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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

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BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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At the sound of his casually uttered words, the entire bridge club, most of whom had now crowded into the bedroom along with Tillie and Lilah, gasped loudly.
Tillie Wilson stomped forward, all too ready to come to her only child's defense. “I'll tell you why not, Shane McCabe!” Greta's mother snatched up Greta's robe and tossed it to her.
Lilah extended a staying hand when it looked like Greta's mom was going to grab Shane by the ear and haul him out of bed. “I'll handle this, Tillie,” Lilah said firmly. “Shane McCabe, I want you up and out of that bed right now.”
At Lilah's order, it was all Greta could do not to groan out loud. “No, Lilah. You don't,” she said firmly.
Lilah reached for the edge of the sheet closest to Shane. “The heck I don't!” she said, looking all the madder.
Desperate to stop her, Greta blurted out, “He's naked underneath!”
Shane should have blushed at her announcement. He didn't. “See where all this matchmaking has gotten us?”
The bridge club, having seen quite enough and obviously knowing how they would feel if their grown children had been caught in a similarly compromising situation,
tripped all over each other as they beat a hasty retreat. “We'll let you two handle this,” said one.
They trooped down the stairs in dreadful silence. The front door shut behind them. Car doors opened and closed, engines sprang to life. Meanwhile, inside the ranch house, steam was practically pouring out of Lilah McCabe's ears. Greta's mom, Tillie, was fanning herself weakly, looking as though she might get hit with an attack of the vapors at any moment.
Lilah tossed aside her handbag as she stared down her youngest son. “Do you know what you have done?”
Shane shrugged his broad shoulders. “Don't blame me. I'm not the one who set the trap that had me stumbling fresh from the shower into my own bed, only to find someone else already in it!”
Lilah flushed and, sweeping a hand through her silvery-blond bob, began to pace. “Your being here together like this was an accident,” the petite sixty-two-year-old woman with the bright-blue eyes swore. “I didn't find your message on the machine until well after we had started playing bridge. As soon as we realized what had happened, we rushed right over to straighten things out.”
Shane's lips clamped together in a skeptical moue. “And brought the whole bridge club with you to bear witness?”
Tillie Wilson's thin rail-like figure was as tense as could be. “We thought it might be cute to see the two of you together,” Tillie grumbled. She shook her head. “Little did we know.”
Greta remained silent while Shane studied his mother, then Tillie, both of whom were now blushing fiercely. “Why don't I believe you?” he asked finally.
“Okay, so we realized a few hours ago that there was
a mix-up,” Tillie admitted, patting her light brown, bouffant hairdo.
“And we were hoping a little spark might have occurred to get the two of you interested in possibly dating each other,” Lilah McCabe continued, shaking an admonishing finger at her son. “But you cannot blame us for this, Shane McCabe! We certainly didn't expect the two of you to burst into flames!”
 
WASN'T THAT THE UNDERSTATEMENT of the year? Greta thought. Their short but potent embrace was like spontaneous combustion and then some. She was still tingling. And all they'd done was share one hot, steamy kiss. She didn't want to think what it might be like to be in this bed with Shane when they weren't proving a point or
staging
lovemaking.
Lilah continued shaking her head at her youngest son. “I just do not understand how you could take advantage of Greta like this, Shane,” she scolded him. “Your father and I taught you better.”
“Oh, for Pete's sake, Ma. Nothing of any consequence happened. It was just a kiss. We were putting you on to pay you back. It was a little joke. That's all.”
Maybe for him, Greta thought even more uncomfortably. For her it had been much more. For her it had been an awakening, a taste of how wonderful true physical passion could be.
Lilah began to pace, looking more like a worried mother than the capable nurse supervisor of Laramie Community Hospital. “Some joke! You have ruined Greta's reputation.”
Greta felt Shane tense beside her.
Lilah continued, becoming more furious, “This won't hurt you, of course. There's nothing left of your reputation
around here after your wild, misspent youth. And in any case, incidents like this tend to only enhance a man's reputation. But a woman's? Like it or not there is still a considerable double standard in this world.”
Tillie nodded and poked an accusing finger at Shane. “Till now, our Greta's always had a stellar reputation!” Tillie stomped closer to the bed and glared at Shane. “At least until you came along. Now look what you've done!”
Looking truly taken aback, Shane turned to Greta. Clearly, the dual lecture had gotten him where it hurt. “I'll make it right,” he assured her bluntly, apology in his silver-gray eyes.
“How?” Greta's mother interrupted. “My word, with the bridge club here, it's going to be all over town by tomorrow morning!”
