Bet You'll Marry Me (12 page)

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Billie exclaimed, bending down to scoop up the camera that had fallen to the ground. “Let me help you.”

The little man let out a high-pitched squeal as she opened the side of the digital camera, let the SD chip fall to the ground, and squashed it with her boot.

“Good work, Billie,” Nick said, catching his breath.

“I can still print the story,” said Simms, and with an odd little twist to his lips he added, “You can
bet
on it.”

“Go right ahead,” Jenny said, lifting her chin, “and don't forget to mention that Fat Happy Horse Treats are the best horse cookies around.”

Nick caught Billie's worried glance as the reporter brushed off his pants and disappeared back into the crowd.

“Rat-man is up to his sneaky little tricks again,” Jenny said, scowling. “Although the story he prints may bring in new customers for your little business and allow it to grow into something really big. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Nick barely heard her. Alarm bells were ringing in his ears, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

Perhaps he could bribe the editor in chief to shelve the story. He glanced at his watch. It was four thirty and the bank closed at five.

“I need to go talk to someone,” he told Jenny, releasing her hand. “Can you and Billie stay out of trouble for a few minutes without me?”

“I think we can handle it,” Jenny said, smiling.

Five minutes later Nick came to the end of the wooded path connecting the fairgrounds to Main Street and walked into Mountain View Bank to get the money to bribe the newspaper editor.

“I'm sorry, I can't help you,” the bank teller told him. “The credit cards you handed me have been denied.”

“That's impossible,” Nick said, his gut clenched. “Rerun them through the system again.”

“Sir, I
have
rerun them. Twice.”

“Just call this number,” he said, taking a business card out of his wallet, “I'm sure that—”

“It's not my problem,” the bank teller informed him. “You'll have to make the call yourself and come back when your accounts are in order.”

Nick began furiously punching in the number to N.L.C. Industries and barked at the secretary in his office to put Rob Murray on the line.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded when his second in command finally answered. “When my personal accounts were denied, I tried to access the company's accounts and was told that the funds were unavailable.”

“We're out of money, Nick.” Rob's voice sounded hollow, filled with remorse. “Lucarelli placed a few calls to our top clients and told them we couldn't repay our loans. Several of them canceled future orders and our finances plummeted. There's nothing left.”

He snapped his cell phone closed and squeezed it hard. Lucarelli had promised to give him two more weeks, but it looked like he was positioning himself to move in for the kill. It seemed an impossible triangle. Jenny, Billie, N.L.C. Industries. No matter what he did, he feared that in the end he would have to give up something very close to his heart.

The cost to his finances had already been great. He'd used the last of his personal savings to bet Jenny the ten thousand dollars in the café. Billie had used her poker earnings with the ranch hands to buy back Jenny's mother's ring. His salary at the ranch paid for his airfare back and forth to New York and a few other day to day expenses. He'd sold his blue pickup truck as soon as they arrived at the auction so he could afford to buy Kastle. And after all that, he didn't have any money to convince the newspaper editor to drop the story that would alienate Jenny from him once and for all. Unfathomable.

He spoke again with the bank teller, and she directed him to Stewart Davenport's private office.

“I need your help,” Nick said, removing his hat and twisting the rim in his hands.

“After the way you treated me this morning at the auction?” Davenport asked. “I can hardly believe my ears.”

“Please,” Nick begged.

 

Chapter Twelve

N
ICK WIPED THE
sweat off his brow as he made his way into the house. He'd managed to strike a deal with Davenport. He didn't like the terms. But for the present moment it gave him a small amount of cash.

The editor of the
Cascade Herald
couldn't be swayed, but Nick figured he and Billie would get up early, and with more than a little luck, buy up all the town's newspapers before anyone saw a copy. The action would buy him a day at most, but the truth remained—he had to tell Jenny who he was.

He needed to find the right time and the right place. He needed to carefully plan out the words he would say to her so she wouldn't find him offensive. Except, he'd thought about it all evening while doing chores and still didn't know how to start.

It was late. He didn't expect anyone else to still be up, but as he made his way across the kitchen, a dim light and the distinct murmur of the TV slowed his pace. Sticking his head through the living-room doorway, he spotted Jenny sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Did you know there's a millionaire who attended a charity ball in Boston who has the same last name as you?”

“I . . .” Sudden apprehension pricked his spine.
She had been watching the news
.

“He's a CEO.”

Nick's muscles tightened, and his mouth ran dry. “Did they mention the name of his company?”

“I didn't catch it. Drat! I wish Billie hadn't broken my radio. I hardly know what's going on anymore.”

He would have to remember to thank Billie later. Too bad she didn't break the TV while she was at it.

“Was the guy good-looking?” Nick asked.

“I only saw him in the background, but it doesn't matter.”

“What doesn't matter?”

“Rich corporate people who attend those events are all snooty, egotistical show-offs.”

