and will he’d needed to survive mental and physical tortures unimaginable to most men. At his darkest moments, when he was sure the pain he was suffering at the hands of his captors would drive him insane, he’d focus his mind on home, on family and gird himself with the strength and peace that came from the level of unconditional love his parents had given him.
That was what had saved him.
And now he wanted to save the ranch.
Not just for himself, he thought, but for his parents. It was the only way he knew to honor their memory, to prove their faith in him, to carry on their dream. Throughout his darkest hours, the ranch had served as his light, a beacon in an otherwise bleak world, his reason for living. If he lost it now, he feared with it he would lose his last hold on all that was good and merciful.
But how could he hang on to it, he asked himself, feeling the frustration returning, when he could barely afford the monthly mortgage payments, much less take on the tremendous burden of upkeep on a place this size? The bottom line was, the ranch had to pay for itself or he’d lose it. Which brought him right back to his original question: how could he raise the cash he needed to make the ranch a profitable business again?
He dragged off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. He knew the answer. Ford Carson had handed it to him on a silver platter not more than an hour ago. All he had to do was marry Carson’s daughter and the money he needed was his.
He slapped his hat against his thigh in frustration. But, dammit, he didn’t want to get married—especially not to a spoiled, rich girl like Fiona Carson. He’d been engaged to a woman who had enjoyed a privileged upbringing similar to Fiona’s, and he’d learned the hard way that that kind of woman didn’t stick and, more, that he didn’t belong in that world.
Clay didn’t believe in fate or luck. He’d been taught that a man created his own. But how else could he explain Ford Carson’s offering him a windfall right when he needed it most? All he had to do to collect the money was marry the man’s daughter.
Firming his lips, he slapped his hat back on his head and pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt. “It’s a job,” he told himself as he punched in Carson’s private number. “Nothing but a job.”
At the sound of Carson’s voice, Clay narrowed his gaze on the dilapidated barn in the distance, imagining it as it had looked eight years before, and as he hoped it would look again.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Fiona, I need to talk to you.”
Her fingers already curled around the front door-knob of their family home, Fiona glanced over her shoulder to find her father standing in the doorway to his study. “Can’t it wait, Daddy? I’m supposed to meet Roger at the Empire Room at eight for dinner.”
“No, it can’t.”
She hesitated a moment longer, tempted to ignore the authoritarian tone in her father’s voice. She was an adult, after all, wasn’t she? She didn’t have to jump every time he snapped his fingers.
When she continued to hesitate, he lifted a brow—a slight movement, but one Fiona had learned meant business. With a huff, she dropped her hand from the knob and marched across the entry. “If this is about the car again…” she began irritably.
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter the study before him. “No. It’s not about the car.” He seated himself behind his desk and gestured toward the leather sofa opposite him. “Have a seat.”
She twisted her wrist and gave her diamond-studded watch a pointed look. “I’d rather not. I don’t want to keep Roger waiting.”
“Why not?” he asked dryly. “It’s never seemed to bother you before to keep a man waiting.”
Before she could respond, he held up a hand. “What I have to say won’t take long.” Frowning, he leaned back in his chair and studied her from beneath dark brows. “I’m worried about you, Fiona.”
She rolled her eyes, sure that she was in store for another lecture on her many shortcomings. “Daddy—”
“And about me,” he said, cutting her off. “My health, specifically.”
That silenced Fiona as nothing else could. She looked closely at her father, noting for the first time the floridity of his skin. “Is it your heart?” she asked, terrified that he might be suffering complications from the heart surgery he’d had several years before. “You’ve been taking your medicine, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve been taking my medicine,” he snapped. “But I’m not getting any younger, Fiona, and neither are you. Unfortunately you aren’t showing the signs of maturity normally associated with a woman your age. You’re twenty-seven years old, unemployed and seem content to let me support you for the rest of your life.”
Fiona rolled her eyes again. “I’ve told you before, there isn’t any job that interests me.” She turned for the door. “We can talk about this later. I’ve got—”
“Hold it right there, young lady!”
When she turned, a brow arched in surprise at his angry tone, he pointed at the sofa. “We’re talking about this now.”
She hesitated, again tempted to defy him, then pursed her lips and flopped down on the sofa. “Okay,” she said, slapping her arms across her chest. “I’m sitting. So talk.”
He sank back in his chair, suddenly looking older than he should, defeated. “I’m worried what will become of you if something were to happen to me.”
She dropped her arms, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, scooting to the edge of the sofa. “Please don’t talk that way. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“But something could,” he insisted gruffly. “And frankly it concerns me that you are so ill prepared to take care of yourself.”
She stiffened in indignation. “I can take care of myself!”
“How?” he challenged. “Where would you live? How would you support yourself? You’ve never worked a day in your life. I doubt you have even a clue how high maintenance you are.”
She sniffed, offended. “I had no idea you considered me such a burden. I thought you enjoyed having me around.”
“I do enjoy having my children nearby,” he said in growing frustration. “And believe me, I miss Cara now that she’s gone. But I’ve made it too easy for y’all.” He leveled a finger at her nose. “Especially you. I’ve allowed you to remain dependent on me, when you should have been out on your own years ago. But I’m rectifying that mistake.”
“Rectifying?” she repeated, fearing that her father had found her a job. “How?”
“I’ve arranged for you to be married.”
She shot to her feet. “Married!” she cried.
“Yes. Married. It’s the only way I can be assured you’ll be taken care of in the event of my death.”
She laughed weakly. “You’re kidding, right? You’re just trying to bully me
