The Wife He Chose

When he continued, his voice was low and rough, almost a rasp. “I planned never to marry. I don’t believe in love, not the hearts and flowers kind. But I changed my mind about marriage today. The kids need stability. You love them like I do….”

Colleen sensed what was coming then, but couldn’t believe it. Cade was right, he was shocking her.

“I think we should marry, Colleen.”

Her heart gave a huge leap. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This had to be a dream. They barely knew each other—how could they possibly consider marriage?

What kind of man makes the perfect husband?

A man with a big heart and strong arms—someone tough

but tender, powerful yet passionate….

And where can such a man be found?

Marriages made on the ranch…

Susan Fox lives with her youngest son, Patrick, in Des Moines, Iowa, U.S.A. A lifelong fan of Westerns and cowboys, she tends to think of romantic heroes in terms of Stetsons and boots! In what spare time she has, Susan is an unabashed couch potato and movie fan. She particularly enjoys romantic movies and also reads a variety of romance novels—with guaranteed happy endings—and plans to write many more of her own.

The Wife He Chose

Susan Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD taken months to recover from the terrible car crash that had killed her sister. And yet, fully recovering from either her sister’s death or her own injuries might never be possible.

Even now, as Colleen James drove down the Texas highway, she suffered the constant ache and weariness of a body that had been broken and traumatized, that was still far from healed after multiple surgeries and months of therapy.

The wreck was also responsible for the frequent headaches she got when she was overtired. She was still weak on her right side, and when she was tired or upset, she was even more unsteady on her feet. The feminine grace and ease of movement she’d taken for granted before the crash were now no more than a golden memory. Her awkwardness embarrassed her. The slim, black cane she hated to use was a necessity and might yet be for weeks or months more.

But the emotional injuries were the most formidable. She couldn’t seem to shake the depression that clung to her and made her days gray and trying. The terror of driving a car, or even riding as a passenger in one, had been debilitating. Only after days of determined practice with a rental car had she overcome her fear of driving enough to make the two-hour trip from San Antonio to the Chalmers Ranch.

Because it was imperative that she speak to Cade Chalmers. She’d sent a handful of letters to him, including flowers and condolences for the recent death of his brother, Craig. This past week, she’d phoned him three times, including the call this morning just before she’d left San Antonio. He hadn’t responded to any of her letters and he’d never returned her calls.

She’d decided a try at a face-to-face meeting with him was preferable to contacting him through a lawyer, which he might resent, but time was running out.

Her late sister’s three-year-old son and infant daughter—had now also lost their father. Craig Chalmers had drowned accidentally a month ago, and permanent custody of the children should soon be decided by a judge. The fact that their Uncle Cade currently had custody of them made it imperative that she speak to him.

Colleen was certain he’d given no thought to her regarding visitation, or that he’d even considered granting her access to her late sister’s children. That’s why she’d made the difficult trip, to both remind Cade Chalmers that she existed and to demonstrate to him the level of concern she felt about his apparent indifference to preserving the children’s tie to her.

She couldn’t successfully petition the courts for the privilege of raising them herself because of her limitations, but she wanted to have some part in their lives.

Cade’s late brother, Craig, had also been indifferent to her, and he’d blamed her for the fact that she’d enabled Sharon’s trial separation from him by allowing her and the children to live with her while they decided whether or not to divorce. His refusal to respond to her letters or calls after Sharon’s death was proof of that.

And Colleen had been the one who’d been driving when Sharon was killed. Thank God the children had been safely at home in her apartment with a sitter. There’d been no way to avoid or escape the semi-trailer truck that had all but run over their car in a busy San Antonio intersection. The setting sun had blinded the truck driver to their car until it was too late. His frantic effort to stop the turning vehicle had been hindered by the powerful momentum of the loaded trailer.

Though she remembered nothing of the wreck or that last day with Sharon, she’d later seen the newspaper reports of it that had been saved for her, and the traffic reports, along with the trucker’s and witness’s statements. The terror she had now was the result of the horrifying nightmares that resulted.

A fresh sheen of perspiration sent a chill over her skin and her palms were suddenly slick on the steering wheel. The two-lane highway in front of her seemed too narrow to safely navigate, and every time she saw a semi hurtling in her direction in the oncoming lane, she felt a jolt of fear. The nausea was overwhelming.

If the turnoff to the ranch hadn’t finally come into sight, she might have had to find another place to pull off the highway. What should have been a two-hour trip to the ranch had lengthened to more than four because of the occasional stops she’d had to make to calm herself. There’d been times that day when only her desire to see her niece and nephew again had made her go on.

Once she turned off onto the ranch road, she brought the car to a halt and tried to recover. A headache thumped at her brain, and it seemed to take forever before the nausea calmed. Her hands still trembled and she had a cautious drink of bottled water to soothe her dry mouth.

