The McClintock Proposal. Carol Ericson

      If she’d gone ahead with the marriage, she would’ve jeopardized her adoption of Jesse. She’d figured a marriage would improve her chances at adoption, but not a marriage to someone like Bobby Jingo.

      The curve of Rod’s arm represented a safety and contentment she hadn’t experienced since her grandparents were alive. She hadn’t seen much of them growing up, because her mother didn’t like her in-laws, but they always hovered in the background of her life. They never forgot her birthdays, they paid for her braces and health insurance, and they socked away money in a college account for her. She didn’t get to thank them, since they were both dead by the time she started college.

      Sighing, she burrowed deeper into the crook of Rod’s arm.

      “You seriously considered giving up your grandfather’s ranch to a lowlife like Bobby Jingo?”

      “It’s not mine to give up.” But Rod had a point. Grandfather Ennis had hated scum like Bobby, and Dad seemed to surround himself with those kinds of people.

      “If you got married to someone decent, it would be yours. You’d be fulfilling your grandfather’s wishes, keeping the ranch in the family.”

      Decent… She lifted her head from his shoulder and rubbed her eyes, an idea niggling at the edges of her brain.

      “What happens to the ranch if you don’t get married?”

      She pushed up from the church steps. “What?”

      His brow furrowed. “What happens to the ranch if you don’t get married?”

      “I—I don’t know.” She began pacing on the wooden porch, avoiding stepping on the nails with her bare feet. “It goes to an associate or something.”

      She glanced at Rod, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. It just might work. She could make it work. An arrangement with an honorable man would save her father, save her grandfather’s ranch and save Jesse. She had to get that ranch.

      Time to take action.

      Standing up, Rod asked, “What’s wrong with you?” He wedged his shoulder against a wood post and regarded her with his head tilted to one side, a lock of russet-gold hair falling over his eye.

      He looked so damned sexy, it sealed the deal. Callie straightened her spine and stood on tiptoes in front of him. “I have an idea. It might sound crazy, but I think it’ll work.”

      Rod narrowed his green eyes and his jaw tightened. Callie faltered, falling back on her heels. He didn’t look so comforting right now, although the sex appeal rose as high as the church steeple above them.

      “What kind of idea?”

      Callie dragged in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she expelled it slowly. “Let’s get married.”

       Chapter Three

      Callie’s three little words punched him in the gut. He dug his shoulder into the post so he wouldn’t tumble down the church steps.

      “What?” His one syllable, which echoed in his own ears, forced Callie to jump back. He must’ve shouted.

      Despite the almost-full moon that lit Hillsboro’s main street, he couldn’t make out the expression on her face. She was joking. She had that kind of sense of humor, one of the many things he liked about her.

      He threw his head back and laughed at the moon.

      “Rod.” She shook his arm. “Rod, I’m not kidding.”

      Swallowing his next guffaw, he choked instead. Callie pounded him on the back. Working with clay or whatever material she used for sculpting gave her strength. Her pats felt like blows from a hammer.

      “All right, all right.” He straightened up and backed against the post. “That’s a crazy idea. Insanity must run in your family.”

      “As someone once said, it not only runs, it gallops.” She giggled, a nervous sound that resembled a squeak. “This may be crazy, but it’ll work out for both of us.”

      “Exactly how will a marriage to a woman who has carloads of thugs chasing her around New Mexico and lunatic relatives help me?”

      Rubbing her hands together, she resumed her pacing, obviously warming up to the idea. “Think about it. We get married, and then I get the title to the ranch. I can borrow against the equity or sell off a few acres and pay off my father’s debts to Bobby Jingo.”

      “What do I get out of it?” Other than the chance to claim this impossible, free-spirited, sexy woman as my own.

      “Money.” She spread her arms in front of her, palms up, as if offering him the filthy lucre right here and now. “The ranch is huge. I can pay off Bobby, and there would still be plenty left over for you. You told me tonight how your ranch wasn’t profitable. Why didn’t you buy those horses in Austin? Too expensive?”

      “I am not marrying a woman for money.”

      She dropped her hands and bunched the skirt of her dress in her fists. “You have an opportunity to save a man’s life, not to mention my life, and all you can think about is your pride?”

      The rabbit hole got deeper. How did he end up the bad guy? “Strangers don’t run around getting married for money.”

      Her grimace melted into a smile, which washed over him, drowning his common sense.

      “We’re not strangers. We’ve known each other for about four hours, and we’ve experienced more drama than some couples do in a lifetime. Fear, terror and uncertainty draw people together.”

      He had to admit he’d opened up to this woman more than he did on a typical first date—most likely because he’d figured a woman fleeing from her wedding on a Honda 550 couldn’t judge him. And this wasn’t a first date. He uncrossed his arms and rolled his shoulders.

      She continued, barely taking a breath. “People get married for all kinds of crazy reasons—money chief among them.”

      Both of his brothers had married for love, but Rod never figured he’d find that with any woman. Being the oldest in the family, he remembered, more than his brothers, the cold indifference of their mother. He didn’t want to risk winding up with that kind of family. So he took no risks at all.

      “Look at me. I almost married someone horrible to get money to save my dad.”

      “And I’m much less horrible than Bobby Jingo?”

      “Much less.” She laughed and took his arm.

      He glanced down at her deceptively fragile fingers, wrapped around his forearm. At least Callie put everything out there. She didn’t have any ulterior motives, and there would be no expectations between them.

      “What happens after you pay off your father’s debts and buy me a few horses?”

      She shrugged and the silky strap of her dress slid off her shoulder for about the hundredth time since he met her. This time he hooked a finger beneath the strap, his fingers skimming her soft skin as he righted it.

      Drawing in a quick breath, she stepped back. “We partake of that other American institution—divorce.”

      “Alimony?”

      “We’ll work out a prenup. I don’t want anything from you.”

      “Does your grandfather’s will stipulate how long you have to enjoy your wedded bliss?”

      She bit her lip and rolled her eyes to the sky. “At least two years. Why? Do you have plans?”

      “Yeah, I think I’ll have a few plans in the next two years.”

      “Do any of them involve a woman?”

      “No.”

      “So what’s the harm?” She grabbed