Shotgun Vows (13 page)

“Your Honor, I train horses for a living. This is who I really am.” She angled her head toward Daw
son. “Makeup and a fancy dress got his attention. But he needs to know what he's getting into.”

The judge sighed. “My wife would say that marriage to a man is a lot like training a horse,” he said.

She grinned. “I'm glad you see my point.”

“Although some take to the reins better than others,” he added, glancing at Dawson.

“Remember what they say,” Dawson interjected.

“What's that?” Mattie and the judge asked in unison.

“You can't teach an
old
dog new tricks.” Dawson knew she got the double meaning, even if the judge didn't.

Mattie glared at him as he took her hand, but didn't pull away. Instead she whispered, “Make no mistake, Dawson, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. What you see is what you get.”

“Okay.”

She looked momentarily taken aback. “So you still want to go through with this?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn't change a hair on your head or anything else about you,” he said, glancing down at her denim shirt, at the point where the snaps closed just above her breasts.

He'd been half kidding, but Dawson was surprised to realize that what he'd told her was true. In front of God and everyone present, she'd made it clear what her feelings were. He admired her fearless spirit and total honesty. He also saw the insecurity lurking in her eyes. She wasn't as tough as she pretended. He would do his best to protect her tender heart from hurt.

“All right, then,” she said. “Let's get this show on the road.”

The judge cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we
are still gathered before God to unite
this
man and
this
woman in holy matrimony.”

“Can we just skip to the ‘I dos?'” Mattie asked him.

The judge raised one white eyebrow. “You don't want all the trimmings?”

“Do I look like an all-the-trimmings kind of woman?”

He gave her attire another once-over and sighed. “Good point.” He met Dawson's gaze and shook his head sympathetically. “Son, you've got your work cut out for you.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Dawson said.

“What about me?” she asked indignantly. “Don't you think I've got my work cut out for me? Haven't you ever heard the saying— You can't judge a dog by its spots? Your Honor, you don't know what a trial
he
can be,” she said, cocking her thumb in Dawson's direction. Then she realized what she'd said and chuckled at her pun. “A little legal humor.”

The justice looked taken aback. “Frankly, I'm not exactly sure what to think about the two of you. As a favor to your uncle Ryan, I'm not going to walk out. So let's do this wedding before I change my mind.”

“She'll behave,” Dawson said, hoping it was true. He knew her behavior was calculated to make him change his mind. If anything, it made him want her more. For the life of him, he hadn't a clue why.

The judge looked at them sternly, then said, “Do you, Dawson Geoffrey Prescott—”

“Geoffrey?” Mattie whispered.

“My father's name,” Dawson whispered.

He couldn't help thinking how appropriate it was to have a reminder of his reasons for marrying Mattie.
He might have his father's name, but no way was he as unfeeling and irresponsible as the man whose blood ran through his veins.

“—take this woman for your lawful wife,” the judge continued, ignoring their exchange.

“I do,” Dawson said, loudly and clearly.

“Do you Matilda Theodora—”

“Theodora?” Dawson repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“My father's name,” she said.

“—take this man,” the judge continued, frowning at them as if they were two recalcitrant children.

“I do.” She mumbled something else that sounded an awful lot like
under protest,
But Dawson knew no one else could hear it and it was for his ears alone.

The judge looked at them over the glasses perched on the end of his nose and said, “Then with the authority granted to me by the glorious state of Texas, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He met Dawson's gaze. “And may God have mercy on you.”

“Amen to that,” Dawson said. Then he took Mattie in his arms and thoroughly kissed his bride as he'd been wanting to all day.

 

Dawson and Mattie were in the study with Ryan, Griff and Willa. While her aunt Lily was seeing to the guests at the reception, they were gathered to make sure the wedding paperwork was in order before the judge left.

Now her uncle handed each of them a glass of champagne. “I propose a toast,” he said. “To Dawson, a man I've come to think of as a son. Now you're officially a member of the family. And my niece, Mattie. In a short time, you've become more like a daugh
ter to me. May your life together be filled with adventure, laughter, and most of all, love.”

“To Mattie and Dawson,” they chorused.

As Mattie sipped, she thought about her uncle's toast. Adventure was good. Laughter, probably. She figured she and Dawson might be able to manage that. His reaction to her wedding attire had encouraged her on that score. He looked very surprised but not at all angry or upset, as she'd expected. Amused was more how she would describe his response. But love? She hoped so.

