Cowboy in My Pocket (9 page)

“I thought the ranchers didn’t want wild horses on their land because they compete with the cattle for food.” Now why would she know something like that, Lee wondered. But it was true, she knew it was true!

“Most don’t,” Tag answered, pulling the little carriage around in front of the cabin. “Years ago, my grandfather had them hunted down and captured. He didn’t want to share his range with anyone or anything. We’ve only recently started seeing mustangs up here again. If the herd gets much bigger, I might have a problem with them, but for now we all manage to get along.”

He helped Lee down from the surrey, grabbed their bags and carried them up the steps. Lee lifted her billowing skirts and followed right behind, but when Tag went into the cabin, she took a moment to gaze out at the magnificent view from the front porch. It was so peaceful up here, away from the noise of the city, the hustle and bustle of throngs of people, the clamor of traffic, the thick stink of pollution and the stress of deadlines and rewrites.

She knew all those things, knew them somewhere deep in her soul, but she was a country girl, a barrel racer, wasn’t she? She tried to recall that brief flash of insight, but the resounding headache that suddenly coursed across her brow swept the memories away.

“Lee, you’ve got to come see what they’ve done.” She heard Tag laughing inside the cabin. That sound was much more tempting than a memory that wouldn’t stay put. Rubbing her forehead, Lee turned and went inside.

Tag glanced up from the decorated basket of muffins and fruit he’d found waiting on the little kitchen table. The sight Lee made almost took his breath away. She stood just inside the door. He knew she didn’t consciously pose for him. She’d merely paused so her eyes could adjust to the dim light in the cabin, but if she’d wanted to make an impression, she couldn’t have done it better.

Reflected sunlight glowed behind her, casting her face in shadow but outlining her trim figure and the soft folds of her gown. They probably should have changed before making the long trip up here, but it was worth it, Tag thought, to get this glimpse of the woman he’d pretended to marry.

Damn, what a mess. Just his luck, to pluck an absolute stranger out of the storm and throw her into a charade his whole life depended on. How in the world was he going to convince her to stay in character, at least until his grandmother deeded him the Double Eagle?

She stepped further into the room and gazed around the small cabin with a look of stunned disbelief. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. Tag couldn’t help but laugh.

Ribbons festooned every corner, flowers graced the wooden sideboard near the metal sink, a stack of split wood sat in front of the old woodstove, all ready for the fire.

There were even rose petals strewn across the thick comforter covering the double bed in the corner. Tag grimaced when she glanced in that direction and immediately turned her anxious gaze on Tag.

“Don’t worry,” he said, gesturing toward the bed. “I’ve got an extra bedroll in the closet. It won’t be the first time I’ve slept on the floor.” He couldn’t help but feel a bit crestfallen at the immediate look of relief on her face. “Anyway, there’s fruit and muffins in the basket, and an ice chest full of meats and cheese, cold beer and even a bottle of champagne. At least we won’t starve.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Do?” He took a deep breath and placed both palms flat on the table. “What we are going to do, Ms. Lee Stetson, or whoever you are, is spend the evening figuring out exactly who you are, and how you ended up on the road to the Double Eagle in the middle of the worst spring storm we’ve had in years. We’re going to eat something, maybe have a glass of champagne, and go over every memory you’ve got.” Then I’m going to do my damnedest to convince you to keep on pretending to be my wife. He flashed her a smile, the one he’d used countless times before to convince comely young women to follow his lead.

He wondered, briefly, just how far he could convince Lee to follow. The image of the rose-petal-strewn bed flashed through his mind. Immediately he shut down that avenue of thought.

Lee returned his smile and ducked her head. Tag was almost certain there’d been a look of relief on that beautiful face.

Now why should that concern him so much? Male ego, most likely, he hated to admit. Dismissing the thought, Tag opened the closet door and rummaged around for his bedroll.

At least he hadn’t thrown her out, yet. Lee dug through the tote bag, wondering when Lenore had packed it. She lifted out a beautiful pair of teal blue satin lounging pajamas. Lenore must have added them to her wardrobe along with the tote. They certainly hadn’t been in there earlier.

