nightlife. He’d been here several times before, years ago. Even though he’d been underage through most of that time, he’d never had any trouble getting in the door. Even at seventeen he’d looked twenty-one, standing six-foot-two with an attitude even taller, tempered by a killer smile he’d learned early to use to his advantage. And he’d be willing to put it to good use right now, if only he could find that one special woman who wouldn’t mind being married for six months and then disappearing.
In the glove compartment of his car was the necessary prenuptial agreement that would allow him to sidestep Texas community property laws, along with the phone numbers of a couple of the airlines so he could snag some last-minute tickets to Vegas tomorrow night. But the woman…now that was going to be a bigger problem than he anticipated.
Not that he didn’t already have a few candidates. Within ten minutes of his arrival, three ladies had made themselves at home at his table. The first had been Tonya Jenkins, a bleach blonde who’d graduated from Coldwater High the same year he had and now lived in Tyler. She wore a denim miniskirt and fringed leather vest that closed over her ample breasts with a single tie—without the benefit of a shirt beneath it. Everything about her was excessive, from the height of her oversprayed hair to the makeup she’d applied with a steamroller, to the way she kept running her bloodred fingernails up and down his arm. He remembered now it was because of Tonya that he’d developed such an aversion to pushy women.
She grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Cole. Let’s dance.”
She had that look of hot anticipation on her face that told him if he so much as raised an eyebrow, she’d have her skirt up and her panties down in a heartbeat.
He maintained an easygoing smile. “Think I’ll sit this one out.”
“But you danced with Shelly and Tiffany.” She pressed that cherry-red bottom lip of hers into a full pout, and he could tell his mission tonight was going to be a much bigger challenge than he’d anticipated.
He’d tried to look up some of the women he knew in Dallas to see if any of them might be interested in a temporary marriage, but without exception they’d moved on to other eligible bachelors months ago when they discovered he had an arson accusation hanging over his head. So he jumped into his car and headed here, figuring a local girl might make a better candidate anyway. Someone from around here would be more likely to submit to life on a ranch for six months, while the women he knew in Dallas would last about a week before they burst into tears and rushed back to the city for a trip to Neiman Marcus and lunch at the Palm.
The downside of marrying a girl from the Coldwater area was that it pretty much insured that Murphy would find out the marriage wasn’t the real thing. But according to the provisions of the will, as long as Cole got married by midnight tomorrow night and he and his bride spent six months on the ranch as man and wife, Murphy couldn’t pull the plug on the deal just because they weren’t committed to a lifetime relationship. At the end of that time period, Cole would sell the ranch, give his new ex-wife twenty-five thousand dollars for her trouble, then take the rest of the proceeds and get on with the life he was meant to live.
He surveyed the women at his table. Shelly was a definite possibility. She was decent looking, with platinum blond hair and a pair of breasts that were beyond belief. A few quick questions had netted him the answers he needed to move forward. No, she wasn’t married; no, she wasn’t thinking of leaving town anytime soon; and yes, she was a spontaneous person. Unfortunately she seemed about as bright as a two-watt bulb.
Tiffany, on the other hand, had at least a few gears turning upstairs. She had dark, silky hair, a pair of mile-long legs and seemed to be open to new adventures, but at the same time she was quick to say she’d just come off a nasty divorce. Marriage to a man with an ulterior motive might not sit too well with her.
The more he looked at them, though, the more he sensed a harshness about them that turned him off—a shadowed, wary look in their eyes that said they’d been around the block a time or two and could easily shift into ball buster mode if need be. Could he spend six months in the same house with a woman like that?
And then there was Tonya.
He checked his watch. Time was running short, and his options were few. He had to make a decision pretty quickly, because if one turned him down, he’d need time to talk another one into it. But which one first? Would they think it was strange if he asked them to draw straws?
“Excuse me?”
He looked up from his beer to see a woman standing in front of his table. Just barely a woman. He couldn’t say for sure she was even of legal age to be there. She wore a shirt with little horseshoes all over it, and her jeans were a deep indigo blue with a loose, crinkly fit. If she added a straw hat and a bandanna, she’d look just like Dale Evans.
Her brown eyes shifted back and forth as she systematically disintegrated a balled-up cocktail napkin, and he got the feeling that if he so much as said boo she’d go running for the hills. He pictured her going out with guys who wore sweater-vests and had her home by ten o’clock—the kind of date she could bring home to Mom for Sunday dinner. But here she was at a raunchy country-western bar on a Friday night looking as out of place as a sparrow in a flock of peacocks.
Then she fixed her gaze on his, and he felt a twinge of apprehension. She took a deep, shaky breath, looking as if she were about to faint.
“Would you like to dance?” she asked.
Oh, boy. He did not need this.
Before he could say anything, though, Tonya snickered a little, then leaned forward, her forearms on the table. “A little out of your league, aren’t you, honey?”
For a minute Cole thought the woman might go running for the hills after all. Instead she stood her ground, but her slightly panicked expression said it was a hard-won battle.
Tonya smelled blood. “Don’t you have a church social to go to? Or how about a bingo game? I hear it’s twenty-dollar jackpot night down at the VFW Hall.”
To her credit, the woman didn’t respond. She weaved a little, and Cole wondered if maybe she hadn’t had one beer too many. Then she lifted her chin, and in a shaky voice she asked him again if he’d like to dance.
The other women exchanged glances, laughing behind their hands. God, he hated this. There was nothing worse than an arrogant shrew like Tonya picking on somebody who didn’t have the guts to give it right back to her. The woman’s eyes were getting a little shiny. If he didn’t do something, in just a few seconds Tonya was really going to have something to laugh about.
He sighed inwardly and gave the woman a big smile. “Sure, sweetheart. I’d love to dance.”
In unison, three female jaws hit the ground. He rose from the booth and took the woman’s hand, then parted the crowd and led her to the dance floor.
“Look out, Cole,” Tonya called. “She’s obviously a loose woman. Liable to ruin your reputation.”
The other women laughed, but Cole ignored them. He heard more snide remarks, which he likewise ignored. One quick dance, and then he could return to the business at hand.
The band was playing a mournful somebody-done-me-wrong song just perfect for slow dancing. When they reached the dance floor he pulled her around to face him. She froze, her eyes wide.
“You want to dance, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded.
