Rancher to the Rescue

CHAPTER TWO

CASH ARRIVED AT the church in time to witness the groom taking his moment in the spotlight, blaming everything on Meg in order to gain the public’s sympathy.

The nerve of the man amazed Cash. Meg was distraught to the point of being physically ill, and here was Harold posing for pictures. His bride might have walked out on him, but Harold sure didn’t look like the injured party. A niggling feeling told him there was more to this story than the bride getting cold feet.

Ten minutes passed before he pried Gram away from consoling the groom’s family and ushered her to his pickup. At last they hit the road. Gram insisted on regaling him with the tale of how the bride ran out of the church without explanation and all the wild speculations. Cash let her talk. All too soon she would learn the facts for herself.

When he reached the two-lane highway he had only one mission—to tramp the accelerator and get back to the sickly bride. By now she must think he’d forgotten her.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Cash, slow down,” Gram protested. “I don’t know what you’re in such an all-fired-up rush for. There’s nothing at the Tumbling Weed that can’t wait.”

“It’s not the ranch I’m worried about.”

He could feel his grandmother’s pointed gaze. “You aren’t in some kind of trouble again, are you?”

He sighed, hating how his past clung to him tighter than wet denim. “Not like you’re thinking.”

He glanced down at the speedometer, finding he was well beyond the limit. He eased his boot up on the accelerator. As his speed decreased his anxiety rose. It was bad enough having to leave Meg alone, but when she didn’t feel well it had to be awful for her.

At last he flipped on his turn signal and pulled off the road.

“What are we stopping for? Is there something wrong with the truck? I told you we should have gassed up before leaving town.”

“The truck’s fine.”

“Then why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere? Cash, have you lost your mind?”

“Wait here.” He jumped out of the truck and rushed over to the rock.

Meg wasn’t there. His chest clenched. What had happened to her? He hadn’t seen any sign of her walking back to town. Had someone picked her up? The thought made him uneasy.

“Meg!” He turned in a circle. “Meg, where are you?” At last he spotted her, on the other side of the road. She gathered up her dirty dress and rushed across the road. “What in the world were you doing?”

“I thought if any passing vehicles had taken notice of you dropping a bride off on the side of the road, it might be wiser if I moved to another location.”

It seemed as though her nerves had settled and left her making reasonable decisions. “Good thinking. Sorry it took me a bit to get back here. Picking up my grandmother took me longer than I anticipated—”

“Cash, who are you talking to?” Gram hollered from inside the truck.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “that’s my grandmother. Your number-one fan.”

“Really? She watches my show?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. From what Gram says, you’ve gained quite a loyal following.”

“I suppose I have. That’s why the network’s considering taking the show national.”

So she was a rising television star. Maybe Harold hadn’t been up for sharing the spotlight? Cash liked the idea of Meg being more successful and popular than a man who played up the part of an injured party to gain public sympathy.

“Cash, do you hear me?” Gram yelled, her voice growing irritated.

“We’d better not keep her waiting,” he said. “If she gets it in her mind to climb out of that truck without assistance I’m afraid she’ll get hurt.”

Meg walked beside him. “Your truck could use a stepladder to get into.”

“When I bought it my intent was to haul a horse trailer, not to have beautiful women using it as a taxi service.”

He noticed how splotches of pink bloomed in her cheeks. He found he enjoyed making her blush. Obviously Harold, the stuffed shirt, hadn’t bothered to lather her with compliments. No wonder she’d left him.

“Before I forget, here’s your phone.” She placed it in his outstretched hand. “I hope you don’t mind but I called my family.”

“No problem.” He knew if she were his sister or daughter he’d be worried. Turning his attention to his grandmother, he said, “Meg, this is my grandmother—Martha Sullivan. Gram, this is—”

“The Jiffy Cook,” Gram interjected. Her thin lips pursed together. Behind her wire-rimmed glasses her gaze darted between him and Meg. “You stole the bride. Cash, how could you?”

