew he should probably turn right around and head in the opposite direction.

But he didn’t.

He figured a black cat crossing his path couldn’t hurt his current run of luck. It was already running so low on the downside of bad he didn’t think it could possibly get any worse.

With a rueful shake of his head, he pushed open the door, stepped inside and bumped into the Corley brothers who were just leaving.

He nodded a greeting to the cowboys as he pulled off his hat.

Rudy, the older of the two, clapped a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Too bad about that steer you drew tonight. I’ve never seen one drop and cut behind a hazer as fast as that one. Didn’t even give you a fair chance to throw him.”

Troy nodded his agreement. “Yeah, well, seems as if I’m drawing all the strange ones lately.”

Rudy wagged his head sympathetically, then grinned and gave Troy a friendly punch on the arm. “But, hey, your luck’s bound to change soon, right? This losing streak can’t last forever.”

Troy tried to force a game smile—though he certainly didn’t feel the sentiment—but he couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm required for the action. After putting up entry fees for three months without any wins to offset his expenses, it was hard to find anything to smile about. “I sure hope so,” he said with a resigned sigh, “because if it doesn’t, I might have to break down and sell my horse.”

Rudy hooted a laugh and slapped Troy on the back. “If it comes to that, you give me a call. I’ve always admired Danny Boy. There’s not a horse around with more heart.” Rudy snugged his cowboy hat over his head and reached for the door, touching a finger to the hat’s brim in farewell. “See you around, Troy.”

“Yeah,” Troy replied with a jerk of his chin. “See you.”

Road noise from the highway that stretched in front of the truck stop rushed in as the Corley brothers left, then dulled to a low roar when the door closed behind the two men.

Wishing he’d arrived earlier so that he could’ve shared a meal with the two cowboys and avoided eating alone, Troy looked around the nearly empty room, searching for a hostess. He didn’t see one, but at this hour of the night, he wasn’t surprised. The only customers remaining were a couple of truck drivers huddled at the counter, nursing thick porcelain mugs of steaming coffee, and a woman who sat alone in a booth on the opposite side of the room. When Troy glanced the woman’s way, he found her staring at him, but she quickly looked away when their gazes met, a blush staining her cheeks.

She was a pretty little thing, he noted absently. Blond, with big blue eyes, a peaches-and-cream complexion…and from what he could see, a nice figure. If Pete was with him, Troy knew his friend would already be hustling over to her table and striking up a conversation. Pete did love women. And women seemed to love Pete.

He smiled inwardly as he thought of his friend, wondering if he ought to mosey over and try one of Pete’s tactics on the woman and see if she’d be willing to share her table with him…but he quickly discarded the notion. He wasn’t like Pete who could charm the skin off a snake and the clothes off a woman’s back, and he’d rather suffer the agony of eating alone than take a chance on being rejected.

Instead, he plucked a menu from the rack on the wall and dropped down in a booth near the front door, placing his cowboy hat crown side up on the seat beside him.

He flipped open the menu and studied it, wishing Pete and Clayton, his traveling buddies, were with him. He hated like hell eating alone. But Pete was still at Clayton’s ranch, keeping an eye on things, while Clayton chased after his wife in hopes of talking her out of leaving him. Personally, he hoped Clayton was successful. He liked Rena, though he wondered sometimes why she’d put up with Clayton’s indifference for so long.

“What can I get you, cowboy?”

Troy looked up and found a waitress standing beside the booth, the stubbed point of her pencil poised over a pad. He offered her an easy smile. “What would you recommend?”

She tucked the pencil behind her ear and shifted her weight, lifting a foot to rub it along the back of a calf that he was sure was aching after a long day waiting tables. “Meat loaf’s fresh and it comes with a side of green beans, mashed potatoes and a square of cornbread. Six-fifty, or seven dollars if you order a drink.”

Troy closed his menu and handed it to her. “Sounds good to me. And I’d like a cup of coffee, when you have the time.”

“Sure thing.” Dropping the pad into her apron pocket, she headed for the counter.

Troy turned his face toward the window and stared out at the highway, watching the occasional eighteen-wheeler roar by. Superimposed on the glass was a reflection of the café’s interior. In it he saw the waitress snag a pot of coffee from the warming plate and head back his way. Turning, he reared back to give her room as she upended a porcelain mug.

“Did you compete in the rodeo tonight?” she asked as she filled his cup.

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Straightening, she rested the pot of coffee on the edge of the table and looked at him suspiciously. “You a bull rider?”

Troy chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. There’s not enough money in the world to persuade me to climb on the back of some rank bull.”

She returned his smile, revealing a gold-capped front tooth. “I didn’t think so. The bull riders who pass through here are a cocky bunch. And they sure as heck don’t have your manners,” she added wryly.

Troy tossed back his head and laughed. “You can thank my grandmother for the manners. She pounded them into me from an early age.”

She shifted her weight from one crepe-soled shoe to the other. “If you’re not a bull rider, then what are you?”

“A steer wrestler.”

She arched a brow. “Really? I’d think steer wrestling would be as dangerous as bull riding.”

With the long stretch of loneliness that awaited him on the drive ahead, Troy was glad for the company. Settling in for a visit, he wrapped his hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, and lifted a shoulder. “Not to my way of thinking. If a man’s got a good horse and a good hazer, he narrows the odds some in his favor.”

A shiver shook her thin shoulders beneath a uniform about a size too big for her bony frame. “I can’t imagine jumping off a running horse and wrestling a horned steer to the ground. I’d be afraid one of those horns would run straight through me.”

Troy chuckled. “It happens, now and again, but not as often as a bull turning on a rider he’s thrown and goring him.”

When a bell pinged impatiently, the waitress glanced over her shoulder and saw the truck drivers waiting beside the cash register. She offered Troy an apologetic smile as she tipped her head toward the counter. “Duty calls. I’ll get your order out to you quick as I can.”

“No hurry, ma’am.”

She winked and gave his hand a motherly pat. “The next time you see your grandmother you tell her she did a fine job raising you.”

Troy watched the waitress hustle over to the cash register, sobered by the reminder of his grandmother. Then, with a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the window. Yeah, he’d tell Granny all right, he thought sadly. But he doubted his grandmother would even recognize him, much less understand the compliment enough to appreciate it. Alzheimer’s had stolen a mind that had remained sharp for more than seventy years, and overnight had turned his grandmother into a stranger to him. He always came away from the nursing home where she now lived, wondering how life could be so cruel to a woman with a heart as big as hers. She’d worked hard all her life, and when she should’ve been enjoying her golden years, she’d taken in Troy to raise after his mother had died.

