Ryder's Wife Read online

  Suddenly Casey and Harmon realized they were no longer alone.

  “Is there a problem?” Ryder asked.

  There was something about the look on the big man’s face that made Harmon Harris release his grasp on Casey’s arms.

  Harmon sighed. “No, I don’t suppose there is. Casey is of age and enough of her own woman to do as she chooses.” He turned. “Sudie, go next door and wake up Millard Shreves. We’re gonna need ourselves another witness.”

  Casey relaxed as Judge Harris’s wife hurried to do his bidding. It was going to be all right.

  “It will take Millard a bit to get out of bed,” the judge explained. “If you two want to freshen up before the ceremony, the guest bath is down the hall on your right. However, you’re going to have to excuse me for a bit. I’m going to be needing some coffee.”

  Having put the wheels in motion, he left Casey and Ryder alone in the Harris parlor with Sudie’s crocheted doilies and silk flower bouquets.

  Casey put a hand to her hair, feeling the disarray. She started to the bathroom for a quick wash then remembered Ryder. Was it safe to leave him alone, or would he bolt at the first chance he got? She glanced back at him, and to her dismay realized he was watching her. It was almost as if he’d read her mind.

  “Go on,” he said. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  There was something compelling about this man, something she couldn’t quite name. There was a strength within him that a couple of days’ worth of whiskers and a faded T-shirt and jeans could not hide. Right now his eyes seemed blue, although at first they’d seemed gray. Their color was as changeable as the weather. She hoped his disposition did not seesaw as well and knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. Although she was afraid of what he might tell her, there was something she needed to know.

  “Why did you agree to go along with this madness?”

  His expression hardened. “Don’t dig too deep, Casey. You might find worms in the dirt you’re taking out of the hole.”

  Startled, she pivoted and headed for the bathroom, telling herself it was exhaustion that was making her shake, and not the implied warning in his words.

  * * *

  “…pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  Judge Harris’s clock began to chime.

  Once. Twice. Three times it sounded.

  Casey exhaled slowly.

  Four times. Five times. Six times the gong echoed within the silence of the room.

  She went limp, and were it not for the firm grip Ryder had on her arm, she wouldn’t have been able to stand. But she’d done it. It was over! The Ruban empire was safe, but dear God, could she say the same about herself?

  “Congratulations. You may kiss your bride,” Harmon added, although he doubted, considering the reasons for the ceremony, there was much to celebrate.

  Both Ryder and Casey stared, first at Judge Harris who’d just granted permission for something neither had been prepared to act upon, then at each other as they contemplated the deed.

  To Casey’s dismay, her vision blurred.

  Ryder had intended on holding his ground until he saw her tears. It was her weakness, rather than the bulldog determination with which she’d gotten them this far, that made him do what he did next. He’d entered into this farce without giving a thought for consequences, much the same way he used to go through life. But that was before he’d killed his father and lost his nerve to fly.

  Intending only to assure her, he cupped her cheek with the palm of one hand, gentling her much in the same way his brother, Royal, tended the horses on his ranch, giving them time to adjust to his presence.

  “Easy, now,” he said softly, and when he felt her pulse beginning to slow, he lowered his head.

  Casey saw him coming. Her lips parted. Whether it was to voice an objection or to ease his way, Ryder didn’t know and didn’t care. His focus was on her mouth and the woman who now bore his name.

  Casey’s breath caught at the back of her throat and this time, had Ryder not been holding her up, her legs would have given way. Whatever her intent had been, it stopped along with her heart when Ryder Justice kissed his wife.

  It should have been awkward—their first joining—but it wasn’t. The ease with which they touched, then the gentleness with which the kiss deepened felt right, even familiar. At the point of embracing, the judge’s voice broke their connection.

  “Well, now,” he said, and made no attempt to hide a yawn. “I suppose you two are as hitched as a couple can be.”

  When Ryder moved away, Casey felt a sudden sense of loss, and then reality intruded and she felt nothing but dismay. She had no intentions of pursuing the intimate part of a marriage and the sooner Ryder Justice realized that, the better off they would be. She stepped back, then turned away, unwilling to let him see how deeply she’d been affected by what he’d done.

  “It served its purpose,” she said shortly, and started looking for her purse. “What do I owe you?”

  While she was fumbling for cash, Ryder was dealing with uneasiness of his own. The kiss was supposed to have been nothing but a formality. He hadn’t expected to feel anything because it had been months since he’d allowed himself the luxury. But something had happened to him between the time her breath had brushed his cheek and their point of contact. Left with nothing but a lingering dissatisfaction he couldn’t identify, he, too, turned away. It was almost as if he’d left something undone. He hadn’t been prepared for what the kiss had evoked—what it felt like to hold someone close, the pleasure that comes from lying in a willing woman’s arms.

  He inhaled slowly and considered the woman who was now his wife, if in name only. He had agreed to marry her and no matter what, he was a man of his word. But he didn’t want to like her. There was already a time limit on their relationship. God forbid his feelings should ever go deeper.

