The Bride Prize

The Bride Prize Susan Fox Corrie Davis has never had a real date. She's been too busy trying to run her ranch single-handedly and thinks she knows more about money (as in not having any!) than men.But now the two sexy Merrick brothers–the richest men in the county–are vying for her attention! Corrie is in an enviable dilemma. Which gorgeous brother should she choose? Her oldest friend–or the man who's always been out of reach: the older, dangerously attractive Nick Merrick? “Which night?” Corrie heard herself asking. She’d never been a coward, but having Nick over for supper would perhaps be the greatest act of courage in her life. “If not tomorrow night,” Nick said, “then the next night. Or the next.” He gave her a smile that slanted a little. “It’s rude to invite myself, but I hope you’ll overlook the bad manners.” Now his smile widened and her heart fluttered wildly. “My, my, Corrie. You look like you think I might be up to no good.” “Are you?” she dared softly. “Up to no good?” “If I am, I’m confident you’ll set me straight.” Susan Fox lives in Des Moines, Iowa. A lifelong fan of Westerns, cowboys and love stories with guaranteed happy endings, she tends to think of romantic heroes in terms of Stetsons and boots. Fans may visit her Web site at www.susanfox.org (http://www.susanfox.org) Books by Susan Fox HARLEQUIN ROMANCE® 3740—THE PRODIGAL WIFE 3764—CONTRACT BRIDE 3777—THE MARRIAGE COMMAND 3788—BRIDE OF CONVENIENCE 3796—A MARRIAGE WORTH WAITING FOR The Bride Prize Susan Fox www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE (#ucdf303d7-9965-57e8-b02b-eed83ef5ae82) CHAPTER TWO (#u23dee02f-2145-5468-95a2-79c538f6c012) CHAPTER THREE (#u632bdc0c-4ffb-54c7-8f1f-59ac68dc2f62) CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE THE land was brutal and big, and her small ranch sat like a postage stamp in the vastness. The work was hard, the hours long. Dirt and sweat and sometimes blood made for a less than aesthetic or antiseptic environment. It wasn’t a safe environment either. The animals were large and even the best-behaved and best-trained could be dangerous on a bad day. Accidents happened, both to the unwary and to the vigilant. Things fouled up and broke down. Trouble could blow in from the west in a fierce storm or slither from beneath a rock. Not the place for a lady, but Corrie Davis had given up on being a lady. There’d been a brief time at eighteen when she’d tried to rise above her plain-Jane, mostly tomboy life; a time when she’d gone out of her way to adapt to things like panty hose and makeup. She’d devoured books on etiquette from the local library, bought more than a few women’s magazines, and she’d spent a whole weekend in San Antonio to buy some extra dressy, extra feminine things. Things which now hung, with tags still attached, in her closet, while the frilly unmentionables from that modest shopping spree languished in a drawer, unworn. The man who’d inspired her brief rush toward femininity had unknowingly crushed the impulse with a few solemn words. You’re bright, Corrie, and you’re sensible. I reckon you’ve figured out by now that you aren’t the girl for my brother. Our daddy has plans for Shane, plans for college, plans for him to take on his share of Merrick business. These next months and years, he’ll be testing his limits, finding his place… Nick Merrick had paused then and given her a level look, his dark gaze impacting hers in a way that had made her heart pound with dread and shame, because she’d already sensed what he’d say next. You won’t fit into that, Corrie. I’d hate to see you break your heart trying. Much as hearing Nick Merrick say those things had hurt, he’d been right. She wouldn’t have fit into his father’s plans for his younger brother’s life. And she certainly wasn’t the woman Shane Merrick should marry. But that was because she’d had no wish to fit into Shane’s life and even fewer intentions of marrying him. Not then, not ever. Corrie would ever be grateful that Nick had never figured out the truth: that he’d been the man she’d been in love with back then, not Shane. It had been Nick she’d hoped to attract with those pretty dresses and prissy manners. Letting her know so straightforwardly that he considered her unsuitable for his brother had seemed to confirm Nick’s personal opinion of her. He might as well have been speaking about himself. And of course, since she’d hardly been the kind of girl men flocked around or tried to date anyway—and still wasn’t—what he’d said seemed to also confirm the dismal knowledge that she might never appeal to a man other than as a friend. In fact it had been her “just one of the boys” appeal that had won Shane’s friendship in the first place. It still amazed her that Nick Merrick had thought there’d been anything more than friendship involved, but the idea that he’d thought either she or Shane had been contemplating marriage had been a shock. Corrie hadn’t recalled that embarrassing conversation for years now. Once she’d got past the hurt, she’d pushed it all behind her and managed to go on as if nothing had happened. Her father had passed away shortly before she’d turned twenty, so she’d had more than enough to fill her days and crowd out any lingering interest in either of the Merrick brothers. Aside from the fact that Merrick Ranch bordered hers, there hadn’t been much cause for social contact, so she’d rarely had to deal with Nick again. Shane had gone off to college, as planned, but he’d left after the first semester to pursue his rodeo dream. So much for the life Nick and their late father had mapped out for him. In truth, Corrie had heard from Shane so infrequently in the past six years that she hardly ever thought about him anymore. Until yesterday when Nick had left a message on her answering machine. Since then, her memories of that time had come drifting back. Nick had obviously taken for granted that she’d had contact with his brother. When you see Shane, would you have him give me a call? The out-of-the-blue message had taken her completely by surprise. She hadn’t planned to call Nick back because the message had led her to believe she’d soon see Shane and would be able to pass on the request. Now it had been over twenty-four hours and there’d been no sign of him. Surely Nick had heard from Shane himself by now, so there was still no reason to phone him unless he’d left a second message asking her to. The walk from the stable to the house seemed particularly long after the tiring morning she’d put in. She was a hot, filthy mess, with grease stains on her hands and beneath her short fingernails, probably some in her hair, a torn sleeve and a layer of dust over the rest of her. Visual proof of a frustrating tinker with a windmill and a bruising fall from the colt she’d been working. Both had been extra chores she wished now she’d put off until she’d been less distracted. After a quick shower and change of clothes, she’d get a cold lunch then make a pass at paperwork and take care of a few things around the house. Safe enough pursuits while she tried again to banish the Merrick brothers from her mind and put the past back in the past, where it belonged. As she walked along, she was