Leanna Wilson - His Tomboy Bride

Marriage didn’t come wrapped up in a nice, neat package with frilly ribbons and bows. Billie would not risk her heart on her fiancé or anyone else. She’d tried that once. And failed. With deep scars as proof, she’d learned once too often that love hurt. She could do without any more pain.

Rosa sniffed. “Too much sorrow for one family. Let us think of your wedding. Put on your shoes and come. Let’s not keep your mother waiting.”

Ignoring the satin pumps that looked about as comfortable as the strapless underwire bra she wore beneath her dress, Billie pulled her fancy white boots out of the closet. She hadn’t worn these since she’d gone boot-scootin’ in high school. At least the boots were comfortable.

She left her bedroom, lifting the heavy skirt out of the way, the lush satin brushing against her legs and rustling with each step. She moved past framed pictures of family vacations in the Rocky Mountains, her and Jake huddled in front of a tilted Christmas tree, and school pictures chronicling Billie’s blackened eyes, pigtails and braces. The fond memories fortified her with the courage she needed to face her future.

“Here comes the bride!” Martha Gunther sang, her voice warbling like an old-fashioned organ. Her face crinkled with a warm smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Feeling less like a bride and more like a trussed up heifer, Billie waddled into the den. Shoulders back, she gave her mother her best, most optimistic smile, the same one she used after she paid each month’s bills and counted the leftover money in the checking account.

A movement in the corner of the living room caught her eye. She squinted against the afternoon sunlight pouring through the bay window across the front of her parents’ house. The tall, dark, masculine frame had broad shoulders and a height that would put most men to shame. Her breath caught in her lungs. Had Doug, her fiancé, come early? Maybe the light distorted his size, making him larger than his normally slight, elegant build. Her groom shouldn’t be seeing her wedding dress. It was bad luck. And that was one thing she didn’t need any more of.

“Billie the Kid?” The warm, deep, masculine voice jolted her like a bolt of electricity.

Her breath whooshed out of her. For a second she felt dizzy, her world tilting off center. Nick!

Nicholas Barrett Latham stepped toward her, effectively blocking the sun slanting through the window behind him. She met his gold-flecked amber gaze. Something warm and uncomfortable, something she hadn’t experienced in years, stirred inside her. He ran his fingers through his thick chestnut hair. A grin split his chiseled, tanned features and zapped the strength right out of her knees.

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hand against his square jaw, “I’ll be damned.”

Nick wasn’t her groom, but he was bad luck, all right. She wished her dress would swallow her whole and bury her beneath the yards of lace and satin. So help her, if he laughed at her in this dress, she’d deck him. In anticipation of having to do just that, her hands curled into fists.

“Isn’t it wonderful for Nick to visit us, honey?” her mother said, hugging her own middle as if she might burst with excitement.

Billie nodded automatically. For once in her life words failed her. Or maybe for the second time. The first had been when she’d kissed Nick. She’d grown up since that hot summer day when she’d been a naive sixteen-year-old. But with Nick’s irresistible smile and curious gaze settling on her now, her insides felt mushy once again, like jelly left out of the refrigerator for too long.

“I heard you were getting married,” he said in a rumbling voice that made her stomach roll. “Had to see it for myself.”

His surprise ruffled her feathers. She met his intense gaze squarely. “Why? Is it so impossible to believe someone would want me?”

“I didn’t mean...I... No. ’Course not.” His features twisted with confusion. He stepped forward and awkwardly brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Congratulations, Billie.”

The warmth of his lips sent a surge of heat through her body. She drew in a quick, inadequate breath. Nick stood so close she could have touched him if she’d dared. She smelled his clean, spicy scent, which reminded her of the sharpness of cedar after a summer rain. Her voice caught on the words, “Welcome home, Nick.”

His hand slid around her cinched-in waist and pulled her close against his chest. She felt the hardness of his muscles, the strength in his arms, the gentleness of his words as his breath warmed her ear. “It’s good to see you again, Billie.”

His solid embrace made her feel weak as a newborn colt. She stepped back on the hem of her dress. To her chagrin, Nick steadied her with a hand under her elbow. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her breath came hard and fast, as if she’d run up a steep hill.

“How long has it been?” she asked, knowing it had been exactly two years, one month and sixteen days. She didn’t ask herself how she knew or why. She didn’t want to question whether it was because she so clearly remembered the cool, rainy spring day when she’d stood at her brother’s graveside or because Nick had been there.

“Too long,” he answered.

Knee-deep in grief at her brother’s funeral, Billie remembered Nick’s fierce hug, an awkward pat on her shoulders, a gruff, “I’m so sorry, Billie.” She’d been unable to restrain the resentment at seeing his pretty wife standing beside him. Maybe that’s why she’d been so damned determined to handle the Rocking G Ranch on her own. If she couldn’t have Nick’s love, then by God she’d have his respect. That’s why he couldn’t know she was selling out now...to marriage.

