A Cowboy's Woman (9 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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“Greta, for heaven's sake!”
Greta lifted out sauté pans and began stacking them on the counter. “Well, what do you expect?” she asked impatiently.
Agitated, Tillie began lending a hand, too. “Do you want to hang on to this man or not?”
Greta reached for a third box. This one contained glassware. “What kind of question is that to ask?” she demanded.
“A valid one.” Silence fell between Greta and her mother as the tension of years past reasserted itself.
“I talked to Bonnie Sue Baxter last night. Let me tell you, she has not given up on getting him back,” Tillie reported as she emptied and collapsed the third box.
Greta picked up wads of packing paper and carried it over to the box designated for that. “What they had was over a long time ago,” Greta said stubbornly.
“But will it stay over,” Tillie returned, “with you acting like anything but a wife?”
Leave it to her mother to make her feel no matter what she'd done, it wasn't enough. Exasperated, Greta deposited
the packing paper and ran her hands through her hair. “Mom, I'm doing the best I can—”
“I know, honey, it's just sometimes you're not competitive enough.”
And Shane was too competitive, Greta thought, recalling how Shane had hauled her up the stairs, honeymoon-style chez Shane, just to keep up with Wade.
“But you know what they say—” Tillie patted Greta's shoulder comfortingly “—opposites attract.”
Or, in her and Shane's case, lit each other up like fuses on sticks of dynamite, Greta thought to herself as she stormed back to tackle another box of cooking utensils.
“So maybe your marriage to Shane will work out after all,” Tillie continued helpfully.
This was a vote of confidence?
A delivery truck pulled up at the rear of the building. Greta propped the door open and tried not to show her relief at the interruption. “Listen, thanks for stopping by, Mom. I appreciate the concern.”
“You think about what I said, honey.”
“I will,” Greta promised, more to get her mother out the door than anything else.
“A man's ranch should be his castle,” Tillie continued.
And if Greta couldn‘t—wouldn't—provide that, wasn't that even more reason for them to get an annulment at the end of the week? Greta grinned as she waved the deliveryman in. Unwittingly her mother had just given her—and Shane—the beginning of a way out.
 
GRETA WAS BUSY emptying one of two big commercial dishwashers when the back door opened. As a flood of late-afternoon sunlight spilled into the room, she turned
and saw Beau Chamberlain stride in. He whipped off his movie-star sunglasses and gave her his trademark grin. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!”
“Beau!” Greta hopped down from the step stool she'd been standing on.
“How are you, kiddo?” Beau closed the distance between them and wrapped Greta in a big bear hug.
Greta welcomed the rugged ex-Texan with the black hair and the bedroom eyes like the big brother she'd always wanted but had never had until he'd come into her life several years before. “Come to see me or the dance hall?” she teased.
“How about a little of both,” Beau quipped. He looked around appreciatively at the long stainless steel prep counters, commercial stoves and ovens, and walkin refrigerator-freezer-none of which had been installed the last time he'd visited, several weeks prior. “Hey, it's really shaping up.” He admired the whitewashed walls and terra-cotta floor. “Though you look a little worse for wear.” Beau plucked a piece of clear tape out of her hair.
Greta wrinkled her nose and swatted his hand away. She'd been unpacking brand-new dishes, systematically running them through the dishwashers so they could be used and then putting them away, since early morning. “It's been a long day.” Forty-eight boxes worth, to be exact, but it had needed to be done, and the sooner the better.
“A long couple of days from what I hear,” Beau said.
Although it looked as if Beau was a man who had everything, Greta knew he was still reeling from an ugly, bitter divorce and a complete absence of privacy in his personal life. Hence, if anyone would understand what was going on with her, it would be him.
“You heard, hmm?” Aware she still had four boxes of dishes left to unpack and run through the dishwasher, Greta went back to stacking clean dishes on the open wood shelves above the counters.
“That I'd lost the love of my life? My publicist has been getting calls nonstop. There's more interest in your elopement than my new movie.”
“How's that coming, by the way?” She knew he'd been in Mexico.
“I'm still scouting locations.” Never one to stand around idle for long, Beau pitched in to help. “Hopefully we'll find something soon.”
