Temporary Husband (18 page)

With a gusty sigh, Wynne rolled over to face him. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“Time for bed, wife. Do you want your own room, or would you rather sleep with me?”

She yawned. “I don’t know why you even bother to ask.”

“I’m asking because we’re in a new place. And after the dinner party…”

“New or otherwise, my place is with you,” she told him firmly and snuggled deeper into his arms.

Something in her words revived the memory of their earlier lovemaking. He remembered the expression in her eyes—the one that spoke of miracles and storybook endings and eternities. He didn’t doubt that look had returned. It was in her voice, in her touch, in her soft, eager kisses.

The urge to distance himself became overwhelming. “Your place may be with me for now,” he warned harshly, “but sleeping in my bed won’t seduce me into
keeping you any longer than necessary. What does that figure out to—a few days, a week, a month?”

His coldheartedness went unnoticed. “It doesn’t matter how many days we have,” she countered. “We also have an equal number of nights. And I want each one to be wonderful—a beautiful memory you can recall when I’m long gone and half-forgotten.”

Her unstinting generosity was more crippling than any protest or tears or recriminations. He stood, sweeping her into his arms, and strode purposefully from the room. “Let’s find a bed. We may only have here and now, but we can turn it into one hell of a memory for later.”

“When memories are all we have left?” she asked wistfully.

But he didn’t answer, was incapable of answering. For even if he found the right words, he’d never have gotten them past the tight knot blocking his throat.

The boys returned late the next day, exhausted and excited and bursting to tell Wynne and Jake all about their adventures.

“And then this big, old bull came right at Dusty,” Buster told them, his feet spread wide, his Stetson tipped back on his head in perfect imitation of Jake’s stance. “I thought he was a goner for sure.”

Chick tugged on his brother’s elbow, whispering rapidly. Buster shook him off. “But Dusty didn’t budge one bit. All’s he did was spit. It was so cool.”

“You weren’t in any danger, were you?” Wynne questioned in alarm.

“Naw. They made us stay clear of all the good stuff.”

Chick sidled closer to his brother, whispering more urgently.

“Not now,” Buster replied in annoyance. “I’m not done with my story, yet. So then Dusty whipped out his
lasso and roped that critter slick as you please. See you gotta get one rope around the cow and the other around this thing on the saddle.”

“Saddlehorn.” Jake tossed out the word.

“Yeah. Saddlehorn. That way the horse does the work and not the cowboy. But you have to wrap the rope around so’s you don’t lose no fingers. Dusty called it dal—Dal-something.”

“Dallying.”

Buster grinned at Jake. “Yeah, dallying. Will you teach me how to do it? Huh, Dad? Will you?” His words stumbled to a halt as he realized what he’d said and he turned white as a sheet. Shooting a stricken look in Wynne’s direction, he turned and ran from the room.

Jake swore beneath his breath. “I’ll talk to him,” he said to Wynne.

She caught his arm. “Please, let me.”

He gave a terse nod, and, gathering Chick close, she followed at a discreet distance. She could hear Buster’s frantic sobs coming from his room and entered, crossing to sit on the bed next to him. Chick glued himself to her other side. Gently she ruffled her nephew’s sun-streaked hair. “Are you all right?”

“I didn’t mean to call him that,” Buster managed to say through his tears. “I know he’s not my dad. You told us we’re just staying with him for a little while. He’s a temp…Temp—”

“Temporary,” Wynne supplied regretfully.

“Yeah, a temporary husband. I remember you telling us all that. About how marrying Jake is like a summer job except it’s during the winter. Only…” Tears threatened again. “Only I wish we didn’t never have to leave.”

“I know.” Those two simple words spoke volumes.

“Why can’t we stay?” He lifted his head to look at her. “I like it here. Chick does, too.”

Chick nodded, his pleading gaze matching Buster’s.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not fair to Jake.” She swallowed, struggling for composure. “You see, I promised that we’d only stay for a little while. I can’t go back on my word. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Can’t you ask him to change his mind? If he says yes, that wouldn’t be going back on your word.” He threw himself into Wynne’s arms. “Please let us stay. We’ll be good. And we won’t make no more trouble. I promise.”