He caught a movement on the window’s reflection and saw that the waitress was heading back his way, juggling his dinner. Shaking off the melancholy thoughts of his grandmother, he leaned back and forced a grateful smile for the waitress as she slid the plate and basket of cornbread in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

He glanced at the generous helpings on the plate. “No, ma’am. This’ll be fine for now.”

As she went back to her duties, Troy unwrapped his silverware, shook out his napkin and spread it over his thigh. His mouth watering at the tempting scents that rose to meet his nose, he lifted the fork and dug in.

He’d cleaned about half his plate when he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He glanced over and caught the woman in the booth on the opposite side of the room staring at him again. Her expression was an odd mixture of appraisal and desperation, which he found a bit unnerving. But damn she was a pretty little thing. All soft and feminine and innocent, much like the angels he remembered pictured in the family Bible his grandmother kept on the coffee table in the front room of the home they’d once shared.

Baffled by the intensity with which she was studying him, he dabbed the napkin at the corner of his mouth, wondering if he had food on his face or something. He nodded a quick, embarrassed greeting, then turned his attention back to his meal.

He hadn’t taken more than two bites when a shadow fell across his plate. He looked up and found the woman standing beside his booth. She was even prettier up close, but she had a scared-rabbit look about her that concerned him.

“I apologize for interrupting your dinner,” she said, her fingers clutched tightly around the strap of a shoulder purse, “but would you mind if I join you for a minute?”

Her voice was as sweet as her face, but there was a quaver in it that confirmed his suspicion that something was bothering her.

He rose and gestured to the bench opposite him. “No, ma’am, I sure don’t. In fact, I’d welcome the company.”

She slipped into the booth and waited for him to take his seat again. Once he had, she stretched a hand across the table. “I’m Shelby Cannon.”

He wiped his palm down his thigh before taking her hand in his. Small. Delicately boned. His own work-roughened hand swallowed her smaller one. “Troy Jacobs,” he returned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes sharpened when his fingers closed around hers, and he couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same kick to the system as he had when their palms first met.

Slowly she withdrew her hand, then fisted it with the other on her lap. “Mr. Jacobs—”

“Troy,” he insisted, and smiled, hoping to put her at ease.

She inhaled deeply. “Troy, then,” she said, and forced a polite, if tremulous, smile in return. “I know this may seem presumptuous of me to approach you in this way, but I’m running short of time and forced to be blunt.” She drew in another deep breath, then leaned toward him, leveling her gaze on his. “Are you married?”

The question came out of left field, catching him totally off guard. He wondered if she was planning on trying to pick him up, though she certainly didn’t look the type. “No ma’am,” he replied cautiously.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank goodness. I didn’t see a ring, but I had to make certain.”

“Are you?” he asked, thinking he ought to establish her marital status, since she’d considered his so important.

She shook her head, then leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, earlier, when you were talking to those two men who were leaving.”

“The Corley brothers?” At her nod, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. Me and the Corleys go way back. They’re steer wrestlers, too, and we’ve competed against each other over the years. Lately, though, they’ve been collecting all the winnings.”

She closed her hands around the edge of the scarred table and drew herself forward, her expression growing more earnest. “I heard you say that you might have to sell your horse if your luck didn’t change pretty soon.”

His ego took a beating, knowing that she’d overheard that. Not that he was desperate for money. He wasn’t. The comment had been made in jest. What embarrassed him was that she was aware of his current losing streak. He dropped his gaze and stirred his fork through his mashed potatoes. “My situation’s not quite as bad as it sounds.”

“How much is your horse worth?”

He jerked up his head to peer at her. “You’re wanting to buy my horse?”

Obviously startled by the question, she shook her head. “Oh, no! I don’t want to buy your horse. Heavens!” She laughed weakly and placed a hand over her breasts, as if the idea alone was enough to bring on a heart attack. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse. I’ve never even been on one.”

“So why do you want to know how much he’s worth?”

“I…I—” She pressed her lips together and forced her chin up a notch. “I’m just interested, is all.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Twenty-five thousand dollars!” At Troy’s nod, she sank weakly against the back of the booth. “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she repeated, then closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

When she opened her eyes, Troy would have sworn he saw tears in them.

“I don’t have that much money,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. She pushed to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Troy. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He stretched a hand across the table, stopping her. “Hold on a minute.” She glanced at the hand that gripped her arm, then back at him and slowly sank back down, her gaze now watchful. Realizing he’d frightened her, Troy released his hold on her. “I thought you said you wanted to buy my horse?”

“Oh, no! I just wanted to know how much he was worth.”

“Why?”

She shifted uneasily on the booth. “Well,” she began, then averted her gaze, her cheeks turning pink again. “I was hoping that I could…well, that I could make a trade with you.”

“If you don’t want my horse, then what is it you want me to trade?”

He watched the pink turn a brilliant red. She plucked a paper napkin from the holder on the table and kept her gaze on her fingers as she began to shred it.

“Your name,” she said in a low voice.

Troy leaned closer, sure that he’d misunderstood her. “My name?”

A tear rolled over her lower lashes and down her cheek. She swiped at it furiously with the shredded napkin. “Yes. Your name.” Another tear quickly fell to replace the first.

Troy lifted a hip and worked a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sniffing as she blotted the handkerchief beneath her eyes.

“Why would you want my name?” he asked in confusion.

“Not just your name, actually.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Frustrated, Troy shoved aside his plate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Maybe you should tell me just exactly what it is you want from me.”

She pressed the handkerchief against her lips, then fanned it in front of her eyes when they filled with tears again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just that I had so hoped you would agree to marry me and let me use your name.”

Troy was sure that he had stepped into a scene from the Twilight Zone. “Did you say marry you?”

She pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose and nodded. “I’d pay you, of course,” she hurried to explain. “I’ve got the money.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “But not $25,000. I only have about $5,000 in my savings account.”

Troy braced his hands against the edge of the table, pushed himself back against the seat and released a shuddering breath. He stared at her a long moment, trying to figure her angle. “And why would a pretty young lady like yourself want to marry an old cowboy like me? Hell,” he said, gesturing at her. “You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, no! I don’t want to marry you—I mean, at least, not in the sense you must think. I just need your name. My plan was for us to marry, go our separate ways, then divorce after the baby is born.”

Troy choked, his eyes going wide. “Baby?” he gasped hoarsely.

Tears filled her eyes. “Yes…baby.” She pressed her hand over her stomach, her lips trembling. “I’m pregnant.”

