I Don't Want to be Married Page 2

  “Yeah, yeah, up with the crack of sunlight and on to Wyoming.”

  She caught his grin before he opened the driver’s door. She hesitated and walked around to the passenger side.

  Minutes were ticking away and she didn’t have a man willing to be her husband.

  Through the years she’d learned to be tough and stand on her own in a male-dominated universe. No one pushed her around and got away with it, which included Sam or her deceased Grandpa Rodney.

  “Alisa invited me to Gilley’s to celebrate with the others.”

  Sam shook his head. Those gray locks seemed thinner these days. “It’s not a good idea for you to go out.”

  He looked worn and tired today. Maybe she should just stay in rather than go out husband-hunting.

  She appreciated why Grandpa had set down rules. And she’d been prepared to hold out until her thirtieth birthday. Until, almost a year ago, a television commercial featuring stories of young, old, and abused horses caught her attention and touched her heart.

  Anxious to help the poor animals, she contacted the agency. Linda, the caretaker-owner of the sanctuary, expressed donations were always helpful, but the use of land was more important. In that instant Rosalind decided to open her own sanctuary.

  Night and day for a week, she sat planning during her free time. However, the numbers wouldn’t work out. Her allowance alone wasn’t enough. She’d have to secure the bulk of her inheritance.

  She called the lawyers and tried to persuade them to go against her grandfather’s will. Their attitude sparked her anger. They couldn’t have cared less about the abused horses or her dreams of a sanctuary. They simply reminded her she’d have to wait the six years, get married, or obtain her trustee’s approval to release the funds.

  Sam refused to talk about letting her have the money early, repeating often that he simply abided by her grandpa’s wishes. They argued to no avail. He wouldn’t give his blessing. Her only choice at that point had been to bite the bullet and get married to a green rider or a damn Yankee.

  “Did you forget Tom Clark is in town, too? I’m sorry, I’m looking out for you,” Sam said.

  At his reminder, her revulsion surfaced. Her head snapped up and she peered at Sam.

  Just because a cowboy is a looker doesn’t ensure he’s as polite as a preacher talkin’ to the devil.

  She’d learned the hard way that Tom had a tainted temper which showed like yellow snow in the winter. He was meaner than the bulls he rode.

  Tom wasn’t about to ruin her plans. If he showed up, she’d deal with him. Shrugging determinedly, she shifted to face Sam. “Why don’t you come along and see for yourself? I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m tired, missy, and you’re not going alone.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old. I can handle myself. Why did you have me take those self-defense classes?”

  “You know why.”

  “I want to celebrate my win with my friends. Please,” she begged.

  “Rosalind.”

  “Please?” She pursed her lips.

  The lines on Sam’s face softened. Her pouting worked.

  “Oh what the heck, we’ll go for a spell.”

  “Yahooee. All right!” Rosalind pounded her boots into the floorboard.

  “If everything is fine and I mean okay, I’ll leave you to have fun. If Tom shows his face, we’re leaving.”

  “No worries. He won’t show. No one likes him. Once you see all my friends there, you’ll know I’ll be fine. And you won’t have to stay. Maybe we can take both trucks.”

  “I guess. You do deserve time for yourself. We’ll change and then swing over to the arena for the other truck. I’m too old to celebrate all night,” Sam said as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.

  Rosalind smiled, ticking off problem number one, which was not knowing any men outside the rodeo. Visiting the bar would give her access to the local city folks and tourists.

  Problem number two was trickier. How to smooth-talk a man to fall in love with her quickly. Would twenty-five thousand dollars be enough to entice someone?

  Who’d make a good husband?

  All the men she’d ever associated with were bull and bronco riders, cowboys, or steer wrestlers. Barrel racing was all she’d ever had time for.

  Hell and damnation. Did she want the man to fall in love with her? No, love wasn’t in her plans as she hunted for a husband.

  She giggled. Sam glanced over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.

  “What? I’m excited to celebrate. I did win a big event.”

  “Yes, you did. Meet me in a half hour.”

  “A night on the town in Sin City.”

  This time Sam chuckled. Whistling, he went into his room. She slid the cardkey, sat on the bed and continued ticking away at her problems.

  Number three was the hardest to solve. Once she picked the man, how did she get him to agree to go to a wedding chapel?

  Getting married isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

  Undressing, she hurried into the shower. If she could persuade a wild stallion to let her ride him, she should be able to talk some man into marrying her. And the last one, number four, the divorce?

  Easy to deal with by offering a bonus for his trouble.

  The parking lot of Gilley’s was packed, which wasn’t a surprise with the rodeo in town. She’d heard this was the place everyone went to celebrate or drown in his or her sorrow.

  Sam pushed open the bar door and they were immediately greeted with loud music. Rosalind took a handful of steps inside and the crowd cheered her name. Smiling, she hollered her thanks to several people and spotted David Billy who pointed to an empty barstool.

  “I see David. I’ll sit with him. He’ll make a good bodyguard.”

  “Okay, I’ll find a table.”

