Chance Had Never In His Life Been Aroused By The Sight Of A Pregnant Woman.

But Kristen standing in front of the mirror with the pillow stuffed under her shirt, the sight of her slender fingers splayed along the sides of her pretend belly, had excited the hell out of him. She’d looked so beautiful, so feminine, so…pregnant with his child.

How would Kristen look six months from now if she did have his baby nestled safely inside of her?

True, he hadn’t envisioned himself with a city gal like Kristen. However, suddenly the thought of staying married to Kristen wasn’t such an unpleasant idea. Unlike his own mother, he was determined to be a good parent and be there for his kids. And the way he saw it, he and Kristen would be married for nine more months if she was pregnant.

The least they could do would be to give the whole thing a damned good shot for the baby’s sake….

Did You Say Married?!
Kathie DeNosky

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Charlie, Bryan, David and Angie, for always believing in me.

To Margie and Dorothy, for the encouragement.

And a special thanks to Ginny, Rox, Janet, Belinda, Wayne, Roxanne and Micqui.

I couldn’t have done it without you.

KATHIE DENOSKY

lives in deep Southern Illinois with her husband, Charlie, and their three children. She began reading romances as a teenager, but it wasn’t until her youngest child started school that she decided to seriously consider writing one. A former Folk Art and Decorative Painting instructor, she loves painting pictures with words now, instead of a paintbrush. You can write to Kathie at P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, Illinois 62948.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

Eyes still closed to prolong the dream, Chance Warren fantasized about sliding his callused palm up the satiny, smooth skin of a woman’s flat stomach. His hand closed around the firm roundness of a small, perfect breast, and he smiled when the tip beaded in anticipation of his further attention.

He’d had realistic dreams before. What man hadn’t? But not even when he’d been a teenager, with more hormones than good sense, had he spent an entire night dreaming the same fantasy again and again. And about the most alluring woman imaginable.

His creative mind had even supplied his vision with a name. A sweet, sexy name he’d called over and over while they’d pleasured each other throughout the night.

Christie? Crystal?

Kristen.

His groin tightened and he pressed his lips to his dream woman’s bare shoulder.

Kristen. Soft, loving and capable of setting a man on fire with her hot passion.

A frown creased his forehead. He knew only one woman with that name. Kristen Lassiter. The auburn-haired ice maiden of the Dallas elite. A city gal he had about as much in common with as a politician had with the truth.

She traveled in an entirely different circle than he did. She spent her time attending charity functions and making the headlines of the society page, while he worked his butt off building his rodeo company into the best in the country. Banquets, like the one he’d attended last night, were the only occasions he ever saw her. In fact, Chance couldn’t remember them ever being formally introduced. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have time for a relationship with her or any other woman in his life. But it still seemed odd that he’d dream about making love to her all night.

He opened one eye to a shaft of sunlight streaming through a parting in the hotel room drapes. Pain shot through his head and he swallowed hard against the cotton coating his mouth and throat.

Why had he let his friends convince him that toasting his success with a beer just wasn’t the same as toasting with champagne? The damned stuff always gave him a god-awful headache. And it only took a couple of glasses to give him a blank spot as to how much fun he’d had the night before.

Something—no, someone stirred beside him, and Chance gingerly turned his head. When his gaze clashed with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, his brows shot up and he sucked in a sharp breath. Despite the pain stabbing at his brain, his own eyes widened in disbelief and the breath lodged in his lungs.

The woman beside him—his dream woman—wasn’t a dream at all. The female he’d dreamed of loving throughout the night, the one whose breast he still held—he quickly snatched his hand away—was very real and none other than the ice maiden of high society, Kristen Lassiter.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Chance watched her open her mouth, scream at the top of her lungs and, taking the sheet with her, scramble from the bed.

Her shrill cry vibrated through his head. He felt his skull just might explode. “Lady, do that again and I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he warned, pressing his palms against his temples to hold his brains inside.

“What are you doing in my bed?” she demanded, wrapping herself in the sheet.

Chance glanced around. “I think you’d better take stock of where you are, Ms. Lassiter,” he whispered. Even that hurt his head. “This is my room.”

Her gaze swept the room. “But how—”

“Will you lower your voice?” He sat up and eased his legs over the side of the bed. Propping his elbows on his knees, he cradled his throbbing head in his hands. “Every time you open your mouth, it feels like there’s a jackhammer chipping away at my brain.”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Warren,” she said sarcastically. “I happen to be upset.”

He slowly raised his head to meet her disturbed gaze. “Could you be a little quieter about it?”

“Only if you cover yourself.” Her cheeks reddened. “This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

He reached for the blanket, but the apologetic smile he intended to give her turned to a grimace. The facial movement made his hair follicles ache.

“I think we’ve gone way beyond—”

“Don’t say it,” she warned, sniffling.