inspecting the torn shirtsleeve and debating whether to sew it or cut it off, when a laughing male voice drew her gaze to the back porch. “What’s the other guy look like?” Shane Merrick was sitting on the porch rail, handsome as ever, dressed in an outlaw black Stetson and a jewel blue, pearl snap Western shirt that matched his eyes. His jeans still carried enough color to look reasonably new, and his black boots had a subtle, go-to-town shine, but it was the large gold belt buckle that proclaimed his champion rodeo status that completed the picture. As she took the two steps up onto the porch, Shane eased off the rail and came toward her. The instant she realized he was about to sweep her into a hug, Corrie put up a hand and took a hasty step away. “You’ll get dirty.” “A little dirt won’t hurt.” In that next moment, he caught her against him in a tight hug, startling a self-conscious laugh from her. “Damn, but it’s good to see you, Corrie.” The words were wonderful to hear and the hug far too personal, but she was careful not to take them as anything more than they were. “You’re looking good too, stranger. And you smell downright pretty.” She drew back and grinned up at him as she righted her Stetson. “How’s the champion bronc rider? Going for a third buckle?” Shane smiled down at her and lifted a hand to pluck a wayward lock of dark hair off her cheek that had worked out of her braid. “Took me long enough to get that far. Might as well quit while I’m ahead.” As Corrie pulled farther away, she reached for the door. “How about something cold to drink?” “Sounds good.” She led the way into the house and hung her Stetson on a wall peg before she walked to the sink. “Help yourself to whatever you want. I need to get at least one layer of dirt off.” She rolled up one shirtsleeve then did what she could with what was left of the other before she turned on the faucet and reached for the bar of soap and small hand brush in the dish next to the sink. In seconds, she’d worked up a lather then set about scouring the grease stains from her hands and from beneath her nails. “Name your poison,” Shane called and she glanced over to where he stood in front of the open refrigerator door. “Ice water for me,” she said, then turned back to her task. She heard him close the refrigerator then walk to her side to hold the glass of water within reach. She turned her head a little to smile at him. “Thanks. Just set it down till I get a little cleaner.” “You look good enough to me.” Corrie had been about to look away when he’d said that, but she detected a flash of something new in his blue eyes, something that flustered her. She pulled her gaze away to give her fingernails another going over with the small brush. After a quick rinse she soaped up again and bent over the sink to wash her face before she rinsed and blindly turned off the tap. She put out a wet hand for the towel, but Shane pushed it into her fingers. Once she’d dried her face, she took care of her hands. “Your brother left a message yesterday. Wanted you to call.” She finished with the towel and tossed it aside to reach for the glass as she added, “But I reckon you’ve had time to get home by now though.” “Been home, heard the pitch.” Corrie picked up the glass and had a reviving drink before she turned and briefly leaned back against the counter. Shane still had the pitcher, so she held out her glass for a refill. “The pitch?” she asked after he’d finished pouring. Shane walked to the refrigerator to put the pitcher away. “He’s willing to let me rule and reign with him without a business or agricultural degree.” Corrie studied his face when he turned back to her and saw that his earlier teasing smile had flattened. “It’s a good offer, isn’t it?” Shane made an attempt at a half smile. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that fifty-five/forty-five split. Aside from the fact that Nick has more say, there’s also the fact that I haven’t contributed forty-five percent, so I don’t reckon I deserve equal control. Less trouble to buy a place of my own, be my own boss.” Corrie didn’t comment on that, but she wasn’t surprised. Shane had a strong independent streak. Proof of that had been his frequent clashes with his father and older brother, then after old Jake’s death and just before he’d started college, Shane’s clashes with Nick had multiplied. The fact that Shane had left school to pursue his own plans had been the ultimate declaration. She didn’t agree that Shane wasn’t entitled to his inheritance though. Being born to a Merrick entitled him just as being born to a Davis had entitled her to her inheritance. “Let’s go in and sit down,” she said, then led the way out of the kitchen into the hall. She heard Shane chuckle softly. “Might be a good time to mention that there’s a hand-size grease spot on the right cheek of your britches.” Corrie halted to glance back to see if he was teasing or serious, and of course, his blue gaze danced with amusement. “Truly?” Instead of answering, Shane held up the folded newspaper he must have picked up off the kitchen table on his way past. “You can sit on this.” Corrie walked on into the living room. She waited while he opened the newspaper on the seat of an overstuffed chair before she dropped down on the cushion, grateful for the soft landing, and that she’d managed not to spill her glass of ice water. Shane took a seat on the upholstered footstool that matched the old chair. He nodded toward her glass. “By rights, that water should have slopped all over. You always did have a kind of elegance.” Again Corrie caught a glimpse of…something…in his gaze. And again she tried to ignore it and made a doubtful face. “No more elegance than the nearest gate half off its hinges.” A little of his smile faded. “You still don’t know how to take a compliment. You probably haven’t figured out yet that most of the men in these parts make eyes at you and think naughty thoughts.” The shock of hearing him say that was second only to the flash of shame she felt. Men barely noticed her, and it stung a little to have him call attention to it, even in a backhanded way. She smiled as if it didn’t matter, blew out a half-embarrassed, half-exasperated breath, then reached back to catch her braid and bring it over her shoulder to strip the leather tie from the end. Braided, her dark hair went to just below her shoulder blades. Unbound, her hair fell nearly to her waist. “Maybe I ought to send you to the barn for a shovel before it gets too deep in here,” she told him as she set the glass of water aside to start unraveling her braid. And immediately wished she hadn’t when she caught sight of the solemn expression that dropped over Shane’s tanned face as he watched her fingers work. That odd, fluttery feeling came winging back and she immediately tried to suppress it. “I don’t mean to be rude and bossy,” she said then, “but would you mind picking another place to sit so I can pry off these boots? The seam on my sock hasn’t set right all day.” Shane dealt her another small surprise when instead of obliging, he grinned and reached down for her right boot to lift her foot. The gesture was completely new between them, and she was too caught off guard