Hearing the desperation in her nephew’s voice, she closed her eyes. If she didn’t see his pain, perhaps she wouldn’t be tempted to give in to it. Because refusing Buster’s request was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, especially when she wanted it as badly as did he. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears of her own. “Please try to understand. I can’t. When the time comes, we’ll have to leave.”

With a silent groan, Jake leaned against the wall, his hands balled in fists, his teeth clenched. This wasn’t what he’d planned. This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d never intended to inflict such hurt. Dammit to hell! Why did he destroy everything he touched? Just once in his life he’d like to be the fantasy man Wynne saw, rather than the man fate had dictated. Just this once he wished…He straightened, his spine rigid, his mouth a taut line. Who was he kidding? Wishes weren’t for men like him.

They never had been. They never could be.

Jake examined another receipt and checked the total, a distant sound breaking his concentration. He looked up briefly, before returning his attention to the invoices spread across his desk. Hours had passed since that incident in the hallway and he’d closeted himself in the library, focusing on a backlog of paperwork. It was a
blessing not to think, not to feel, just to go through the daily grind like some computerized automaton.

The sound came again, and he frowned, tossing his pencil onto the desk. Now what? He crossed to the door and opened it, the sound assailing his ears shocking him so badly, that for an instant he froze. Another heartbreaking sob was all it took to send him tearing down the hallway. He careened off the wall and skidded into the kitchen. Wynne sat crouched in the middle of the floor, her face buried in her hands, quietly crying. Slowly he sank to his knees next to her, feeling as though he’d been sucker-punched. Except for that single, gut-wrenching tear she’d shed on their wedding night, he’d never seen Wynne cry before. Not like this. Not like her heart was breaking.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, afraid to touch her, searching frantically for an injury.

With a hiccupped sob, she thrust out her hand and shook it beneath his nose.

He took her fingers gingerly in his. No cuts or abrasions, thank heavens. No swelling. No joints out of place. His brows drew together. “Talk to me, sweetpea. Where are you hurt?”

“I—I’m not hurt!” she answered in tragic tones.

“Then what the hell—heck are you crying for?” he demanded, relief bringing an exasperated tone to his voice.

She lifted her head, her huge green eyes overflowing. She shook her hand at him again. “I l-lost it! It went down the dr-drain.”

He stared at her hand—her
left
hand and understanding dawned. “Your wedding ring. Your wedding ring washed down the drain?” Fresh tears broke loose and, taking them as confirmation, he gathered her into his arms. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. We’ll get you another one.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her crying intensified. “I d-don’t want another one! I want our r-ring. Th-the one you gave me when we got married.”

Before he could reply, Buster and Chick slid to a halt in the doorway, followed closely by Dusty. “Told you she was crying,” Buster said.

“What happened to her?” the foreman demanded. “What’s wrong with the girl?”

“Her wedding ring went down the drain,” Jake explained tersely. “Go get a wrench, will you?”

“We’ll have better luck with a shovel,” Dusty replied with a snort. “Most likely we’ll have to dig up the whole septic system to find the dang thing.”

Wynne shuddered in his arms and Jake glared at his foreman. “If I’d wanted your opinion on the matter, I’d have beat it out of you. Just get the damn-dang shovel, will you?”

“I’m a-goin’, I’m a-goin’. No need to git yer britches in a bunch.” Dusty shot the boys a meaningful glance. “The two of you best be careful. Bad luck comes in threes, ya know.” And with that telling comment, he took off.

Unfortunately he was soon proved right. Not an hour later, Jake broke his hand tearing up the plumbing.

And the day after that Mrs. Marsh arrived.

“Go to the barn and get Jake,” Wynne ordered the boys, as she watched their aunt step from her rental car. “Then play upstairs until I call you. Jake and I would like to speak with her in private.”

“What’s she here for? What does she want?” Buster questioned apprehensively.

“I’m sure she wants to meet Jake and see how you two are doing.”

“Is she going to take us away?”

Wynne gave the boys a quick hug. “Of course not. Everything will be fine. She’s just here for a little visit.”

Chick whispered in Buster’s ear and, obliging his brother, he asked, “Do we have to go to that school of hers? The one that won’t let us be together?”

“Not a chance. Now hurry and get Jake.”

It seemed an eternity before he finally emerged from the barn. Joining her in the kitchen, he washed up while she brewed tea. “That woman parked in the parlor is your dragon?” he questioned in amusement. “You sure her name is Marsh and not Marshmallow?”