  Sam gave her a half smile and wandered into the crowd. She weaved through the mass of people to the bar.

  “Hey, thanks for the seat,” she said with a grin. What a cutie. Her pulse did a happy dance. She could look at David twenty-four-seven.

  “Can I buy the champ a drink?”

  “I could use a Miller. I missed your ride today. I heard you stuck like a tick to a lamb’s tail.”

  The bartender sat a bottle of cold beer in front of her. She took a sip, letting the liquid burn its way down to her nervous stomach.

  “I did. I felt like I was knockin’ a hole in my chest with my chin.” He turned and flattened her with one of his heartbreaking smiles.

  “I bet. You finished with a personal best time too, I heard.”

  “Yeah, and I’m feeling it. I saw your ride. You kept me standing the whole time. I knew you’d be breaking the record.” David tapped his beer with hers in a toast and together they chugged.

  “It felt good. I wanted it pretty bad.” Rosalind turned in her chair to view the crowded room. “I see everyone who’s anyone is here tonight. Nice place.”

  “It’s a place to bend an elbow with friends. Alisa’s holding court as usual. Your first time?”

  “What gave it away?”

  “You’re acting like a cat in a room full of rockers. Bet you a new pair of boots you won’t go thirsty tonight.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, not sure who would be buying her drinks. Or why they’d bother.

  “Oh, really?”

  David nodded and leaned against the bar to face the throng of people. She followed his stare to a group of men sitting at a table close to the dance floor.

  Holy cow. It’s meant to be. The good-looking blond guy.

  “Isn’t that the group of troublesome greenhorns from the Sagebrush Ranch Arena?”

  “Yup. Security escorted them out after your
run. It’s a bachelor party. The one wearing the ludicrous sign is getting married, as if you couldn’t tell.”

  “Looks like his bride will be getting the short end of the stick tomorrow night.”

  They laughed and Rosalind raised her beer to her lips. Mr. Blond stared and winked. Uncomfortable with the attention, she turned away. Yet she couldn’t help thinking, just maybe good fortune was on her side for once.

  Her plan could be on the verge of working. She placed her hand on David’s arm, moved closer, and whispered, “Dance with me so Sam will see everything is fine. He’s worried Tom Clark will roll in. Sam won’t leave until he’s sure I’ll be safe.”

  David drained his beer and draped his arm around her in a protective manner.

  “You’re safe with me and the other boys. Sam shouldn’t have worried. Besides, everyone knows Tom Clark is a bad egg. I’d like to see him banned from the circuit.”

  “You and Sam think alike.”

  Rosalind set her half-empty bottle down and took a deep breath, sensing her life was about to change.

  David winked. “Come on, let’s celebrate our wins.”

  They stopped at the table where Sam was sitting.

  “Don’t worry about our special girl here, Sam. Me and the boys will take good care of her,” David promised.

  “I’m holding you to those smart sprinkles. I’m gonna hightail these old bones out of here and drop off the truck at the arena. Max or Walt can take me to the hotel. You behave, young lady.”

  “I will. No drinking and driving.”

  Sam stood, gave her a pat on the back, and presented David with his death stare. They watched him hustle to the door. David grinned and drew her into the group of other twosomes currently line dancing.

  As he’d predicted, Rosalind never lacked for a dance partner or a full bottle of beer. She kept her promise of not over-drinking and set each bottle down after a small gulp.

  The dancing helped her to relax. After three songs she gracefully declined another, pleading she needed to sit. Rosalind found an empty chair and someone handed her a cold beer. More praise came her way from cowboys she didn’t know. With David and his group surrounding her, none of the regular patrons could even ask her to dance.

  Should I approach Mr. Blue Eyes? Or someone else?

  She scanned the saloon for another candidate who didn’t look like a cowboy, but found the pickings slim. As she brooded over the room, to her surprise the blond guy sat in the chair next to her.

  Rosalind feasted her eyes on the prettiest pair of baby blues she’d ever seen. He gave her a boyish smile and her heart jumped a beat.

  “I saw youuuu earlier. You rode a horse . . . a horse fast. My name is Alllannn. What’s yours?”

  Trying not to laugh at his slurred speech, she casually set her beer down.

  “I did ride my horse fast. First time at a rodeo?”

  “Yesssss. See the neat hat . . . neat hat I bought? We don’t have rodeeoooos at home.”

  Bingo. He’s my man.

  He dragged his chair closer to hers, and their knees bumped. She about leapt off her chair at his touch.

  Men in general didn’t do this to her. He wasn’t wearing a ring. Think. Start talking.

  “Where’s home? Are you from around here?”

  “No, I’m here for my best . . . best friend’s wedding. He’s getting hittchedd. I’m from the Big Apple . . . the Big Apple. You know, New York. Hey, I think you’rrre pretty.”

  She couldn’t hold in her laughter any longer and let loose.

  He found her pretty? A woman who never wore a dress or any makeup, had stubs for fingernails—

  “Rosalind, is this man bothering you? Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

  David’s question ended with him glaring at Allan. It was a comfort to know he would take the guy outside in a heartbeat to show him where rattlers lived if she nodded.