Finally settled enough to drive on, Colleen started down the ranch road. The car’s slower speed on the gravel and the absence of traffic helped put her at ease. Over the last long, slow rise of road, the main house came into view.

The Chalmers Ranch headquarters was impressive, even against the rugged backdrop of massive rangeland. The fact that the Chalmers measured their vast land acres by the tens of thousands was still an overwhelming notion to someone who’d been born and raised in the city.

The main house held its own among the barns and buildings and the network of corrals that spread out behind it. The house was a huge, single-story adobe built in a C that faced away from the road and boasted a red tile roof and a deep front veranda with adobe arches. The shade beneath the veranda roof promised a cool haven from the heat of a Texas afternoon.

By the time Colleen pulled her rented car to a halt near the end of the front walk, she was trembling with nerves. Fortunately, the place looked deserted, which gave her time to blot the perspiration from her face and shore up her courage.

She doubted she’d ever have enough courage to face Cade Chalmers calmly and confidently. Her sister had been intimidated by him, though she’d also confided to Colleen that he’d been gentle and very good to the children. He’d never shown Sharon much warmth or approval, which had made it difficult for Sharon to feel comfortable with him.

Colleen’s own memory was of a big, rugged man almost too gruff and terse to approach. In the few times she’d met him, he’d been distant and polite, but his manner suggested he judged people harshly.

He’d made it obvious that he found her uninteresting and inconsequential, perhaps no one he’d even notice if she hadn’t been the sister of his brother’s wife.

Colleen was hardly the beauty her sister had been and now, with her dark hair a scant two inches long if that, she felt even less attractive than before the crash. She’d lost so much weight that she looked like a plain, effeminate boy. Men had rarely found her attractive and now they virtually ignored her except to stare at her cane and observe her awkward manner with a mix of curiosity and veiled pity.

All of that underscored the notion that little Beau and baby Amy were the only family she’d ever have. And though she’d loved both of them fiercely from birth, the circumstances of her bleak future made it imperative to be allowed access to them and permitted the joy and happy responsibility of being their aunt. She was the only closely related member from the James family that the two children had. Surely Cade Chalmers would see the importance of that.

Cade Chalmers was on his way to the kitchen from his office in the east wing, when he heard the car pull up out front. He walked to the entry hall to see who it was, but he didn’t recognize the thin, frail woman who stepped out and started toward the door. The black cane got his immediate attention and memory kicked in.

Colleen James walked stiffly, her every movement giving as much an impression of self-consciousness as of wary care. She used the support of the cane as if she needed it. So much so that he wondered why she was not on crutches.

Colleen was one person he didn’t care to see or have anything to do with. She’d let herself get too involved in the petty marital dispute that had resulted in the death of her sister and finally his brother, leaving a three-year-old and an infant orphaned. If she’d refused to let herself get drawn into it all, things might have been quickly resolved. It was his belief that flighty, irresponsible Sharon might have settled down easier to her family responsibilities if Colleen hadn’t been around to rescue her whenever she couldn’t get her way.

Sharon had been the kind of mercenary female he’d been pushing away all his adult life. His brother had fallen for her then let himself be dragged around like a lovesick fool. Sharon had paid him back by making his life hell.

And that hell had been the litmus test of Craig’s level of addiction to his beautiful, manipulative wife. Then she’d had the bad luck to die.

Following the accident, Cade had had a distraught brother to deal with, a bewildered toddler and a helpless infant on his hands. Colleen had been in a coma for weeks so the arrangements for her sister’s funeral had also fallen to him.

Craig had learned later that Colleen wanted no part of him or the kids, so Cade had rapidly put her out of his mind. He’d had enough to handle with the kids and the ranch and his younger brother’s descent into a bottle. Craig hadn’t been able to face life sober without his flighty wife.

But both of them were gone now. Gone and oblivious to the pain and hardship they’d left behind for their kids.

Why Colleen James suddenly decided to show up here was no more than a minor mystery for him. One that would surely take little time to uncover and was sure to amount to nothing of real consequence. Maybe she needed money. If she did, she was out of luck. James women had gotten their last dollar from Chalmers men.

He opened the door just as Colleen stepped into the shade of the veranda. The surprise of his appearance seemed to startle her and she faltered. But then the surprise was his as he saw her up close.

Her skin was pale, nearly translucent, and there were feathery lines of strain around her mouth. Weariness made her eyelids droop slightly, but the look in the clear blue of her eyes was almost spiritless.

She had been willowy before, but now she was thin and about as insubstantial as a strip of gauze. A light breeze would topple her and he was inclined to go easy on her.

His gaze flicked to the car behind her and he revised his impression. She was well enough to drive herself from San Antonio, so she was probably stronger than she looked.

