The Rancher's Surprise Marriage. Susan Crosby
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as he went. “Look this way, Miss McShane!”
“Maybe I should get you out of here,” Tony said, intending to take her out the back way.
Her fingers dug into his arms. “No,” she said, almost a whisper, then louder, “no.”
He tried to be her barricade again but the photographer was moving fast to get them in his frame, bypassing the men going after him.
“I’ll do whatever you want, but you have to tell me,” he said, more than a little curious at her wild-eyed look, like she was about to go over the edge.
“Kiss me,” she said, harsh and low.
“What?” He couldn’t have heard her right.
“Kiss me. Let’s give them something to talk about.”
“Them who?”
“Everyone. The vultures. I’m so sick of it all. So sick of always doing the right thing. Please.”
Hell, he was only a man. How could he pass up an opportunity like that?
So he kissed her, a bare brush of lips, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, having seen in her eyes it was the wrong thing to do, for the wrong reasons. But reason flew out the window when his lips touched hers. He pulled her closer, looked deeper, and kissed her the way he’d wanted to since first laying eyes on her.
He heard her friends grapple with the photographer, then the door open and close. And then everything went quiet. No music. No conversation. No pool balls.
She put her hand to her mouth. “Get me out of here. Please,” she whispered, panic in her voice. She must have finally realized her mistake.
Tony didn’t ask questions, but pushed her ahead of him, scooping up his hat on the way. When they reached the back parking lot, he urged her toward his truck.
“I have a car,” she said, pointing. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you going back to your hotel?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, do you know your way around?”
“I can stop for directions…”
Even as she said it, he saw her realize she probably couldn’t do that, either. It must be hell sometimes, being famous. He took over, taking her keys from her, maneuvering his big body into the driver’s seat, motioning to her to get in, his knees hitting the steering wheel, even with the seat all the way back. “You can trust me. I’ll take you where you want to go.”
“How will you get back to get your truck?” she asked after she slammed the passenger door shut.
“Walk. Hitch. Hell, that’s the least of it, don’t you think?” He revved the engine and took off, heading nowhere in particular. “Who do you think that was with the camera?”
“Who knows? Someone trying to make a fast buck. Lots of people have professional cameras these days. Maybe one of those women had called someone.”
So, he hadn’t been her hero, after all, hadn’t noticed anyone making a call, alerting someone to come and take shots—if that’s what had happened.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, looking straight out the windshield.
“What? Kissed me on purpose for the camera?”
“I don’t do things like that.”
He knew that much about her, too, even without really knowing her. Was more than a little curious himself, but she didn’t elaborate. After a few blocks with no one following, he said, “Where to?”
Her hands were clenched in her lap.
“Where’re you staying?” he asked.
“I don’t want to go there.”
“Okay. Then where?”
“Someplace quiet.”
“Not sure there are too many places where you wouldn’t be recognized. And I don’t have connections for private rooms and such at restaurants.” He pretty much kept to himself, but he didn’t tell her that. She might think he was dangerous or something.
“There,” she said, pointing.
All he saw was the Red Rock Motor Inn. “The motel?”
She nodded.
“Look, I—”
“I’m not propositioning you,” she interrupted. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d check in, then I’ll use the room. I don’t want to go back to my hotel yet. I still have some thinking to do. Would they know you here?”
He pulled into the parking lot. “By name. Some folks, anyway.”
“If you pay cash, could you use an alias?”
“Don’t see why not.”
She reached into her pocket.
“I’ll get it,” he said and opened the car door before she could protest. The woman fascinated him. What was the big deal she needed to think about? Why had she intentionally kissed him for a photographer? She had a squeaky-clean image, yet was defying it now.
He registered, climbed back into the car and drove around to the back side of the complex, parking by the assigned room. “You’re registered as John Wayne,” he said, slanting her a look.
She laughed, a little shaky, but still a laugh. “Thanks.”
He walked her to the door, unlocked it, found the light switch. “Not what you’re used to,” he said as she walked past him.
“It’ll do.” She held out her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out. I feel horrible that you have to find your way back to your truck.”
He put the car key and room key in her hand, his fingers brushing her skin, cold to the touch now. He could’ve left her without too much problem, knowing she’d be on his ranch the next day. But the fact was, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d taken the room next to hers for the night. “Couldn’t let the Duke down, could I?”
She smiled. “The Code of the West is alive and well.”
“And we’re proud to say so.” He tipped his hat. “Good night, then, Miss McShane.” He got about six steps away when she called his name.
“It’s Maggie,” she said. “Call me Maggie.”
“Your given name Margaret?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Would you…like to come in for a bit?” she asked.
He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to go inside, but because he wondered what she wanted. Someone to listen? Someone to watch TV with? She didn’t strike him as a person who spent a lot of time by herself. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it. Maybe she was scared to be alone.
And maybe he was just too tempted by her. His body still hummed from the dance and the kiss.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said finally. He waited until she shut the door then went to the next room, opening the door quietly, creeping in. He didn’t turn on the television, didn’t make a sound, just propped himself against some pillows on the bed and read the brochures from the desktop.
The walls were thin. He heard her television come on, then go off again shortly. He heard her move around the room. Television on again. Off. She must not have bothered taking off her boots because he could hear her pace. Finally a new sound—crying. Then she told herself to stop it, and she did. No more sobs.
Vulnerable. He wouldn’t have put that word to her if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
She paced again. And the crying