A Convenient Texas Wedding. Sheri WhiteFeather

there in awkward silence.

      She seemed to agree. She quickly replied, “Where I come from, kissing is sometimes called shifting. We also say ‘the shift’ or ‘to get the shift.’”

      “So I just got the shift?” he quipped, without really expecting her to answer. His gaze was still locked on to hers. He knew other green-eyed people, but he’d never met anyone whose eyes mirrored his in the way hers did. He sometimes got accused of wearing colored contact lenses to enhance his appearance. He doubted anyone would accuse her of that. Everything about her seemed genuine.

      She blushed. “In some countries getting the shift refers to sex, but that’s not how we Irish use it. To us, it’s open-mouthed kissing, sort of like getting to first base.”

      “Where’d you learn about getting to first base?” Surely, Irish boys didn’t say that when they scored with a girl.

      “I picked up most of your slang from watching American movies. The romantic ones are my favorite.”

      “Chick flicks.” He should have guessed as much. “You definitely seem like that type.”

      She studied him with those matching green eyes. “What inspired you to hatch this plan of yours? When did it occur to you that I might agree to marry you?”

      “It was during the last Cattleman’s Club event. I was standing off by myself, stewing about my job. You were there, too, and I overheard you talking to some friends of mine, saying that your visa was getting ready to expire. So later, I looked up your address online and sent you the Mr. X note.”

      “I was terribly nervous coming here to meet you,” she confessed, reaching into her skirt pocket and removing a small black object.

      He took a closer look and saw that it was a can of pepper spray with a key chain attached. “Was that to use on me?”

      She nodded. “In case Mr. X was a nutcase, and he tried to accost me.”

      “Maybe I am a nutcase.” Who else, besides a crazy man, would get married to reinvent himself?

      “I think I’m one, too.” She returned the pepper spray to her skirt. “So I guess we can be daft together.” She referenced her other pocket, the one that didn’t have the Mace. “I’ve got my ID, my money and a few other essentials tucked away in here. I didn’t bring a purse because I wanted to keep my hands free to fight off Mr. X. I was prepared to scream, too, and alert security if need be.”

      “I’m sorry.” He should have known better than to put her in a position that sparked fear. “I should have considered how meeting a stranger might affect you.”

      “Thank you. I appreciate you acknowledging that.” She dug into her essentials pocket and produced a small tube, which turned out to be lip balm.

      When she uncapped it and ran it across her lips, she did it so quickly and efficiently, he suspected that adding moisture to her mouth was a habit. Much too mesmerized, he watched her.

      “This is probably going to sound strange,” he said, “but is that honey flavored, by any chance?”

      She snapped the cap back on, suddenly aware, it seemed, that his gaze was riveted to her newly waxed lips. “Yes, it is. But why do you ask?”

      “Because I tasted it when we were kissing.”

      Her skin flushed, her rosy cheeks going rosier. “Should I stop using it?”

      “Absolutely not. Use it as much as you want.” He enjoyed knowing where the flavor had come from. “I liked it.” Probably too much, he thought.

      She put the lip balm away. “It’s going to be difficult for me to kiss you in front of other people. I don’t normally do things like that.”

      “I do it all the time. And if I don’t get romantic with my wife when we’re out and about, the gossipmongers are going to say that I’m not as passionate about you as I’ve been about my other women. And we need to show them that I’m totally enamored with you.”

      She looked undecidedly at him. Clearly she didn’t understand him any more than he understood her. They couldn’t be more different from each other.

      “Why have you been so public with your private life?” she asked.

      “It started as a rebellion, my way of toying with society and thumbing my nose at my dad. And then, later, I just got used to doing socially unacceptable things and giving people something to gossip about. Of course, once social media hit the scene, I used that as my outlet. But at least I never made a sex tape or anything like that.”

      She all but blinked at him. “I should hope not.”

      With how primly she reacted, he got the sudden urge to tease her, to make things sound bawdier than they were. “Actually, it’s possible I made a tape. There are a few blank periods of my life that I can’t remember. But as far as I know, no tapes have surfaced. You haven’t seen one with me in it, have you?”

      “Goodness, no! I don’t watch those.” She crossed her arms over her ample breasts.

      If she was trying to hide the fullness of her figure, it wasn’t working. It only made him notice her delectable curves even more. Even in her loose-fitting outfit, a guy could tell what she had going on under there.

      He continued his charade. “Are you sure you’re not a sex tape connoisseur?”

      “Yes, I—” She stopped and leveled him with an admonishing glare. “Are you mocking me? Is this a prank?”

      He nearly cringed at the look she was giving him. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. With all the sordid stuff on the internet about me, I thought a sex tape seemed believable. But I guess I better not tick you off like this when we’re married.”

      She sized him up again. “As long as you don’t start talking like a cereal-box leprechaun or spout ‘top of the morning’ to me, I might be able to tolerate you.”

      Was she making a joke? He couldn’t tell. Playing it safe, he said, “I’d never do anything that stupid.” A second later, he saw her smile, and he knew he’d been had. He smiled, too, and they both laughed. He enjoyed the rapport they were building, strange as it was. Curious about her creative side, he asked, “What sorts of things do you write?”

      “Magazine articles, lifestyle pieces, mostly for women’s publications. But I’ve also been plotting a novel. It’s about an Irish woman who goes to Texas and falls in love. I used to think that it should be a historical tale with the flavor of the Old West. But now that I’m here, seeing everything firsthand, I think a contemporary story might be the way to go. But no matter what time period I use, I want the hero to be the sort of fellow the heroine has to tame.”

      The way she was supposed to be taming him in this phony marriage? “That would never work on me, not for real.”

      “I know, but I think it does on some men, if they fall truly, madly in love. I’m a firm believer in destiny. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.” She rocked in her seat. “And I’m still trying to be. I don’t want to lose that part of myself. Or miss the opportunity if the right man comes along.”

      Even after everything she’d been through with Rich, she still believed in love? He couldn’t fathom it. Nonetheless, he said, “That’s good, because I need a wife who projects that kind of image.” Even if he didn’t understand her propensity for love, he was glad it was going to play out in their favor. “Are you working on any projects now? Besides plotting the novel?”

      “One of the publications I write for asked me to do a series of featured articles for them. I’m just waiting for the contracts to come through.” Her expression turned taut. “I had to borrow from my parents to cover my expenses this month because of what Rich took from me.”

      He thought about the prenup she’d readily agreed to sign. “You made it clear that you’re not interested in a financial settlement when this