Her sister had tried everyone’s patience with a list of minor infirmities that ran the gamut from headaches to frazzled nerves. She’d had a way of avoiding the daily care of her kids that had seemed selfish to him. And though hiring nannies and sitters had been a solution the Chalmers’ could easily afford and had, Sharon’s penchant for firing them or running them off with demands to lavish her with as much care and attention as they gave the kids, made the search for replacements a constant bother.

But as he stared at the changes in Colleen James, he felt guilty for the harsh comparison. He knew her injuries had been severe and it was obvious she was nowhere near a full recovery. And the frailty he saw would be impossible to fake. Curious now, he studied her more intently.

Her sable hair was too damned short. Short enough that it tried to stick out all over her head, but she’d smoothed it down with some kind of hair goo. Her eyes, a near robin’s egg color, were large and fringed with dark lashes. Her nose was fine and slim and her lips were only slightly full, though they looked tender and vulnerable to him—too tender and vulnerable to have had much kissing.

If she ever put on weight, her small body would be more feminine. The image the thought put in his mind startled him and caused a strong stir of attraction in spite of the frail boyish look she had now.

His gruff, “Miz James,” was formal and terse.

Her quiet, “Mr. Chalmers,” was equally formal, but he’d seen the quiver of anxiety that showed in her eyes. “May I come in?”

The question acknowledged his rudeness in staring at her, rather than immediately inviting her in. But it was also an acknowledgment of his right to deny her access to his home. Sharon wouldn’t have asked. She’d have helped herself and walked in. Or gone teary if she even imagined resistance.

Cade stepped aside to let her pass, then walked through the entry hall at her slow pace. He ushered her into the living room and as she chose a place to sit at the end of the sofa, he called his housekeeper. Esmerelda appeared at once.

“¿Sí?”

“Could you bring in a tray?”

“Coffee?”

Cade glanced at Colleen.

“Just water would be fine, thank you.”

His brisk, “And coffee for me, Esmerelda,” sent the housekeeper back to the kitchen. Cade took a seat in the big armchair that faced the sofa and watched coolly as Colleen set her cane aside.

“Thank you for seeing me. I was sorry to hear about Craig. It was a shock.”

Cade felt a nettle of anger. There’d been no acknowledgment from her of his brother’s death until this moment. It was almost as if she’d decided she needed to express her condolences now only because she wanted something from him. And he could tell when females wanted something from him. He could always tell.

She went on and he felt his irritation rise. “I realize the flowers and the card were too late for the funeral, but I didn’t find out until I read it in the papers.”

He caught the faint chastisement for not informing her himself, but she wasn’t pitiful enough to let her off the hook for lying about flowers and condolences.

“There were no flowers or card, Miz James,” he said bluntly. “Why are you here?”

Colleen felt the sting of his rebuke, but she was shocked that the flowers and card had not been delivered.

“There must be some mistake. Whatever had happened these past months, Craig was my brother-inlaw. I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I did send flowers and a card. I wouldn’t have let something that serious go by unacknowledged, even if it was belated.”

Her explanation did nothing but harden his rugged expression, and he’d never seemed more intimidating. His big body was wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and corded with heavy muscles that made him rock-solid and gave an impression of physical power that no one but a bodybuilder would dare to challenge.

But it was his face that held her attention, and always had. Rugged and no-nonsense, he had dark brows over deep-set eyes the color of aged bourbon. His cheekbones were high and prominent enough to suggest at least a trace of Native American ancestry. His nose was sharply bladed and gave the same impression of ancestry, but his mouth was a carved line that could go straight and hard with temper or—rarely—curve into a line that lit his face and made him seem years younger and surprisingly handsome.

Because Cade Chalmers was not handsome, not really. But he was impressive and his harsh, rugged looks were as charismatic as a movie star’s. It had always been a struggle not to stare at him, but he’d never caught her at it because she’d been virtually invisible to him. A lackluster, unremarkable female firmly in the shade of her beautiful, outgoing younger sister.

She stared at him now, though, almost more than she cared to, because he’d become impatient with her. And he was angry because he thought she’d lied to him.

“Why are you here?” The terse question closed the subject of the flowers and the card. He’d heard her explanation and judged her a liar. Distressed, she rallied to correct the judgment.

“I’m sure the florist kept a record of the order. It was a local shop. Josie’s Flowers, I think. And I used my Visa card.”

Cade’s dark brows lowered. He’d made up his mind and it was clear that he didn’t want to be confused by the facts. Colleen felt her dismay deepen. This was a terrible start.

“Is that why you didn’t answer my letters or return my calls,” she asked cautiously, “because I’d hurt your feelings?”

Because I’d hurt your feelings?

