BITING THE APPLE

Jo Leigh

To Marsha, for thinking of me

Dear Reader,

One of the questions I’m asked most often is “Where do you get your ideas?” Most of the time I’m not sure. But with “Biting the Apple,” I know exactly where the idea came from—my own love story!

Like Trish and Mark, I’d been madly in love when I was much younger, but we couldn’t make things work. My dreams carried me all over the country, and his dreams kept him in L.A. But I never forgot him, and frankly, never stopped loving him. Flash forward twenty years (!) and who should walk back into my life? You got it. The man I’d loved forever found me, and we’ve been together ever since. In fact, we got married three years ago at a romance writers’ conference!

I cried during the entire ceremony. Not delicate little tears glistening on my cheek, oh no. I sobbed so hard I could barely say, “I do.” And yet, it’s still my favorite day ever.

Enjoy!

Jo Leigh

CHAPTER ONE

WITH GRAVEL CRUNCHING beneath her boots, Trish Avalon focused on the scent of blooming acacias as she walked to her listing mailbox at the edge of her driveway. The mesquite trees her grandfather had planted years ago gave her shade from the warm spring sun and hid most of the barren landscape surrounding the ranch.

Some ranch. There were no cattle, no horses, no crops. Just the big old house filled with memories and ache. Since her mother’s recent passing, Trish had been getting the place ready for sale. It wasn’t a quick job, given that her folks had been pack rats. Neat pack rats, she’d give them that, but neither one ever threw a darn thing away.

Just this morning she’d found a stash of mementos from her childhood. Baby shoes, clothes, toys. Report cards and gym trophies she hadn’t thought about in years.

The packing would have gone faster if she hadn’t taken that job at the drugstore. It was worth it, though, as she hadn’t had to dip into her savings. The only thing she hoarded was money. Money that would get her out of Briscoe, Texas, and into New York City.

She pulled the large stack of mail from the box and closed its rusty mouth, swearing as she did each day that she’d grease the hinges. But then she’d walk inside and by the time she finished with the mail, something else would catch her attention and she wouldn’t remember about the mailbox until she opened it the next time.

Once back at the house, she went straight to the big oak dining table where she dropped the stack of mail and then to the kitchen for more coffee.

Armed with the hazelnut brew she liked, Trish sat down to face the seemingly unending task of taking care of her parents’ affairs. Her father had died a year ago next month, and her mother had taken sick shortly thereafter. Most everything had been set aside in Trish’s life at that point—including her newspaper job in Dallas.

But soon, she’d have the place ready for the market, and the proceeds, if the house sold, would be another big step toward her dream. Unfortunately the real-estate market in Briscoe was about as brisk as the bone-dry Briscoe river.

Bills, social security, advertisements, catalogs, a sip of coffee, more catalogs—then her heart went wild as she looked at the big white envelope that had been forwarded from Dallas. It had one fancy word in the upper left corner—Hush.

There was no address underneath because none was needed. There was only one Hush, at least for Trish. Hush hotel in Manhattan. The sexy, sophisticated, expensive, unbelievably hip Hush hotel, which, just under a year ago, had launched a contest to debut their brand-new wedding services.

Trish, who never let an opportunity pass her by, had entered the contest with a video essay. But she couldn’t have won, could she? No. Impossible. No one from Briscoe ever won a thing. Not the lottery, not the spelling bee, not even one football championship, ever.

Still, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she opened the envelope. There were a bunch of brochures, but her gaze was firmly on the letter. And there it was. The word that made the rest of the universe fade away.

Congratulations!

She’d won. She’d won.

Her gaze shot up to top of the page, just to make sure it was really, truly Trish Avalon they’d written to, not some other woman.

She smiled as she read the full letter. The judges, including the incredible Piper Devon who owned the hotel, had selected her video out of thousands of entries. Thousands! Two first-class tickets to JFK airport, then a penthouse suite in Hush. Eight other tickets would be hers to give to family and friends, although those would be coach. There would be a wedding dress created exclusively for her by one of the world’s top designers. Flowers. A wedding dinner catered by the hotel’s chef. A week’s exclusive use of a hotel limousine. Spa treatments. A makeover. Wedding pictures and a video by someone she’d never heard of, but who apparently was quite famous. Free meals. Free drinks. Free tickets to a Broadway show. Free everything a girl could want for that special, special day.

It was all perfect, extraordinary. Unbelievable. A week in New York. A whole week, free of charge, where she’d be able to go to every single newspaper and magazine and personally hand in her résumé. She’d be able to meet with editors face-to-face. To show them her clippings, her enthusiasm, her determination.

She was being handed her entire future in a silver-wrapped package, special delivery, no postage due. Nothing would ever be the same. Nothing.

All she had to do was one tiny thing. She’d have to get engaged.

BY THE TIME Mark Reynolds got back to the house, he felt like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Working the ranch did that to a man, and even though it ached where Gypsy had stepped on his foot, he still wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He threw his hat on the coatrack then stretched his neck as he headed for his dad’s office. Mark stood at the door as he watched his old man type at his computer, his bifocals perched on the end of his nose, his music, classical as always, playing softly in the background.

Mark didn’t say anything. He knew better than to disturb his father when he was writing. It had shocked the hell out of Mark when his father had decided to turn the running of the ranch over to his sons. He wanted no more to do with it after a lifetime of working sunrise to sunset. The ranch was worth something now, a lot actually. The horses Bill Reynolds had bred had become champion stock, but Bill had had enough. He wanted to write his life story, then he wanted to write a book about Briscoe, then some fiction, just to change things up.

Mark, as the oldest, had happily taken over, glad that his father had found something that gave him satisfaction. It was difficult to understand, though. Mark loved the ranch. He liked the hard work, the toughness of the country, the breeding program. He, like his father, had found his calling.

His kid brother, Chris, on the other hand…

Chris wasn’t home from school yet, or at least not home from practice. The boy still bitched like hell when he had to come home each evening to chores, but Mark felt responsible for turning Chris into a man to be proud of, and a large part of that was teaching him to take his responsibilities seriously.

Leaving his dad to his typing, Mark went to the kitchen. He stood by the sink for a long time, trying to get the grime from underneath his fingernails. He needed to put some dinner together, too. Chris would eat crap all night if left to his own devices, and Dad forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded, so even though Mark didn’t like to cook, he’d learned how. He wasn’t going to win any prizes, but he wasn’t hopeless, either.

As he dried his hands, he saw the light flashing on the answering machine. Only one message. The second he heard the voice, he knew who it was. What he couldn’t figure out was why Trish Avalon wanted not just to see him, but to spring for dinner tomorrow night at the Blue Cloud, the best restaurant in Briscoe.

He played the message once more, trying to buy a clue, but she just sounded like Trish.

He went to the coffeemaker on the counter, poured himself a mug from this morning’s pot, then stuck it in the microwave. As the seconds ticked away, he thought about the last time he’d seen Trish. It had been at her mother’s funeral. Despite the six years that had passed since they’d been an item, he still had feelings for her. Not the kind he’d had back then, but he considered her a friend. They’d had a long talk that night, after all the other mourners had gone home, about what it was to lose a parent so early in life.

The conversation and her tears had flowed freely, but that was the last time he’d talked to her.

She was probably lonely, that’s all. Come right down to it, he was pretty lonely himself. He might love the ranch, but his bed was still empty at the end of the day.

He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

THE BLUE CLOUD wasn’t half as woo-woo as the name sounded. It was actually a very nice restaurant that would have been happier and more appreciated in Austin, but Trish was pleased it was in the middle of what was laughingly referred to as downtown Briscoe.

