Shotgun Vows (14 page)

“Sit down,” she said again. “Everything is ready.”

He took his seat across from the slider that looked out on the balcony. The table was set for two, with the green, woven placemats and matching cloth napkins that Mallory had sent him for a housewarming gift. Juice was poured and the center of the table was filled with jars and bottles that contained syrup, butter, ketchup, Tabasco, salsa.

Mattie brought him a plate piled with hash browns, bacon, eggs, pancakes and wheat toast. Ruefully she inspected the lack of room on the table as she set the food in front of him.

“I found all this in the refrigerator, but I didn't know what you liked. So I put it all out.”

Sort of like she did with everything. Put it out there, and what you see is what you get. He admired that about her. No pretense. No games. Pure honesty.

“Thanks, Mattie. It looks great. Smells even better.”

“This is the moment of truth,” she said, filling a plate for herself. She sat down at a right angle to him. “Now you get to judge whether or not I'm a good cook.”

He found he was hungry. After putting butter and syrup on the flapjacks, he tasted a bite. It melted in his mouth. He sampled some of everything and said, “This tastes good.”

She smiled. “I'm glad.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. Finally Dawson said, “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My mother.” She ate a forkful of eggs. “With all of us kids and Dad to feed, she always needed a hand in the kitchen. I picked it up by osmosis, I guess.”

“I figured you were always out in the north forty with the horses.”

She shrugged. “I did that, too.”

He realized that they hadn't had an opportunity to discuss what she would do after they got married.

“Horses have always been a big part of your life?” he asked.

She nodded as she nibbled on a piece of toast. “For as far back as I can remember. I can't imagine not training horses.”

“You live a long way from the ranch now.”

“Not that far. I worked it out before the wedding yesterday.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “Ethan offered to pick me up. Uncle Ryan said I could use one of the ranch vehicles until we make other arrangements.”

Cowboys.
The thought tightened his gut like wet rawhide drying in the sun. His wife alone with a cowboy. He didn't like the idea of that. Not one single bit.

“I'll drive you to the ranch,” he said.

She stopped nibbling and stared at him. “I have it worked out. It's not your problem.”

“It's no trouble.”

She glanced at the clock on the stove and jumped up. “Can we talk about this tonight?”

Tonight.
The word conjured an image of twisted sheets with Mattie lying in the middle of them. Her hair tangled from his hands. Her mouth swollen from his kisses. Her body satisfied from his loving. Instantly
he was hard and ready. If he was going to keep his distance from her, that was a bad sign.

“I'm not sure what time I'll be home,” he said.

The light in her eyes, so bright only moments before, seemed to flicker and go out. “I've got to change. Ethan will be here any minute.” She hurried from the room.

He stared for a long time at her half-eaten food. “Someday you'll thank me, Mattie.”

As she'd walked down the aisle to him, he'd seen through her bluster to the tender heart beneath. He'd promised to keep her from hurt, even if he was the potential source of that hurt.

M
attie mulled over the events of the last week. They'd settled into a daily routine, except for Thanksgiving Day. Ryan and Lily had invited them to the big family gathering on the ranch. She and Dawson had played newlyweds to the hilt. But as she put the finishing touches on the latest chicken recipe she was trying, she shook her head. She knew she was no closer to getting Dawson into her bed—or rather into his bed with her—than she'd been seven days ago. She'd played Hannah Homemaker long enough and was darn well ready for some payback.

“Gotta rattle his cage,” she said to herself. “And I think I know just how to do it.”

That morning she'd asked if there was any way she could have the car. They hadn't discussed getting another vehicle and the ranch truck she'd been using needed an overhaul. He'd arranged to ride to the office with his friend Zane. He and his wife Gwen also had a house in Kingston Estates, not far from Dawson's.

Mattie had done her wifely errands: a stop at the cleaner's to drop off his suits, at the grocery store. So much for the way to a man's heart being through his stomach. Apparently she needed to find the detour to Dawson's ticker. All week she'd been cooking semi-gourmet meals, but although he had nothing but praise
for the results, he hadn't invited himself back into his own bed beside her.

She knew if their marriage stood a ghost of a chance for success, that had to happen. She'd also thought about doing the inviting, but was afraid her fragile ego couldn't handle a rejection. So on to Plan B: a
romantic
dinner.

Her purchases had included a bouquet of flowers for the table, along with scented candles. And a new outfit. That part had taken the longest. She'd found her way into Dawson's arms the first time with the help of a dynamite dress. This outfit had to be just right. Subtle, but sexy. Attention-getting, but seductive. Figure-flattering, but not too obvious.

She glanced at the sliding glass doors that acted as a mirror against the dark night outside. She'd chosen a white lounging outfit from a well-known lingerie store. The pants tied at the waist, were loose at the hip, but tapered to a crew band at the ankle. The matching short top had a scooped neckline to accentuate her breasts and show just a hint of cleavage, yet it skimmed her waist, flashing her midriff when she moved a certain way.

