Terms Of A Texas Marriage. Lauren Canan

Alec tossed his cell on the bed in the small motel room and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. After six. He probably should start getting ready.

      The last time he’d taken vows, there had been more than fifteen hundred invited guests—some he’d known, most he hadn’t. The planning had gone on for months. The fragrance from thousands of flowers had permeated the air, almost overwhelming the guests who’d gathered in the enormous church. He could remember the aura of hushed excitement that had filled the large sanctuary in anticipation of the spectacle to come.

      Sondra had wanted it all and she had been relentless in making her desires come true. In hindsight, he should have seen what was coming. He should have picked up on the clues. She’d loved to party and her actions had made him suspect she’d crossed the line as far as using drugs. But he hadn’t been able to prove it, had never found any evidence, and he’d never known about the other man until the day he came home and found the note. No excuses. No apologies. A strange woman waiting outside his door handed him a baby and said it was his. Suddenly he was alone with an infant son. A month later, Alec learned she’d died of an overdose. The man she’d left him to be with supposedly had provided the pills.

      In the years since, the anger over her betrayal had diminished, but the lesson she’d taught him about trust had reshaped his character and would always be foremost in his mind. He’d sworn he would never again make the mistake of marrying. Anyone. For any reason. For almost five years, he’d kept that resolution. But in less than an hour, he would once again stand in front of a minister and make a pledge to love, honor and obey, and this time to a woman he knew nothing about.

      Shea Hardin was a total perplexity. She didn’t fit into any mold he’d ever come across. At first, he’d believed she was one of the members of Gold Diggers Anonymous he frequently encountered. But if those initial suspicions were correct, she was better than average at setting a trap, because he’d certainly taken the bait. She came across as completely sincere, candid and unwavering in her determination to keep the land.

      She was a walking contradiction—intelligent yet naive, beautiful but unsophisticated, sexy as hell yet seemingly innocent. She looked fragile, sensitive, as though her poise and conviction could easily be shattered. But after today, he had the solid impression she was about as fragile as an oak tree, her temper as controlled as a glass vile of nitroglycerin.

      She challenged him. She fascinated him.

      And she had the most amazing blue eyes he’d ever seen.

      Then there was her mouth—full lips that could give a man all kinds of grief, all kinds of pleasure. He’d almost kissed her in the attorney’s office, drawing back at the last minute as he realized he wouldn’t have wanted to stop with a single kiss.

      No, his problem would not be intimidating Shea Hardin. It would be keeping himself from taking her while he did so.

      * * *

      Shea stood in front of her closet later that afternoon, staring at the few dresses hanging inside. Rarely was there any need for her to wear anything other than casual ranch attire and therefore her options were severely limited. She removed a simple paisley dress from the closet and held it in front of her as she viewed her reflection in the full-length mirror. Somehow, it didn’t seem right.

      She replaced it and reached for another. Wrong style. She bit her lip as she removed a dark green suit from the closet. Not right either. Red? Nope. Black? An impish grin crossed her face at the picture that would create. Quelling the urge, she hung the dress back in the closet and shook her head in frustration. There was no time to go shopping. Under the circumstances she should probably just pull on a clean pair of jeans and be done with it.

      Thinking back on her day, she couldn’t believe how fast everything had fallen into place for this wedding. Old Doc Hardy had done the blood work on the spot and Jane Simmons at the courthouse had gotten Judge Lamb to push the license through without the three-day wait. It was as unbelievable as her reason for being there.

      Suddenly the mirror’s reflection caught the motion of a large ball of orange fur as Pumpkin, the old tomcat, jumped onto the cedar chest that sat at the foot of her bed. She spun around and looked at the chest in speculation. Instantly memories of her childhood came rushing back. Memories of her as a little girl standing on top of the chest, trying to be tall enough so she could wear the long silky white dress her mother kept inside. It had been years since she’d reflected on the chest and its contents. On a whim, she set a disgruntled Pumpkin on the floor and then moved the miscellaneous items on top of the chest. A mild scent of cedar permeated the air around her as she raised the lid.

      On top were pillowcases, handkerchiefs and small hand towels, their borders bearing floral designs embroidered by her mother. With a regretful smile, Shea set the linens aside. Underneath were two handmade quilts, their colors still amazingly crisp. She noted a date sewn into the corner of one: “A.H.—1812”. Her great-grandmother must have made them. Maybe even her grandmother before that. She placed them on the floor next to the linens.

      Kneeling over the now half-empty chest, she removed several more layers of tissue paper. Suddenly, there it was, and just as she remembered. Her mother’s wedding gown. She rose to her feet as she lifted it out of the chest.

      The material was an off-white satin. The years had slightly darkened the creamy color, but time couldn’t diminish its simple elegance. The high, Victorian-style neckline, enhanced by delicate lace, covered the bodice and shoulders. Tiny pearl buttons ran down the full length of the gown with a matching row of buttons on each sleeve from the wrist to the elbow.

      Tears stung her eyes as she was suddenly overcome with longing for the mother she’d never really known. She gently touched the delicate lace. Should she dare risk tarnishing the memory of her mother’s wedding day by wearing it to the marital atrocity about to take place? But the thought of putting it back in the trunk and closing the lid didn’t feel right. Something urged her to try it on.

      Some ten minutes later, she stepped in front of the mirror and almost didn’t recognize her reflection. The gown fit perfectly. Its simple style subtly created an aura of poise and sophistication as it gracefully cascaded to the floor.

      She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Sadly, she wished hers would be a genuine marriage, one based on love and respect with hopes for a future. Not a contractual stipulation with an arrogant stranger.

      Alec Morreston would no doubt have a good laugh if she appeared in a wedding gown. He’d be convinced she was every kind of crazy. She chewed her bottom lip. When she walked into the room for the ceremony would she feel like a total and complete fool? Circumstances being what they were, it probably was an idiotic idea. Still, a woman got married for the first time only once in her life. Right or wrong, this was it.

      There was also the chance Morreston might think she was trying to play him and raise his guard, which could make getting rid of him more difficult. She let out a frustrated sigh. Wearing her mother’s gown was fulfilling a dream she’d carried since childhood. If he laughed, why should she care? Let him scoff all he wanted, the hateful man.

      “You know what, Pumpkin? Bizarre or not, this is my wedding day. I’m going to do it.” As soon as she uttered the words, she knew she was making the right decision. There would be just enough time to freshen the dress before Morreston and the Reverend Shultz arrived.

      But first, she needed to have a talk with Hank Minton, the ranch foreman. Quickly, she undressed, placed the gown on the bed and then pulled on a pair of jeans before heading for the main barn.