Other than stiff new jeans and a really fancy western shirt still in its plastic wrapper, the pajamas were the only option she had. Unless, of course, she wanted to put her pale blue nightgown back on. The one she’d been wearing this morning when Tag kissed her. She felt her skin go hot and cold at the memory, grabbed the pajamas and looked at Tag. “Is there a . . .”

“Yeah,” he said, pointing to a small door at the back of the cabin. “There’s a bathroom in there. It’s kind of primitive, but functional, and the tub’s big enough for a party.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll skip the party.” Lee dipped her head when she walked past him, unaccountably shy all of a sudden. It had been different this morning when he’d kissed her. Then, she’d honestly believed she was supposed to marry Tag Martin. Will’s phone call had certainly upended that theory.

Tag’s explanation, later, that they weren’t even married had hit even harder. She opened the door and stepped into a small bathroom dominated by the biggest claw-footed tub she’d ever seen, but Lee hardly noticed the tub, so engrossed was she in trying to figure out her odd reaction when Tag had explained that their marriage was a sham.

She should have felt relief, not that terrible gut-wrenching despair. But when she’d walked into the ranch house living room holding on to Coop’s arm, when she’d seen all the flowers and the people smiling and Tag standing there by the fireplace in his dark suit, Lee’d felt as if her life had finally come together.

It hadn’t mattered that the man who repeated his wedding vows next to her was practically a stranger. His grip on her hand had been strong and gentle, the deep timbre of his voice had sent shivers along her spine. She’d believed every word he said, believed his promise to love, honor and cherish.

The sound of her own words, her wedding vows, had dredged up a sweet longing unlike anything she’d ever known before.

To learn it was all a farce, that he hadn’t pledged a damned thing, hurt. Hurt more than it should have. They didn’t even know each other, for crying out loud!

It had been as real to her as any wedding could possibly be. Tag’s kiss at the end of the ceremony had sealed their promises, in Lee’s heart, for all eternity.

She struggled with the tiny satin-covered buttons at her wrists, and managed the top three at the back of her dress. She even undid a couple near her waist, but stretch as she might, the others remained out of reach.

She heard Tag moving around in the main room, probably starting a fire or some other guy thing. She didn’t want to ask him to unbutton her, but unless she wanted to sleep in Lenore’s beautiful wedding gown, she was going to need his help.

Lee opened the door a crack. Tag squatted in front of the woodstove, watching the flames catch the dry tinder. He’d removed his dress shirt, but still wore his slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. The lean muscles across his back rippled and bunched with each move he made. Lee’s mouth went dry. She swallowed twice before she could get his name out.

“Tag?” He twisted around. One dark lock of hair flopped down over his eyebrow. He smiled.

That man’s smile should be registered. At least labeled with one of those terse government notices:
Warning. This smile could be dangerous to your health.
Lee smiled back. “Could you help me?” she asked. “I can’t reach the buttons down the back.”

“Sure.”

He crossed the small room in two long strides. Lee turned and lifted her hair up and away from the back of her dress. His fingers gently flicked the buttons open, parting the gown down her back without a bit of fumbling.

She thought she heard his breath catch in his throat but his hands were warm and steady and he completed the simple task in seconds.

He flicked the last button free. The soft fabric slipped off Lee’s shoulders and fell open to the base of her spine, where Lee had already released the buttons she could reach.

She grabbed the front of her gown, holding it against her breasts just as Tag clamped down on her sides to stop the fabric’s downward slide.

His fingers spanned the soft flesh under her arms. She knew the exact moment when he realized he grasped her breasts. His fingers spread wide; he jerked back and stepped away. Still holding her dress, Lee whispered an embarrassed “thanks,” ducked her head and slipped back into the bathroom. Her breath whooshed out in an explosive rush the moment the door shut behind her. She shivered, a belated reaction to his touch, and rubbed her bare arms.

“Oh, Lordy,” she whispered. The reflection in the mirror looked back, no more familiar a face than it had been this morning, except Lee’d figured out one important thing about the woman in the mirror. Whoever she was, she really liked cowboys.

Lee giggled at the thought. Well, not necessarily all cowboys, but she was definitely interested in the one in the other room.

