Bet You'll Marry Me (2 page)

Pete's brow quirked. “You think pack trips will save Windy Meadows from foreclosure?”

“Four generations of my family are buried on that land,” Jenny said, emphasizing each word. “Do you think I'm going to let anyone take
them
away from me?”

“You might not have a choice,” David said, coming through the door behind Kevin and Charlie. “Unless you find the gold.”

Gold?
Jenny frowned. David's grandpa Levi had also mentioned gold. “What gold?”

“The gold your great-great-grandfather discovered on the property,” Pete explained.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Pete pulled a printed page from behind the counter. “It's right here in this entry of his journal.”

Jenny stared at the piece of paper. It was a photocopy of a page from her great-great-grandfather's journal, all right. One of the old dusty volumes she'd loaned to the town historian the week before.

Pete pointed to the writing. “Ole Shamus O'Brien says here that the other guys found gold along the river bordering your property, but
he
found a gold mine. The entry is dated October twelfth, eighteen eighty. A week later, he passed away from pneumonia, and we're all guessing the gold is still there.”

“If there was a gold mine hidden at Windy Meadows, I would know about it. I've covered every inch of that land and I—”

Right before the barn fire took her father's life, he'd dug five holes on the far side of the property, toward the eastern border. He'd said he wanted to plant trees. Trees he never bought. Did her father know what was in her great-great-grandfather's journals? If he believed a gold mine was on the property, wouldn't he tell her?

“Is
that
why everyone wants to marry me?” Jenny demanded. “To get the gold?”

What had she been expecting, that one of the men actually held feelings for her? Secretly loved her? Of course they didn't love her. They barely knew her.

She'd kept her distance from most boys since Ted Andrews stuffed a lizard down her jacket back in grade school. From that day on, she'd realized the male gender couldn't be trusted. And the one man she'd thought had been different had only reinforced her opinion when he slept with Irene Johnson on their wedding day. Nope, the only men she could count on were her daddy, God rest his soul, and her uncle Harry and cousin Patrick.
Family.

She knew better than to let her emotions take hold of her, but she couldn't help it. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was deception.

“You're despicable. All of you. Anyone with any decency at all would loan me the money I need to save my land. But no. Here you are placing
bets.
And why? Because you believe there's a stupid gold mine on my property.” Her whole body shook with rage. Fire burned through every pore of her skin. “If you want something to believe, believe this—there isn't any man here who can get me to marry!”

A tall, dark-haired man she had never seen before emerged from the crowd and slammed a green check down on the table beside her.

“Ten thousand dollars says you'll change your mind.”

Jenny stared up at him. He topped her by at least six inches. Then she glanced down at the numbers scrawled on the check. A wave of openmouthed gasps rounded the room, followed by a single resounding, drawn-out whistle.

“What?” she demanded. Was this a joke?

“Ten thousand dollars says that within five weeks you'll marry
me
.” Pushing back the brim of his black Stetson, he looked into her eyes with an expression of pure confidence.

“You—you must be out of your mind.”

“I've never been more serious.”

“So if I don't marry you, and I win,” she said, flustered by the way his silver-gray eyes studied her, “I get your ten thousand.”

“Yes.”

“And if you win . . . ?”

“I get you.”

Her body lurched with an involuntary start, and she struggled to regain her composure. “What's your name?”

“Chandler,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. “Nick Chandler.”

“You're on.”

She accepted his challenge with outward calm, but her stomach twisted into a lasso of knots as Pete laid out the rules.

“The bet ends Saturday, July thirteenth, at one o'clock in the afternoon. Winner takes home the check. Agreed?”

Jenny hesitated. “Thirteen is an unlucky number.”

“Not for me,” said the man by her side.

Jenny locked eyes with the dark-haired stranger. “Even if you were the most charming man on the face of the earth, there's no way I'd ever agree to marry anyone in just five weeks.”

“Sometimes,” Chandler said, arching his brow, “five weeks can seem like a lifetime.”

Jenny knew she wouldn't be able to keep up her bravado much longer. She needed to run away.
Fast.

She turned to leave, but a hand on her shoulder spun her around, and she found herself pressed up against her newly acquired opponent instead.

Her first thought was to reach down and draw out her boot knife, but before she could react, his warm lips brushed across her own.

What perverse, mind-warping insanity led her to think she could stop the bets? Here it was, six years since the last time her name was on the chalkboard, and she hadn't learned her lesson. She was still humiliating herself in front of everyone in this confounded café!

“My money's on Chandler.” Old Levi MacGowan's voice rang out as more gasps and guffaws erupted around them.

Jenny pushed away from the brash newcomer and retaliated with a slap. A hard slap. She caught her breath as the left side of his tanned face turned a glorious dark pink.