So much had changed since that rainy day. Regret swept through her. She alone bore the guilt of why Nick hadn’t visited the Gunthers since his best friend’s funeral. Instinctively she sensed Nick had changed, too. Something in his face, his eyes. A harder glint had replaced the mischievous glimmer of his youth. Feeling his gaze on her like a warm caress, her dress suddenly felt tight, the air thin, her blood thick as molasses.

“We all should have kept in touch,” Martha said, “after Jake...” She shook her head.

Sorrow darkened Nick’s eyes to a deep walnut

After Jake’s funeral he’d offered to stay and help with the ranch, but Billie had wanted—needed—to prove she could handle it as well as any man. But she hadn’t known about the money Jake had borrowed. She hadn’t known a lot of things then. It had been an uphill battle ever since to stay in operation.

Martha patted Nick’s arm as if he was her own son. “We’ve missed you.”

“I was negligent,” he said, his voice thick. “I should have come back sooner.”

Billie lifted her chin and met his questioning gaze. “We managed fine. We didn’t need any help.”

And we don’t need anything now.

A wry chuckle escaped his tense mouth. “You always could take care of things.”

Her heart lurched. She hadn’t managed very well with the ranch. Good ol’ Billie Rae—strong, capable, dependable—she’ d always prided herself on her good qualities. But did they really describe her or a well-bred stock horse?

Irritated at her own comparison, she wanted to believe Nick’s words were a compliment. But in her heart they taunted her. For a moment she wished she could melt into a helpless puddle of tears instead remaining stoic and practical in the face of adversity. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t.

More than ready for him to leave, she asked, “What brings you back here?”

“You.” Something suggestive in his tone made her toes curl under.

“Me?” Her voice squeaked.

With the swiftness of summer lightning, she remembered the burning intensity of their one shared kiss, the awareness sparking between them, the heat searing her to her very feminine core. The texture of his mouth, firm yet gentle, as rough and tempting as raw silk, had awakened her like Prince Charming had stirred Sleeping Beauty from sleep. She had suddenly been proud of her softer curves, grateful finally that she was a girl... woman.

At sixteen she’d suffered a bad case of puppy love. But it had been more, she’d realized as time had passed, as she’d matured, as the feelings had lingered and intensified. It had been real, true. From the very depths of her soul. She’d wanted to marry Nick, have his children. Loving him had outshone all her other dreams. When hit with his captivating gaze, she’d have done anything for him. Then he’d splintered a small part of her heart.

So she’d focused with laser beam precision on her hopes of becoming a vet. It hadn’t taken long for that dream to crash beneath the weight of her father’s death and be buried beneath the burden of her brother’s. Years of hard, backbreaking work and shoulder-scrunching responsibility had demolished the rest of her innocent hopes. Once she’d had grand plans for her life. None of them had come to pass. But she hadn’t given up on all of them yet.

As abruptly as she’d been set back on her heels that day when Nick had told her of his impending marriage, now again she pulled herself up short from her steamy memories. She reminded herself with a quick mental kick that she didn’t want Nick. She had other plans, plans that resurrected her dreams. Plans that didn’t include him.

The cold, wet glass cooled the skyrocketing temperature that burned inside him like a high-pitched fever. Nick felt hotter than the hundred-degree weather outside. He sipped the sweetened tea, and the ice clinked together. The ceiling fan sifted cool air over his heated skin.

Wedding! He still couldn’t believe it. Billie the Kid was really getting married. His world turned upside down as if E no longer equaled mc 2. He felt the foundation under him collapsing.

But Nick couldn’t concentrate on anything except Billie. And her vibrant blue eyes. Her golden hair teased her smooth, bare shoulders and made him think of things he didn’t ordinarily associate with Billie, like satin sheets on hot summer nights. Her faint tan line, outlining the opening of a work shirt, brought a smile to his heart as he remembered the rough-and-tumble girl she’d once been. And now she was all grown-up.

For the first time he noticed her very distinctive, patently feminine and too-damn-sexy curves. His “kid sister” had become a woman. A part of him was more than grateful there wasn’t an ounce of blood relation between them.

His throat went bone-dry. He coughed, uncomfortable with his blatant, sexually charged reaction to her. “Tim Cummins told me your good news. I ran into him yesterday in Houston.”

One part of the rumor had been true enough. But he still held out hope the rest had been false.

“We should have called,” Martha said, “but it’s been so rush-rush, with all the plans and everything.” She touched a trembling hand to Billie’s veil. “I wish your father could see you like this. He would have been so proud.” She turned away and sniffed again into her handkerchief.

Billie’s features contorted, the muscles along her neck flexing. Nick wondered if her father’s absence took away part of her wedding joy. Mr. Gunther wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle or twirl her around the dance floor. Didn’t a woman want that emotional support, those tender moments?

None of the Gunther men were alive to offer guidance to Billie. Nick knew neither of them would approve of the groom Tim Cummins had said won Billie’s hand. Nick wouldn’t, either. It had to be some mistake. The Billie he knew would be more discerning than that. That’s why he’d dropped everything, including work, and raced back to Bonnet—to make sure she knew what she was doing.