His own grandmother believed he was the reason the bride had run away from the church. The fact it had even crossed her mind hurt. He’d have thought Gram of all people would think better of him and not believe all those scandalous stories in the press.

Before he could refute the accusation Meg spoke up. “Your grandson has been a total gentleman. When he saw me run out of the church with the press on my trail he helped me get away without any incidents. I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

Gram waved away her concern. “It’s you I’m concerned about. Has this thing with my grandson been going on for long?”

Any color in Meg’s cheeks leached away, leaving her pasty white beneath the light splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “I…ah…we aren’t—”

“Gram, we aren’t together. In fact until she ran out of the church I’d never seen Meg before. She needed a lift and I was there. End of story. No one else knows where she is.”

“My goodness, what happened? Why did you run away?” Gram pressed a bony hand to her lips, halting the stream of questions. Seconds later, she lowered her hand to her lap. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to be so dang nosy. Climb in here and we can give you a ride back to town.”

Seeing alarm in Meg’s eyes, Cash spoke up, “We can’t do that, Gram.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why not? She obviously needs to get out of that filthy gown. And we sure aren’t going to leave her here on the side of the road.”

“I can’t go home,” Meg spoke up. “Not yet.”

“But what about Harold?” Gram asked. “Shouldn’t you let him know where you are? He looked so worried.”

Meg’s face grew ashen as she pressed her hand to her stomach. She turned to Cash, her eyes wide with anguish. she pushed past him and ran off.

“Meg—wait.” He dogged her footsteps to a rock in the distance.

When she bent at her waist he grabbed at the white material of her dress, pulling it back for her. He’d hoped the nausea had passed, but one mention of the wedding and she was sick again.

Was she overtaken by regret about leaving old what’s-his-name at the altar? Had her conscience kicked in and it was so distressing that it made her ill?

He considered telling her what he’d witnessed when he’d gone back for Gram, but what purpose would it serve? Obviously the thought of the wrecked wedding was enough to make her sick. Knowing the man she must still love had turned on her wasn’t likely to help.

When she straightened, her eyes were red and her face was still ashen. She swayed and he put a steadying arm around her waist. He had no doubt the hot sun was only making things worse.

“I’m fine,” she protested in a weak voice. “There’s nothing left in my stomach. Just dry heaves.”

He didn’t release his hold on her until he had her situated in the pickup next to his grandmother. “Gram, can you turn up the air-conditioning and aim the vents on her?”

Without a word Gram adjusted the dials while he helped Meg latch her seatbelt. Once she was secure, he shut the door and rushed over to the driver’s side.

He shifted into Drive, but kept his foot on the brake. “Where can we take you, Meg?”

When she didn’t answer, he glanced over to find her head propped against the window. She stared off into the distance, looking as if she’d lost her best friend and didn’t know where to turn. In that instant he was transported back in time almost twenty years ago, a little boy who needed a helping hand. If it hadn’t been for Gram…

“We’ll take you back to the Tumbling Weed,” he said, surprising even himself with the decision.

“Where?” Meg’s weary voice floated over to him, reassuring him that he’d made the right decision.

“It’s Cash’s ranch,” Gram chimed in. “The perfect place for you to catch your breath.”

“I don’t know.” She worried her bottom lip. “You don’t even know me. I wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“With there just being Cash and me living there, we could use the company. Isn’t that right, Cash?”

“You live there too?” Meg looked directly at his grandmother.

Gram nodded. “So, what do you say?”

Cash wasn’t as thrilled about their guest as his grandmother. Meg might be beautiful, and she might have charmed his grandmother, but she was trouble. The press wasn’t going to let up until they found her. He could already envision the headlines: Runaway Bride Stolen by Thieving Cowboy. His gut twisted into a painful knot.

“You’re invited as long as you keep your location a secret,” he said, his voice unbending. “I can’t afford to have the press swooping in.”