“Good luck,” Greta said sincerely. Finished, they went back to the boxes that were left.
“So you want to tell me about the fella that gave you such a charming ring?” Beau asked as Greta sliced through the packing tape.
“No.” Greta opened the flaps.
“Not even so my publicist can announce the terms of your marriage far and wide?” Beau teased as they began removing dozens of stoneware coffee cups and stacking them right in the dishwasher.
“Oh, Beau. It's such a mess.” Briefly Greta explained how and why her marriage to Shane had come about.
Beau whistled. “And I thought my life was complicated.” Silence fell as he folded up and carted off the box they'd emptied, and brought over another. The two looked at each other. “Tell me all this excitement isn't going to interfere with the deal you and I have going,” Beau said.
Greta made a face. As much as she hated to let Beau down. “It already is,” she admitted reluctantly. Then explained, “I've got people advising me how to make this marriage succeed every time I turn around.”
“And you don't want it to succeed,” Beau guessed.
Having filled the dishwasher to capacity, Greta put in some soap, shut and locked the door and switched it on. “I want a way out.”
Before I get sucked into the fantasy of it all and start believing I can really have Shane in my life as my husband.
“Your exit plan is no good?”
Greta sighed. She leaned against the counter, folding her arms in front of her. “Shane and I thought there'd be more resistance. That our folks would be clamoring for us to get the marriage annulled.”
“And they're not.”
Greta shook her head slowly. “With the exception of Shane's ex-girlfriend, no.”
Beau's eyes sparkled, reminding Greta there was nothing he liked better than a good yarn. “This
is
getting complicated.”
“Tell me about it.” Greta sighed.
Beau stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “You still want me here Saturday night?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” He was so much a part of it it was only right he be there. “Of course,” Greta cautioned, “I'm not telling anyone you'll be here.”
“I understand,” Beau said grimly. “We don't want this turning into a Beauregard Chamberlain Fan Club event.”
Greta rolled her eyes, knowing how crazy women could be when they saw Beau in person. “Exactly.”
Dependable as always, practical down to his soles, Beau opened his arms, and Greta went into them for a much-needed, brotherly hug. “Well, you let me know,” Beau said softly, patting her on the shoulder, “anything you need, hon, anything at all—”
“Greta will get from me,” Shane said.
 
GRETA AND BEAU TURNED IN unison to see Shane standing in the doorway. He looked hot, dusty and tired. And more than a little provoked to see his “wife” in her former “boyfriend's” arms. “Shane,” she said. Self-consciously, Greta struggled to extricate herself from Beau's arms. “You're back!”
“So it would seem.” Without warning, Shane grabbed Greta, pulled her into his arms, and gave her one humdinger of a kiss hello. It didn't last long, but it had her tingling from her head to her toes. The romantic aura was muted, however, by the knowledge the gesture was all for show.
Head spinning, she watched him draw back, and she asked, “Did you get the pressure cleaner for the stables?”
“As well as a bed.”
Greta flushed, aware she'd just sounded—unsettlingly—like a wife.
Beau strode forward, as curious about Shane as Shane was about him. He introduced himself casually and extended a hand. “You must be Greta's new husband,” Beau said as they shook.
Shane nodded and asked with a graciousness that was strictly man to man. “What brings you to town?”
Beau looked at Greta. “Two reasons. I heard about the marriage, and I wanted to see how this place was shaping up for the grand opening Saturday night.”
Feeling increasingly uncomfortable almost as if she were caught between the two men—which was ridiculous, since neither of them had any claim on her at all—Greta looked around briefly. “As you can see it's coming along great.”
Beau grinned at their surroundings appreciatively, his
personal stake in her business apparent. “Yeah, I'd have to say so, too.”
Shane studied his competition with an experienced eye. “You in town for long?”
Beau shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I've got an appointment to scout out a location for a film later this evening.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I better get a move on if I don't want to be late.”
Abruptly Shane looked as if he couldn't wait to be rid of Beau and alone with Greta. “Well, don't let us keep you,” Shane drawled, lacing a possessive arm around Greta's waist.