to do anything but stare as he pulled off her boot and set it down. “I interrupted a stampede to the shower didn’t I?” One side of his handsome mouth quirked up. Corrie was still a little too surprised to realize until after he’d leaned down to reach for her other foot that his arm had effectively trapped her ankle on top of his hard thigh. “You never minded getting dirty,” he remarked, “but once you got to the house you were always in a girlish rush to get cleaned up.” Then he had her other foot up and was stripping off the boot before he settled that foot next to the other on his thigh. The idea of having both her feet in his lap seemed incredibly intimate, which finally goaded her out of her silence. “Is there a reason you’re so friendly with my feet?” she asked as she pulled them back, relieved when he allowed it. “No good reason,” he admitted. “Just wondered how long you’d let me do it. You ever had a foot massage?” “Nope. Don’t want one either.” Corrie felt a little prudish suddenly for taking this so seriously, but something had changed between them. Shane had always treated her as a pal, one of the guys. He was gentler with her of course, but there’d never been even a hint of real man/woman things, or even much acknowledgment that she was female. Yes, there’d been that time when she’d turned her head at the wrong time as he’d been leaning over to whisper something silly to her. His lips had brushed hers, but they’d both jumped back as if they’d been burned. Then they’d laughed like hyenas over it. This wasn’t at all like that one time. Now Shane’s smile leveled a little, but the intent look—that new look—in his eyes sent heat into her face. “You’re still an innocent, aren’t you, Corrie?” His voice dropped lower. “I can’t tell you how rare and special that is out there in that big, wide world.” Corrie gave him a wary look, unsure what to say to that. Or to any of this. That seemed to tickle him. His face brightened and he chuckled as he leaned forward to tug on a lock of her hair before he abruptly stood. “You go get that shower, darlin’. I need to get on down the road, but I’ll call you later. ’Kay?” Darlin’? Corrie’s gaze was all but glued to his and she’d been unable to break contact with it as he’d risen. Her soft and belated, “’Kay,” was part squeak, part whisper, as if she’d somehow lost her voice. She didn’t get up as she watched him turn and stride to the hall then to the front door. Once he was out of sight, her gaze fell and fixed on the footstool. Confusion swamped her, and for the first time in her life, Corrie felt the magnitude of her inexperience. She could talk work or business or politics with just about any man, but she was ignorant about male/female things. She knew about courting and the mechanics of sex, but she had only hazy theories about how those things actually got started in real life. Or, more specifically, in her life. The boys she’d grown up around hadn’t minded working alongside her on roundup or doing ranch work or on projects at school. She was a hard worker and they’d liked that she’d pulled her own weight and that she wasn’t squeamish or timid with the stock. And she’d been a favorite in classroom situations where the teacher wanted boys and girls to work together. Probably because she’d gotten good grades in everything, and the boys hadn’t needed to worry that Corrie Davis would get lovestruck and moon over one of them. But when it had come to school dances and other dating opportunities, they’d passed her up like a mailbox along a highway. Town girls and girls who’d learned how to bat their eyelashes and flirt had gotten the dates. Girls who’d worn makeup and panty hose and short little blouses and skirts that bared midriffs and thighs. Girls who’d seemed to have been born knowing how to use their female powers to wrap boyfriends around their little fingers. Not girls like her, who could rope and ride, arm-wrestle them on a dare, bait a fishhook, and go hunting. It had been the town girls’ example that she’d tried to follow when she’d fallen for Nick Merrick. Some of those girls had been plain, but they’d made over their plainness with eye shadow and other little beauty tricks from magazines. Her mistake had been in thinking Corrie Davis could do the same, with the same happy results. Thinking of all that again reminded her that she’d been feeling more than a little weary of the sameness of her life lately, the solitude. She’d been in town from time to time the past few weeks, and seen a handful of old schoolmates with their husbands and kids. She’d told herself that being twenty-four wasn’t anywhere near old maid status, not at all. But she’d felt a little low for a while. Now Shane Merrick was home and he was…flirting with her? The fact that she’d never had a man flirt with her made her uncertain, though the rare, so rare thrill of the notion excited her. Corrie propped an elbow on the chair arm, not realizing for several moments that she’d pressed her fingers against her mouth. Had Shane been flirting? The numbing sameness of her life had lifted the past few minutes. It’d probably be back again tomorrow, but today… Today the pattern—the rut—had been broken. That low feeling was gone, though she wasn’t sure she trusted the reason. She wasn’t even sure the reason was real, and yet suddenly she had the feeling that for the first time in her plain-Jane, tomboy life, she might actually have a chance for a little romance. To maybe fall in love a little with a man who might fall a little in love with her. Maybe she wasn’t so impossible after all. Maybe love wasn’t so impossible. And if love was possible for Corrie Davis, maybe marriage and kids were also possible. Maybe. At some point. By the time she got her shower, ate lunch and tried to concentrate on paperwork, she was struggling between common sense and the tantalizing notion of possibility. Common sense finally won out, as it always did, and that fine, all too hopeful—and a little giddy—feeling leaked away. CHAPTER TWO IT WAS hard for Nick Merrick to think of Corrie Davis as a femme fatale. He still didn’t understand what his kid brother had seen in her years ago, not when he compared Corrie to the pretty and far more sophisticated girls Shane had preferred in high school. And still preferred, judging by the bevy of buckle bunnies who’d trailed him on the rodeo circuit. Two of those women had already called the ranch and left messages for him. A third had called after Shane had gone over to the Davis Ranch. Nick assumed that’s where Shane had gone, because he’d spiffed up just enough to hint he wanted to make an impression. Most of his other old girlfriends had either married or moved away, so it made sense he’d been on his way to see Corrie. Besides, five minutes after he’d walked in yesterday afternoon, he’d mentioned her. He hadn’t mentioned any of the others. Corrie Davis was the one who’d encouraged him years ago. Nick didn’t know how influential she’d been over Shane during his rodeo years, but her potential to sidetrack his brother again was worth considering. She’d grown up on a small ranch, taken it over after her father’s death and managed to keep it going. But she’d have no idea of the