Bet You'll Marry Me

 

Bet You'll Marry Me

DARLENE PANZERA

 

Dedication

For my children, Samantha, Robert, and Jason,

and my husband, Joe, who have supported my dreams every step of the way.

 

Contents

 

Acknowledgments

T
HANK YOU TO
Debbie Macomber and everyone at Avon Books/HarperCollins for your enthusiastic support. I am deeply grateful for all you have done for me.

 

Chapter One

T
HE HIGH-SPIRITED NEWSPAPER
boy spread the Saturday edition of the
Cascade
Herald
on the bakery counter and pointed to the bold block-letter headline
MARRY HER AND WIN
.

“Look Jenny, you made front page!”

Jennifer Leigh O'Brien couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear her gaze from the scandalous stomach-turning print.
Marry her and win?

“I sold a hundred papers the first hour,” the twelve-year-old continued. “By dinnertime I'll have enough money to buy the bike Karen's family is selling on page ten.”

Jenny glanced at the nearly empty canvas news bag slung over Josh Hanson's shoulder, then at the compassionate face of her older friend, Sarah, who owned the bakery.

“They're placing bets on who I will marry?” Jenny's thoughts darted back to the one time she'd come close to marriage.
Disaster!
“And they announced it in the newspaper?”

Sarah set down a tray of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. “You know how this town loves a good bet.”

“Why can't they bet on the size of Reverend Thornberry's prize tomatoes, or how much of Levi MacGowan's home brew will be consumed at the Fourth of July fair?”

Sarah sighed. “Because people are always more fascinated by the actions of other people.”

“The café is filled with people waving fistfuls of money,” Josh added. “There's even men we've never seen before.”

Men who would try to flirt with her!

Jenny drew in a sharp breath and searched the store for a weapon. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was a man's attention, or any attention for that matter. Why couldn't they leave her alone?

She moved toward the broom propped against the bread cart. Grasping the long yellow handle like a baseball bat, she gave it a test swing. “Mind if I borrow this?”

Sarah's eyes widened and the lines on her forehead doubled as she hurried around the counter of donuts, biscuits, and scones. “Jenny, you can't be thinking of—”

She nodded. “I'm going over there.”

“What on earth for?”

“I have to stop them.”

“With a broom?” Josh laughed. “Cool.”

“But you've avoided the café on every trip into town for six years,” Sarah said, twisting the hem of her apron. “Why go over there now?”

Jenny shot her a look over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. “To let those idiots know they can't mess with other people's lives.”

A
FTER WAITING TWENTY
minutes to get in, Nick found a seat on the far side of the Bets and Burgers Café.

Everyone was talking about her. Three men in front of the gas station took turns boasting who Jennifer O'Brien would find more attractive. At the bank five people withdrew funds to bet on who she would marry. Then, on the street in front of the bakery, Nick paid a newspaper boy for a copy of the
Cascade Herald
, with the headline
MARRY HER AND WIN
.

This certainly threw a wrench into his plans. He hadn't expected the young woman to be a celebrity. How could he possibly hope to win her heart when every other man in town was trying to do the same?

He spread the newspaper on the café table and took another look at the photo beneath the headline.

Rob Murray had been dead wrong. Miss O'Brien was anything
but
a fat, hairy inbreed with missing teeth. In fact, she had beautiful teeth, a big bright smile. Nice features.

He thought about what he had to do and a weight lifted off his chest. He might actually enjoy this.

A short, balding, red-faced man stood behind the café drink counter writing on a giant chalkboard. One of the men called out his name, identifying him as the owner, Pete.

“Twenty on Ted Andrews and fifteen on David Wilson,” Pete announced. “Anyone else?”

“Those two don't have a chance,” said a man at the table to Nick's right. “I bet my money on Charlie. He has a way with the ladies.”

A blond-haired waitress with bright cherry-red lipstick targeted him from across the room and made her way over with her order pad and tray.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Coffee? Steak sandwich? My phone number?”

“Beer,” Nick said, brushing her hand off his shoulder, “and a date with Miss O'Brien.”

The waitress's expression soured, and a small dent formed between her manicured brows. “Everyone wants to waste their money on her, when they can have me.”