Chandler didn't flinch. The hit must have stung like the spines of a devil's club plant, yet it didn't stop him from smiling at her or looking at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

With all the courage she could muster, she held her head high and walked out the door.

Nick stared after her, transfixed by her fleeing image. She wore no makeup. She didn't need to. With her eyes flashing like a dark blue thunderstorm and her auburn hair whipping around the room every time she turned her head, she was a natural beauty. But it was the look of concern flickering across her face after she smacked his cheek that caught his attention. And the uncertainty in her eyes as she walked away.

The ranch hand he'd met earlier that day slapped his back and placed a congratulatory beer in his hands. “Bolder than a bugling bull elk in rut,” said Wayne Freeman, shaking his head. “A little too bold, if you ask me.”

Nick grinned. “Care to bet on that?”

“Not if I want to keep my job.” The sandy-haired man nodded toward the door. “You just butted horns with my boss.”

A
FTER CHECKING INTO
the Pine Hotel, the only one in the flea-sized Northwest town, Nick went to his room and called N.L.C. Industries. He glanced at the clock while listening to his cell phone ring, calculating the time difference between the East and West Coasts. It was after four thirty in New York but his vice president, Rob Murray, would still be there, even on a Saturday.

“Did you meet with the O'Brien woman?” asked Rob, his tone anxious.

Nick rubbed the left side of his face. “Yeah, we just had our first encounter.”

“And?”

“She may take a little more time than I anticipated. Instead of a weekend, I might have to stay out here in Washington a few weeks.”

“Weeks? What if, after all that time, you still can't sweet-talk the land away from her?”

“I might have to do more than sweet-talk. When I got here I learned I'm not the only one interested in getting my hands on her property. Some of the locals are willing to marry her for it.”

“Marriage?” Rob repeated. “You can't be serious.”

“I don't see any other way. If I don't marry her, someone else will. Then we'll never get the land.”

Nick recalled the honest emotion racing across the redheaded beauty's face. Jenny O'Brien was
not
like any of the other fake, flirting, foraging females he'd dealt with most of his life. As far as he could tell, there wasn't anything phony about her, something he found irresistibly refreshing. It also made him feel like a first-rate jerk for having to deceive her.

“Why you?” asked Rob. “Isn't there someone else who can seduce the woman?”

“No one I can trust to get the job done right.”

“Of course,” Rob said, his voice lit with amusement. “So who's going to run the company while you're gone?”

“You are. Think you can handle it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I'll do what I can from here on my laptop, but I might not be able to check in with you every day. And, Rob?”

“Yes?”

“Don't put your feet up on my desk. This is only temporary.”

Rob laughed on the other end of the line. “Got it.”

Next, Nick punched in the number to his younger sister, Billie. Now that he'd gained Miss O'Brien's attention, he needed a way to get close to her. Wayne Freeman had unknowingly given him a pretty good idea how to do it, and he was going to need Billie's help.

 

Chapter Two

J
ENNY LEANED FORWARD
in the saddle as Starfire prepared to jump. Her fingers firm and steady on the reins, she pressed her knees to the horse's sides. Starfire's muscles bunched beneath her and a moment later, they sailed into the air, not as high as they used to, but still clearing the gate by half a foot.

No doubt about it. The best remedy for stress was a good ride. Starfire landed and the wash of emotion that swept over her was similar to the relief she felt when an airplane touched down on the runway. Relief, not because she was afraid of flying but because she was home. On Windy Meadows property. Where everything was familiar. Everything was safe.

Jenny brought the thoroughbred's pace down to a slow trot, and headed straight for the stable.

The long wooden structure housed eighteen stalls, a wash area to bathe the horses, and a wonderful oversized tack room. Besides the multitude of hooks and cabinets full of horse equipment, the tack room was filled with her favorite photos, trinkets, and best-loved treasures.

She could sit in the tack room for hours, leaning against a comfy bale of hay, reading a book or dreaming of her next adventurous trail ride up to Harp Lake. Countless times when she was little, she'd sneak out of her bedroom late at night and sleep here, in this special place, instead of her own bed.

As she slid out of the saddle, the sweet smell of horse and hay soothed her senses like her own personal brand of aromatherapy. Neighs from the other horses blended together to sing her favorite song. Their friendly faces greeted her with warmth and understanding.

Why couldn't the townspeople understand her resolve to keep the ranch? Hadn't they ever loved anything so much it would kill them—rip out their heart and soul—to let it go?

And why did they think marriage was the only solution to her financial dilemma? Maybe they expected her to be like the other young women who either kicked off their cowgirl boots on the way to the city or married the first guy who asked them to dance.

She wouldn't sell Windy Meadows. And she wouldn't hitch herself to a man she didn't love, no matter how good a dance partner.

The audacity of that conceited, dark-haired man to bet he could convince her to marry him. Nick Chandler had no idea who she was or what she liked or didn't like. He didn't know her past, or her present hardship, or her dreams for the future.