complexities and demands of the massive operation Merrick Ranch was, and even less about other Merrick interests. Shane was rebel enough to still be infatuated with the idea of striking out on his own again, which was why he was bucking the notion of coming back to Merrick Ranch to stay. And of course the fact that Corrie was her own boss would also appeal to Shane. Her example as a reasonably successful small-time rancher would no doubt fuel Shane’s notions of independence in a way that being handed almost half a small empire would not. In truth Nick knew if his situation and Shane’s were reversed, he too might have chafed at the notion of being a second-fiddle owner to an older brother who had final say. Nick himself might have been lured by the notion of finding a way apart from Merrick money to make his mark. But Nick was obliged to their father and generations of Merrick history and tradition to make an effort to bring his brother back into the fold. Family duty wasn’t a take it or leave it proposition, and it was past time for Shane to live up to his share of their obligation. Their daddy had seen Shane’s dream of rodeo glory as a character failing. While Nick had never agreed with that, he’d also felt the pressure of wanting his kid brother to measure up to their daddy’s expectations and prove himself to their old man. Nick still wanted to see that, even if their father was no longer around. Though he didn’t like to face the idea, Nick sometimes felt as if Shane’s refusal to take on his share was an indication that he’d failed to instill the right values in Shane. After all, Shane had been more his responsibility than their daddy’s those last years. Nick already knew that this was his last opportunity to persuade Shane to come home to stay. And if that meant chasing Corrie Davis away again, then it was something he was compelled to do. He’d done it before and she’d been bright enough to comply. Though Shane had gone off the track anyway, at least he hadn’t married her. On the other hand, Shane’s head had been full of rodeo six years ago and maybe Corrie was sensible enough to know she wouldn’t have liked driving all over the country living out of motel rooms. And because her elderly father’s health had been starting to decline, she probably wouldn’t have been comfortable going off with a husband who had rodeo fever. But now that Shane was through with rodeo, the problem Corrie Davis posed had again become an issue. Wondering what Corrie might still feel for his brother was second only to the question of why his brother was so attracted to a female like her. If he could figure that out, he might be able to find a way to make her look less attractive. And without her influence, Shane might come back into line that much sooner. Nick was still thinking about Corrie when he heard Shane come in from the back patio and call out to their housekeeper. The fact that he was home made Nick consider the wisdom of going directly over to the Davis Ranch. If he could do something to dissuade Corrie from taking up with Shane again, it’d be better to do it right away before anything got much of a start. He closed the computer program he’d been using and shut down, then reached for a cell phone before he headed for the kitchen. Shane was gone by the time he got there, so he let himself out the back and walked purposely toward his truck. It took twenty minutes to drive to the Davis Ranch. Time enough to think about what he’d say, but also time enough to realize how dictatorial he’d sound. Though Corrie Davis wasn’t known for a quick temper, she had more than her share of pride. And she’d run her own small place for a little over four years. She wouldn’t look favorably on a ranching neighbor she rarely saw who suddenly showed up to stick his nose into what she’d surely see as her private business. The things she’d let him get away with saying, unchallenged, six years ago might go over badly this time. He wasn’t normally a subtle man, mostly because he was too blunt and focused on efficiency to bother with subtleties. But perhaps subtlety was the only way to handle her this time. Maybe showing up on Corrie’s doorstep would be enough to remind her he was still around, still paying attention, and she’d be prompted to recall how strongly he’d once disapproved of any wedding plans between her and his brother. Maybe she’d sense that he disapproved just as strongly now. If she didn’t, he could be more direct. The drive from the highway to the Davis ranch house was little more than a mile. As he came over the slight rise that managed to block the view of the midsize house and outbuildings from the highway, his gaze homed in on the slim woman who was bent slightly over the flower beds along the east side of the house. He recognized Corrie right away, but what got his attention was that her normally braided hair hung loose like a glossy mantle, and it now dangled like a dark curtain over the blossoms. She straightened briefly to swing that glorious length behind her back, then bent again to empty a metal pail of water near the base of the flowers. She finished and turned to look in his direction about the time he pulled his pickup to a halt in the drive. If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it. Of course, she had to have heard the truck engine as he’d driven closer. Plenty of time to conceal her reaction. As he got out and started across the grass that was more brown than green, Nick wasn’t able to keep from ogling Corrie’s beautiful hair. But that only lasted a second or so before his gaze moved over the rest of her. He didn’t see Corrie often, and usually only at a distance. Seeing her now, dressed in an old white T-shirt that had shrunk enough to cling a little, and cut-off jeans that ended high enough to show most of the length of her sleekly muscled legs, was very nearly a shock. And she was barefoot. She’d been dressed for ranch work almost every time he’d ever seen her, so to see her like this with a good half mile of leg showing, hit him like a two-by-four across the chest. Hadn’t Shane just come from here? Was he the reason her hair was down and looked fresh-washed, and she was dressed in a way that, on her, was decidedly provocative compared to her usual wholesome appearance? And yet, she still looked wholesome. Wholesome, but appealing as all get out. Corrie hadn’t thought Nick Merrick would show up, much less this soon, so she steeled herself. And wished to heaven she’d dressed in something more appropriate for company than a T-shirt and cutoffs after her shower. Since it was late enough in the afternoon, she’d thought it was a good time to water her flowers before she forgot, never dreaming someone would see her. As she watched Nick Merrick stride toward her, she saw the bold sweep of his male gaze go over her, and she tried to look unaffected. Trying to appear unaffected by Nick Merrick’s nearness was a pretense she’d mastered long ago, but no man—much less Nick—had ever had an opportunity to see her bare legs, so it was a little harder to appear indifferent this time. Desperate to distract herself from the way his gaze felt as it skimmed then lingered then skimmed again, she began to catalog the