To Tame a Bride

Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN EPILOGUE Copyright

Two rebellious cousins—and

the men who tame them!

Meet Caitlin and Maddie: two beautiful,

spirited cousins seeking to overcome family

secrets and betrayal....

Neither cousin is looking for marriage—these Texas

women have proud, rebellious hearts, and it would

take two very powerful men to tame them.

But look out, Caitlin and Maddie—two tough,

gorgeous guys are about to try to sweep you up the

aisle...and they won’t take no for an answer!

These two rebel brides are about to

meet their match at last.

Last month we met Caitlin in

To Claim a Wife (#3556)

This month enjoy Maddie’s story in

To Tame a Bride (#3560)

Dear Reader,

I grew up watching Roy Rogers movies. Dale Evans, his costar who later became his wife, often played a spirited, sometimes spoiled heroine who started out being a trial to this noble Western hero before he won her over and she fell in love with him. A little like Unc and Maddie in my story.

Roy Rogers was my first crush. My lifelong admiration for this kind, gentle man, who was the same man of honor in real life that he played on the screen, has strongly influenced the ranch stories I love to write.

I hope you enjoy Linc and Maddie’s story. I had a ball writing about these two.

Happy trails to the King of the Cowboys; and to Dale, God bless you and keep you with us. For the rest of you, I I hope your lives are filled with happily-ever-afters.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my mother, Marvel Terry. The sweetest, most loving mother on planet Earth, and the gentlest, classiest, most honorable woman I know. I love you with all my heart. I can’t find adequate words to express how much you mean to me. God bless you.

CHAPTER ONE

THAT FRIDAY MORNING, Madison St. John almost missed her mother’s phone call.

She’d been on her way out the door for a shopping trip when she heard the phone ring. Because the maid would answer and take a message, Madison ignored it and walked on to her car.

Few people made personal calls to Madison St. John. She had no family besides her absent mother and a cousin, Caitlin Bodine. She and Caitlin hadn’t spoken in five years, and her mother only contacted her on the rare occasion that she recalled she had a daughter.

Infrequent Christmas and birthday gifts were Madison’s only proof that her mother gave a thought to her at all. Gifts which often arrived in the wrong month, indicating both a conscience that ran on delay and an uncertainty of just which month her mother had given birth. Judging by the age-appropriateness of the gifts, Rosalind St. John was also behind in her calculation of the year her only child had been born.

Madison didn’t know if her devil-may-care father had survived the European racing circuit or his bohemian lifestyle. She’d been twelve years old the last time she’d heard from him. He’d sent her a postcard from some obscure village in France, but that was eleven years ago now. She had no idea if her mother had been in more recent contact with the jet-setting playboy she’d been married to so briefly once upon a time, or if he was even alive. Whatever had become of him, it wasn’t something Madison would likely ever know, unless she bothered to hire an investigator.

Madison suppressed the dismal thoughts. She’d lived most of her life without her mother and father, and she could go on doing so. She’d learned to need no one, and there were times when she was glad of it. Life was so much less painful if you didn’t care about anyone.

The chauffeur had just opened the back door of her Cadillac when the maid bustled out of the mansion and rushed down the sidewalk toward her.

“Miss St. John!”

Madison turned her head, annoyed by the delay. The little maid was in the kind of haste Madison considered undignified, and the faint scowl she gave the woman was meant to convey that. This maid had only worked for her three months, but by now she should have learned how Madison expected her to conduct herself.

The maid’s excited, “Miss St. John—you have a call—your mother!” betrayed a knowledge of things the woman shouldn’t have been privy to.

Though Madison rarely discussed her background with anyone—and never with her staff—this sign that the maid knew precisely how rare and significant such a call would be was evidence that Madison’s employees, like everyone else in Coulter City, Texas, gossiped about her behind her back. She arched a brow and stared coolly until the little maid’s eyes veered guiltily from hers.

