The Fiancée Fiasco (4 page)

And she knew enough to wait until they were safely airborne to reopen negotiations. "Back to business, then," she said, once they'd lifted off.

He opened one eye at her. "What business?" Wariness was back in his voice. Roseanne had never met a man of a more suspicious nature. It was the more annoying in that he had every right to be suspicious.

"If I find a way to put an end to the rumors, now and forever, that you're going to remarry Sylvia, will you sign Covington March onto a retainer agreement?"

He let out a disbelieving breath. "You think you have a way to do that?"

"I know I do."

He smiled. This time the thing took hold and lasted more than a breath. "Fine. I agree." He still didn't believe her. It made him reckless. "You do that and I'll hire CovMarch back on again."

"And make it clear that I was responsible for convincing you?"

The smile broadened. It pestered her with an inconvenient pang of guilt. He was walking right into her trap. "Sure, I'll make it clear you were responsible."

"It's a deal, then." Roseanne held out her hand.

"A deal." Carruthers shook her hand in all good faith. It was done. Roseanne was quite sure that he would not back out on a deal. Her certainty on this score was perhaps odd, given that the man had already proved himself capable of backing out on a marriage. But business was different from romance.

Arranging his long legs in front of himself, Carruthers folded his arms across his chest. "All right, then. Let's hear it. This sure-fire idea of yours."

"You're going to do what George suggested."

The smile slipped. "What's that?"

"Get married."

"What!?" His smile dropped entirely, not a trace of it left. Instead, Carruthers' face expressed a mixture of indignation and outright panic.

"Now wait!" Roseanne held up a calming hand, palm outward. "Hear me out. Not for real. Just, well, let's call it make-believe. And maybe it doesn't have to be a marriage," she went on, frowning. "That might cause too many problems later. Let's call it an engagement. That ought to be enough."

"Are you crazy?" His voice cracked and he sidled away from her. He looked as though he'd like to be in the seat across the aisle, if not off the plane altogether.

"I'm not crazy." Roseanne's tone was offended. "It's the perfect solution, don't you see? Sylvia has started all these rumors. Well, you're going to start some rumors back. Only your rumors are going to be ten times better than hers."

He seemed to be fascinated in spite of himself. "Why is that?"

"Witnesses and evidence. In a courtroom I can't prove a case without them. You," she pointed straight at Winthrop's chest, "are going to have both witnesses and evidence."

"I am."

"Yes." Roseanne was firm. "I'm going to see to it myself."

Carruthers closed his eyes and opened them again with what appeared to be an effort. "And how, may I ask, are you going to do that?"

Roseanne took a lofty tone. "I'm going to pose as your fiancée. That's the evidence. And the rest of Houston is going to be your witness."

Making a sound that was a cross between a train engine and a barking dog, Carruthers leaped from his seat. The seat belt magically undid itself for him. "I was right!" He looked truly alarmed. "You
are
crazy!"

Several heads lifted, curious and annoyed. Carruthers turned half around, belatedly realizing they were not alone. He pointed at Roseanne, seemed to have trouble breathing, and then lowered his hand. With a set of long, angry strides, he swept down the length of the airplane away from her.

Roseanne looked after him, curious. She'd expected some resistance, of course, but hardly such an emotional reaction. Winthrop Carruthers was an engineer, trained to think logically. Surely he could see the brilliance of the plan. With a fiancée by his side he could easily defeat the rumor that he was getting back together with Sylvia.

A few minutes later Winthrop came striding back.

"It makes perfect sense," Roseanne started in as soon as he came within range. "Just look at it logically."

He said something that sounded like "Bah!" Or maybe it was, "Gah!" Then he turned and strode down to the other end of the airplane again.

When he returned the second time he fell heavily into his seat, his jaw set. "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?" Roseanne had expected this part, too. Carruthers wasn't the sort to make things easy. "You made a deal."

He turned to give her a terrible glare. His eyes looked cobalt in the dim lighting of the nighttime airplane. "Forget the deal. The whole thing is crazy. You are not posing as my fiancée—or anything else. You're not even staying in Houston."

"Well...give me one good reason why not."

