Ruth Jean Dale - Hitched!

“I told you, room number one. That’s all we got left. It’s downstairs next to an air conditioner. We don’t usually rent it, but since you ask so damn nice—” José’s mouth curled up. He was really enjoying this.

Rand stared at the key, then at the clerk. “If I apologize and ask real nice, do you think you could find one more room?”

The man’s slowly shaking head ended that line of questioning. “This is all we got. Take it or leave it.”

Rand glanced at Maxine. “Do we take it?”

“Have we got a choice?”

“Apparently not.” His stomach rumbled. “Any chance we can get something to eat?” he asked José.

The clerk seemed to relent a bit. “I guess I could send something to your room. Nothing fancy, though. A couple of burritos, maybe a quesadilla.”

“That sounds great.” Rand’s mouth watered at the mere mention of food. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, if you didn’t count a couple of cheese cubes and a package of pretzels. He looked around. “There wouldn’t be anybody handy to show us the way?” José’s expression made him add, “No, I suppose not.”

“It’s just me,” the clerk said with a shrug. “I can take you to the room or bring food, your choice.”

It really wasn’t a choice at all.

RAND’S CLOSET in Boston was bigger than this room. His sister’s childhood playhouse behind the Rocking T ranch house was bigger than this room. The desk clerk’s ego was bigger than this room.

Maxine took the high road. “At least it looks reasonably clean,” she said primly, dropping her suitcase at the foot of the bed.

“Reasonably.” Rand sat down cautiously on the double bed. Other than that, the only furniture in the tiny room was a small chest of drawers and a night table with lamp.

“If you hadn’t been such a jerk, this wouldn’t have happened,” she said, abandoning the high road.

“That’s harsh.” He gave her a reproving glance.

“Reality’s harsh,” she countered. “And the reality is, I’m stuck in this cubbyhole with a complete stranger. I don’t deserve this.”

“If it’s any comfort, neither do I.”

“No comfort at all.” She opened the top drawer of the bureau and looked in curiously. “How are you going to explain this to your girlfriend?”

“What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

“You do, don’t you?”

“I sure as hell don’t.” But he wished he did, because then he wouldn’t have to figure out how to get around his great-grandpa’s will. He could just get married and be done with it. “How about you?” he added.

“How about me what?”

“Got a boyfriend?” As unlikely as that seemed.

Her eyes flashed behind the unattractive glasses. “As a matter of fact—”

A knock on the door interrupted. He pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her since she was nearer the door than he and the room wasn’t big enough to get past without major maneuvering. She glanced at the bill and her eyes widened; then she passed it on before accepting a small metal tray from unseen hands.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, she put down the tray and lifted the light cloth covering. “On top of everything else, you’re an overtipper.”

“Hell,” he said, “I can afford it.” Or could once, but that was none of her damn business.

The heady aromas of spicy Mexican food floated up to him, and his mouth watered again in anticipation. “I’m starved.” He reached for a burrito.

“Me, too.” She chose a wedge of quesadilla oozing cheese. They ate in silence for a few moments, then opened the two bottles of water and drank.

Eventually she said out of the clear blue, “I wonder what will become of the hijackers.”

“I hope whoever locks them up throws away the key.” He selected another burrito. He could hardly believe she’d been thinking about those two jerks. “They sure played hell with my life,” he went on. “I should be in Hells Bells, Texas, right about now, trying to—” He shut up, musing that he was probably better off stranded here than trying to fast-talk his father.

“Trying to what?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

“Yes.” She gave him that assessing look again. “Does it have anything to do with you giving all the credit for stopping those hijackers to that guy from Dubuque?”

“What if it does? I just don’t want my name in the newspapers. What’s so strange about that?” One thing would lead to another. If anything got printed about his recent business reverses, he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing his judges that he was a changed man. “Besides,” he added, “I didn’t do all that much.”

“A guy saves an entire plane full of people and dodges credit for it. You don’t consider that a bit peculiar?”

“No stranger than setting out for San Antonio and ending up lost in Baja California,” he improvised. “Besides, my mother would probably have a heart attack if she heard about this. I want to keep her in a good mood and this wouldn’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to keep your mother in a good mood?”

“Because…” Fed up with her questions, he glared—and gave in. “Look, I’m on my way to Texas to claim an inheritance. I need my mom’s cooperation.”

“That sounds simple enough.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt.

“You’d think so.” Shut up, Rand. “Unfortunately there’s nothing simple about it. I don’t meet the conditions of the will because, for starters, I’m not married.” Now, why had he said that? Maybe because he was sick and tired of keeping his problems to himself.

She was incredulous. “You’ve got to be married to get whatever this is?”

“It was my great-grandpa’s bright idea. He left me his ranch and everything on it, which adds up to a small fortune. But to get it, I have to not only be married but be happily married before I turn thirty.”

“Which is—?”

“September 30…less than two weeks.”

“Gee, you are in trouble.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Look at the bright side. The key word is married, because once you’ve done that, who’s to judge what happily means?”

“That’s easy—my parents and two sets of aunts and uncles. The final say is theirs. But since I’m not married, happily or otherwise, it’s a moot point.”

“What is it you’re trying to get out of them, exactly?”

“I want to break my great-grandpa’s will. The only way I can do that is with their help.”

“And your chances of pulling that off are…?”

“Only slightly less than slim and none.” He was desperate enough to give it a try, however. Cocking his head, he considered. Now that he’d had a little food, he felt worlds better. But he was talking way too much, so he changed the subject. “How about you? How important is that job in San Antonio?”

“You mean the one with the interview set for tomorrow morning at ten—make that this morning at ten?” She sighed a bit dramatically. “Not that important, I suppose, since it’s out the window now.”

“Surely they’ll reschedule when they learn what happened.”

“I doubt it. I only got the interview as a favor to my sister, who used to date—oh, never mind.” She shook her head wearily. “My life’s a mess, so what difference will it make if this job doesn’t pan out?”

He felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re young. You have skills. You can find something. Hell, I’ll help you.”

“You? But you said you don’t even have a job yourself. You’re just some rich guy who—”

“Hold on there!” Incensed, he glared at her. “I’m not just some rich guy. I have…business interests.” Yeah, failed business interests. But the situation might improve if he could get his hands on Bill Overton for five minutes. “I also have a certain amount of influence here and there—and even if I didn’t, I could get you a job. How hard can it be?”