“Oh, no,” Meg said, pulling herself upright with some effort. “I’d never bring them to your place. I don’t want to see any of them.”

Honesty dripped from her words, and a quick glance in her direction showed him her somber expression. But what if she started to feel better and decided she needed to fix her reputation? Or, worse, made a public appeal to what’s-his-name to win him back?

Then again, she wouldn’t be there that long. In fact it was still early in the day. Not quite lunchtime. If she rested, perhaps she’d be up to going home this evening.

Certain she’d soon be on her way, he said, “Good. Now that we understand each other, let’s get moving.”

The cold air from the vents of Cash’s new-smelling pickup breathed a sense of renewed energy into Meghan. She was exhausted and dirty, but thankfully her stomach had settled. She gazed out the window as they headed southeast. She’d never ventured in this direction, but she enjoyed the vastness of the barren land, where it felt as if she could lose herself and her problems.

Instinctively she moved her hand to her stomach. There wasn’t time for kicking back and losing herself. This wasn’t a vacation or a spa weekend. This was a chance to get her head screwed on straight, to figure out how to repair the damage to her life and prepare to be a single mother.

The thought of her impending motherhood filled her with anxiety. What she didn’t know about being a good parent could fill up an entire library. The only thing she did know was that she didn’t want to be like her own mother—emotionally distant and habitually withholding her approval. Instead, Meghan planned to lavish her baby with love.

But what if she failed to express her love? What if she fell back on the way she’d been raised?

“Here we are,” Cash announced, breaking into her troubled thoughts.

The truck had stopped in front of a little whitewashed house with a covered porch and two matching rocking chairs. the place was cute, but awfully small. Certainly not big enough for her to keep out of everyone’s way.

Cash cut the engine and rounded the front of the truck. He swung open the door she’d only moments ago been leaning against. She released her seat restraint as Cash held out his hands to help her down. As the length of her dress hampered her movements she accepted his offer. His long, lean fingers wrapped around her waist. Holding her securely, he lowered her to the ground in one steady movement.

She tilted her chin upward and for the first time noticed his towering height. Even with her heels on he stood a good six inches taller than her own five-foot-six stature. His smoky gray eyes held her captive with their intensity.

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His lips lifted in a small smile, sending her tummy aflutter.

Before she could think of anything to say he turned to his grandmother and helped her out of the vehicle. Martha rushed up the walk, appearing not to need any assistance getting around. Meghan could only hope to be so spry when she got on in years.

Martha, as though remembering them, stopped on the porch. “See you at five o’clock for dinner.”

She’d turned for the door when Cash said, “Wait, Gram. You’re forgetting Meg.”

“Not at all. She’s invited too.” She reached for the doorknob.

“But, Gram, aren’t you going to invite her in?”

Martha turned and gave him a puzzled look. “Sure, she’s welcome. But I thought she’d want to get cleaned up and changed into something fresh.”

“Wouldn’t she need to go inside?”

Martha’s brows rose. “Um…Cash…you’re going to have to take her to the big house.”

“But I thought—”

“Remember after you built the house we converted your old room into my sewing room? She could sleep on the couch, but I think she’d be much more comfortable in one of your guestrooms.”

This wasn’t what Meghan had imagined. She’d thought they’d all be staying in one house together. The thought of staying alone with Cash sent up warning signals.

“I don’t want to be a burden on either of you. If you could let me use your phone, I can call and get a ride.”

Cash shot her a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t have any other place to hide from the press?”

“I don’t.” She licked her dry lips. Softly she added, “I’ll just have to tell them…”

“What? What will you tell them?”

Panic paralyzed the muscles in her chest. “I don’t know.”

“Why did you run out on your wedding?” His unblinking gaze held hers, searching for answers.

“I…ah…”

“Why did you abandon the groom at the altar? Do you want him back?”

She glared at Cash. “I’m not ready to talk about it. Why are you being so mean?”

“Because that is just a small taste of what’s waiting for you. In fact, this is probably mild compared to the questions they’ll lob at you.”

