The Bull Rider's Twins (10 page)

Darla called Judah that night and told him she was rescinding her offer of a marriage of convenience.

“Good,” Judah said. “I'll be right over.”

He hung up. Darla stared at the phone for a moment before racing to brush her hair. She should have anticipated him jumping the gun! She'd meant to tell him that she'd decided that they should wait to get married until after the children were born, when they'd had time to get to know each other better—and naturally, he'd drawn the conclusion he preferred.

Which was pretty much how it always was with Judah.

When she opened the door to him, she redoubled her vow to stick to the plan: no-nonsense laying out of the rules. It wouldn't be easy with him looking like a dark renegade cowboy ready to ravish her at any moment. She hadn't changed out of the comfy, dark gray sweat bottoms and pink polka-dotted halter maternity top, and still he looked at her as if she were edible.

“Tonight we lay everything on the table,” Darla said.

“I'm all about tables,” Judah said, “and I'm glad you're loosening up a bit. Let me show you what tables are best for, love.”

And then to her shock, and beyond her wildest imaginings, Judah made love to her on the beautiful antique dining table where she usually laid out holiday dinners. “I'm afraid I'm
too heavy for you,” she whispered as he carefully placed her over him. He said, “No, baby. You're just right.” And it was completely all right.

She felt like a million dollars as she collapsed with delicious shivers in Judah's arms.

“N
O MORE OF THAT
,” Darla said, after the storm of lovemaking had abated. “We have to talk.” She picked up her panties from the floor, collected her sweatpants from a chair and her halter top from the fruit bowl. Her sweats had been far too easy for Judah to take off—
she'd
been too easy. Far too much so.

He grinned. “I know talking is important, but I've always preferred action. I speak better with my hands.”

She backed away from his dark appeal. “It doesn't surprise me that you would say that.”

“Anyway,” he said, “I can't really talk on an empty stomach. Can what you have to say wait until we eat?”

“Eat? At eight o'clock at night?”

He grinned. “Yeah. If this is a girlie chat, you really want me to have a full stomach.”

“Girlie chat?” Outraged, she said, “First, just because you're near a table, Judah, doesn't mean all your needs have to be satisfied. Second—”

He kissed her to interrupt her, and pulled her close as he leaned back against the table. “Now, listen, missus, when you
are
my missus, I'll expect you in nothing but an apron, until my children are old enough to know that their mom is a dedicated nudie. Once the kiddos are off to college, you can return to cooking for me in the buff.” Kissing her neck, he massaged her bottom, holding her tightly against him. “Questions?”

When she tried to open her mouth to give him the scolding of his life, he kissed her until she was breathless. He sighed,
enjoying her quivering with rage. “Your limo driver will be here in about ten minutes. My guess is you'll want to change.”

Darla's ire was drowned out by curiosity. “Limo driver?”

Judah released her, waving a negligent hand. “Or coachman. Whatever you romantic gals prefer to call them. I think they were called coachmen in the fairy tale, but they were mice first, and I thought ladies didn't like rodents and things. However, we will be attended by a first-rate rodent tonight.”

Darla stared at Judah, wondering what kind of loose cannon had fathered her children. “What in the world are you talking about?”

The doorbell rang, and Judah bowed. “Better get your gown on, Cinderella. It's time for the ball.”

“Ball?”

“Our date.” Judah grinned. “Every woman wants to be swept off her little glass slippers, doesn't she? Though again, you'll have to forgive the rodent who's driving us.” He flung open her front door. “She's not quite ready, bro,” he said to Rafe, who walked in wearing some kind of chauffeur's uniform, or maybe a pilot's. Darla wondered what was going on. Rafe had proposed to her in sort of a bee-in-Judah's-eye way not twenty-four hours ago—why was he here now?

“Women are slow to get ready,” Judah told Rafe. “And this one wanted to talk first,” he said in a loud whisper to his brother.

Darla's gaze jumped to Judah, assessing whether he was trying hard to be a jackass, or if it just came naturally.

She decided it was the most natural thing in the world to him.