“I hope this does the trick,” she said to herself.

She walked into the family room and surveyed the small table she'd set up in front of the fireplace. “Tablecloth, check. Flowers, check. Crystal wineglasses, check.”

She took a long wooden match from the slender box beside the hearth and lit the gas fireplace. A cheerful blaze instantly ignited.

In the kitchen, she sprinkled cheese on the chicken dish, the final touch before sticking it in the oven. The question was how long to bake it. She glanced at the
clock and noted that it was five-thirty. Dawson had been walking in the door from work earlier and earlier every day. She hadn't a clue how to judge cooking time to coordinate with his arrival. She put the dish in the oven and hoped for the best. She'd done everything humanly possible to create a romantic atmosphere. There was nothing more she could do, short of greeting her husband at the door wearing nothing but a smile.

The thought made her chuckle. She could probably manage the nerve to do that, but hoped it wouldn't be necessary. It would be so much more satisfying if Dawson undressed her. The thought sent shivers over her flesh.

An outside sound drifted to her, like a car door closing. She was still adjusting to the different noises of a new house in the suburbs, and wasn't certain. Then she heard the front door open and close.

“Dawson?”

“Yeah.” He walked into the kitchen.

Mattie looked at him, white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, tie at half-staff, suit coat slung over his arm, briefcase in hand. Her insides quivered and the blood raced through her veins. Who'd have guessed that a rumpled executive instead of a Texas cowboy would tug at her heart this way?

She moved around the center island work area to where he stood on the other side. His eyes darkened, and he started to lean toward her. A hi-honey-I'm-home kiss? Lord, she hoped so. She would make it a welcome-back-at-the-end-of-a-long-day kiss that he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

But he seemed to catch himself, and he straightened. He turned away and set his briefcase down.

“How was your day?” she asked. Isn't that what a wife said when her husband arrived home after work? Even if she didn't get a kiss? Sheer force of will kept her voice cheerful and her disappointment at bay.

He nodded. “Good. Profits are up in all areas of the business. We're considering an expansion in the real estate market. All in all, I'd say things are going well.” Sniffing, he said, “I don't smell anything cooking.”

That was a good sign, wasn't it? The fact that he expected food when he arrived home from work?

“You should soon. I just put dinner in the oven. I wasn't sure when you'd be home.”

“I guess I should have called.” He looked at the empty kitchen table. “I'll put out plates and utensils, if you want.”

“I've already done it.”

“I guess we're using the invisible china and flat-ware tonight?” He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

She laughed. “No. It's in the family room.”

He turned to look, and she saw his shoulders tense when he spotted the candle-and-flower-bedecked table in front of the fireplace and the brightly burning blaze.

“Oh, I forgot something,” she said.

“You could have fooled me,” he answered, an edge to his voice.

She walked over to one of the cupboards and opened it, looking up for what she wanted. She could have sworn there was an ice bucket in there. She planned to keep the wine bottle chilled on the table. On the top shelf, she spotted what she was looking for, and lifted her arms in an attempt to get it down.

“Let me do that,” Dawson said, his tone annoyed, and just this side of abrasive.

“I can get it,” she said, reaching higher. She felt the hem of her top brush the undersides of her breasts.

“Don't,” he said. He moved behind her and put his hands on her arms, lowering them to her sides. Then he gently but firmly moved her aside. “You'll strain yourself. I'll get it.”

He easily lifted down the ice bucket.

“Thanks,” she said, then pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He shook his head and a muscle tightened in his jaw. “Actually, I just remembered that there's some work at the office I need to finish.” His voice sounded strangled. “Zane was in a hurry to get home to Gwen, and I completely forgot about some figures—” his gaze lowered to her midriff, then went lower to her ankles “—I mean numbers. I have some numbers to work up. Very important,” he mumbled as he picked up his briefcase and headed to the lower level of the house where the garage was located. “I just came home for the car. Don't hold dinner. I'm not sure how long this is going to take.”

She heard him exit the house, then the car door slam. The automatic garage door went up, then down again after he backed out. Then she heard the sound of a car leaving the drive.

Mattie pulled her casserole from the oven and disgustedly tossed the pot holders on the ceramic tile countertop. “You're not the only chicken who lives here,” she said, hearing the catch in her voice.

Feeling like a rejected sixteen-year-old again, Mattie walked over to her romantic table and turned over Dawson's plate. “It takes a special kind of stupid to
turn down what I'm offering,” she said to the empty room.

Then she brushed the single tear from her cheek as she turned off the fire in the hearth. If only the fire inside her could be snuffed out as easily.

 

“So you want to tell me what happened?” Mallory Prescott Fortune asked.