At least on Dawson's part. She studied Dawson, so handsome in his tuxedo. Her pulse quickened as she observed his square jaw and wide shoulders. Yet there was gentleness in him as he held the crystal flute. And the way he'd made love to her… So considerate. And he'd been angry that she hadn't told him she was a virgin so that he could have taken better care. The thought started a glow in the center of her abdomen and radiated outward.

Now they were husband and wife, and it was legal to make love anytime. Anticipation filled her at the idea of being close to him again.

More than that, she planned to do her best to find love with him. The only way she'd been able to force herself to walk down that aisle was her determination to try and make him love her. She realized that her prank attire probably hadn't been putting her best boot forward. But his response had encouraged her. Maybe he wasn't as much of a stuffed shirt as she'd thought. And if she tried very hard, she could be his helpmate in life. Maybe love would follow.

Dawson held up his glass. “My thanks to Griff for being my best man.”

“You're welcome,” Griff answered gruffly. “I wouldn't have put on this monkey suit for anyone but Mattie.”

If he hadn't meddled, she thought, he wouldn't have had to dress up at all. Sniffing over his attempt at diplomacy, Mattie held up her glass. “I propose a toast to Willa. Thanks for standing up with me on such short notice.”

Willa tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and clinked Mattie's glass. “It was my pleasure. I'm so happy to be included in all your family gatherings. Dad and Ryan became best friends in Vietnam. Since my father passed away two years ago, I've missed him terribly. He would be happy knowing I'm not alone. It's wonderful to be around people.” She glanced shyly at Griff.

Well, well,
Mattie thought.
She's got an eye for my brother. The big lug doesn't deserve her.
At least not until Mattie got over being mad at him for forcing Dawson to marry her. How long would it take before she would forgive him? As long as it took for Dawson to fall in love with her. And that could take a very long time.

Mattie pushed aside her feelings and smiled at Willa. “You're like family, Willa. So tell me about your apartment. Is the redecorating completed?”

The other woman sipped thoughtfully and nodded. “It's fine. I love the area and can't wait to start teaching.”

Mattie thought she detected some reserve in her friend, and wondered if she should say anything. “Well, I'm glad. And especially grateful that you could be here with me today.”

“I'm glad you called me.”

“That reminds me,” Mattie said. Things had been a whirlwind and she had forgotten to bring up something that had bothered her since that call to her friend. She decided to say something, and they could all tell her she was a worrywart. “You sounded funny the other night when we talked on the phone. Is everything all right?”

Willa nodded, a bit too emphatically. “Fine. It's just…”

“What?” Griff asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Mattie frowned. Her brother, too, sensed that something wasn't quite right with Willa.

The other woman shrugged. “When Mattie called, I almost didn't answer.”

“Why?” Griff said, the concern cranking up a notch.

“It's too stupid to bring up.”

Uncle Ryan sipped his champagne. “Nothing is too stupid to bring up. Especially while Clint Lockhart is still at large.”

“I've been getting calls.” Willa shrugged. “But I'm just being a baby. It's a new place. I'm all by myself. Strange sounds. I just have to get used to it.”

“Maybe,” Dawson said. “But Ryan's right. With Clint out there, you can't be too careful.”

“What kind of calls?” Griff asked.

She looked at the three men, anxiety in her blue-gray eyes. “Hang-ups all times of the day and night. It's the ones that wake me from a sound sleep that are the most disturbing. I can hear someone breathing on the other end of the phone, but no one says anything.”

Ryan put his glass on the desk. “Damn it. Clint Lockhart.”

“Are you sure it's a man?” Dawson asked.

“I have no idea.” Willa shook her head. “No one ever says anything.”

“It's Clint. He hasn't been apprehended,” Ryan said, his words humming with anger. “I talked to Sheriff Grayhawk before the wedding. Clint's eluded law enforcement, just dropped out of sight. They think someone's hiding him.”

“But how would he know where Willa lives? And why would he target her, anyway?” Mattie asked.

“Who knows how he finds out anything?” Ryan answered, his voice curt with frustration. “As far as targets, his mind is so whacked, I don't think he's discriminating. He wants to get me. He'll do that by hurting anyone I care about. Security here on the ranch is tight, and he can't get to anyone here. So…” He shrugged, letting the disturbing thought spin out.

Mattie noticed that Griff shifted closer to Willa when the other woman shivered at the words.

Ryan looked at Griff. “I want you to do a security check on Willa's phone and the rest of her apartment.”

Griff moved his shoulders restlessly, as if he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. “Yes, sir. But are you sure I'm the right man—”

“You're a Fortune. You're the best at your job.” Ryan nodded. “I can trust you with my godchild's safety. You're definitely the right man.”