Get a grip, girl!
What a convoluted mess. Pretending to be married to the sexiest hunk in blue jeans she’d ever seen, not to mention the fact that he looked darned good in a suit, not a clue to her real identity, no past, no solid memories, nothing.

Except a truly remarkable case of unrequited lust.

There was no use her mind’s denying what her body and heart already seemed to have figured out.

She and Tag might not know each other very well, she didn’t know herself at all, but . . . Lee sighed. Unless Tag was a whole lot stronger than she appeared to be, this marriage of convenience could prove to be most improperly convenient.

She rested her forehead against the cool mirror.
Please let me make it through tonight.

Then she’d take it one night at a time.

“That’s all, Lord. One night at a time.” That depended, of course, on whether or not Tag even wanted to continue this charade. Lee wasn’t the one he was supposed to have married, or not married, whichever the case might be.

She slid the wedding gown down over her hips. The shimmering satin left a sensitized trail along her thighs then pooled in a pile of ivory froth at her feet. Regretfully, Lee stepped out of it and shoved the fabric aside with her toe.

She stared at it a long moment, searching for more cohesive memories besides the quiet sense of loss she felt, then started to remove her bra. She reconsidered and left her panties on as well before slipping into the lounging pajamas.

The teal satin slithered coolly over her skin and the brilliant shade did wonders for her eyes. Briefly she wondered if Tag liked green-eyed redheads, but the minute the thought crossed her mind, she snorted in disgust.

“The man does not want to marry. Ever.” She’d just have to keep reminding herself of that. A horrible thought flashed through her brain. What if she were already married?

To someone else. Someone she didn’t even remember?

Oh, no. I’d know that. Wouldn’t I?
She glanced down at the plain gold wedding band that already felt as if it belonged on her finger. She hadn’t been wearing one when she climbed into the truck with Coop. She slid Tag’s ring forward to her knuckle. No white bit of untanned flesh hiding underneath. She breathed a sigh of relief. No need to borrow trouble. There was plenty waiting just outside the bathroom door. She stuck her tongue out at her image, pushed her hair back off her face, gathered the wedding gown up off the pine floor, and headed out to Tag.

COOP PICKED up the last of the beer cans while Lenore wiped off the kitchen table. Buck snored peacefully on the couch in the front room, the victim of one too many sips out of his silver flask.

Coop had been right proud of Buck, though. He’d definitely come through this morning. In fact everything had been just as perfect as it could be. So why couldn’t he unwind?

Coop had been certain he’d relax once the deed was done, but the tension had been growing in him all afternoon. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he had the strange feeling Lenore’s proximity had something to do with it. He glanced at Lenore, bustling about the kitchen with long familiarity. It felt good, working with her like this, cleaning up the place as if they’d thrown a party together, as if they were a real couple.

Hard to believe they were both well into their seventies, even harder to realize he’d wanted Lenore for almost sixty of those years. Sixty years, and the yearning hadn’t lessened, the wanting hadn’t gone away.

He thought about Tag, about the fact he’d sworn never to marry, and hoped like heck the boy’d forgive him. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, Tag and his new bride seemed more than compatible, and they hadn’t hardly flinched when he told them about the honeymoon at the line shack.

It had sure been a shock to Coop. He’d planned on giving Tag and his bride a few days here at the ranch to get together, get to know each other in familiar surroundings, before throwing them into a situation like the one they were in tonight.

But it had been a thoughtful gesture on the hands’ part, fixin’ up the line shack like that. They were all pretty fond of Tag, considerin’. Coop figured a few of the wives had come up with the original idea, but still, it was a nice touch.

Of course, watching Tag and Lee kiss, first during the ceremony, then again when they cut the cake, maybe sending them off alone wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

He chuckled and Lenore gave him an odd look. “It went real nice today, didn’t it?” he said.

She didn’t answer. She looked him up and down, a measuring stare that drew Coop as taut as a stretch of good fence wire. Then she dried her hands on a gaily embroidered towel, reached into the cupboard for Tag’s bottle of good Irish whiskey, grabbed two jelly jar glasses, set them on the table and pointed at one of the kitchen chairs.