Rafe tipped his hat. “Can you hurry it up a bit, Darla? You look lovely the way you are, but I booked a flight plan, and there's a certain window of opportunity I should probably follow.”

“Shh,” Judah said, “don't give her too many details. She
argues when she has detail overload.” He went over and kissed Darla. “Hurry, darling, the rodent gets nervous around midnight. He has a phobia about leaving on time.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Judah had claimed she liked to argue, so she really had no choice except to go into her room to examine her options.

There weren't many, she decided, as she tossed off the sweats and took a quick rinse. She wanted to talk, and Judah had left the door open for that. All he wanted to do was eat, he claimed, and though she had some organic veggies in the fridge, she sensed that wasn't what he had in mind. She slipped into a casual dress and tied her blonde hair up in a ponytail. Maybe this was his boneheaded way of being romantic. Judah probably didn't understand that a man didn't barge into a woman's house, ravish her on the dining room table and then announce he wanted to eat.

Yet it sounded romantic, as if Judah had put some thought into whatever his plan was. She slipped on some high heels—it would help her look him almost in the eye when she told him
no
the next time he tried to undress her. Had Rafe said something about a flight plan?

She went back into the den.

“Five minutes flat,” Rafe said to Judah. “Dude, you can't do better than a girl who can beautify in five minutes.”

Judah's gaze went from Darla's face to her dress, then slowly made its way up again. He grinned at her, and Darla knew instinctively he was thinking
dessert.

She blushed. Or maybe
she'd
thought it.

“Come on,” Rafe said, laughing. “There's so much electricity in this room there's going to be a fire.”

Judah opened the door for her, and they left. She went to the Callahan family van, which was apparently serving as the limo tonight.

As soon as Rafe opened the door for her and Judah, she heard giggles and squeals.

“We're going to Chicago!” Sabrina exclaimed, and Darla saw that Jonas was in the back with her. “This is my sister, Seton,” Sabrina said. “Seton, this is Darla Cameron, who is engaged to Judah.” Sabrina smiled as Rafe took his place behind the wheel, next to her, completely missing the uncomfortable look on Darla's face. Judah slipped in next to Darla and whispered, “Are you okay with this?”

“Almost,” she said. “Let me get over the shock.”

He squeezed her shoulders gently. “I thought you might enjoy something fun.”

No one else could hear Judah over the light jazz music softly playing and the excited chatter in the van, but Darla noted the kindness in his tone and realized he'd been acting like a rascal in her house just to bait her, knowing he had a romantic evening all planned, which delighted her. Dessert in Chicago would be so much fun.

And it was so much better than talking.

In fact, just about everything Judah wanted to do was better than talking. She sent a sidelong glance his way, enjoying him laughing as the girls teased him, and Rafe and Jonas ribbed him about being a worse date than he was a bull rider. And before long Darla felt herself falling for her man of action.

She'd fallen, she realized, completely under his spell.

It was too late to do anything but enjoy the ride.

“Y
OU SHOULDN'T HAVE LET
her get away from you like that,” Bode Jenkins said, over a gin and tonic that same evening. Sidney Tunstall shrugged his shoulders, not certain what difference it made to one of the wealthiest ranchers in these parts whether he got married or not.

It made a huge difference to Bode. He intended to make
certain the nuptials of Darla and Judah never happened. If there was one way to thwart Fiona—and he knew all about her little plan to grow her own zip code—it was to derail this wedding. “Your inheritance is all tied up in you getting married, and as the executor of your grandfather's estate, I have to make certain everything is proper.” He gave Sidney a pensive look. “Who are you going to marry, since you've let Darla get away?”

Sidney shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You have only another month before it all goes to charity.” Bode shook his head. “It sure would be a shame to lose out on a couple million bucks.”

Sidney shrugged again, not happy about the situation, but not fighting it, either. “That's just pocket change to some people, I guess. I lived without it before, and I can keep living without it.”