He dropped his gaze to her hand and the flat stomach beneath it. The Twilight Zone, he told himself again, swallowing hard. He’d landed himself in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Or maybe he’d been set up for one of those television shows where they caught an unsuspecting person in an unbelievable situation and filmed his response for all of America to laugh at later. He glanced quickly around, looking for the hidden camera. But all he saw were empty booths and the waitress working at the counter, refilling salt and pepper shakers.

Slowly he brought his gaze back to Shelby’s.

“Baby,” he repeated dully.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you just ask the man who fathered the child to marry you?”

Her shoulders hitched and she pressed the handkerchief over her mouth to stifle the sob that bubbled up. Then she looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with a heartbreaking mixture of pain and humiliation. “I…I did, but h-he refused.”

Frustrated by the entire conversation, Troy didn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. “You should’ve thought of the consequences before you slept with the guy. Or at least taken the necessary precautions. Pregnancy is easy enough to avoid these days.”

Her chin came up at his accusatory tone, and her eyes turned a steely blue. She cut a glance toward the waitress to make certain his comment hadn’t been overheard, then leaned across the table and narrowed her eyes. “I did,” she whispered angrily. “But unfortunately not all precautionary measures are 100 percent fail-safe.” She tossed his handkerchief on the table. “Oh, just forget it,” she snapped as she scooted from the booth. “I thought this might be the perfect solution to both our problems, but I can see that I was wrong.” Stalking to the door, she pushed her way furiously to the outside, sending the cowbell hanging over the door clanking loudly.

Frowning, Troy watched her through the window as she marched across the parking lot, her shoulders square, her head high. Not your problem, Jacobs, he told himself as he watched her jerk open her car door and slip inside. The vehicle rocked hard when she slammed the door behind her. Not your problem, he told himself again when—to his surprise—she wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and buried her face against it. He watched the sobs wrack her slim shoulders…and a fist closed around his heart and squeezed.

His name. All the lady wanted was his name, for God’s sake. Was that so much to ask? It wasn’t as if she had asked him to donate a kidney, or something. And it was only for a couple of months, just long enough to give her baby a name and save it the shame of being labeled a bastard. And who could understand better than Troy Jacobs the stigma attached to being born out of wedlock? Maybe his own life would have been a bit different if his mother had done what this woman was trying to do.

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. He grabbed his hat and rammed it on his head and pushed himself from the booth. Digging his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table. “Much obliged,” he called to the waitress and waved to her as he pushed through the door.

When he reached Shelby’s car, he grabbed the door handle and swore again when he discovered it was locked. He slammed a fist against the window. “Open up,” he ordered angrily.

She turned her tear-streaked face to glare up at him. “Go away,” she sobbed, and buried her face against her hands again.

Troy pounded his fist on the glass. “Either you open the door or I’m busting out the glass. Your choice.”

Her face twisted with fury, she sat up and rolled down the window. “Say what you have to say, then leave,” she ordered tersely. “This isn’t your problem.”

Scowling, he reached inside and unlocked the door himself. “I don’t think you want what I have to say broadcast all over the parking lot.” He bumped his hip against her side, forcing her to scoot over. “And no, it’s not my problem,” he said as he sat down on the seat still warm from her bottom. He felt around for the release and shoved the seat back, giving him room to stretch out his long legs. He slammed the door with the same degree of frustration as she had, then twisted around on the seat to face her. The fact that she shrank away from him, didn’t go unnoticed. It even shamed him a bit to see a woman cower from him. “How much?”

Startled, she stammered, “W-what?”

“How much?” he repeated angrily. “How much are you willing to pay me for my name?”

Slowly she sat up straighter, her gaze fixed on his face. “Five thousand dollars.”

“And how long do we have to stay married?”

“Until the baby’s born.”

“When’s it due?”

“The fifth of March. I’m three months along.”

Amazed, he glanced down at her stomach where she’d unconsciously pressed a hand, then slowly lifted his gaze to hers again. “But you’re not even showing.”

She dipped her chin and smoothed a hand across her abdomen. “No. Thankfully. But I will be before long.”

Setting his jaw, he frowned at her. “What would be expected of me?”

“Nothing,” she assured him quickly, then caught her lip between her teeth as if catching herself in a lie. “Well, I do need you to do one thing.”

“What?”

“Go home with me and meet my parents. Otherwise,” she hurried to explain, “they might not believe I’m really married.”

Troy groaned and slumped down in the seat. “I have to meet your parents?” He rolled his head to the side to look at her. “Couldn’t you just show them the marriage license?”

She clamped her lips together, frowning. “No, I can’t just show them the marriage license,” she mimicked sarcastically. “My father is going to be angry enough that we didn’t marry in the church. He is the pastor, after all, and—”

Troy snapped up his head. “The pastor!” he shouted. “Your daddy is a preacher?”

She gulped and shrank away from him, nodding.

Troy dropped his head back and groaned. “A preacher,” he repeated miserably. “Pete and Clayton are never going to believe this. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it myself!” Sighing, he turned his face to the side window and stared out at the darkness beyond. From the far side of the parking lot, a pair of green eyes peered back at him.

The black cat.

Maybe I should’ve turned around and headed the other way, he thought miserably.

But it was too late now. Seemed he’d just agreed to sell his name to a pregnant preacher’s daughter to the tune of five thousand dollars.




Two


Though it was almost dawn and the sky still clung to the colors of midnight, the street Troy drove his truck down was bright as midday.

Las Vegas.

He gave his head a shake, then angled it a bit to steal a glance at the woman who slept in the passenger seat beside him. She sat with her head tipped against the window, her bare feet tucked up underneath her and hidden by her full, broomstick skirt. She looked so innocent in sleep, like an angel, even more so than when she was awake, which was pretty darn angelic in Troy’s estimation. Something told him, though, that this little angel’s preacher-daddy wasn’t going to think too highly of a Las Vegas wedding for his daughter.

With another shake of his head, he turned his face to the windshield again and the street beyond. “Shelby?” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She shifted, snuggling a hand beneath her cheek, and a bare toe slipped from beneath the folds of her skirt, its nail painted a soft, shell-pink. As he watched, the toe curled as if inviting his touch.

Finding the sight oddly arousing—and himself more than a little tempted to accept the invitation and stroke a hand along that foot and up the smooth, bare leg beneath the skirt—he set his jaw and forced his gaze away. Clearing his throat, he tried not to think about that bare toe, or the stretch of leg attached to it, and attempted again to rouse her. “Shelby?”