Colleen felt a jolt of horror. She’d not intended to put it that way! As if someone like her could ever be important enough to Cade Chalmers—or that anyone could—to hurt his feelings was preposterous.

Offend or insult him, yes; hurt his feelings, no. Men like Cade Chalmers were too macho to own up to feminine notions like hurt feelings. In this case, he’d probably been angered by what he’d consider an intentional snub. She should have worded it that way, but one of her problems after the crash was that she sometimes spoke imprecisely.

To her surprise, the hard slash of his stern mouth relaxed into the suggestion of a smile. His low-voiced, “What letters?” was not harsh at all then, as if his amusement over the hurt feelings remark had softened him.

Encouraged and distracted from correcting her remark, she answered. “Besides the flowers, I sent you three letters asking about the children and a condolence card, and I called here this week and left phone messages three times. One of those times was this morning.”

She hesitated, not certain it was possible that he couldn’t have seen or heard about the letters or the calls. Had he truly not received them? Or was he lying? If he was, then his earlier challenge to her honesty gave her grave concerns about his character, and she was suddenly worried about him raising Amy and Beau.

“Mr. Chalmers, I have tried to contact you,” she said earnestly. “I know I had the address right and I know I dialed the right number. You should know I have, and I think you probably do.”

Now the faint amusement on his face vanished and his features went harsh again at her quiet conclusion. She was shaking now and she felt tiny dots of perspiration break out on her skin. Nevertheless, she dared a softly spoken, “I can’t imagine why you’d…pretend.”

Unable to bear the sharp look he gave her then, she glanced anxiously away and felt painful heat in her cheeks. Why would he lie to her like this? Obviously he didn’t respect her enough or hold her in high enough regard to tell her the truth. The lack of personal integrity that implied increased her worry about the kind of guardian he would make.

Any realistic hope she’d had that he’d allow her to be a part of the children’s lives died. And probably had long before the moment she’d questioned his word. Now she’d have to find a lawyer and see what the courts might grant her. And that would probably be nothing.

Before either of them could say more, Esmerelda came in with a tray. Once she set it on the stout wooden coffee table between them, she handed Colleen a heavy crystal glass of ice water. Colleen took it with a faint smile and a word of thanks.

Her hands shook, and the weight of the crystal and the condensation on the outside of the glass made it difficult for her to hold. Esmerelda left the room and once Colleen had taken a tense sip, she leaned forward to put the glass back on the tray, prepared to pursue Cade for an explanation. Though she was wary of him and more than a little terrified, she had to think about little Beau and Amy and their best interests. Nothing was more important than that.

But to her horror, the glass slipped from her weakened grip and dropped to the floor with a sharp crack. Water flew everywhere and the sudden disaster shamed her. Awkwardly, she slid forward on the sofa to reach for the neatly folded linen napkin on the tray. She didn’t realize the napkin was anchored by the saucer of the coffee cup until she yanked on it and managed to spill the brim-full cup that rested on its corner.

Mortification and the frantic need to blot up the mess she’d made on the floor made her lose her balance on the edge of the sofa and go down painfully on her left knee in the spilled water and ice cubes. The glass hadn’t broken, but her knee grazed it and sent it spinning under the coffee table.

Cade was at her side almost before she could register the series of minor disasters. He lifted her and set her out of the way on the sofa. He took the napkin and calmly blotted water off the carpet with one hand while he got the glass with the other and swiftly replaced the spilled ice cubes before he set it back on the tray. At least the rolled edges of the tray had kept the coffee spill confined.

Colleen’s horrified, “I’m so sorry,” was as much as she was capable of. Even if she hadn’t already alienated Cade and spoiled her chances to be allowed contact with the children, the clumsy weakness she’d hoped to conceal from him had now been starkly demonstrated. Her obvious physical difficulties would make her a poor choice for unsupervised visits with a toddler and an infant, and Cade Chalmers would have no patience with the added inconvenience her involvement would cause him. If there’d ever truly been a realistic hope of her involvement.

Evidently, Esmerelda heard the commotion and came rushing back into the room.

“I’m so sorry for this,” Colleen repeated to her.

Esmerelda waved it away with a gracious smile, as if the embarrassing disaster was too minor to take note of. “Water on the carpet is not a problem.” She started forward to pick up the tray as Cade moved aside.

He addressed Esmerelda before she could. “Do you remember any letters Miz James might have sent?”

Esmerelda seemed to think the question was odd, but she nodded. “Sí. I have seen her name on some and also the fine flowers she sent. I put them on your desk like always and the flowers on this table. Do you not recall?”

Cade’s face was like weathered rock. “Thanks, Esmerelda. I’d appreciate a new tray when you get this one out of the way.”

Esmerelda bustled out and the room went utterly silent. Cade still stood staring at her and she was helpless to do anything but stare at him.