Bet You'll Marry Me (13 page)

“Well, you already suspected as much, didn't you?” he asked with a shrug.

“Yes, I did,” she admitted.

“Then what's the problem?” Harry asked, coming in and leaning against the door frame.

“I
didn't
know that Nick was a rich playboy millionaire.”

Wayne raised his brows and let out a low whistle while Harry chuckled with surprise.

“Gosh, if I'd known he was a millionaire, I would have asked him for more money,” Wayne said with a smirk.

She gasped. “You asked him for money?”

“No. We were working in the fields one day shortly after he'd arrived and I mentioned how I was a little short of funds, and well, he was nice enough to offer.” Wayne looked down. “I used the money to hire an attorney so I can get the judge to grant me visitation rights with my two little girls.”

“Wayne, that's wonderful,” she exclaimed, her tone softening. If Wayne was able to see his girls, Sarah would be able to see them, too. The woman hadn't seen her grandchildren in two years and missed them terribly. “How much money did Nick give you?”

“Only a couple thousand. But that's all I needed. I'd saved up the rest.”

“See?
That's
the problem. Why was he generous with you? If he cares for me, why won't he give
me
any money?” she said, gritting her teeth. “He knows how desperate I am.”

“I think he wants you to marry him first,” Harry grinned. “Gotta hand it to him. He really knows how to get the job done.”

“I tried to look Nick up on the Internet. It said Fat Happy Horse Treats is privately owned and I couldn't pull up much information on the company. He also seems to keep his personal life under lock and key. Probably to avoid paparazzi.” She shook her head and scowled. “He doesn't need to work. He doesn't need me. He came here for my land.”

“But that's not what he'll leave with,” Harry predicted. “I knew you two were a match the first time I laid eyes on him.”

“What on earth makes you think we could ever be a match?”

“He's as willful and stubborn as you are.”

“He only cares about winning,” she blurted, trying to hide the ache in her throat. “The bet is a game to him, a way to keep his finances rolling, and I'm just a pawn.”

“Aw, that's not all he cares about,” said Wayne, pulling her into a hug.

“If you don't mind,” said Nick, appearing in the doorway and giving each of the men a direct look before settling his gaze upon her, “I'd like a word alone with Jenny.”

“C'mon, Wayne,” Harry said, winking at Nick on his way out, “we've got some work to do before we get all dressed up fancy-like tonight.”

Wayne gave her a quick reassuring glance before withdrawing his arms. Then he followed Harry out the door. She wished they wouldn't go. She wished they wouldn't leave her alone with him.

The back of her throat ran dry, and her heart raced as he stepped toward her, drawing nearer and nearer, until he was just mere inches away from her face.

“Look at me,” he said in a low voice.

“I am looking at you.”

“I want you to look into my eyes and tell me what you see.”

She fought the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny. With his body so near to hers it would be impossible to move without brushing against him, and she would rather run into a thicket of nettles than have any kind of physical contact with the man.

“I see a liar,” she said boldly.

“What else?”

“A manipulator.”

“And?” he prompted.

“A conniving, conceited—”

“What about someone who cares? Do you still see that?”

She hesitated, searching the depths of his eyes for the first time, and was troubled by the stockpile of emotion that lay there waiting for her. Either he was a brilliant actor, or . . .

“Promise you will dance with me tonight, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day. Deny me, and I'll stick by your side like a bear attracted to honey.”

“I am not honey.”

“You're
my
honey,” he teased.

“One dance,” she said, forcing herself not to smile. “One.”

Nick, apparently pleased with himself, grinned and bowed out of her way.

She strode past him on wobbly knees, determined not to convey that he had any effect on her emotions, and got into the ranch truck to make a trip into town.

Her meeting with the bank manager this morning wouldn't be fun, but she would much rather face him than Nick Chandler and his cunning propositions any day.

 

Chapter Thirteen

“I
T'S
PINK!
” B
ILLIE EXCLAIMED
, shriveling her nose in disgust.

Jenny bit her lip to keep herself from laughing as she turned Billie around to face the full-length mirror.

“The dress looks pretty on you, Billie.”

“But I don't
wear
pink.”

“You will tonight. Here,” she said, and handed the young woman a golden tube from off the top of her bedroom dresser. “Put some of this on.”

“What is it?”

“Pink lipstick.”

“I look stupid,” said Billie, folding her arms over her chest. “Everyone's going to laugh at me.”

“No one will recognize you.” Jenny pinned her friend's caramel-colored hair away from her face. “Not even Wayne.”

“He'll tease me to no end.”

“I think he'll be speechless.”

“Jenny, I can't do this,” Billie said, her usual tough-edged voice slipping into an awkward squeak.

“Oh, yes, you can,” she said with a devious smile. “You
do
want to help your brother, don't you? Our deal is that if I go to the dance, you have to come along, too. And if you expect me to wear this . . .” she continued, picking up the slinky black strapless designer gown that had arrived from New York earlier that afternoon, “then,
you
are going to wear my old prom gown.”

Billie cringed. “Let's just get it over with.”

A half hour later, Jenny descended the stairs.