“Hmmm?” she hummed sleepily.

“Better wake up. We’re here.”

Instantly alert, she straightened, slowly unwinding her legs and slipping her feet gracefully to the floor. Brushing her hair back from her face, she leaned forward to peer through the windshield. Her eyes grew wide at the sight that greeted her.

“Oh, my stars,” she murmured, darting her eyes from one side of the street to the other, where elaborately designed hotels and brightly lit casinos seemed to mushroom from the very edge of the sidewalk and shoot straight up to the sky. A billboard at the intersection they approached pictured a woman on a swing inside a gilded cage, wearing nothing but feathers and spangles.

“Did you see that?” she whispered on a long, disbelieving breath. As they passed through the intersection, she twisted her head around, keeping her gaze riveted on the scantily clad woman pictured on the massive billboard.

“Ever been to Las Vegas before?” Troy asked, unable to suppress the smile her shocked expression drew.

“No,” she said and turned to look at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed.

“Welcome to the den of iniquity,” he said, waving an expansive hand at the view before them.

She sank back against the seat and swallowed hard, staring. “Is it always like this?” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“So…so full of life,” she said, gesturing helplessly to the people who crowded the sidewalks.

“Yep. Nobody sleeps in Las Vegas. It’s one of the unwritten rules.” Realizing that he had no idea where he was headed, Troy steered the truck onto a side street beside a hotel’s entrance and stopped.

She peered through the window at the hotel’s revolving door, then turned slowly to look at him. “Why are you stopping here?”

He saw the suspicion in her eyes, heard it in her voice, and snorted, pulling on the emergency brake before killing the engine. “’Cause I don’t know where we’re going, that’s why,” he reminded her. “Do you?”

She turned to peer through the window again at the hotel beyond. “No,” she said, her nervousness obvious. “But I’d think we’d need to find a chapel or something, wouldn’t we? Not a hotel.”

“That’d be my guess.” He braced a hand against the steering wheel, inhaled deeply, then slowly released it, questioning again his sanity in allowing himself to be suckered into this crazy scheme of hers. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

She snapped her head around to peer at him, her eyes wider than before. “Yes! I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminded her. “You could always just tell your parents about the baby. They might be more understanding than you think.”

“Oh, no,” she said, frantically shaking her head. “My father would never understand.” She gulped, swallowed, then turned to stare at the windshield, though he was sure she saw nothing on the glass but an image of her father’s irate face. “Never,” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.

Troy sighed. “What about a friend, then? Surely there’s someone you know who would agree to marry you?”

“No,” she said, and shook her head again. “No one. Dunning is a small town. Everybody knows everybody.” She lifted a shoulder. “And even if I did ask someone, everyone in town, my father included, would know the real reason for the marriage before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. I won’t subject my family to that embarrassment.”

Sighing, Troy pushed open his door, but his foot had barely touched the ground before Shelby was diving across the console and grabbing his arm, stopping him.

“Where are you going?” she cried, her eyes wide with alarm.

He eased his arm from the death grip with which she held him. “I’m just going to step into that hotel there,” he said, nodding toward it, “and see if they have some brochures on wedding chapels in the area. I’ll be right back.”

Sinking back onto her seat, she slowly nodded. “Good idea,” she murmured, then caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned her face toward the passenger window. A woman strolled past, wearing three-inch-spike heels, her hips swaying suggestively beneath a skintight gold lamé miniskirt, her breasts overflowing the top of a leopard print bustier. The woman glanced Shelby’s way, puckered her heavily painted lips and blew a kiss.

Shelby gasped and whirled to look at Troy. “Did you see that?” she cried in a shocked whisper. “That woman was a man!”

“Transvestite,” Troy corrected, trying not to laugh. “You’ll see a lot of them around here.”

Shelby whipped her head back around to the window just as a man staggered by, obviously drunk. He fell against the hood of the truck, cursed soundly, then straightened and staggered on. Shelby gulped, then swallowed as she lifted a discreet hand to depress the door lock. “Maybe you better hurry, okay?” she whispered to Troy.

He planned to do just that, but hadn’t made it more than halfway up the hotel’s inclined drive when he heard the truck door slam. He glanced behind him and saw Shelby hurrying toward him, her shoulder bag hugged tight at her side.

“I thought I might just as well go with you,” she murmured, glancing nervously around. “Might save us a little time.”

Shaking his head, Troy took her by the elbow and guided her up the walk. An angel’s first visit to Sodom and Gomorrah, he thought wryly. He wondered if she’d get soot on her wings.

Stepping back, he allowed Shelby to enter the revolving door first, then slipped into the compartment behind her, following as she stepped out, gaping into the ornately decorated hotel. Seeing the concierge’s desk, he caught her elbow and quickly ushered her toward the rack of brochures displayed beside it. While she waited behind him, he thumbed through the brochures, selecting several that advertised wedding chapels.

“How about this one?” he asked, holding up a brochure over his shoulder for her approval. When she didn’t respond, he turned, and his heart skipped a beat when he found she wasn’t standing behind him. Sure that he’d lost her—or worse, someone had kidnapped her—he started walking, casting his gaze left and right, searching for her.

He found her not more than thirty feet away, standing in front of a slot machine, her eyes round in wonder as she stared at the machine’s flashing lights.

“Damn, Shelby,” he complained. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She jumped, startled, then turned to look guiltily up at him. “I’m sorry. But I’ve never seen a slot machine before and wanted to see how one works.”

Unable to believe that anyone was that innocent, he dug a hand in his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Here. Give it a try.”

She hesitated a second, biting her lower lip, then took the quarter from him and sat down in front of the machine. “What do I do?” she asked uncertainly, placing her purse primly on pressed-together knees.

“Just slip the quarter in that slot there,” he said, pointing, “then push the spin button. Or, if you want to do it the old-fashioned way, you can pull down the arm at the side of the machine.”

He bit back a grin when he saw the way her fingers trembled as she dropped the coin into the slot. Bracing his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward as she pulled down the arm, putting his face on the same level with hers, then watched with her as the images flashed by. When the wheel stopped, three cherries were displayed. Immediately lights started flashing, the national anthem blared from a hidden speaker within the machine…and Troy gaped.

She jumped up from the stool, nearly knocking him down. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, pressing herself against his side, trembling, as she stared in horror at the machine.

“Wrong?” Chuckling, Troy leaned over and punched the cash out button, and tokens clinked musically as they began to spill into the payoff return. “I’d say you definitely did something right. You hit the jackpot.”