“You’ll see,” Wynne predicted ominously. “Don’t let all those smiles and dimples fool you. She’s as tough as old shoe leather.”

“Why do you call her Mrs. Marsh? Doesn’t she have a first name?”

“It’s Kitty, but not even the boys are allowed to use it. I have permission to address her as Mrs. Marsh or ma’am.” She gritted her teeth. “Needless to say, I refuse to call her ma’am.”

“And I thought taking care of your dragon-lady was going to be tough.” Jake picked up the laden tray awkwardly and grinned. “Lead the way, fair maiden. I have a kitty to slew. Or is it slay?”

“Just watch your back,” she retorted. “Or you’ll find out which it is.”

It took a whole thirty seconds for him to discover the truth behind Wynne’s warning.

Mrs. Marsh, a fragile-looking woman in her early forties, took a dainty sip of tea, fixed guileless powder-blue eyes on Jake and flashed her dimples. “I do hate wasting precious time on preliminaries,” she announced. “Why don’t we get right down to business?”

Jake lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you and I had any business.”

“We didn’t.” She stared pointedly at Wynne. “Until very recently.”

He shrugged. “So talk. I’m listening.”

“You have a very fine ranch here.” She wrinkled her tiny nose as though smelling something unpleasant. “Assuming you like ranches.”

“I gather you don’t.” Not that there was much doubt about her opinion.

“No,” she confirmed. “But my sources say this is one of the better ones, which must be why you went to such lengths to keep it. I refer, of course, to your marriage.” She returned her teacup to its saucer and lifted a finely arched eyebrow. “A condition of your grandfather’s will or some such thing?”

The dragon-lady had been busy making inquiries. Who had she spoken to? Or perhaps the better question was…who
hadn’t
she spoken to? “Yeah, it was a condition of his will. So?”

“So…Now that you have legal control of your inheritance, you don’t need a wife anymore.”

His eyes narrowed. “According to you.”

“And according to most everyone in town. Wynne and the boys are excess baggage and it’s only a matter of time before you toss them out the door.”

“Did you hear that, elf?” Ignoring proper decorum, he propped a booted foot on the coffee table. “Folks around here think I’ll be putting you out with the garbage.”

Wynne muttered something uncomplimentary and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was aimed at the Marsh woman—or at him.

“Please, Mr. Hondo. Let’s be frank.” Kitty Marsh leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Now that your inheritance is secure, you don’t need the pretence of a family anymore. Sooner or later, you’re going to
get rid of them. I’m willing to make it worth your while to make it sooner.”

“How much?” he asked out of curiosity. Wynne gasped in disbelief, but he ignored her, keeping his gaze trained on the viper seated across from him. He’d learned long ago never to take his eyes off a snake poised to strike and he didn’t intend to start now.

The Marsh woman smiled in triumph. “How much would you like?”

“I can’t say,” he confessed, running a hand across his jaw. “To be honest, I have just about all the money I could ever hope to spend.”

“Then perhaps I can offer something else.” Her smile turned provocative. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Don’t bother trying to seduce him,” Wynne snapped. “He’s not interested in married women.”

“Well…Only one,” Jake said with a lazy grin.

“Then we’ll stick to material assets,” Mrs. Marsh retorted, her smile fading. “What will you take in exchange for the children?”

“Why do you want them?” he countered.

She shrugged. “Why does a person want diamonds or furs or a new car? It’s an uncontrollable urge. Maternal instinct or something.”

Maternal instinct in a pig’s eye. He’d never met a woman less cut out for motherhood than this one. “Forget it,” he stated flatly, tiring of her game.

“I didn’t answer that right, did I?” she asked in amusement. “Okay, how about this…?” Crocodile tears welled into her eyes. “They’re all that’s left of my poor, dear brother. I have so much to offer them, so much to give. And since I could never have children of my own—”

“Oh,
please
!” Wynne.cut her off. “You never wanted children. You said they’d ruin your figure, that they were messy.”

Her tears vanished as quickly as they’d come. “But don’t you see? That’s what makes it all so perfect. No horrid pregnancy, no smelly, squally babies. And best of all they’re housebroken.” She turned on Jake. “Now, how much?”