“What would a cowboy know about the press?” she sputtered, not wanting to admit he was right.

“Trust Cash,” Martha piped up. “He knows what he’s talking about—”

“Gram, drop it. Meg obviously doesn’t want to hear our thoughts.”

Meghan turned her gaze to Cash, waiting for him to finish his grandmother’s cryptic comment. She’d already had her fiancé dupe her into believing he was going to marry her—that he cared about her. But if he had he wouldn’t have uttered those words at the altar. Everything she’d thought about their relationship was a lie. And she wouldn’t stand for one more man lying to her.

“What aren’t you saying?” she demanded. “What do you know about the press?”

His jaw tensed and a muscle twitched in his cheek. His hands came to rest on his sides as his weight shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’ll let you two talk,” Martha said. “I’ve got some things to do.”

The front door to the little house swished open, followed by a soft thud as it closed. All the while Meghan’s gaze never left Cash. What in the world had made her think coming here was a good idea?

“I’m waiting.” The August sun beat down on her in the layers of tulle and satin, leaving it clinging to her skin. Perspiration trickled down her spine. She longed to rub away the irritating sensation, but instead she stood her ground. She wouldn’t budge until this stubborn cowboy told her what his cryptic comments meant.

Cash sighed. “I overheard your fiancé talking to the press and it sounded like you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

He’d turned the conversation around on her without bothering to explain his grandmother’s comment. But Meghan didn’t have time to point this out. She was reeling from the knowledge that Harold had not only gone to her family and blamed her for the wrecked wedding, but he’d also gone to the press with his pack of lies too. The revelation hit her like a sucker punch.

“Why would he do that?” she muttered. Her public persona was her livelihood. Was he trying to wreck her career?

“Maybe if you talked to him you could straighten things out.”

She shook her head. At last she was seeing past Harold’s smooth talk and fancy airs to the self-centered man beneath the designer suits. “He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. Not after what happened.”

Cash’s gaze was filled with questions, but she wasn’t up for answering them. Right about now she would gladly give her diamond ring just to have a shower and a glass of ice-cold water.

“Could we get out of the sun?” she asked.

Cash’s brows rose, as though he’d realized he’d forgotten his manners. “Sure. My house isn’t far down the lane.”

Alone with this cowboy. It didn’t sound like a good idea. In fact, it sounded like a really bad idea. She eyed him up. He looked reasonable. And his grandmother certainly seemed to think the sun revolved around him. So why was she hesitating? It wasn’t as if she was moving in. She would figure out a plan and be out of his way in no time.

“You’re safe,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “If you’re that worried about being alone with me, you heard my grandmother—you can sleep on her couch. Although, between you and me, it’s a bit on the lumpy side.”

His teasing eased the tenseness in her stomach. He’d been a gentleman so far. There was no reason to think he’d be a threat.

As she stood there, contemplating how to climb up into the passenger seat again, Cash said, “Let me give you a hand.”

She knew without having any money or her own transportation she was beholden to him, but that didn’t mean she had to give up every bit of self-reliance.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” She took her time, hiking up her dress in one hand while bracing the other hand on the truck frame. With all of her might she heaved herself up and into the seat without incident. While he rounded the vehicle she latched her seatbelt.

“The lane,” as he’d referred to the two dirt ruts, contained a series of rocks and potholes, and Meghan was jostled and tossed about like a rag doll.

“Did you ever consider paving this?” She clutched the door handle and tried to remain in her seat.

A deep chuckle filled the air. The sound was warm and thick, like a layer of hot fudge oozing down over a scoop of ice cream—both of which she could easily enjoy on a regular basis. Ice cream had always been something she could take or leave, but suddenly the thought of diving into a sundae plagued her, as did pulling back the layers of this mysterious cowboy.

