I Don't Want to be Married Read online

  “How many times have I told you to replace the phone in its holder? It has to charge.”

  “Sorry. Were you calling to tell me when we can dig the foundation of the barns?”

  “No, and we don’t,” Rosalind retorted irritably.

  “What? Why not? You have the money to get the project in motion.”

  “I have nowhere to build them. Someone bought the land out from under me yesterday.”

  Sam gaped. “Who would do such a thing to you? The whole town knows you wanted the land.”

  “Right. Mr. Kennedy said a management company paid five times the asking price,” Rosalind ranted as she paced the short length of the room. “Can you believe that? Not double or triple, but five times the listing amount. Damn Mr. Hillsboro. He promised to sell it to me. Who in their right mind would pay such an exorbitant price for that land?”

  All at once Allan began coughing and choking. She glared at him.

  He waved off his reaction. “I’m still not used to the coffee. How terrible to be underminded,” he added.

  “Are your bags packed, Mister New Yorker? I want you out of my home,” she yelled and halted her pacing next to him.

  “There must be something you can do,” Sam urged. “You had a contract first. I was showing Allan some of the abused horses we were gonna be boarding.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do. How do I explain to Linda and the others, I can’t take or even help the horses? They need me.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, her pose a false impression of calmness at best as she sipped. The hot liquid flushed a warm trail down her throat. Both men still regarded her. She refused to look at Allan, although the shine of the knife lying next to the butter dish held her attention. She raised her eyes to meet his.

  Why had she grabbed it last night? Self-defense?

  A sudden blaze of desire swept over her as she stared at him.

  That’s why. Mr. Fancy Pants’ handsome face, square jaw, crooked nose. And those flashing blue eyes.

  “Perhaps the company that purchased the land would be willing to lease it to you until they need it. Maybe they aren’t planning to develop it anytime soon,” Allan suggested.

  “Sounds like a grand idea. Rosalind, you—”

  “Sam, stop. Don’t listen to Mr. Rich Boy. Like I can call some firm and say, ‘you know that land you stole from me, can I borrow it?’”

  “I wouldn’t use those words,” Allan demurred.

  Rosalind topped off her cup of coffee and joined them at the table. She frowned as she touched the file.

  Sam pushed back his chair and faced her. “Do you want me to call Attorney Haugen and ask if he can help? It ain’t right. Your contract should’ve been enough.”

  “Whatever, I don’t think they’ll be able to do anything. Mr. Kennedy wouldn’t give me any information on the new owners. This is totally insane.” She smacked the tabletop with her hand. Coffee cups shook and their brown liquid spilled.

  She looked straight at Allan. “First, you appear with the unsigned divorce papers and ruin my day. You demand to have sex with me. The police had to escort me home yesterday from the bank. And now this. I can’t take any more.”

  “You should make an effort to get in touch with the new owners,” Allan repeated.

  “You believe everything is simple. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the divorce since I too can file for an annulment. The money isn’t any good to me now. The land is gone. Mr. Smith, you won’t ever be getting any wedding night. Pack your bags and leave. This is a family matter, and you’re not family.”

  She purposely glanced at the butter knife to get her point across to him, stood, and stormed from the kitchen.

  A loud bang shook the house. Allan flicked a glance at Sam. “Does she always walk . . . run away from her problems?”

  “I’m afraid she’s a tad spoiled. Her grandfather hardly ever told her no, and unfortunately I have followed in his footsteps. I’m gonna lie down. I’m tired,” Sam said.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll make a few calls. See what I can do to help.”

  “You do that, boy.”

  Etched into the old man’s face was pain and weariness. Allan could see it for himself as Sam nodded and slowly shuffled from the room.

  Man oh man alive. This sucks. It was the first time in all his business dealings that he saw firsthand what happened when a short sell occurred. Shit. He didn’t like it at all.

  He took out his iPhone.

  “Hello, Mr. Smith.”

  “Tiffany, can we cancel the purchase of the land?”

  “No, the money was wired, and I’m sure it cleared already. The paperwork should be arriving. Why? What’s the problem?”

  “You were right. I should’ve signed the divorce papers and dealt with the ramifications from my office. My plans have changed. Write a land lease proposal. Rosalind wanted her inheritance to buy the land to board sick and abused horses.”

  “Mr. Smith, will you repeat the first sentence? I want to hear it again,” Tiffany chortled.

  Allan took a sip of his coffee. His lips tightened and he grimaced.

  I need a real cup of coffee.

  “Yes, you were right. I’ve said it twice, and I won’t say it again. Fabricate some sort of letter saying the company will consider a land lease option. She can’t know I own it. Did you find me an office?”

  He heard Tiffany’s laughter and frowned. She cleared her throat.

  “No, I haven’t. The letter and lease can be ready this afternoon.”

  “Okay, call when you’ve got that office. Goodbye.”

  He clicked off his phone and picked up the butter knife. He stroked it absentmindedly. His wife had spunk and guts. A slow smile came to his lips. They both owned the land. They were still married, hallelujah. Since he bought the land yesterday, it meant she owned it too. She never signed his prenuptial agreement.