Willa's cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. “Are you sure that's necessary? I don't think Clint would do anything to me.”

Ryan shook his head angrily. “Until he's behind bars again, the whole Fortune family is at risk.” He looked at Dawson. “That goes for you, too. Mattie's
your responsibility now. My niece's safety is in your hands. She's your wife.”

“I'll take good care of her, sir,” Dawson said.

His wife.
Mattie shivered at the thought.

“Good.” Ryan walked to the door. “I suggest we go out and mingle with everyone. Jillian and Brody planned to stay for a little while, then head out on their honeymoon. Don't want to miss them.” He looked from Dawson to Mattie, who squirmed under his look. “What about you two? Any plans for a trip?”

Dawson glanced at her as he hesitated a moment. She refused to jump in and help him. This was his idea; he could field the difficult questions.

Finally he said, “Mattie and I had such a whirlwind courtship, and jumping into the wedding while Mallory and Reed were still here in the States, we want to catch our breath. We'll take our time and think about a honeymoon.”

Good save, Dawson,
she thought. She had to give him credit. He was smooth.

“Sounds wise,” Ryan said as he walked through the doorway.

Willa and Dawson followed him. Mattie started after them, but Griff stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mattie, I'm not sure I can handle the security job at Willa's.”

“Why?”

There was worry in his brown eyes, making them darker than usual; his lips tightened as he looked at her. “She's such a lady. And I'm—” He shrugged. “You know, rough around the edges. I think Ryan should find someone else to check out her place.”

The vulnerability Mattie saw in his eyes punctured
her bubble of anger, which flew off like a deflating balloon. She touched his arm. “You're exactly the right man to do the job—for all the reasons Uncle Ryan said. Besides, I think Willa's got a crush on you.”

He reached out and felt her forehead. “No fever. Guess marriage has already done a number on you.”

She laughed. “Okay. Don't listen to me. But you're right about marriage. It's a scary proposition.”

Griff encircled her shoulders and pulled her against him in a quick hug. “I have a feeling everything is going to work out fine.”

“From your mouth to God's ear,” she whispered fervently.

The thought of being Mrs. Dawson Prescott brought to mind a whole lot of apprehension. It had nothing to do with Clint Lockhart—and everything to do with whether or not she could find love with her husband.

D
awson stopped his BMW at the gate to his Kingston Estates home, lowered the driver's window and punched several buttons on a keypad. The next thing Mattie knew, the wrought-iron gate, part of the brick-capped wall that surrounded his property, whispered open.

“This is it,” he said, guiding the car up the long drive that curved to the left before stopping in front of the house. There was unmistakable pride in his voice, and from the little she could see of the impressive structure in the dark, he had every right to feel that way.

“It's really something,” she answered.

Mattie was almost grateful for not sleeping much since becoming engaged to Dawson. Lack of rest, combined with nonstop wedding preparations had made her numb. She wasn't sure how to feel, which was probably a good thing. She was almost beyond feeling anything at all. The clock on the car's dashboard showed midnight. The optimum hour to begin her fairy tale. Or end it.

She would assume her role as Dawson's wife—with all the fringe benefits. Like sharing his bed. The thought made her shiver with anticipation, and she realized that maybe she wasn't as tired as she'd thought.
Another blissful night in his arms would make all the stress worth it.

He turned the car's ignition off and the engine died, along with the interior dash lights. She glanced to her right and noticed that the planters across the whole front of the house, including the walkway, were rimmed with small lights.

“I never saw lights with little hats on before,” she said. “They're cute.”

He got out of the car and walked around to her side, looking tense in the dim light from the open door. “I'm glad you like them, but cute isn't their primary function.”

“Heaven forbid they're just decorative. What might their primary function be?”

“This lot is two acres, and the house is set pretty far back, away from the street and the lights. The cute little guys illuminate the walkway so you don't trip and break your neck,” he answered. He didn't sound angry, so much as tired and uptight.

“And a worthy service they provide,” she agreed.

Dawson opened the trunk and lifted out the several suitcases she'd packed. They had agreed she would get the rest of her things from the ranch later. He hefted her bags and led the way past the house's stonework facade up the steps to the raised-panel oak door. Leaded, beveled glass decorated the center panel. With interior lights on, this door would be breathtakingly beautiful, she thought as Dawson unlocked and opened it.

He reached past her and flipped on the entryway light, then let her precede him into the house. The odor of fresh paint tickled her nose. At least he hadn't lied to her about that.

But as she surveyed her new home, something about the place left her vaguely uneasy. She couldn't put a finger on why.

