Ruth Dale - Hitched!

“Have you ever done it? Gotten anybody a job, I mean.”

He had very little experience with gainful employment.

“Your hesitation speaks volumes,” she said. “What do your business interests include?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Damn, that sounded hostile.

“I see. You’re clamming up on me again.”

“Not really. I’m a dull boy.”

“Sure you are.” She gave him a disgusted glance and rose, still cold. “Thanks so much for your offer of help, but I think I’ll find my own job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hunt down the bathroom.”

“Okay.” He also rose, disconcerted by her attitude. “Don’t wake me when you come back in.”

She looked him in the eye, which was easy enough at her height, although he himself was a good six-foot-plus. “That brings up something else. I’m here because I have no choice—here sharing this room with you, I mean.”

“I know that,” he said, annoyed.

“I’ll stay on my side of the bed and you stay on yours. If you so much as touch me, I’ll…I’ll make you regret it.”

He rolled his eyes, tempted to say that if he touched her it would only be because he was asleep or delirious. “I have no intention of touching you.”

She didn’t appear to believe him, despite the nod. “I’m going to sleep fully clothed and I suggest you do the same.”

“Dressed? I can’t sleep in my clothes.”

“Under the circumstances, I insist. Your other option is to bed down in the lobby.”

He sighed. “Okay, Maxine. We’ll do it your way…this time”

But never again. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was protection against Rand Taggart.

PLATILLO VOLANTE LOOKED even drearier by the light of day. Dirt roads and adobe buildings were the norm, with a few dilapidated hotels and more gracious dwellings perched on the surrounding hills. But the air was sweet and clear. Rand drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders for the inevitable crises to come and walked back inside to join Maxine in the crowded dining room for breakfast.

José, the expatriate Los Angeleno, appeared with menus.

Maxine spoke to him in Spanish.

As usual, José answered in English. “I recommend the huevos rancheros.”

“Works for me.” Rand closed his menu.

Maxine nodded. “Me, too.”

“Can I ask a question?”

They both looked at Rand as if he were a nuisance.

“What does Platillo Volante mean?” he asked.

José grinned. “It means flying saucer. They say one visited here in the late forties. Everybody thought it would come back, which is why they changed the town’s name and built that campo de aviación—the flying field that saved your lives. Several fancy hotels went up—” He gestured to the spacious if shabby room. “Rich American tourists came in droves for a while, but when no more flying saucers dropped by, they got mad and went home. By the mid-fifties, the boom was all over.” He shook his head in wonder. “Flying saucers—do you believe it? Some people will fall for anything.”

Rand didn’t need anybody telling him that.

THE TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD wound its way through some of the most beautiful country in Mexico or anywhere else. On the left lay the ocean, miles and miles of unspoiled beaches; on the right a range of low mountains shimmered green in the distance.

Rand and Maxine sat near the front of the rattle-trap bus, sweltering in noonday heat. Rand’s thoughts were not pleasant.

The hijacking had turned out all right, but unfortunately the Mexican detour had given him time he didn’t need, or want, to brood, to question his plan—and to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion that he was on a fool’s errand.

He would never gain his family’s support in challenging Thom T.’s will. Hell, he’d have a better shot at that inheritance if he hired some bimbo to play his wife and—

An explosion rocked the bus. The driver dragged hard on the wheel, bumping to a stop on the shoulder. Rand let out the breath he’d been holding. That had been a close one.

Maxine stared at him, eyes wide and a hand over her heart. “What happened?”

“Flat tire, I think.”

“Do you suppose he has a spare?”

“Who the hell knows?”

There was indeed a spare tire, but it was even balder than the one with the big old nail sticking out of it. While the driver grunted and cussed and toiled, passengers spilled out of the stifling bus and spread out in a vain attempt to find anything cool or shady. Maxine and a few others wandered across the narrow road to stand on the bluff overlooking the ocean.

Finishing the job, the driver wiped sweat from his forehead and lowered the jack. As if sensing imminent departure, Maxine turned from the sea.

Rand caught his breath. For just an instant she stood there framed against a pristine blue sky. Tendrils of hair blew around her face and the dowdy dress molded a figure he’d never imagined. Just for that moment, she looked…fantastic.

But then she walked toward him and it was the same old Maxine who asked, “Are we ready to go?”

He blinked, figuring he was in worse shape than he’d realized if he saw something that couldn’t possibly be there. “Yeah. Get in.”

When everyone was aboard, the driver ground the gearshift into first and once more they were under way.

Maxine said suddenly, “What if the bus driver keeled over with a heart attack or decided he’d had enough of this nonsense? Do you know how to drive a standard transmission?”

“Maxine, don’t we have enough to worry about without that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes, I know how to drive a standard transmission. My great-grandpa taught me out in the pasture in the middle of a bunch of longhorns.”

“That’s a relief. The way things are going…” She relaxed back against the tattered seat cover. “Is that the same great-grandpa with the kooky will?”

“The very same.”

“He must have been a real character,” she said. “If you want that inheritance so much, I’m surprised you don’t just get married.”

“You think that’s so easy?” he shot back.

She shrugged. “Piece of cake. I’ll bet you’ve got girls lusting after you from coast to coast.”

“Aren’t you funny.” He gave her a disapproving glance.

“I notice you don’t deny it.”

“Would it do any good?”

“Probably not.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Maybe there’s one special girlfriend and you’d marry her, but she’s…I don’t know, unavailable or something.”

“Why wouldn’t she be available?”

“Lots of reasons. She could be out of the country. Or…in jail?”

Rand laughed incredulously. “You’ve got the damnedest imagination of any woman I’ve ever met. Do I look like the kind of guy who’d hang with some babe who’d get thrown into jail? I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said stiffly. “If you don’t really care that much about your inheritance, I don’t suppose—”

“I do care. I care a helluva lot. But I can’t go waltzing in with some bimbo and expect my family to fall into line.” He grimaced.

“I don’t care for the word bimbo,” she said. “Just what does it cover?”

“You want a definition? It means…Okay, how about this. A bimbo is a woman who goes to bed with a guy on the first date.”

“You mean like me?”

He was so shocked he nearly choked. “You didn’t—” But she had. She’d gone to bed with him and lain next to him all night, even though they were both fully clothed and wrapped in individual blanket cocoons.

Embarrassed, he tried to turn aside her wrath. “Lighten up, Maxine. Don’t take it personal.” Uncomfortably aware that he’d blasted her pretty good without meaning to, he added, “You know what you are.”