Mark had gotten there early and she joined him just as the waitress, Jennifer, put down his beer. Trish ordered a white wine, then took a moment to look at the guy who’d been her very first love.

He’d gotten better after high school, and he’d been a major babe then. Of course, they’d known each other since first-grade and it had taken a summer apart and a major influx of hormones for her to see Mark as anything but the kid who sometimes let her see his math homework.

Once the discovery was made, however, she had a whole new appreciation for what the ranching life could do for a man’s body. He was everything a cowboy should be—tall, lean of hips, broad of shoulders. His eyes were as blue as the Texas sky and his hands…She sighed as her gaze settled on those amazing hands. Long fingers, kind of rough, but always clean. A person wouldn’t guess they could be gentle, but they were.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

She looked up, embarrassed that she’d gone into the ozone while he was sitting across the table from her. Usually she did that in the privacy of her bedroom, but she just smiled. “Not a thing.”

“So why the dinner? Is everything going all right over at your mom’s place?”

“I’m still packing. I swear, I don’t understand how two sensible people could get so attached to things. They didn’t get rid of anything.”

“I remember. But they probably just thought they were being frugal.”

“Yeah, well, there’s frugal and then there’s nuts.”

“Your folks weren’t nuts.”

She sighed as Jennifer came back with her wine.

“You two ready to order?”

“I’ll have the rib eye,” Mark said.

Trish, like Mark and all the other locals, no longer had to study the menu. The special was always printed on the chalkboard out front. The rest of the menu never did seem to change. “I’ll have the salmon.”

“Good enough.” Jennifer, who’d been a couple of years behind them at school, saved her best smile for Mark, but then that wasn’t anything unusual, either.

Mark was the most eligible bachelor in Briscoe, but he was also the most reclusive. Not that he was mysterious or even shy. He just did the work of three men, which didn’t leave much time for socializing. It had been an issue between them in high school—she couldn’t imagine what it was like now. Trish wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think he’d gone out with anyone, at least not seriously, since they’d broken up at the end of their senior year.

“So why did you ask me here?”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna take a bit of explaining.”

“But you’re not in trouble.”

“No. Unless you call being stuck in Briscoe trouble.”

Mark gave her a grin that took her straight to the back of his ’74 pickup after the game. Any game. They always ended up on Tripper Road, under the big trees, making out with such desperation. She could still remember the butterflies she always got whenever Mark touched her. She just hoped he thought of her as kindly. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Go ahead.”

She’d worn a white T-shirt to dinner, after an hour of debate, one that was low cut and showed off her boobs. Then she’d chosen her skinny jeans, the ones she had to lie down in to zip up. Along with her high-heeled boots, she was about as sexy as she could get, which wasn’t saying a whole lot. Her boobs had decided long ago to give up trying to grow, and her waist was more like a boy’s than it should have been. She wasn’t butt-ugly or anything, but she was no beauty. She’d never been all that clear why Mark had liked her back in the day. She’d just learned to accept it for the miracle it was, and move on.

But tonight, for this particular favor, she’d wanted to be a knockout. It didn’t seem fair that he could look so handsome in his everyday clothes, and she’d had to spend half a day getting ready.

“Trish? The favor?”

“Right. Okay, well, you know how I’ve been trying to save up to move to New York.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Of course you do. I just wanted to reiterate that my dream hasn’t changed one bit since forever. Getting the job in Dallas just made me want it more. I need to be in New York, Mark. I belong there.”

“How do you know that when you’ve never been?”

“I feel it. I always have. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I had New York in my blood.”

Mark shook his head slowly, his dark hair shaggy and sexy as all get-out. “I know you mean it, but I don’t get it. I thought you liked that job in Dallas.”

“It was fine, honest. But writing community news for a Dallas suburb paper isn’t quite the same as writing for the New York Times.”

“You could apply at the Dallas Morning News.”

“Mark, no matter how much art and culture Dallas has, it’ll never be New York.”

“It’s a long way to go for your dreams.”

“It’s not the moon. New York is just a few hours away these days.”

“It’s likely to be as strange as the moon.”

“Maybe, but then maybe it will be everything I’ve dreamed of. Everything I’ve worked for.”

He gave her a considered nod. “How can I help?”

“I’m really glad you asked,” she said. She swallowed once, then looked him straight in the eye. “I need you to be my fiancé.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YOUR WHAT?”

“My fiancé. Intended. You know,” Trish said, “fiancé.”

Mark looked at her for a long minute waiting for the punch line. Only Trish didn’t even crack a smile. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Okay, there’s this hotel in Manhattan, it’s called Hush, and they’re starting this brand-new wedding service called Weddings by Desire and to promote it they had this big contest where they asked everyone to send in a videotape of why they should be the winner and when I was in Dallas I used the video equipment at the paper and made my own tape, which I sent in.” She took a breath, but only one. “I never expected to win, of course, because nobody I’ve ever known has won anything, well, not anything important so I wasn’t expecting anything but then today I got a package in the mail forwarded from Dallas and I won.”

He waited to see if there was more. Trish took a sip of her drink then stared at him expectantly, as if she hadn’t just said the craziest thing he’d ever heard from a grown woman’s mouth. “Were you engaged when you made your videotape?”

“I didn’t think I’d win, so, well, that didn’t seem to be important. At the time.”

“If you didn’t expect to win, why did you—”

“I enter everything. No, that’s not true. I don’t enter for trips to Hawaii or Paris or for anything I couldn’t sell, but the prize was a week, Mark. A whole week in New York. First-class airfare. A hotel suite. A limousine. Everything I’ll need to get my dream job. I figure I’ll send out résumés first, then do the follow-up interviews when I actually get there.”

“You’ve figured that out, have you?”

“I know, it doesn’t seem like enough time, but it is, because if I get a second interview I’ll just stay there. I’ll find a cheap hotel and I won’t eat much. I’ve got enough saved to do that. Just not enough to do it all.”

He took a big swig of his beer, questions tumbling all over themselves in his brain. The first was, “Why do you need me?”

“The prize is a wedding. A big wedding at the hotel. They’re doing everything, too, including eight coach tickets for friends and family to come attend the nuptials.”

The questions now all had exclamation points attached. “For real? A real wedding? With a preacher and a license and all that?”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word as she stared at her hand on her wineglass. “Yeah, it would mean getting married, but only for a little while.”

“How little?”

“A couple of weeks, max. Then we’ll get it annulled, and voilà.”

“Trish, honey. You’re nuts.”

“I know. But I also know this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. If I don’t go, I’ll regret it forever. I’ll always wonder.”

“You never expected to win, so don’t you have an alternative plan?”

“Sure,” she said, but he could tell she’d lost interest in Plan B the second she’d opened that envelope. “Although it’ll take me a long, long time to save up enough money to go.”

He was surprised to find Jennifer next to the table waiting for them to move their arms for their dinner plates. Normally he could smell a nice rib eye from across the room, but Trish had found the ultimate distraction in her little request.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Sure thing, Mark. You want anything else? Steak sauce? Another beer?”

“I’ll be needing another beer, Jennifer. Thank you.”

Trish didn’t say a word. Nor did she look at her plate or have more to drink. She just stared at him and damned if he didn’t feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning. But come on. Married?

“When’s the last time you took a vacation, Mark Reynolds?”

“I’ll admit,” he said, cutting into his dinner, “it’s been a while, but I can assure you, if I was to go on a vacation, the last place I would go is New York.”

“They have interesting things in New York. Even you could fill up seven measly days.”