“And they can have you for free, right, Irene?” added a man with sandy hair who dropped into the chair beside him. “You can bring me a beer, too. Whatever you got on tap.”

Irene's full lips pushed into a perfect pout and she left to get their order.

The sandy-haired man laughed and introduced himself as Wayne Freeman. Taking a pack of cigarettes from the rolled-up sleeve of his T-shirt, Wayne nodded toward the frenzied betting scene at the back of the building.

“Jenny won't marry any of them.”

“Why not?”

“Just look at them,” Wayne said, gesturing toward the men. “They're all the same. Like a herd of sheep. Any man who wants to win Jenny will have to do something to get her attention. Something to set himself apart from all the rest.”

“Like what?” Nick asked, hoping the man had some ideas.

Wayne waited until his cigarette was lit, then leaned back in his chair, making it creak like a rusty car door. “I've been a hired hand on her ranch for the last two years and I still wouldn't know.”

“You work for her?”

Wayne nodded. “The O'Briens took me in after I lost everything I owned to my ex. I work the fields, look after the cows with the other hands, and they give me food and a pillow for my head. Jenny has a big heart, but she hasn't been interested in romance since she was jilted.”

“Everyone's been jilted at one time or another. Maybe she hasn't met the right guy.”

“Maybe,” Wayne agreed, “but whoever wants to marry her will have to take drastic measures to win her over.”

Nick thought about all the beautiful, dazzling young women he had dated in the past. They would do anything for jewelry, a press photo, and a little one-on-one attention. Handling women was like handling a business deal. They might pretend to play hard to get at first, but in the end they all negotiated.

His tension eased and he crossed his arms over his chest. Just because this girl rode horses and lived out in the country didn't mean she was any different.

A woman was a woman after all.

J
ENNY STOMPED ACROSS
the main street of the rustic two-block town wishing she'd brought her shotgun. Or perhaps a bulldozer to knock the sleazy café and all its slimy bet-wagering occupants back into the infernal snake hole they came from. But even that wouldn't be good enough. Maybe the only thing to wipe the Bets and Burgers Café off the eastern slopes of the Washington Cascades this afternoon would be an old-fashioned keg of dynamite.

She narrowed her gaze on the handful of men socializing on the wooden-plank porch in front of the café entrance.

“Marry me,” David Wilson called out as she approached, “and I'll split the money with you fifty-fifty.”

As if she would ever marry him, a man three years younger whose intelligence was on a par with his hound dog! Stepping onto the porch, she gave him a wide berth.

“I'll recite poetry every night,” Kevin Forester promised.

Some might appreciate it, but she wasn't the poetry kind of girl. Just straight-up honesty would suit her better than flowery words rolled off a sugarcoated tongue.

Ducking under his arm, she avoided his intended blockade, circled the colorful Native-American totem whose tribe once inhabited the area, and ran into Charlie.

“Marry me, Jenny,” Charlie Pickett sang in a rich tenor, “and I'll dedicate my first recorded song to you.”

Music wasn't exactly her thing either. She had nothing against it, but Charlie wasn't interested in pleasing her, he only sang for himself. Who knew? Maybe someday he'd be famous. Then he'd leave town like so many others and never miss the ranching community he left behind.

“Out of my way, Charlie,” she said, giving him a hard push aside. “Let me through.”

“Marry me and I'll help ye find the gold.”

Gold?
What gold? Jenny turned toward the familiar wheezing voice and old Levi MacGowan winked at her.

Jenny raised her brows. “Are you proposing to me, too, Levi?”

“You bet I am,” he announced with a thump of his cane. “I figure I got as good a chance as the rest of them.”

“Didn't you just hear your grandson David propose to me?”

“Yeah, but I'm better-looking than he is.”

David Wilson smirked. “Grandpa, you are too old for her.”

“And you're too young,” Levi said with a frown. “You'd best leave her be.”

The cane slipped from Levi's hand and Jenny latched on to his arm so he wouldn't fall.

“See what a good wife you'd make?” Levi crowed.

“A good wife is more than a support post,” Jenny countered, and retrieved the hand-carved wooden stick for him.

