Marriage On Demand

Marriage On Demand Susan Fox In just four days, Rena will marry Ford Harlow. Just imagining the ceremony fills her with intense excitement–and trepidation! It won't be an ordinary wedding. Their union is a marriage deal: Ford wants her property; Rena will do anything to keep it…But if Rena is expecting a marriage of convenience–sharing their lives but never a bed–she has a shock in store. Ford has long been intrigued by his shy bride, and he fully intends to be a husband in every sense of the word! “You can’t marry a stranger for a piece of land.” Rena shook her head as she continued, “Marriage ought to mean more than that.” The sternness on Ford’s face didn’t change by a flicker. “It should mean more than that, but often doesn’t. It ought to mean more than lust and bringing a new generation into the world. But most times it is about convenient sex and having kids.” “What about…love?” The question had come out almost without Rena’s permission. She knew Ford wanted the land and he’d marry her without a second thought to get it. A wedding dilemma: What should a sexy, successful bachelor do if he’s too busy making millions to find a wife? Or if he finds the perfect woman, and just has to strike a bridal bargain… The perfect proposal: The solution? For better, for worse, these grooms in a hurry have decided to sign, seal and deliver the ultimate marriage contract…to buy a bride! Will these paper marriages blossom into wedded bliss? Strategy for Marriage (#3707) by Margaret Way Marriage on Demand Susan Fox www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) For my good friend and fellow author, Kathy Carmichael: Thanks for your friendship, sense of humor and insight. CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE (#ua3128949-de12-5da2-b1f8-99b07b1a15cc) CHAPTER TWO (#ubb0b5acf-9ed4-5981-a613-14144e1cd2f7) CHAPTER THREE (#u74494f96-7eb7-5143-adf2-6cde4c3d2132) 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 ONE EVEN for a woman who’d endured emotional hardship her whole life in hope of at last gaining her father’s affection and approval, it was an incredible mandate: You’ll marry Ford Harlow. Rena Lambert stood on the open porch that morning at the back of the Lambert Ranch house, so stunned by her father’s terse decree that she felt light-headed. Dread gripped her insides. Disbelief made it hard to speak in the quiet, careful way she always had to the bitter, volatile man who’d never shown a smidgen of tenderness. If he’d ever felt any. “Years past time for you to marry,” he said, then let his hard gaze slice critically over her from head to boot before it shifted dismissively away. “I have no interest in ma—” Her father’s impatient words cut her off. “Folks already talk. You’re a mannish female with no natural feelings. Men don’t want a woman who’s better at being a man than she is at being female.” The blunt words sent a wave of pain and humiliation through her that made her face feel stiff and on fire. All Rena’s life, Abner Lambert had scorned any show of femininity or weakness in his daughter. To berate her now for repressing the natural inclinations he’d always been so vocal and unsparing about was the height of cruelty. She recognized the familiar sting of frustrated tears, but the rigid emotional control she’d practiced since early childhood kept her eyes dry. Heat gathered behind them until they burned. Rena Lambert had grown up with the knowledge that her birth had caused the death of the only woman her father had ever cared for. And she’d been born female, which meant Abner had no son to carry on his legacy. A son might have earned her father’s love, or at least his respect, by virtue of being male and capable of carrying on the family name her father was so rabidly proud of. The fact that he’d never chosen to remarry and have other children who might have been sons was beneath his consideration. Blaming Rena had been much more satisfying to his twisted sense of justice than assigning himself responsibility for his own choices. But what about her choices? Perhaps she’d become as twisted as he. How else could she account for her lifelong pursuit of approval and acceptance? Dimly she realized that her craving for her father’s approval was connected to the guilt he’d instilled in her. Guilt craved redemption, but false guilt craved it more obsessively. Rena stared at her father’s harshly carved profile as he went on, each word just as cruel and devastating as the others. “Won’t let a female inherit Lambert. Your first son’ll get all that’s mine. Harlow’ll oversee it till the boy’s old enough to take over. If you can’t bear sons, the ranch’ll go to Frank Casey or one of his boys.” Now he aimed a hard glance at her shock-frozen expression. “That happens, you’d better have something Harlow’ll want to keep you around for, ‘cause he’ll already have what he bargained to get.” And he won’t need you. It was some surprise that he hadn’t actually said it out loud, but he knew he’d communicated his meaning precisely. “Harlow wants you at his place tonight at seven. Informal supper, he said.” Shame and hurt roared so high then that it was a miracle she could stand so quietly and keep her composure. Her tone was carefully mild. “The two of you have it all worked out,” she dared softly. “But why saddle him with me? Let him buy the west section. Will the ranch to Frank and his sons. They’ve worked hard for you and they’re loyal.” She’d worked just as hard, labored harder than any man who’d ever given his sweat and blood to Lambert land. She’d hoped to someday inherit the ranch she loved, but suddenly the last true hope behind every effort in her life vanished in this new toxic flood of her father’s relentless bitterness. How could she have believed that his grudge against her would someday ease? Or that she’d ever been worth more to him than an extra pair of hands to do the work? Her father went on and she felt herself sway with dizziness. “Figure I owe you that much, since you can’t seem to get a man’s interest on your own.” Old fury burst up and burned wildly for several hot moments, but she rigidly held it back, though the very pressure of it made her feel strangled. Rena didn’t care that the faint curve of her lips revealed the depth of her own bitterness and disillusionment. Without a word, she turned away to cross the porch and let herself into the house. Her throat pounded so hard that she wondered dazedly if she might faint. Like a robot, she walked up the back stairs, the sound of her boots as subdued as she felt. Once in her room, she methodically set about the task of packing her things. She should have left this place the day she’d turned eighteen. She