Hitched!. Ruth Dale Jean

with her questions, he glared—and gave in. “Look, I’m on my way to Texas to claim an inheritance. I need my mom’s cooperation.”

      “That sounds simple enough.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt.

      “You’d think so.” Shut up, Rand. “Unfortunately there’s nothing simple about it. I don’t meet the conditions of the will because, for starters, I’m not married.” Now, why had he said that? Maybe because he was sick and tired of keeping his problems to himself.

      She was incredulous. “You’ve got to be married to get whatever this is?”

      “It was my great-grandpa’s bright idea. He left me his ranch and everything on it, which adds up to a small fortune. But to get it, I have to not only be married but be happily married before I turn thirty.”

      “Which is—?”

      “September 30…less than two weeks.”

      “Gee, you are in trouble.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Look at the bright side. The key word is married, because once you’ve done that, who’s to judge what happily means?”

      “That’s easy—my parents and two sets of aunts and uncles. The final say is theirs. But since I’m not married, happily or otherwise, it’s a moot point.”

      “What is it you’re trying to get out of them, exactly?”

      “I want to break my great-grandpa’s will. The only way I can do that is with their help.”

      “And your chances of pulling that off are…?”

      “Only slightly less than slim and none.” He was desperate enough to give it a try, however. Cocking his head, he considered. Now that he’d had a little food, he felt worlds better. But he was talking way too much, so he changed the subject. “How about you? How important is that job in San Antonio?”

      “You mean the one with the interview set for tomorrow morning at ten—make that this morning at ten?” She sighed a bit dramatically. “Not that important, I suppose, since it’s out the window now.”

      “Surely they’ll reschedule when they learn what happened.”

      “I doubt it. I only got the interview as a favor to my sister, who used to date—oh, never mind.” She shook her head wearily. “My life’s a mess, so what difference will it make if this job doesn’t pan out?”

      He felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re young. You have skills. You can find something. Hell, I’ll help you.”

      “You? But you said you don’t even have a job yourself. You’re just some rich guy who—”

      “Hold on there!” Incensed, he glared at her. “I’m not just some rich guy. I have…business interests.” Yeah, failed business interests. But the situation might improve if he could get his hands on Bill Overton for five minutes. “I also have a certain amount of influence here and there—and even if I didn’t, I could get you a job. How hard can it be?”

      “Have you ever done it? Gotten anybody a job, I mean.”

      He had very little experience with gainful employment.

      “Your hesitation speaks volumes,” she said. “What do your business interests include?”

      “Nothing that concerns you.” Damn, that sounded hostile.

      “I see. You’re clamming up on me again.”

      “Not really. I’m a dull boy.”

      “Sure you are.” She gave him a disgusted glance and rose, still cold. “Thanks so much for your offer of help, but I think I’ll find my own job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hunt down the bathroom.”

      “Okay.” He also rose, disconcerted by her attitude. “Don’t wake me when you come back in.”

      She looked him in the eye, which was easy enough at her height, although he himself was a good six-foot-plus. “That brings up something else. I’m here because I have no choice—here sharing this room with you, I mean.”

      “I know that,” he said, annoyed.

      “I’ll stay on my side of the bed and you stay on yours. If you so much as touch me, I’ll…I’ll make you regret it.”

      He rolled his eyes, tempted to say that if he touched her it would only be because he was asleep or delirious. “I have no intention of touching you.”

      She didn’t appear to believe him, despite the nod. “I’m going to sleep fully clothed and I suggest you do the same.”

      “Dressed? I can’t sleep in my clothes.”

      “Under the circumstances, I insist. Your other option is to bed down in the lobby.”

      He sighed. “Okay, Maxine. We’ll do it your way…this time”

      But never again. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was protection against Rand Taggart.

      PLATILLO VOLANTE LOOKED even drearier by the light of day. Dirt roads and adobe buildings were the norm, with a few dilapidated hotels and more gracious dwellings perched on the surrounding hills. But the air was sweet and clear. Rand drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders for the inevitable crises to come and walked back inside to join Maxine in the crowded dining room for breakfast.

      José, the expatriate Los Angeleno, appeared with menus.

      Maxine spoke to him in Spanish.

      As usual, José answered in English. “I recommend the huevos rancheros.”

      “Works for me.” Rand closed his menu.

      Maxine nodded. “Me, too.”

      “Can I ask a question?”

      They both looked at Rand as if he were a nuisance.

      “What does Platillo Volante mean?” he asked.

      José grinned. “It means flying saucer. They say one visited here in the late forties. Everybody thought it would come back, which is why they changed the town’s name and built that campo de aviación—the flying field that saved your lives. Several fancy hotels went up—” He gestured to the spacious if shabby room. “Rich American tourists came in droves for a while, but when no more flying saucers dropped by, they got mad and went home. By the mid-fifties, the boom was all over.” He shook his head in wonder. “Flying saucers—do you believe it? Some people will fall for anything.”

      Rand didn’t need anybody telling him that.

      THE TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD wound its way through some of the most beautiful country in Mexico or anywhere else. On the left lay the ocean, miles and miles of unspoiled beaches; on the right a range of low mountains shimmered green in the distance.

      Rand and Maxine sat near the front of the rattle-trap bus, sweltering in noonday heat. Rand’s thoughts were not pleasant.

      The hijacking had turned out all right, but unfortunately the Mexican detour had given him time he didn’t need, or want, to brood, to question his plan—and to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion that he was on a fool’s errand.

      He would never gain his family’s support in challenging Thom T.’s will. Hell, he’d have a better shot at that inheritance if he hired some bimbo to play his wife and—

      An explosion rocked the bus. The driver dragged hard on the wheel, bumping to a stop on the shoulder. Rand let out the breath he’d been holding. That had been a close one.

      Maxine stared at him, eyes wide and a hand over her heart. “What happened?”

      “Flat tire, I think.”

      “Do you suppose he has a spare?”

      “Who the hell knows?”

      There was indeed