Connal Read online

  Chapter Five

  They went past the border guards for the day trip into Mexico with no problem at all. The car was stopped, but Pepi knew why. The border guard, a rather squatty young man, had spotted Edie and asked her instead of C.C. what they were going to do in Juarez.

  Edie ate up his attention, tossing her blond hair and laughing as she told him they were going shopping. He waved them through with flattering reluctance, still eye­ing Edie, while C.C. chuckled softly under his breath. Edie did love to make a conquest. She seemed to enjoy letting C.C. know that she could attract other men quite easily.

  Watching the woman, Pepi could have sworn that C.C. knew exactly what she was up to. He seemed so cynical about women, as if he knew them inside out and couldn't care less. She happened to glance at him then, and saw that bitter, half-mocking smile on his sensuous mouth. Before she could look away, he caught her eyes. It was like lightning striking. She had to drag her gaze away.

  C.C. drove while Edie leaned over the back seat of his big Ford and talked animatedly to Ben. Pepi shook her head. Even her father wasn't immune to Edie's flirting. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  It wasn't a long drive and minutes later, they were in Juarez. And it was only thanks to C.C.'s experience that they found their way around—Juarez was impossible with a map, and worse without one.

  The city was deliciously Mexican. They browsed through the endless markets and Edie pleaded until C.C. bought her a ridiculously expensive turquoise necklace. Pepi would have been easier to please. If C.C. had handed her a pebble from the ground, she'd have slept with it under her pillow for the rest of her life. But her tastes were simpler than Edie's—she only wanted C.C.

  Down the street was a magnificent cathedral, and near that was a small boutique. Edie exclaimed at the display in the window, and noticed that they honored her charge card.

  "I'll only be a few hours," she told C.C, tiptoeing to kiss his lean cheek. "Penelope, want to come along?" she called to Penelope, knowing full well that the younger woman had little interest in fancy clothes and didn't possess a charge card. She'd never gone further afield than the small town she grew up in; Edie knew that, too.

  "No, thanks," Pepi said amiably. "I'd rather sight-see."

  "Good," her father said. "You can keep me com­pany. C.C. seems to be in another world."

  He did, and when Pepi saw where his dark eyes were riveted, she felt her stomach sink. He was mentally re­tracing his steps the night he got drunk, she was sure of it! His eyes went from the bar down the street to a small chapel—the chapel where he'd drunkenly forced Pepi to stand in front of a priest.

  "Well, well, a wedding chapel," Ben murmured. He glanced down at Pepi. "For a man who isn't interested in getting married, he does seem to find it fascinating, doesn't he?"

  Pepi had a sick feeling when she saw C.C. jam his lean hands into his pockets and start toward the chapel. She moved forward instinctively to try to divert him. And just as she reached him, oblivious to her father's surprised expression, the two Mexicans who'd helped her bundle up C.C. and get him to the truck that night came saun­tering out of the wedding chapel. Perhaps they were re­lated to the priest. . .

  Don't say anything, don't recognize him, please, she prayed, both her fingers crossed.

  They did recognize him, though, and broke into wide grins. "Felicitaciones," they laughed. "iComo quiere usted vida conjugal, eh? / Y alia esta su esposa! iHola, senora, coma 'sta?"

  "What?" Ben burst out, overhearing the conversa­tion.

  Pepi buried her face in her hands. "What did they say?" she asked through her fingers.

  "They're congratulating him on being married!"

  Ben didn't say another word. Rapid-fire Spanish ex­changes led to an ominous silence, and seconds later, a furious C.C. was towering over her. He took her by both shoulders and shook her, hard, ignoring Ben's dazed presence.

  "What the hell do they mean, congratulations on my marriage?" he demanded, his deep voice cutting and sharp. "You lied to me! We were married here that night, weren't we? Weren't we?"

  "All right, yes," she whispered. "I didn't know it was legal," she tried to explain, her eyes big, tearful and an­guished. "C.C, I didn't know it was legal!"

  "You're married?" Ben burst out.