When she glanced toward the door, Chance watched her close her eyes, then open them as if hoping the sight before her would disappear. A jumble of his and her garments trailed all the way across the room. A black sequined dress and silver pumps, along with his western-cut tuxedo jacket, shirt and boots, lay in a tangled heap just inside the door. A few feet away, a black satin slip peeked from beneath his tailored slacks. On the far side of the bed, and appearing to have been discarded in great haste, lacy black panties, garter belt and hose lay atop his white cotton briefs.

He watched her zero in on his new hat band, the sight stopping her cold. She gingerly picked up the Resistol to remove her wispy bra from the crown.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked.

She dropped his hat as if she’d touched something repulsive. “Of course I do. I attended the Professional Bull Riders awards banquet and then…then…”

“Me, neither.” Chance massaged his temples. “The last thing I remember I was talking to some reporter from the Rodeo Review about Gray Ghost being named Bucking Bull of the Year. Somebody shoved another glass of champagne into my hand and…” Trying to think, he paused. “After that I draw a blank.”

When Kristen sniffed again, Chance glanced up. He hoped like hell she didn’t turn on the waterworks. Teary females made him about as nervous as a bull calf at castrating time.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?”

She gave him a look that sent the room temperature down by at least ten degrees. “I have a cold.”

Return of Ms. Deep Freeze, Chance thought ruefully. He watched her gather the rest of her clothes, then walk into the bathroom and shut the door with a resounding thud. The sound made his head throb. He tried not to think at all while he waited for the pain to subside. There would be plenty of time on the long drive home to analyze the contrast between the sultry fantasy of night and the chilling reality of morning.

In what seemed record time, Kristen emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

Her clothes were as elegant as ever, her auburn hair styled to perfection and her posture regally perfect. But no matter what she wore or how she carried herself, she couldn’t erase that well-loved look. Eyes softened by fulfilled desire and the tiny love mark on the side of her elegant neck couldn’t lie.

Satisfaction and a tinge of regret coursed through Chance. He was responsible for her look of fulfillment. He just wished like hell he could remember more of what they’d shared.

“Are we in the Mirage?” Kristen asked, walking to the door.

“MGM Grand.” Careful to hold the blanket in place, Chance rose from the bed. “I’m not sure what morning-after protocol applies in this situation, but—”

“It’s obvious neither one of us remembers how we got to this point,” Kristen interrupted. She opened the door. “I think the less said about the matter, the better off we’ll both be. Goodbye, Mr. Warren.”

Chance watched the door close with a quiet click. He felt as if he’d just been dismissed as a minor inconvenience, a mistake that could be quickly and completely forgotten.

“Well, what the hell did you expect, Warren?” he muttered, throwing the blanket aside and heading for the shower. “The lady got tipsy and fell out of her ivory tower for a night. What made you think she wouldn’t break her pretty little neck climbing back up there in the light of day?”

Half an hour later, Chance put his tux in a garment bag, stuffed the rest of his clothes into his duffel, then checked his camera case to make sure the exposed rolls of film hadn’t been misplaced. He couldn’t wait to get on the road. It had been more than two weeks since he’d seen his niece and nephew, and with Halloween only a week away, he wanted to fulfill his promise of helping them carve a pumpkin.

As he turned to gather his wallet and loose change from the dresser, a nagging sensation deep in his gut unsettled him. He had the distinct impression he’d forgotten something very important. But he’d checked the room twice, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it might be.

When he patted his front jeans pockets, his gaze zeroed in on the garment bag hanging in the closet and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He must have left the polished plume agate he always carried in his tux. He’d found the unusual little stone in West Texas about five years ago and he’d had good luck ever since. No way would he set foot outside the hotel room without it.

Confident that he’d solved the mystery, he slid the zipper down and searched the jacket. When he removed the stone, a parchment envelope fluttered to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, he pocketed his lucky agate, then removed the official-looking document from the envelope and scanned the information.

As he stared in disbelief, his heart pounded hard against his rib cage. Certain key elements jumped off the page at him.

Chance T. Warren.

Kristen M. Lassiter.

United in Holy Matrimony.

“What the hell?”

Shaking his head, Chance walked to the phone and dialed the number of the chapel listed on the back of the envelope. A woman identifying herself as Shirley answered on the second ring. “I’d like to check on a marriage ceremony performed last night,” he said.

“Names, please?”

“Warren and Lassiter.”

He waited while Shirley put him on hold. This phony certificate had to be some kind of practical joke. His head wrangler, Zach Davis, and some of Chance’s other friends had probably gotten together and set up the whole thing.

He grinned when he thought of evening the score. He’d get some little gal at the Bucket of Suds to—

“Is this Mr. Warren?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He hadn’t identified himself as the Warren half of the couple. There was only one way the woman would know. “Yes.”