Beau looked at the way Shane was holding her close, and Greta knew exactly what Beau was thinking—that she had her hands full when it came to Shane McCabe. And Beau was right! From his nocturnal attire to his unexpected kisses, Shane had a way of perpetually throwing her off balance.
Beau nodded at Shane. “Nice meeting you.” Then turned to Greta. “You call me if you need me. I'm here for you anytime.” His words were laced with meaning.
“I know,” Greta replied softly.
Beau slid his movie-star sunglasses back on and exited the building.
The moment he departed Shane let go of Greta as suddenly as if she had burned him, which in turn confirmed the fact that his possessiveness had been all for show. She did her best to conceal her hurt. The ruse they'd concocted had been for their parents, not for Beau, and darn it all, Shane knew it!
“That was really rude, Shane!” Greta sputtered: He couldn't have made Beau feel less welcome had he tried.
“And you're surprised?” Shane lifted a coolly discerning brow.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” Greta stormed right back. “I've known you to be a lot of things but rude isn't one of them!” It would have been nice if Shane and Beau could have been friends.
“Listen to me, Greta.” Shane grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her so close their bodies collided. “I've been cuckolded once! It damn well isn't going to happen again.”
Chapter Six
S
hane regretted the words the instant they were out, but it was too late to take them back.
Her pretty eyes alight with curiosity, Greta demanded, “Are you talking about Bonnie Sue?”
“Yes.” Shane snapped as he released Greta and stepped back. Sympathy was not what he wanted from her. Pivoting on his heel, he headed for the main room. Greta followed him out of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing across the polished wood dance floor.
Glad to see all the workmen had left for the day—he didn't need any more witnesses to the slip of his tongue—Shane headed for the DJ booth and the newly installed sound system. He punched the button to turn it on. Immediately the room was filled with a rhythmic beat—the country blend of acoustic, electric and steel guitars and the sweet sounds of Trisha Yearwood singing “I Don't Fall in Love So Easy.” The melancholy lyrics and foot-tapping melody matched his mood perfectly.
Shane vaulted down the steps, took Greta by the waist, and propelled her onto the center of the dance floor. He began a Texas two-step, hoping she'd forget all about what he'd just said. Which was, as it turned out, about as likely as a coat on a bull.
“I never heard anything about that!” she continued doggedly, kicking up her heels.
Unable to help admiring the graceful way she moved, the way she managed to hold her own in his arms, while at the same time letting him lead, Shane muttered bitterly, “That's because I never told anyone.” It had been humiliating to discover that despite all the girls and rodeo groupies chasing him over the years, the one woman he'd pledged his heart to back then, had—in the end—not found him man enough to hold her.
“Not even your family?” Greta asked gently, as the first song faded and another slower one followed.
“No.” Because the song demanded it, Shane pulled her close, so she was tightly alligned with him from breast to thigh.
“Why not?”
Shane buried his face in the fragrant softness of her hair and breathed deeply. “Because I didn't want to hear the inevitable I told you so's.”
Obviously enjoying their dancing as much as he was, Greta let her head fall to his shoulder. “They saw something like this coming?”
Shane shrugged. “Although everyone liked Bonnie Sue well enough, my family never thought Bonnie Sue and I were right for each other in the long run.” It had galled him to learn after nearly six years of dating her, of being faithful despite the many separations the two of them had endured, that his family had been right all along in their estimation of the situation.
Greta stopped dancing and looked up at him. “What happened?”
Suddenly Shane needed to unburden himself to someone. Taking her by the hand, he led her up the stairs to the sound booth. They sat down in the two comfortable
swivel chairs behind the console. The music providing a comfortable backdrop, he turned the volume down slightly and began adjusting the ratio of bass to treble. “Bonnie Sue had this guy friend at UT. They were both prelaw and met as undergrads. She and Clint used to study together all the time. They were always talking law. When I was off on the rodeo circuit, he escorted her to sorority parties. She said he was like a brother to her, and I bought it hook, line and sinker.”
“But then all that changed.”