  "Not for long," C.C. said, all but throwing Pepi away from him, as if the touch of her burned his hands. "My God, of all the low, contemptible, underhanded ways to get a husband! Get a man drunk and drag him in front of a minister, and then keep it a secret! You knew I'd never marry a plain, plump little schemer like you if I was so­ber! You're nothing to look at, and you're more man than woman the way you dress and act. It wouldn't sur­prise me if you told Hale every move to make when you get him in bed!"

  "C.C, please," she pleaded, aware of the attention his loud, angry voice was attracting.

  He seemed to realize that they were on display. "I'll get Edie. We're leaving, right now," he told Pepi. "The sooner this farce ends in an annulment, the better."

  "You got him drunk and married him?" Ben asked, shaken by the revelation.

  "He got drunk and threatened to land us in a Mexi-

  can jail if I didn't," she said heavily. "I didn't think it

  was binding anywhere except in Mexico or I'd never have gone through with it. You know what the criminal justice system is like down here, it's as slow as molasses. We could have spent weeks or months in jail before you could have managed to get us out. "

  "I know that! What did he mean about you sleeping with Hale?" he demanded.

  "I don't sleep with Brandon. I just let C.C think it. . . Well, to throw up a smoke screen, I guess. Dad, it's such a mess! I had the best intentions. . . and on your birth­day!" She burst into tears. "I should have said some­thing, but I was scared. I thought I could get a quiet annulment, but the lawyer said he'd have to know. . .!"

  Ben held her while she cried, awkwardly patting her back until a fire-eyed C.C. joined them with Edie in tow.

  "What's the matter with Pepi?" Edie asked.

  "Don't ask," Ben said heavily. "We have to go."

  "Okay," she shrugged, eyeing the younger woman curiously. "Gosh, Pepi, are you sick?"

  "If she is, she damn well deserves to be," C.C. said furiously. "Let's go."

  Edie didn't dare question him. Pepi cried silently and Ben sat by helplessly while they got out of Juarez into El Paso and on the road to the ranch.

  C.C. was out of sorts the whole way back home. He smoked in silence, letting Edie prattle on until she got disgusted with him and turned up the radio. Lost in thoughts of her own, Penelope just leaned back with her eyes closed, oblivious to the worried look on her fa­ther's face.

  Instead of going to the ranch, C.C. stopped by Edie's apartment, escorted her to the door and left her there without a word. He didn't say another word all the way home. He didn't speed, or drive recklessly. Penelope wondered at his control. Even when he was furious, and she knew he was right now, he never lost that iron con­trol. She wondered if he ever had.

  Back at the ranch, C.C. headed for the stables the minute he parked the car, and Pepi felt sorry for any poor soul who was in there undefended. C.C. in a temper was a force to behold. Presumably he was going to work off some steam before he started on her again. She couldn't even blame him for being so angry. She should have told him in the very beginning. It was her own fault.

  "Suppose you tell me the whole story?" her father asked while she made coffee in the kitchen.

  She did, all about C.C.'s once-a-year bender and the reason for it, about the way she'd sobered him up—or thought she had—and the way she'd trailed him to Juarez and wound up married to him.

  "The bottom line," she said, "is that I think he comes from money, despite the work he does here. He might think I deliberately maneuvered him into marriage for mercenary motives."

  "C.C. knows you better than that," Ben scoffed.

  "He knows the ranch hasn't been paying and that I don't have a job an
d my future looks pretty insecure," she said. "It isn't, but it looks that way. And I'm rea­sonably sure he knows that I'm attracted to him."

  "Attracted, as in head over heels in love with?" her father mused.

  She shook her head. "No, thank God, he doesn't know that." She jammed her hands into her slacks pockets with a heavy sigh. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "It's not the end of the world. We can get an annulment pretty easily, and I'll even get a job and pay for it. Maybe someday he'll forgive me, but right now I guess he'd like to strangle me and I don't blame him. I just hope he doesn't tell Edie. I wouldn't like her to be hurt by it."

  "What about you?" Ben asked angrily. "You're hurt by it, and it's his own damned fault. If he'd stayed so­ber. . .!"

  "Dad, he loved his wife. I guess he's still grieving for her. Remember how you felt when Mom died?" she added.

