His Shotgun Proposal. Karen Whittenburg Toller

to teasing me. When he really wants to get me riled, he calls me ‘Husky’ because that breed of dog often has eyes that are different colored and he knows how much I hate having one blue eye and one green one. When he just wants to agitate me a little, he calls me Blondie.” She touched her carroty red hair, wishing it was blond or black, or even a nice sandy-brown like Abbie’s.

      Abbie offered a small smile, but it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere.

      “Well, listen to me, nattering at you about my cousins, when it’s clear you need a chance to catch your breath and get your bearings. I don’t know what’s keeping Mac.” She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him clear the landing and stalk down the hall towards the guest room, a bag under each arm and one in each hand. His whole expression was as dark as a Texas tornado and Jessica couldn’t keep her eyebrows from arching in sharpening suspicion. As curious as it seemed, something unpleasant must have happened between her cousin and her friend on the trip out from Austin.

      “You want to be in or out?” he asked, his tone of voice as tight and short as the check rein on a green colt. “I can’t get all these bags through the doorway with you standing in it.”

      Jessica stepped farther into the room, clearing the doorway for him and his temper. He took two long strides into the room and dumped all four suitcases onto the bed. “Miss Jones. Jessica,” he said, acknowledging and dismissing their presence in three cool-as-icicles words. Then, without a glance at Abbie, who was now surrounded by a motley assortment of luggage, he strode out of the room as if somebody had insulted every single one of his prize Arabians. The thud of his boot heels on the stairs echoed with military precision and then, in final salute to his dark mood, the front door slammed behind him.

      Jessie blinked. She’d never seen Mac act that way before. He could be as charming as a patch of bluebells in the spring, or as haughty as Jabbar, the Desert Rose foundation sire, a black Arabian stallion who, on occasion, took his status as champion entirely too seriously. But she’d never seen Mac be rude to anyone and especially not to a female. And one of her good friends, at that. Her gaze swung back to Abbie as suspicion crystallized and ran rampant in her thoughts. What could have caused the two of them to take such an instant dislike to the other? Could Abbie have inadvertently said something to set off an exchange of words? Maybe Mac had uttered some ill-advised statement. But they’d only just met. What could possibly have caused a rift of this magnitude in a drive of barely an hour?

      Filing away her questions, Jessie indicated the adjoining bath with a gesture. “There’s the bath. It opens into my room on the other side, so just lock that door when you go in, and don’t forget to unlock it when you leave. I’ll get out of here and let you rest a little while before dinner. Unpack or take a nap or a shower, or whatever you feel like doing. I’ll be downstairs in the office, if you need anything or when you’re ready for the grand tour. Dinner’s at six. We’re pretty casual, although Mom has been known to check for dirt on the knuckles or behind the ears, so be forewarned.”

      “I’ll be sure and wash my ears, then,” Abbie said, trying for a smile but looking mainly mad and scared and like the smallest gust of wind would send her tumbling backward into the pile of suitcases. “Hands, too.”

      “Mom will be pleased. She’s looking forward to meeting you, as is everyone. I’ve talked about you so much and they’re all excited that you’re going to help out in the office. I’m so happy you’re here, Abbie. And so glad you felt you could call me when you lost your job. I hope you’ll feel right at home here at the Desert Rose and I want you to stay as long as you want.”

      Abbie’s smile quavered even more at that. “I don’t know, Jessie.”

      “Don’t feel you have to give us any time frame at all. I mean it. You’re doing me such a favor by helping out. I’ve been buried in paperwork the last couple of months and still it keeps pouring in! You may run away screaming when you see my desk. It’s just awful.” Jess knew she was blathering on and on, but the atmosphere was charged somehow with an element she couldn’t put her finger on or identify. “I haven’t told anyone except Mom and Aunt Rose about your being pregnant and losing your job and needing a place to get your thoughts together, so don’t feel as if you need to explain anything to anyone. Not even me.”

      “Not much to tell.” Abbie stood and smoothed the shirt over her belly to reveal the firm roundness of it. “I haven’t even told my parents yet, and look at me. Already as ripe as a June melon.” She sighed. “I’m in such a mess, Jessie, and I’m grateful beyond words that you invited me here, but I just don’t think I can stay. Not now.”

      “You’re staying,” Jessica said firmly. “And if Mac said anything to upset you, I’ll wring his neck in three places.”

      Abbie’s eyes went wide with panic. “No, please, don’t. I mean, why would you think he upset me?”

      Bingo, Jess thought, although she still couldn’t quite tally the clues into a clear and likely conclusion. “Well, no more talk about not staying, then. Get unpacked and don’t worry about a thing. I mean it! You need a couple of weeks to get your thoughts together and decide what you want to do. This is the perfect place. No one will bother you, I promise. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ll probably pester you to death with office work, but other than that, you’ll have plenty of time to rest and make a few decisions. Then, when the moment comes to tell your folks, you’ll know what you want to say.” She smiled broadly. “Now, telling your brothers may be a different story, if they’re as zealously overprotective as you’ve said they are.”

      “Whatever I told you about them was an understatement,” Abbie said with a rueful sigh. “They’re going to drive me crazy with their ideas on what I need to do and when, where, how, and why I need to do it. I’m really, really, really dreading the moment they have to know.”

      “Well, for now, at least, you’ll have some peace and quiet so you can make your own decisions before you have to face them.”

      “I just hope they don’t find me in the meantime.” Abbie opened her purse and pulled out a compact cell phone. “I’m going to use this phone whenever I call home and even then, I’m going to be very careful about what I say. On the off chance they call you, just tell them that as far as you know, I’m spending the summer at a math and science camp in the Catskills.”

      “If that’s your story, I’ll stick to it until you tell me otherwise.” Jess couldn’t help it. She gave Abbie a hug. “This is going to work out great for both of us, Abbie. Everything will turn out for the best, I just know it. Now I’m really getting out of here and giving you some time to settle in.” Bouncing on her heels, she grinned at Abbie and walked to the door, looking back to see if her friend’s expression was in any degree lighter. It was. In fact, Abbie was looking around the room as if she couldn’t imagine a nicer place to call her temporary home. “And on the off chance Mac did say something stupid on the drive out, don’t take it personally,” Jessie cautioned. “He’s just been in a very black mood for the past few months.”

      Abbie looked up, startled into a revealing expression. “Mac didn’t say anything,” she declared, too quickly to be believable. “Please don’t mention to him that you thought he had.”

      “Sure thing. There’s soap and extra towels in the armoire by the bathroom door. Anything else you need, just ask. And thanks, Abbie, for coming. It means a lot to me to have you here.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her before Abbie felt obligated to reply. Jessie couldn’t imagine what had happened between her cousin and her friend, but she was determined to get to the bottom of it by noon tomorrow—or give Mac a major headache in the attempt.

      MAC SLAMMED THE DOOR of his pickup, unable to vent the depth of his frustration no matter how many doors he slammed. He’d avoided Abigail Jones and her crass accusations by avoiding everyone. He’d dumped her bags in the guest room, slammed the front door behind him and hightailed it off the ranch. He wanted nothing to do with her and didn’t trust himself to stay away from her, so he climbed right back into his pickup—slamming the door so hard, he was surprised the window didn’t break—and