Unlikely Lover Read Free

Lillian the plot over the phone just recently, and the older woman had been delighted with it. Mari wondered about her aunt’s sudden enthusiasm because Lillian had never been particularly interested in anything except getting her married off to any likely candidate who came along. After her father’s death, especially. The only reason she’d agreed to come down to Ravine was because of poor old Mr. Jessup. At least she could be sure that Aunt Lillian wasn’t trying to marry her off to him!
    Mari pushed back her hair. It was short now, a twenties-style pageboy with bangs, and it emphasized the rosy oval of her face. She was wearing a simple dropped-waist dress in blue-and-white stripes and carrying only a roly-poly piece of luggage, which contained barely enough clothes to get her through one week.
    A tall man attracted her interest, and despite the shyness she felt with most men, she studied him blatantly. He was as big as the side of a barn, tall with rippling muscles and bristling with backcountry masculinity. Wearing a gray suit, an open-necked white shirt and a pearly gray Stetson and boots, he looked big and mean and sexy. The angle of that hat over his black hair was as arrogant as the look on his deeply tanned face, as intimidating as that confident stride that made people get out of his way. He would have made the perfect hero for Mari’s book. The strong, tender man who would lead her damaged heroine back to happiness again…
    He didn’t look at anyone except Mari, and after a few seconds she realized that he was coming toward her. She clutched the little carryall tightly as he stopped just in front of her, and in spite of her height she had to look up to see his eyes. They were green and cold. Ice-cold.
    “Marianne Raymond,” he said as if she’d damned well better be. He set her temper smoldering with that confident drawl.
    She lifted her chin. “That’s right,” she replied just as quietly. “Are you from Three Forks Ranch?”
    “I
am
Three Forks Ranch,” he informed her, reaching for the carryall. “Let’s go.”
    “Not one step,” she said, refusing to release it and glaring at him. “Not one single step until you tell me who you are and where we’re going.”
    His eyebrows lifted. They were straight and thick like the lashes over his green eyes. “I’m Ward Jessup,” he said. “I’m taking you to your Aunt Lillian.” He controlled his temper with a visible effort as he registered her shocked expression and reached for his wallet, flashing it open to reveal his driver’s license. “Satisfied?” he drawled and then felt ashamed of himself when he knew why she had reason to be so cautious and nervous of him.
    “Yes, thank you,” she said.
That
was Ward Jessup?
That
was a dying man? Dazed, she let him take the carryall and followed him out of the airport.
    He had a car—a big Chrysler with burgundy leather seats and controls that seemed to do everything, right up to speaking firmly to the passengers about fastening their seat belts.
    “I’ve never seen such an animal,” she commented absently as she fastened her seat belt, trying to be a little less hostile. He’d asked for it, but she had to remember the terrible condition that the poor man was in. She felt guilty about her bad manners.
    “It’s a honey,” he remarked, starting the engine. “Have you eaten?”
    “Yes, on the plane, thank you,” she replied. She folded her hands in her lap and was quiet until they reached the straight open road. The meadows were alive with colorful wildflowers of orange and red and blue, and prickly pear cacti. Mari also noticed long stretches of land where there were no houses and few trees, but endless fences and cattle everywhere.
    “I thought there was oil everywhere in Texas,” she murmured, staring out at the landscape and the sparse houses.
    “What do you think those big metal grasshoppers are?” he asked, glancing at her as he sped down the road.
    She frowned. “Oil wells?