similarities and contrasts between the brothers. Shane was the more handsome of the two, though they both had similar features and coloring. The difference between the brothers was amplified by the eight years that separated them. Shane’s handsomeness was smoother and a little boyish, but Nick’s had been seasoned by sun and weather and experience into a rugged toughness that made him look hard and forbidding. And worlds more compelling. His black hair and black brows emphasized the piercing blackness of his gaze, while Shane’s eyes were an electric blue. Both men were the same six foot plus height, but Nick was more heavily muscled, despite Shane’s competitive fitness as a world champion bronc rider. And Nick didn’t have the cowboy swagger Shane often showed, as if he was too purposeful and sure of himself to move in the cocky way some men did when they had something to prove. Maybe that was because Nick had proved himself long ago, after his father had been crippled by a riding accident and confined to a wheelchair. Nick had left college to take over Merrick Ranch and take up the reins to everything else until he’d delegated enough to managers to concentrate most of his day-to-day energies on the massive chunk of Texas the Merricks owned. The result was this harsh-looking, rawhide tough, formidable man, who wore authority as if he’d been born with it. He certainly had been born to it, and Corrie doubted he’d ever had a chance to be a lesser man. Not because a man like him would ever leave himself without a choice, but because it wasn’t in his nature to be less than he was. He was a man who gave his best and expected the best in return. The woman he picked to marry would also be the best. She’d be beautiful and sophisticated and rich, with a pedigree as impressive as his. Which had shut Corrie out of consideration at eighteen, and still did. A female like her had about as much chance of attracting a man like Nick Merrick as she had of jumping off the barn roof and flying to San Antonio. That unhappy reality had no impact whatsoever on the odd, inner twang she’d felt every time Nick had ever come in close range. As he crossed those few remaining feet between them, the twang began to quiver and hum. When he halted in front of her and lifted his hand to briefly pinch the brim of his hat in a cowboy signal of politeness, she felt a dismaying heat go over her from head to toe… Wary blue eyes, with feathery black lashes that any number of his old girlfriends would have killed to have, had watched him, searching his face as he’d walked closer, dropping to his shoulders then his chest before they’d shot back up, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking him over like women usually did. Nick couldn’t help liking that. Corrie Davis had never seemed to have a sexually forward or flirty bone in her body, and she apparently still didn’t. But now that he was looking at her this close, he wondered why he’d ever thought her face was unremarkable. Her blue eyes had always been her best feature, but now the rest of her face had caught up. She had fine, lightly tanned skin, facial features that had evened out and matured into simple beauty, and a mouth that looked soft and vulnerable and intriguing. Whatever his brother had seen in Corrie before had obviously blossomed, and Nick suddenly realized he might be in the fight of his life if he tried to come between Shane and this…lovely young woman. Was every man in this part of Texas as blind as he’d been? He was surprised to hear the gravely burr in his voice as he nodded to her and said, “Miss Davis.” She nodded back but didn’t speak right away. In that little pulse of time she managed to blank the wariness from her gaze. “If you’re looking for Shane, he left quite a while ago. Maybe three hours.” “I’ll catch up with him later then.” Belatedly, he realized he ought to compliment her on the flowers. But when he looked at them to make the compliment credible, her bare legs came into sharp focus again and the only compliments he could think of for a second or two were a half dozen variations that included the words “long stems.” “You’ve got some beautiful flowers, Ms. Davis.” He lifted his gaze—a surprisingly difficult task—to her face. He’d hesitated slightly before he’d said the word flowers to convey his other meaning. The color that surged into her cheeks told him she’d caught it. He smiled, satisfied by that, and nodded toward the metal pail. “Can I give you a hand?” Nick would have offered to do the same for any female, but he’d be willing to bet money that most men wouldn’t have asked the very capable and self-sufficient Corrie Davis. But women were women, and he sensed she was pleased with the offer. He sensed just as strongly that she’d decline. “Thanks, but that was the last of it.” He could tell she felt awkward with the silence that came next, but he waited her out. Better to keep her a little on edge so she’d get the idea that he wasn’t someone she wanted to tangle with. And yet during that scattering of seconds as he looked over at her, something shifted in his attitude. His brother could do worse than Corrie Davis, far worse. What was actually wrong with the woman herself? She was decent, hardworking, and honest. As he allowed those first inklings of change, he tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with seeing Corrie like this. It took a few moments more to make himself remember what he’d come here for. And why. Corrie Davis might be decent and hardworking and honest, but she had the potential to sidetrack his brother again. Maybe more than ever now that he’d got a close up look at exactly what she had to offer. If Shane married her, the idea of perhaps combining her little ranch with his plan to buy the ranch for sale down the road, might fuel Shane’s latest bullheaded bid for independence. And Nick knew for a fact that another small ranch would soon be coming onto the market, and Shane might also want to snap it up. His kid brother had managed to put together enough winnings in the past three years to be able to strap himself to a hell of a mortgage. It’s what he’d do if he were Shane’s age and he hadn’t already become permanently addicted to the even riskier challenge of running Merrick Ranch. If his brother had his kind of drive, then starting from scratch under his own power with his own earnings would be an irresistible challenge that would more than prove his Merrick heritage. That challenge would test everything Shane had ever learned about ranching, and put his mind and body and will to the test of a lifetime. A woman like Corrie Davis would share the work and the worry. And, from the look of her now, provide a hefty share of the reward. The idea that suddenly came to him then was about strategy, though he had to admit that it had been inspired by the feminine loveliness he was staring at. Was it possible to make Corrie an ally? First he’d have to find out exactly what was between her and his brother. And since the quickest way to find out was to put the two of them together in the same room so he could see it for himself, Nick decided he might as well arrange it now. He gave a slight smile to banish some of the tension