“Congratulations and thank you for choosing our chapel, Mr. Warren,” Shirley said, her voice way too cheerful to suit him.

Chance opened his mouth, but at the moment, words were beyond his capabilities. A strangled sound escaped from deep in his throat.

“Mr. Warren? Are you all right?”

Hell, no!

“Uh…er, yes,” he finally managed to say, his voice cracking like that of a boy who’d just entered puberty.

“I’m very glad you called.” The woman giggled. “It seems you and your bride were in such a hurry to start your life together, you forgot to take your wedding video. Would you like it sent to your hotel?”

“I’ll…uh…that would be fine.” Dazed, he told Shirley to send it to the Mirage—the hotel Kristen had mentioned—then hung up.

The sound of the broken connection galvanized him into action, and grabbing his bags, Chance headed for the door. He had to talk to Kristen. If her speedy escape from his room had been any indication, she wouldn’t hang around Vegas and risk running into him again. Besides, some things just couldn’t be discussed over the phone. He’d stake his reputation that she knew even less about their nuptials than he did.

Kristen’s hand shook and she tried for the third time to fit the key card into the slot on her hotel room door. “Come on. Open up.”

When the lock finally cooperated, she hurried inside and, removing her clothes as she crossed the room, made a beeline for the shower.

Turning on the water, she moaned. “How could you sleep with the man, Kristen?”

Beneath the warm spray, she finally let the sophisticated facade melt away and the tears flow. Humiliation and regret caused twin rivulets to mingle with the water streaming down her cheeks.

One minute she’d been at the banquet thinking how her decision not to marry Spencer Dirkson would upset her father. The next she’d awakened in the arms of the very man Mike—she hadn’t called him “Dad” in years—had warned her to steer clear of. A man he didn’t even want her speaking to. Ever.

Kristen’s chest tightened when she thought of Mike Lassiter. For once in her life, she’d like to do something to win her father’s love and approval, to be more than a major disappointment to him. But a stupid stunt like she’d pulled last night would only serve to widen the gulf between them.

Sobs racked her body, and when a wave of dizziness made her sway, she leaned her head against the tiled wall. She felt terrible. And not just emotionally.

Instead of washing away her remorse, crying only aggravated the head cold she’d fought for the past week. Now she had another sinus headache to contend with, as well as the embarrassment of spending the night with a virtual stranger.

Toweling herself dry, she threw on the hotel’s complimentary bathrobe, then rummaged through her cosmetics case for the capsules her doctor had prescribed. What had she done with them? She’d taken one last night before going to the banquet….

As she looked at herself in the mirror, Kristen’s eyes grew round.

At dinner, she’d ordered mineral water. Unable to taste anything, she’d drunk most of it before realizing the waiter had brought white wine. Could the wine, mixed with cold medication, explain last night being a complete blank?

“Maybe nothing happened.”

Get real, Kristen.

Chance Warren didn’t look the type to take a vow of celibacy. And the unfamiliar little aches she’d experienced since awakening in his arms supported that fact.

Devilishly handsome, he had enough charm to talk the birds right out of the trees. And that didn’t even take into consideration his killer smile and devastating eyes. Have mercy! A woman could lose every ounce of sense she’d ever possessed when caught in his hypnotic blue gaze.

Tall, broad-shouldered and damnably sexy in a pair of jeans and western-cut shirt, Chance Warren was every woman’s dream. At least every woman Kristen knew.

A heaviness settled low in her stomach when she recalled the feel of his hand caressing her breast, the strength of his arousal pressed against her thigh. She moaned at the memory of his nude body stretched across the bed.

How on earth would she ever be able to face him again without remembering his wide shoulders, the ripples of corded muscle covering his chest and stomach, the heaviness of his…

Embarrassment burned her cheeks, and shaking her head to chase away the image, Kristen hurried into the next room. She had to leave Las Vegas as soon as possible. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and Chance. There was no way she wanted to risk running into him again. At least not for a while.

Jerking clothes from the hangers in the closet and scooping underwear from the dresser drawers, Kristen stuffed the garments into her suitcase. But at the sudden, unexpected sound of someone pounding on the door, she sent a second armful of lacy underwear flying in all directions.

“Kristen, open up! We have to talk.”

Even before she looked through the peephole she knew it had to be Chance. She’d remember his sexy Texas drawl for the rest of her life. But why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Hadn’t she suffered enough humiliation for one day?

“Go away,” she shouted back. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “Now, if you don’t open this door by the time I count to three, I swear I’ll break it down.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Stand back and watch me, sweetheart.”

Kristen bit her lower lip. He sounded deadly serious, and she had no doubt he’d follow through on his threat.

“One…two…”

“Okay. Just stop shouting.”

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the locks. When she finally released the dead bolt and started to open the door, Chance shouldered his way into the room.

