The Convenient Cowboy. Heidi Hormel

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СКАЧАТЬ she did have a mothering gene. But that didn’t matter now, because he was stuck. He’d let the lease go on his apartment—his crappy apartment—and he wouldn’t have the funds to pay for her sister’s tuition and the apartment anyway. He also had to pay his attorney. Spence had represented himself before, and it’d been a disaster. The case was too emotional. His attorney had let him slide on his bills before, but that had come to an end last month.

      He knew how to negotiate. He’d drop the argument, change the subject and let her think that she’d won for now, then come back later and work on her. “I got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton at Dove Mountain, outside Tucson. The honeymoon suite.”

      “Excuse me?” she asked in a tone that suggested that she wanted to eviscerate him.

      “I don’t want anyone to think this marriage isn’t real. They might understand that we can’t immediately go on a big honeymoon, but we have to take at least one night. I’ll have the receipts.”

      “Great. You can stay at the hotel. I’ve got animals to see to.”

      “Someone is going out to the ranch to care for the stock tonight, too.”

      “You have a stranger at my place, without my permission?”

      “It’s my ranch, too.”

      She made a sound that could have come from an arched-backed, bushy-tailed cat. Once again, his mouth had worked faster than his brain.

      “Do you want me to divorce you before this farce starts? I can do it. Nonconsummation.”

      Any other woman would have been thrilled that he’d taken care of everything. “I apologize,” he said, with little feeling. He felt her glare. “Even you have to admit that it’d look weird if we didn’t have one night to celebrate. We told everybody that we were so in love that we done run off and got married.” He could feel her anger, her annoyance... He wasn’t sure what. Being the good ol’ boy usually relaxed his clients.

      “Cut the crap. You’re not a cowboy.” She paused for a moment, and with a smoother tone asked, “You really think someone is going to ask for receipts?”

      “My ex’s lawyers will. I would, if she was my client.”

      She snorted. “Convenient that you know what a lawyer would do.”

      “The reservations are made.”

      “You got two beds, right?”

      Obviously, she saw the logic of his argument. “I doubt it. It’s the honeymoon suite, but I’ll sleep on the couch.”

      “Damn right, you will,” she said. “We’ve got to stop at the ranch, no matter what. I don’t have anything with me for an overnight stay.”

      “There’s a bag in the back—”

      “You went through my stuff?” she said, her voice rising.

      “I stopped at the drugstore and picked up what I thought you’d need. You’d be amazed what they have.”

      He glanced over and noted her stiff posture, along with the small frown line between her dark brows that made the tilt of her eyes even more catlike.

      “You can order anything you like from room service,” he wheedled, using the voice that he’d perfected while married to Missy, the one that calmed cranky women. He resented having to placate her, but that was where he was if he wanted this balancing act to net him custody of his son.

      “Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “I will do this tonight because it’ll make this marriage—” she spit out the word “—appear real. You pull crap like this again, and I’ll invoke the you-need-me-as-much-as-I-need-you clause.” She stared at him hard before she went on, “I’m an adult woman and expect to be consulted when you make decisions. This is not a dictatorship. I might not have a degree or a fancy address, but I know when I’m being played.”

      “Duly noted,” he said, his grip relaxing just a fraction. How was he going to get through this marriage? The same way he’d made it through the first four years of Calvin’s life, protecting him from his increasingly addicted mother—one day at a time and using every trick he’d learned in the courtroom.

      “Also, make a note to yourself to stay out of my personal life.”

      “It won’t be so bad, darlin’.” He tried his hearty, cajoling voice again. “You know there are people who think I’m plumb charmin’.”

      “Yeah, well, people said the same thing about Hannibal Lecter.”

      Her last words came out as a gulping sound, the kind Calvin made just before he hurled. He turned to her. “You okay?”

      “It’s your crappy cologne. It’s enough to make anyone want to toss her cookies.”

      “Did you eat anything today? Maybe we should stop.”

      “Pull over.”

      “I didn’t mean now.”

      “Pull over, or I’m puking all over your pretty truck. Right now.” She swallowed again, and he saw the sheen of sweat on her forehead. He swerved to the far right, ignoring the horns, skidding onto the gravel. Olympia pushed open the door before the truck came to a full stop and vomited into the dust at the side of the road.

      He got out and raced to her. It might not be a real marriage, but she was a human being. She dry heaved for a moment and moaned in misery. He pulled open the door to the king cab and rooted for a bottle of water.

      “Drink this.”

      “I’ll just throw up again.”

      “Rinse out your mouth.” He didn’t let her refuse. She took a long swig and handed him the bottle. He went back into the cab for paper towels, wet one and put it on her neck. “Do you think it’s the flu or something?”

      She shook her head and leaned over, eyes squeezed shut. “It must have been something I ate.”

      “You didn’t eat anything this morning.”

      “That’s probably it.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m so dizzy. This is the fourth day in a row.”

      “Fourth day?” Spence asked, his quick lawyer’s mind putting together the facts into a new pattern.

      “Yeah,” she said, pursing her lips as a breath gusted out.

      “Oh, Christ.” He sagged a little against the door. No. No way. “When was your last period?”

      “None of your damned business,” she said and then leaned over again, although there was nothing left in her stomach.

      He had to be wrong. It was the flu. It was the dreaded Hantavirus. It was... Dear Lord, three months ago in a Phoenix motel room, there’d been that broken condom.

      “Olympia,” he started, cleared his throat and tried again before all his words dried up. “Could you be pregnant?”

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