“Jackpot?” she repeated, staring at him. Then her mouth dropped open and she let out a squeal that had more than a few heads turning their way. Before he had a chance to brace himself, she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Troy! That’s marvelous! You won! You won!”

For a moment Troy could do nothing but hold on to her as she jumped up and down in his arms, painfully aware of the swell of her breasts chafing against his chest, the slender arms wrapped around his neck, her womanly scent. But then what she’d said slowly registered.

He’d won?

Before he could argue the point, she was whirling away and dropping to her knees to pick up coins from the floor as they spilled from the brimming payoff return. “Oh, my heavens, Troy!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining brighter than any star he’d ever seen light a night sky. “There must be hundreds of dollars here. Maybe thousands! You’re rich!”

“Me!” he said in dismay, staring at her as she scrambled around on the floor, retrieving dropped tokens. “Hell, that money’s not mine.”

She stopped suddenly and glanced up, looking like a kid who’d dropped her ice cream cone before she’d gotten the first lick. “It’s not?”

“Hell, no! That money’s yours! You were the one behind the controls.”

“Oh, no,” she said, and dropped the tokens back into the bin, then dusted her hands, as if to deny ownership. “It’s yours. It was your quarter that I inserted into the machine. Not mine.”

Troy stared at her a long moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. Any other woman would probably already be at the cashier’s box, cashing in the tokens and thinking about a zillion ways to spend the money, not arguing over ownership. Shaking his head, he pulled off his cowboy hat. “An angel,” he muttered under his breath as he stooped to scrape the mountain of tokens into the crown of his hat. And a lucky angel, at that.

As he straightened, having to use both hands to support the loaded hat, he glanced toward the crap tables, wondering if Shelby might like to try her hand at that game of chance. Lady Luck definitely seemed to be riding on her shoulder that night. But then he glanced back at her and saw her standing with her purse hugged at her side, peering at the entrance, that worried look in her eyes again.

Sighing, he jerked his chin in the direction of the cashier’s booth. “Let’s cash this in and get out of here,” he said gruffly. “We can fight over who gets stuck with the winnings later.”

“No,” Shelby said, frowning slightly as she studied the tiny chapel tucked against the side of the hotel. Red neon lights flashed on and off beneath an oversize set of plaster wedding bells draped with satin-like ribbon painted a garish silver. The blinking sign promised a drive-through wedding ceremony for under twenty-five dollars. “This one is just too…too…”

“Tacky?” Troy offered helpfully.

“Yes,” she replied, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Much too tacky.”

It was the fourth chapel Troy had driven by and the fourth Shelby had eliminated, for one reason or another. Personally, he thought the Elvis wedding might have been kind of fun, definitely something to tell the guys about later, but she had nixed that one with barely a glance.

Wearily he plucked another brochure from the pile littering the console. “How about this one?” he asked, holding the brochure out for her inspection. “The Little Church of the West. The name has a nice ring to it, plus it actually looks like a real church. See?”

Shelby studied the photo he indicated and the creases on her forehead slowly smoothed. “That’s it,” she said, then tipped her face up to Troy’s, her smile radiant. “That’s the one.”

“You sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Positive,” she said, and took the brochure from his hand. “And it isn’t too far,” she added, studying the map. She lifted a hand and pointed a finger. “Three blocks ahead, near the end of the strip. The chapel should be right there.”

Troy stood back while Shelby talked to the receptionist, his cowboy hat clasped between his wide hands, feeling much like what he thought a corpse might feel—if they could feel anything—while waiting for their casket to be selected.

“And which package would you like?” the receptionist asked, turning a colorfully printed brochure around on the desk for Shelby’s inspection. “A custom package? Or perhaps our luxury package?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shelby replied uncertainly, and turned to give Troy a helpless look. He arched a brow and lifted a shoulder, letting her know the decision was hers to make. “Just the basic one, I guess,” she said, turning back to the woman.

“We offer several services and items for our guests’ convenience. Surely you’d like to have a video recording of your ceremony to share with your family back home?”

“Oh, no,” Shelby said with a quick shake of her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“How about photographs, then? We have a professional photographer on hand who takes wonderful pictures. I’m sure you’ll want a set to commemorate the event.”

“No,” Shelby said slowly, and Troy thought he heard tears in her voice. “I…I don’t think so.”

“Flowers?” the receptionist offered, peeking around Shelby to peer at Troy, her arched eyebrows indicating that she considered him to be the ultimate tightwad.

“N-no. Just—”

Troy saw Shelby’s chin begin to quiver and knew he hadn’t been mistaken. She was definitely about to turn on the waterworks, which didn’t surprise him. He was amazed she’d made it this far without falling apart. A woman like her had probably dreamed for years about her wedding day…and, more than likely, those dreams had never included a late-night drive to Las Vegas in a one-ton dually with some old cowboy she’d picked up at a truck stop.

And the receptionist wasn’t helping things a bit with her unending questions and suggestions. Though he realized that the woman had no clue about the circumstances behind this trumped-up marriage, he’d like nothing better than to wring her pretty neck for reminding Shelby of what all a wedding ceremony should consist of.

Feeling the need to intercede and spare Shelby any more anguish, he slipped between her and the receptionist and caught Shelby by the elbows, gently squeezing and forcing her gaze to his. “Why don’t you wait out in the truck?” he suggested quietly. “I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

Shelby nodded tearfully and turned away, pressing her fingers against her lips.

Troy waited until the door closed behind her, then dropped his hat on the desk and planted his wide hands on either side of it. He scowled down at the woman opposite him.

“We just want to get married, okay?” he said, struggling to remain calm. “Just the basics. A preacher, a little organ music and a witness to sign the certificate once we’re done. Think you can handle that?”

“Well, of course,” the woman replied in surprise. “We can provide any type of ceremony you wish.”

He straightened, dragging his hat from the desk and clamped it down over his head. “Good. ’Cause that lady waiting out in the truck is going to have a baby in a few months, and I’d like to think we can pull this wedding off before the kid hits the ground.”

The woman’s jaw dropped open, then closed with a click. She tore her gaze from his and opened a book. “W-we have an opening at ten this morning,” she stammered, obviously flustered. “Would that fit in with your schedule?”

Troy flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the tension there. “Yeah. That’d be just dandy.” He turned for the door, then stopped, paused a second, then glanced back. “And fix up a bouquet, would you? One with yellow rose buds. And throw in the cost of the photographer, too. Nothing fancy. Just a couple of shots.”