“How did you get up here?” she demanded. “Security—”

He waved a piece of parchment at her. “Didn’t say a word once I showed them this.”

“I don’t know what that is or why you think we need to discuss—”

“Once you take a look at it, you’ll have a fair idea,” he interrupted, shoving it into her hands.

Kristen watched him remove his hat and run an agitated hand through his dark blond hair. He jammed it back on his head. A muscle along his tanned, clean-shaven jaw worked while he waited.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Just read it.”

She opened the folded paper and scanned the document. Her eyes widened. “Is this some kind of joke?”

His expression grim, he shook his head. “I called the chapel and verified it. In the eyes of God and the state of Nevada, you and I are legally married. A video of the ceremony should arrive at the front desk any minute.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Seems we were so eager to start the honeymoon, we forgot to take it with us.”

Kristen’s ears began to roar and her headache pounded unmercifully, repeating the same message over and over. Married to Chance Warren…married to Chance…married—

As she stared at him, her vision closed in from the sides and she suddenly couldn’t draw a breath. She saw Chance start toward her, heard him call her name. But his voice sounded like an echo from a great distance. And when the tunnel closed in around her, the fog of unconsciousness became an escape too appealing for her to resist.

Chance watched Kristen’s cheeks color a deep rose, while the rest of her face bleached pure white. She swayed once, then wilted.

“Kristen!” Alarmed, he stepped forward and caught her at the same moment her knees gave way.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, swinging her up into his arms. He hadn’t expected her to be any happier about the turn of events than he was. But he hadn’t figured she’d find the circumstances so appalling that she’d faint dead away.

He carried her to the bed, trying not to notice the enticing amount of breast visible through the parting in her robe or the feel of her soft body pressed to his chest. Married or not, they were still no more than social acquaintances. He could pretty much guess how she’d react if she came to and found him ogling her like a teenager looking at his first girlie magazine.

When he placed her on the bed, her robe gaped open even further, and not one, but two perfect breasts were exposed to his appreciative gaze. The air in his lungs rushed out in one big whoosh and his body tightened.

Chance closed his eyes and gallantly tried to concentrate on the unappealing task of digging a ditch—hard, back-breaking work that would exhaust a man and effectively wipe away all erotic thoughts.

It didn’t help.

He had a sneaking suspicion he could shovel a crater the size of the Grand Canyon and still not erase the memory of Kristen’s satiny, smooth skin against his palms, the feel of the dark coral tips begging for his attention.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He had to regain control of his traitorous body. Several very important decisions had to be made. And damned quick. He didn’t want, or need, the added complication of Kristen waking up to find him in an undeniable state of arousal. That sure as shootin’ wouldn’t help speed their conversation along.

Chance took another deep breath, opened his eyes and, with shaky hands, reached out to grasp the terry-cloth lapels and pull the robe together. He ground his teeth when his fingers brushed the silky slopes of her breasts. Turning, he rushed into the bathroom.

The cold water he splashed over his face brought back some of his sanity, and with it, a heavy dose of reality. He’d spent the night making love to his wife, and he’d lay money on the probability they hadn’t bothered using protection.

Stunned, he raised his gaze to stare at himself in the mirror. “Good Lord, what if she’s pregnant?”

Two

Chance leaned back to glance around the bathroom door at the unconscious woman—his wife—lying on the bed. Had pregnancy been the reason Kristen fainted? Would a side effect like this show up that fast?

Hell, how would I know? He tried to concentrate, but his head still throbbed from the champagne and he didn’t have any hands-on experience with this type of thing, anyway.

His sister, Beth, had passed out once while she was pregnant with her daughter, Annie. But he’d been out on the rodeo circuit with his stock company and only heard about the incident later. The only other pregnant females he’d ever been around were of the four-legged variety. He’d never seen or heard of a cow or mare passing out during gestation.

Reaching for a washcloth, he shook his head. Gently. He had no idea if pregnancy could be the reason for Kristen’s fainting, but he for damned sure intended to find out.

He dampened the cloth with cool water, then headed straight for the phone beside the bed. Shrugging out of his jacket, he sat down on the bed beside Kristen and dialed the front desk. He bathed her face with the cloth while he waited for the hotel operator to pick up.

What seemed like an eternity later, a woman answered.

“I need the address of the nearest hospital,” he said, trying to be patient despite the desperation clawing at his insides.

“Is this an emergency, sir?” the woman asked, her voice efficient. “Do you need an ambulance?”

His gut instinct told him Kristen wouldn’t appreciate the added attention being hauled out on a stretcher would bring to their situation. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He laid the cool, damp cloth on Kristen’s forehead. “My wife fainted. As soon as she’s feeling strong enough, I’ll take her myself.”