Nick, who had been talking to Harry and Wayne in the kitchen, stared up at her. His gaze slid from her upswept hair to her bare shoulders, and slowly down the smooth, silky length of the black dress, which seemed to mold to her every curve.

Heat rose into her cheeks and her body trembled with self-conscious awareness. Manipulator or not, he could still make her feel like she was someone special.

She tried not to look at him, except she was just as surprised by his appearance as he seemed to be by hers. He was wearing a
suit
. . . and not just any suit, but one of those expensive custom-tailored suits that male models wore on the covers of trendy magazines.

Didn't he know that to most of the cowboys the term “dressed up” usually meant clean jeans and a new flannel shirt? Why, it almost looked as if he was dressed to go to a wedding.

Her stomach flip-flopped crazily to the pit of her stomach. Surely, that wasn't what he had in mind for this evening.

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off when Billie stepped out from behind her and everyone in the room turned to gape openmouthed.

“What have you done with my sister?” Nick demanded.

“It was Jenny's idea,” Billie said, glaring at him. “This is the price I have to pay for being related to you.”

Nick grinned, as if he thought the idea of revenge on his sister was funny. Jenny, on the other hand, was more interested in the others' reactions to her transformed friend.

“You look real nice, Billie,” said Harry.

“Thanks,” Billie stammered, and looked past him at Wayne. “Well, go ahead, just say it. It's obvious from your expression you are just chomping at the bit to mock me.”

Wayne shifted his feet and the Adam's apple in his throat bobbed up and down. “You're taller.”

Billie's face broke into a big smile, and turning sideways, she lifted the hem of her dress and exposed her four-inch high-heeled shoes.

Wayne gave her a slow grin. “Gee, Billie, you actually look like a girl.”

“I
am
a girl, in case you haven't noticed,” she retorted. Billie stepped up and punched him in the arm. “Don't you dare laugh at me or I'll kick your butt.”

Jenny smiled. Although neither one of them would admit it, she was beginning to think Billie and Wayne would make a perfect . . . match.

An apprehensive shudder stole over her as she remembered Harry using those same words to describe her relationship with Nick. Could it be possible she and Nick, despite his being a hotshot CEO of some million-dollar company, could resolve their differences?

Sure, he was handsome and incredibly fun to flirt with, but a perfect match? The perfect match for a wealthy businessman like Nick Chandler would be the type to have her nails done on a weekly basis and spend her time shopping. She would be elegant and poised, not someone who ate dirt every time she fell off a horse.

Still, she thought, as they filed out of the house and into the waiting trucks, there were times when he looked at her . . . and kissed her . . . that she
wished
she could be his.

T
HE DANCE WAS
already under way when they arrived at the Riverside Pavilion. Jenny took one look at all the men milling about the parking lot and instinctively reached down to adjust the boot knife she'd strapped to her leg beneath her dress.

“Don't tell me you've started wearing weapons again,” Nick said, watching her.

“Only for protection.”

“When you handed me your knife yesterday, I didn't think you'd get yourself a new one,” Nick said, frowning. “I thought it was a gesture you were going to start trusting me.”

“I was right not to trust you. I went into town and found there were no newspapers available today, no papers to feature you or the rodeo. You found a way to keep the editor from printing the story didn't you? Why would you do that, unless you have something to hide?”

“Gol! If you two are going to start bickering, then let me out of the truck.” Billie glanced down at the pink ruffles on her dress. “On second thought, why don't
you
get out of the truck and I'll stay.”

“We're all going,” Jenny said, opening the door.

Maybe she should have stayed home, like Josh's parents. Earlier that day she'd asked Josh if Ed and Shaina were going, and the boy shook his head.

“Doubt it. They'd hate to have to stand that close to each other. They can't stand to be in the same house together. My dad stormed out last night and didn't come home.” Josh looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I don't think he's
ever
coming back.”

Jenny had assured him his father would, but men and relationships weren't her area of expertise.

A
S THEY WALKED
toward the lighted pavilion next to the river, the band began to play a soft country melody.

“Would you like to dance?” Nick whispered in her ear.

“
Now?
” Jenny glanced at the other couples venturing out on to the dance floor. “We just got here.”

“Harry is dancing with Sarah,” he said, nodding to her uncle.

“He shouldn't be. He isn't strong enough. He just had heart surgery.”

“If you look closer you'll see Sarah's holding him up.” Nick held out his hand. “Shall we?”

“Billie and Wayne are headed toward the beer garden, which is where I'd rather be.”

“But you don't drink beer,” he reminded her.

“Well, then, maybe I'll just enjoy the company,” she said, and began to walk away, when Irene's velvety voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I'll dance with you, Nick.” Irene smiled up at him with flirtatious eyes and ran her brightly painted red fingertips down the sleeve of his jacket.

“Is it all right if I dance with Irene?” Nick asked, a slow, secretive smile crossing over his lips.

Drat!
He knew exactly how she felt about that pretentious, blond-haired tramp and he was deliberately trying to make her jealous.

“Go right ahead,” she said, lifting her chin. “It doesn't matter to me who you dance with.”