Whether Shelby considered herself a real bride, or not, Troy told himself as he pushed his way through the door, she deserved flowers, even if her wedding was nothing but a sham. And he would need the pictures as proof this wedding had taken place, because he had a feeling that without them his buddies, Pete and Clayton, would never believe him when he told them he’d taken a detour off the rodeo circuit to marry a pregnant preacher’s daughter in Las Vegas.

The line at the courthouse was longer than Troy had expected, and it took almost two hours for him and Shelby to acquire the paperwork required for a marriage in the state of Nevada.

Though he was sure his bride-to-be needed some time to compose herself before she was forced to lie, by pledging to love and honor a complete stranger for the rest of her life, Troy didn’t have it to give her. As it was, they arrived back at the chapel with only seconds to spare.

The ceremony itself was pretty much a blur to Troy. He remembered standing at the altar, waiting while Shelby walked down the aisle, her steps slow and careful, in perfect rhythm with the traditional wedding march played by the organist he’d requested. He remembered seeing her white-knuckled fingers clasped around the bouquet of tiny yellow rose buds, and the shiny satin ribbons that had cascaded from it brushing against her knees with each slow step. He remembered her turning, once she’d reached the altar, and looking up at him.

But it was at that point that his memory failed. When she’d lifted those wide blue eyes up to his, eyes that glistened with unshed tears, eyes filled with so much innocence, so much trust…well, the sight had rendered him speechless. He was sure he must have repeated the vows the preacher had fed to him, but he didn’t remember saying them, or even what they were. All he could remember were Shelby’s eyes.

And something told him that those eyes, and the woman who possessed them, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Troy pulled his truck into the alleyway, following the red taillights of Shelby’s car. When she stopped, he did, too, then shut off the ignition and set the brake. Sighing wearily, he dragged a hand down his face before he opened the door and slid to the ground. He hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and the lack of rest was beginning to take its toll.

The long drive to Las Vegas. The return trip to Kingman, Arizona, where they’d retrieved Shelby’s car from the truck stop where they’d met. The drive to Dunning, New Mexico, with her in the lead, guiding him back to her hometown. And few, very few, stops in between.

He glanced up, noticing the hesitancy with which she approached him. But he understood her sudden shyness. He felt rather awkward himself. Sort of like he had the time Pete had suckered him into taking a woman on a blind date. The drive to Dunning, each alone in their own vehicles, had stripped them of what bit of easiness they’d managed to develop during the trip to Las Vegas and back, and left them strangers again.

Not sure what the game plan was, now that they’d arrived in Dunning, he gestured toward the trailer. “I need to unload my horse and walk him around a bit, if that’s okay.”

Tucking her arms beneath her breasts, she nodded and stepped out of his way, then followed him to the rear of the trailer and watched silently as he unlocked the door and lowered the ramp.

“Danny Boy, isn’t it?” she asked, obviously trying to make conversation as he backed the horse down the ramp.

“Yep. That’s his name all right,” he replied.

The horse spooked when his hooves hit the slick asphalt drive and skated a bit. Troy quickly tightened his grip on the lead rope. “Whoa, there, Danny Boy,” he murmured softly, reaching to pat the horse’s long neck. He glanced around as he soothed the animal, getting his bearings, then frowned. “Is this where you live?” he asked, turning his frown on Shelby.

She glanced over her shoulder at the block of dark, two-story buildings behind her. “Yes. I have an apartment over my shop.” She looked at Troy again and shrugged self-consciously. “It’s rather small, but it suits my needs.”

He blew out a long breath, wondering how anybody could stand to live in such close quarters. For himself, he preferred open country with green pastures, rolling hills and a lake to fish, much like the land that surrounded his own home in East Texas.

“My parents live a couple of blocks away,” she added. “In the parsonage beside the church.”

At the reminder of her parents and the confrontation that awaited him in a few hours, Troy gave the lead rope a gentle tug. “Walk with me,” he murmured, and caught Shelby’s hand when she hesitated, pulling her along with him. He’d intended to release her hand once he had her in motion, but after feeling the tremble in her fingers, he found himself lacing his own fingers through hers and squeezing, knowing she was thinking about the confrontation with her parents, too. “They’re going to be pretty disappointed, I’d guess,” he offered quietly.

He saw her chin quiver before she caught herself and gave it a defiant lift.

“Yes, but they’ll get over it.”

He snorted a laugh. “That’s yet to be seen.” Having reached the end of the alley, he made a wide turn, then started back the way they’d come, stopping to let Danny Boy graze on a clump of grass growing at the edge of the dark drive. “I’ll be leaving right after we tell them,” he said after a moment. “I have a rodeo in Pecos on Friday.”

He felt her fingers tense within his before she forced them to relax.

“That’s fine,” she replied, though he could tell the thought of being left alone to deal with her father scared the hell out of her. “I didn’t expect you to stay.”

“Exactly what am I supposed to say when we talk to them?”

“Nothing. I’ll do the talking. I just need you there as proof.”

“Proof,” he repeated, then snorted again and shook his head. He released her hand and moved to tie Danny Boy to the side of the trailer. “I don’t know what in the hell my being here proves.”

“That I really do have a husband,” she said in surprise, then clamped her lips together when he whipped his head around to look at her, one brow arched high. “Well, you know what I mean,” she said, flustered.

Chuckling, Troy hung a net filled with hay within Danny Boy’s reach, checked the level of water in the bucket, then placed a hand at the small of Shelby’s back as he guided her to the narrow iron stairs that snaked up the rear of the building. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He stepped out of the way while she dealt with the locks, then followed her into the dark apartment. He stopped, waiting for her to turn on some lights. When she did, he glanced around.

Though definitely larger than his horse trailer’s sleeping loft, which was home to him when he was on the road, the room was small, yet comfortable. A love seat, upholstered in a floral chintz, dominated the center of the room. Two wicker chairs, one covered in a cheerful yellow fabric, the other in mint-green, sat opposite. Between the sofa and chairs was a small trunk that served as a coffee table of sorts, he supposed. As he studied the cozy seating arrangement, he tried to imagine squeezing his large frame onto that little sofa and shook his head.

“I told you it was small,” she said as she headed for the kitchen tucked into a corner of the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. Just a place to stretch out and catch some shut-eye.”

She did a neat U-turn and lifted a hand to a panel of wood on the wall. Troy’s chin nearly hit the floor when the panel lowered, exposing a bed.

“It’s a Murphy bed,” she said in explanation as she fluffed pillows. “I don’t have a bedroom.”