When the woman rattled off the street name of the closest emergency clinic, Chance jotted down the information on a pad of paper he found on top of the nightstand. Hanging up the phone, he frowned as he ran the cloth over Kristen’s pale cheeks. He couldn’t believe how easily the word wife had rolled off his tongue. Damned if it hadn’t felt almost natural.

Kristen stirred and murmured his name.

Taking her hand in his, Chance marveled at how small and fragile it felt. “I’m right here.”

She opened her eyes and blinked. “Oh, no. It wasn’t a dream.”

He tried his best to give her an encouraging smile. “Afraid not, sweetheart.” He brushed an auburn strand of hair from her damp cheek. “When you’re feeling stronger, I’ll take you to see a doctor.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Yes, you do,” he said firmly. He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase his next question, so he took a deep breath, thanked God she wasn’t looking at him and asked straight out. “Are you on any kind of birth control?”

Her eyes snapped open. “That’s none of your business.”

When she tried to sit up, he put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from rising. “Yes, it is.” He tried to be as tactful as possible, but some things couldn’t be sugar-coated. “We just spent an entire night making love, Kristen. If you aren’t on some type of preventive, there’s a very real possibility that you might be pregnant.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened. “Maybe nothing happened,” she said, hope filling her expressive green gaze.

Chance swallowed hard. Although the memories he had of last night weren’t clear by a long shot, and he had several blank spots about exactly what had taken place, his body told him he knew this woman in every sense of the word.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he said, unable to keep the knowing grin from his face. “It happened, all right. And more than once or twice.”

Her cheeks colored a pretty pink. Amazing. He hadn’t seen a woman blush in years.

“No, I’m not taking anything for birth control.” He watched her fidget with the robe’s belt, her attention devoted to rolling the end around her index finger.

Was it possible the ice maiden was embarrassed?

She continued to focus on the terry-cloth belt. “There hasn’t been a reason.”

“So you haven’t been seeing anyone?”

Abandoning the belt, she glared up at him. “Why don’t you ask what you really want to know? Have I been sleeping with anyone?”

Chance gave her a short nod.

She looked as if she wanted to sock him one. “The answer is no.”

He refused to dwell on how relieved her admission made him feel. “Then if you are pregnant, the baby will be mine.” Placing the cloth on the bedside table, he took a deep breath. “Well, I think the best thing we can do now is see a doctor, then go from there.”

“I think it’s too early to tell.” She frowned, and he could tell she didn’t have any experience in this particular area. The observation pleased the hell out of him.

“When—”

“I’m not sure about the time table, but I think it will take a few weeks for a test to show any accurate results.”

“You fainted for a reason.”

“I told you, I have a cold,” she insisted. “Sometimes they settle in my inner ear.”

“Are you on medication?”

She nodded. “My doctor gave me a prescription before I left Dallas to come to the finals.”

Chance removed his hat, then ran his hand through his hair. “I’d like for you to check with a doctor before you take any more. Some of that stuff can hurt a baby.”

Kristen felt her stomach do a back flip. The situation grew more complicated by the minute.

“Maybe there isn’t anything to worry about.” Refusing to stay put any longer, she sat up. “There’s a big chance I’m not pregnant.”

“But there’s a possibility you are.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

The man had the audacity to ignore her protest. “It’s my child as much as yours, and I want what’s best.” She watched him replace his hat, then rest his forearms on his knees and stare down at his loosely clasped hands. “I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’ll just spit it out.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “I face up to my responsibilities. If you’re pregnant, you won’t have to go through this alone, Kristen. When the time comes, I’ll be right there beside you, helping make decisions about raising the baby.”

Decisions.

Kristen’s head throbbed and she really didn’t feel up to facing the possibilities he mentioned, let alone make decisions for a child that might not even exist.

“Okay, I’ll see a doctor as soon as I return to Dallas.” She might as well be reasonable about this. “When I find out something definite, I’ll call you.”

“No.” He stood, placed his hands on his lean hips, then stared down at her. “Nothing against you or your honesty, but I don’t know you well enough to know whether you’d contact me or not.”

“Then what do you suggest?” No way was she taking him with her back to Dallas.

“After we see a doctor here in Vegas about your fainting spell, I want you to go with me to my ranch in the Panhandle,” he said. “If it’s too early for a definite answer now, we’ll wait out the results there. Once we find out for sure what the verdict is, we’ll deal with it.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know you that well.”

“We’re married.”

“Not for long.”

“If you’re pregnant—”

“I’m not.”

“But if you are,” he insisted, “I’d like for us to stay married until after the baby’s born.”

Trying to think, she rubbed her forehead. “I can’t go with you. I’m expected back in Dallas tomorrow for a board meeting. I have to turn in my reports on the most likely candidates to endorse Sagebrush Boots.”

“That can be taken care of by overnight express or a fax to your father.”

Kristen felt the color drain from her face. What would Mike say if he knew his daughter had awakened this morning to find herself married to, and possibly pregnant by, the very man he’d warned her to avoid?