“Maybe,” Nick said, carefully considering his words, “the CEO donated a vast amount to the charity.”

Jenny smirked. “If he did, it was probably for a tax write-off.”

“Maybe he believed he could help.”

Jenny smiled and shook her head. “You've been watching too many movies.”

“The CEO may even be a nice guy, like . . . me,” he said, boldly testing the waters before he went on.

Jenny gazed up at him with her bright blue eyes and let out a laugh.

“You said it yourself. I have the same name as the CEO. What makes you so sure I'm not him?”

“That's simple. You work. Men like that rich CEO have other people run the company for them. They just sit at their pretty little desks in their fancy glass-windowed offices, toasting the success of their latest business ventures with bottles of champagne.”

Nick swallowed hard, realizing this was
exactly
what he had done. In the past. Before the company's finances nose-dived through the floor and disintegrated.

“But the biggest difference between you and that rich, corporate snob,” she said, pulling him down on the couch next to her, “is you
care
about people.”

He didn't use to. He never cared for anyone except himself since his parents died, but she had changed that. He cared for her so much it frightened him. He'd also come to care about the ranch and the approval of her uncle. He'd learned to appreciate his own sister. And as for Wayne and the other ranchers? He was growing quite fond of them, too.

Yes, he cared, more than he ever thought possible, and it made what he had to say to her so much harder.

“People like that CEO are just cold-hearted business tycoons who will do anything and use anyone to get what they want without so much as a backward glance,” Jenny said, her tone filled with disgust.

“Sell their souls to the devil?” he inquired, lifting a brow.

“Exactly,” she said with a grin.

Nick took a deep breath. He didn't like the description. That's not who he wanted to be.

“Jenny, the CEO you heard about on the news does care,” he said, taking her hand.

“How do you know?” She looked at him and gasped. “You're from New York, which is close to Boston. Do you know him? Are the two of you related?”

“I
am
the Chandler who attended the Boston charity event, which raised over two million dollars for equine rescue missions.”

She looked as if she was about to laugh again, but after studying his face, her expression lost all humor.

“You are . . .” she hesitated, her eyes wide, “rich.”

Nick shook his head. “Right now I'm as dirt-poor as you. But the company used to generate a good income.”

“When did your finances go bad?”

“Two months ago I found out my accountant embezzled money from the company. I had him brought up on charges but the damage had already been done. Since then the money has dwindled to nothing.”

“So until two months ago you were a millionaire?”

“The tabloids stretch the truth. I'm not sure my net worth was quite that high, but—”

“You were a millionaire,” Jenny stated, her tone flat.

She tried to pull away from him, her face filled with disgust. He refused to let her go. He wasn't going to let her run, at least not until after he had explained.

“And your reason for the bet? Flirting with me?” Her voice was barely audible.

“When my company's success started to crash I thought I could romance the land away from you.”

“And sell it for the money?” She tried to pry loose from his grip. “Sometimes I wish I never owned the land. Everyone always wants the land more than they want
me
.”

She tried to turn away. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her back.

“What I never expected was that
you
could romance the land away from
me
,” he said, forcing a grin.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, taking a solid swing at him with her fist.

He caught the punch with his hand and closed his fingers over hers. “All I want now is
you.
I've never faked how I feel about you.”

“How can I be sure?” she demanded.

“Trust your heart,” he said, pulling her up against him.

“My heart has failed me in the past, and I have had to live with that mistake and the humiliation of it for six years,” she said, twisting out of his embrace.

“Travis never loved you.”

“And you do?”

He hesitated and she pushed him aside and began to walk away.

“Jenny, wait—“

“Stay away from me, Chandler,” she said, a catch in her voice, and ran from the room.

No
. He couldn't lose her. His throat tightened and he gripped the arm of the couch so hard his fingers ached.

What he needed was a plan.
Think
. There had to be some way of convincing her that his feelings for her were real, but how? He couldn't keep the newspapers away from her forever. If she reacted this badly to the fact he used to be wealthy, what would she say when she found he was the CEO of N.L.C. Industries?

He'd meant to tell her the whole truth, but she hadn't given him a chance. He walked over to the river-rock fireplace and leaned his arm against the top of the stone mantel.

Framed photos of Jenny's family, from generation to generation, stared him in the face. Accused him of trying to disrupt their O'Brien heritage. One person in particular looked at him with more disdain than all the rest.

George O'Brien.

If he were here, what would her father say to him? Would he give permission for him to marry his daughter or tell him to get out of his house?

Turning away from the photographs, Nick feared the latter.

T
HE
CASCADE HERALD
delivery truck pulled up beside Sarah's Bakery at five thirty
A.M.
The lights were on inside the store and the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon buns wafted through the windows. Sarah came out to sign the confirmation clipboard and the delivery man stacked several dozen bundles of newspapers on the front porch.