He snapped his head up to look at her. “You don’t have a bedroom?”

Her cheeks pinkened, and she shook her head. “No. There’s just this room and a bath.” She settled the pillows at the head of the bed, then turned back the quilt, folding it neatly at the foot of the bed. “You can sleep here, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Troy shifted his gaze to the sofa. It was so small he doubted even Shelby would be able to comfortably sleep on it. “I have a better idea,” he said. “We’ll share the bed. Me on top, you underneath.” At the horrified look that came into her eyes, he felt his own cheeks heat. “The covers,” he growled with an impatient wave of his hand at the bed. “I’ll sleep on top of the covers, and you sleep underneath ’em.”

Acutely aware of the man who lay on the bed beside her, Shelby held the sheet to her chin, her eyes wide as she stared at the dark ceiling. For the past forty-eight hours, ever since leaving Derrick’s apartment after learning that he wanted nothing to do with her or their baby, she’d felt as if she was moving in a thick fog—lost, her thoughts jumbled, her nerves frayed—knowing that she couldn’t go home and face her parents. Not without a husband, not without a name for the baby she carried.

She stole a glance at Troy who lay beside her, his eyes closed, his breathing even. She was still unable to believe that she’d had the nerve to ask a complete stranger to marry her. But even now, as she looked at him sleeping in her bed beside her, she didn’t feel any fear. There was something about him—exactly what, she wasn’t sure, but something—that told her he was a man whom she could trust.

She supposed it was fate that had placed them both at the truck stop’s café at that exact moment in time. Her desperately in need of a husband to give her baby a name, and him in need of money so he wouldn’t have to sell his horse. But whether it was fate or God’s divining hand, she didn’t think she would ever in a million years be able to repay him for the sacrifice he was making for her and her baby.

Even as the gratitude swelled inside her, guilt stabbed at her conscience as she realized she’d never properly thanked him.

“Troy?” she whispered urgently.

“Hmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“No. But I’m working on it.”

“Oh,” she murmured in embarrassment, realizing too late how tired he must be. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” He stretched his arms up to the ceiling and his bare feet over the foot of the bed, growling, then sighed, relaxing his body as he laced his fingers across his bare chest. “Whatcha need?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to—” she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to find words adequate enough to convey the depth of her feelings “—to, well, to say thank you,” she finished futilely. “I don’t think I ever did.”

“No thanks needed,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, but there is,” she insisted, turning her head to peer at him in the darkness. “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your letting me use your name. And taking me to Las Vegas and handling all the arrangements,” she added. “I hadn’t thought about the time involved, obtaining a license and such. It was fortunate that you did.”

“Like I said,” he repeated. “No thanks needed. Now why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

She turned her face back to the ceiling and pulled the sheet to her chin once more, but was too keyed up to even think about sleeping.

“Troy?” she whispered again.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty in the darkness. “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“No,” she replied, and bit back a smile at his teasing. “I think I’m a little old for that.” She glanced over at him again and nervously pleated the sheet between her fingers. “But would you mind talking to me for a while?” she asked hopefully. “Just until I get sleepy?”

She could feel his gaze as he turned his head to peer at her, though his features were nothing but a play of shadows in the darkness. “About what?”

“Anything. Just talk. Tell me where you’re from,” she suggested and rolled to her side, slipping a hand beneath her pillow to support her head as she peered at him in the darkness.

He turned his face away to stare at the ceiling. “Texas. I’ve got a place near Tyler. Know where that is?”

“Yes,” she said in surprise and pushed herself to an elbow. “I go to Canton for First Monday several times a year on buying trips. Tyler is near there, isn’t it?”

“Not far. First Monday, huh?” She could hear the smile in his voice, though his face remained in shadows, hiding his expression. “Now there’s a circus, if ever I’ve seen one.”

She smiled, too, remembering her reaction upon visiting the flea market for the first time and experiencing its vastness and the variety of merchandise displayed there. “Yes, it is, and just as much fun.”

“Haven’t been in years,” he replied absently, then added, “My place is about twenty or so miles from Canton.”

“Really?” she said, her curiosity piqued as she dropped her head back to the pillow.

“My grandparents’ place originally,” he clarified. “About three hundred acres, give or take a few. They farmed the land, but I never took to it. Preferred riding a horse to driving a tractor. I run a few cattle on the place now to keep the grass down. Probably will increase my herd when I quit rodeoing.”

“Are you planning on retiring soon?”

His shoulder brushed hers in a shrug. “Someday. Haven’t really given much thought as to when.”

With the sound of his husky voice beginning to relax her, Shelby murmured, “Who takes care of your cattle while you’re gone?”

“I stop in pretty regular, but I have a neighbor I pay to keep an eye on the place when I’m on the road.”

“What’s it like, traveling the—rodeo circuit? Isn’t that what it’s called?”

“Close enough.” He shifted his shoulders more comfortably on the bed. “It’s a lot of driving or flying when the schedule’s tight and the rodeos are on opposite sides of the country. Being wound up tighter than a new spring when it’s your turn to compete, and drained dry and limp as a wet rag once you’re done. Eating breakfast in one state, dinner in another, trying, best we can, to hit as many rodeos as possible. Me, Pete and Clayton have been rodeoing together for about three years now. We take turns with the driving, spelling each other so we all have a chance to catch some sleep.” He lifted a shoulder again. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Do you have family?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

He seemed to hesitate a moment, then replied, “A grandmother. But she’s in a nursing home now.”

“Is she ill?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“How sad,” Shelby said sympathetically, somewhat familiar with the disease. She stared at his profile a moment, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. “Will you tell her about our marriage?”

“No. Probably not. Half the time she doesn’t even recognize me. No need to confuse her more. Doubt she’d understand, anyway.”

Though she couldn’t see his expression, Shelby heard the regret in his voice, the sadness. Without thinking about the action, she reached over and placed her hand over his folded ones on his chest, giving them a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Troy,” she murmured. “That must be hard on you.”

Troy didn’t say anything in response, couldn’t. Just stared at the ceiling, trying his best to swallow the baseball-size wad of emotion that had risen to his throat. The comfort of her hand on his, the softness, the warmth as her body heat seeped slowly into his skin. He lay still as death, fearing if he moved she would, and not wanting to lose that contact. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted and relaxed in sleep. Careful not to disturb her, he turned his hand over, opened it beneath hers and wove their fingers together.

An angel, he thought wistfully, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Too bad he’d been handed a pitchfork at birth instead of a set of wings like hers. If he’d had the wings, maybe he could’ve flown with her, offered her more than just his name. Maybe he could have offered himself as a real husband to her and as a father to the child she carried.