She glanced up at Chance. Her husband. The thought of being married to the sexiest cowboy she’d ever met set loose some very heated sensations in places that had no business being warm and tingly. She closed her eyes to keep the feelings from building. Getting all hot and bothered over the man she’d accidentally married was not solving the immediate problem.

To get her mind back on track, she thought of how Mike would take the news. Her father would undoubtedly take things a whole lot better if she’d married anyone but Chance Warren. The last name of Warren never failed to send Mike Lassiter into a tirade, but she’d never been able to figure out why.

Six years ago, when she’d first started soliciting endorsements for Sagebrush Boots, Mike had told her that under no circumstances was she to approach Chance. A successful, good-looking bull rider, he would have been the perfect spokesman for Sagebrush Boots and brought in a tremendous amount of business. But her father refused to budge on the issue. As long as Mike drew breath, a Warren would never get paid to endorse a pair of Sagebrush boots.

The gravity of what she’d done weighed her down and she closed her eyes. Mike would take one look at her and know something was up. And she’d already been a big-enough disappointment to the man just by being born female. If he found out she’d married Chance, she’d never see anything but contempt in his piercing gray gaze.

“Kristen, are you all right?” Chance asked, concern evident in his smooth baritone. “If going to my ranch bothers you that much, I’ll go with you to Dallas.”

Opening her eyes, she made a snap decision. She’d go with Chance to his ranch. At least until they sorted out what needed to be done about the annulment. Besides, it was much more appealing than the thought of trying to explain Chance’s presence in her apartment to Mike.

“Now that I think about it, it might be best if I do accompany you to your ranch,” she said coolly. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “I’ll fax my report along with a message that I’m taking a little vacation time.”

Chance nodded. “How long before you’re ready, then?”

“Fifteen minutes or so. But—”

“I’ll go down and take care of things at the front desk.” Shrugging into his denim jacket, he bent down and picked up their marriage license. “I’ll have a bellboy sent up to carry your luggage down to my truck,” he said, tucking the document into his breast pocket. “Once we have you checked out at the hospital, I’d like to get on the road.”

Before Kristen could protest his determination that she see a doctor, he walked to the door and left without a backward glance.

Chance sat next to Kristen in the waiting room of the urgent-care clinic, his gaze fixed on the poster tacked to the wall opposite him. He hated having to bring her here. The place was packed with sick people. The man seated next to Kristen coughed, and Chance cringed. He’d always heard the best place in the world to be exposed to germs was in a hospital or doctor’s office. What if she picked up something that made her miscarry?

He wasn’t sure when he’d started hoping she was pregnant, but he had. Hell, he wasn’t getting any younger. At thirty-four a man needed to start thinking about settling down and having a few kids.

Chance glanced at his wife. She wasn’t his type of woman. He’d always pictured himself with a country gal—a woman who at least knew the difference between a bull and a steer. A woman he could rely on.

But fate had stepped in and matched him up with the exact opposite of what he’d always thought he wanted. Fate had paired him up with a city gal. He frowned. A woman with the same type of background as his own mother’s.

He cut Kristen a sideways glance. One thing about it, though. She might not be his choice for the job, but they sure would make pretty babies together. The thought of how they’d get those babies made the region below his belt stir. It was a shame they wouldn’t stay married to make more than the one they’d probably conceived last night.

When the man next to Kristen coughed again, Chance planted his hands on the arms of the chair and levered himself to his feet. “Trade places with me, Kristen.”

“Why?”

He might have known she’d be stubborn about it. “Just do it, okay?”

“Chance, I’m perfectly fine right where I am.”

He purposely narrowed his eyes and hoped his face showed more determination than worry. “If you haven’t moved by the time I count to three, I’ll pick you up and move you myself.”

She glared back at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me, sweetheart.” The guy next to her coughed for the third time. “One, two—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Giving him a look that might have wilted a lesser man, she rose from her chair to sit in the one Chance had just vacated. “Now are you satisfied?”

He grinned. “Yep.”

Relieved that she’d finally done as he asked, Chance seated himself between her and the man he was sure had something horribly contagious. Somewhere from behind them a small child sneezed, and Chance searched for a pair of empty chairs on the far side of the room. Every seat was taken.

Logically, he knew pregnant women faced this type of situation all the time. But Kristen wasn’t just any woman. She was his wife. Possibly pregnant with his baby. That made it personal. Real personal.

He wasn’t exactly comfortable with how much emotional investment he’d made in such a short time, but he wasn’t going to deny it, either. At least, not to himself. He might not have wanted a wife, but he’d always wanted to be a father.

A woman in a brightly colored smock stepped through the door at the back of the waiting area. “Kristen Lassiter.”

“It’s about damned time,” Chance muttered, bolting from the chair and pulling Kristen up with him.

