Connal Page 3

  She relaxed, too, grateful that she didn't have to lie anymore. "Yes."

  He spared her one last scowling glance. "Pepi, you've got to stop mothering me."

  "This was the last time," she promised, and meant it.

  His broad shoulders rose and fell halfheartedly, "Sure." He paused at the open door with his back to her. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

  "You'd have done it for me," she said simply.

  He started to turn, thought better of it, and went out, closing the door behind him.

  Pepi collapsed on the pillow with a heartfelt sigh. She'd gotten away with it! Now all she had to do was find out just how much trouble she was in legally with that sham marriage.

  Chapter Three

  It took Pepi half the next day to work up enough nerve to actually phone an attorney and ask if she was really married to C.C. She had to be careful. It couldn't be a lawyer who knew her, so she called one in El Paso, giv­ing the receptionist an assumed name. She was given an appointment for that afternoon, because the attorney had a cancellation in his busy schedule. She told the recep­tionist why she wanted to see the attorney, adding lightly that she'd gotten a Mexican marriage and thought it wasn't binding. The secretary laughed and said a lot of people thought that, only to find out to their astonish­ment that they were very binding in Texas. She recon­firmed the appointment, wished Pepi a nice day and hung up.

  Pepi replaced the receiver with a dull thud and sat down heavily in the chair beside the telephone table in the hall. Her heart was beating madly. It would take having the lawyer look at the document to be sure, but it sounded as if his receptionist was right. Legally she was Mrs. C. C. Tremayne. She was Connal Tremayne's wife. But he didn't know it.

  The consequences of her deception could be far-reaching and tragic, especially if he decided to marry Edie. He would be committing bigamy, and he wouldn't even know it.

  What should she do? If she told him now, after hav­ing denied it when he'd demanded the truth, he'd never believe anything she said again. He'd hate her, too, for trapping him into marriage. It didn't matter that he'd threatened to land them in jail if she didn't go along. He'd been intoxicated, not responsible for his actions. But she'd been sober. When he asked her why she'd gone through with it, how would she answer him? Would he guess that she was shamefully in love with him?

  The questions tormented her. She burned lunch. Her father gave her a hard glare as he bit into a scraped grilled cheese sandwich.

  "Tastes like carbon," he muttered.

  "Sorry." She'd forgotten to buy cheese at the store on her latest shopping trip, so there had been only enough for three sandwiches. She'd managed to burn all three. All she could do was scrape them off and hope for the best.

  "You're been preoccupied all morning," he remarked with intense scrutiny of the bright color in her cheeks. "Want to talk about it?"

  She managed a wan smile and shook her head. "Thanks anyway."

  He got down another bite of overdone grilled cheese sandwich. "Would it have anything to do with C.C.'s absence last night?"

  She stared at him blankly. "What?"

  "C.C.'s car was missing all night, and I understand that he had to have one of the hands drive him over to Juarez to collect it this morning." He glared at the re­mainder of his sandwiches and pushed the plate away. "He was drinking, wasn't he, Pepi?"

  She couldn't lie, but it wouldn't do to tell the truth, either. "One of the men said C.C. had a few in Juarez, but on his own time," she added quickly. "You can't really jump on him unless he does it on your time." She warmed to her subject. "Besides that, he only drinks once a year."

  He frowned. "Once a year?"

  "That's about the extent of it. And please don't ask me why, because I can't tell you." She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "Dad, you know we owe the ranch to his business sense."

  "I know," he muttered. "But damn it, Pepi, I can't have one set of rules for the men and another for him."

  "He probably won't ever do it again," she said reas­suringly. "Come on, you haven't actually caught him in the act, you know."

  He grimaced. "I don't guess I have. But, if I ever do. . .!" he added hotly.

  "I know. You'll throw him off the roof." She grinned. "Drink your coffee. At least it isn't burned." She fin­ished hers. "I, uh, have to go into El Paso this after­noon to pick up a package I ordered."

  He scowled. "What package?"