Standing beside his sister on the balcony outside his kitchen, Dawson studied her. He sometimes forgot how beautiful she was. Only three inches shorter than his own five foot eleven, she was tall and slender. Her hazel eyes were the same shade as his own, as was her long brown sun-streaked hair. She and her new husband Reed had joined he and Mattie for a goodbye dinner before heading back to Australia. Reed planned to modernize his family's horse operation patterning it after techniques he'd been observing on the Double Crown Ranch. Mallory wanted to use her degree in interior design. While he talked to his sister, Mattie and Reed were in the family room sharing horse stories.

“What happened?” he said, repeating her question. “Nothing happened.”

That was a bald-faced lie. Since he didn't know how long it would be before he saw his sister again, he didn't want to spoil this visit with anything as disturbing as the truth. Because the truth was that
everything
had happened—all of it bad. His whole life had turned upside down, and he deserved every moment of hell he was going through.

Hellish experience number 1—putting Mattie in a separate bedroom when he wanted her so much that he ached from it. Hellish experience number 2—shar
ing a wonderful breakfast with her, only to learn that she was going to spend the day with the cowboys on the Double Crown. Jealousy had licked at him until she'd met him at the door that night. She'd made a great dinner and had done the same every night since…setting him up for hellish experience number 3—having to save her from him by turning his back on the romantic evening she'd created. Every nerve in his body had urged him to scoop her into his arms, carry her off to bed and make love to her all night long.

He wasn't sure how long he could share living space with her before making love to her again. If he didn't care about her so much, it wouldn't be a problem. But the last thing he wanted was to hurt her any more than he already had.

“Sell it to someone who's buying, Dawson.” Mallory shook her head in disgust. “This is me you're talking to. Something happened all right. Your wedding to Mattie had all the earmarks of a shotgun wedding. I could practically see the imprint of a double-barrel on the back of your tux. How did you and Mattie wind up married?”

He sighed. “Have you ever analyzed the power of guilt?”

“No. But I think I see where you're headed. Do you want to tell it like it is, or should I just use my overactive imagination?”

“I seduced Mattie. She was a virgin. If that isn't bad enough, her brother Griff found us.”

“Oh, Lord.” Mallory shook her head sympathetically. Then she made a great show of checking him over from head to toe. “No broken bones. I don't recall any black eyes or bruises to spoil the wedding
photos. How did Griff convince you to marry Mattie?” She snapped her fingers. “Shotgun.”

He laughed. “If he has one, I never saw it.” Dawson rested his elbows on the railing and looked out over the pool, the cement deck and the grass area beyond. “He brought the subject up, but not before I'd come to the same conclusion. Marrying her was the only thing to do. It's my fault that we're in this mess.”

“First of all, I think you need to cut yourself some slack on the seduction issue. Mattie is a tomboy with the heart of a temptress.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked, not sure whether or not he needed to defend his wife's honor. But the vision of candles, flowers, fireplace and Mattie in an outfit that left him hard and aching flashed through his mind. Definitely a temptress.

“She grew up with five brothers on a ranch. Then she gets a haircut and a makeup lesson, and turns into a raving beauty ready to take that new look out for a spin and see what it can do. What it did was speed up your libido from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. Bottom line, Dawson—it takes two to tango.”

“That's a cliché.”

“Because it's true. You are not the only one to blame for this.”

“That's what Mattie said as she turned down my first two marriage proposals.”

Mallory smiled as she nodded approvingly. “I knew I liked her. How did you get her to accept?”

“Actually, Griff did, by invoking the words that strike terror into any kid's heart—what will Mom and Dad say? But if I'd had more self-control, we wouldn't be in this situation.”

“Mattie Fortune—Prescott,” she amended, “doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who can be forced to do something she doesn't want to do. Case in point, her wedding ensemble.”

Dawson grinned. “She was really something, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and like I said, she has the heart of a temptress. I'd lay odds that her heart is set on you.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Dawson scoffed. “What would she see in me? I'm just like Dad.”

“That makes you a Prescott,” Mallory said with a smile. “And you have all of the best Prescott qualities.”

“You're biased,” he said, returning her smile.

“True. But that's not the point,” his sister answered.

“Then what is?”

“You only get one shot at the great love of your life. I think Mattie is yours.”

“And why's that?” he asked.

“Because no one can force us Prescotts to do anything we don't want to do. For example, I ran out on my wedding to the man my parents chose because I knew in my heart he wasn't ‘the one.' When I met Reed, sparks flew. The same thing happened to you when you met Mattie.”

He laughed. “We wanted to strangle each other.”

“So did Reed and I. But he was the right one. In a nutshell—don't blow it, bro. You'll regret it.”

When she finished her heartfelt speech, Dawson leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“For being such a romantic.”

“And smart, too,” she said, giving him a hug. “Think about it.”

“Will do.”