LITMIR.BIZ

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time restriction from Fiona. I’ll give you half the money once you’re legally married. The other half when the two months are up. At that time, if you choose, you’ll be free to file for a divorce and resume your bachelor life.”

      Clay stared at Carson, unable to believe the man was serious. A hundred thousand dollars? he thought, trying to absorb the magnitude of the offer. A hundred thousand dollars would go a long way toward rebuilding his family’s ranch. And all he had to do to get the money was agree to marry Fiona Carson and stay married to her for two months?

      It was insane, he told himself. Ludicrous. Fathers didn’t arrange marriages for their daughters anymore. Especially not when the daughter was Fiona Carson. She’d never agree to this, he told himself. Fiona was wild as a march hare and stubborn as a mule.

      She was also Clay’s only viable hope of holding on to his family’s ranch.

      “And Fiona will go along with this?” he asked doubtfully.

      “She won’t have a choice,” Ford replied confidently, then chuckled. “Of course, she won’t know the real purpose of the marriage. She’s stubborn. Takes after her old man in that way. If she knew that I’d arranged for you to marry her to teach her responsibility, she’d dig in her heels so deep it would take a team of Clydesdales to drag her to the altar.”

      “If not the truth, then what do you intend to tell her?”

      Ford puckered his lips and thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me. But I’ll think of something.”

      When Clay’s expression remained skeptical, Ford shot him a wink. “Don’t worry about Fiona, son. She’ll play along. I’ll see to that.”

      Though probably a fool for not accepting the offer on the spot, Clay continued to hesitate. He’d always believed that a man made his own way in the world, never seeking the easy way out of a tight situation. And marrying a woman for money was definitely the coward’s way out of his current cash problem.

      Frowning, he shook his head. “I don’t know, Mr. Carson. I need to give this some thought.”

      Carson rose and tossed a business card onto the bar. It landed face up beside Clay’s hand. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “That’s my private number. Give me a call when you’ve made your decision.”

      Dusk was settling over the countryside by the time Clay arrived home later that evening. Instead of going inside as he’d intended, he detoured to the gate that led to the back pasture. Bracing his arms along its top, he stared out across the land. Not so long ago, a herd of registered Brangus cattle would have been grazing there on fertile coastal grass. Now the pasture was empty but for the knee-high weeds that swayed gently in the soft evening breeze, and a scattering of young cedar and mesquite trees.

      It hadn’t taken nature long to reclaim the land, he thought sadly. Eight years to be exact. He remembered well the backbreaking work it had taken to clear the pastures. Chopping down the cedars and mesquite trees that were such a nuisance to ranchers in this region of Texas. Shredding native brush high and thick enough to conceal a grown deer. Hauling away truck-loads of rock to clear the land for the equipment he and his father had used to prepare the soil for planting.

      But most of all he remembered all the bitching and moaning he’d done because he’d been forced to help with the work.

      With a regretful shake of his head, he opened the gate and started across the field, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. As he walked, weeds slapped at his legs, leaving the sticky seed pods of beggar’s lice clinging to his starched jeans. In the distance a line of fencing marked the back boundary of his family’s ranch. Choked with vines, the fence was held upright by an occasional mesquite or cedar tree that had woven its way up through the tangled strands of barbed wire.

      On his left stood the hay barn. Once it had housed the heavy bales of coastal hay his family had cut and baled to feed the cattle through the winter. Now the building stood empty, its wide doors open and sagging, its red-painted walls faded and, in some places, showing visible signs of rot. Loose panels of tin on the barn’s high roof flapped in the breeze, creating a mournful sound in the otherwise peaceful evening air.

      Clay stopped in the middle of the pasture and turned slowly, silently acknowledging each sign of neglect and disrepair. As he did, he wondered what his parents would say if they could see the ranch now. Emotion clotted his throat as he realized the answer. If they weren’t already dead, he knew it would kill them.

      His parents had loved this place, had put their hearts and souls into building their home and clearing the land for the cattle operation that would support their family. They’d done it for themselves, he knew, but they’d done it for him and his sister, as well. They’d wanted to leave their children a legacy, a dream to carry on.

      And Clay had let them down.

      At the time of the automobile accident that had taken their lives, he’d just been promoted into the Special Forces unit of the army. He was full of himself and his own importance, and eager to leave his mark on the world. Though he’d returned home for his parents’ funerals, he’d left afterward as soon as possible, leaving the handling of the estate in his sister Joanna’s capable hands. She’d wasted no time in selling the ranch. Not that Clay had blamed her. Joanna had never cared for the ranch; nor had Clay, for that matter. His love for the place and his appreciation for all that it stood for had come later. Almost too late.

      It shamed him now to remember his youth. Growing up, he’d given the term “bad boy” whole new meaning. But no matter how much trouble he’d gotten himself into, no matter how many times he’d thrown his parents’ love back in their faces, they’d never given up on him. Even when he’d been accused of his girlfriend’s murder, they’d been there for him, standing firm in their belief of his innocence, their faith in him as an honorable man.

      It was the memory of their unconditional love that had gotten him through the dangerous and hellish missions the army had assigned him. And it was the power of that love that had given him the strength and will he’d needed to survive mental and physical tortures unimaginable to most men. At his darkest moments, when he was sure the pain he was suffering at the hands of his captors would drive him insane, he’d focus his mind on home, on family and gird himself with the strength and peace that came from the level of unconditional love his parents had given him.

      That was what had saved him.

      And now he wanted to save the ranch.

      Not just for himself, he thought, but for his parents. It was the only way he knew to honor their memory, to prove their faith in him, to carry on their dream. Throughout his darkest hours, the ranch had served as his light, a beacon in an otherwise bleak world, his reason for living. If he lost it now, he feared with it he would lose his last hold on all that was good and merciful.

      But how could he hang on to it, he asked himself, feeling the frustration returning, when he could barely afford the monthly mortgage payments, much less take on the tremendous burden of upkeep on a place this size? The bottom line was, the ranch had to pay for itself or he’d lose it. Which brought him right back to his original question: how could he raise the cash he needed to make the ranch a profitable business again?

      He dragged off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. He knew the answer. Ford Carson had handed it to him on a silver platter not more than an hour ago. All he had to do was marry Carson’s daughter and the money he needed was his.

      He slapped his hat against his thigh in frustration. But, dammit, he didn’t want to get married—especially not to a spoiled, rich girl like Fiona Carson. He’d been engaged to a woman who had enjoyed a privileged upbringing similar to Fiona’s, and he’d learned the hard way that that kind of woman didn’t stick and, more, that he didn’t belong in that world.

      Clay didn’t believe in fate or luck. He’d been taught that a man created his own. But how else could he explain Ford Carson’s offering him a windfall right when he needed it most? All he had to do to collect the money was marry the man’s daughter.

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