A Cowboy's Woman (3 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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Shane smothered a grin so impish it was all Greta could do not to elbow him in the side. “Good idea,” Shane said.
“What kind of music do you want?” Belinda asked, as she held up two cassette tapes.
Shane shrugged and asked, “What do you got?”
“‘Here Comes The Bride,' on organ. And Elvis singing ‘Love Me Tender.”'
“‘Love Me Tender,”' Shane and Greta said in unison, surprised but pleased to find they were immediately of one mind on that, too.
“Look, they're agreeing on everything already!” J.P. beamed. “Isn't that sweet?”
It was something all right, Greta thought.
“You need some flowers, too.” Belinda hurried forward with a bouquet of multicolored silk flowers that had obviously seen many a wedding. “Of course I can only loan them to you,” she apologized.
“That's perfectly all right. Thank you.” Greta smiled, knowing if her mother could see her now she really would faint.
The mellow voice of Elvis surrounded the foursome. J.P. turned to Shane. “Shane, do you take this woman to be your lawful-wedded wife?”
Shane suddenly remembered his hat. He yanked it off and put it aside, then turned back to Greta with a grin as wide as all Texas. “You bet I do.”
“And, Greta,” J.P. continued, “do you take Shane to be your lawful-wedded husband?”
Remember
, this isn't
real,
Greta scolded herself firmly, aware everyone was looking at her, waiting for
her answer. She drew a deep breath and held Shane's eyes. “I do.”
“All rightee! Shane, put the ring on Greta's finger. Greta, put the ring on Shane's.” J.P. waited for them to comply. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Shane, you may kiss your bride.”
Under the circumstances, Greta didn't think Shane would do it, and of course not in any trumped-up, passionate sort of way. Which was, of course, probably why he did. One minute she was standing beside him, bouquet of silk flowers in hand, the next she was clasped in the warm, strong cradle of his arms and bent backward from the waist. For one long second his eyes met hers. She saw laughter. And lust. And something else much more disturbing. Need. And then his lips were lowering to hers. Her eyes were closing. The world narrowed to just the two of them. And then there was nothing but the feel of his warm, sure mouth on hers. Caressing. Evoking. Commanding. First taking what she would not give, then persuading, seducing. Greta sighed as the warm, silky pressure of his tongue gently traced the seam of her lips. Her lips parted, and her heart fluttered as he deepened the kiss even more, first sweetly, then erotically. She felt the sandpapery rub of his two-day-old shadow against her skin, inhaled the scent of man that was him, tasted the minty flavor on his tongue. Desire swept through her in undulating waves. And then, just as her knees began to give ever so slightly, just as her arms came up to wrap around his neck and she was about to surrender herself to him in earnest, he stopped. Just like that. With no warning at all. And withdrew. Having ended the kiss as unexpectedly as it began, he lifted his head, and gently guided her upright. Zeroing in on the ire in her eyes, he gave her a wickedly teasing
look that hinted they needed to save something for their “honeymoon.”
“So,” Shane said. One arm still hooked around her waist, he reclaimed his Stetson and settled it back on his head; one arm still locked around her possessively, he looked at her with warm, silvery-gray eyes. “How does it feel to be Mrs. Shane McCabe?”
It felt surreal, Greta thought. Like she was in the middle of some highly comical, incredibly romantic and erotic dream.
“I think the besotted look on Greta's face is your answer to that, Shane,” Belinda teased.
J.P. handed their marriage license and certificate to Shane.
“You'll be needing these. As well as—” J.P. went to the cooler and emerged with a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne, which he promptly handed over.
“And some chocolates.” Belinda went to the back of the store. “Oh, dear, we're out.”
“How about some nacho chips, then?” Shane said.
J.P.'s wife beamed. “You always did like those, didn't you?”
J.P. handed them over, then reached beneath the counter for a small pink-and-blue gift bag. “And we give all our newlyweds one of these, too.” J.P. winked as Shane and Greta took that, too. “Now you're all set.”
 
GRETA WAS STILL EMBARRASSED ten minutes later. “I can't believe J.P. and his wife actually gave us...”
“Honeymoon supplies?” Shane said for her as he steered the truck down the lonely two-lane Texas highway.
Greta blushed as she thought of the scented and flavored lotions, soaps, condoms and lubricants that had
been contained in their gift bag. Plus a road map, a deck of cards with a bride and groom on them and a pamphlet issued by the state on the essential components and responsibility required of marriage, with all the phone numbers of the local and state social service agencies. “To put it delicately, yes.”
“Think of it this way.” Shane reached over and patted her bare knee. “Now you won't get pregnant.”
Greta gaped at him. “Like that was going to happen, anyway! 51
Shane, shrugged and concentrated on driving. “You never know,” he said, slanting her a mischievous glance. “We are married.”
Okay
, Greta thought.
That does it. It's time we get a few things straight.
She set the bag of honeymoon essentials on the floor, next to the non-alcoholic champagne and nacho chips. “Pull over!”
Shane did a double take. “Now?”
“Right now!”
Wordlessly he did as directed, pulling onto the berm.
As soon as he'd put his truck in park and switched on the hazard lights, Greta slammed out of the cab. Shane cut the engine but left the interior lights on and came after her. She leaned against the tailgate, arms crossed impatiently in front of her. Taking his time about closing the distance between them, Shane tipped his hat back with one poke of his finger and swaggered toward. her. “You want to do it here?”
Greta refused to be amused. “I don't want to do it at all.
“Sure about that now?” Shane teased as he gently guided her aside and lowered the tailgate. “After all, we are legally married.”
Not sure why she'd married him after all—even as
part of a Shane McCabe escapade—Greta began to pace. “Fortunately for us we're not staying married.”
Shane sighed and didn't bother to mask his disappointment as he returned to the front of the truck, reached into the cab and emerged with the bottle of non-alcoholic champagne and bag of nacho chips. Given the fact they were going to stay put until they got a few things ironed out, he clearly intended to make himself quite comfortable.
“Got a point there,” he said, holding the bag of chips between his teeth while he twisted off the metal cap on the nonalcoholic champagne. It opened up with only a hint of bubbles. He set the cap aside, removed the bag from his teeth and took a long swig of the chilled liquid. Wiping his mouth on his forearm, he offered the bottle to her.
Greta took the bottle from him and sipped a little. It tasted like flat, flavorless soda pop. But it was cold and wet and eased the dryness in her throat and mouth, so she took several more gulps before she said, “No more talk about sex!”
“How about making love then?” Shane asked as he tore open the bag of nacho chips. “Can we talk about that?” He hoisted himself up and sat on the tailgate of the truck.
Greta refused his offer of chips and handed over the champagne. “No-o-o-o,” she said, drawing out the syllable unequivocably. Damn but this bad boy had earned every bit of his reputation.
“Okay.” Shane munched on a few more chips as the hazard lights on his truck flashed rhythmically. “But just so you know—” he paused to eye her up and down “—if you change your mind it's okay with me.”
“I won't,” Greta said flatly. Deciding they'd dallied long enough, she headed back for the passenger side.
“Suit yourself.” Shane stood up and followed her. “But just in case?” He slid inside the cab, picked up the gift bag J.P. and his wife had given them and settled it between his spread thighs. “I'll take charge of the honeymoon essentials and have them at the ready anyway.”
 