Lilah turned to Tillie. Shane's mother looked as exhausted and emotionally wrung out as Greta'd felt when she'd entered the Golden Slipper ranch house earlier in the evening. “Come along, dear.” Lilah McCabe patted Tillie Wilson's arm. “I'll drive you home.” To Greta Lilah said, “I am so sorry for all of this.” And to Shane, “Your father and I want to see you at the ranch first thing tomorrow morning.”
Shane nodded grimly but did not argue.
Tillie turned to Greta. “Perhaps you should come home with me now.”
Before Greta could answer, Shane put a staying hand on Greta. “No. Greta and I have some things to work out. But you needn't worry, Mrs. Wilson. I'll be every inch the gentleman from here on out.”
Lilah McCabe seemed reassured by her wayward son's promise.
Tillie Wilson, however, was not. So Greta jumped in
and said soothingly, “It's all right, Mom. There are two bedrooms here. And Shane and I do need to talk. I'll see you and Dad first thing in the morning.”
Lilah turned to Tillie in a consulting manner. “Maybe it'd be best if we all—six of us—met at our ranch before work. Say around 8:00 a.m.?”
Tillie nodded. “We'll be there.”
 
THEIR MOTHERS LEFT IN UNISON, just as they'd come in.
Greta waited until the cars had driven away, then sighed. “Talk about a disaster!”
“Tell me about it,” Shane grumbled. As he stalked, naked and unashamed, to the bureau, Greta saw what she'd only felt before.
Shane yanked open a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of briefs. He stepped into them and tugged them up long, muscled legs covered with golden brown hair two shades darker than the halo of shaggy, sun-streaked hair on his head. “‘Course, I didn't figure everyone in the entire dam bridge club would end up in the bedroom with us.” He strode to the closet, pulled out a pair of faded jeans and yanked them on. “I assumed just one of our mothers, at most both, would witness that kiss.”
As much as part of her would have liked to blame him for the entire misadventure, Greta knew she was just as responsible for the calamity. She'd wanted to kiss him for years. And the truth was she'd jumped at the opportunity to do so. She could hardly blame him for that. After all, she could have said no to his game plan from the get-go, and that would have been that, but she hadn't.
“You couldn't possibly have known how this would turn out,” she said. “Neither of us could have.”
Shane turned to face her. “We'll just have to fix it.”
“How?” Greta asked. She swallowed hard, unable to
even bear thinking about what it was going to be like to face her father's wrath.
Shane ran a comb through his still-damp hair, restoring order to the rumpled mass. He slid the comb into the back pocket of his jeans and turned to face her calmly. “By getting married, of course.”
Chapter Two
“
M
arried,” Greta repeated, absolutely sure she had not heard right.
Shane nodded. Grabbing a red-and-blue Western shirt from the closet, he continued to dress. “It's the right thing to do.”
“Really,” Greta said dryly, looking into Shane's handsome face. “And how do you figure that?” Long-considered the runt of the McCabe litter, at six-one, 180 pounds, Shane was the smallest as well as the youngest of the four sons of John and Lilah McCabe. He was also the scrappiest, as was reflected in the. jagged, quarterinch, scar on his right cheekbone, a half-inch battle scar just left of center on his chin and an eighth-inch half-moon scar above his left eyebrow. He was also in need of a shave, and judging by the length of the stubble lining his jaw, had been for several days. Yet none of that detracted from his rugged appeal one bit.
“Because, as much as I hate to admit it, our moms were right.”
Shane quickly closed the pearl snaps on his shirt and tucked it into his jeans. “If the word gets out tomorrow, and it will, that we were found in bed together on a whim, then your reputation will be trashed.” Shane
strode out into the hallway, zipping up, and came back with a leather belt sporting a championship buckle. He threaded it through the loops on his jeans and fastened the ends. “Whereas when it comes to grown-up, dignified behavior, mine is already about as bad as it can get. Although what happened between us here tonight—” Shane nodded his head at Greta as he rummaged through yet another bureau drawer and emerged with a pair of clean socks “—will probably be considered a new low.”
“Except nothing happened,” Greta said as Shane sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks.
“We know that,” he agreed, before bounding back to his feet and heading for the closet. “No one else does.”
Greta rolled her eyes and folded her arms in front of her. “Is this supposed to comfort me?”
“Yes.” Shane pulled out a pair of alligator cowboy boots that were polished to a high gloss. “And you know why?” He sat again and tugged them on.
Greta flashed him a smile she couldn't begin to really feel, considering the mess they were in. “I'm breathless with anticipation, waiting to hear.”
“Because our climbing into bed together on a whim is a promiscuous thing to do.” Shane explained. Boots on, he pushed to his feet.