  Casey said something that made the judge laugh and Ryder turned to see what was funny. Instead of an answer, he found himself watching as Casey peeled five twenty-dollar bills from a wad of cash in her handbag and handed them to the judge. He frowned, then looked away, uncomfortable with the fact that a woman was paying his way for anything, and more than a little bit anxious as to how he was supposed to fit into her life. He had already suspected she came from money. Her car and her clothes had given her away, and the money she stuffed back in her purse only confirmed his suspicions.

  For the first time since he’d run away, he thought about what he’d left behind, yet not once did he consider confessing his true background and identity to Casey.

  She thought she’d married a burn, a no-account drifter without a penny to his name. His eyes narrowed as he stared out into the burgeoning dawn. Part of it was true. He didn’t have two quarters with him that he could rub together. At this point, the fact that he owned four airplanes and a helicopter, and that his charter service had been in the black for nearly eleven years didn’t matter. Nor did the fact that the deed to nearly fourteen hundred acres of prime real estate on the outskirts of San Antonio was in his name.

  Sick at heart from an accident he couldn’t forget, he’d walked away from it all. Things of monetary value had become unimportant to Ryder. If he could have, he would have given up everything just to have his father back alive and well.

  But there would be no trading with God… or the devil. Micah Justice was dead and buried, and no matter how far Ryder went, he couldn’t outrun his guilt.

  Someone cleared their throat. He looked up. It would seem that Sudie was patiently waiting to lock them out. Casey held the front door ajar. Her posture and the tone of her voice gave away her impatience.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  Something inside him snapped. The quiet in which he’d encompassed himself over the past few months suddenly seemed too confining. Sarcasm colored his answer.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Justice, are you?”

  Her bossy, managerial at
titude disappeared like air out of a punctured balloon. He had the satisfaction of seeing her pale as he walked past her and out the door.

  * * *

  The air was muggy, a promise of another long, hot July day. Sweat was already rolling down the middle of Casey’s back and there was a snag in her stockings. Since yesterday when she’d made her exit from Lash’s office, her hairdo had been windblown and finger-combed a dozen times. The last time she remembered putting on makeup was right before she’d gotten out of the car to go into the office for the reading of the will. She felt like hell and figured she looked a shade or two worse. She was exhausted and couldn’t wait to get home and into a bed.

  But thirty minutes outside of Ruban Crossing, Casey’s plans were about to change. The flashing red-and-blue lights of a Mississippi highway patrol were an unwelcome addition to the events of the day. She had expected complications, but not quite so soon, or from the state police. She looked at Ryder, then began pulling over to the side of the road.

  “I wasn’t speeding,” she said.

  Ryder glanced over his shoulder, then started unbuckling his seat belt. The highway patrolman was already out of his vehicle with his gun drawn, and although the air conditioner was on and Casey’s car windows were up, they could hear him shouting for them to get out of the car.

  “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Casey asked, and turned. There was a gun pointed straight at her head.

  “Get out of the car!” the patrolman shouted again. “Do it! Do it now!”

  Stunned by the order, Casey began fumbling with her seat belt, but couldn’t seem to find the catch. The harder she tried, the worse her fingers shook, and the longer she delayed, the louder and more insistent the officer became.

  “Let me,” Ryder said, and to her relief, the latch gave way, freeing her from the straps.

  She opened the door. “Look, Officer, I don’t know what…”

  “Get out and put your hands on the hood of the car! You!” he shouted, pointing the gun at Ryder. “On the passenger side! Come around the front of the car with your hands in the air!”

  Ryder didn’t argue. He’d learned years ago never to argue with an armed man, especially one wearing a badge.

  By now, Casey was out of the car and furious. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Handcuffs snapped. First one on her right wrist, then the remaining cuff on her other.

  “Sit down,” the officer ordered, pushing Casey none too gently to a seat beside the rear wheel of her car before proceeding to cuff Ryder in the same smooth manner. He hauled Ryder off to the back seat of his patrol car and shut him inside while Casey watched in disbelief.

  “This better be good,” Casey said, as the officer returned and helped her to her feet.

  “You’re driving a stolen car and the woman who owns it has been reported missing.”

  Casey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I am not missing, and this is my car.”

  The officer took a long, slow look at the disheveled woman in black and didn’t bother to hide a smirk.

  “That car belongs to Casey Ruban. Her family reported her missing when she didn’t come home last night.”

  “I repeat, this is my car, and I didn’t go home because I was out getting myself married,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” the officer asked.

  She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then glared at the patrolman, derisively enunciating each syllable.

  “Married. Capital m—little a—double r—i—e—d…Maaried. Last night…no, actually it was early this morning that we got married. You might say I’ve been on my honeymoon and you…” she frowned against the glare of early morning sun, peering at the name tag on the front of his uniform “…Officer Howard, have just stuffed my groom in the back of your patrol car. I want him out, and I want the handcuffs taken off both of us now, or I swear to God I will have your badge and all that goes with it.”

  Her adamancy startled the cop, and for the first time since he’d pulled them over, he began to consider the possibility of having been wrong in his first assumption. But he’d been so focused on being the one to get a lead on the missing heir that he hadn’t followed protocol by asking for their identification first.