should have left this hell. What kind of female could have lived so long with this? How many men would have? Men don’t want a woman who’s better at being a man than she is at being female. Her father was wrong. She wasn’t truly better at being a man. Most men wouldn’t have put up with such treatment, much less borne up under the weight and agony of it. Most men had more self-respect. All men had more pride. Her own stubborn refusal to relinquish hope suddenly seemed pitiful. How many times did you let someone smash your fingers with a hammer before you had sense enough to move your hand? Though she’d realized the truth long ago, she’d not let herself acknowledge it. Her days—years of them—had amounted to little more than waking up in the morning and pushing herself through each day, weathering the blistering desert of rejection and frustrated hope until exhaustion drove her to bed at night to dream foolish dreams of better times. How many men who were worth a damn to anyone or to themselves would have been reduced to that? The sudden need to put an end to that insanity—to at last show some spine and pride—sent a fierce new fire through her as she got boxes from the attic and put stack after stack of clothing from her dresser into them. Ford Harlow was surely under the impression that he was shackling himself to a female no one else would want so he could get access to a piece of land he’d coveted for years. Just the idea that her father had gone to him to propose such a bizarre notion sent a fresh surge of humiliation scorching over her from scalp to toe. What kind of man was Ford Harlow? She’d thought better of him than to fall in with the twisted plans of a hateful old man out to buy a husband for his “mannish” daughter. How had he taken her father’s proposal? Had he laughed? In the end, he’d evidently accepted it. But to get a piece of land, not a wife. She wondered if he’d truly agreed to the part about fathering a son. The delicate shame she recognized as purely female was the next agony she had to endure. For years, she’d taken vigilant care to never reveal that she had a crush on Ford Harlow. Her father would have verbally savaged her for showing interest in any man, particularly a man of Ford Harlow’s caliber. And it would have mortified her if Ford himself had ever detected it. The few times he’d had occasion to speak to her, he’d been kind, almost gentle, though his rugged looks and terse manner intimidated her. She’d responded coolly to him and kept herself aloof, but her wounded ego had been soothed by his attention, and profoundly flattered. That her heart would respond to him had been as natural as it had been impossible to prevent. She couldn’t bear for a man like him to think she’d been a willing—no, an eager—party to her father’s scheme. She knew worldly, compelling men like Ford Harlow barely noticed that sexless females like her existed. It was shocking to think he might have taken her father’s scheme to marry her off to him seriously. At least seriously enough to accept the deal and set a time to speak to her about it. She had to see him now, she had to put a stop to this. But, oh God, how could she face him? Not giving herself time to shrink from the task of countering the excruciating shame of what her father had done, Rena abandoned the growing collection of belongings and walked shakily out of her room to do just that before she lost her nerve. The new stallion Ford Harlow had spent a fortune on was fractious and volatile, with a host of surly habits that had been tolerated and indulged by his last owner. The shout that went up at the stud barn had drawn his attention and he left the colt he was about to work to head down the alley that bisected that section of corrals. He’d nearly reached the stud barn, when the blood-red stallion burst from the open doors into the sunshine, defying the efforts of the two men who were trying to get a hand on his lead rope. Two more men rushed from their work to block the animal’s path, but the wily stallion dodged them and shot away. Obviously the qualities that made him a standout—brains, ability and speed—had facilitated his escape. Ford rushed to intercept the powerful horse, but the red devil charged on, boldly knocking him out of the way. The lead rope he’d managed to snag burned through his palm and fingers before it snapped free. Ford swore, but as he started after the stallion, he caught sight of the slender female who’d apparently just walked through the stable from the driveway on the other side. Rena Lambert was a striking presence against the shade-darkened interior of the stable behind her. Tall and slender, her body had the sort of feminized athletic fitness beneath her plaid shirt and jeans that spoke volumes about how hard she worked. She was also all female, though she acted anything but. She probably never suspected the prurient thoughts men had about her lushly rounded attributes and her long, leanly muscled legs. Her move to intercept the runaway was as graceful as the woman herself, but Ford felt a jolt of alarm as she stepped calmly into the stallion’s path. The animal reacted instantly, as if he’d been startled by something in her movement, though Ford had detected nothing. The red animal skidded wildly to a stop and shifted direction only to nearly run through the board fence on one side of the alley, before he feinted back to catch Rena off guard or to bully her into letting him pass. Ford was running now to intervene, but the big horse suddenly reared, practically on top of the slim woman who didn’t so much as flinch. It was over in those next tense seconds. Rena Lambert never showed even a flicker of fear or hesitation as the stallion’s front hooves started down only a few inches from her right shoulder. She merely shifted to the side to catch the flipping end of the lead rope. The stallion squealed as his hooves hit the dirt, but before he could bunch his powerful hindquarters to bolt, Rena used her grip on the lead rope to haul his big head around and force him to circle. Caught off guard, the stallion whipped around her as if eager to participate. Ford halted within a few feet of the pair, watching tensely as Rena used nothing but her grip on the heavy lead and her hand on the stallion’s flank to urge him to keep moving in the small, tight circle. The low-level cloud of dust they kicked up quickly obscured Ford’s ability to keep track of the fast-paced dance. Seconds later, the horse dramatically slowed then abruptly came to a halt. The stallion lowered his head and let out the kind of long snort that signaled surrender and calm. Rena gave him a firm pat on his damp neck and murmured a few