  "For your birthday," she improvised. That wasn't improbable; his birthday was only two weeks away.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I'll never tell."

  He let the subject drop after that, and went back out to work. Pepi washed up and then went to dress for her appointment. Jeans and a T-shirt weren't exactly the best outfit to wear to her own doom, she thought blackly.

  She put on her full denim skirt with a blue print blouse and pinned her hair up on her head. She looked much more mature, she decided, although nothing could be done about the freckles on her nose. Not even makeup camouflaged them very well. She did the best she could, adding only a touch of makeup to her face and groaning over her voluptuous figure. If only she could lose enough weight to look like Edie. . .

  With a moan, she slipped her hose-clad feet into taupe high heels, transferred the contents of her handbag into the pocketbook that matched the heels, and went down­stairs.

  As luck would have it, she ran right into C.C. on the front porch. He looked hung over and dusty. His bat-wing chaps were heavily stained, like the jeans under them and his chambray shirt. His hat had once been black, but now it was dusty gray. He glared down at her with black eyes.

  "Brandon's out at the holding corral," he remarked in an oddly hostile tone. "I assume he's the reason for the fine feathers?"

  "I'm going into El Paso to do some shopping," she replied. "How's your head?" Better to sound natural, she decided, and she even smiled.

  "It was bad enough before I buried it in dust and bleating calves," he muttered. "Come in here a minute. I have to talk to you."

  She knew her heart had stopped beating. With a sense of awe, she felt the warmth of his lean, strong hand around her upper arm as he guided her back into the house and shut the door. He let go of her almost reluc­tantly.

  "Look, Pepi, this has got to stop," he said.

  "W-what has?" she faltered.

  "You chasing me down on my yearly binges," he said irritably. He took off his hat and ran a grimy hand through his sweaty jet hair. "I've been thinking all day about what could have happened to you in Juarez last night. That part of town is a rough place in broad day­light, never mind at night. I told you before, I don't need a nursemaid. I don't want you ever pulling such a stupid stunt again."

  "There's a simple solution. Stop drinking," she said.

  He searched her uplifted face quietly, scowling. "Yes, I think I might have to. If my memory's as faulty as it was last night. . ."

  She had to exert every ounce of will she had not to give anything away. "Your secrets are safe with me, C.C," she said in a stage whisper, and grinned.

  He relaxed a little. "Okay, squirt. Go do your shop­ping." His dark eyes slid over her body in a way they never had before, and she felt her knees going weak.

  "Something wrong?" she asked huskily.

  His eyes caught hers. "You kick around in jeans so much that I forget occasionally that you've even got legs." His gaze dropped to them and he smiled in a sen­sual kind of way. "Very nice legs, at that."

  She flushed. "My legs are none of your business, C.C," she informed him.

  He didn't like that. His sharp glance told her so. "Why? Do they belong to the carrot-topped vet al­ready? He acts more like a lover than a friend, despite your constant denials." His expression seemed to harden before her eyes. "You're twenty-two, as you keep telling me. And this is a permissive age, isn't it? No man can expect virginity in a wife anymore."

  The mention of the word "wife" made her face pale. But she couldn't let him see how shaken sh
e was. "That's right," she said. "It is a permissive age. I can sleep with a man if I like."

  He looked briefly murderous. "Does your father know about that attitude?"

  "What my father doesn't know won't bother him," she said uneasily. "I have to go, C.C."

  His eyes mirrored his contempt. "My God, I thought you were old-fashioned, in that respect at least."

  That hurt. She lowered her gaze to his shirt. "As you keep telling me, my private life is no concern of yours," she said in a tight voice. "You and Edie probably don't play bingo on your dates, either, and I don't make nasty remarks about your morals."

  "I'm a man," he said shortly.

  She lifted her eyes defiantly. "So what? Do you think being a man gives you some divine right to sleep with anybody you like? If men expect chaste women, then women have the right to expect chaste men!"

  His thick eyebrows lifted toward the ceiling. "My God, where would you find one?"

