Courtship, Montana Style. Charlotte Maclay
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what she wanted for her daughter’s future and her own. Help her find the strength she needed to stand up to her family.
Walker was the only fly in the ointment. He was simply too unsettling for a woman’s peace of mind.
She walked into the living room that was still strewn with baby equipment—Suzanne’s car seat, a receiving blanket, the diaper bag—all of which she’d have to take upstairs. She started to gather them up.
“Speed tells me there’s a wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”
Her head snapped up. Damn! She’d forgotten all about the dress.
“Is that a problem?” she asked, faking a bland expression.
“Not unless a groom shows up here toting a shotgun.”
“That’s not likely to happen on my account.”
“Why? Because there isn’t a groom? Or he doesn’t know where you are?”
Heat crept up her neck. Despite the current situation, she wasn’t used to lying. It made her ill to her stomach. The pork chop she’d eaten for dinner did a roll in her midsection and threatened to do worse if she didn’t come clean. Which she didn’t dare. “What makes you think it’s my gown?”
He eyed her skeptically. “Is it?”
“I was taking it to the cleaners’ for my sister,” she blurted out.
“Try again, Miss Thomas. People who are telling the truth don’t blush.”
The heat on her cheeks grew even more intense. “People who are being grilled by a great big lummox of a cowboy might do a lot of blushing.”
He lifted his dark brows, etching his forehead with a double row of creases.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. Wherever had her manners flown? Ever since she’d been able to walk and talk, her parents had drilled politeness into her head. Doing what was expected of her. Behaving properly. In the past three days she’d forgotten every lesson they’d taught her. Or more to the point, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, she’d finally decided to rebel against everything she’d ever known. To take charge of her own life—for Suzanne’s sake as well as her own.
His lips quirked ever so slightly. “No insult taken. What I’m after is the truth.”
Which was exactly what she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She didn’t trust him enough for that. “If you’d like, you could call the Merry Maids corporate office to check my references.”
“No one’s likely to be around the office at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Purposefully he walked over to the big native-rock fireplace, picked up the poker and jabbed at a charred log left over from the last fire. “I’d like to know what’s going on now so I don’t have to start making phone calls on Monday morning.”
At least he wasn’t threatening to call the police. So far.
Bending over, she scooped up Suzanne’s blanket and stuffed it in the diaper bag, frantically trying to come up with a story Walker would buy. It’s not like she had a whole lot of experience lying, a serious omission in her liberal-arts education, she now realized.
“Have you ever heard of the witness-protection program?” she ventured.
He stared at her with narrowed eyes but he didn’t immediately dismiss her latest ruse. “Are you saying you witnessed a crime and are hiding out from the criminals?”
Perhaps with enough practice, she’d get prevarication down to a credible art form. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.” And she really, truly didn’t want to risk her family finding her just yet.
It was bad enough her hasty departure might place her family’s ambition to see her brother Robert successfully launched in a political career in jeopardy without Vernon’s support. She didn’t want to deal with her guilt on that subject.
Sliding the poker back into its holder, Walker closed the fireplace screen and considered Lizzie’s latest story. Assuming she really was from Nevada as her license plates suggested, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d come across a criminal element. Hadn’t he heard about the mafia taking over Las Vegas? But he’d thought the state had cleaned up its act. Not that he paid much attention to any news that didn’t involve the weather or the price of beef.
Maybe she had witnessed a crime. Or maybe she’d been scheduled to marry some mafia hit man and had run away at the last minute with her gown in the trunk.
But the way she still couldn’t meet his gaze told him she’d lied to him again.
He walked over to the couch and picked up a cloth diaper she’d used for a spit-up rag, handing it to her.
“Have you broken the law?”
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Nothing like that.”
For the first time, he believed her. Her response had been too quick, too insistent, to be a lie. He exhaled, surprised by the sense of relief he experienced.
“How ’bout Susie-Q? Is she really your baby?”
“Oh, my God! Did you think—of course she’s my baby!”
He nodded. “I don’t doubt it. She’s got your smile.”
“Don’t you like babies?”
“I like ’em fine, I guess. But it seems to me, being a housekeeper and taking care of your baby at the same time wouldn’t be easy.” With each of her answers, he had new questions.
“I’m sure a lot of stay-at-home moms would agree with you.”
“How about Susie’s father?”
“He…he died.” Her throat worked as though she were trying to tamp down her emotions. “About a year ago.”
“I’m sorry. But are you telling me you’ve been driving around for a year with your wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”
“No. I was going to marry someone else. It was a mistake and I…”
“You’re not really a housekeeper, are you?”
She shook her head. “Not really. But I can learn, I’m sure of it.” As though his interrogation had been too tiring, she sat down at the end of the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes in a gesture of defeat. “Are you going to send us away?”
A part of him knew that’s exactly what he ought to do. If she really was in the witness protection system—which he didn’t believe—the government should have been responsible for putting her in a safe place.
But whatever was happening, she was in some sort of trouble. A woman didn’t run away with her baby on a whim, bridal gown or not. From what he’d seen of her, Lizzie was a good, loving mother. He gave her points for that.
But the fact that a groom had been left at the altar was troubling to say the least.
Even so, the irrational part of his brain argued that she should stay on the Double O for reasons that had nothing to do with the wedding gown, a groom or her baby—or any real or imagined witness-protection program—but simply because he wanted her here. Wanted the sultry scent of her to linger in a room after she left. Wanted to see the quick flash of her smile, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Wanted to hope she wouldn’t always be sleeping in the bed across the hall.
Damn it, he was getting ahead of himself. Sure, he lusted after her. She was a beautiful woman. But the truth of the matter was she and that little baby brought out his protective instincts. He couldn’t turn away a person in trouble or in need. He had an idea she was both.
In frustration, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “You and Susie-Q can stay for now. But