"One good reason." The telling muscle jumped in his jaw. "First of all, no one will believe it."

Surprisingly, that hurt. Roseanne silently drew in a breath. "Why do you say that?"

"Because." He closed his eyes. "I haven't dated a single woman in four years. How could I come back from a one-week business trip to Seattle and suddenly have a fiancée?"

"You've been coming up to Seattle regularly to discuss contracts with Boeing, haven't you? Perhaps we've been seeing each other, sporadically, over that time period."

He shook his head. "You're not my type. Looking at Sylvia, everyone will know it."

Roseanne suppressed another surprising jab of pain. "A man can change his tastes. Particularly if the last woman left a bad one in his mouth."

When he threw her a sharp look, she had the reassuring sense she'd made a direct hit. "All right," he said carefully, "I'll admit that you're about as different from Sylvia as a woman could get."

"That could work in our favor," Roseanne quickly pointed out. He was starting to think it out. This was good.

"No." His face set in a peculiar grimace. "It's too risky."

"What's the risk? No one can prove we're not engaged. Only we know the truth."

"And just how are we supposed to get un-engaged?"

"That shouldn't be too hard. Let's see, after I spend a week or so here in Houston with you, as a vacation, I go back to my job in Seattle. For all anyone knows, we keep up a long-distance relationship."

"Uh huh. For how long?"

"I don't know. A little while. Then, as such things do, it falls apart. But by that time—oh, six, eight months from now, the rumors about Sylvia are as dead as a doornail. And everyone knows you're not so hung up on her you couldn't get engaged to another woman."

Winthrop narrowed his eyes. "I am not hung up on Sylvia."

"Apparently you're the only one who understands that," Roseanne explained patiently. "The rest of Houston doesn't." She paused. "Including your father."

One eyebrow on his stubborn face shot upward. "Bringing out the heavy ammunition, are you?"

"Whatever it takes."

To her surprise, Winthrop smiled at her. These smiles of his were almost becoming a habit. "I've got to admit, Miz Archer, you've got plenty of nerve."

"Enough to pull this off, Carruthers, if you'd let me."

He laughed. Now that was a unique sound, Win Carruthers laughing. "Yes, I almost believe you could. But," he added, sobering, and turning to face front, "you aren't going to. As soon as we get to Houston—"

"I know, I know. I'm getting on a plane back to Seattle." Roseanne gave him a disgusted look. He was determined to ruin everything. "Has anyone ever told you that you are one stodgy, obstinate son of a—?"

"Yes," he replied blandly, arranging his arms over his chest. "And now that that's settled I'd appreciate being left in peace. Is that too much to hope?"

She glared at him, but he'd already closed his eyes and appeared to be falling asleep. He'd probably be able to do it, too, even with his long legs scrunched against the seat in front of him. Naturally, being a millionaire, Winthrop chose to fly coach.

"A little too much to hope, yes," she replied, feeling annoyed and thwarted. "I am at least spending the rest of tonight in a decent airport hotel." It was one final stab at rebellion.

But she didn't think he heard her. No, Roseanne noted with wonder, sounds suspiciously like snores were already coming from his direction. Thoroughly disgusted, she turned to face the opposite way.

Unfortunately, she did not have as much luck finding sleep as her recalcitrant companion. She wasn't as tall as Carruthers but she couldn't seem to fit as cleverly in the insufficient space. No, even exhausted from a full day of work and depressed by her apparent defeat, Roseanne shifted vainly in her seat. It seemed appropriate to use the wakeful time to review all the faults and flaws of Winthrop Carruthers. It was a long list.

CHAPTER THREE

The lights flickered on in the cabin but Roseanne didn't feel like waking up yet. Not when she'd finally found herself comfortable. She was nicely pillowed against something warm and pleasantly hard. It was a man's chest, she realized dreamily before snuggling closer. His arm was about her shoulders, enclosing her with even more warmth.

A man's chest! Roseanne's eyes flew open.

Winthrop stirred beside her, apparently just waking up himself. He lifted his head from its position leaning against the top of hers. Then he halted, coming to the same realization, evidently, that Roseanne just had. They'd fallen asleep smashed against each other. Well, not smashed, more like...
cuddled
.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Slowly, Roseanne straightened and pushed herself away from him. In much the same manner, he cautiously lifted his arm from around her shoulders.