  "That's my point exactly. Sling mud and it sticks to your fingers. Now I'm going."

  "If you aren't meeting the handsome vet, who are you meeting, dressed like that?" he asked curtly.

  "It's just a skirt and blouse!"

  "Not the way you fill them out, little one," he said quietly. His eyes made emphatic statements about that before he lifted them back up to capture hers.

  "I'm overweight," she got out.

  "Really?" He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, but his eyes had hers in a stranglehold and he wouldn't let her avert her gaze.

  Her heart raged in her chest, beating painfully hard and fast. Her lips parted on a shaky breath and she re­alized that her hands were clutching her purse so hard that her nails were leaving marks in the soft leather.

  He moved closer, just close enough to threaten her with the warm strength of his body. He was so much taller that she had to look up to see his eyes, but she couldn't man­age to tear her gaze away.

  The back of his forefinger touched her cheek in a slow, devastating caress. "I thought you were a total inno­cent, little Pepi," he said, his voice at least an octave deeper. "If that's not the case, you could find yourself in over your head very quickly."

  Her lips parted. She was drowning in him, so intoxi­cated that she didn't even mind the smell of calf and burned hide that clung to him. Her eyes fell to his hard mouth, to its thin chiseled lines, and she wanted it with a primitive hunger. It occurred to her that she could entice him into her bed, that she could sleep with him. They were legally married, even if he didn't know it. She could seduce him. The delicious thought made her breath catch.

  Then came the not-so-delicious thought of what would happen afterward. With the experience she was pretty sure he had, he might know that she was virginal, by her reactions if nothing else. Besides that, it might hurt, which would be a dead giveaway. And he didn't know they were married. All sorts of complications could arise. No, she thought miserably, she couldn't even have that consolation. Not even one night to hold in her memory. She had to keep him at arm's length until she could de­cide how to tell him the truth and what to do about it.

  She backed away a little, forcing a smile. "I really have to go," she said huskily. "See you later."

  He muttered something under his breath and opened the door for her, his dark eyes accusing as they watched her go. She was getting under his skin. It made him an­gry that her body enticed him, that he was hungry for her. It made him angrier that she was apparently experi­enced. He didn't want other hands touching her, espe­cially the vet's. She'd been his caretaker for so long now that he'd come to look upon her with the same passion a wine maker felt for his best vintage. But he'd thought she was virginal, and she'd as good as told him she wasn't. That realization changed everything. He'd placed her carefully off limits for years, but if she wasn't innocent, then he didn't have to worry about his conscience. Odd, though, he thought as he watched her go, she could still blush prettily enough when he looked at her body. Maybe she wasn't very experienced, despite the redheaded vet­erinarian's attentions. C.C.'s black eyes narrowed. Brandon didn't have his experience, so that gave him an edge. Yes, it did. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and smiled faintly as he watched Pepi climb into her father's old Lincoln and drive away.

  Blissfully unaware of C.C.'s plotting, Pepi managed to get the car out of the driveway without hitting anything. Her hands on the steering wheel were still shaking from her unexpected confrontation. That was the first time that C.C. had ever made anything resembling a pass at her. Perhaps she should have been less emphatic about her experience—of which she didn't have any. But she'd felt threatened by the way C.C. had looked at her, and her mind had shut down. For one long second she ago­nized over the thought that he might take her off the en­dangered species list and start pursuing her himself. But, no, he had Edie to satisfy those needs. He wouldn't want an innocent like herself. And then she remembered that she'd told him she was no innocent. What would she do if he made a heavy pass at her? She loved him to distrac­tion, but she didn't dare let things go that far. If the worst came to pass and they were really married, she could get an annulment without much difficulty. But if she admit­ted him to her bed, it would mean getting a divorce, and that would take much longer. She couldn't afford to give in to temptation, no matter how appealing it was—

  The attorney's office was located adjacent to a new shopping center that had just opened on the outskirts of town. She pulled into a parking spot in front of the adobe facade of the office building and took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be very pleasant, she was afraid.