quiet words. Not once had she shouted, not once had she done anything to cause the big animal pain. In essence, she’d merely taken over and redirected the animal’s energy while neatly demonstrating her own authority over him until he’d let her know he’d had enough. The pleasure of seeing her do that sharpened Ford’s interest. He’d not expected to see her before tonight, but he knew right away why she’d shown up early. The high, hot color that surged up her cheeks as he approached confirmed it. “Much obliged.” He took the lead rope she passed him. Her incredible blue gaze with its thick fringe of black lashes shifted from his and the color in her face deepened. For another woman, that would have been coy and flirtatious. But Rena Lambert was neither of those. She was aloof—painfully aloof—and quiet in a way that fairly shouted proof that her father frequently berated her. It was no secret that the old man was an SOB, and that he treated his only child like dirt. Ford wondered why she took it. Did she think she deserved it or had Abner undermined her so much that she was afraid to go out into the world on her own? Ford had only tolerated Abner’s visit yesterday because Rena intrigued him. He’d learned nothing that truly satisfied his curiosity, but he’d been shocked by what Abner Lambert meant to do to his daughter. The injustice of that was far sharper for Ford than the personal insult of having a crazy old man use a piece of land to buy a husband for his daughter. And why the hell would he need to? Rena was beautiful. Her dark, glossy hair came down just past her collar, but it was thick and lustrous and straight. Her face was an intriguing mix of high cheekboned beauty and common symmetry. Her nose was fine and straight and her mouth had a vulnerability to it that asked a man to go slow. Combined with a close-up view of the rest of her, Rena Lambert was a pleasure to look at. The lustful feelings he’d felt toward her in the past impacted him more deeply and forcefully than ever now. The notion that he might have to marry her wasn’t exactly distasteful. But instinct warned him to conceal that. She was already here to put a stop to her father’s scheme. Any hint of personal interest from him would scare her away, and he wasn’t yet certain what he truly wanted, other than a parcel of land. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tonight,” he said, unable to take his eyes from her. Her blue gaze shifted to his when he spoke, but dropped away almost instantly. “I can’t…have supper with you. I—” She cut herself off as the two ranch hands from the stud barn arrived to collect the stallion. Rena’s nerves were jumping painfully high now that the moment had come to speak to Ford Harlow. She was tall for a woman, but Ford made her feel petite and feminine. He wasn’t peacock handsome, but he was rugged and compelling. So compelling that she felt the power of his dark gaze on her every second. The long-repressed femininity she rarely acknowledged was clamoring at his nearness. Men didn’t normally affect her, but something about Ford’s masculinity pulled at her. A peculiar feeling that was half excitement, half fear sparkled sweetly through her and she tried desperately to suppress it. She was terrified her reaction to him would show, because something in his nearly black gaze hinted at unerring perception. She wasn’t used to men like him. The men she worked with every day accepted her presence, but nothing in their manner or in the way they spoke to her had ever seemed personal. Every look Ford gave her, every word he spoke, somehow seemed intensely personal, as if he meant to catch her notice, as if he was either probing for something or trying to coax it out of her. It was terrifying, it was flattering, it was profoundly confusing. It dawned on her then that she’d let several moments go by without finishing the sentence she’d cut off when Ford’s men had led the stallion away. Her gaze shot back to see the calmness in his. He was waiting for her, watching her steadily and the peculiar feeling of excitement and fear soared higher. “Pardon me,” she said hastily to apologize for the brief wait, then struggled to keep from fidgeting as she went on, determined to get it out. “My father just told me about…” Her heart quailed with dread. She glanced away from him, seeking relief from the sharp search his dark eyes made of hers. “About what my father asked, I had nothing to do with that,” she told him. “I refuse to let him…” The frustration of wanting to declare her intentions without saying too much about her true relationship with her father made it difficult. Her gaze shifted back to Ford’s just in time to see him step toward her and reach for her arm. “Let’s go to the house, Miz Lambert, get something cool to drink. We can talk there.” Rena froze that second before his strong fingers closed warmly around her arm. She tried not to flinch, but she couldn’t seem to control that. She couldn’t control the sudden, baffling weakness of her legs as she turned with him to start through the stable to go to the house. She’d had no fear of the runaway stallion, no worries about standing her ground and catching his lead to calm him down, but she was terrified of this, so terrified. And the grimness about Ford now further unsettled her. Could he feel the small earthquake his touch set off? The pleasure-fear of his warm grip surged so strongly that the moment they were through the stable, she pulled her arm away. Horrified that the awkward movement suggested she couldn’t bear his touch another moment, she faltered to a halt. So did he, and his calm gaze fastened on hers. Her mouth went dry with bad nerves and it was a struggle to get the words out. “I mean no offense to you, Mr. Harlow. What my father suggested…I won’t be part of that. Good day.” She cringed inwardly at the stiff way it had come out, particularly the clumsy formality of that last. Good day. Fake-sounding and pretentious in a way that sent heat to her face and a sick feeling to her stomach. And she’d meant to say it then walk to her pickup and leave, but her legs were trembling and she couldn’t seem to move. The sick feeling deepened as Ford’s expression went grim. Her worked up emotions felt the shock of the sudden change all the way to her feet. “The drought’s getting worse, Ms. Lambert. I need the water on that west section.” The drought of the past two years had depleted water resources in that part of Texas. Lambert Ranch had also been affected, but it was still water rich. Enough so that her father could let that west section go to Ford Harlow and still have plenty. “Make my father an offer, but ask to lease the land. He’s cutting back