“The house is trilevel,” Dawson explained.

They had walked straight into the living room, which had high ceilings and a bay window. He led her up a half-flight of stairs. “This is the formal dining room, kitchen and family room.” He set her bags down there.

“It's beautiful,” she said, meaning it. She walked past the huge oak table and hutch in the dining room and leaned over the oak railing to peer down into the living room. “Really impressive,” she said.

But something about it still disturbed her.

She met him in the family room, where the furniture consisted of a leather couch and love seat set at a right angle to each other. They were arranged in front of the brick fireplace. Lamps were made of wrought-iron and wood. In spite of the expensive furnishings, the room felt spartan, without pictures on the walls or framed photographs on the mantel. In the corner of the vast area sat the biggest television set she had ever seen. The ceiling was dotted with grids that she assumed were speakers for a sound system.

Dawson apparently noticed where she was looking. “State-of-the-art surround sound,” he said proudly. “It will make you feel like you're at the movies.”

“Lovely,” she answered. “Vibrating from the outside in.”

“The master bedroom is this way,” he said, pointing down the hall before leading the way.

Her heart started to pound as she followed.
The bedroom I will share with my husband.
He flipped on the light, illuminating a huge room dominated by a king-
size bed covered with a black comforter. The oak headboard reminded Mattie of an entertainment center and took up almost one wall. It was a series of sliding doors, drawers and cupboards. In her fairy tale, the bed had always been a megaromantic four-poster. Except when she was about seventeen and she thought waterbeds were the best thing since sliced bread. But this bed was certainly big enough for a married couple to explore each other. She shivered with excitement.

The bathroom had two sinks with gold fixtures, and a stall shower. What fascinated her most was the whirlpool bath, which looked as if it would hold the two of them very comfortably, even though Dawson was a big man. The thought sent a flash-fire of sensation sweeping over her body. The walk-in closet was the size of a bedroom and was filled with Dawson's suits, ties, dress shirts, shoes, jeans and boots. Big as it was, all the hanging space was used.

He showed her two more bedrooms. One was set up with a computer desk, fax machine, copy machine, and telephones—obviously a home office. The other had gym equipment—weight bench, exercise cycle, treadmill, and other gizmos with weights, cables and handles that looked to her like torture devices left over from the Spanish Inquisition.

Next he led her to the bottom and final level of the house. It featured a great room with more leather furniture, a spare room for storage, and another bedroom that opened onto the brick-trimmed patio and pool area.

After showing her everything, Dawson led the way back up the half-flight of stairs to the family room. He rested his hands on his hips and swung his gaze around the room proudly.

“So what do you think of it?” he asked.

“I think the floor plan is wonderful,” she answered sincerely. But the whole place left her feeling cold and unwelcome. Every room he'd shown her had made her more and more uneasy. But why? “The rooms are large with lots of windows. It's huge.”

“So which bedroom do you want?” he asked.

Uh-oh. “What did you say?” she asked, unable to believe her ears.

“I asked which room you want. The way the house is laid out, it's like having two master suites. Since they're on separate floors, we can both have our privacy.”

She stared at him. “Privacy?”

Disappointment filled her. She'd always thought married people slept in the same room. Her parents did. Uncle Ryan and Aunt Lily did. She'd bet her favorite saddle that none of her married brothers, and even the ones who
weren't
hitched, slept in a bed separate from their significant other. Her one and only experience had shown her it was one of the marriage perks.

“Privacy?” she asked again.

“Yeah. The master gives you kitchen privileges. But downstairs is easily accessible to the pool and whirlpool bath outside. Both floors have a family room. It will work out great.”

Great if you want to avoid someone,
she thought.
Great if you want to dodge, elude, escape or flee from the woman you just married. Great if you want
privacy.

Finally she got what had been bothering her since walking into his house. The unmistakable signs of new paint were there. The rest of the house shouted No
Women Allowed. He didn't want a wife. He didn't want a woman to share his life. He didn't want to be married. In fact, he looked as miserable as she felt.

She might have worked up some pity for him, except she had the unshakable sense that even if Griff hadn't pushed the issue, Dawson would have. He felt obligated to marry her because he'd been responsible for taking her virginity—even though she'd slept with him because she wanted to. And as much as she might want to hand all the blame to Griff and Dawson for this marriage, she couldn't. If she hadn't felt there was a small chance for happiness, she would have faced her family, confessed what she'd done, and taken her lumps. She married Dawson with every hope that they could make this relationship work.

But the truth was, Dawson didn't want her.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Mattie, we both know this isn't a real marriage. You agreed under duress, and I want you to know that I don't expect…anything.”