At this moment a stewardess appeared. Her smile was friendly and knowing. "Would you folks like some coffee?"

"No, thank you," said Winthrop.

"Yes, please," Roseanne croaked out. She glanced over at him as she reached for the plastic cup the stewardess handed her.

Winthrop studiously avoided her gaze, a light stain of color on his face.

Seeing his blush upset Roseanne. Gosh darn it. Accomplished millionaire, shrewd entrepreneur, divorced man and all, Winthrop Carruthers appeared to be
shy
.

After the stewardess pushed her cart to the next row, Roseanne dipped her head and muttered, "Sorry about that." Her voice was deeper and huskier than normal, something that happened late at night or early in the morning. "I don't usually use prospective clients as pillows."

He shot her a sheepish look. "Actually, I put you there." His gaze flickered away. "You were squirming around so much I didn't think I'd get any sleep otherwise."

Roseanne laughed, vastly relieved the head-on-shoulder thing had been Carruthers' idea and not her own. "I never sleep on airplanes." But, she reminded herself, she had slept on this one. She eyed him curiously. "I suppose you are a first-rate pillow, even if you're not much of a prospective client."

He smiled faintly. "It's nice to be good for something."

"Isn't it?" Roseanne cradled her coffee cup while her ire toward him returned. That smile of his, that small, shy smile—such a smile didn't belong to a man like him. Huffing, she said, "Meanwhile, I feel like a jackass for making such a big mistake." She paused a significant beat. "I mean the mistake of supposing you were a man of your word."

His brows pulled downward. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't get on this flight, remember, until I had your word. If I had a way to solve your problem, then you'd sign a retainer agreement with Covington March. I had a way, but you wouldn't agree. You didn't keep your word."

His voice lowered. "Look, if you'd had a halfway decent idea it would have been different."

"My idea was decent. Perfect, in fact."

"There is obviously more than one point of view on the subject."

"Face it, Carruthers, you broke your word."

He glared at her. "This is blackmail."

"What?" Roseanne tried to look innocent, but it was all she could do to keep a straight face. He actually cared.

"You heard me. You're thinking of shaming me into signing that retainer agreement."

Roseanne pursed her lips. "Shame. Now, is there a reason you should feel ashamed?"

"Hell. All right, get the damn thing out. I'll sign it."

These were the last words Roseanne had expected to hear. "The papers are in my suitcase." She cursed herself for not having another set in her carry-on. His conciliatory mood wasn't likely to last.

"Fine. I'll sign them as soon as we pick up your suitcase at the carousel. Then you can be on your way home." He gave her one last narrow-eyed glare and faced front as the seat belt sign came on. They were starting their final descent.

Roseanne felt oddly deflated as the plane angled toward the runway. The chase had ended too soon. Somehow, she felt cheated.

"No," she said aloud as the plane taxied in to the gate.

"No, what?" Winthrop still looked very put upon.

"No. The way you want to do it makes
me
the one who isn't keeping her word. I told you I would solve the Sylvia problem, and I intend to do just that."

Winthrop heaved a deep sigh as he stood up to fetch her carry-on out of the overhead bin. "The only thing I want out of you, Miz Archer, is for you to leave town."

"And I'd heard Texans were so hospitable."

"I've never been a shining example of Texas manhood. Come on."

Roseanne wondered about his last statement as he led the way down the boarding ramp off the plane. Not a shining example of Texas manhood? His shoulders were tall and broad. Actually quite nice shoulders. And he walked with an understated male grace. It had been strangely pleasant, before she'd figured out what was going on, to wake up in his arms. Roseanne hadn't shared such simple physical intimacy with a man for quite some time. Most of the guys she dated were left firmly at the front door.

"Win!" A burly, balding man called out to him as they entered the terminal. The man hurried forward, dressed in an ill-fitting blue business suit. A wide smile lit his face. "Right on time, as always," he joshed, shaking hands with Winthrop. "I've never known an airplane that dared bring you in late to the gate."