Her stiff, “Thank you, Charlene,” was rigidly composed, as was her ladylike stride as she stepped away from her car and walked back to the mansion.

Her heart did a little flip as the news of her mother’s call began to impact her more deeply. Memories of her childhood flashed strongly through her mind. She’d been devoted to her glamorous mother, doing anything she could to please her. Because her handsome, dashing father was around so infrequently, her mother was often sad and at loose ends.

Madison had desperately wanted her mother to be happy. Rosalind could be so bright and cheery and fun that her gloomy moods were frightening for her small daughter. Hadn’t Madison known, even then, that she would lose her mother if she couldn’t cure Rosalind’s unhappiness?

She’d tried so hard to please her distracted parent. She’d been her mother’s slave and her shadow, fetching things for her, never causing problems, keeping her own little dresses clean and her hair neat. It had terrified Madison to discover that she was an ugly duckling, but she’d heard her mommy complain about it to her friends, so it had to be true. The tone of her mother’s voice when she’d said the words had made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d realized then how lucky she was that anyone bothered with her at all; she also learned that her value to the people she loved and needed most rested almost completely on her looks.

Each night she’d asked God to make her beautiful so her mother could love her. If God made her beautiful, perhaps her handsome father would come home, or he’d send them plane tickets so they could fly to France and watch him race his cars.

Every morning she’d gotten up and dashed to the mirror to see if her prayers had been answered. Every morning she’d had to face the same homely little features and dishwater-blond hair that she’d gone to bed with the night before.

Though it had broken her heart, she’d understood how unfair it was that a woman as beautiful as her mother had been left alone to raise a homely little girl. She’d worried about how embarrassing it must be for Rosalind to be seen with her, and to have to present such an ugly child to her glamorous friends—whose own children were so pretty and handsome... and cruel.

Her worst fears came true the summer she turned eight. She’d known then that it was too late; her mother had waited long enough for her ugly duckling to show some sign of becoming a swan. Rosalind St. John had taken Madison to her grandmother, Clara Chandler, introduced her to the elderly woman whom she’d never met, then abandoned her to her grandmother’s dour mercies.

As an adult, Madison understood how crippling her childhood had been, how desolate and misguided. Living with her grandmother had been a new little hell of its own. But through her grandmother, she’d gotten to meet her country cousin, Caitlin Bodine. Though dark-haired Caitlin was as beautiful as a little angel, she’d never seemed to notice that Madison was homely. She never made fun of her face or her hair, never was mean to her in any way.

Caitlin’s mother had just died and her father didn’t care about her either. With so much in common, they’d bonded to each other instantly. Madison had been so grateful for Caitlin’s unconditional friendship that she’d cried herself to sleep with happiness every night that first week.

Madison blinked away the sentimental sting. Caitlin... The painful moral dilemma she’d been wrestling with for weeks sent another wave of chaos through her heart. Could she truly forgive her cousin and dearest friend for what she’d done? Only the distraction of her mother’s phone call could have quieted that chaos and given her a strong enough focus to ignore it.

She walked into the library and paused to close the door. The moment she was certain she was alone, she dashed across to the big desk and snatched up the telephone receiver. She hesitated before she spoke, squeezing her eyes closed, trying to moderate her excited breaths to sound completely normal and composed. Her pulse rate accelerated until her heart battered her chest.

Her quiet, “Madison St. John,” was as unaffected as she could make it. She gripped the phone receiver so tightly that her fingers ached.

“Hello, Maddie! My goodness, you sound so grown-up—how are you, dear?”

Rosalind’s question was a practised social opener, not one she seriously wanted an answer to. Madison forced a smile into her voice and came right back with a saccharine, “How are you, Mother? You sound wonderful.”

“I’ve remarried,” Rosalind burst out, as if she were too happy to contain herself.

Madison lowered herself slowly to the swivel chair behind the desk and bit her lower lip viciously as she listened to her mother’s excited voice.