Nick's smile broadened as he took Irene's hand in his and led her to the dance floor.

Walk
, she told herself,
and don't look back
. Her feet obeyed, but the vision of Irene in Nick Chandler's arms irked her something fierce. If he really cared about her, how could he dance with that evil wench?

Nick was just playing with her emotions. Was it all a game to him? Is that what rich corporate CEOs did when they were bored? Played games with people? Is that the real reason he had come out here?

She hadn't taken five steps into the beer garden before she was waylaid by David Wilson, Kevin Forester, and Charlie Pickett. Turning down each of their requests to dance, she was stalled once again by Levi MacGowan's wrinkled knobby hand on her arm.

“What the blazes are you doin' here in that dress without a proper escort?” he demanded, alcohol already heavy upon his breath. He looked at the sleek black gown she was wearing and furrowed his wiry brows. “Would you like me to be your chaperone?”

“Thank you, Levi, but my Uncle Harry is over there,” she said, pointing, “and I came with friends who will look out for me.”

She sat next to Billie and Wayne at one of the small round wooden tables and stole a quick peek at the couples on the dance floor.

“Irene and Nick look good together, don't they, Jenny?” Billie teased.

She tried to smile, but couldn't. Instead her gaze darted back toward the dance floor and to her horror, her eyes began to sting.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Wayne asked, his voice soft. “If we get close enough to them . . . you can kick her.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Dance with Billie. She didn't get all dressed up for nothing. I'm going to the bar for some water.”

Water seemed like a real good idea at the moment. Her throat was dry and tight. Just as the bartender handed her a filled glass with a slice of lemon, a man in dark jeans and a crisp green rodeo shirt stepped up beside her.

“You look beautiful.”

She knew the voice before she turned her head to face him.

Travis Koenig.

“What brings you back to Pine after all these years, Travis?”

“You,” he said, flashing a dazzling Hollywood smile. “I missed you.”

“And I suppose the town jackpot didn't have anything to do with it?” she countered. “Who told you about the bet?”

“No one. Honest.” His tone was sincere, but the twitch of his face confirmed he was lying. “Look, I have a table right back there,” he said with a nod. “Could we talk?”

She had every intention of declining, when she caught a glimpse of Nick Chandler staring at her, his expression hard.

“All right,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. She followed Travis to a table amid a rowdy crowd of onlookers who gave him the thumbs-up sign as they passed by.

“I know what I did was wrong,” Travis began, sitting in the chair beside her and leaning in close, “but I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped wondering what our lives would be like if I hadn't been such a jerk and hopped into bed with Irene. I came back to say I'm sorry, Jenny, and ask if you have a big enough heart to forgive me.”

She nearly choked on the water she was sipping as she listened to him. Travis's words were so practiced, his gestures so smooth, and his manner so self-serving that she wanted to laugh at him. How could she have been so blind as to think she had loved this man, or that he had loved her? Nick was right. Travis had never loved her. The man was only in love with himself.

“I've met someone else,” she said, and a strange calm settled within her, “someone who listens when I talk.”

“I listen to you,” Travis said, draping his arm around her shoulders.

“Someone who cares about what's important to me.”

“Now, don't you worry about the ranch. I've got it all figured out. Once we're married and find the gold, money will be rolling in like stones down a hillside.”

“Find the gold?” she asked, bristling. “Isn't there anything you care about other than money?”

“I care about you,” he said, giving her a wink, “and I won't give up until you agree to be my wife.”

“You don't know how to make me feel special,” she said in amazement, realizing the truth for the first time.

“Oh, I can make you feel special,” Travis exclaimed, and pulling her head forward, he slammed his mouth roughly against hers.

She placed her hands on either side of his head and tried to pry him off, but he was stronger and impervious to her resistance. Panicked, she reached down under the table for her knife. If only she had agreed to dance with Nick . . .

Suddenly Travis's mouth was abruptly ripped off her own and a large fist crashed straight into his face. The blow knocked him backward into the table behind them, spilling the occupant's plate of buffalo wings and mugs of foam-topped beer.

The men and women at the table stood, but instead of being angry, they applauded the unexpected show. In fact, they let out a boisterous cheer when Nick pulled her out of her chair, picked her up by the waist, and hauled her out of the beer garden over his shoulder.

Fireworks had been banned due to lack of rain this season, but from the
ooh
s and
aah
s of the crowd, it sounded like they'd seen their fireworks display after all.

Her last backward glance toward the tables revealed Travis Koenig was still exploding, with curses, oaths, and a colorful bloody nose. She didn't feel sorry for him. His nose would heal a whole lot quicker than his ego.

W
HEN THEY WERE
clear of the pavilion grounds, Nick continued carrying her over his shoulder straight on through the parking lot.

“Aren't you going to put me down?”

“No.”

His tone was stern and discouraged any further argument on her part. Then, just when she thought he might keep her hanging upside down forever, he stopped next to the old ranch truck, opened the door, and put her inside.

Unsure of what was going to happen next, she decided he should be the first one to speak. Except Nick didn't say a word as he slid in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. He didn't even look at her, but kept his eyes focused straight ahead.