The Mcclintock Proposal. Carol Ericson

“Why’d you do that?”

      “Bobby might be able to trace your phone and track us down.” She brushed her hands together as if ridding herself of a pesky bug.

      In the few months she’d known Bobby Jingo, she never heard anyone talk to him like that before. It gave her confidence that she could handle the man. Rod gave her confidence.

      “Is your father okay?”

      “For now. Where are we going?”

      “Here.” He took the next exit toward Hillsboro. “Hillsboro is a ghost town, an old mining town.”

      “You’re taking me to a ghost town?” Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She didn’t need any more scares tonight.

      “Only one part of it is ghostly. People still live in Hillsboro. There are even a few art galleries.”

      Leaning over, she peered at the digital clock on the dashboard. “I’ll bet you there’s nobody awake in Hillsboro at eight-thirty on a Saturday night. Except the ghosts.”

      “We’re not going there to kick up our heels.”

      TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they tooled along Main Street. A few shops had their lights on, and Callie didn’t see one ghost.

      Rod pulled up next to a church. They got out of the truck, walked up to the church and stood on the bottom step. “We can see every car that comes into town from here.”

      “And if one of them is a white Caddy?”

      “Bring it.” He patted the black fanny pack he’d buckled around his hips when he got out of the truck.

      She raised her brows and smirked. “You’re going to beat them back with the contents of a fanny pack?”

      “This is a gun bag, not a fanny pack, and the contents include one Smith&Wesson pistol.”

      “Oh.” She gulped. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about those body bags. “Where’d you get that?”

      “Beneath the seat of my truck.”

      Good thing she didn’t see that when he first picked her up, or she’d have jumped out of the truck on the interstate. Now that cold metal made her feel warm and fuzzy.

      He grabbed her hand and led her to the top step. “Do you want to go inside?”

      “Are guns allowed in churches?”

      “Ever hear ‘Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition’?”

      She giggled, and it released a little knot in her chest. She could do this. She could trust Rod.

      “I think I’d rather keep an eye on the road.” She sank to the church step, the skirt of the wedding dress billowing around her.

      Right location. Right dress. Wrong occasion.

      Rod perched next to her, his thigh brushing her leg. Her eyelids fluttered at the sweet sensation.

      She couldn’t believe her good fortune when this hunk of cowboy strode out of his truck to rescue her. At least one bit of luck had scrabbled through the misery of her wedding day and the past six months of her life.

      “Okay, start from the beginning. Come clean, so I know what I’m dealing with when I drive you into Albuquerque and see you on that train to L.A.”

      “Bus.”

      “Train. Circumstances have changed.”

      She crossed her legs at the ankles and tapped her feet together. How could she start from the beginning? They’d be here until mass the next morning.

      It all started with her lunatic grandfather and his draconian conditions of inheritance. But she had to start somewhere.

      “I agreed to marry a loan shark, Bobby Jingo, to pay off my father’s debts.”

      Rod twitched, his thigh banging against hers. “Are you kidding me?”

      “No. But at the time, I didn’t realize Bobby was a loan shark.” Or a wannabe drug dealer, the worst of the worst, but she kept that deal breaker to herself. “My father told me he had promised some money to Bobby in a business deal, and thanks to my father’s mismanagement, the deal fell through and Bobby lost a lot of money because of it.”

      “That shows an amazing degree of familial loyalty.” His rough hand cupped her face, and he turned it toward him so he could look into her eyes. She blinked, but met his gaze steadily. “Why would you do something like that?”

      “I wanted to help out my father and maybe help myself a little, too. A few months before my father’s phone call, a fire damaged my studio in L.A. I lost all my art in that fire, and my home.”

      Callie bit her lip. She also lost her opportunity to adopt Jesse, a foster child she’d met while giving art lessons.

      He squeezed her shoulder. “Isn’t there another way you can raise the money? Get a loan from a bank? Sell a car? Take equity out of a property?”

      She shook her head, drawing her knees to her chest. “Neither of us has any collateral or property…yet. I just couldn’t think of another way to help him.”

      Rod grunted. “Maybe he doesn’t deserve your help. What kind of father allows his daughter to marry a scumbag to save his hide?”

      “A bad one.” She lifted her shoulders. Even though she’d given up on a father-knows-best type of dad, it didn’t mean she could stand by and watch someone break his kneecaps—or worse. “Dad’s not all bad. It was my idea. He did try to talk me out of it.”

      “Bull. He misrepresented the situation to you to rope you in. How much money are we talking about?”

      “One hundred and thirty thousand, give or take a few grand.”

      Rod whistled. “That’s some gambling habit. No wonder you can’t sell a car to pay back the money, unless you have a Ferrari.”

      “Dad bets on the ponies, sports, loves Vegas. You name it, he’ll take odds. I should’ve known his debt involved gambling and not business.”

      “Ah, I don’t mean to be insulting.” Rod cleared his throat. “But is this thug really willing to accept a reluctant bride in exchange for a hundred and thirty grand?”

      “This is where it gets good.” She wrapped her arms around her legs and balanced her chin on her knees.

      “It hasn’t been good yet?”

      “Once I marry, I will have the money.”

      Rod buried his fingers in his thick, sandy-blond hair. “Now I’m confused. Why will you have money when you marry Bobby Jingo?”

      “I didn’t say I had to marry Bobby Jingo, just marry. My grandfather had some crazy ideas. He always wanted a big family, and he built a sprawling house on his ranch in Wyoming to accommodate it. Unfortunately, he and my grandmother had only one child, my father. Then my father turned out to be irresponsible and immature. He married several times, but he had only one child with his second wife—me. At least, I think Mom held the honored position of wife number two.”

      “How many times has your father been married?”

      Rod’s eyes looked a little glazed over, but he was obviously following the story without too much difficulty.

      “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her arms breezily. “Four or five times.”

      “So this lack of familial dedication to the old homestead gave your grandfather his crazy ideas?”

      “You could say that. Before he died, he drew up a will stating that his sole grandchild, me, would inherit the ranch only when I married.”

      “And Bobby Jingo obviously knew about this will.”

      “My father told him.”

      “Great