  “No, it’s fine. He’s harmless,” Rosalind said.

  “She’s a pretty cowgirl, don’t you think soooo?” Allan gave David a toothy smile.

  While Rosalind laughed behind her hand, David poked his finger into Allan’s chest. But he kept his regard on Rosalind. “If he begins to act like a mule, you let out a holler.”

  David peered behind him once more before rejoining his buddies at the bar.

  “Allan, are you married?”

  “Meeee? Are you kidding? Hell nooo.”

  His reply ended with a hiccup. She produced a smile without laughing. One thumb up. One more question to pass.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m . . . I am a stock . . . stockbroker,” he answered in a slur.

  Allan gathered her hand into his. She couldn’t pull away. The heat of his palm was like being prodded with an electric stick.

  It was now or never. He was inebriated, yet didn’t seem totally smashed. I might have a chance with this one.

  “Allan, how would you like to make a fast twenty-five thousand and another twenty-five thousand as a bonus?”

  His eyes widened as he tried to focus on her. She knew she had his interest. A good sign his drunken mind still worked.

  He leaned in and a whiff of alcohol mixed with his aftershave—smelled like Polo—hit her. Unexpectedly her insides jangled with excitement, reminding her she was a woman.

  “Twenty-five thou—thousand dollars? Investment? Lot—a lot of moneeeey. What would—what would I have to doooo? Which stocks do you want to buy?”

  “I don’t want to buy stocks. I want you to marry me. Tonight. And in a month’s time, divorce me for the bonus.”

  He nearly fell from his chair as he rocked backward and laughed.

  “Me, marry? No, it’s . . . no. My friend’s wedding.”

  He was drunker than she first assumed. Scanning the bar for a new prospect, she exhaled in frustration. Maybe this wasn’t meant to work after all. She wouldn’t be able to save the horses and open her own training center.

  She ignored Allan’s rambling, but froze when he put his arm around her and drew her close.

  “Do you want . . . want to have sex? You have a sexy . . . sexy body. Weeee could go to my room.”

  Rosalind snickered out a cough. It might work at that. If Allan couldn’t remember getting married, he’d be motivated for a quick divorce. And she might not have to pay the bonus.

  “Where’s your hotel, Allan?”

  “At the Hil . . . Hiltonnn, number five-forty-one. I have a great room.”

  Rosalind stood with determination and helped Allan gain his feet. Once her arms were around his waist and he leaned on her shoulder, she led him to the exit. Checking behind her once, she made sure no one pursued them.

  David and his buddies were facing the other way. Allan’s friends were all at their table, not even aware he’d left them.

  Allan stumbled several times, but she managed to maneuver him around tables and chairs to the door. With her booted foot, she kicked it open, allowing the fresh night air to greet them as they stepped outside. She took one last confirming look behind her.

  The coast is clear. I’m at the point of no return.

  The parking lot was less crowded and her old Chevy Tahoe stood alone. She escorted Allan to the passenger side and shoved him in.

  Next stop, the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau.

  Chapter 3

  Las Vegas, known as Sin City and the Wedding Capital of the World, worked in Rosalind’s favor. The tourism webpage indicated anyone could apply for a marriage license any time of the day and get it in a matter of twenty minutes or less. No questions asked. No blood tests.

  Before leaving home in Minnesota, she’d googled the Marriage Bureau Office and a handful of wedding chapels close to each other. When they arrived
at the Bureau there were three couples waiting, each pair kissing and hugging.

  She tried to act normal, except she didn’t know how to. They were the only ones not showing how much they loved each other. She checked her phone every minute, pushed at Allan when he’d nod off and slump over on her shoulder, and tapped her boots. Two more happy-go-lucky couples came in before their number was called.

  The bald clerk mumbled, “Drunken marriages never last.”

  She smiled. “Hello, we’d like . . . we want to obtain a marriage license.”

  The man peered above his thick framed glasses.

  “Are you sure about this, young lady?”

  “Yes sir, we love each other,” Rosalind said and hid her nervousness by snuggling closer to Allan. The second the clerk looked away, she pushed at Allan and his roving hands.

  “Behave,” she hissed into his ear.

  “I want toooo kissss youuu.”

  “Shhh, later.”

  What if the clerk didn’t give them the license due to Allan’s garbled speech?

  Her fears were for nothing. The man gave her forms to sign. She filled them out the best she could and handed them back. The clerk scanned the papers and pointed to an empty spot.

  “You missed the address section and social security number for Allan.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Think fast. What will have his address on it?

  She reached into the rear pocket of Allan’s jeans. Bingo, wallet.

  Wow. Her soon-to-be husband had without a doubt a cowboy’s ass.

  The black leather wallet hadn’t provided any type of shield from the warmth of Allan’s body heat. A sudden urge to cradle his billfold to her chest triumphed and on its own, Rosalind’s arm rose. She stopped in mid-stride when the clerk cleared his throat. The offending black piece dropped from her hand as if she’d been caught stealing. It landed open.