She took off her dress and exchanged it for a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, rose-colored blouse at the same time wondering how long Chance would remain outside. Would he work all afternoon, or come back inside in an hour or two?
Carrying her wedding bouquet back into the kitchen, she contemplated how to spend the afternoon. She was now a wife, and the least she could do was make a nice meal for her husband.
She was eager for any activity that would take her mind away from the night to come, a night that could be beautiful beyond her wildest dreams…or confirm to her that she’d made the biggest mistake in her life.
Chance banged another nail into the barn door, using more force than was necessary to drive it into the slightly rotten wood.
He didn’t know what to do with his anger. It had been a living, breathing force inside him since he’d arrived back here and found his father had passed away. It had built to mammoth proportions when he’d heard about the terms of the will, threatening to consume him entirely.
He paused in his task and sat on a nearby bale of musty-smelling hay. The barn was a wreck, filled with cast-off machinery and rotting hay and feed. The corral outside was falling down. Fences needed mending, boards needed replacing. The entire place showed more than one year of neglect.
“And now it’s mine,” he said aloud and felt a momentary surge of triumph. He’d beaten Sarge. Despite his father’s efforts, he’d succeeded in inheriting the place that he’d always told himself he hated.
And now what he felt more than anything was guilt as he thought of the woman who had agreed to be his “bride.” The passing years had been good to Lana. She had only grown more lovely than he remembered. She deserved more than a temporary husband and single parenthood.
He plucked a piece of hay from the bale and worried it between his fingers, his mind racing back in time, remembering the thirteen-year-old Lana who had befriended the troubled, raging sixteen-year-old he had been.
Even then, at that young age, Lana had emitted a quiet strength, a sweet nature and a sympathetic ear that had drawn him to her despite their three-year age difference. For the year of their friendship, Chance had found a soothing of his anger, a calming of his pain.
In the years since, he’d always entertained a fond gratitude for the young girl who had been his confidante and support for that year of his life.
And how had he repaid her? By agreeing to her crazy idea. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain and tonight he must fulfill his.
For the first time in his life, something he enjoyed doing, something he’d been told he was quite good at, suddenly seemed daunting. Tonight he had to make love to Lana.
He tossed the broken piece of hay aside and stood once again. Grabbing another handful of nails, he began hammering, at the same time his mind whirled with thoughts of the night to come.
No safe sex tonight. Pregnancy was the desired aftermath. In all his adult life, in all his physical relationships, he’d always been extremely careful to make sure there was not a baby as a result of a night of passion.
Chance had absolutely no desire to be a father. The very idea filled him with anxiety. What he’d learned from his own father’s parenting he never wanted to pass on to anyone else.
But Lana didn’t want a father for her baby, he reminded himself. All she wanted was a sperm donor. He was surprised to realize the whole idea of sleeping with Lana made him nervous.
What if he couldn’t fulfill his end of their bargain? What if he couldn’t perform? He shoved this thought away, knowing if he dwelled on it, he would certainly have a problem when the time came.
Dusk was falling when he made his way back to the house. As he walked into the back door, the mouth-watering scent of roast beef greeted him.
Lana was not in the kitchen, but the table was set for two. He grunted in surprise as he saw that someplace she had dug up a bright yellow tablecloth, and in the center of the table her simple wedding bouquet had been transformed into a sweet-smelling table centerpiece.
A woman’s touch.
A sudden memory flitted through his mind, a distant memory of a blond-haired woman arranging flowers in the center of the table, of her laughter that was bright as sunshine as the scent of rich chocolate chip cookies wafted from the oven.
The memory of his mother stabbed through him. When she’d died, she’d taken all the softness, all the nurturing, all the woman’s touches from this house and from his life.
Lana’s efforts found the hidden place of neglect in his soul and stirred something warm. He turned as she came into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said.
He nodded, suddenly feeling guilty for running out on her, escaping to do work the moment they’d returned home. He gestured toward the table. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Her forehead wrinkled worriedly. “I hope you don’t mind. I found the tablecloth in a drawer and thought it would be nice.”
“It is nice,” he assured her and was rewarded by a slight blush of pleasure coloring her cheeks.
“I made supper. It’s ready whenever you are.” He could tell she was nervous by the way her gaze refused to meet his and the slight catch in her breath as she spoke.
“I need to shower, then I’ll be ready to eat.” He smiled at her in an attempt to diffuse some of the tension. “I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes or so.”
He left her standing in the kitchen. A moment later he stood beneath the hot spray of water in the shower, trying not to think of the nighttime to come.
Instead he focused on all the work that would have to be done on the ranch in order to get it ready for sale. It was an awesome task, but the reward would be awesome as well. His father had owed no mortgage, so the land and the house were free and clear of debt.
He could afford to hire several men to help him get the place in shape. He’d go into town tomorrow and see about hiring help. With several ranch hands, the work would go quickly and he could have the place on the market in no time.
Finishing his shower, he then towel dried and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a button-down sports shirt. When he entered the kitchen the homey scene before him again struck him.
Lana, apparently unaware of him standing in the doorway, was at the oven. For a moment he stood silent, merely admiring her backside. She’d been slender as a young girl, and she had retained that long-legged, coltish slenderness.
Despite her slenderness, there was no mistaking the gentle curve of her hips, the shapeliness of her buttocks in the tight jeans.
Her dark hair was as he’d always seen it, tucked into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a single errant strand loose and without restraint. He wondered what it would look like completely freed and flowing down her back. He wondered what it would feel like cascading against his fingertips.
She turned at that moment, a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes in her hands. She jumped in surprise and juggled the bowl precariously before finally settling it on the edge of the table. “You scared me,”
