yours over by the tree, right?”
She knew good and well that he recognized her sports car, because he’d made a point several months earlier of telling her that such a vehicle was useless on a ranch. “Are you going to play caveman from here on out, or act like a civilized human being?”
“Don’t know.” He crossed the parking lot and managed to press the correct buttons on her remote to unlock the car without setting off the alarm. “If I feel a yen to throw you over my shoulder and start brandishing a big wooden club, I’ll let you know. But at least I keep my drawers on,” he added. “Seems the mark of a civilized man.”
Humiliated, she yanked open the passenger door when it became embarrassingly apparent that he wasn’t going to open her door for her and slid inside. She knew he’d have to adjust the driver’s seat to his height, and she resolutely remained silent. He could figure it out for himself. When he knocked his knee into the steering column in the process, she smiled innocently. “What about your vehicle?” She didn’t see the ramshackle truck she’d seen him driving around town parked in the lot.
“What about it?”
She exhaled slowly. Undoubtedly, his orneriness was another attempt to get under her skin. “Just so you know,” she told him evenly, “you can do all the driving you want, but I am not doing your laundry.”
He gave a sudden bark of laughter. “Do you even know what the washing machine looks like?”
She lifted her nose into the air and looked out the side window. What was it to him if she’d had to read the directions in the owner’s manual…twice? It wasn’t her fault that she’d been raised in a setting that ensured such matters had always been taken care of by someone else.
Being a McFarlane hadn’t been about how well she could play at household chores. It was about how well she could manage a luxury hotel.
And she’d thought she’d been doing an admirable job of it, until she’d learned otherwise.
She pressed her palms together. Now that the decision had been made to actually get married, she wasn’t certain how to proceed. “Do you, um, know what the marriage license requirements are in Montana? Blood tests? Waiting period? Anything?”
“Don’t know.”
“So you didn’t get married here, before?”
His gaze slid her way for a moment before he zoomed out of the parking lot with more finesse than she’d have expected for a man who didn’t seem to drive anything but ancient, rattling pickup trucks. “Nope.”
She refused to indulge her curiosity. “I guess we can wait until Monday to find out.”
“We’ll fly to Vegas this afternoon.”
“So soon?”
“Cold feet already?” His voice was mocking.
“Of course not.” But her stomach muscles were clenching. Which was ridiculous. The only difference between the proposition she’d made to him and the final agreement they’d come to was a license. A piece of paper. What did it matter if that paper was signed now or five days from now?
They made the rest of the drive to the Hopping H in silence. He parked in front of the wide stone steps that led up to the main house. “Pack light,” he ordered. “I’m gonna check the barn and the stock.”
She hadn’t needed the reminder of where his priorities were but it was probably just as well.
She went up the steps that had already undergone significant repair and restoration and unlocked the door. She looked back, watching him continue driving along the gravel road that eventually would lead him to the Hopping H’s outbuildings. Lord only knew what sort of comments she’d earn once he’d assessed the situation there.
Her gaze skipped over the tall snow-heavy pines that surrounded the house. With a fresh coat of white on the ground, it was almost postcard-perfect.
On the outside, at least.
She sighed again and went inside where the signs of construction and refurbishment were all around her in the form of scaffolding against the two-story fireplace and lumber stacked in the dining room that would eventually be a state-of-the-art media room. The two-man construction crew’s progress was coming along more slowly than she’d have liked, but she’d had to hire them in from Bozeman and she was lucky to get them on site for more than three days of the week.
Nevertheless, though the going was slow, she couldn’t fault the quality of their work. Plus, they’d come in with the most reasonable bid.
When it was her own money on the line, she couldn’t afford to call in the same companies her family usually used. Nor did she want to chance any of her vendors reporting back to them about her business here. She’d dealt with that situation far too often, too.
She worked her way around enormous paint buckets and went upstairs, heading straight for the aspirin bottle first.
Pack light, Russ had decreed. At least that was something she did know how to do. When he stomped through the front door a while later to find her already sitting in one of the oversize suede wing chairs that had come with the Hopping H, she allowed herself the indulgence of enjoying the surprise on his face.
Of course, he masked that surprise quickly. “The water troughs for the stock were frozen over, but I broke it up. And the horses are low on feed.”
She crossed her high-heeled boots at the ankle. “Shall I run to the supermarket?” she asked sweetly. She knew she was low on feed. She was low on everything. Unfortunately, she’d thought she could trust Harlan, who’d assured her that he’d put in the appropriate orders long before he and his brother walked off the job.
Russ ignored her sarcasm. His gaze swept the interior of the house, undoubtedly judging the renovation mess with his usual criticism. “That thing hooked up?” He nodded toward the ancient black phone that sat on the table she’d pushed against one wall to use as a temporary desk.
“Yes.”
He reached for it and didn’t seem at all slowed by the old-fashioned rotary dial. For all she knew, he hadn’t moved into the current century with push-button phones, either.
His phone call was brief, though, and he hung up, looking at her over her shoulder. “You’ll have a delivery by early next week. In the meantime, I’ll have one of my guys stock you up.”
How simple he made it sound. She’d been calling the feed supply manager every day for the past week.
Being angry that he’d accomplished what she could not seem to, though, was not going to get her anywhere. Russ had helped. That was the bottom line. And she was working hard on the whole okay-to-accept-help concept.
It did not come naturally to her.
“Thank you.” She dashed her hands down the sleeves of her ivory leather jacket. “Will the animals be all right while we’re gone?”
He looked vaguely amused. “You want pet-sitters or something?”
She