  ‘Bad guy, good guy’ came into play. There was a chance he’d lose half of everything if she figured out he was worth millions. Holy crap.

  All his hard work over the years to secure his holdings, at risk.

  He lifted his hands and wiped his forehead. No sweat. Being noncommittal had its advantages in his playbook. However, when money was involved, he worried. Even the highs and lows of the stock market could cause him grief.

  Why was he not more bothered by the fact he could lose half of everything he’d worked so hard to achieve?

  Allan slid his chair away from the table. Time to find his bride and talk to her.

  Somehow, a hometown cowgirl—Rodeo Queen was turning his life and heart upside down.

  Rosalind swore as she hurried to the barn. She slipped her phone from her jeans pocket and pressed Linda’s number.

  “Hello.”

  “Linda, this is Rosalind.”

  “Oh hi, I’ve been waiting for your call. Do we have a move date?”

  “No . . . I’m sorry . . . I’ve run into some problems.”

  “Problems?”

  “Someone bought the land before I could get my inheritance in place to purchase it. This isn’t how I envisioned things.”

  Rosalind yanked the metal bar and opened the barn door. The earthy smells calmed her raging emotions.

  “We were counting on you. If you can’t help, I won’t be able to provide for the horses. Decisions will have to be made. I had high hopes for your help,” Linda sighed.

  Rosalind fisted her hand. The disappointment in Linda’s tone sent waves of sadness through her. She kicked at the floor and swore again.

  “Okay, what decisions?”

  “Some of the horses’ medical needs outweigh the money available. The money I do have
needs to be spent on the ones I can save. Samson’s medicine—”

  “Don’t do anything yet, Linda. I’ll send you some money. It should get you through until the end of the year. I have the BFA World Championship in December. If I win, I’ll send more.”

  “Thank you. You’re an angel. Samson’s medicine is expensive. The veterinarian was here yesterday. His diagnosis wasn’t good. Samson’s left leg is deteriorating from his days on the Barrel Racing circuit. He needs extra care.”

  Crap. I can’t let Samson die.

  His previous owner had passed away, and the family hadn’t cared what records he’d held or who would care for him. Thank goodness Linda’s organization stepped in when they heard he was scheduled for the glue factory.

  “Hang in there. I’ll pull together something soon, even if I have to build a new barn on my land. Keep me informed if you need anything,” Rosalind said.

  “Okay, I will. Bless you for taking care of us.”

  They disconnected.

  Damn that City Boy. Why hadn’t he signed the divorce papers? Everything revolved around having sex with Mr. Wonderful. Sex. Money.

  A tiny smile tweaked her lips as a new plan edged itself forward. If she had sex with Allan she could keep her money and use it to build a new barn. It would mean putting off the training facility she’d planned to add to her existing barns and property.

  I’m like a damn yoyo. Sex. No sex. Sex. No sex.

  She could treat herself to a night in Mr. Wonderful’s arms. It would be exciting and no doubt pleasurable.

  Dawn’s loud neigh drew her attention to her job.

  “Yup, I’m late. We’ll work harder today.”

  Dawn shook her head and snorted as if in approval.

  She began readying Dawn for their runs, but her mind went over possibilities to fix the problem of not able to afford an extra hand around the ranch. If the sex was out of the way, Allan would depart for New York.

  He’d come for a one-night stand. Made it very clear, except now she didn’t know if she wanted him to leave.

  Chapter 16

  Fresh snow crunched beneath the borrowed boots Allan wore. He gripped the lapels of his coat and snuggled into its depths as a gust of cold wind blew. The sun had long since vanished, leaving a grayness in its wake and layers of clouds.

  Jesus Christ, it’s freezing. Had he lost his mind? New York was never this frigid.

  Movement to the left of the barn caught his attention. A cowboy sat on top of a post with what appeared to be a stopwatch, focused on a rider poised at one end of the corral on a light brown horse.

  Rosalind?

  Before Allan reached the fence, the cowboy hollered, “Ready. Set. Go!”

  She urged a golden brown horse with her knees, and they took off at high speed toward a tall barrel to her right. Her hair flew out behind her like a scarf blowing in the wind. When she reached the barrel, they rounded it and she pressed the horse on to a second barrel at the opposite side.

  “Five, seven, nine . . .” Stopwatch Guy shouted.

  The horse and Rosalind circled the second barrel, faster than the other two sprints. She pressed on to a third barrel and skillfully guided the horse around it. Allan’s eyes widened as her boot almost touched the ground.

  Holy shit. She IS the Rodeo Queen.

  Some of the fog, which had haunted him since Vegas, lifted from his brain. The image of a woman sitting regal-like on a horse pushed through. He remembered how intrigued he’d been with the way her hips moved as one with the animal. From this perspective, it was like the new panorama HD television, but in 3D.

  “Fourteen-point-thirty-two seconds!” The cowboy screamed and jumped from the wooden post in excitement.

  Allan had to ask, “Is that good?”

  Stopwatch turned with a grin. “Oh yeah, it’s better than good. Hey, are you the man she married to save the horses?”