Rosalind had remarried. How many husbands did that make now? Her new husband, Roz said, was a very rich older man who showered her with attention and fun and the most exquisite gifts. His grown children adored her, and she was now a grandmother.

“Stepgrandmother, of course,” Rosalind chirped on. “Of course, no one can believe that I’m old enough to be a grandmother—” She paused to laugh at that. “I get so tired of everyone constantly remarking that I look too young to be a grandma. I’m thinking of simply claiming that I’m their mommy. Oh, they’re such little dears—three of them now—two precious, precious little girls, and one very handsome little boy...”

Madison bowed her head, hurt beyond words. The “little dears” must have had the good fortune to be born beautiful. And God, three of them!

“Hastings is eager to meet you, dear,” her mother went on, oblivious to the painful silence on Madison’s end of the line. “He wants you to come up to Aspen for the weekend. All the children will be here—”

Madison lifted her head as an agony of hope and excitement stormed through her. She’d never ever been invited anywhere by her mother. She was acutely aware of how long it had been since she’d even seen Rosalind, because some part of her heart had kept constant track. Twelve years, three months, a few odd weeks, a handful of days...

The reminder sent a flash of outrage through her as the truth dawned. The new husband—Hastings?—must have asked more questions than any of Roz’s other men had had the sense to. Rosalind probably felt compelled to summon her ugly duckling daughter to her side. Had she somehow found out that Madison had at long last grown into a swan? Maddie knew instantly that she would be expected to parade herself before Roz’s new husband and stepfamily to provide her errant mother with some sort of legitimacy and standing with them.

Hastings must be a billionaire.

The cynical thought came naturally to Madison. Her mind darted between the only two options she had, yes or no.

Yes, I’ll come today... No, you never wanted me...

Yes to the glimmer of hope? No to the nightmare of pretense. The pain and resentment of a lifetime gave her pride a hard nudge.

“I—I don’t know when I can get away,” she made herself say.

“Oh dear, we’ll only be here until Sunday afternoon!” The coaxing whine Madison had forgotten stirred up more old anger and made her grit her teeth.

“I’ll see what I can do, mother. It’s so hard to get away on such short notice.”

Rosalind was oblivious to the little dig. “Oh, sweetheart, do please try. Hastings and the children will be so disappointed. I’ll be just devastated if you can’t come up...” She let her voice trail away as if she’d become too emotional to go on.

Someone on Rosalind’s end of the line must have been close enough to eavesdrop, which accounted for her Oscar-worthy performance. Madison was suddenly and profoundly sick to her stomach.

“I’ll try, Mother,” she finally got out.

“Oh, that’s my darling.” Roz’s tone switched so quickly to business that she confirmed Madison’s suspicion that Roz’s pleading just seconds ago was a puton because she had an audience she wanted to impress.

Roz prattled off a series of directions to the Aspen residence—one of Hastings’s five homes in the U.S. Madison didn’t bother to write them down. Because they were her mother’s words, she’d remember each one as if they’d been carved on her heart with a dull knife.

Clearly confident that Madison would rush to Aspen, Roz ended the brief conversation and hung up.

Madison sat stiffly, dazed, her heart still beating wildly, her stomach still heavy with nausea. The dial tone droned unnoticed for several moments. Finally, she realized she was still pressing the receiver to her ear. She pulled it away and reached over to set it in its cradle. Her hand was shaking violently.

Madison retreated to her room and spent most of Friday pacing. How could Rosalind expect her to fall all over herself to get to Colorado? How could she possibly stay away? The dilemma tied her in knots that seemed to be spiked with thousands of sharp little pins.

She wrestled with the choice, reliving the pain of a lifetime, so wary of opening herself for more that she was literally unable to reach a decision that didn’t make her feel ill. By the time she went to bed that night, her head was pounding. She managed to sleep only because she’d worn herself out.

By morning, she convinced herself that she had to go to Colorado, and called the airlines in San Antonio to book a flight. She soon discovered that the world had conspired to keep her in Texas at least another day.