WHEN THEY ARRIVED back at the Golden Slipper Ranch, Greta and Shane split up. He took the master bedroom; she went to the guest room. They had four hours to sleep, and both tried their best to get some shut-eye. But as their respective alarms went off around seven, they met up in the only bathroom—she in her robe, he in nothing but his briefs. Greta could easily see that he hadn't fared much better than she had. Worse, all she really wanted to do at that point was tumble back into bed—with him. “You need to shave.”
Shane narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”
Greta stabbed her finger at his chest, trying not to notice what a beautifully sculpted body he had. From his broad shoulders and handsome chest to his narrow waist and lean hips, there wasn't an inch of him that wasn't fit and toned and covered with suntanned skin and swirls of golden-brown hair. “You can't go to meet our parents to tell them we've just gotten married looking as if you and your razor parted company three days ago.”
Shane ran his hand across the stubble on his jaw, tracing the sexy growth above his upper lip with the pad of his index finger. Amusement glimmered in his sleepy silver-gray eyes. “How do you know how long it's been since I've shaved?”
With effort Greta kept her gaze from drifting past his
waist. “Lucky guess.” Noting he hadn't moved yet, Greta reached for his razor and shaving cream on the sink and planted one in each hand. “Get moving, cowboy,” she ordered, taking charge.
Shane drew a long, slow breath and to her dismay stayed exactly as he was. “Just cause we're married does not give you the right to give orders,”
If playing the part of the nag would help keep the roving cowboy-turned-instant-husband at arm's length, so much the better, Greta thought. Meanwhile, she had an escapade to finish if she wanted this lesson to be a success for her parents. “Then consider it a suggestion.” Greta started to skirt past him in the narrow aisle between the sink and glass-doored shower and tub, only to have him move back directly into her path.
Seemingly oblivious to the fact she couldn't get past him, either front or back, Shane squirted a golf-ball-size lump of shaving cream into his palm. With the fingers of his other hand, he began spreading it over his face with slow, sensual strokes. “What about you?” He gave her the once-over, then turned and waggled his eyebrows at her in the mirror. “Have you shaved? Wouldn't do for you to meet up with your new in-laws if you're needing a comb and rake to tame the hair on your legs.”
Not about to let him intimidate her with his accidental bumping, Greta stubbornly stood her ground. He knew she'd shaved her legs—he'd playfully squeezed her bare knee during the drive home from their elopement. “You know I did, dear.”
“Let me see?” Shane leaned down and before she could do more than gasp her outrage dragged a fingerful of shaving cream from her knee up her thigh. “That's right.” He blew off the tip of his finger the way one
would blow off the end of a smoking gun. His smile was slow and ready. “You sure have.”
Trying not to think about the way her leg was tingling from his touch or the fact she still couldn't get out of the tiny bathroom without first climbing over him—a feat she was sure he'd just love and waste no time in taking great advantage of—Greta folded her arms in front of her. “You're a laugh a minute, you know that?” she said sarcastically.
“And you, Greta darlin', are completely humorless this morning.” Eyes darkening to a pewter-gray, Shane turned back to the mirror and began shaving the underside of his jaw with long, clean strokes. “What happened?” His eyes were abruptly serious as they met hers in the mirror. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Beneath the teasing words was a matter-of-fact prompting for an explanation.
Greta knew he deserved an answer if they wanted to have a prayer of pulling this off. And now that she had invested so much in it, she did. She wouldn't be able to bear it if this escapade of theirs ended up with her parents thinking she needed more help than ever living her life.
Greta frowned. “I woke up thinking clearly, that's all.”
Shane continued shaving. “And...?”
“And I'm not so sure this was a good idea.” It was going to take an enormous amount of finesse and teamwork to pull it off. Thus far Shane had proved to be a cowboy who called his own shots and kept very much to his own solo trails.
Finished with the underside of his jaw, Shane rinsed his blade and started on the side of his face. “Just wait
till you see our parents' faces,” he told her, confidence exuding from his every pore.

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