  He got a faraway look in his eyes. He sighed. "Yes, I can understand that. Your mama was my world. We were childhood sweethearts and we lived together for twenty-two years. I could never find anyone to measure up to her, so I never remarried. Maybe he feels like that."

  "Maybe he does," she agreed.

  He hugged her warmly and let her go. "Try not to brood. It will all pass over. C.C. will blow off steam and come to terms with it, and you'll get it worked out. I hope," he mused on a chuckle. "With times as hard as they are, I need to keep C.C.'s mind on business, with all due respect to you."

  "Ever thought of selling shares in the property?" she asked seriously.

  "Yes, I have. Or taking on a partner," he added. He glanced at her. "You wouldn't mind if I did that?"

  "Of course not. I don't want to lose it, either," she added gently. "You do whatever you have to."

  He sighed, looking around the rustic, spacious kitchen. "Then I think I'll do some discreet advertising. God knows, you can't go much longer without a new ward­robe," he added with a mischievous wink.

  "Forget about my wardrobe," she returned. "I don't care what I wear. Not anymore," she added, turning back to see about the coffee.

  "There's still Hale," he said, trying to comfort her as best he could. Her pain was tangible.

  "Yes, there's still Brandon. He's taking me to a cat­tleman's association dinner next Wednesday night," she said. "He's a nice man, don't you think?"

  He studied her quietly. "Sure he is. But you don't love him. Don't settle for crumbs, honey. Go for the whole meal."

  She laughed. "Old reprobate," she accused. "You do have a way with words."

  "You have a way with food," he countered. "Will you hurry up and get some supper fixed? I'm starving!"

  "Okay." She went back to her pots and pans. From the kitchen window, she couid see the bunkhouse. C.C. came out suddenly, dressed in, of ail things, a suit. He walked toward the house, big and lean and elegant, and she washed the same dish four times while she waited for the step at the kitchen door. C.C. never went to the front. He was too much like family. But right now he was her worst enemy. The suit bothered her. Was he quitting? She felt her heart stop beating momentarily while she brooded. Did he hate her that much. . . ?

  He came in without knocking, letting in a chilly burst of wind. Penelope shuddered.

  "It's getting colder out there," Ben said to ease the sudden tension.

  "Colder than you know," C.C. said. He had a smok­ing cigarette in his hand. He lifted it to his thin lips, glar­ing at Pepi. "I'll be away until early next week. I've got some personal business to see to. Including," he added icily, "getting an annulment underway, f want that mar­riage license, Penelope."

  She wiped her hands on her apron, not looking at him. "I'll get it," she said in a subdued tone, and ran for the staircase.

  Her hands trembled as she took the piece of paper out of her bureau drawer and looked at it. C. C. Tremayne. The name on the license said Connal Cade Tremayne. Connal. She'd never called him anything but C.C. Until that night in Juarez, she didn't know what the initials stood for. Now she said the name to herself and grieved for the dreams contained in that simple page of words. If only things had been different, and they'd married be­cause he loved her.

  She took one long, last look at the license and carried it back downstairs.

  C.C. was waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, alone. His black eyes bit into her face, but she wouldn't meet them. She held out the paper in trembling, cold fingers until he took it and then she jerked her hand back before it touched his. She could imagine that he'd wel­come her touch about as much as leprosy right now.

  "I'm sorry," she said huskily, staring at her boot-dad feet. "It was just—"

  "Just an outsize crush that got out of hand," he re­turned icily. "Well, it backfired, didn't it? You're underhanded and scheming and probably a golddigger to boot."

  Hot tears stung her eyes. She didn't answer him. She edged past him and went into the kitchen, barely able to see the floor as she went back to the pots and pans on the stove.

  He clenched the license in his lean hand, hating him­self, hating her. He was taking the hide off her, and he knew he was being unreasonable, but she'd tricked him into marriage when he was too drunk to know what he was doing. He'd thought better of her. She had no right to land him in this predicament. He'd taken Edie out, he'd. . . And he was married! What if he'd decided to take Edie to a minister? He'd have been committing unwit­ting adultery and bigamy all at once!

  "She's paying for it," Ben said quietly, joining the younger man in the hall. "Don't make it any worse on her. She didn't do it deliberately, regardless of what you think."