He chewed on her proposition along with his steak, wanting to help a friend out, but damn. He would suffer through a week of New York if he had to, but getting married? She’d think he was an old-fashioned idiot if he told her how much the idea of a sham marriage bothered him. Unlike most folks in the country who traded in wives like returnable pop bottles, he actually believed in the institution. There’d been a time, a long time, when he’d figured he and Trish would be heading down that very road. It had been her New York dreams that had split them up.

He’d felt like hell about that for a good year after they graduated, but then he’d mellowed. No, he hadn’t found anyone that he’d liked quite as much as he’d liked Trish, but then he hadn’t really looked, had he?

He glanced up from his steak into eyes that used to haunt him. Sometimes still did.

“If there was anyone else to ask, I would.”

“What about Dallas? You didn’t meet any guys there?”

“Not any I could trust. Not like you.”

Trust how? To not take advantage of her in the fancy suite? He wasn’t so sure about that. They’d never had a problem between the sheets. In fact, the notion of sharing a suite was the only tempting thing about her favor. But he had a feeling she’d need him more for hand-holding than anything else. He admired her spirit, and if anyone could get a job at a big New York paper in a week, it would be Trish. Even so, the odds were pretty damn slim.

Hell, maybe he should go. He didn’t love the idea, and he hadn’t loved Trish for a long time, but he liked her and he’d feel like hell if she crashed and burned with some joker who didn’t understand that her dreams had carried her through all life’s hardships. Failing in New York was going to send her into a tailspin.

On the other hand—

“Oh, thank God,” Trish said, then she dug into her dinner as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Wait a minute. I never said—”

“Oh, honey, I could see it the moment you decided to say yes. Of course I knew you would. And trust me. I’ll make sure you have the best time ever.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “Chris is going to have to agree to take on the ranch. Dad’s going to have to pitch in, too.”

“Oh, no.” Trish shook her head, making her hair shimmer. “They’ll be coming to New York, too. Well, for three days. Free airfare, free hotel. It’s going to be wonderful for both of them. Imagine, Chris getting his first real taste of a big city. Your father going to the heart of publishing country.”

Mark frowned. “The ranch—”

“Mark Reynolds,” Trish said, putting down her silverware. “Just because you’re not happy unless you’re spending every waking second working on that ranch is no reason to punish your family. It’s a wonderful opportunity for both of them. You can always get Nate and Tom to take over for a few days. Heaven knows they can both use the work.”

“But—”

“Please, Mark. I’m convinced this is the opportunity of a lifetime and not just for me. I’m going to ask Ellen, Penny Foster and a couple of friends from Dallas to come along. And you could ask Darryl, right? He’s always up for a lark.”

Mark took another bite of steak as he tried to think of a nice way to back out of the whole deal. But what she said about his dad, about Chris, made him give her a very reluctant nod. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to show his family a good time. And the ranch wouldn’t fall apart in a week.

Trish smiled delightedly. “We leave in three weeks. On the fourth. Bring that nice suit you wore to Mamma’s funeral, okay? And those good shirts you got in Austin.”

“I’m not your husband yet. And even when I am, I won’t be, so don’t you start up.”

She gave him a look that made him think of his happiest days. Days that had been filled with her laughter, her sweet scent.

“You’re surely going to heaven for this, sweet Mark. It’s honestly the kindest, most thoughtful—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, interrupting the flow of bull. “I’m a freakin’ saint.”

Her mouth opened wide, and so did her eyes. “I hope not. Did I mention that the Hush hotel suites all come complete with a cabinet full of toys? And I’m not talking about jump ropes.”

It took him a full minute for that tidbit to gel, for his imagination to go from a slow walk to a full gallop. It didn’t help much that Trish was laughing loud enough to make everyone in the place look their way. Or that he was blushing hot enough to start a bonfire.

HIS SECOND THOUGHTS started the moment he stepped out of the restaurant. They didn’t let up all the way home, and after he’d done his final chores he had a list a mile long of why it was a stupid idea and how he wasn’t going to do it, no sir.

As he finished brushing his teeth he made the mistake of remembering something he’d tried to forget. The way Trish looked in the wee hours of the morning. Her slim body naked and tan, her dark hair wild and curly on the pillow. That mouth of hers slightly open as if ready for his kiss.

“Shit,” he said as he crawled into his empty bed. “Nothing but trouble with a capital T.”

BY THE TIME they were ready to take off for the airport, Trish had listened patiently to each and every one of Mark’s doubts and complaints. She’d tried her best to appear thoughtful. Concerned. But she knew in her heart that he’d never back out. Not for anything.

If only Mark wasn’t so damned in love with Briscoe. She’d tried to tell him there was a great big world out there, but he’d never wanted to hear it.

That’s what made this trip so special. It wasn’t just about her dream, although that was huge. It was also about getting Mark to step outside his comfort zone. Who knows, maybe he’d even like New York. Maybe…

No, she couldn’t go there. Her destiny was in the Big Apple, but she had no doubt that Mark wasn’t meant for that particular city. Maybe Austin or even Dallas, but he’d be miserable living in Manhattan.

They’d been right to break it off after high school. Yes, they had been best friends as well as lovers, but being a best friend meant supporting each other, no matter what the dream. Mark wanted his ranch to prosper. He wanted Briscoe to prosper, and she had no doubt that in the years to come, he’d be a strong influence in all areas of the county’s interests. That’s why he’d bought the property across from the courthouse and was part owner of the general store. He had a stake in Briscoe.

Mark had plans, all right. None of which appealed to her, unfortunately.

She was meant for the big city. She didn’t even care if she had to start out writing obituaries or as a research assistant. Eventually, just as Mark would have his prize ranch, she’d have her prize job. Investigative reporter for the New York Times. It might take years, but all things worth having were worth waiting for.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER THE BELLMAN LEFT. After the concierge left. After they’d been shown how to work the high-definition TV, the remotes that opened and shut everything, including the drapes, and after they’d been informed that the champagne, and everything else in the incredibly well-stocked minibar was theirs for the taking, Mark stood before the open armoire not quite believing his own eyes.

“I told you I wasn’t talkin’ jump ropes,” Trish said from behind him.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you look at the itinerary?”

“Nope.”

“Mark? Are you okay?”

He blinked. “I recognize a few things,” he said. “I know where they go and what they do. But I swear to God, Trish, there are things in here that frankly scare the hell out of me.”

She laughed as she put her arm around his shoulders. “Don’t sweat it, sweetie. Just consider it part of the New York experience. Something to tell Darryl while you two are having a cold one.”

He looked at her, not surprised in the least that she was in such a good mood despite their horrible travel day. It had taken forever to get through the airport. First-class was nice, but he’d never been comfortable flying. Add to that his serious misgivings about this whole deal, and he’d had better days.

Not so, Trish. She was giddy with wonder and excitement. He just wished he could enjoy her happiness more. He’d never thought of her as foolish, and no, he didn’t know for a fact that this whole trip was an exercise in foolishness. Maybe she would get her dream job. He wanted that for her, despite the fact that her success would mean he’d probably never see her again.

“You have to admit, this is one damn fine hotel room,” she said. “I’m going to take a bath in that huge tub tonight, when it’s dark and I can see all the city lights.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We have dinner reservations at Amuse Bouche at seven.”

“Uh—Amuse what?”

“Amuse Bouche. It means a delight for the mouth. Like a tiny appetizer. Jeez, you don’t get out much, do you?”

He turned toward her to give her a look. She dismissed him with a laugh. “I had to look it up. It’s supposed to be a fabulous restaurant.”

“That gives us two hours?”

“Yep.”

He headed back into the living room, away from the giant bed and the scary armoire. The couch seemed big enough, but he wondered if it opened into a bed. Nope.