  She went in and produced the document. The attorney took his time looking it over. He was bilingual, so the wording that had sent Pepi crazy trying to decipher with the help of a Spanish-English dictionary made perfect sense to him.

  "It's legal, I assure you," he mused, handing it back. "Congratulations," he added with a smile.

  "He doesn't know we're married." She groaned. She told him the particulars. "Doesn't that mean anything, that he was intoxicated?"

  "If he was sober enough to agree to be married, to in­itiate the ceremony and to sign his name to a legal certi­ficate of marriage," he said, "I'm afraid it is binding."

  "Then I'll just have to get an annulment," she said heavily.

  "No problem," he said, smiling again. "Just have him come in and sign—"

  "He has to know about it!" she exclaimed, horrified.

  "I'm afraid so," he said. "Even if he did apparently get married without realizing it, there's just no way the marriage can be dissolved without his consent."

  Pepi buried her face in her hands. "I can't tell him. I just can't!"

  "You really have to," he said. "There are all kinds of legal complications that this could create. If he's a rea­sonable man, surely he'll understand."

  "Oh, no, he won't," she said on a miserable sigh. "But you're right. I do have to tell him. And I will," she added, rising to shake his hand. She didn't say when.

  Pepi mentally flayed herself for not telling C.C. the truth when he'd demanded it. She'd only wanted to spare him embarrassment, and she hadn't thought any dam­age would be done. Besides that, the thought of being his wife, just for a little while, was so sweet a temptation that she hadn't been able to resist. Now she was stuck with the reality of her irresponsibility, and she didn't know what she was going to do.

  For a start, she avoided C.C. With roundup in full swing, and the men working from dawn until long after dark, that wasn't too hard. She spent her own free time with Brandon, wishing secretly that she could feel for him what she felt for C.C. Brandon was so much fun, and they were compatible. It was just that there was no spark of awareness between them.

  "I wish you wouldn't spend so much time with Hale," her father said at supper one night near the end of the massive roundup, during one of his rare evenings at home.

  "There, there, you're just jealous because he's getting all your apple pies while you're out working," she teased.

  He sighed. "No, i
t's not that at all. I want to see you in a happy marriage, girl. The kind your mother and I had. Hale's a fine young man, but he's too biddable. You'd be leading him around by the nose by the end of your first year together. You're feisty, like your mother. You need a man who can stand up to you, a man you can't dominate."

  Only one man came immediately to mind and she flushed, averting her eyes. "The one you're thinking of is already spoken for," she said tersely.

  His eyes, so much like her own, searched her face. "Pepi, you're old enough now to understand why men see women like Edie. He's a man. He has. . . a man's needs."

  She picked up her fork and looked at it, trying not to feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. "Edie is his business, as he once told me. We have no right to interfere in his private life."

  "She's an odd choice for a ranch foreman, isn't she?" he mused, still watching her like a hawk. "A city sophis­ticate, a divorcee, a woman used to wealth and position. Don't you find it unexpected that she likes C.C?"

  "Not really. He's quite sophisticated himself," she re­minded him. "He seems to fit in anywhere. Even at business conferences," she added, recalling a conference the three of them had attended two years ago. She and her father had both been surprised at the sight of C.C. in a dinner jacket talking stocks and bonds and invest­ments with a rancher over cocktails. It had been an eye-opening experience for Pepi.

  "Yes, I remember," her father agreed. "A mysterious man, C.C. He came out of nowhere, literally. I've never been able to find out anything about his background. But from time to time, things slip out. He's not a man un­used to wealth and position, and at times he makes me feel like a rank beginner in business. He can manipulate stocks with the best of them. It was his expertise that helped me put the ranch into the black. Not to mention those new techniques in cattle management that he bull­dozed me into trying. Embryo transplants, artificial in­semination, hormone implants. . . although he and I mutually decided to stop the hormone implants. There's been a lot of negative talk about it among consumers."