The Great Texas Wedding Bargain. Judy Christenberry

Andrew, returned to the living area, Faith was seated at the breakfast table.

      “Let the children play and you come talk to me,” Faith ordered.

      Megan settled the children with some toys. Andrew sat on the floor, his chubby legs spread wide to give him balance. Torie had several stuffed animals she used to entertain the baby.

      Her mother poured her a cup of coffee as she sat at the table. “Why did you say Rick Astin was strange?”

      “Because all he wanted to talk about was what we could cook. He wanted to know if you could make enchiladas.”

      “Didn’t you ask him to marry you?” Faith asked, her eyes widening.

      “Of course I did. And he agreed. And I don’t have to pay him any money,” Megan assured her mother, her chin jutting out as she remembered her negotiations.

      “Not pay him? Then why is he willing…Megan, he didn’t assume…you explained it wouldn’t be a real marriage, didn’t you?”

      “Of course I did. But we’ll have to share living quarters if we’re going to convince the courts. You knew that.”

      “Yes, but—we agreed you and I would share the sleeper sofa, the children would have one bedroom, and he could have the other.”

      “He can’t stay here.”

      Faith’s alarm increased, upsetting Megan. The doctor had warned that her mother had to be relieved of stress or it could cause permanent damage to her heart. “Mom, let me explain. Everything’s going to work out fine. But he’s a rancher. He has to live on the ranch. But he has a big house.”

      “He does? And we could live with him?”

      “Yes. And we’re not paying him because we’re going to be his housekeepers and cooks during our agreement. So we’ll save on rent, too.”

      “That way we can save more money to pay for the legal bills,” Faith said, obviously relieved.

      Megan took a deep breath. However much she hated the agreement she’d made, it would be worth it if it brought relief to her mother and saved the kids.

      “So we’re invited to his house for dinner this evening, to look at our new living quarters,” Megan added, putting on a big smile.

      “Tonight?” Faith asked and looked at her watch. “But it’s already four o’clock. Let’s see, I’ll bathe the children. While I’m dressing them, you can have the shower. Then—”

      “Mom, he’s not going to inspect us. He already agreed.”

      “But you want to look nice for him, Megan. He should be proud of his new family.”

      Megan sighed. “I think all he cares about is enchiladas, Mom.”

      FROM HIS POSITION at the backdoor, Rick took a long, hard look at the kitchen. It was even more of a disaster than he’d remembered. Or wanted to admit.

      The sink was piled high with dirty dishes. The cabinets needed cleaning. The trash was overflowing. The long table had a week’s worth of mail, empty cereal boxes, more dirty dishes and…uh-oh, a pair of dirty socks.

      He looked at his watch. Just after four. He’d invited Megan and her family to dinner at six.

      With a sigh, he headed for the phone. The only good meals he’d had since he moved to Cactus were the nights he splurged and ate at The Last Roundup. He’d order a meal to go. If he picked it up at five-thirty, he’d have an hour before then to straighten the kitchen, shower and drive back into town.

      Working like a whirlwind, he cleared as much of the kitchen as he could. Just removing all the trash made everything better. But he managed to fill the dishwasher and turn it on before he took a brief shower and threw on a newer pair of jeans and a T-shirt. All his regular shirts were so wrinkled he didn’t dare wear them.

      He ran for the pickup and zoomed into town. Jamming into a parking spot in front of the restaurant, he vaulted from the vehicle and almost collided with Cal Baxter, the town sheriff.

      “Whoa, Rick! You’re in a little hurry, aren’t you?” Cal asked, clasping Rick’s shoulder as he tried to pass him by.

      “I’ve got company coming for dinner,” Rick explained. “Your wife’s doing the cooking.” Cal’s wife, Jessica, owned The Last Roundup.

      Cal laughed. “Good thinking. Well, slow down on the return trip. I wouldn’t want one of my deputies pulling you over.”

      “Thanks, Cal, I will,” he agreed and raced ahead of him into the restaurant.

      His luck ran out on the way home. He hit what looked like a piece of cardboard in the road, but it turned out to be metal and ripped his back tire all to pieces.

      He muttered a few highly appropriate words, even if they wouldn’t be acceptable in polite company, and set to work putting on the spare as fast as he could. The kitchen needed more work, and the rest of the house hadn’t even been touched.

      By the time he got the tire changed, he needed another shower and it was almost six o’clock. As he reached for the truck door, a four-door sedan passed him. He caught a glimpse of Megan driving.

      Damn, the whole agreement was about to go down the drain. All because he was a lousy housekeeper. With a sigh, Rick slid behind the wheel and trailed the sedan to his ranch.

      Megan got out of her car and stared at him as he pulled in behind her.

      Getting out of the truck, he pasted on a smile. “Hi. I intended to be here to greet you, but I had a flat tire.” He couldn’t even offer his hand for a greeting. It was smeared with black dirt.

      An older woman, a faded version of Megan, got out of the passenger seat. “Hello, I’m Faith Ford. I hope we’re not causing you too much trouble.”

      “No, not at all,” he assured her, impressed with his own acting ability. “Uh, I’m not a very good housekeeper, though. I hope you won’t be offended by…by everything.”

      The look on her face reminded him of Maria. She’d always scolded him about his lack of tidiness. But he’d had his mind on other things.

      “I explained that you don’t have time to clean the house,” Megan hurriedly said.

      He shot her a grateful look. “Thanks. I have dinner in the truck. Let me get it and we’ll go in.”

      While he gathered the containers of food, Megan and her mother unstrapped the two children from their seats. He was nervous around kids. The few he’d spent time with seemed to constantly scream and complain. These two weren’t making any noise. That was a good sign.

      He led them to the backdoor. No one used front doors in Cactus. He juggled the containers to pull the door open and stand to one side. The ladies stepped through and he took it as a good sign that they didn’t turn around and run out screaming.

      He followed them in, discovering them staring around them, a surprised look on their faces.

      He must’ve done a better job than he’d thought. But as he surveyed the kitchen, too, he realized, with a sinking heart, that he’d only made a dent in the mess. He’d cleaned off the table, but he’d done so by making piles on the floor, on the hutch and in one corner of the cabinet. He had gotten rid of the socks, but he didn’t think it would be good to brag about that.

      He’d meant to sweep the floor, but he’d run out of time. The mud he’d tracked in last week after they’d had a spring rain was still there. Dog hair was noticeable. When Daisy barked at the backdoor, he automatically opened the screen for her even as he was trying to figure out what to say.

      “Uh, the table’s clean,” he muttered.

      “A doggie!” the little girl squealed, reaching out to Daisy.

      “We can’t touch the doggie right now, Torie. It’s