“Not a chance,” Trish said. She was standing in the bedroom doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked pretty, despite the time change and the jet lag. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Well, I’m not gonna let you—”

“I have no intention of sleeping anywhere but the bed. Did you see the size of that sucker? We could sleep four in there, easy. We’ll share.”

He took a step back as the thought, the idea, the picture of them in bed together combined with all that stuff in the armoire hit him a low and powerful blow. “Uh…”

She smiled as if she was fully aware of the effect her casual comment was having on his body and mind, but then she took pity on him. “Relax. We’re not going to do a thing that makes either of us uncomfortable. This is supposed to be a vacation. The kind with no worries. We’ll make it work, okay?”

Mark sat down on the couch, not all that sure they could make it work. Yes, he’d known they were going to share a suite, but he hadn’t let himself think about the sleeping part. He’d made sure not to have expectations, and more than that, he didn’t want Trish thinking she was obliged. He just wished he hadn’t taken a look in that armoire.

What the hell had happened to him? Used to be, especially when he and Trish were together, he didn’t need an excuse to get her into bed. Or permission. Or a bed.

He wasn’t even that old. Okay, twenty-five wasn’t seventeen, but hell, why had his thoughts centered around not taking advantage of her? She was a grown woman. She could make her own decisions, be they to share a bed or move halfway across the country to find some kind of magical dream job that would probably end up making her miserable.

“Mark?”

He looked up to find Trish standing right in front of him. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Jet lag.”

“Uh-huh.”

He tried to smile.

“Why don’t you go on and use that incredible shower, then take a nap. I’ll make sure you don’t sleep too long.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t stand it. I have to get out there. I have to see at least some of the city before I go nuts.”

“Good idea. Wouldn’t want you to go nuts.”

She bent over and kissed him on the cheek, but she didn’t stand up right away. Instead with her soft perfume giving him a gentle nudge and her long brown hair tickling his ear she whispered, “Thank you, Mark. You’re my hero.”

TRISH GOT IN the elevator and found herself next to a very famous rock star. Not that she could remember his name, but she knew she’d seen him on the cover of magazines. She’d had no idea that he was that skinny. Whoa, dude had no ass, but he did have hair plugs.

Boy howdy, was this not Briscoe.

At the lobby, the rock star pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, closing his fist tightly around them before stepping out. There were no paparazzi waiting, only the beautiful deco lobby and the artwork that was sexy and sophisticated at the same time.

As Trish walked toward the door, she paused at the bar, which wasn’t terribly busy at five-thirty, but those who were there were dressed as if they’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

Trish had thought she looked nice for the trip. Dark jeans, white blouse, her best leather boots.

Those girls, those women, made her feel like the hick she was. But was determined not to be.

She headed for her first real walk in New York, and the moment she stepped outside a frisson skittered through her body. If she’d had a hat, she probably would have done the whole Mary Tyler Moore thing. Instead she smiled. Grinned like a loon. Not one of the hurrying pedestrians spared her a second look, which was just what she expected.

Someday soon she’d be like them. Walking fast, eyes straight ahead, important things, stories, interviews, just ahead. She’d be on her way to the little corner market where she’d pick up a quick salad and maybe some wine, then to her apartment. It would be tiny, and she’d probably have a roommate, someone she’d met at the paper, and it would be three floors up, but she’d love it. Because it would be The Road, and she’d have made it happen. She’d be out of Briscoe and she’d never look back.

Her head turned then, and looked straight up the hotel building, its brownstone exterior giving no hint to the glamour inside. Or the man in the honeymoon suite.

She’d miss him. But that was nothing new. She’d been missing Mark for years.

She headed down the street, staring into store windows, gasping at landmarks. She had no idea where she was going even though she’d been perusing maps of Manhattan since the day she’d opened the letter from Hush.

She hadn’t quite counted on so much of her time being taken by the wedding plans. Or the fact that the entire event, not just the wedding itself, would be followed by the press.

That last bit wasn’t so bad. In fact, she planned on making some friends during the next week, and who knows what could happen from there?

It was still light outside and there was a nice breeze lifting her hair from her neck. The scent of hot dogs, of fresh baked bread, of trash and perfume and apples, made her deliriously happy, helping her find the rhythm of the city, to walk fearlessly across streets even when the light was still red.

Why, why did Mark dislike big cities so much? He’d only been to Dallas that one time, and besides, Dallas was in Texas, so that didn’t count.

Tomorrow, she’d find the time to take him out. Straight to the Chrysler Building. No one could look at that building and not fall in love. With New York. And then she’d take him to eat. Not at some fancy restaurant but to Papaya King for a hot dog. Mark loved dogs, and everything she’d read about Papaya King said they were the best.

Just thinking about it made her walk faster, made everything around her seem glamorous and fascinating. Or maybe everything was already wonderful, but the idea of sharing it with Mark…

She slowed as she passed a man lying on the sidewalk. He wore a heavy, filthy coat and his hair was matted and thick on his head. A brimming trash bag sat next to him, his filth-encrusted hand resting on it possessively. His shoes didn’t match.

No one saw him. No one even broke stride.

She supposed that after a while, after she’d lived in the big city for a few months, it wouldn’t faze her, either. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

MARK WAS DRESSED when she got back to the suite. His hair, dark brown and shiny, had been combed a little too neatly, his jaw was shaved smooth and his eyes, a mix of green and blue that changed with the weather, looked bright and dark as he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You look nice,” she said.

He looked down at his pressed jeans, his polished boots and his cowboy shirt, the one that had the blue piping. His shoulders lifted in a modest shrug, which she knew for a fact was true. He didn’t think he was anything special, not in the looks department. How a smart man could be so dumb was a mystery. She thought of that rock star in the elevator. On his best day he couldn’t have held a candle to Mark. Every girl in Briscoe had swooned over him, but back in the day, he’d only had eyes for her.

She hadn’t been the prettiest girl in their small high school. Not a cheerleader or class president or anything fancy. Just the editor of the school paper and at graduation, she’d been the valedictorian. Even so, Mark had always told her she looked great. He’d even called her beautiful once. That had been quite a night.

“Did you like it?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

“I imagine it is.” He walked over to the minibar and pulled out a beer. “You think I should?”

“I have to shower and change, so sure. It won’t interfere with dinner.”

“I was thinking about taking a look at that high-def TV.”

“Have at it.”

He grinned the smile that had made her melt. “I figure after tonight, I won’t have time to do much TV watching. Did you get a look at that schedule?”

“We’ll find time. I promise.” She met him as he walked toward the couch and touched his arm. She’d meant to kiss him. Nothing big, nothing that would shake things up, but she felt suddenly shy and awkward.

She’d talked so big just an hour ago. Now she realized just how much of that was bluff. The toys in that armoire scared her to pieces. The only walk on the wild side she’d taken was to get herself a mail-order vibrator. “I won’t be long,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the slight crack in her voice.

“Take your time. There’s like fifty channels of ESPN.”

“Be still my heart.”

He grinned. “You’re gonna love that shower.”

“I intend to love every minute of this miracle.”

Mark looked out the window and whispered the same words. On his tongue it sounded like a joke.

CHAPTER FOUR

BY THE TIME TRISH came out of the bedroom, Mark had lost interest in the baseball game despite the fact he could see the individual blades of grass growing on the field. He couldn’t stop thinking about after dinner. After dinner when they came back here. To the bedroom.

The last time he’d made love with Trish had been prom night. They’d gone to a real nice bed-and-break-fast over in Calloway. The rest of the class had gone to El Paso. But that night, for them, had been as painful as it was sweet. They had decided that they wouldn’t sleep together again, or even hang out over the summer. Trish was convinced their relationship was like an addiction and the only way to end it was cold turkey.