he’d hoped to build in her. He regretted doing that now. “I was thinking it might be a nice surprise for Shane if I asked you to supper tonight. I know it’s short notice, so we could do it tomorrow if you’d rather. I’m not much for dressing up after the day I put in, so I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind if we kept things casual tonight. Maybe we could save something more formal for another time.” It was amazing how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. He’d spent the day indoors doing paperwork. But the goal was to make Corrie feel comfortable coming to the ranch. Folks tended to be overawed, and Corrie was about as country as they came. He knew for a fact that she’d turned down Shane’s invitations to dinner at Merrick Ranch every time he’d made one, so it made sense that she’d heard about the family’s tradition of dressing for dinner. And, going by the times he’d seen her, Nick had to wonder if she even owned a dress. A slight flush came into her cheeks, but he watched her gaze spark with interest and faint surprise. Her voice was a soft, quiet drawl. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Merrick. Are you…sure?” He knew right away she was asking if they were still foes, so he smiled to reassure her. “Times change. People change. You’re close to Shane. We’ve been neighbors all your life. Might be time to be a little more neighborly…Corrie. I’d appreciate if you could call me Nick.” He saw the flicker of doubt and thought for a moment he’d overplayed it. But then she apparently bought into the idea of neighborliness and quickly made up her mind. “I’m obliged. What time should I be there?” “Seven o’clock’s the time we usually set for company.” “All right, seven.” He reached up to tug a pinch of hat brim. “Until then.” CHAPTER THREE THE moment Nick turned away to walk to his pickup, Corrie dashed to the back of the house and the privacy of the back porch. She left the bucket by the door and let herself in to sprint through the kitchen and the house to peek out the front windows. Times change…People change… As the stunning words replayed in her head, she watched Nick open the driver’s side door and climb in. She couldn’t quite believe the past few minutes had happened. Or that Nick Merrick had invited her over for supper. She couldn’t believe she’d accepted! Why had she done that? Because of Shane, she told herself quickly, not certain she wanted to look beyond that. As she watched Nick turn the pickup in the drive and head for the highway, she tried to slow her racing heart. First Shane had come over and now Nick. Neither had acted the way she’d come to expect. Had she imagined it? I was thinking it might be a nice surprise for Shane if I asked you to supper tonight… Had Shane said something to prompt Nick to show such a remarkable sign of acceptance? Not only acceptance of her, but of whatever Shane’s feelings for her might be? Granted, she’d expected nothing more than friendship from Shane. Until today. Today the things Shane had done, the things he’d said, were something more than friendship. How much more? How much more than friendship did she want? If she’d been confused and excited over Shane’s visit, it was nothing compared to the tizzy she was in for the next two hours. She raced through her chores and hurried upstairs to her room to rummage through her closet and drag out the things she’d bought six years ago. Most were too formal for a “casual” supper, and that was good because she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to suddenly show up anywhere wearing them. Corrie Davis couldn’t go from cowhand to debutante in two hours without knocking the world a little off its axis. Nevertheless, she tried everything on to be sure of that, finally putting most of it away. Feeling desperate and a little anxious, she went through everything else she owned, which wasn’t a lot besides work clothes, searching for something better than blue jeans but less dressy than the yellow sundress she’d hung on the closet door to think about. She had a denim skirt, but she rejected it too because it was a skirt. She hoped the pair of white jeans she’d pulled out and the plain, pastel pink blouse were informal enough to qualify as casual, yet were feminine enough to show her in a little less “mannish” light. At least they wouldn’t look radically different from the shirts and jeans she usually wore. She’d never worn the jeans and once she’d put them on, she wasn’t exactly happy that they were stiff and much snugger than her regular ones. The pink blouse was a simple, long-sleeved tailored shirt, and she carefully folded back the sleeves, then fussed with them to make both sleeves even before she remembered to add a belt with a plain gold buckle. The few pieces of jewelry she’d bought were only costume quality, but the gold chain necklace and the gold clip-on earrings supplied a hint of sparkle that she liked. As she looked into the mirror to consider the uncommon notion of maybe having her ears pierced, Corrie was reminded that she’d thrown away whatever makeup she’d had a couple years ago. Aggravated because she had no time left now to rush to town to buy some, she ran a brush through her hair and decided to pull a little of it back from the sides into a barrette, but leave the rest of it loose. She experimented with rolling her lips together to redden them before she gave her cheeks a little pinch and paused to inspect the results in the mirror. It would have to do. Once she found the shoebox that held a pair of brown leather sandals she’d never worn, she put them on and got out the small brown leather handbag she’d hung on a hook in her closet. It was just as plain as the sandals and had also never been used, so she pulled out the wad of paper and tossed it to the dresser before she slipped her brush inside and added her wallet. She closed the catch on the handbag, lifted the long strap to her shoulder, then stood in front of the mirror for a final inspection. It was as good as she could manage, and it shocked her a little to realize she’d been at this for close to two hours. Usually, she could be ready for anything in the time it took to brush out and braid, put on her clothes and grab her boots. It was a small consolation that she at least looked as if she’d done more than she usually did. A lot more. She looked like she was out to catch a man. The horrifying impression jolted her. The last thing she could stand was for anyone to think she was desperate to get a man. Appalled, she pulled the strap off her shoulder and laid the handbag on the dresser top. She pulled off the earrings, about to toss them back into the old cigar box that held her meager collection of jewelry, when pride reared up. She worked hard. Damned hard. Never in her life had she pushed herself on any man or chased one, and she never would. She’d never done anything to draw attention to herself, and even if she had, it was hardly a moral failure. She’d barely been kissed, because the only kiss she’d ever had had been a hilarious accident. The glitter of anger in the gaze that met hers in the mirror made her eyes look jewel bright. However she normally dressed, she was a female. At