At first, she was merely annoyed that every flight with connections to Colorado was booked. By midmoming, she was desperate. She’d tried to hire a private flight out of Coulter City, but there were no local pilots available that day, no matter how much money she offered.

Just as she was about to pack and drive to San Antonio to wait on standby or hire a private flight from there, someone from the local airport called her to report that a private pilot had a cancellation and might be available for hire.

Madison rushed upstairs to her room where a maid was hastily packing her clothes.

“Not the gray silk, Charlene,” Madison said irritably as she snatched the delicate blouse from the garment bag and tossed it aside.

Her nerves were ragged and her tone was sharper than she’d meant, but she ignored the impulse to apologize and paced the room for a few moments while she supervised the packing. It was better not to become too approachable. She didn’t want to encourage a personal relationship with any member of her staff. She’d made that mistake in the past and had lived to regret it.

Growing more restless by the moment, she stalked to the bathroom to gather her toiletries for herself—she never trusted a maid with the task of ensuring that every one of her makeup and hair care items were packed.

Finally, she changed her clothes. She selected a red cotton blouse and a pair of khaki bush pants. The lowheeled hiking boots she chose were made of finegrained leather and lightweight suede. Ankle high, the boots had been chosen more for their chic, outdoorsy look than any true practicality, but they went well with the outfit.

Insecurity made her freshen her makeup, check her polished nails and carefully brush her hair before she scrutinized her image in the mirror. Would her mother even recognize her? Madison turned her head this way and that, searching critically for a glimmer of the homely child she’d been.

Her frequent trips to San Antonio to have her dull blond hair tinted a bright shade just short of platinum was well worth her time and money. She was fanatical about frequent touch-ups and trims. The sleek, collar-length pageboy cut, with the back trimmed slightly shorter than the sides, was simple, elegant and easy to maintain.

Her complexion was clear and the array of skin care products she used kept it flawless. Her delicate features had evened out, her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight after years of braces, and her slim figure was femininely curved and rigidly maintained by a careful diet. Only the deep blue of her eyes was the same.

Thrilled that the image in the mirror would surely exceed anything her mother could have hoped for, Madison grabbed her handbag and small case, then rushed from the bathroom. Her luggage had already been taken down to the car.

Her heart was pounding with excitement and dread by the time she settled on the backseat of her Cadillac and the chauffeur closed the gleaming black door. In seconds, they were speeding through Coulter City to the small airport past the edge of town, and Madison was so nervous that she felt light-headed.

“What do you mean, you can’t fly me to Aspen?”

Though the cultured feminine voice wasn’t loud or shrill, it carried from the tarmac on the airstrip side of the hangar to where Lincoln Coryell had parked his Jeep. He instantly recognized the cool, acid-edged tone and felt his good mood sour.

Madison St. John, the reigning queen of Coulter City, was obviously struggling to comprehend the word no. A grim smile slanted his lips as he lifted his gear out of the Jeep and shut the door.

Beautiful, elegant, and filthy rich, Ms. St. John should have been one of the most sought-after heiresses in Texas. Instead, men avoided the razortongued shrew as diligently as they would a hill of fire ants. Any man with sense found out right off that no amount of money was adequate compensation for the hell he’d have to endure to tangle with her. A fortune hunter or two had been brave enough to try, but she had the ability to send any man foolish enough to get near her running for the nearest mesquite patch.

She couldn’t be much older than twenty-three, but she viewed the world with the cynicism and arrogance of an embittered woman twice her age. Her grandmother, Clara Chandler, had been the same way, though age and meanness had made her far worse.

Madison hadn’t always been the way she was now. Linc had worked on the ranch her grandmother had owned years ago. He remembered Maddie St. John as an awkward, stick-thin adolescent with straggly hair and a mouth full of hardware. She’d been a sweet kid then, shy, soft-spoken, and polite to everyone.