It had been the worst summer he’d ever spent. Getting over Trish had been brutal. He’d thrown himself into working the ranch. Each day he’d get up with the sun then wear himself out so hard that he could barely eat dinner at sunset. He’d fall into bed, exhausted, only to dream about her.

It had taken a long time to cure himself of his addiction to her. Did he want to go through that mess again? What if Trish was like heroin? What if one night was all it would take to pull him back in?

The bedroom door opened, and there she was looking fresh and pretty as a bluebonnet. She’d left her hair down the way he liked it best. The dress she wore was tight in just the right places, and the purple, well, she’d always looked good in purple.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She reacted the way she had since day one. Her head tilted down and to the side, her cheeks pinked up and she whispered a “thanks” that she didn’t believe.

He’d never understood why she felt so shy about her looks. She wasn’t the most traditional beauty out there, but he liked that. He didn’t want a cookie-cutter gal. He wanted—

He stood up, stopping himself before he took that thought too far. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t get out of here now.”

Trish went to the door. “Let’s hit it.”

As he walked her to the elevator, he fought hard not to touch her, then remembered they were supposed to be engaged so wouldn’t not touching her look suspicious? Well, he could wait until they were in the lobby, then it was a short walk to the restaurant, and that would take care of things for the short-term.

He still had no idea what he was going to do about after dinner.

“Hey,” he said, “knowing you, you’ve looked up what’s what at this restaurant.”

She nodded. “I have.”

“What should I order?”

“I don’t think there’s a thing on there you wouldn’t like. They even have big, thick steaks. And onion rings.”

“Okay, then. With a name like Amuse Bouche, I was afraid they were gonna force-feed me couscous.”

The elevator arrived, empty.

“Have you ever had couscous?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know you won’t like it?”

“Same way you knew you’d love New York.”

She smiled at him, and instead of giving him a jab for being a smart-ass, there was a sudden tenderness in her eyes that made him check out the elevator buttons.

He breathed again when they stopped on the twelfth floor to let in a couple of very tall, thin women. By the time they reached the lobby, they’d picked up four more passengers, men who seemed very interested in the skinny chicks. He didn’t get it. But then, he didn’t get most of what passed for the modern world. Not that he didn’t keep up, at least to some degree. He read the big news magazines, subscribed to newsfeeds along with his grain and cattle reports. But he’d been one step behind his whole life. It wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Bucking up, he took Trish’s hand as they headed for dinner. Damn if it didn’t feel as natural as breathing.

She was just right. They fit together. That’s why it had been so hard when they were torn apart.

“I’m nervous,” she said. “It’s just dinner, and I’ve been to really great restaurants in Dallas, but my stomach is all jittery.”

“You’re gonna be the classiest woman in the place,” he said. “And I’ll try hard not to spit on the floor or get into a brawl.”

Her laughter lightened everything. “Yeah, that’s just what I was worried about.” She bumped his shoulder with her own.

“Anyway, tonight’s just about food. The hard part starts tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said. “I have to sit down with that itinerary first thing and figure out when I can make some appointments. And I want to take you out. There’s so much to see.”

“We’ll find the time,” he said, although he’d already seen enough of Manhattan on his ride from the airport. Thousands of people, thousands of cars, taxis, buses, no one paying a bit of attention to any of the others, just racing to get where they were going.

The door to Amuse Bouche was high and elegant, the room itself a smooth mix of sleek and rich. There were flowers and screens and there wasn’t anyone seated who wasn’t dressed to the nines.

He gave his name to a woman in a short skirt, and that changed everything. The woman’s eyes widened, there was a signal to someone behind her, then they were taken to a table in a private corner. A table set for four.

Once he’d held Trish’s chair, another woman joined them. She, like so many of the women he’d seen at the hotel, was slender, attractive and put together as if she was prepared to be on television. Her blond hair was pulled up on top of her head, she wore pearls around her neck and a blue suit. Despite all that, she looked young, in her early twenties. Although maybe she just had real good New York doctors.

He stood as introductions were made. Gwen Holmes was her name, and she was the new director of Weddings by Desire.

“I’m not going to intrude for long, I promise,” she said. Then she turned to the hostess. “You can bring the champagne now, Lilly.”

Mark held the chair for Gwen Holmes, then he sat opposite Trish. She seemed as surprised as he felt.

“I wanted to go over the schedule for tomorrow. Answer questions. Prepare you a little.”

“Prepare us for what?” he asked.

“There will be cameras. Quite a few of them, in fact.”

“Where?”

“Pretty much everywhere,” Gwen said. “As much as I’d love to tell you we’re throwing this shindig because we’re just sweetie pies, the truth is, we’re launching a very expensive enterprise and you’re our major promotion. Your pictures are going to be in lots of magazines, on television, maybe on billboards. First thing tomorrow, we’ll be signing releases. You’re going to sign away all rights to your images, and for the event itself. That was in our letter, but I wanted to bring it up one more time. It can be intimidating.”

The champagne arrived, and Mark hoped Trish liked the stuff more than he did. He was a man of simple tastes. Beer. Home. A good truck. A good—

“We understand,” Trish said, “and believe me, this is the most exciting thing in the world. For both of us.”

Her gaze met his, and she lifted her glass toward him, more to agree on the conspiracy than to celebrate their upcoming nuptials.

“There’s no problem with the releases,” Trish continued as she turned to look at Gwen.

“Great. Then, after we get all that boring stuff out of the way, we’ll be off to Harry Winston to pick out the rings.”

Mark put his glass down as he checked up on Trish. Rings were something concrete. They stood for a lot, and he knew for a fact Trish took great stock in that particular symbol. Sure enough, color came up on her cheeks and she turned away from him.

He’d had a suspicion that all this wasn’t as casual as she’d like him to believe, and this proved it.

TRISH SMILED as Gwen said her goodbyes, but the smile faded as she turned back to Mark. He’d been mostly quiet as Gwen had covered all they had to do tomorrow. It would be one of their busiest days. Fittings for both of them after the rings, which they’d been told would take an hour, and that they would need to pick the rings from those taken out of the case. They were lovely rings, she’d assured them, all of them worth a great deal of money. But they weren’t to window-shop.

It all seemed so real now. She was going to marry Mark. They would be husband and wife. Only, not for keeps.

Her guilt punched her square in the stomach. These very nice people were spending a great deal of money on a sham. When she knew they were alone, she leaned toward Mark. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she said. “Maybe we should back out now, before they spend any more money on us.”

The candle on the table made Mark’s eyes seem green tonight. He was everything safe and comfortable, and yet she felt the censure in his gaze. Or maybe that was her own guilt she was staring at.

“You have to make that decision, Trish. I’m here for you. Not for them. I’m sure they’re going to get everything they’d hoped for. Great publicity for their new service. For what it’s worth, I don’t think they’ll give one damn about us after we’re gone. They’ll be moving on to the next publicity stunt.”

“Okay, let’s take them out of the equation. Am I doing something despicable? The truth now.”

“No, it’s not despicable. It’s not the single most noble gesture I’ve ever seen, but I know you’re not doing it to screw them.”

“I’m going to send the rings back,” she said, hating this. Not an hour ago, she’d been so pleased with herself. She’d been nothing but thrilled that she’d come up with this glorious plan, and now she doubted everything.

“I’ll do whatever you like, Trish. I’ll even pay for the tickets home. It’s your call.”

She sipped the champagne, amazed that she liked it so much. It was probably hugely expensive. Yet another thing that wasn’t really her.