twenty-four she was a woman. It was no one’s business but hers that she qualified for womanhood on account of gender and age rather than some notion of sexual experience. Why wasn’t she entitled to wear pink, put on a little jewelry and carry a purse? Why would anyone be rude enough or cruel enough to challenge her or poke fun? If she’d had any makeup in the bathroom, she’d have every right to use as much of it as she pleased. So what if she wanted to use this occasion to dress and act and be more feminine? And maybe even set out to attract a man? Why should she be denied the full right to express a bit of her biological and emotional nature just because she’d waited until some man had finally flirted with her a little before she’d again decided to change something about herself? Most females had been doing far more than this little bit since before high school. She was long overdue to do likewise. And so what if she wanted to attract a man, marry and have a family? All she’d had of family had been a remote and rarely affectionate father old enough to be her grandfather, who’d barely paid attention and had seldom talked to her about anything besides ranching and markets and the weather. Having a family one day was her highest and fondest hope, though most of the time she was forced to put it out of her mind. No sense pining for something that didn’t look likely to happen soon, if ever. Her modest effort just now to make up for a little lost time surely wouldn’t register with either brother as a scheme to nab one of them. If they even noticed the difference. And even if they took one look at her and decided she was manhunting, why would that be so unnatural and repulsive? There wasn’t an unmarried female under thirty-five in their part of Texas, or anyplace else the Merrick brothers had ever been seen, who hadn’t tried at one time or another to attract them. And probably more than a handful of those women had been much older than thirty-five. Feeling better about this, Corrie refastened the earrings, fussed with her hair a little more, then snatched up her handbag before she started downstairs. She was more than halfway to the Merrick Ranch before her tension began to ebb into a heady feeling of excitement. Not too long after that, the most unexpected question of her life popped into her head… Which brother was she most excited to see? She slowed the old pickup to make the turn off the highway onto the Merrick Ranch’s main road as she mentally raced to weigh the answer. Which brother? The one she was comfortable with, who’d flirted and given her a sliver of hope for at least the possibility that he—or some other man—might one day fall for her a little? Or was it the unattainable brother who’d shown up that afternoon to invite her to supper? As she completed the turn and began to accelerate, nerves and indecision kept the question going around and around… Was she more excited to see the brother who’d hugged her and taken her boots off, who’d spoken to her more as a female than a pal…the old friend whose blue gaze had shown a hint of the naughty thoughts he’d claimed other men thought about her? Or was she more excited to see the brother who didn’t know—and probably wouldn’t care—that he could still make her feel as shaky and breathless around him as he’d made her feel at eighteen…the one who hadn’t needed to lay a finger on her to do that? The novelty of the question and the way her mind shifted from one brother to the other and back, magnified her excitement so much that she suddenly realized how pathetic it was to get so worked up over so little. Maybe she was desperate for a man, any man. Proof of that was how much she was making of all this. What if Shane had been teasing today? The idea that she could have mistaken being teased for being flirted with made her a little sick. And she’d always been hopelessly infatuated with Nick. He hadn’t needed to invite her to supper for the first time in twenty-four years to achieve that. But his out-of-the-blue invitation had made her irrationally jump to the conclusion that the world—and him in particular—was overdue for her pink blouse and earrings debut. Shame roared up and beat her down until she felt about two inches tall and unspeakably foolish. And pitiful. If she hadn’t driven close enough by then to see Nick Merrick standing on his front porch as if he’d been watching for her, Corrie might have turned around and hightailed it back home while she thought up some lie to cancel supper. But he was looking in this direction. He’d surely seen her old pickup and the rooster tail of dust it had kicked up, so she was as good as stuck. Stuck being stupid and presumptuous and dressed like she was trying to look more feminine and attract a man. Stuck, and about to shame herself in front of the two men who’d inspired the foolish fantasies and outright overreaction that accounted for the insanity of the past couple of hours. Pride wasn’t enough to help her salvage even a smidgen of that feeling of entitlement she’d had just a little over a half hour ago, but it was at least enough to help her get out of her twenty-year-old pickup without mussing the clean blanket she’d spread on the dusty seat to protect her clothes. And though she didn’t have enough pride left over to help her hold her head high as she strode up the front walk, she had enough willpower to fill in as she struggled to give the impression that she dressed in pink and white all the time and was regularly invited to eat supper with handsome men. If she survived the night, she’d dig out every remotely feminine thing she owned and burn them tomorrow. Then she’d never be tempted to repeat this mistake and embarrass herself again. Better to live alone the rest of her life than to chance being publicly humiliated. Or worse, cause folks to feel sorry for her. With her insides churning, it took a lot to meet Nick Merrick’s dark eyes and force a faint smile she hoped would conceal her embarrassment. Only she couldn’t meet his gaze because it was traveling down her body in that same skim-and-linger way it had that afternoon. A prickly kind of heat shot over her from scalp to toes and she steeled herself for some expression of either scorn or amusement. To her surprise, that dark, almost black gaze came back up and bore into hers with an intensity that made her feel invaded and a little weak. She couldn’t detect either scorn or amusement, though she could see something there. Something a little like what she’d seen in Shane’s eyes that day, only now she felt breathless and she realized her body felt uncommonly warm in every place that gaze had lingered. Nick’s low voice was a gravely drawl that made the phantom sensation of warmth repeat. “Evenin’, Miss Corrie. I’m glad you’re here.” She gave a curt nod. “Thanks for having me.” The stiff comeback was another excruciating little embarrassment, but if it had sounded wrong or awkward to Nick, he didn’t let on. He let her precede him inside the big house, and she tried to distract herself from his nearness by having a look around. The two-story Victorian ranch house that had been expanded over the years was a showplace. The rooms inside were large—huge. The dark, high