  “Yes,” Allan responded cautiously, swallowing.

  “It was awfully good of you. Very noble thing, you know, to help her. Nice to meet you. I’m Joe.”

  Before Allan could reply, Joe sauntered toward Rosalind, who still sat astride the horse. Allan stood alone a short distant from the fence, feeling sick. His perfect life lost a layer or two. Her plan had been an unselfish act, while his actions were purely egotistical.

  She looked more like a queen today than before with her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling despite the dullness of the sky.

  Would she have that same look after he made love to her? God, I want her now.

  “Are you sure?” Allan heard her ask Joe as soon as he reached her. He nodded and held out the stopwatch. A handful of men lingering around the fence came to check the time.

  “Holy conniption. I did fourteen-point-thirty-two seconds in the cold and with all this gear on. I’m for sure gonna take first place next month, if I stay at this pace.”

  “Don’t be celebrating yet,” Joe warned. “That’s bad luck, you know. Dawn shouldn’t be out in the cold too long. Get her inside for a rubdown. You don’t want her sick.”

  “Yeah, but first I want to do a quick cooldown. Can you and the others check the placement of the barrels? Number two is off.”

  “As if you need to ask. Walt checked them before you came out, but I’ll personally see to it.”

  Allan strolled closer, wanting to be part of the enthusiasm, not a bystander. Seeing his bride carefree and having fun had a contagious effect. Soon the other three men and Joe moved away, chatting about her accomplishment.

  These cowboys were wrapped around her finger. Was she sexually involved with any of them? It would be a total pisser if she was.

  She spotted him approaching. “Did you come to tell me you’re leaving?”

  Her don’t-mess-with-me attitude had returned. Allan disregarded it as he stepped to the horse.

  “No, we need to talk.”

  “You can’t possibly have anything to say that I’d want to hear. Nonetheless, if you think you do, we can talk in the barn after I’m done with Dawn’s cooldown.”

  Not allowing him to reply, she abruptly steered the horse away. He returned to the fence and kept his eyes on his wife as she walked the horse around the corral. Allan frowned and his jaw tightened.

  I don’t have a plan. Hell, what can I say to her?

  “You were right,” Joe yelled, “six inches off.”

  “I knew it. Dawn was off a step when we rounded it,” Rosalind groaned.

  “I’ll have it corrected for tomorrow’s run.”

  “You mean Friday. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”

  “No, I mean tomorrow. You need to do the run every day,” Joe retorted.

  “Fine.”

  Allan observed the exchange and saw Rosalind stick out her tongue at Joe, who waved it off. He had to chuckle. Everyone was so interesting here. Not like at his offices where stress left his employees short tempered and moody. This was a real working ranch. Family. Not just co-workers. No one complained; they all did what needed to done without being told or reminded. He’d have to tell Paul to schedule a team building retreat.

  The sounds of the horse’s hooves hitting dirt had Allan focusing on Rosalind. She rode the horse around the yard four times, dismounted, walked another two times, and disappeared into the barn from a side entrance.

  By the time he entered the warmth of the stable, she’d removed the saddle which now rested on a half-wall. She gripped a long, wide brush with a band holding it in place over her palm, pulling it over the horse’s coat.

  Her hand and brush moved as one unit, back and forth in sync to some unheard music. Her other hand trailed close behind and caressed the sleek animal. The rhythmic motion was strangely mesmerizing. He remembered her touching him in the same manner. His eyebrows drew togeth
er as flitting memories lurked at the edges of his mind. They slipped away, leaving him in the dark once more.

  Nothing made sense. Seeing her, being close to her, felt confusing and maddening.

  “You have a gentle touch,” Allan finally said. His voice sounded harsh to his ears, but it wasn’t from anger. He wanted her, in a way he’d never desired any other woman. His Ice Queen was destined to melt in his arms.

  “Dawn has never complained. She waits for this after our rides.”

  Rosalind paused for a heartbeat as Allan moved into Dawn’s stall. He stood too close for comfort. His musky, spicy scent was a pleasant alternative to the barn’s usual odors. Outlandish, but somehow it felt right.

  Does he remember my hands gliding over his body? Oh lordy-lordy, I do. This isn’t going to end well.

  “Rosalind . . .”

  He murmured her name and she froze. He engulfed her within his arms, kissed her mouth; sifted his hand through her hair. Her lips pressed firm against his. As in Vegas, his mouth created a fervent pleasure, weakening her resolve. The brush dropped from her hand and she wrapped her arms around him.

  Take that, City Boy.

  Lost in sensuality, she wondered who was really in charge. She moaned when his cool, ungloved hands found their way inside her coat. Her skin tingled as they explored every inch of her back. The pressure of his need pressed against her. To her dismay, his mouth left her lips.

  “Let me make love to you.”

  “Allan . . .”

  He kissed her lightly, cutting off her response, then his eyes met hers as their lips parted.

  “I remember who you are. You were at the rodeo, in Vegas. I saw you ride your horse. I wanted to meet you, but regrettably we were asked to leave before I was able to make your acquaintance.”

  “You were drunk. You can’t remember me.”