On the other hand, this was it. Her shot. So she’d used some ingenuity, that wasn’t a bad thing was it? Mark was right—Weddings by Desire was going to get everything they’d hoped for out of this stunt. What happened after didn’t matter. They hadn’t stipulated how long the marriage had to last.

“Trish?”

She jerked, realizing the waiter was standing next to the table holding a menu out to her. “Sorry,” she said.

“No problem. Take your time.”

They were alone again in a snap, but neither of them opened the menus.

“Honey, what do you want?”

He’d called her honey. He hadn’t done that in a long time, and the word shimmied up her spine and landed in a part of her heart she had ignored since—

“It’s okay to want what you want,” he said. “It’s okay to go after it with everything you’ve got. Just don’t kid yourself about what you’re doing and why.”

“But what do you think?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy. I’ve found my place. I don’t know what I’d be willing to do if that was taken from me. I do know I’d go far. Real far.”

She nodded even though she wasn’t completely convinced. Although something told her this was the kind of go-getter attitude that would make her a great reporter.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“The steak and onion rings sound perfect.”

She smiled as she opened her own menu. She read each item, not skipping anything, even the soups, which were her least favorite. It all sounded incredible. In fact, everything about this place was incredible.

Her gaze moved up to look at Mark once more. It still broke her heart that they couldn’t find some way to make it work. The one thing he’d always been clear about was that he wanted to marry someone who would love the ranch as much as he did. That wasn’t her.

She would order the sea urchin panna cotta and the wild striped bass. She’d finish this champagne. And she wouldn’t think about what they were going to do in the suite until they hit the elevator.

Yeah, right.

CHAPTER FIVE

HE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE worried about the next few hours. Mark watched Trish play with her dessert, some custard thing with chocolate cutouts that, if she were back home, she’d have finished in record time.

He’d tried to lighten things up, and for a while, it had worked. The food was about the best he’d ever had, and it always cracked him up to hear Trish moan each time she took a bite. It wasn’t quite the same as her moaning in the bedroom, but close.

And the bedroom was close now, too. Unless she changed her mind about an early night and decided to go off into the city. Half of him wanted her to do just that. The upper half.

“This is how I want to die,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I want to eat this until I explode. I want this to be the last thing to touch my tongue.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”

He laughed. “Look at you.”

Confused, she did. Then she smiled as she saw that her left arm was on the table, shielding her dessert from any possible encroachment. “Well, I was going to suggest you order your own.”

He leaned back, enjoying this. Her. “Order another. Order two.”

She shook her head. “If I wasn’t getting that fitting tomorrow…”

“I have to wear a tuxedo, huh?”

“Yep.”

“They’re not gonna try and do a makeover or anything, right? I won’t have to meet those Queer Eye guys?”

“Sweetie, there’s nothing those boys could do to make you prettier than you are right now.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “All right, what favor do you need now?”

“I’m not buttering you up. You know perfectly well how gorgeous you are, so don’t even try to pretend.”

“Gorgeous?” He rolled his eyes. “How much of that champagne did you drink?”

“Enough. And, sadly, I’ve had enough of dessert, too.”

Her plate was empty. Not even a crumb left as evidence. “I’m sure they could whip you up another in no time.”

“Get me out of here before I sin,” she said, pushing her plate toward the middle of the table.

“What are we supposed to do about the bill?”

“It’s on Hush, but I think we need to leave the tip.”

“Okay,” he said, pushing his chair back. “How much?”

“Except for the champagne,” Trish said, lowering her voice, “I got a rough estimate. I’d say fifty bucks.”

He winced as he realized that fifty was just tip money, but put the bills on the table. This was New York, after all. He’d expected no less.

THE ELEVATOR RIDE had been brief, the walk to the suite was over before she could blink, and now they were standing in the living room, and she didn’t know what the hell to do.

Mark brushed her shoulder as he went to the giant window. “Get a load of this,” he said.

Was she really so stressed over the sleeping arrangements that she’d forgotten to look at the city? She joined him, staring out across an ocean of lights. None of the movies or pictures she’d seen had come close to this view. It took her breath straight away. She had to turn a bit, but there it was—her favorite building in the whole world, the Chrysler Building. It was stunning at night. The stuff of dreams.

“I can see where a person could grow to like this view,” Mark said.

“Really?”

He nodded. “It’s really something. It almost makes up for the lack of stars.”

“The stars are there.”

“I know, but it would still be tough to lay back and stare up into a pale, empty sky.”

“We’re on top of the world, Mark. Can’t that come close?”

He reached out and took her hand in his. “Don’t let me spoil your fun. This is what you’ve always wanted. A shot at the biggest city in the world. A chance to kick ass with the big kids.”

“You’re right. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.”

“All great stories start that way, didn’t you know?”

She looked at him instead of at the skyline. “How can you have so much confidence in me?”

“I’ve known you since we were six.”

“And you’ve seen most of the bonehead things I’ve done since then.”

“Everybody does bonehead things. You don’t let them stop you.”

She lifted his hand to her lips. “Thank you.”

“You have to stop saying that. We’re friends. This is what friends do.”

“Bullshit. I have other friends. They aren’t here.”

“You were just too chicken to ask them.”

“Yeah. They were all too smart to fall for my line of bull.”

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be soaking in that great big tub?”

“Why, yes,” she said, dropping his hand, suddenly afraid she’d made him uncomfortable. “I do believe it’s calling.”

“I’m gonna tackle that TV set again,” he said.

“You don’t need to use the bathroom?”

“I can wait. You soak as long as you want.”

She nodded, then headed toward the bedroom. Once there, she got all her bathroom goodies together, then got out the slinky pink nightie she’d bought just before they’d left. But after a long study, she put it back in the drawer and took her old sleep T, the one she’d had forever, and carried that with her.

Mark didn’t know it, but the shirt used to belong to him. She’d stolen it from his mother’s clothesline and hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt. It was the most comfortable thing she owned, and she needed all the comfort she could muster tonight.

Give her a few years in this city, and she’d wager she wouldn’t have a moment of doubt.

As she turned on the water in the tub, she wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

MARK CLICKED OFF his cell phone, wondering what he was going to find when he got back home. His father had said everything was fine, that Chris was doing his chores and that the horses were well cared for. That Nate and Tom were happy to have the work. But in these last few years, his father’s idea of taking care of the ranch and Mark’s own had become real different.

Used to be, his dad was all over every aspect of the ranch, and there wasn’t one detail that was left to chance. Then he’d gotten that idea about writing and suddenly the little things hadn’t meant so much.

They still mattered to Mark.

Not that he didn’t want his father to be happy, to do what he wanted to with his life, but things sure would have been a lot easier with all three men on board.

Finally, after a good couple of years of internal battles, Mark had made peace with the fact that he could only control one person—himself.

He looked at the bedroom door, wishing again that things could have worked out with Trish. She was so many things he wanted in a wife, in a partner. But she hated Briscoe and the ranching life.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the cool leather couch. The muffled sounds of a soccer game were just indistinct enough to ignore. He smiled as he thought about Trish eating dessert.

HE WOKE WITH A START as the bedroom door opened. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but then he saw her, saw what she had on and whatever willpower he’d had dissolved in a heartbeat.

She had on his old T-shirt. The one that had gone missing years ago. He’d shrugged off the loss because it was just an old thing, nothing special. It was special now.

“How was your bath?”

“Incredible.”

“I’m glad.”

“You can get in there now. Sorry I took so long.”

He clicked off the television and put the remote on the couch. When he stood, he thought about her in the bathtub, her slick wet skin, the way her breasts would bead at the nipple. He nodded at her. “So that’s where that old thing got to.”

She smiled shyly, then ineffectually tugged the shirt down her thighs. “I was young.”