In the next instance she reminded herself that she didn’t have the time nor the energy to figure him out—not that she had any clue about men. She’d thought she’d understood Harold. The idea of being a parent must have scared him—especially since he’d never planned on having kids. It scared her too. They could have talked about it. Supported each other. But for him to cut and run at the last minute, leaving her all alone to deal with this…That was unforgivable.

She’d been so wrong about him.

And that was the real reason she found herself at this out-of-the-way ranch. If she’d been so wrong about Harold she didn’t trust herself to make any more big decisions.

She glanced over at Cash. Had she been wrong to trust him?

She smothered a groan. This was ridiculous. She was overthinking everything now. She wondered if this cowboy had ever questioned his every decision. She studied the set of his strong jaw and the firm line of his lips—everything about him said he was sure of himself.

He turned and their gazes connected. His slate-gray eyes were like walls, holding in all his secrets. What kind of secrets could this rugged cowboy have?

CHAPTER THREE

CASH PULLED TO a stop in front of his two-story country home and none too soon. Meg was giving him some strange looks—not the kind he experienced from the good-time girls in the local cowboy bar. These looks were deeper, as though she had questions but didn’t know how to phrase them. Whatever she wanted to know about him, he was pretty certain he didn’t want to discuss it.

This ranch had become his refuge from the craziness of the rodeo circuit, and now he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Here at the Tumbling Weed he could be himself and unwind. Though the house had been built a few years ago, he’d never brought home any female friends. He didn’t want any misunderstandings. He made it known that he was a no-strings-attached cowboy. Period.

“Thanks for everything,” Meg said, breaking into his thoughts. “If you hadn’t helped me I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“I’m certain you would have made do. You don’t seem like the type of person who goes long without a plan.” When she didn’t say anything, he glanced over. She’d bitten down on her lower lip. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by the comment. You’re welcome here until you feel better.”

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Have you looked at this house?” He pointed through the windshield. “I guess I got a little carried away when I had the plans drawn up. Tried to talk Gram into moving in but she flat-out refused. She said all of her memories were in her little house and she had no intention of leaving it until the good Lord called her home.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a down-to-earth lady.”

“She is. And the best cook around.”

He immediately noticed Meg’s lips purse. He’d momentarily forgotten she was some kind of cook. He’d bet his prize mare that Meg’s scripted cooking couldn’t come close to his grandmother’s down-home dishes, but he let the subject drop.

Meg reached for the door handle. “Before I leave I’d love to hear about some of her recipes.”

He’d met women before who only had one thing on their minds—what they could freely gain from somebody else. He didn’t like the thought of the Jiffy Cook using his grandmother’s recipes to further her career. If he had his way that would never happen. And the sooner he got her settled, the sooner she’d be rested and on her way.

“Shall we go inside? I’ll see if I can find something for you to change into.”

“That would be wonderful. Every girl dreams about their wedding dress, but they never realize how awkward it can be to move in.”

“I couldn’t even imagine.”

He rushed around the truck, but by The time he got there Meg had already jumped out. Seemed she’d gotten the hang of rustling up her dress to get around. The woman certainly had an independent streak. What had convinced her to chain herself to Harold?

Love. That mythical, elusive thing women wanted so desperately to believe in. He refused to buy into hearts and Valentines. There was no such thing as undying love—at least not the romantic kind. His parents’ marriage should have been proof enough for him, but he’d given it a shot and learned a brutal lesson he’d never forget.

He led Meg up the steps to the large wraparound porch. This was his favorite spot in the whole house. Weather permitting, this was where he had his mid-morning coffee, and in the evening he liked to kick back to check out the stars.

“This is really nice,” she said, as though agreeing with his thoughts.

“Nothing better than unwinding and looking out over the pasture.”

“You’re lucky to have so much space, and this view is awesome. How big is the ranch?”

“A little more than sixteen hundred acres. Plenty of room to go trail riding.”

“It’s like having your own little country.”

He chuckled. She’d obviously spent too much time in the city. “It’s not quite that big. But it’s my little piece of heaven.” He moved to the door and opened it. “Ready to get out of that dress?”