  “I’ll need to see some identification,” he said.

  “It’s in my purse in the front seat, along with a copy of my marriage license. Want to see that, too?”

  He unlocked her cuffs and opened the door. “No funny business,” he said shortly, as Casey leaned inside.

  She handed him the marriage license, her driver’s license, as well as the title to her car. “There’s nothing funny about any of this, and when I get home, I’m going to have someone’s hide for this.”

  The officer looked long and hard at the picture on the driver’s license and then at Casey. There was little resemblance between the cool, composed woman in the picture and the fiery-eyed hellion standing before him.

  Casey could see he still wasn’t buying her explanation, but she wasn’t about to explain the mess she was in, thanks to her grandfather’s will. She opted for something he would probably believe.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Casey snapped. “I’ve been on my honeymoon, okay? You try a wedding night in the back seat of a car and see how good you look!”

  The patrolman flushed with embarrassment as he began to realize the seriousness of his situation. Unless he made peace with this woman now, he could be in big trouble. The Ruban name carried a lot of clout.

  “Sorry, Miss Ruban…I mean uh…”

  “Justice,” Casey said. “The name is Justice.” She pointed toward the cruiser. “About my husband…”

  Moments later, Ryder found himself standing by the side of the road, watching as an officer of the law did everything but crawl as an excuse for his overzealous behavior.

  “Thank you for being so understanding,” the officer said, as Casey brushed at the dirt on the back of her dress.

  “We’ll call it even if you just don’t notify my family,” she said. “I want to surprise them on my own.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just call this in to headquarters so you won’t be stopped again.”

  “Fine,” she said, and didn’t bother to watch as he drove away. When she glanced up at Ryder, he was grinning.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You’re hell on wheels, aren’t you, wife?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, and slammed herself bodily into the seat behind the wheel.

  Ryder was still grinning when he took the seat beside her. “Want me to drive?” he asked. “After all, I’m going to be your chauffeur.”

  Her bottom lip slid slightly forward as she started the car, leaving the side of the road in a flurry of flying dust and gravel.

  “I guess not,” Ryder drawled, and then settled back into the passenger seat. The longer he was around this woman, the more he liked her. She reminded him a little bit of his brother, Roman, who chose to believe that laws and rules were made by men with too much time on their hands.

  * * *

  There was a pasty white sheen on Lash Marlow’s face as he hung up the phone. He glanced at the clock over the mantel and swiped a shaky hand through his hair. It was almost noon. Time was running out.

  His thoughts were jumbled as he considered the possibilities of where Casey might be. Damn Delaney for insisting on that forty-eight hour time frame. He’d told him from the start it wasn’t a good idea, but Delaney had insisted, claiming he knew his granddaughter better than anyone. He’d sworn she would never adhere to the terms of the will unless pushed.

  Lash felt sick. It seemed obvious that he and Delaney Ruban had pushed too much.

  “Any news?” Eudora asked, and not for the first time wished she’d sat beside her youngest granddaughter during the reading of the will. She was still convinced she might have been able to soften the blow Casey had received. If she had, maybe they wouldn’t ha
ve spent a sleepless night expecting the worst.

  Lash shook his head and reached for another antacid. Instead, his fingers closed around the rabbit’s foot in his pocket, and he rubbed it lightly, making a bet with himself that everything would be all right.

  Taking comfort from his superstitious gesture, he decided to forego the antacid. It probably wouldn’t help anyway. He was long past worry and far past panic. From the way his gut was burning, he was either starting a new ulcer or about to have a heart attack. He’d expected Casey to be difficult, but he hadn’t expected this. If she didn’t show up soon, it would be too late.

  Miles lounged near the window overlooking the tennis courts, contemplating the party he would throw when he got his hands on the money. He was sick and tired of pretending to be worried about Casey. As far as he was concerned, she could stay gone. For the past six years, even if she was his sister, she’d been nothing but a judgmental little bitch, always harping at him and Erica to get jobs of their own.

  Eudora paced back and forth, fanning herself with a dampened handkerchief. “I just can’t bear this suspense. Oh dear. Oh dear.”

  Miles rolled his eyes. “Oh, let it rest, Grandmother. She’ll come home when it suits her.”

  Eudora frowned as she fanned, although the small square of fabric did little to stir the air. “I’m just sick about this. What if something awful has happened?” When no one echoed her concern, she sank into a nearby chair, dabbing at her eyes. “Poor, dear Casey.”

  “Poor, dear Casey, my ass,” Erica muttered, and sloshed a liberal helping of Jack Daniel’s into her iced tea and sat down near her twin. Ice clinked against crystal as she swirled the liquid before lifting the glass to her mouth.

  Lash glanced at his watch and dug his own handkerchief from his pocket, mopping at a fine line of perspiration that kept breaking out across his brow. Time was running out. If she didn’t show soon, his worst fears would be realized. Miles and Erica would be in control of the Ruban fortune and Lash’s dreams to resurrect the Marlow estate to its former glory would be dashed. At this moment he didn’t know whom he hated worse—Delaney for causing the fuss, or Miles for the possum-eating grin he’d been wearing all day.