Carol Ericson - The McClintock Proposal

Callie flashed him a smile, and his heart almost came to a crashing halt in his chest. The woman could crack wise with the best of them, but that smile didn’t contain an ounce of artifice or bitterness.

“That would be great. And once we get to the next town, maybe you could loan me some money so I can hop on a bus, or at least loan me your cell phone to call a friend back home to wire me some money or something.”

“Back home? You’re not from around here?”

“L.A.”

His brows shot up. “What’s an L.A. girl doing in New Mexico?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She tugged at the sides of the wedding gown, ripping off a little more lace.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers. “You came out from L.A. to New Mexico…Arizona…Texas to get married, decided you couldn’t go through with it, hightailed it out of your own wedding and hopped on a motorcycle to escape. Is that about right?”

She flashed him two thumbs up. “You got it.”

“So, are you heading back to L.A. now?”

“Uh-huh.”

He didn’t believe half of that story, but once he dropped her at the next bus stop, her story wouldn’t matter anymore. Then he could get back to his own problems of raising enough money to turn his working ranch into a dude ranch.

Since his father and stepmother moved to Palm Springs, taking most of the capital out of the ranch for their retirement, he’d have to rely on loans to get his dude ranch up and running. He hated being indebted to anyone, even a bank.

The McClintock spread had enough space for a modest dude ranch, but he needed more land to really make a go of it…. Not that he could afford to buy more land. Or more horses.

He rolled his shoulders and glanced at his silent companion. It didn’t look like she had any intention of satisfying his curiosity, but at least she had a plan. He didn’t want her depending on him to come to the rescue.

“Truth or Consequences.”

“Huh?” She swiveled her head around and held up her hands. “I’m not up for playing any games.”

He chuckled and pointed to the illuminated sign looming ahead. “That’s the name of the next town. Ever been there?”

“No. How’d it get a name like that?”

“Has something to do with the game show. It used to be called Hot Springs.”

“What a relief. I thought the name might be a requirement for entry into the town.”

Rod curved around the off ramp to Truth or Consequences, gripping the steering wheel. Callie definitely had something to hide. He didn’t find it surprising that a woman had secrets. He never met a woman who didn’t, but he couldn’t figure out why he was so hell-bent on discovering hers.

He pulled into the parking lot of a casual restaurant on the main drag. “I’d offer you some other clothes, but all I have is a sweatshirt. Do you think you’d look more, or less conspicuous with a sweatshirt pulled over that dress?”

Callie pulled down the visor and flipped up the mirror to check her reflection, the first time she did so since climbing into his truck. Pretty women usually worried more about their appearance. Of course, she had other issues on her mind.

Wrinkling her nose, she plucked some tissues from the box in his console. She dabbed at the few smudges left on her face and ran her hands through her tangled hair.

“Sitting at a table, nobody will even notice the bridal attire. I’ll take the sweatshirt.”

Rod reached into the backseat and dropped his gray sweatshirt into her lap. She shook it out and read the front. “Texas A&M. Your alma mater?”

“Yep.” He got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for her while she struggled to pull the sweatshirt over her head. “Let me help you. You’re trying to put your head through the armhole.”

He shifted the sweatshirt so that a crown of golden hair appeared at the neck, and then yanked it down. Running his hand under what hair was still stuffed in the sweatshirt, he swept it free. His fingers lingered in the soft strands before he jerked his hand away, as if scorched.

She blinked and tossed her blond mane over one shoulder. Did she notice his reluctance to relinquish her hair? At least she didn’t have a smart-ass comment for the occasion.

He pointed to her bare feet. “I hope that won’t be a problem. The dress is long enough that your lack of foot-wear may not be noticeable.”

“I’ll shuffle along behind you.” She jumped down from the truck, her feet landing on the asphalt of the parking lot with a slap.

A few curious looks and a couple of smirks meandered their way as they entered the restaurant and settled into a booth by the window, but the waitress didn’t seem to notice anything awry. They ordered sandwiches and fries, and iced tea for her and a beer for him. He needed that drink now.

Callie excused herself to wash her face and hands in the ladies’ room. When she returned, Rod dug his elbows into the Formica table, resting his chin on his hands. “Since we’re in Truth or Consequences, how about some truth? Why’d you run out on your own wedding?”

She looked up from dumping artificial sweetener in her tea. “I decided I didn’t want to marry my fiancé.”

“Just like that?”

“The idea had been stewing awhile.” She held the empty package of sweetener close to her face, as if studying the ingredients.

“Why didn’t you call it off before the actual wedding day?”

“It’s complicated.” She crushed the package in her hand and flicked it across the tabletop.

“And why the escape on a motorcycle? That’s a little dramatic.”

He shifted in his seat as her lips puckered around a straw. If this woman left him standing at the altar, he’d be consumed with anger, worry and…frustration for missing out on the wedding night.

“I guess I chickened out. I couldn’t walk in there and tell everyone I decided to cancel the wedding, so I took off. One of the valet parking attendants loaned me his bike. The rest is recent history.”

It still seemed like an odd way to cancel a wedding. “Will your scorned groom follow you to L.A.?”

Her eyes widened. “He knows better than that. Enough about my boring story. What about you? Where are you headed?”

If Callie thought ditching a wedding and fleeing on a motorcycle in a wedding gown constituted boredom, his life would put her to sleep.

“I’m heading back home after looking at some horses in Austin. Seeing you on the side of the road in that dress spiced up my journey.”

She tilted her head. “You have a fantastic face.”

His beer went down the wrong way and he choked. “What the hell does that mean?”

She extended her arms, her wiggling fingers inches from his face. “A strong, proud face. Do you mind?”

He had no idea what she planned to do, but he nodded anyway. For some crazy reason, he found it almost impossible to deny this woman anything. Good thing he intended to drop her at a bus stop soon.

Her smooth fingertips traced along his jawline, and then the pads of her fingers danced across his cheekbones. She ran her thumb down the bridge of his nose and caressed his forehead. Despite her light touch, he felt her probing his depths, reading every line on his face. He didn’t want it to end, but people were beginning to stare.

He caught her wrists. “What are you doing?”

Hunching her shoulders, she grinned. “I’m a sculptor. Sometimes I get carried away when I see a great face.”

An artist? That explained a lot. The few artists he knew lived scattered, self-centered lives. He dropped his hold on her and wrapped his hands around his sweating bottle, welcoming its coolness.

“Why do you need horses?”