Susan Fox - The Marriage Bargain

Wes was a man just as hard and harsh as her grandfather, but he was known as a man of honor. He was honest and fair in his business dealings and with the people who worked for him.

But the biggest indication of his character was that Wes Lansing was the only eligible male in their part of Texas who was completely immune to her cousin Candice. In spite of the history between the Corbetts and Lansings, Candice had tried for years to snag his interest. And failed. He might be the one man Candice could never seduce away.

How bad did he want the parcel?

Two hours ago, they’d moved her grandfather into Intensive Care. Candice had banished her from the hospital, and Hallie was secretly relieved. Any time she could be spared Candice’s venom was a blessing.

Especially now, when she didn’t want to face her feelings about Hank Corbett’s impending death. Because of the Will, she was taking what he would consider a disloyal step against him, and the knowledge made her queasy.

Hallie’s heart thudded heavily in her chest as she felt the enormity of what she was about to risk. As she walked up the porch steps to the huge veranda that circled the Red Thorn Ranch mansion, her legs felt rubbery.

She reminded herself, for at least the hundredth time, that if she lost her chance at the Four C’s she could leave this part of Texas. If she took this daring chance and was soundly rejected, it was a shame she wouldn’t have to endure long.

She could walk away, find a life somewhere else, someplace where she wasn’t known. The world wouldn’t care that she was illegitimate or that she’d once been desperate enough to ask a man to marry her. If she failed today, she’d go home and pack her things. There’d be no reason to stay around. After Hank Corbett died, Candice would throw her off the Four C’s. Hallie was determined to deny her cousin the pleasure.

The last person Wes Lansing expected to walk into his house was Hallie Corbett. He’d heard old man Corbett was dying but he hadn’t felt a speck of sorrow over it.

If his housekeeper had told him it was Candice Corbett waiting in the front parlor, he might have refused to see her. But the news that his visitor was Candy’s reclusive cousin Hallie intrigued hell out of him.

Though his sister, Beth, had attended school with Candice and Hallie, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d seen Halona Corbett close up. She hardly ever attended social functions. If she’d ever done anything in her life to attract attention it would have been novel enough to make the papers over half of Texas.

Wes leaned back in the big swivel chair behind his desk as he waited for his housekeeper to show Hallie to the den. Whatever she wanted couldn’t be half as interesting as the fact that she’d come to Red Thorn and asked to see him.

As she followed the housekeeper down the long hall to the den, Hallie gripped the neatly folded copy of the Last Will and Testament of Hank Corbett. The will laid out precisely the conditions of her inheritance. That it required the “husband of Halona Corbett’s choice,” and didn’t specifically prohibit her choosing Wes Lansing, made this last gamble possible.

The housekeeper stopped outside the door and motioned her inside. Hallie stepped over the threshold and felt her courage waver.

Wes sat behind his big desk. The moment she walked in, his eyes met hers with a force that almost made her falter. A wave of terror rolled over her from scalp to toe, sending a sharp charge through her that made her bones shake.

The dark-haired giant behind the desk slowly came to his feet in a gesture of respect that caught her off guard. His dark eyes never left hers. His intensity sharpened and she had to fight not to glance away.

He was searching for something, seeking. Years of enduring her grandfather’s relentless search for vulnerability should have made her immune to this. It surprised her to feel so transparent, so threatened.

“Ms. Corbett.”

His low voice was as dark as bourbon and hit her insides with as much kick. The strange warmth that started somewhere in the region of her stomach and flowed outward disrupted her even more.

All at once, the painful emotions of the past few hours caught up with her and she struggled to shore up her nerve. If he would just look away from her a moment, allow her to recover, let her catch her breath.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

His intensity eased and his strong mouth curved in faint acknowledgment of what they both knew: Corbetts weren’t welcome on Red Thorn.

The hint of a smile softened his expression and oddly relaxed her a bit. It suggested that not every Corbett was unwelcome, that he’d perhaps withheld judgment in her case.

The moment she registered the impression, she discounted it. The enmity he must surely bear her grandfather and cousin would naturally be conferred on her. She’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Suddenly she was aware that he was sizing her up, that he’d used her momentary distraction to study her. But this time, his gaze dropped from her face and made a slow journey down her work shirt and jeans to her boots. The trip back was much slower.

No man had ever looked at her so thoroughly. Her first impulse was to cover herself, to hide. But she couldn’t seem to move. And she couldn’t keep from making the same long slow inventory of him.

Wes Lansing was easily over six feet tall. He was built like any other vital man who worked a ranch for a living, but somehow, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and well-muscled seemed an inadequate description. For a woman who rarely took note of the male physiques she worked next to each day, she was oddly compelled to note everything about him.

His face fascinated her. Below his dark, overlong hair, his features were rugged and harshly cut, hawkish and primitive. He might have been a homely man if he’d had less presence and if his face hadn’t been such a strong indicator of male character. His was a blunt, overpowering masculinity that made her feel fragile and feminine. It was a shocking reaction for a woman who’d rarely allowed herself to consider her femininity or to even think of herself in such precise terms.

Wes took his time. Hallie Corbett was a surprise. She was tall and slender, but she had the right amount of feminine charm in all the right places. Too right, if the heat that surged through his groin was a sign. She had a regal dignity, but there was a faint check in the way she held herself that suggested humility. And yet humility wasn’t it.

His gaze returned to her face and he saw the stain of embarrassment on her cheeks. Her long, dark hair was a thick, rich brown, and it was skinned back with a hair tie that smothered whatever lush waves it might have.

But it was her eyes that caught him. Again. They were a rare shade of blue somewhere between warm and cool, but deep, mysterious. And cautious. She was so guarded.

And she was unaware that he felt her unease. She would have hidden it from him if she’d guessed. He sensed that she hid everything. Considering the s.o.b. who’d raised her, he wasn’t surprised.

“You had a reason for coming to Red Thorn?”

His question sent fresh color into her cheeks. She started toward the desk. He noticed she didn’t take one of the wing chairs in front of it, but then, he hadn’t invited her to sit. It was rude of him, but it was also a test. Corbetts comported themselves as high holies born to rule and reign over lesser mortals.

Hallie Corbett stopped in front of the desk. She held a wad of folded papers in her hand—legal ones, from the look of them—and gripped them as if she thought they’d get away from her. It was plain she wouldn’t sit down unless invited.

Her voice was soft, but clear and distinct.