“Ouch!” Levi chuckled. “Feisty, today, are we?”

“Sorry, Levi. You know I love you,” she said, and her tone softened, “but these other men—”

She clenched the fiberglass handle of the broomstick she carried with a grip that could break a mountain beaver's neck. Only a high-stakes bet could bring this many people out at one o'clock on a hot Saturday afternoon. Heart hammering, she drew a deep breath and walked through the café door.

“Thirty dollars on Kevin,” someone inside shouted.

“Fifty says Charlie can get Jenny to marry,” yelled another.

The run-down café hadn't changed since she'd last stepped foot in it six summers ago. Pete Johnson was still taking bets. His daughter, Irene, still sashayed her hips as she waited on the men and women sitting at the dozens of rough-hewn cedar tables. The same raucous laughter interrupted the music from the overhead stereo. And the same bitter taste gathered at the back of her throat. Yep, nothing had changed, except she wasn't as young this time, wasn't as weak, wasn't as naïve.

“One hundred dollars on Ted Andrews,” Pete bellowed as he faced the chalkboard. “Only a brave man can slap down that kind of cash.” Then the café owner turned to search the crowd for more bets.

And spotted her.

“Pete, don't you dare duck behind that counter,” she said, and pinned him with a sharp look.

The short, bald-headed man responsible for the wagers straightened from his abrupt half crouch. “Come to see who's in on the bet?”

“No.” She marched toward the back of the room and raised the broomstick she'd borrowed from Sarah's Bakery. “I've come to teach you a lesson.”

“Jenny!” Irene shrieked, running to grab hold of her arm. “Don't do it!”

She shook off the trashy, promiscuous blond and her mind reeled with horrific memories of the bets they'd placed six years earlier. Bets that left her standing at the altar alone. Bets that led to Irene's presence in her former fiancé's bed. Bets that kept her from wanting to enter the café ever since.

Until
today.

Using every ounce of her strength, Jenny swung the broomstick across the top of the counter, shattering the dozens of drink glasses into a million glimmering pieces.

The accompanying high-pitched crash was so loud it was a wonder the mirrors on either side of the chalkboard didn't decide to jump off the walls and shatter with them. Beer, soda, and glass sprayed across the floor. Women gasped. And the men closest to the counter jumped back, swearing and cussing like the untrustworthy, self-serving pigs she knew them to be. Then a bewildered hush ricocheted across the café as every pair of eyes focused their questioning gaze on her.

“Here you are, Pete,” she said, and handed him the broom. “You'll need this to sweep up the mess.”

Pete scowled. “You're going to have to pay for this.”

She pointed to the chalkboard advertising her name. “The money from your bets should cover the damage.”

Pete's face reddened. “That's not fair.”

“Fair?” She scanned the scores of unapologetic faces, both male and female, that surrounded her. “You call making bets on my life
fair?
”

“I should call the sheriff,” Pete warned.

“Go ahead,” she retorted. “And I'll have you shut down for illegal gambling. Or maybe I'll convince him to put me in solitary confinement. That would put an end to your bets.”

“Heck, Jenny, we all know your financial situation,” Pete said with a shrug. “Now that the bank has given you a deadline, you'll have to marry to save Windy Meadows. And we're just placin' a few friendly wagers on who we think the lucky man is going to be.”

“I don't need to marry anyone.”

Pete continued as if he hadn't heard her, “So far we have four main contenders: Charlie Pickett, Kevin Forester, David Wilson, and Ted Andrews.”

“Don't forget about me,” old Levi cackled from the other side of the room.

“And Levi,” Pete amended, and the crowd broke into laughter.

Jenny pursed her lips. “I can just take in another investor.”

“The last one took off with half a year's profit,” yelled Charlie from the doorway.

Okay, so she'd lost out big on that one. She'd made a mistake. But there were other ways to save the ranch.

“I can sell off equipment at the upcoming auction.”

“Your father sold everything he could before he died,” Kevin said. “You don't have anything left.”

“I have the steers” She lifted her chin. “And the horses. I came into town today to hand out flyers advertising the guided pack trips I plan to lead up Wild Bear Ridge.”