“But if we were to run off and get married tonight, what happened earlier would merely be seen as romantic, foolhardy and impulsive.”
He was great at making unexpected moves, she thought, not so great at long-range planning. “Aren't you forgetting one thing?” Greta asked Shane, stepping closer. “We're not in love.” Although, she added silently, given half a chance and a lot more kisses, she certainly could be.
Shane grinned as he took her hand in his. “That's the beauty of the plan.”
 
“NO ONE'S GOING TO WANT US to stay married if we're not in love,” Shane continued, wondering how it was he had never noticed Greta before. Not in the way he was noticing her now.
Greta disengaged her hand from his and began to get dressed. “You think they'll try to convince us to reconsider and get it annulled?” she asked as she tugged a T-shirt over her head, then stepped into a denim skirt.
“Don't you?” Shane watched Greta tug a brush through her mane of hair. She sat on the edge of the bed, and put on a pair of white cotton crew socks, then tugged on a pair of bright blue Western boots that showed off her long, sexy dancer's legs to heart-stopping advantage. It was all Shane could do to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her again. Just to see how it'd end without an audience.
Greta frowned. “My parents think there's only one reason to get married, and that's true love.”
Till now Shane had agreed. “Same with mine.” And yet, for reasons he chose not to examine too closely, the idea of pitching a tent with Greta and calling it home was very appealing.
Greta sighed. “Well, my parents always did have their hearts set on giving me a big, romantic wedding. My mother's been planning it for years, right down to the tiniest details, even when there's no groom in sight.”
“So if we elope, it stands to reason they'd want you to back up and do it with someone else, and do it right.” Although come to think of it, Shane realized, stunned, the idea of Greta as someone else's bride bothered him. Though why that should be he didn't know—all they
had done was kiss and embark on one all-too-limited escapade together.
Greta bit her lip. She turned to him, her eyes searching his in a way that suddenly made him feel very protective of her. “What if our folks don't ask us to get it annulled?” she asked softly.
Shane brushed off her worries. There'd never been a father who truly welcomed him in his daughter's life yet. “Trust me,” Shane told Greta, taking her arm and leading her down the front stairs. “They will.”
“So when did you want to do this?” Greta asked.
Shane shrugged. He knew from experience the more you planned and delayed, the more an adventure lost steam. “How about right now?”
 
A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR LATER Shane and Greta stood beneath the glowing neon beer sign in the front window of J. P. Randall's Bait and Tackle Shop. Located some forty-five miles west of Laramie, Texas, the squat, flat-roofed building with the peeling white paint was out in the middle of nowhere. Just rundown enough to make it disreputable without being dangerous.
Greta sighed and shook her head to think that the two of them would actually get married here. “You take me to all the best places,” she drawled.
Shane grinned and squeezed her arm before he returned to pounding on the front door of an establishment that was obviously closed for the night. “Don't I though?” he quipped.
“This does not look like a wedding chapel,” Greta continued, trying hard not to notice just how cute Shane looked with his cowboy hat tipped back on his head that way.
“Sure it is,” Shane replied affably and pointed to the
tattered yellow sign next to the door. The clock behind it indicated it was nearly one o‘clock in the morning. “Says so right here. ‘Bait, fresh and frozen, for sale,' he read. ‘Tackle, all kinds. Groceries, beer, coolers and ice available.'”
“‘Hunting knives sharpened. Spare tires repaired,'” Greta continued reading, picking up where he left off.
“‘Marriage licenses issued. Ceremonies performed.”' Shane finished, still grinning, and went back to pounding on the door.
Seconds later the fluorescent lights inside flipped on. A stooped old man in pajama top, pants and suspenders came shuffling to the door. His glasses were sliding off the end of his nose, and what hair he had left was sticking up at odd angles all over his head. He had a rifle in his hand, but when he saw Shane he broke out in a wide grin: He put the rifle down, released the chain and unlocked the front door. “Shane McCabe! Now ain't you a sight for sore eyes.”
“Howdy, J.P.” Shane hugged the old man warmly.
J.P. returned the hug, slapped Shane on the back and looked over at Greta. He greeted her with a welcoming smile. “And who might this pretty thing be?”
“Greta Wilson,” Shane made the introductions graciously.
“How do.” J.P. extended a gnarled hand.
Greta shook it warmly. “Nice to meet you, too, J.P.”
“So now,” J.P. ushered them in straightaway. “What can I do for you? Going night fishin' on the lake? Need some bait?”
“Marriage license,” Shane stated, not bothering to check either his mischievous grin or the twinkle in his eyes. He clamped a hand over Greta's shoulders and drew her close. “And a ceremony.”