Shane nodded and swung his chair around so they were suddenly sitting knee to knee. “Her senior year. I showed up at UT to visit her unexpectedly.” Shane took her hands in his and held them lightly, his thumbs absently stroking the silky insides of her wrists. “She was living in an apartment at that time. I had a key. When no one answered, I walked in, and caught them in bed together.”
Greta's slender fingers tightened on his. “Oh, Shane.” There was a wealth of understanding in those two words.
“She swore it didn't mean anything—that she was in love with me. Not him. She'd just been so lonely, with me gone for weeks at a time on the circuit,” Shane swallowed hard, the humiliation and betrayal he'd felt then coming back at him full bore.
Loneliness was one thing. Infidelity another. “So you broke up. And she went off to Stanford Law School with him.”
Shane nodded and turned back to the stacks of CDs on the DJ desk. “They married when they graduated.” He'd been invited—but there was no way in hell he'd wanted to attend.
“And now they're getting a divorce because Clint cheated on her.”
Shane went very still. This he hadn't heard. He glanced at Greta. “Is that why?”
Greta nodded, her pale-blue eyes serious. “According to Bonnie Sue's mother and the Laramie grapevine, yes.”
The satisfaction he should have felt—that Bonnie Sue had finally gotten every bit as good as she had dished out to him—didn't come. Maybe because there was no happiness to be had from anyone else's misery. Aware Greta was still watching him carefully, Shane took out the Trisha Yearwood CD and popped in one by the Texas Tornadoes. “What comes around goes around, I guess,” Shane said, as the sounds of “Little Bit Is Better than Nada” filled the room.
Looking restless herself, Greta got up and bounded down the stairs, her short denim skirt hugging her hips and thighs. She headed for the front door, made sure it was locked and bolted, then went to the newly installed plantation shutters and began shutting them one by one. “Do you still care for her?”
“No.” Shane watched as the dance hall became darker and darker. “She killed what I felt for her when she was unfaithful to me.” There was no way he was ever getting involved with anyone duplicitous again. He never wanted to be hoodwinked again—in any way, shape or form. He wanted a woman who was 100 percent honest and forthright with him about everything she wanted and did and felt. No more going behind his back.
More restless than ever, Shane stood. He caught up with Greta just as she closed the last shutter. “Would you have married her if you hadn't caught her in bed with Clint?”
Shane winced at the directness of the question. “Probably,” he admitted reluctantly, embarrassed at what a
chump he had been. “But it would have been a mistake.” He caught her by the waist and brought her close. “Time has shown us that. But none of this has anything to do with what's still going on between you and Beau.” She was holding something back; he knew it. There was more connection there than friendship. Beau's intense interest in Greta's business had proven it. “You want to tell me what's going on between the two of you?” Shane demanded.
“No.” Greta made a face as she splayed her hands across his chest. “But I guess, since we're married, that I should...Beau is my silent partner,” Greta said with a reluctant sigh as she propelled herself all the way out of Shane's arms. Getting into the cheerful beat of the music, Greta propped her hands on her waist and did a few heel-toe moves all by herself. “He put up almost all the funding for this place. If he hadn't offered me a loan, there's no way I could have bought this dance hall and had the money to set up the business on my own.”
Shane fell into step beside her, and began line dancing, too. “Couldn't you have gone to a bank or gotten a small business loan?” He slid one hand behind her shoulders as was custom, hers slid around his waist.
“I suppose,” Greta acknowledged, swaying to the beat and bending sexily at the knee, “but there was no need. Beau's got tons of money from his past few pictures. He's always looking for investments for tax reasons. And he wanted to help me.”
A jealousy Shane had no right feeling knotted in his gut as the two of them made their way rhythmically around the dance floor. “And what does he expect in return?” Shane asked casually.
“Fifty percent of the profits.” Greta stopped dead in her tracks, and disengaged herself from him. She tilted
her face up to his and regarded him with an insolent, mocking look. “What did you think he would expect?”
Her sarcasm stung, but he refused to be less than honest. “I don't know.” Shane paused, figuring now was as good a time as any to get into this. “What is this guy to you?” he demanded casually.
“Exactly what I've told you and everyone else—not that anyone listens to me,” Greta lamented in obvious frustration. “A friend.”
“Now,” Shane qualified, hating the suspiciousness he felt, but unable to help it.