Nick learned more than he'd ever wanted to know about the
Cascade Herald
this night. The ten-page local paper was distributed daily to Pine and a handful of neighboring towns.

The articles mostly pertained to cows and crops, and community gossip. But there was one section in the back that regularly reported on the wagers made at the Bets and Burgers Café. Only the most exciting and controversial bets made it to the front page. Jenny had been on the cover the first day he'd arrived in town. Now it was his turn.

An eight-by-ten photo of him wrestling the steer in the rodeo stared back at him in startling black-and-white. If only his options for the future were so clear-cut.

“The delivery man is getting back into his truck,” Billie said in a low voice beside him. She'd been his loyal companion since two o'clock in the morning as they drove from town to town in the old ranch truck buying all the local papers before the public got hold of them. “Do you want to go in and talk to Sarah, or have me do it?”

“Talk to Sarah about what?” Nick spun around and locked gazes with the twelve-year-old sitting on a bicycle not three feet behind them. “Josh.” Nick stiffened and his mind raced with potential negative consequences the boy's presence could bring.

“You didn't hear me ride up, did you? Like my new bike? It's quiet. Karen Kimball says her dad greased the chain before they sold it to me.”

Nick clenched his jaw. “What are you doing here? I thought you only worked weekends.”

“I work holidays, too. Today's the Fourth.” Josh parked his bike next to the bakery, and taking out a pocket knife, began to cut the string tying the nearest bundle.

“How would you like the day off?” Nick asked.

“I can't. I have all these newspapers to sell.”

Nick stepped closer. “I'd like to help you with that. I'll buy them.”

“How many?”

“All of them.”

Josh stopped what he was doing and glanced over his shoulder at him, and then at Billie for confirmation. “You're serious?”

Nick nodded and pulled the cash out of his wallet.

“You
are
serious!” Josh exclaimed in the hushed tone of a conspirator. “What do you want to do with them?”

“It's a secret,” Nick told him. “I'm going to need you to promise you won't tell anyone who bought them.”

“But what do I do if someone asks me why there are no newspapers today?”

“Tell them you sold out.”

Josh grinned. “Yes, I did. I really did. Wow! This is going to be the best Fourth of July ever!”

“C'mon, Billie,” Nick said, relief soothing his unsettled nerves. “Let's load these into the back of the truck with the others.”

“W
HEW!
T
HAT WAS
close,” Billie said, as they unloaded the last of the newspaper bundles at the recycling station. “For a minute, I didn't think Josh would give them to you.”

“Neither did I,” Nick admitted.

“I guess I better buy another set of alarm clocks to help wake me up if we're going to do this every day.”

“We aren't.” Nick sat on the tailgate. “This was a one-time deal.”

“But you can't let the media tell Jenny who you are,” Billie protested. “She'll find out, and when she does—”

“I have one day.”

“What do you mean one day?” Billie demanded, hands on her hips.

“Davenport only let me borrow enough money to buy today's papers. I only have one day to tell Jenny who I am and convince her to marry me.”

“You can't do it. You need more time,” Billie said, her words spilling out in a fevered frenzy. “There must be a way to buy more time. If you tell her who you really are she'll kick us off the ranch. We won't be friends. Wayne and I—Oh Nick, you can't tell her tonight.”

Nick shook his head. “I have no choice.”

J
ENNY PICKED HER
way across the sun-dried path, trying to avoid the brood of cackling, clucking chickens that crisscrossed in front of her bare, calloused feet. As she shooed them away, another sound met her ears. The sound of a man humming.

Oh, no. She couldn't face Chandler this early in the morning. Mentally bracing herself for her next run-in with her devious, dark-haired ranch manager, she took a deep breath and entered the stable. But when she peeked into the third stall on the right, it was Wayne who turned around to face her, not Nick.

“Why are you so happy?” she demanded.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Wayne countered, and scooped up a pile of shavings with the fork he was using to muck out the floor of the empty stall. “Didn't you sleep?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“To be honest,” Wayne admitted, “I didn't sleep much either. I haven't been to one of those fancy town dances since my divorce two years ago, but Harry is insisting we all go to this one together. Heck, he's even letting me borrow one of his good shirts. I reckon I better polish my boots as well, don't you think?”

Jenny stiffened. “The Fourth of July dance is tonight?”

“Well, yeah, today
is
the fourth.” Wayne looked at her expectantly. “Do you know any girls who might want to dance with me?”

It suddenly occurred to her why Wayne was so happy. He was hoping to dance with her so-called friend, Billie the traitor. Well, it was better he know the truth about the girl before he became too attached, before it hurt too much . . .

Harry came around the corner and she figured it was best he heard it, too.

“The only reason Billie is here is to help Nick win the bet so he can marry me, take my land, and sell it for profit.” She looked at Wayne and frowned. “That's why Billie was looking for the gold. The Chandlers seem to have an insatiable quest for fast cash and get-rich schemes.”