When she swayed and leaned heavily against him, Chance glanced down to find that her face had bleached white as tissue paper. It was the same look she’d had back in the hotel just before she passed out. Without thinking twice, he scooped her up into his arms and headed toward the nurse.

“Second room on the right,” the woman said, hurrying to keep up with him.

Chance gently placed Kristen on the examining table in the room the woman indicated. Staring down at her, he noticed her pale cheeks were gaining more color, but her eyes remained closed. “Kristen, sweetheart, are you all right?”

“Go away,” she said through clenched teeth.

Her terse command made him feel a little better. At least she hadn’t lost her spunk.

The woman in the floral smock closed the door, then went over to sit at the desk on the far side of the room. Flipping open a metal chart, she asked, “What seems to be the problem, Ms. Lassiter?”

“Her last name’s Warren,” Chance told the nurse.

“But she registered under the name of Lassiter,” the woman said, frowning.

Chance looked at the name tag attached to the woman’s ample bosom. “We got married last night, Mary-Ann,” he said, using her first name and giving her a smile. “I guess it just takes a while for a woman to get used to her new last name.”

His friendly approach worked. Accepting his explanation, Mary-Ann smiled back. “Oh, yes. It took me months before I started thinking of myself by anything other than my maiden name.” She scribbled something on the chart, then came over to take Kristen’s blood pressure and pulse. “What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Warren?”

Kristen finally opened her eyes. “I have a sinus infection and—”

“She keeps fainting,” Chance explained, finishing for her. “She might be pregnant.”

If looks could kill, Chance figured he’d be a dead man in three seconds flat. The sparks flashing in Kristen’s eyes left no doubt how furious she was with him.

“Okay, I’ll make a note of that,” Mary-Ann said, taking Kristen’s temperature. The nurse wrote in the chart, then turned toward the door. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

The hushed click of the door closing behind the nurse seemed to revive Kristen. “Get out,” she ordered, sitting up and pointing to the now-closed door.

Chance stood his ground. “No.”

She made a kind of growling sound in the back of her throat that sounded as if she might just tear his head off and show it to him. “You have to be the most exasperating man on the face of the earth. Why did you tell that woman I might be pregnant?”

“It’s the truth,” he said reasonably. “And you wouldn’t have said anything about it.”

“Yes, I would.” She glared at him. “But you make it sound like a certainty. How many times do I have to tell you, the possibility is so remote, it’s not really worth considering?”

Before he could argue the point further, the door swung open and a tall gray-haired gentleman in a white lab coat walked into the room. He shook hands with Chance, then Kristen. “I’m Dr. Brayfield. I hear you aren’t feeling well, Mrs. Warren. What seems to be the problem?”

“Before I left Dallas, I was diagnosed with a sinus infection,” Kristen said, her gaze warning Chance to keep quiet. “I’ve been taking medication for it.”

“I see here you might be pregnant,” the doctor said, glancing at the metal chart he’d retrieved from the pocket on the door. “We’ll do a pregnancy test—”

“No,” Kristen said. “It won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, it is,” Chance said at the same time.

Dr. Brayfield glanced up over the top of his half glasses, his look questioning.

“We got married last night,” Chance explained. One look at Kristen told him he’d better sugarcoat the facts or he’d be in even bigger trouble than he already was. “We may want to start a family right away and I thought it best to make sure the medication is safe before she takes any more of it.” There, that should satisfy both her and the doctor.

Smiling, Dr. Brayfield nodded. “I understand. If last night was the first relations you’ve had without using any type of preventive, there’s no need to do a pregnancy test. The results wouldn’t be as accurate as they will be in a week or two.” He wrote something in the chart. “Now, what did your physician prescribe for your sinus infection, Mrs. Warren?”

Kristen gave Chance a warning look he was sure was meant to silence him, then told the doctor the name of the medication and her symptoms. “I’ve had this problem before,” she added. “Sometimes the infection settles in my inner ear and causes dizziness.”

“Is this the first time you’ve taken this prescription?” When she nodded, the doctor continued, “How long have you been on it?”

“Today will be the fourth day.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Would drinking wine with this cause any kind of side effects?”

The doctor nodded. “Drinking any kind of alcohol with medication can cause side effects. Some serious, some less so. With this particular prescription there’s a possibility of memory lapses and uncharacteristic behavior.” He turned to Chance. “Have you noticed her acting differently than usual?”

Before Chance could answer, Kristen spoke up. “Yes. I married him last night. That was completely out of character for me.”

Apparently the doctor thought Kristen was joking because he chuckled and took an instrument from the wall. He shone the tiny light into her ears, then looked at her throat. “Mmm.” He jotted a note on the chart, then handed her some sample bottles of capsules. “I’m going to change the medication you’re on. This should clear up both the sinus and inner ear problems within a few days.”