But that sweet, shy girl had grown up into a spoiled, self-indulgent beauty, so changed that there was no sign that the child she’d been had ever existed.

As he walked past the corner of the hangar to where his small plane was parked, he could finally see Madison with the pilot, Tom Grant.

“You agreed to fly me to Colorado, Mr. Grant,” she went on in that imperious tone that worked like sandpaper on the nerves.

“It’s a long flight, Miz St. John, and—”

“You want more money.” It wasn’t a question. Her soft voice had dropped lower and brought to mind the warning growl of a cat.

“No, ma’am,” Tom said, shaking his head as if he were anxious to correct her impression. “Just that the wife decided she hadn’t seen much of me this week and won’t stand to have me gone most of the weekend after those other folks canceled. Said she wanted me home.”

“How sweet.” Madison’s soft remark was poisonous, and Tom shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Line could imagine the look she was giving the man, though he could only see her profile as he passed several feet away from where they stood.

Tom caught sight of him then and gave a quick wave to get his attention. “Linc Coryell’s right over there, Miz St. John. Heard he was flyin’ to Aspen—hey, Linc!”

Madison turned to look in the direction Tom Grant indicated. The pilot broke into a trot and rushed to intercept Lincoln Coryell. As she watched, Tom jerked a thumb in her direction, said something too low for her to hear, then turned to hurry toward the airstrip office.

Incensed that the pilot had distracted her and neatly escaped, she stiffened when she felt Linc level his gaze on her. He was wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses. The shade of his black Stetson would have made it impossible to read the expression in his dark eyes from this distance, but the sunglasses projected an aloofness that made him appear unapproachable.

She saw his mouth tighten before he glanced away and walked on. Unwilling to let this opportunity go by, she started after him. Her boots thumped smartly on the concrete as she tried to catch up.

Though she had an aversion to men like Lincoln Coryell—blunt, macho and uncivilized—she could endure a few hours of his presence if he could get her to Aspen. Instinct rather than past experience told her he was one of the few men in this part of Texas who was completely unimpressed by either her name or her wealth.

But then, Lincoln Coryell wasn’t a man to show deference to many. He was too hard and rough-edged and rich to be intimidated, and though the former cowboy was probably more wealthy than she was, his lack of education—she’d heard he hadn’t finished high school—and his ranch hand background excluded him from being a close member of the small society of elites in and around Coulter City.

She suspected a man like him could never be bought or finessed, and the only intimidation that would come into play with him was the strange intimidation she felt suddenly.

She pasted a faint smile on her face to signal the friendliness she needed to project, but the necessity of doing so made her grit her teeth. She could find another flight, but probably not until tomorrow. It was only because tomorrow might be too late that she even considered using charm.

“Mr. Coryell?” she said as she finally caught up with him, “I understand you’re flying to Colorado.”

Those mirrored sunglasses flashed toward her briefly as they walked along. She forced herself to smile a bit wider while he was looking down at her, but the effort felt more like an awkward twitch. The sunglasses flashed again with a dismissive turn of his head.

Nettled, she walked faster to keep up with his long stride. “I’m more than willing to pay,” she added, struggling to keep her voice reasonable and pleasant. She felt the snub when he didn’t respond. Surprise made her slow her steps. When he continued on, she hesitated, then hurried after him, appalled by the indignity of having to pursue him.

“I need to get to Colorado by evening, Mr. Coryell,” she called, her frustration mounting higher as she was forced to practically chase the man. Feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment, she sent a swift glance toward the office and hangar to see if anyone was watching.

In the next moment, she crashed into Linc’s back. He’d slowed when she wasn’t looking and she’d blundered into him. She gasped and jumped back as if she’d been burned.

And she had been. The heat of his big body and his sun-warmed clothes had scorched her somehow and it was all she could do not to check herself for damage. But he’d turned toward her and his handsome mouth was set in a no-nonsense line that warned her he was irritated.