Hitched!. Ruth Jean Dale

the job, the driver wiped sweat from his forehead and lowered the jack. As if sensing imminent departure, Maxine turned from the sea.

      Rand caught his breath. For just an instant she stood there framed against a pristine blue sky. Tendrils of hair blew around her face and the dowdy dress molded a figure he’d never imagined. Just for that moment, she looked…fantastic.

      But then she walked toward him and it was the same old Maxine who asked, “Are we ready to go?”

      He blinked, figuring he was in worse shape than he’d realized if he saw something that couldn’t possibly be there. “Yeah. Get in.”

      When everyone was aboard, the driver ground the gearshift into first and once more they were under way.

      Maxine said suddenly, “What if the bus driver keeled over with a heart attack or decided he’d had enough of this nonsense? Do you know how to drive a standard transmission?”

      “Maxine, don’t we have enough to worry about without that?”

      “Just answer the question.”

      “Yes, I know how to drive a standard transmission. My great-grandpa taught me out in the pasture in the middle of a bunch of longhorns.”

      “That’s a relief. The way things are going…” She relaxed back against the tattered seat cover. “Is that the same great-grandpa with the kooky will?”

      “The very same.”

      “He must have been a real character,” she said. “If you want that inheritance so much, I’m surprised you don’t just get married.”

      “You think that’s so easy?” he shot back.

      She shrugged. “Piece of cake. I’ll bet you’ve got girls lusting after you from coast to coast.”

      “Aren’t you funny.” He gave her a disapproving glance.

      “I notice you don’t deny it.”

      “Would it do any good?”

      “Probably not.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Maybe there’s one special girlfriend and you’d marry her, but she’s…I don’t know, unavailable or something.”

      “Why wouldn’t she be available?”

      “Lots of reasons. She could be out of the country. Or…in jail?”

      Rand laughed incredulously. “You’ve got the damnedest imagination of any woman I’ve ever met. Do I look like the kind of guy who’d hang with some babe who’d get thrown into jail? I don’t think so.”

      “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said stiffly. “If you don’t really care that much about your inheritance, I don’t suppose—”

      “I do care. I care a helluva lot. But I can’t go waltzing in with some bimbo and expect my family to fall into line.” He grimaced.

      “I don’t care for the word bimbo,” she said. “Just what does it cover?”

      “You want a definition? It means…Okay, how about this. A bimbo is a woman who goes to bed with a guy on the first date.”

      “You mean like me?”

      He was so shocked he nearly choked. “You didn’t—” But she had. She’d gone to bed with him and lain next to him all night, even though they were both fully clothed and wrapped in individual blanket cocoons.

      Embarrassed, he tried to turn aside her wrath. “Lighten up, Maxine. Don’t take it personal.” Uncomfortably aware that he’d blasted her pretty good without meaning to, he added, “You know what you are.”

      “Yes, but you don’t.” She sounded completely exasperated. “Inside, I could be…Madonna.” She glared at him.

      “Maybe so, but outside, where the rest of the world can see it, you’re…you’re…”

      “I’m what, Rand Taggart?”

      “You’re…” Inspiration hit him right between the eyes. “You’re not a bimbo. In fact, you’re just the kind of woman I need to get my family to approve my inheritance.”