Bode slammed a palm down on the mahogany table, one of the few nice furnishings he'd bothered to splurge on for his home. Julie had insisted on it. Lately, she'd been decorating a lot, despite his propensity to groan over the money spent. “You younger generation don't know what money is. I wouldn't let a penny get away from me, much less two million.” Bode considered the man across from him. “You don't throw away a fortune, son.”

“Under the parameters it was left to me, I can.” Sidney straightened. “There's nothing wrong with waiting until I find the woman I love, Mr. Jenkins. And in a world where people now live to be a hundred, being a thirty-five-year-old bachelor isn't an emergency.”

“Well, your grandfather thought you were dragging your feet. That's all I know.” Bode shrugged, wondering how he could get the good doc to get off the dime and grab Darla away from that wild-eyed Callahan. Fiona's nephew had just stormed in there and thrown Sidney off the train, and appar
ently put stars of romance in Darla Cameron's eyes. He'd heard all about that from her mother, Mavis, who was the silliest, most cotton-headed woman he'd ever met. It was all love-this, and love-that, and Bode'd had it to the back teeth with all the Callahans and their ability to get everything they wanted. “If you liked Darla, why'd you surrender your ground, son?”

“Because I liked her,” Sidney said, “I didn't love her. And she didn't love me.”

“I see,” Bode said thoughtfully. “You were going to take the money and run.”

“No,” Sidney said, showing a flash of temper, “I was going to take the money that was left to me, and be a husband to Darla and a father to her children. That's what the plan was.”

“And you were never going to divorce?”

Sidney looked at him. “I suppose no one could ever say never, but I don't know why anybody would want to give up Darla. She's a nice lady.”

Bode blinked, lit a cigar. “I do not understand your lack of competitiveness.”

“I don't understand your thirst for it, so we're square.” Sidney looked at Bode. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jenkins? I should probably be out looking for another wife, don't you think?” He said it sarcastically, and Bode caught that, but what he also caught was the
angle.

“It will be hard to get another so quickly,” Bode said, “one who has so much going for her. A man can find a woman anywhere, they're like fleas on a dog. But a good woman is tougher to find.”

“Not exactly, Mr. Jenkins,” Sidney said, getting his gentleman's ire up, which was just what Bode was hoping for. “They're nothing like fleas on a dog.”

“Now, now, what I meant was that they are numerous, but not necessarily quality.”

“I don't know what you meant, but it sounded pretty demeaning to me.”

Bode laughed. “I never remarried after I lost my wife, Sidney. I think I know the value of a good woman.”

Sidney looked at him, not appeased.

“Now, take my daughter, Julie—”

Sidney stood. “I'll find my own wife, Mr. Jenkins, if it's all the same to you.”

Bode nodded. “Well, be quick about it. I'm very eager to write this check out to you instead of a charity. To be honest, I don't think much of charities, Sidney. I'm not certain that all that lovely money ever gets to the deserving folks who need it.”

Sidney, white knight that he was, looked outraged. “There are many charities that do necessary, vital work.”

“Yes, and it would be better in your pocket where you could decide on the charities of your choice. I'm not much for charity, as I said.”

Sidney stared at him. “Are you trying to say that you decide where the money goes, if not to me?”

Bode pretended surprise. “Who else would?”

“My grandfather left no directive?”

Bode shook his head. “Nope. He figured you'd want the money badly enough to find your way to an altar, son. So maybe you ought to rethink letting Darla go, since the two of you had this nice little thing worked out.”

Sidney sighed. “Tell me again how my grandfather came to choose you to be the executor of his estate?”

“Business, Sidney. We did business together. You might say we understood each other's world view, to a certain extent. And we went to school together, so we went back a long ways. He knew he could trust me.”

Sidney looked at him a long time. “You're not trying to jump this will, are you, Mr. Jenkins?”

Bode grinned at him. “Sidney, from where you sit, two million dollars is a world of money. You can do a lot of good with it. You can have a nice house, send your kids to college. But for me, now, because I never let a penny go that had my name on it—unless Julie makes me—two million is good money, but it's not going to change my standard of life.”