Gabriel's Bride. Suzannah Davis

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before.”

      “That I can believe.” Out of patience, Gabe grabbed her elbow and began hustling her around the front of the main building toward her parked truck. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

      “For gosh sakes, it won’t be real.” Her nose tilted at an indignant angle. “What do you take me for? I want to hire you to pretend to be my husband.”

      Gabe braked to a halt at her bumper, his boots sliding on the crushed shells. Somehow this admission was even worse. “Why the hell would you want to do a crazy thing like that?”

      She glanced out over the glistening bay beyond them, chewing her lip. “I have my reasons.”

      “You’ll have to do better than that.”

      Defiance darkened her expression, and a mulish pucker compressed her soft mouth. “It’s about family. You won’t understand.”

      Her assumption stung him. Hell, though he didn’t see them often, he cherished his own family back in Texas. What couldn’t he understand? “Try me.”

      She took a deep breath, weighing her words. “It’s my grandfather.”

      “What about him?”

      “He’s dying. They tell me it’s just a matter of weeks.” Her eyes filled.

      Gabe felt something punch him in the gut. “Damn, don’t do that.”

      She leaned against the truck fender for support and blotted the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

      Feeling awkward around female tears, he began to stuff his shirttail into his jeans. “It’s too bad. Crusty old codger, as I recall.”

      “Yes. He’s all I’ve got.” Regaining her composure, she lifted her face. “And he’s worried about me. Wants to see me settled before he goes. It’s become an obsession. He’s not peaceful. So you understand why I’d do anything to make him happy.”

      “Even lie to him?”

      She blanched, then swallowed hard. “Even that. What harm will it do?”

      “I don’t know. You tell me.”

      “None. And otherwise…” She broke off with a defensive shrug.

      Gabe narrowed his eyes. There was something else, something she wasn’t telling him. “Otherwise, what?”

      “Nothing.”

      “If I’m going to even consider this, you’d better tell me everything.”

      Her head snapped around, her expression at once hopeful and full of trepidation.

      “It’s just that he doesn’t think I can swing things on the farm after…after he’s gone. He thinks if I don’t have a man to take care of me, then he ought to sell the place now so I won’t be strapped with all the responsibility.”

      “That seems sensible.”

      She shook her head fiercely. “No, he’s wrong, but he’s ill, and I can’t convince him differently. I don’t want to lose either Gramps or my home, Mr. Thornton. The Dempseys have been farming our land for three generations. I don’t intend to let that legacy die.”

      Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, fingers automatically brushing the scar hidden beneath his hair that ran from neckline to ear. It was a tangible reminder of a nightmare of green hell and fire from his other life and more than enough reason not to complicate his quest for inner peace with some farfetched, off-the-wall scheme concocted by a lunatic!

      “Ma’am—Sarah, this plan of yours is pretty drastic. And why me? Don’t you have a boyfriend who could pull this off for you?”

      A tide of hot color rolled up her cheeks, and her voice grew stiff. “No. At any rate, I’d rather keep this arrangement strictly business. You deal in unusual job assignments, don’t you? No one need know anything about it except Gramps, you and me.”

      “You’ve got it all worked out,” he muttered.

      “There’s really not much involved except your absolute discretion. Just meet Gramps a time or two, that’s all. And I’ll pay your usual fee.”

      She was so sure of herself he felt sorry for her. “Honey, you can’t afford me.”

      Dismay widened her eyes. “Oh, but—”

      “Believe me, you’re out of your league.”

      “Then a trade,” she offered, her expression harried. “That frontage land you wanted. I never meant to part with it, but if it’s the only way…”

      For a moment he was tempted. The land would offer better access to Angel’s Landing, which was critical to keeping the enterprise afloat. But the whole setup was fraught with complications and headaches. No, better to follow his instincts. He shook his head.

      “Forget it, I’m not interested. Not to mention that I have a real problem hoodwinking sick old men.”

      “It’s shameful, I know that.” Remorse quivered in her voice. “But it’s for his peace of mind. You can’t know how worried he is. If I can relieve that…well, I know God will forgive me this white lie. Please, Mr. Thornton. I’ll give you the land.”

      “Not this time, honey.” Shaking his head, he opened the driver’s door and pushed her gently into the seat. “’Husband’ isn’t my usual line of work. Tried it once. Didn’t like it.”

      “It’s not much to ask,” she pleaded, as he slammed the truck door.

      “Go home, Sarah Ann.”

      She leaned out the window, her eyes the turbulent blue of a thunderhead. “Why won’t you help me?”

      “I can think of about two dozen very good reasons.”

      “Name one,” she challenged.

      Goaded, he caught her chin between his fingers. “Try this.”

      Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her hard. Despite her smothered squeal of protest, she was surprisingly sweet. He held her fast, taking his time, savoring the spice and fury of her mouth. When he released her, she sputtered in incoherent outrage. His lips curled in a smile both wicked and satisfied.

      “Let that be a warning, Sarah Ann. Little girls shouldn’t play with fire. Every assignment gets my full attention. And real or not, you wouldn’t like what I’d expect of a wife.”

      * * *

      “What do you mean you turned it down?” Mike Hennesey wrinkled his sunburned nose and scrubbed at his russet curls in pure exasperation.

      Rafe Okee sat across the dining table. Darkly bronzed and wiry, in jogging shorts, he pulled the bandana securing his long hair off his brow and snorted his agreement. “Hell, Cap’n! If this place is ever going to pay off, we need that frontage—bad.”

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