“It looks a hell of a lot better on you than it did on me.”

She headed his way and he couldn’t help his wandering gaze. Barefoot, she didn’t make a sound as she walked. He probably wouldn’t have heard her anyway, not with the way his heart was pounding. Her legs were amazing. He could have watched her walk around the world. And the T-shirt, faded blue, short, a picture of a local rock band he hadn’t thought of in years barely perceptible after a thousand washes, was just thin enough that he could make out the soft shimmy of her breasts.

She’d pinned her hair up on top of her head in some kind of wonderful mess. All the makeup from earlier had been banished, leaving her pure and sweet.

They were only inches apart now, and his hand went to the curve of her neck. The touch was like the very first touch. Softness beyond belief that made him curse his callused fingers. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

The way she looked at him then stole the rest of his breath.

“Tell you what,” she said, kind of breathless herself. “Let’s not think about anything but right here, right now.”

He tried to tell her that was fine with him, but his words got stuck as he looked at her mouth.

“There are so many things I’ve forgotten,” she said. “But I haven’t forgotten one thing about you. Not the way you kiss, or the way you touch me. I—”

He couldn’t stand it one more minute. His lips came down on hers for a kiss that filled a long-empty well. Slowly, slowly, he remembered her. Her taste.

The way she teased him with the tip of her tongue. How it felt like honey and velvet, how it made him ache to taste every single inch of her.

She moaned, and his already hardening cock stiffened more. And when she pulled him close against her, with just that old worn T-shirt between them, he ached that old familiar ache.

With a strength he didn’t know he possessed he pulled away from her. “I’d better…”

She nodded. “Right.”

“So, I’ll see you…?”

“Yeah.”

He left quickly, before he threw her on the couch. Despite the insistence behind his fly, he needed to be a gentleman, at least on the outside.

The bathroom made him laugh out loud. Her stuff was on every counter. Makeup stuff, hair stuff, more makeup, lotions. Good God, he had no idea she used all this goop. But, being a lady, she’d left him about ten square inches near the sink where his small black case looked lost in a forest of girly gewgaws.

It was tempting to brush his teeth and run, but he forced himself to get into the shower, which was some damn fine shower. He even washed his hair. Then he dried off, brushed his teeth, checked himself out in case he’d forgotten something vital.

With a big white towel around his waist, he headed for the door, his step slowing as he got closer. A sudden shot of nerves filled him with questions, mostly about what the hell he thought he was doing.

Then he opened the door, stepped into the bedroom. Looked at the woman on the bed.

There were no questions left. No doubts. Not even a single thought. Just need.

CHAPTER SIX

HOLY CRAP.

Trish swallowed hard as she watched Mark walk toward the bed, his towel slung low on his hips, his chest worthy of magazine covers, his hair slicked back and his face, oh man, his face was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. Mostly because he was looking at her as if she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

She was glad she’d put the condoms on the night table. Glad she hadn’t worn a thing under her T-shirt. Grateful beyond words for winning a prize that let her be with Mark.

He got to the side of the bed and his gaze moved slowly from her toes to her eyes. The hunger was in him. In her. As she struggled to breathe she remembered being with him in all kinds of sensory detail. Her body tingled with anticipation.

When he let the towel drop, the old memories vanished. Nothing existed except this moment. His unbelievable body. The way his slow grin made her shiver.

“I think I’ll take back that T-shirt now,” he said, his voice thick and low.

She sat, then rose up on her knees. With him watching every gesture, she took the hem of the T-shirt in her hands and lifted.

Slowly.

His eyes were something to behold as he followed her hands. Inch by inch, she exposed her body to him. Over her hips, her tummy. A hesitation just below her breasts. Then up. Hard nipples, goose bumps everywhere. Quickly now over her head.

She tossed the shirt off the side of the bed and dared him with a smile.

He put one knee, then the next on the bed. Close. His heat touched her first, then his rough fingers skimmed her breasts. Gently, with a patience she didn’t share, he painted her skin. Down her sides, across her belly, a whisper across her thighs.

All the while he looked into her eyes. A connection, one she’d thought lost forever, reestablished itself between them. Her first lover. The only one who’d ever mattered.

“I want—”

“I know,” she said. There was time enough for everything, but not enough hours in the world to do all she wanted with him. So much to taste, to feel.

He moved closer and his sweet peppermint breath brushed her lips and they parted. His kiss, when it finally came, made her knees weak. Made her want to cry.

He pulled her into his arms, and even though it was awkward, her still on her knees and all, when she got there, it was home. It was the best place. Better than a hundred New Yorks.

For a long time, she kissed him back as her hands learned his body all over again. He’d changed. He’d always been well built, beautiful in fact, but now his shoulders were so broad, so perfectly muscled. His ass, well, against all reason, that had gotten better, too.

She felt him hard and ready against her hip, her tummy, but that would be the delicious dessert after her banquet of touch, of taste, of scent. God, he smelled like her dreams. Nothing on earth smelled exactly like Mark. She had carried the scent through the years, through the distances that separated them.

He pulled away from her lips but only to lay her down on the soft sheets. She looked up at him as he reached behind, admiring his chest. The dark hair that ran from his breastbone in a V all the way down past his flat belly where it met the hair around his erection.

Without conscious thought, she reached out to touch him there. Even before her fingers met flesh, he jumped in anticipation. He hissed through clenched teeth as she ran her finger down his length. A groan as she took him fully in hand.

She looked up to watch as his head fell back, as his chest swelled with held breath all from the slow pump of her hand.

No one fit her like Mark. No one made her feel like this. How many nights had she wondered if she’d ever feel like this again?

“Honey, you have to let me go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s gonna be over before it’s even begun.”

She released him, embarrassed to admit she’d thought he meant something completely different. But no mind. He was moving again, coming to meet her on the bed, his head joining hers on the pillow.

“This is looking like trouble,” he whispered as he ran his hand down her arm.

“No troubles tonight. Nothing but wonderful.”

“Right,” he said. “Nothing but you.”

She traced his lips with her fingertip. “I’ve missed you.”

He nodded as his hand went from the safety of her hip to the heat between her legs.

She gasped. Trembled. Without her consent, her eyes closed.

As the waves of sensation swept her away, she forgot that this was a game, a time outside of time.

And then she forgot she wasn’t really his.

MORNING CAME with a phone call. Mark struggled to find the damn thing on the nightstand and when he finally got it up to his ear, his greeting was less than cordial.

It was Gwen, from last night, and she set them off in a world of hurry. A room service call first, then showers, then dressing. Trish doing that voodoo stuff with the makeup and the hair, so when she walked out of the bathroom she looked so good he wanted to go straight back to bed.

A cup of coffee and a Danish later, and it was time to run. First, to the fittings, where he lost Trish and found himself standing on a pedestal as a man took every kind of measurement it was possible to take. No, that’s not true. No one wanted to know his hat size.

He had to try on a bunch of different tuxedo jackets as three women eyed him like a side of beef. They picked the winner, then it was a few more measurements then away to a room full of cameras and microphones.

He was seated on a tan wing chair facing an identical chair that was filled with one reporter after another. They all asked the same questions, even if they worded them differently.

“How did you and Trish meet?”

“In kindergarten. We were both six.”

“When did you fall in love?”

“That would be in high school.”

“What’s Briscoe like?”

And on and on. What surprised him was that he didn’t have to lie but a couple of times. He wasn’t thrilled about the wedding. He hadn’t proposed to Trish. So on those two, he became a shy cowboy and hemmed and hawed, and they moved on. He just kept waiting for it to be over.

That took another two hours.