“Is this safe in case she’s pregnant?” Chance asked pointedly.

Dr. Brayfield nodded. “This is much safer and has fewer side effects.” His grin wide, he winked. “No more accidental marriages.”

“I’m glad I insisted on your seeing a doctor,” Chance said, pulling his truck from the clinic parking lot. “You might have passed out when I wasn’t around and hurt yourself or the baby.”

Kristen glared at him. “Will you stop talking as if it’s a fait accompli? All we know for sure is that I have an ear infection. We don’t know if I’m pregnant.”

“We don’t know that you aren’t, sweetheart,” he said, shrugging. He grinned, and his face went from handsome to drop-dead gorgeous. “If passion and desire have anything to do with it, I’d say we have a bun in the oven for sure.”

She supposed she should be upset that he insisted on calling her “sweetheart.” But she wasn’t going to ask him to stop. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow when Chance used the endearment, it just felt…right.

Trying to turn her attention to something other than the man beside her, she focused on his “bun” comment. Most of her friends would have considered it crude, a remark best left to the lower social circles. But coming from Chance, it made her want to put on a baker’s hat and…

Shaking her head to dislodge the erotic thought before it took hold, she remembered he hadn’t listened to her objections over seeing a doctor. It appeared that Chance had a lot in common with Mike. He never listened to her, either.

Kristen stared out the truck window at the barren landscape of the Las Vegas outskirts. What would Mike do when he found out she’d married Chance? Would she be disowned?

The thought of his disapproval caused an instant sadness.

She—Mike’s only child—had turned out to be a girl instead of the son he’d wanted. That had been the first time Kristen had disappointed him. Then, in the last twenty-seven years, she’d never seemed to measure up, never been able to do anything to win his acceptance and love.

Now, with the mess she’d gotten herself into last night, she feared she’d never see an expression of approval on Mike’s face. Not for her, not for anything she accomplished. Unexpectedly, her breath caught on a soft sob.

“What’s wrong, Kristen?”

His big hand covered hers where it rested in her lap. “Don’t worry.” He twined their fingers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll get through this together. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”

Kristen swallowed hard. Why did her insides turn to melted butter every time he spoke in that soft, sexy drawl?

“I guess I’m just a little tired,” she lied. She wasn’t about to try explaining something she didn’t understand herself. “I’ll be fine.”

Chance turned her hand loose to reach down and release the catch on her seat belt. “Why don’t you move over here to the middle of the seat and rest your head on my shoulder? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You aren’t feeling well, Kristen.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “We have a long way to go. Maybe if you take a nap you’ll feel better.”

It might have been his softly spoken words, or the feel of his hand on her cheek. She couldn’t be sure. But she suddenly felt drained of all energy.

“Maybe for just a few minutes.”

When she scooted over and secured the center seat belt, Chance put his arm around her. She placed her head against his shoulder and it pleased the hell out of him. It shouldn’t have. But it did. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax and try to rest.”

Seconds after closing her eyes, her breathing became shallow, signaling that she’d fallen asleep.

Chance set the cruise control and adjusted the position of the steering wheel down to a more comfortable angle. He draped his left wrist over the top, then settled back for the long drive ahead. He had a lot to think about and several hundred miles to get it all sorted out.

Although Kristen hadn’t exactly warmed up to him, he’d noticed a vulnerability about her in the hotel room once she’d regained consciousness. There had been an uncertainty in her demeanor that he never in a million years would have associated with the ice maiden. She’d turned pale as a ghost when he’d mentioned sending those reports to her father.

A bull of a man, Mike Lassiter wore his expensive western-cut suits with a style and grace that belied his considerable size. But that hadn’t been what made a lasting impression on Chance. It had been the open hostility Lassiter displayed on the few occasions they’d been around each other. Chance couldn’t remember ever having talked to the man. But for some reason, each time he caught Lassiter staring at him, the man’s eyes had been filled with intense loathing.

Chance absently stroked Kristen’s silky auburn hair with his right hand. From the look of fear she’d displayed at the thought of going back to Dallas to face her father, Chance figured the rumors about Lassiter had to be right on the money. Over the years, Chance had heard plenty about Mike Lassiter and his demands of perfection; how he made it impossible for anyone to ever live up to his expectations. It was even rumored the man’s late wife had died from being so unhappy.

Chance glanced down at his own sleeping wife. How could any man intentionally create the apprehension in a woman that he’d seen in Kristen? And why?

His hand, draped over the steering wheel, tightened into a fist at the thought of anyone intimidating Kristen.

He had a feeling he was about to jump buck-naked into a hornet’s nest, but he’d be damned if he’d let Mike Lassiter run roughshod over Kristen. Even though their marriage was temporary, as her husband, Chance had an obligation to protect her. And if that meant crossing her own father to do it, then that’s exactly what he’d do.

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