Karen Whittenburg - His Shotgun Proposal

Jessica pondered the possibilities on the trek up the stairs and maintained a bright stream of conversation to disguise it. “You’ll be in here,” she said, opening the door of the guest bedroom. “Mom and Dad have the master suite down the hall and my bedroom adjoins yours on the other side. It’ll be almost like being back at the grad house.”

“Except for sharing the bathroom with six other women,” Abbie said, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.

“And the raucous fraternity parties across the street,” Jessica added. “Mac is still living across the hall.” She indicated the suite of rooms on the other side of the stairs. “But he’s normally pretty quiet. He’s gone a lot, too, to horse shows and auctions and stuff. I accuse him of being lonely now that Cade is married and living in one of the guest houses with Serena. You did know Mac has an identical twin, didn’t you?”

“He mentioned it on the trip out,” Abby said in a voice just shy of snippy.

“There was quite a stir last month when Cade went off to Balahar pretending to be Mac and accidentally married King Zakariyya Al Farid’s adopted daughter and then wound up falling hard for her. Cade and Serena got remarried because they weren’t sure the first ceremony was legal in the States, since they’d used Mac’s name instead of Cade’s during the ceremony in Balahar. It was a big mess for a while there, but all’s well that ends well, you know.” Jessica stood aside and motioned Abbie into the bedroom. “Did I ever tell you that my cousins are really from a country called Sorajhee on the edge of Saudi Arabia?”

Abbie stopped abruptly, only a step inside the room. “I thought he was making that up. You mean, he’s not really American? Not really a Texan?”

“Don’t let any one of them hear you say that. They’re Texans through and through,” Jessica said with a laugh. “They’ve always had dual citizenship because their mother, my aunt Rose, didn’t give up her citizenship when she married the crown prince of Sorajhee. It was a big scandal in their country at the time, but she became a beloved queen in spite of it. Then when King Ibrahim was murdered, Aunt Rose believed her sons were in danger and got my dad to help smuggle the three boys out of the country and that’s how they ended up as Colemans in Bridle, Texas. It’s quite a story, but I won’t drown you in the family history—as interesting as it is—until you’ve been here at least long enough to unpack your bags.”

Abbie sank onto the edge of the bed as if her legs weren’t strong enough to support her. “You mean, he’s really a…a prince?”

“Mac?” Aha, Jessica thought, pretending to take no notice that of the three male cousins, Abbie had twice now referred only to one. Of course, she had yet to meet Alex and Cade, and she had just spent the long ride from the airport to the ranch alone with Mac, but still…“Prince of aggravation, if you want my true opinion,” Jess said with an affectionate laugh. “They came to live with Mom and Dad before I was even born, so they’re more like brothers than cousins and Mac is the worst when it comes to teasing me. When he really wants to get me riled, he calls me ‘Husky’ because that breed of dog often has eyes that are different colored and he knows how much I hate having one blue eye and one green one. When he just wants to agitate me a little, he calls me Blondie.” She touched her carroty red hair, wishing it was blond or black, or even a nice sandy-brown like Abbie’s.

Abbie offered a small smile, but it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Well, listen to me, nattering at you about my cousins, when it’s clear you need a chance to catch your breath and get your bearings. I don’t know what’s keeping Mac.” She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him clear the landing and stalk down the hall towards the guest room, a bag under each arm and one in each hand. His whole expression was as dark as a Texas tornado and Jessica couldn’t keep her eyebrows from arching in sharpening suspicion. As curious as it seemed, something unpleasant must have happened between her cousin and her friend on the trip out from Austin.

“You want to be in or out?” he asked, his tone of voice as tight and short as the check rein on a green colt. “I can’t get all these bags through the doorway with you standing in it.”

Jessica stepped farther into the room, clearing the doorway for him and his temper. He took two long strides into the room and dumped all four suitcases onto the bed. “Miss Jones. Jessica,” he said, acknowledging and dismissing their presence in three cool-as-icicles words. Then, without a glance at Abbie, who was now surrounded by a motley assortment of luggage, he strode out of the room as if somebody had insulted every single one of his prize Arabians. The thud of his boot heels on the stairs echoed with military precision and then, in final salute to his dark mood, the front door slammed behind him.

Jessie blinked. She’d never seen Mac act that way before. He could be as charming as a patch of bluebells in the spring, or as haughty as Jabbar, the Desert Rose foundation sire, a black Arabian stallion who, on occasion, took his status as champion entirely too seriously. But she’d never seen Mac be rude to anyone and especially not to a female. And one of her good friends, at that. Her gaze swung back to Abbie as suspicion crystallized and ran rampant in her thoughts. What could have caused the two of them to take such an instant dislike to the other? Could Abbie have inadvertently said something to set off an exchange of words? Maybe Mac had uttered some ill-advised statement. But they’d only just met. What could possibly have caused a rift of this magnitude in a drive of barely an hour?

Filing away her questions, Jessie indicated the adjoining bath with a gesture. “There’s the bath. It opens into my room on the other side, so just lock that door when you go in, and don’t forget to unlock it when you leave. I’ll get out of here and let you rest a little while before dinner. Unpack or take a nap or a shower, or whatever you feel like doing. I’ll be downstairs in the office, if you need anything or when you’re ready for the grand tour. Dinner’s at six. We’re pretty casual, although Mom has been known to check for dirt on the knuckles or behind the ears, so be forewarned.”

“I’ll be sure and wash my ears, then,” Abbie said, trying for a smile but looking mainly mad and scared and like the smallest gust of wind would send her tumbling backward into the pile of suitcases. “Hands, too.”

“Mom will be pleased. She’s looking forward to meeting you, as is everyone. I’ve talked about you so much and they’re all excited that you’re going to help out in the office. I’m so happy you’re here, Abbie. And so glad you felt you could call me when you lost your job. I hope you’ll feel right at home here at the Desert Rose and I want you to stay as long as you want.”

Abbie’s smile quavered even more at that. “I don’t know, Jessie.”

“Don’t feel you have to give us any time frame at all. I mean it. You’re doing me such a favor by helping out. I’ve been buried in paperwork the last couple of months and still it keeps pouring in! You may run away screaming when you see my desk. It’s just awful.” Jess knew she was blathering on and on, but the atmosphere was charged somehow with an element she couldn’t put her finger on or identify. “I haven’t told anyone except Mom and Aunt Rose about your being pregnant and losing your job and needing a place to get your thoughts together, so don’t feel as if you need to explain anything to anyone. Not even me.”

“Not much to tell.” Abbie stood and smoothed the shirt over her belly to reveal the firm roundness of it. “I haven’t even told my parents yet, and look at me. Already as ripe as a June melon.” She sighed. “I’m in such a mess, Jessie, and I’m grateful beyond words that you invited me here, but I just don’t think I can stay. Not now.”