gloss oak floor of the entry hall had a large reddish-brown woven rug in the center of the floor that featured a heavy black outline of the Merrick brand. A wide, carpeted staircase curved up from the hall to the second story, and three portraits of what had to be Merrick ancestors had been placed at ascending intervals on the whitewashed wall by the staircase. Four other portraits were situated on the entry walls at eye level. A hall table sat beneath an elaborately framed mirror to the right of the front door, and the moment Corrie took that in, her gaze flinched from the reflection of her wide-eyed gaze. She was barely into the house and she was already gawking like the backward hick she was. From there, Nick took her past a formal parlor on the left and a library. A surreptitious glance into both rooms revealed plush carpets, elegant wood furniture with rich amber brocade upholstery and oil paintings that made both rooms look like pages out of a high-class decorating magazine. Corrie felt as out of place as a muddy work boot at a ballet, and wished—heartily wished—she’d not been so wildly eager to come here. The big living room Nick escorted her into went all the way to a wall of gigantic multipane windows on either side of a set of wide French doors at the back of the house, which looked out on a large, deep patio and the swimming pool beyond. Shane had invited her over to swim a handful of times, so she’d known about the pool, though she’d never come over to use it. Shane’s father had looked like a fierce, crabby man whenever she’d seen him, so she’d always been a little afraid of him. The fact that Jake Merrick had been in a wheelchair the last years of his life had only seemed to make him more surly. Shane had often been at odds with him, so she’d been leery of attracting the man’s choler. The best way to avoid that had been to keep her distance. Her father had never had much to say about Jake Merrick, and his dealings with Merrick Ranch had been infrequent. He’d seemed to tolerate Shane, referring to him as “Merrick’s boy,” and warning her not to let that “rich boy” make a fool of her. Corrie couldn’t help feeling a little as if she was about to be made a fool of, though if it happened tonight it wouldn’t be Shane’s doing but her own. It was at least some comfort that this room was less formal than what she’d seen of the house so far. Nick gestured toward the leather furniture grouped in front of the wall of windows. “Go ahead and sit down. I thought you might like to look at a video of one of Shane’s winning rides. Unless you’ve seen it.” Corrie chose a place at one end of the long sofa just as the housekeeper came bustling in and halted next to Nick. “Might as well get to the introductions,” he said. “Miss Louise? This is Miss Corrie. Miss Corrie, this is Miss Louise. The best cook in Texas.” Corrie smiled and they exchanged hellos. Then Nick asked, “What would you like to drink? We’ve got just about anything you want. Louise can get it, or if you’d rather have a mixed drink, I can take care of it. And we’ve got wine, don’t we, Louise?” He looked over at the woman to catch her nod. Corrie’s first impulse was to decline all the choices, but it might be rude to do that. If Nick was only being polite and didn’t mean to have something himself, she didn’t want anything either. It seemed more mannerly to find out what he was having or not having, and follow his lead. “What are you having?” she asked, then realized she was nervously chafing her palms on the thighs of her white jeans. She made herself stop and clenched her fingers to quell the impulse. “I was going to mix a drink. Would you like one too?” She’d never had alcohol of any kind and hadn’t wanted any. She didn’t really want any now, but she gave a nod. “Whatever you’re having.” Corrie caught a glint in his dark gaze that came and went so quickly she could easily have missed it. What did that mean? Was that amusement she’d seen? Did he realize she was no drinker? It probably didn’t take much for him to figure out she hadn’t indulged in very many of the adult things he took for granted, like drinking alcohol. Miss Louise went out and Nick walked to the liquor cabinet at the side of the room and opened one of the doors. The forest of bottles inside looked like a section in a liquor store and Corrie realized she was out of her league on yet another score. Were the Merricks serious drinkers? It wasn’t an idea she liked. Shane had told her about a beer party or two he’d gone to, but that had seemed to be the usual high school jock thing to do in these parts. Her father had kept one bottle of whiskey in a kitchen cabinet, but it had sat for years unopened. The glassware above the bottles must have been crystal, and she watched as he selected a couple of stout tumblers and set them out, then opened a silver ice bucket and used the silver tongs that went with it to put ice cubes in the tumblers. He picked out a bottle that read Vodka, and poured an amount into each glass. When he finished, he opened a lower cabinet that turned out to be a tiny refrigerator. He took out a glass pitcher of what was obviously orange juice, used the glass stirrer to give the pulpy drink a few brisk turns, then poured some in each of the vodka tumblers. It seemed like a lot of fuss, and Corrie was surprised that he did it himself, instead of having Louise do it. Her father had been very rigid about things like that, so at least this part made a favorable impression on her. Corrie liked orange juice, so this might not be such a risk, though she’d heard things about vodka. Surely Nick wouldn’t notice she wasn’t drinking much if she only sipped from time to time. And where was Shane? She’d feel far more at ease if he were here, though she didn’t think she should ask about him this soon. It would make her look overeager to see him again. Nick picked up the tumblers and came her way, handing her one before he sat down in the leather chair nearest her end of the sofa. She give him a slight smile along with a soft “Thanks,” before she set the tumbler on her thigh, untasted, and remembered to slide her pinkie finger beneath it to keep condensation from putting a damp ring on her jeans. “We’re just waiting for Shane,” he told her as he settled back and tasted his drink. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on that afternoon, so he really hadn’t wanted to change into something more formal for supper tonight. She noted then that his stark white shirt had long sleeves that he wore folded back almost exactly the same as hers. She felt a pang of regret over that, and wondered if wearing her sleeves folded was considered more mannish than feminine. She’d never thought to pay attention before. But when her gaze came back up to his she felt an unsettling ripple of excitement at the dark glitter in his eyes. The white shirt set off his weathered tan and black hair and emphasized his rugged looks. Somehow the way he looked gripped her more now than it had earlier. Enough so that it took her a moment to realize he was still speaking. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/susan-fox/the-bride-prize/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.