on stock, so the cash will come in handy.” It was a confidential bit of information that caused her a strong pang of guilt, but the truth was Abner was growing more difficult to work with, and he now had trouble keeping good ranch hands. Hence the cutback in livestock. Ford’s stern expression hardened even more and for the first time, Rena got a clear glimpse of harshness and implacability. The kindness she’d seen in him before suddenly seemed as much a rippling mist above hard pavement as any other mirage. She realized then that her secret fantasies about this man had been just as foolish and naive as her hope that her father would at last approve of her. She should have guessed that Ford Harlow was a harsh, implacable man. He was successful and he ruled his own small Texas empire. There could be no true softness in him, no sign of anything that wasn’t domineering and driven for him to be able to rule over so much and several other business interests as well. She’d always been intimidated by him, but she’d not thought it was due to more than his rugged good looks or his terse, no-nonsense manner. She’d been wrong. Particularly after what she’d grown up with, she should have been able to see Ford Harlow for what he was: a man like her father. Not emotionally twisted like Abner—at least she hoped not—but hard and driven to have the world bow down at a finger snap. A man who felt entitled to get his way however it affected lesser mortals. Nothing changed on Ford’s stern face, so she added more. “Ask him to lease you the land. He’ll will Lambert Ranch to Frank Casey, and Frank will likely need to sell off that section to pay inheritance taxes. There’s no reason for…” Her voice choked to a whisper and she felt her face heat. “No reason for you—” She cut herself off and glanced away to finish it. “People don’t do that kind of thing anymore. At least, not where it’s civilized.” The silence between them thundered in her ears. God help her, she didn’t have the courage to both wait for his comment and watch his stern face while he said it. “People do still do it, Ms. Lambert. Your father and I aren’t quite done negotiating, but I expect you and I could join the ranks of the uncivilized any day now.” Rena’s gaze shot back to his solemn look. Her soft, “No,” was as choked with disbelief as it was spontaneous. “The forecast is skimpy on rain and I’m tired of hauling in water at a premium price.” Rena shook her head, now unable to tear her gaze away from the rocky sternness of his rugged face. “You can’t marry a stranger for a piece of land. Marriage ought to mean more than that.” The sternness on his face didn’t change by a flicker. “It should mean more than that, but often doesn’t. It ought to mean more than lust and it ought to mean more than bringing a new generation into the world. But most times it is about convenient sex and having kids.” “What about…love?” It was a bold and intimate question for her to ask, but it had come out almost without her permission. Now his stern mouth relaxed into a faint curve. “You are young, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “And naive. Besides which, Abner’s in an almighty hurry and I’m not sure the drought gives us time for more than an agreement and a ceremony.” He hadn’t truly answered her question, or had he? What he was saying was that his mind was made up. He wanted the land and he’d marry her without a second thought to get it. Convenient sex and having kids. Apparently those were his only requirements beyond getting his hands on the west section of Lambert Ranch. Why that caused her incredible pain was no surprise to a woman who’d had so little love in her life that she’d fantasized about having at least a little someday. Disappointment made her heart quiver and feel heavy. Her soft, “I’m packing to leave today” was little more than a whisper. She couldn’t seem to control the sad undertone in her words, so she finished quickly. “Your business is with my father, not me.” She turned to start for her pickup and escape, but Ford’s voice brought her to an abrupt halt. “I’m still negotiating with your father. He either wills Lambert to you outright, or there’s no deal.” Startled by that, Rena looked back at him. “What?” The stern line of his mouth curved slightly, but the dark glitter in his eyes banished any impression of humor. “You heard right. I’d be getting more than a wife, so you should get more than a husband. And just so you know, no man’s going to devalue my wife to the level of brood mare.” It took a few seconds for her to absorb that, and she searched his face, looking for any sign that she’d misheard. Hadn’t he just said that marriage often didn’t mean more than convenient sex and having children? So why would he now say something that seemed opposite that? And something that so strongly hinted at a streak of protectiveness and maybe possessiveness? “Tell Abner I’ll be by later,” he continued, as if he was oblivious to her reaction, though she knew he must have sensed it. “If things don’t work out and you go through with your plan to leave, I might have a job for you. See if you’re as good with horses as people say.” He paused and his voice lowered to a gravelly drawl. “I suspect they’re right.” A compliment. Rena didn’t know how to take it, she didn’t know how to take any of the astonishing things he’d said to her. The rush of pleasure—profound pleasure—was unfamiliar and she was suddenly incapable of doing more than keeping her reaction under rigid control. Her face felt like a stiff mask. Her perception—that Ford Harlow was a man like her father—had abruptly reversed. The odd sense that he was on her side and that when he saw her father he would be her advocate, was astonishing. No one had taken her side against her father since before her aunt’s death when she was eight. A whisper of trust gusted over her heart, but the offer of a job was almost as terrifying as the thought of marrying him. Anything that would amount to being near this man on a regular basis was terrifying. And exciting. She prayed her soft, “I’ll tell him,” didn’t reveal anything deeper than her agreement to tell her father to expect his arrival. She still couldn’t respond to the rest of what he’d said. Seconds rushed on and she felt them acutely. The best she could do was give him a faint nod and turn away to walk to her pickup. CHAPTER TWO THE Lambert Ranch west section had once been a ranch of its own, and though Harlow ancestors had bought up other properties further west, the original owner had sold the piece to a Lambert. On a modern-day map, the parcel would look like a hefty bite into the eastern boundary of Harlow Ranch. In the time it had taken Rena