  "She should have told me," he returned curtly.

  "Yes," Ben agreed. "She should have. But she didn't know how. She didn't think it was legal. And to give her credit, she did call an attorney about a quick, quiet an­nulment. But she found out she'd need your signature for that."

  "Did you know?" C.C. demanded.

  Ben shook his head. "Not until today. I thought she was in some kind of trouble, but I had no idea what it was."

  C.C. stared at the paper in his hand with angry, trou­bled eyes. Marriage. A wife. He couldn't forget Marsha, he couldn't forget her determination to go down that river with him. She'd always been headstrong, hell-bent in her own way. He should have insisted, especially since she was sick so often and dizzy. He hadn't known she was pregnant. It had been horrible enough to have to iden­tify her body, but to know that she'd been carrying their first child. . .

  He groaned aloud. He'd all but killed her. His wealth had been tied to hers, a joint venture that had paid off in the embryo transplant science. He'd been too sickened by the accident to take up the reins again, leaving his oldest brothers in charge and the younger one to help while he went in search of peace of mind. He'd found it here. He'd enjoyed helping Ben build up a ranch that had been headed for receivership. He'd enjoyed Pepi's bright, un­demanding company. And now she'd stabbed him in the back. He had to get away, from her and the memories she'd brought on him again.

  "Where are you going?" Ben asked. "Or is that a question I shouldn't ask?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Ben shrugged. "Pepi said she thought you probably came from money. You blurted a lot out to her that time you were delirious and she nursed you. She thought maybe you'd been punishing yourself for your wife's death and that's why you stayed here." C.C. didn't an­swer. Ben lifted an eyebrow. "Whatever the reason, you're welcome here if you want to come back. I'm grateful for all you've done for me."

  C.C. felt doors closing. Ben was talking as if he wasn't coming back. He glanced toward the kitchen, but Pepi was not visible there. He felt a sudden shock of panic at the thought of not seeing her again. God, what was wrong with him?

  He folded the marriage license. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I might go home and see my people. I need to make an appointment with a lawyer about this," he added, fingering the paper. Odd how it seemed more like a treasure than an unwanted legal tie.

  "Well, if you decide not to come back, I won't bl
ame you," Ben said wearily. "Not much hope for this place, and we both know it. You've got us in the black, but cattle prices are down and I had to go in the hole for more equipment. I'm getting too old to manage, anyway."

  That didn't sound like Ben. C.C. scowled. "My God, you're barely fifty-five!"

  "Wait until you're fifty-five and say that," Ben chuckled. He held out a hand and C.C. shook it. "Thanks for giving me a shot at keeping the place. But you've got your own life to live." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's time you faced your ghosts, son. I had to do that, when I finally came to grips with my drinking problem and the fact that it cost me Pepi's mother. I survived. So will you."

  "Marsha was pregnant," C.C. said curtly.

  Ben nodded. "That's the worst of it for you, I imag­ine. You're a young man, C.C. Comparatively young, anyway. You can have other children."

  "I don't want children. I don't want a wife," he said angrily, shaking the marriage license. "Least of all one I didn't choose!"

  In the kitchen, Pepi heard his words, and tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She remembered what he'd said to her in Juarez, about her being plump and plain. It certainly wiped out all the former compliments he'd given her, about being womanly looking. Now he just thought she was fat. She wished she could crawl in a hole and die.

  Out in the hall, Ben could imagine Pepi's pain. He herded C.C. toward the front door instead of the back one, to spare Pepi any more anguish.

  "Take a few days," Ben suggested. "You've had two hard weeks of roundup and you haven't had a real va­cation in over three years. Some time off is just the thing."

  C.C. relaxed a little. "I guess I do need it." He stared at the folded license and involuntarily, his eyes went back down the hall. He'd been harder on Pepi than he prob­ably should have been. He frowned, remembering what he'd said to her. She was little more than a child in some ways. He was beginning to wonder if her so-called expe­rience wasn't just a figment of her imagination. The way she'd reacted to him in the kitchen that morning hadn't been indicative of sophistication. Could she have lied about that, too?