And what kind of man kissed a complete stranger? He appeared to be in his early thirties and was dressed like the other ranchers, wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a black Stetson hat. But instead of dirt, sweat, and leather, he smelled like a new shirt straight from a Fifth Avenue store. And when he touched her . . . his hands were smooth. Too smooth to have done much ranch work. Could he be a city slicker out on vacation?

Whoever he was, he'd foolishly bet her ten thousand dollars, and the temptation to acquire some easy money had been too hard for her to resist. All she had to do was avoid the man for the rest of June and the first two weeks of July and the ten thousand would be hers.
Half her bank debt.

Combined with the money she received from the pack trips, she'd be debt free a full month before her end-of-summer deadline. Wouldn't
that
surprise everyone?

Staying beyond Chandler's reach for five weeks would be easy enough. He couldn't pursue her if he never came into contact with her. She'd just stay on the ranch. There was a ton of work that needed to be done, and she couldn't afford to take time off to go into town anyway, even for church.

Jenny sent up a little prayer hoping God would forgive her and make the days fly by faster than usual. Then after she won the bet, Nick Chandler would go back to wherever he came from.

Where
did
he come from?

She'd love nothing better than to stay outside with the horses all day, but duty called, and a stack of bills waited for her in her father's office.

Jenny trudged up the back steps to the house and picked up the first envelope on the dark mahogany desk. Another buyout proposal from N.L.C. Industries. A quick toss into the trash can took care of that one. The next set of bills took more time.

Competition from other countries had caused the value of beef to drop and the change in climate patterns had also taken its toll. Yes, profits were down—way, way down—and she wasn't certain how to cut costs. She'd ridden horses most of her life and dabbled in medicine. She didn't have a degree in business. Why, if her father were still alive . . .

She swallowed hard. If her father
were
still alive, he would be the one struggling to operate Microsoft Excel and balance the ranch's profit-and-loss statement.

Two hours later, Jenny shut off the computer and frowned at the sudden rise of voices below. Someone was talking to her uncle Harry and it didn't sound like any of the ranch hands.

She leaned her head through the open second-story window and spotted a blue Ford pickup parked outside—a rental from the looks of it, because no one she knew could afford a truck with so much shine. The chrome finish could dazzle a blind man.

A thread of panic laced her steps as she hurried downstairs. Had N.L.C. sent another corporate front man to make her an offer in person? After waving a shotgun in the last guy's face, she hadn't expected them to return.

Ready to ambush the intrusive company representative with a verbal assault, she nearly ran straight into the young woman with short caramel-colored hair coming through the back door of her kitchen.

“Who are you?” Jenny asked.

“Billie.”

She stared at the Yankee baseball cap and black Budweiser T-shirt the woman with the small boyish frame was wearing.

And the blue luggage in her hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“No idea.” Billie scowled and pushed past her. “But right now I'm taking my suitcase to my room.”

Did Uncle Harry invite this tomboy character here? And if he did, why didn't she know about it? Shaking her head, Jenny left the kitchen and went outside.

She took three steps across the porch—and locked gazes with the same silver-gray eyes she'd spent most of her sleep-tossed night trying to forget. She froze, her breath caught in her chest.

No. It couldn't be.

The dark-haired man with the black Stetson tipped the edge of his hat in greeting. Her uncle Harry turned and motioned for her to join them.

“Jenny, I'd like you to meet—”

“Chandler.”

Saying his name was like chewing sour huckleberries on an empty stomach. The unpleasantness went way down.

“I've just hired him to be our new ranch manager,” Harry said, sticking the shovel he was holding into the ground.

“What?” She began to feel claustrophobic, like the whole world was closing in on her. Which is an odd feeling when you live on a hundred acres. “But Harry,
you
are the ranch manager.”

“And you need me to accompany you on the pack trips. We need someone to look after the ranch for us, Jenny, and Nick's our man.”

“Th-that man,” she stammered, “bet ten thousand dollars he can get me to marry him.”

Harry turned and leaned on the handle of the shovel. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Nick Chandler informed him, clearly not intimidated by Harry's hard, scrutinizing look.

Jenny stared back and forth between them, breathless, and waited for her uncle to throw him off the ranch. Any minute now . . .
any
second . . .

The corners of Harry's pale blue eyes crinkled, and he let out a hearty chuckle.

“Good luck, son,” he said, extending his hand.

Chandler shook it. “Thank you, sir.”

Jenny gasped, unable to believe her ears, and Chandler shot her a mischievous grin.

“So who is the girl in the house?” she asked, and her voice not only cracked but rose an octave.

“My sister Billie.” Chandler's voice was deep and smooth.

“Billie's going to cook for us,” Harry explained.

“Harry,” she said, and stepped off the porch, “can we talk about this?”