to pack her things from the house and load everything into her pickup, she’d decided that Ford had changed his mind. He’d probably elected to wait for Frank Casey and his sons to inherit. Besides, Harlow Ranch was already vast. The most the parcel would add to it besides more grazing and water, was a straighter eastern boundary. Given that, there was no logical reason for Ford Harlow to go to the extreme of shackling himself to a woman he barely knew, particularly a female who was far less than a man like him should have to settle for. Desperation might put a man in that situation, but Ford was hardly desperate. The drought was a drain on his resources, but little more. Other than the challenge of bargaining to at last get the section, there could be no other reason than greed or ego to marry her to get it. And, if greed or ego was the reason, marrying a woman whom everyone considered mannish and undesirable was hardly the kind of showy marriage match expected of such a man. Because she’d assumed Ford had changed his mind, his arrival was a surprise, but it was a shock when he insisted that she be present during his negotiations with her father. That negotiation quickly degraded to a virtual showdown. The tension in the den was excruciating, though it was mostly hers. Her father sat stiffly behind his desk, his ongoing irritation evident. Ford leaned back comfortably in one of the wing chairs that his size seemed to dwarf, one booted ankle resting casually on the opposite knee. Rena was too jittery to sit and stood at the side of the room. Her father, in a perpetual black mood, glared across the desk at the man who gave every impression of being untroubled by the old man’s increasing surliness. Abner’s voice was sharp. “You want the land bad enough, you’ll marry the girl.” Ford let a moment pass, as if to emphasize what he was about to say. Abner leaned forward, drawn by his impatience for a response. “If I marry your daughter, she’ll be my legal wife. I won’t let my wife suffer a slight that’s in my power to prevent, and I won’t profit by a marriage that won’t also profit her.” Ford’s solemn declaration sent a flush of anger to her father’s face. “And I can put in my will that no Harlow can ever get that land,” he railed. “Frank Casey’ll have to abide by that, so she’s your only chance to get it.” Ford was unperturbed by the threat. “The land is yours, do what you want with it. But you need to realize you’ve given her no reason to give me the time of day.” The old man hit the desk with his fist. “She’ll marry you because she does what I say.” “She’s packed to leave, Abner, so it’s clear you’ve lost any say over her.” Now Abner shot Rena a furious look. “She’ll get a husband outta this deal she’d never get otherwise.” Rena did her best to appear unfazed by yet another of her father’s insults. She was already impatient to leave the room and be on her way. She might have left the room that moment, but Ford spoke. “How do you know I couldn’t win her over and persuade her to marry me?” The hard look on Ford’s face said he’d taken Abner’s remark as an insult to his romantic abilities as a man, rather than the way her father had meant it: that Rena couldn’t get a husband unless her father bribed one. Abner seemed confused for a moment, then flushed as he understood Ford’s interpretation of his remark. Rena felt a rare spurt of amusement and relaxed the tiniest bit. Ford went on. “The only one you need to lure into this deal is your daughter.” The old man got to his feet. “She’s got no business turnin’ it down as it stands.” “She’s smarter than that. You put it in writing that she inherits Lambert, and I’ll marry her to get the west section signed over to me right away.” The profanities her father spewed for those next seconds weren’t a surprise to Rena, and evidently not to Ford either, who seemed untroubled by them. Abner finished with a furious, “What do I get outta this?” The question spoke volumes to Rena. What Abner would have gotten under the terms of his proposal was another way to slight his only child and the satisfaction of putting her in a situation with the potential to cause her hurt. Rena was hardly surprised by that, but it shamed her now that she’d stayed so long with someone who bore her such ill will. “You get control over who she marries,” Ford answered smoothly. “I can marry her off to anybody,” Abner railed back. Ford smiled then, but there was something calculating about it. “Will Lambert pride be satisfied by just anybody? Or did you choose me because a Harlow’s considered a worthy match for a Lambert? What about that son you wanted her to have? Will just anybody have the pedigree to suit you?” It was either a brilliant argument that played up to Abner’s pride or a sign of ego and arrogance. Just so you know, I won’t let any man devalue my wife to the level of brood mare. The talk of a worthy match and a pedigree seemed to contradict that declaration, but the abrupt absence of bad temper in Abner as he appeared to give the argument serious consideration suggested that whatever Ford’s true opinion was, he’d managed to target the one thing that might give her a chance to directly inherit Lambert Ranch. He’d also managed to completely distract her father from his grudge against her. Rena held her breath. She’d seen her father’s ability to reason deteriorate these past years, but this was the first time she’d seen anyone use it against him. She immediately felt guilty for the satisfaction she felt, though years of her father’s cruelty made it impossible to not be a little glad to see someone use his pride to manipulate him. “All right.” Rena felt the room tilt a bit as she stared at her father and heard his words. Abner gave a decisive nod and repeated, “All right. She inherits.” “I’ll need to see a will and I want the details in writing by the end of the week. I’ll marry your daughter the day the land deed is signed over.” Her father’s cranky look returned. “That’s four days.” “We should be able to get a marriage license by then, and I want the deal on the section settled.” Ford glanced her way and she struggled to keep her expression impassive. “Unless she wants more time to plan a wedding.” Quiet satisfaction glinted in Ford’s dark gaze. He’d bargained with her father and won. He’d done what he’d set out to do and he gave no sign that he expected her to refuse the deal. And how could she? She’d toiled for years in hope of one day inheriting the land that was her birthright. She’d endured a lifetime of pain to get the one thing she had a right to expect aside from her father’s love and approval. Not getting those had sharpened her craving to get the ranch, to get at least one thing she had a moral right to. Ford Harlow had managed to get it for her and according to the deal, she owed him a marriage. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Four days is enough.” The glimmer in Ford’s eyes flared stronger before he looked back at her father. Rena suddenly couldn’t bear another moment in the room, particularly when Ford showed no sign that he was leaving soon. It relieved her that neither man remarked or called her back when she quietly walked out. Rena found her father’s housekeeper, Myra, and told her goodbye before she headed down to the stable for her horses. She should be thrilled to inherit Lambert Ranch, but the thrill was dampened by her terror of marrying Ford. Besides, there was always the chance her father would change his mind. She didn’t trust his sudden capitulation. By tomorrow—or even later today—he could change his mind and the deal would be canceled. And even if he didn’t cancel the deal right away, there was no way to be certain her father would keep his word about Lambert Ranch indefinitely. Abner was in reasonably good health for a man his age, so it could be years before he passed away. That gave him years to find a way to thwart any legal document Ford tried to hold him to. Until her father either passed away or reneged on the deal, Rena would be married to Ford. She didn’t delude herself into thinking that this marriage was the forever kind, whatever happened with her father. They’d made a deal for land. Ford would have his right away, but it was completely possible that Abner would somehow prevent her from ever receiving hers. The whole thing could end up in the courts, and Rena’s personal assets were not enough for a prolonged fight. And a court fight would as much as advertise the fact that she and Ford had married for land. Besides, Ford would have long ago got what he wanted, so why would he bother with that kind of trouble? Whatever happened between now and then, she’d have a marriage and she’d be a wife. What kind of marriage would it be now that Ford seemed to have effectively negotiated away her father’s specific requirement for a male heir? Without the need for a son to ensure that Lambert Ranch was passed down to blood family, would Ford be interested in having children with her? She wasn’t even certain she wanted children, at least not unless having them was evidence of a solid marriage with everything a solid marriage meant, particularly love. Perhaps Ford felt the same way and he’d subtly negotiated a male heir out of the agreement because he had no desire to have children tie him to a woman he couldn’t love. And what if he’d negotiated so boldly with her father because he expected a marriage to her wouldn’t last long? Abner was seventy-five and a marriage need last only until the will was read. When she reached the stable, Frank Casey, his two sons and several of the men waited. Frank and his sons had gathered her tack and collected her horses. Frank had hooked up the horse trailer he was loaning to her, but most of them knew nothing more than the fact that she was leaving Lambert Ranch. They hadn’t loaded her two horses and the yearling filly that belonged to her, but the well-cared-for animals were tethered nearby. It surprised her a bit when all the men politely removed their hats in a rare show of formality. Frank spoke when she reached them. “We’re all sorry your leavin’, Miz Lambert. Not sure how many’ll care to stay on after you go.” Rena had privately informed Frank that her father had mentioned willing the ranch to him and his sons. She’d decided it was fair to let him know because if it actually was her father’s plan to will Frank the ranch, Frank could spoil that for himself and his sons by quitting as foreman. Frank had rejected the notion, and it was clear he’d disapproved of her father cutting her out of her rightful inheritance. She nodded. “I trust your judgment about whatever you and the others decide, Frank, but I need to do this.” Frank nodded solemnly and she shook his hand. His sons were next, then the men. All were somber. She briefly exchanged good-luck wishes with each of them as Frank loaded her horses. Rena had got along well with everyone on Lambert Ranch, but her father had always resented any sign that the men felt strong loyalty to her. The more surly and difficult Abner had become, the more the men had looked to her for decisions, though he never suspected how often that happened. Between her and the men, Lambert Ranch had managed to run reasonably well, in spite of Abner’s irrational decrees. Rena wouldn’t tell anyone about the possibility that she might be marrying Ford Harlow because, besides feeling embarrassed about the circumstances, she couldn’t truly believe she’d actually marry Ford. She’d lived her whole life with this kind of uncertainty, and she’d hated that, but it was always best to keep expectations for good low. Though in this case, it was hard to know which outcomes were good and which ones weren’t. Several of the men had either returned to the headquarters or stayed nearby after word had gotten around that she was leaving, so once they’d bid her a proper goodbye, they started back to work. Rena got into her pickup and started it to drive to the front of the main house, debating where to go. She could stable her horses and check into a motel until she knew the details of Ford’s deal with her father. What she truly wanted now was to forget it all and drive to Austin to begin the search for work, but the possibility of inheriting Lambert made that impossible. Ford was just coming out of the house when she pulled to a stop next to his parked truck. He walked directly to her. “I’ve already made arrangements for your horses at Harlow,” he told her. “My housekeeper’s got your room ready by now.” The idea that he expected her to move directly into his home increased her unease. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said quietly. The faint smile on Ford’s mouth smoothed to a serious line. “Abner’s antsy about you leaving Lambert. He’ll focus better on keeping his end of the deal if it looks like you and I are keeping our end.” Rena glanced away and gripped the steering wheel. “And once you and I are under the same roof and people hear about it, he could back out of the agreement.” “Why would he do that?” It was difficult to admit to Ford, but she made herself look at him to say it. “To cause…embarrassment.” Ford appeared unfazed by that. “He already knows that once you and I are together, I won’t tolerate that. You seem to be the only one in doubt.” She felt a pinprick of anger but kept her voice calm. “And you seem to be the only one who doesn’t understand how my father is.” “Sure I do. He’s bad-tempered and he’s a bully. Once you’re away from him, he won’t seem so powerful and you can stop letting him worry you.” The words were blunt and left no room for her to mistake either Ford’s opinion of her father or his disapproval of her worries. “It’s getting late,” he went on. “Miz Zelly had supper started before I came over, and I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite.” His dark gaze held hers for long moments and she sensed a double meaning in those last words, a sexual meaning that somehow pierced her ignorance and sent a flush over her skin. Her gaze jerked from his. “So your men and your housekeeper know about…this?” She couldn’t bring herself to call it a marriage. “They think—” “They think I’ve finally decided to marry. The shenanigans of a bitter old man, whatever those might be, won’t influence what they’ll think of you.” This was his second dismissal of her worries about what her father might do. Frustrated by that, she was compelled to convince him her worries weren’t groundless. “The man’s reputation doesn’t suffer what a woman’s does.” She glanced at him in time to catch the start of his smile. Ford leaned toward the truck to rest a forearm on the sill of the open window. Which brought his face disturbingly close to hers. His voice dropped lower, and his words sent a double stroke of heat through her. “Civilized people used to marry each other to stop wagging tongues. We can do that if the land deal falls through and you’re still worried about how this looks.” Rena felt again that peculiar mix of fear and excitement, but she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away. “We need to get moving,” he said then. “It’d be nice to have you settled in before supper. We’ve got plans to work out before we get the license tomorrow.” Her insides were quivering with added anxiety at the mention of a marriage license, but she did her best to conceal it. Besides, she hadn’t yet thanked Ford for what he’d accomplished for her. She made an awkward start. “I’m obliged to you for putting yourself out in there with my father, and I’m…grateful.” He came right back with, “We’re both obliged. To each other for what we’ll get out of the deal, and for a marriage.” There it was again, that glimpse of implacability. The fear Rena felt made her give a nod before she faced forward, relieved when Ford turned to walk to his truck. The moment his back was turned, she secretly watched him go, wondering how on earth she would ever adjust to him. Ford had seen the fear in Rena’s troubled gaze. She was terrified of marrying him. He’d be willing to bet her terror was sharp enough that she’d almost give up the chance to inherit Lambert Ranch if it meant she wouldn’t have to go through with a wedding. He wasn’t offended by that, he was touched. Unfortunately there might be little he could do to ease her terror in the short time between now and the end of the week. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to try. Her father had put her in an impossible position, and Ford himself had just upped the ante for her. To be honest, he didn’t trust Abner any more than she did, but the details of the legal agreement he’d be signing might at least make the old man think twice about reneging later. In the meantime, he had to somehow keep Rena from bolting while he tried to decide if getting his hands on more land and water was truly worth the trouble of marrying her. By the time Rena angled the horse trailer near the stable at Harlow Ranch, she was shaking. She switched off the truck engine and got out to unload her horses, sick with misgiving. Ford had driven in ahead of her and now he joined her to open the trailer gate and pull out the ramp. He introduced three of his ranch hands who offered to take care of her horses, but Rena gently declined, preferring to settle them in herself. “Then one of you can get this trailer unhitched and taken back to Frank Casey at Lambert Ranch,” Ford told his men as he took the two horses’ lead ropes, leaving the filly for Rena. “The other two can take her truck up to the house. Miz Zelly’ll show you where to put Miz Lambert’s things.” Rena got in a quiet “Thank you” to the men, though Ford’s brisk directions to them cranked her nerves several notches higher. Things were happening too fast. She should have been able to slow them down, to reconsider the shocking events of the day and make certain what she truly wanted, but her brain was pounding with it all. The filly immediately began to act up, yanking away and fidgeting at the end of her lead. The abrupt move claimed Rena’s attention and she struggled to calm herself while she gave the filly a reassuring rub. Ford had already taken her horses into the stable, so Rena led the filly and followed. Three large stalls halfway down had been prepared, complete with measures of grain and fresh water. Rena put the filly in the center stall, removed her halter, then waited while the yearling inspected her new quarters. Her horses took the change in stride. Ford and the ranch hand who was returning the trailer to Frank Casey got her tack stowed in the tack room, and once Rena was satisfied her animals were comfortable, she joined Ford for the walk to the main house. The Harlow Ranch house was a sprawling two-story Victorian, with a large back patio overhung by leafy shade trees. Both the front and back verandas were decorated with urns of colorful flowers, which gave the whole place a look of energy and hospitality. Nothing like the stark simplicity of the Lambert Ranch house, which had always seemed colorless and grim. The kitchen was alive with the same vitality and color, from the display of hanging cookware over a large island counter in the main part, to the hanging pots of flowers and trailing vines and gaily colored tile of the large floor. Food preparations were scattered over the island counter and parts of two others. The warm smell of baking bread and the rich aroma of roasting beef reminded Rena she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Zelly Norman turned from her work to give them a wide smile of welcome. Ford quickly introduced her to Rena, who greeted the small woman quietly. “She’s a handsome choice, Boss,” Zelly remarked, and Rena was uneasy with the expression. She considered the word handsome a masculine word, or one related to horses, but the happy smile on Zelly’s face couldn’t be mistaken for anything less than genuine approval and enthusiasm. “Welcome to Harlow Ranch,” Zelly went on. “I hope you’re happy here. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” “Thank you,” Rena said, unable to defeat the awkwardness she felt or the tremor of her smile. Ford whisked her away for a quick tour of his home. The house was far larger than the Lambert main house, the rooms spacious and filled with light. The dimness and hint of oppression she was accustomed to was absent here. It was a man’s house, with lots of wood and leather and color, but the feminine touches—needlework pillows, the occasional delicate chair or water-color painting and burst of ruffled curtains—made it all a pleasing combination that interested the eye, and Rena was surprisingly comfortable with the homey feel of it. The upstairs tour dampened that feeling of comfort, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d never been near a bedroom in a man’s presence, much less accompanied a man into his own bedroom. She might have lingered outside the room if she’d realized the huge bedroom was Ford’s, but he’d led her past most of the other six doors along the hall to this one, so she’d assumed he was leading her directly to the room his housekeeper had prepared for her. The masculinity of the room and the obvious absence of her boxes of belongings, made her halt uncertainly a few feet inside. “This’ll be our room after the ceremony on Friday. The walk-in’s big enough for your things, so we can move in all but what you need every day as soon as you want to unpack. Zelly’s cleared drawers in the dresser and the chest in here for what you don’t want in the closet. Your room’s through there,” he said, indicating the door at the side of the room, “to make it convenient.” Rena’s startled gaze shot toward the open door that connected Ford’s bedroom with the next one. Ford went on as if he’d sensed the spark of horror she felt and meant to confront it head-on. “We’ll be sharing a bed in a handful of days. It’s best for us to live close to each other’s habits between now and then.” “I won’t sleep with you.” The quiet words came out on a whispery gust. Ford’s response to that was instant. “And I won’t marry a woman I can’t share a bed with. You need to plan on that.” The soft declaration made her heart fall, then kick into a wild beat. She looked at him, dismayed that his expression was hard and no-nonsense. “There’s n-no need for a son.” “Not for you to inherit, but I want sons,” he went on. “And daughters. I won’t marry a woman who’s not willing to bear my children.” He was so brutally candid that she felt the room shift. “What if we’re not…suited?” His stern expression didn’t ease. “Then we’d better set our minds on suiting each other before we go through a ceremony on Friday.” Though his voice was still low and calm, its steely undertone wrapped around her and squeezed mercilessly. The urge to escape him was profound, but she managed to stifle it. “What if I…change my mind about this? Or you do?” Ford’s gaze searched hers. “Then I reckon there’ll be no marriage.” His words only marginally eased the terrified thundering of her heart. Was the possibility of inheriting Lambert Ranch truly worth all this? If Ford was anything like her father, she’d be trading one tyrant for another. Only this tyrant, Ford, was the one who was the most potentially dangerous. She’d had no choice about how she’d grown up. She’d be choosing to marry Ford, whatever the incentive, so that meant she’d be getting everything good or bad that would come with that choice. What kind of man was he, truly? “You ought to have a look at your room,” he said, and she realized she must have stared at him all this time. And, because he seemed so unerringly perceptive, he’d probably at least glimpsed evidence of her chaotic thoughts. This man was too strong for her. Worldly, experienced Ford Harlow, who seemed to detect everything, could make mincemeat of her heart and scatter it in the dust without a backward glance. She jerked her gaze from his face and walked stiffly to the connecting door for the expected glance into the room Ford had assigned her. The details—beyond the orderly stacks of boxes near the connecting door—made absolutely no impression on her. Her whole being seemed only able to focus on the man who stood behind her and the questions that whirled in her brain. “We need to wash up for supper. Zelly serves at six.” Ford’s voice was quiet, as if he’d sensed it all, as if he’d known that she was scrambling for something normal to fix on, for something to distract her from the pressure of the shocking demands he’d detailed to her. All over a piece of land and an inheritance. The notion of marrying a stranger to get either seemed both foreign and immoral. To be expected to sleep with a man she didn’t know from the first day of that marriage was barbaric. And, for a woman who’d never been kissed, who’d never so much as held a man’s hand, it was absolutely horrifying. Somehow, she turned and managed to walk out of Ford’s bedroom into the hall, her heart beating so wildly that she was light-headed. CHAPTER THREE SUPPER was somber and quiet. The silence in the big dining room was measured by the heavy tock-tock of the ancient grandfather clock at the side of the room. Ford sat at the head of the long table, with Rena to his right. The polished surface of the glossy dark wood reflected the soft lights of the ornate candelabra that had been placed near their end of the long table. A bowl of cut flowers sat at the base of the candelabra. The look, as Zelly must have intended, was romantic, right down to the delicate china she’d laid out and the champagne Ford had poured and toasted them with. They both still wore their work clothes from that day, and the odd mix of romantic refinements and common clothes seemed symbolic of a marriage made for ranch land. Except that no true romance existed beyond the candles, the flowers and champagne. The sight was a startling depiction of the truth: their marriage agreement was focused almost entirely on land, and the only romance in the deal amounted to table decorations put there by a well-meaning third party. The food was excellent, and Rena got more of it down than she’d expected, but she felt self-conscious every moment. It was a huge relief when they finished and Ford suggested they take their champagne to the chairs on the front veranda. Ford waited until she’d chosen a seat, then dragged one of the other chairs closer to hers and sat down. He’d angled his chair so they faced each other a bit. Rena took a sip of the champagne she still had left, but was too tense to relax. “We’re gonna need to talk to each other, Rena. I enjoy the sound of your voice and I’d be interested in anything you’d have to say.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/susan-fox/marriage-on-demand/?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.