As it was, the name he’d given her was sullied enough. No sense trying to tie her to the man folks claimed was responsible for dirtying the Jacobs name.

Sighing, he turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep with his fingers still woven through hers, steeped in her warmth and comforted by her touch.




Three


Troy was dreaming. He was sure he was, though there were no color or images in the dream. Just sound. An irritating scrape and clatter that began to work on his nerves. A metallic jiggling sound, as if someone was testing a lock. A squeak of hinges badly in need of oil. Then a loud, indignant inhalation of breath.

It was at that moment that Troy realized this was no dream.

But the realization came too late for him to react. A hand closed over his bare shoulder, blunt nails biting deep.

“What do you think you’re doing in my daughter’s bed? Get out! Out! Do you hear me? Out!”

There was a yank on his shoulder—a yank that lacked the strength required to budge a man of Troy’s size—and Troy blinked open his eyes and met those of Shelby’s father. He knew the man had to be her father. There was enough righteous indignation in his dark eyes to condemn a hundred men to hell for their sins.

Troy heard a soft moan beside him, then the fullness and curve of a hip bump up against his. Nervously he released the hand he still held and cleared his throat. “Shelby?” he said quietly, hauling himself to a sitting position. “Sweetheart, I think you better wake up.”

The man staggered back as if Troy had punched him. His chest swelled, his nostrils flared and his neck turned a mottled red against the white collar that bound it. “Shelby Ruth Cannon,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You’d better have an explanation for this abomination. A very good one,” he warned and spun to drop down onto one of the wicker chairs. He sat, his spine rigid, his hands splayed along thighs covered by unrelieved black gabardine, and drummed his fingers, waiting, his eyes narrowed on the window in front of him.

Shelby slowly pushed herself up on one elbow, swallowing hard as she stared at her father’s profile. “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning?” he raged, snapping his head around to glare at her, his eyes shooting fire. “And what is good about a morning in which a father finds a strange man in his maiden daughter’s bed?”

“He’s not a stranger, Daddy,” she said quietly. “He’s my husband.”

The man was on his feet so fast it made Troy’s head swim.

“Husband!” he roared.

Though Troy felt inclined to offer an explanation of some kind, he thought it best to remain silent and let Shelby do the talking. After all, she was the one with all the answers, not him.

He felt the mattress shift slightly as she slipped from beneath the covers to stand beside it. “Yes, Daddy,” she said as she pulled on her robe. “My husband. Troy and I were married yesterday.”

“Married! Where?”

“Las Vegas.”

The preacher sent Troy to hell with one damning look. “You took my daughter, my innocent daughter, to Las Vegas? What kind of man are you!”

“Daddy, please—” Shelby began.

He waved away her plea with an angry swipe of his hand. “You told your mother and I that you were going to Denver to spend Labor Day weekend with your cousin. I suppose that was a lie, as were the buying trips you’ve been taking for the past several months.”

When Shelby guiltily dropped her gaze, he swelled his chest, his face a furious red as he turned his glare on Troy. Obviously he didn’t like what he saw. “Is that your truck and trailer parked in the alley, and your horse tied to it?”

Troy refused to be cowed and met the man’s eyes squarely. “Yes sir, it is.”

“Am I to assume, then, that you are a cowboy?”

“I like to think so.”

Troy’s flippant response seemed to anger the man even more. He whirled to face his daughter. “I’ll have the marriage annulled.”

“Daddy!” Shelby cried in horror. “You can’t!”

The preacher stared at her a long, gut-clenching moment, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. “And may I ask why not?”

Troy glanced at Shelby and watched the blood drain from her face.

“B-because—” She faltered for a moment, then gave her chin a stubborn lift. “Because I’m an adult and responsible for my own actions.”

“Responsible?” her father said contemptuously. “And eloping with this—this cowboy is what you consider acting responsibly?”

Though the slight was directed at him, Troy ignored it, more concerned with the effect the man’s words were having on Shelby. Her face had gone from ghostly pale to beet-red in a matter of seconds, and she was trembling like a leaf. Though he’d had very little experience with pregnant women, he suspected emotional scenes like the current one being played out couldn’t be good for her or her baby.

Hoping to intercede before any damage was done, he swung his legs across the bed and rose to his feet to stand beside her. Though the Reverend Daniel Cannon was tall, Troy was taller, and broader as well, a fact that he thought, for some stupid reason, might count in his favor.

But he’d failed to remember that he’d grown uncomfortable in the night and unfastened the waist of his jeans.

“For God’s sake, man,” the preacher cried, whirling away from the sight and covering his eyes. “Have you no sense of decency?”

Troy turned and quickly snagged up his zipper, shooting an apologetic look Shelby’s way before turning back around.

“Mr. Cannon—”

The preacher stiffened, but kept his back to the two. “Reverend Cannon,” he clarified with an imperious lift of his chin.

Troy set his jaw. “Reverend Cannon,” he amended, putting the same inflection on the title the preacher had. “I’d appreciate it if you would lower your voice. You’re upsetting my wife.”

The man turned then, and the look of contempt in his eye was so strong Troy felt it like acid against his skin.

“In God’s eyes, and my eyes, she isn’t your wife and won’t be,” he added, turning to glower at Shelby, “until you are properly married in a church.”

“But, Daddy—” Shelby cried.

He held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t have time to discuss this further. I have a men’s Bible class to teach.” He gave his waistcoat a tug, then marched for the door. At the threshold he stopped and looked back, singeing them both with a last, contemptuous look. “We’ll discuss this at dinner tonight. Seven sharp. Don’t be late.” Before either could form a response, he slammed the door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows and set the art on the wall askew.

With the slam of the door reverberating in the small room, Troy crossed to the window, braced a wide hand on its frame and looked down below. Shelby knew by his frown that he was monitoring her father’s departure.

She wanted desperately to throw something, anything. Rant, scream, chase down the stairs after her father and rail at him until she’d freed herself of the anger that burned through her.

But she didn’t.

Instead she did as she’d learned to do years before—she took a deep breath…another…then yet another…suppressing the anger, the frustration, until it was nothing but a knot of burning tension in her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Troy. You didn’t deserve that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter. More, she suspected, than he would ever admit. “Yes, it does,” she insisted. “He had no right to speak to you in that way.”

His scowl deepening, he closed his hand into a fist on the window frame, making the muscles cord across his bare back. “He was angry. I was the natural target.”





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