Chandler's gaze followed her. His expression dared her to try to change Harry's mind. She returned his look with one of her own. One that said
Watch me
as she pulled her uncle away.

Harry Fisher, her mother's brother, had come to live at Windy Meadows after his wife's funeral, when Jenny was ten. Her father, who believed Harry possessed an impeccable ability to judge character, put him in charge of hiring the other ranch hands and never once questioned his choice of men. And neither had she. Until
now
.

She couldn't allow Harry to keep this man on the ranch, but she had to be careful not to step on his authority, either. Harry took great pride in his decisions and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

“I didn't know you were planning to hire anyone,” she said, keeping her voice soft so Chandler couldn't hear.

“I wasn't,” Harry admitted. “Nick just showed up. He asked if we needed an extra hand and the more I talked to him, the more I thought about it.”

“But ranch manager?” Jenny asked. “Do you really think he's qualified for that position?”

Harry put a big, burly arm around her shoulders.

“He's more than qualified. He and his sister grew up on their grandfather's ranch in Upstate New York, and Nick used to ride rodeo.”

This isn't working, Jenny thought, and bit her lower lip. She needed to change tactics.

“Harry, you know what a financial mess we're in. How can we afford to hire someone right now?”

“I'm going to give him my salary.”

“But—”

He put up a hand to silence her protests. “What do I need money for? I have a bed to sleep in at night, food in my belly, breath in my lungs.”

“We could use your salary to save the ranch.”

Harry shook his head. “Nick can help us save the ranch. He has a degree in business.”

“A degree doesn't mean he's good.”

“My gut instinct tells me he is.”

“What about his sister?” she demanded.

“Nick says Billie is epileptic and he's responsible for her. He promises she can cook and help out in the stable for free if we let her stay here with him.”

“She's another mouth to feed.”

“Ah, but not a big one.”

Jenny peeked over Harry's shoulder as Nick Chandler and his tiny sister took more luggage out of the truck. Their contrast in size was so great, she wouldn't have believed they were related except for the identical silver-gray eyes.

Harry followed her gaze. “I gave them the two extra bedrooms upstairs.”

“You invited them to sleep in the house?”

“Well, I couldn't have Billie sleep in the bunkhouse with the men. It wouldn't be right.”

“Okay,” Jenny said, and threw up her hands. “Why can't
Chandler
sleep in the bunkhouse?”

“He says he needs to stay close to his sister at night.” Harry shrugged. “Says she has nightmares.”

“Nightmares,” Jenny repeated, and pursed her lips. She didn't believe a word of it.

Billie appeared to be about her own age. Twenty-eight? But the young woman's attire, scowl, and belligerent tone during their encounter on the stairs reminded her of a juvenile delinquent. Tough. With attitude.

“I can't imagine that girl being afraid of
anything
,” Jenny said, shaking her head.

“Why does it matter where they sleep?”

“I don't want that man anywhere near me, that's why.”

“Afraid he might win the bet?” Harry's blue eyes twinkled.

“Of course not.”

“Then there's no problem.”

“Yes, there is,” Jenny said. “I'm sorry Harry, but I insist he goes.”

“And
I insist he stays.
”

“But—“ Jenny stared at her uncle as he planted his boots, drew himself up, and appeared ten feet taller. She swallowed hard, sure she felt her nerves tremble.

“Jenny,” Harry said, using a tone she hadn't heard since she was a child. “I need him.”

Need him?
She hesitated. Her uncle didn't need anybody, but he was keeping something from her. And she was too afraid to ask why.

“Give him a week,” Harry said, his voice firm, “then you can fire him if you want to.”

“One week,” she agreed.

Her uncle smiled and turned back into the man she'd always known and loved. “Thank you, Jenny. It will all work out, you'll see.”

Uncle Harry headed toward the corrals and Jenny wiped her sweaty hands down the sides of her jeans.

One week
.
Then she'd get some answers.

B
ILLIE STRUGGLED TO
haul her other suitcase up the narrow flight of wooden stairs in the big cedar house.

“I thought a ranch was supposed to only have one floor,” she complained.

Nick didn't let her sour mood bother him. In fact, his plan had worked so well, he was springing up the steps.

“This is an old farmhouse,” he said, and took the suitcase from his sister's hands. “Did you see how big the kitchen is?”

“Of course, since that's where I'm supposed to prepare everyone's meals. How could you do this to me? You know I can't cook.”

“Then it's time you learned.”

“I won't do it,” she said, jutting out her jaw.

Sometimes Billie could irritate him to no end.

“How else could I convince them to let you come on to the ranch with me?”

“I don't know. I thought that crazy story about me being epileptic was pretty good,” she said, her hands on her hips. “Nick, we don't belong here. This is never going to work, and now you've wasted ten thousand dollars on a stupid bet—”

“The bet drew Jenny O'Brien's attention.”