Mattie was tired, more so than she'd ever been in her life. And every fiber of her being was focused on one thing: not letting the tears burning the backs of her eyes fall. She didn't have the energy to figure out how she felt about this. She was too tired to argue. She was too tired to be angry. Unfortunately, there was one emotion she wasn't too tired to feel. Profound sadness.

“I'll take the master bedroom,” she said. She wasn't too tired to want this to be as difficult, annoying and inconvenient for him as possible. He might put her in another room, but he wouldn't be able to ignore her presence.

“Okay. I'll put your suitcases in there.” He picked
them up. “Do you mind if I move my stuff out in the morning?”

“Not at all,” she said.

She didn't care if he moved it or left it. She didn't care about much at that moment—except that he not see how very much he had hurt her.

 

Dawson cut through the water in the pool, kicking and stroking his way from one end to the other. He added more laps. The swim had felt good. He'd needed the exercise. Translation: He wanted Mattie more than he'd wanted any woman—ever. He'd never experienced a more hellish night. A night spent tossing, turning and thinking about Mattie. And he'd awakened in an acute state of need. The cold water and the cold late-November air, he'd hoped, would take the edge off his tension.

But he was still strung tighter than a brand-new fiddle. He couldn't get the expression on her face out of his mind. She'd looked like a kid who'd just been told there was no Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, or Easter Bunny—all at the same time. She was crushed. It was as if all the animation, energy and joy had gone out of her.

And he was responsible.

He knew in his gut, though, that keeping her at arm's length was the right thing. Although he wanted her in his bed almost more than he wanted his next breath, separate rooms was his punishment to bear for taking advantage of her naiveté. It would never happen again. He'd sunk to his father's level. The first chance he'd gotten, he'd used her innocence and seduced her.

He'd made one mistake, but he wouldn't compound it by turning his back on her
or
renewing their intimate
relationship. He wasn't worthy of her love. And using her that way would only hurt her more in the long run. Someday she would understand that he'd done this for her.

His muscles ached from the exertion of his swim, and he hauled himself out of the pool and picked up a towel.

“She'll thank me for keeping the distance between us,” he mumbled to himself as he dried off. “Yeah, when pigs fly.” He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound, as he slung the towel across his shoulders.

“How long are you gonna stand there talking to yourself?”

He whirled around and looked up at Mattie, bent over and resting her elbows on the balcony outside the kitchen.

“You're up early,” he said, grinning in spite of himself at the saucy picture she made. Oversize T-shirt that said Dallas Cowboys on the front. Black sweatpants slightly pulled up to reveal slender ankles and bare feet. Barefoot and pregnant. The thought made his blood run cold. Naw. Couldn't happen. It had only been one time. He took a deep breath.

“I always get up at the crack of dawn,” she said. “Do you want some breakfast?” She angled her head toward the room behind her. “I've got bacon, eggs, pancakes, hash browns.”

“I didn't know you could cook.”

“You still don't know that I can. I could be lying about the food. I could be telling the truth about the cooking part, but consuming it might take the constitution of a garbage truck. Why don't you come on up here and see for yourself whether or not I'm telling the truth.”

“All right, you're on. Give me a couple of minutes to shower. And I'll be right up.”

“The clock is ticking.” She turned around and went back inside.

Anticipation hummed through him as he quickly showered and dried off. He put on sweats and a T-shirt, the only clothes he'd brought downstairs last night. He would need to dress for work soon. He'd been neglecting things at the office.

When he walked into the kitchen, the delicious smells made his mouth water. Almost as much as did the sight of Mattie—blond hair tucked behind her ears, cheeks pink from her culinary exertions, gray eyes shining as she stood by the stove watching the bubbles on her pancakes pop.

She flipped them over. “I hope you're hungry.”

“Starved,” he said, his gaze lowering to her long legs.

“The table is set. Take a seat, and I'll bring everything over when these are done.”

He noticed the drip coffeemaker waited with a full, fresh pot. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked.

“I don't drink it,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I just figured since you had the contraption, you probably did. I found the can of coffee in the fridge and made a pot.”

“It smells great.”

And so do you,
he thought as they stood shoulder to shoulder. She flipped flapjacks, while he poured himself coffee. Domestic as hell.

And he realized he liked it.

He thought back, and realized that no woman had ever made him breakfast before. At least not in his house. No woman had stayed overnight before. It was
his rule, because he never wanted a woman to feel used. Now he had a wife. She had made him breakfast. Inside, he was grinning like the fool he no doubt was.