Greta's heart pounded even as her spirits rose. So this was what it felt like to be in one of Shane's devil-may-care adventures, she thought excitedly.
J.P. slid his glasses lower on his nose. He peered at Shane. “No one'd be coming after you with a shotgun, would they now, Shane?”
Shane chuckled and tugged Greta even closer. “Not as long as I get a ring on Greta's finger by morning.”
Satisfied with their explanation such as it was, J.P. waved them to the back of the store. As they shuffled along, J.P. hooked his arm through Greta's. “You sure you want to get hitched to this young son of a gun? He's a wild one.”
“Tell me about it,” Greta concurred. And the truth was, she wasn't sure at all she was doing the right thing, even if it was kind of fun, carrying on like this. But at the same time she couldn't seem to resist his antics, either. And maybe that told her something, too.
J.P. chuckled. “But you'll have him, anyway, huh?”
“For the moment,” Greta answered cautiously, warning herself not to wear her heart on her sleeve, no matter how much fun she was having. Besides, this wasn't a real marriage, they were just making a statement to their parents that what they chose to do with their private lives was their business, and theirs alone. They were adults, after all. And if this was the only reason to get their parents to stop interfering and simultaneously save Greta's “reputation” by making their foray into bed together a prelude to an elopement instead of merely a one-night stand, then so be it.
J.P. handed over the paperwork to fill out. “Did you bring the rings?”
Greta and Shane groaned in unison. Shane stroked his jaw. “Uh, no—”
“Not to worry, I got just the thing.” J.P. reached beneath the counter and brought out a tray of plain silver and gold bands. “They're five dollars each,” he said, and waited while they studied the “gold” and “silver” rings. “Now, how about a witness?” J.P. continued.
Shane spread his hands wide and offered a hapless shrug of his strong, broad shoulders. “Can't say we remembered that, either.”
“Hang on. I'll get the missus. Normally, she don't cotton to bein' rolled outta bed at this hour, but seein' as how it's you, Shane, and your bride-to-be,” J.P. winked, “I'm bettin' she won't mind. You two pick out your rings, there. I'll be right back.” One suspender falling off his shoulder, J.P. shuffled off.
Shane turned to Greta. He traced the curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Getting cold feet?”
Greta pretended to be as cool as he was about all this bad-boy stuff. Tingles swept through her as he continued to gently stroke her face. “Why would you ask that?”
Shane's sensually carved lips curved upward slightly. “Because for a second there just now,” he murmured softly, his eyes simultaneously searching and challenging hers, “you looked terrified.”
Greta stepped back, away from the disturbingly sensual stroking of his thumb. She forced herself to hold his mesmerizing gaze. “I probably would be, if the marriage were real,” she admitted, in the same soft tone. She looked down at the display case and began trying on various “gold” wedding bands for size, while Shane did the same. “But since it's not, and it'll probably be over with before we know it, there's no reason for me to be afraid, now, is there?”
“Exactly.” Shane nodded his approval at her proudly.
Letting her know that maybe she was up to participating in one of his legendary escapades, after all.
No sooner had they selected the rings, than J.P.'s wife Belinda came in. She was wearing an old-fashioned cotton housedress that snapped up the front and ballet-style house slippers. Her hair was wrapped in pink sponge curlers, and she had a lacy, pink hair net over top. She hugged them both warmly, then looked at Shane and shook her head in affectionate rebuke. “I always knew it would happen this way, on some wild and crazy impulse. Unless—” Belinda paused and grasped Greta's forearm “—honey, you aren't pregnant, are you?”
“Heavens no!” Greta grasped, and continued impulsively before she could think, “We haven't even slept together!”
Belinda immediately nodded her approval. “Good thinking, honey. These days there are too many young'uns just giving it away. So of course the young fellas aren't gonna be in any hurry to marry.”
At the unabashedly frank talk from someone she had just met, Greta felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.
J.P. winked at Shane. “Looks like you've got yourself a prize. You take good care of her, you hear?” J.P. cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “And for pity's sake, be gentle!”
Greta blushed all the more while Shane grinned and slapped a hand on J.P.'s bony shoulder. “Don't worry, J.P. I'm sure Greta'll do her best to keep me in check.”
The guys exchanged a man-to-man look. Belinda continued to look at Greta so sympathetically that Greta knew if she blushed any harder her face would be on fire.
Bowing to the awkwardness of the moment, J.P. cleared his throat and pushed his glasses farther up on
the bridge of his nose. He wiggled his shoulders, assumed a serious pose and folded his hands in front of him. “Maybe we'd better get on with it,” he said.
BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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