Greta fixed him with a withering stare. “No,” she corrected icily. Turning her back on him, she marched into the dance hall kitchen and began closing up there, too. “Not just now, Shane. Always.”
Silence fell between them as Greta began to rinse out the coffeemaker she had used earlier in the day.
Greta filled it with soap, then turned back to him. “You don't buy it.” It was more a statement than a question.
Shane shrugged, aware she had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment, in the fitted, short-sleeved denim blouse, skirt, boots. Her hair was twisted into a thick unruly rope and clipped on the back of her head. Wildly curling white blond tendrils escaped to frame her face. “I saw the videotape of you and Mr. Movie Star,” Shane continued. Now he was sorry he had.
Greta arched a brow. “You must have been curious,” she taunted lightly.
That wasn't the half of it. But unwilling to divulge how envious he'd been of all the dates Chamberlain had obviously had with Greta, Shane spread his hands carelessly on either side of him. “My mother insisted.”
“So you humored her.” Greta wasn't buying
that
for a moment.
Excitement building inside him, Shane struggled to examine his own emotions. “I was going to have to see it sometime. I figured I might as well get it over with.”
Finished with the coffeepot, Greta set it on the counter to dry and then turned to face him. “What'd you think?”
“That you look every bit as gorgeous in evening clothes as you do in jeans and boots.”
Greta finished drying her hands and tossed the dish towel aside. “I'm serious.”
Okay, the hell with what was right. “I wondered if you had ever been lovers.”
Color flamed in her cheeks. “No.”
But had Beau wanted to be?
Shane wondered.
“Not that it's any of your business,” Greta finished haughtily.
Shane swallowed and cautioned himself not to move too fast. “We're married, and he's still hanging around. I'd say that makes it my business.”
For once Greta didn't quibble with the validity of their union. “I told you why he was here.” She brushed past him.
And Clint had always been there to
study
with Bonnie Sue.
Greta shook her head and leaned against the long stainless steel counter. “You don't believe me, do you?”
Shane stepped in front of her and held his ground. “He seems like a healthy, full-blooded American male.” Shane let his glance rove slowly over Greta from head to toe, taking in her long, sexy legs, slender waist and generous breasts. “I can't see any reason why he wouldn't want to make love to you.”
Her blue eyes were hot with temper, her breasts rising
and falling with every breath. “How about I didn't want to make love to him?”
“So he did hit on you,” Shane ascertained grimly. Not sure why he minded so much. Just knowing he did.
Exasperation hissed through her teeth. She kept her gaze level with his. “We kissed the first time we went out together.”
“And...?”
“And nothing!” She tilted her head back so their lips met in perfect alignment. “We promptly discovered that our relationship was more brother-sister than anything else.”
Shane folded his arms in front of him. It would be so easy to get lost in her. In this thing they called a marriage. “Your parents don't seem to think that's the case.”
Bracing her hands on either side of her, Greta hopped up on the counter, sat with her knees together, her legs hanging over the side. “That's not my fault. I told them. They just didn't believe me.”
“Neither did the rest of the movie-going public.” He watched as she self-consciously tugged the hem of her skirt closer to her knees. Stepping closer, he braced a hand on either side of her. And remembered all he had seen on the videotape. Beau Chamberlain, wrapping his arm around Greta's waist and shoulders, countless times. He moved in even closer. “Face it, if you and Beau really didn't have anything going between you—ever—then the two of you put on one heck of a show.”
Greta sighed, her bent knees brushing his waist. “That's because he wanted it to look like we were dating, whenever we went to those premieres and award shows together.”
“Why?”
Greta lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Because it was the only way to get the fan magazines and tabloids off his back.” She looked at him then continued softly, “After Beau's divorce, they were determined to pair him with someone. When he wouldn't cooperate by actually dating anyone, they started taking photos of whoever happened to be standing next to him—even if the woman happened to be a complete stranger!—and pawning those women off as his date. He got tired of it. And he felt sorry for the women it was happening to. So he said, ‘Look, pretend to be my girlfriend at these things...we can go and have a good time...' And I said, ‘Okay.'”

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