THE FITTING was finally over and Trish felt as if her feet were going to explode. They’d put her in heels that were just small enough to hurt after the first five minutes, then made her try on a bunch of dresses, all of them more gorgeous than she could believe, and when they finally chose the winning number (a strapless gown with a shirred satin bodice, a full tulle skirt and a little flower on the waist) that made her feel as if she were the most beautiful bride in the world as well as the biggest fraud.

Despite standing in front of a huge three-way mirror, she managed to not quite look at herself as she was tugged and measured and photographed.

All the while, her thoughts kept slipping back to the night. To Mark. To how he’d taken her to the moon and the stars and how she’d never wanted to come back.

It was never going to work between them, so why did she continue to torture herself over it? A New York kind of gal would do exactly what she was doing only without the regret. Without the guilt. And definitely without the wishful thinking.

Tomorrow morning was her first interview. It was with the New York Post, and while she would prefer to write for the Times, she wasn’t going to bitch if she nailed it. The Post would be a huge coup, and instead of daydreaming about a cowboy that couldn’t be hers, she should be rehearsing her interview answers.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew she would have serious competition, but dammit, she also knew she was good. Her enthusiasm was unlimited, her willingness to work hard was a given, and no one, no one could want it more than she did.

“Arms up.”

She lifted. They fitted. One thing for sure, these women weren’t shy. One of them physically reached inside the gown and moved her boob. Now that was what she was talking about.

She wanted to be a boob-mover. Not literally, of course, but still. She wanted to face her tasks without sentimentality. Without concern for anything but getting the job done perfectly.

“Arms down.”

She relaxed, only to be scolded for slouching.

“How much longer, do you think?”

“Not too long now.”

That from seamstress number two. There had been no names asked, none given. Everyone in the room seemed focused and too busy for such pleasantries.

Trish kept her mouth shut and did as they asked, but she couldn’t help thinking that if this had really been her wedding, she’d have wondered if she was missing out on something pretty darned important.

HARRY WINSTON was next, but first, more photographs. Not at the wedding gown shop but back at the hotel. On the roof. In a garden that was one of the most beautiful Trish had ever seen.

They’d put up a tent thingy right next to the elevator and when she walked inside it, she saw three racks of clothes—two women’s, one men’s. Most of the clothes were casual and Western. Jeans, boots and hats, but when she got closer, she saw they weren’t the kind of Western she could buy in Briscoe. These were fashion pieces with big designer names on them. They were all her size, and she wondered if it would be incredibly gauche to ask if she could keep them.

Yeah, probably.

Along with Gwen, a stylist named Ricky was there and the first thing he did was put every ounce of his attention on Mark.

“Well, this is going to be a much more pleasant afternoon than I’d imagined. Turn around, big boy.”

Mark gave her the Evil Look of Death as he turned for the man, and Trish thought of his makeover phobia. If she had to step in, she would.

“Let’s go with the jeans you’re wearing, and…” He drew the word out as he riffled through the men’s shirts. He pulled out four, all of them similarly cut with not that much ornamentation. “The boots are fine.” Ricky narrowed his gaze. “Did you bring your own hat, cowboy?”

The muscle in Mark’s jaw twitched. “It’s in the room.”

“Well, hurry up and get it. I have a feeling I’ll like it better than the ones I brought.”

Mark obeyed, getting out of the tent as if it were on fire.

Trish wondered if he’d come back. But she didn’t have long to ponder Mark’s troubles. Ricky descended on her with an eye toward making her into someone else.

“Those jeans do nothing for your behind, honey.” He pulled a couple of dark pairs off the rack. “These should help. And that blouse is too big. You want something that will hug your curves. Show a little hoochie.”

She wasn’t sure what hoochie he meant, but she was sure she’d find out.

What really got to her was when he told her to change. Not behind a curtain, either. He wanted her to change right there in the middle of the tent.

“This is show business, honey. And believe me, you don’t have a thing I haven’t seen before.”

“Well, I haven’t shown it before, so you just turn your butt around.”

With raised eyebrows, he looked at Gwen then back at her. But he turned.

She put on a Western shirt that was two sizes too small, a pair of jeans that cut off her circulation and boots that made her poor feet squeal.

The hoochie, it turned out, was boob cleavage and lots of it. So much, she had to wonder if the pictures they were taking would end up in Playboy.

But she just let Ricky do his thing. Thankfully he didn’t stick his hand down her blouse. But that was the only thing to be thankful for.

Until Mark came back.

He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat. Instead he’d put on the hat he’d bought for his cousin Dill. Who was eight.

She laughed so hard she almost busted a button.

Ricky was not amused.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HARRY WINSTON WAS ONE hell of a jewelry store. After walking through the most intricate wrought-iron and gold-plated gate Mark had ever seen to a foyer so fancy it had a chandelier that was covered with flowers and gold and then the black and gold carpet, not to mention the cases of jewels that had to be worth more millions than he could ever imagine, he, Trish, Gwen and about a half dozen reporters were led into a private room.

Grateful to be sitting down so he had less chance of breaking something that would cost the ranch, Mark sat back as the jeweler, a really well dressed woman with white hair and a huge rock on her hand, pulled out a large velvet box. There were half a dozen engagement rings, all with matching his-and-hers wedding bands.

Mark didn’t know all that much about diamonds, but he knew big. These were big diamonds. No cubic zirconium in this place. Just the real thing. Diamonds in gold, in white gold, in platinum. Round ones, ovals, pears, squares.

But the thing that captured his attention wasn’t the glitter on velvet, it was Trish.

He knew right away that this was going to be tough for her. Some mysterious female gene had been switched on. Her face, always pretty, now seemed somehow softer, more vulnerable. It wouldn’t shock him if he saw a tear or two—no, wait. Her jaw clenched, she sniffed away the sentiment, and steeled her shoulders. She was not going to be carried away by diamond dreams. This was not the real thing, and she best not forget it.

He hoped, for her sake, she could carry it off. Him? He was screwed.

Last night had taken him straight to the bad place. Or was it the good place? Whatever. He just knew that saying goodbye to Trish was going to be hard as hell. Harder than the last time, because this time, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy to replace her. Easy? It was impossible.

“Each of these exquisite pieces are original designs by our master craftsmen. The diamonds are all GIA certified, one carat or greater, VVS1, which means there are only minute inclusions, and, as you can see, they vary in color and cut. Feel free to try them on, and ask any questions you may have.”

Trish nodded as her gaze toyed with staring directly at the diamonds. Finally her hand reached out, hovered for a few seconds, then plucked one of the rings from the velvet.

If he wasn’t mistaken, she trembled just a bit as she slipped the thing on. When it was home, she looked at him.

He wanted to take her out of this place. Not because she was cheating, but because she deserved so much more. Not an advertising ploy, not a cubic zirconium marriage. Hell, even if it was to someone else, Trish should have the real deal.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He tore himself away from her gaze to look at her hand. It seemed small, pale. Her nails weren’t done up and there was a tiny mole just below and to the right of her thumb.

Before he could stop himself he leaned over and took her in a kiss. He wanted her to know, to understand that this, the dress, the photographs, the jewelry meant nothing. They were all so much dust. But that shy blush, the way she’d offered her long, warm neck to his lips. The sounds she made when she was almost there.

At the sound of a discreetly cleared throat, he pulled away from her, hoping she’d gotten his message. Hoping he wasn’t going to want to stop breathing when she said goodbye.

HOURS LATER, after more photos, more wardrobe changes, more makeup lessons and just more, they were finally back at the hotel, alone in the room. Her, Mark and the ring. Rings. One stunningly beautiful one-carat round brilliant in a platinum four-pronged setting that looked better than anything she’d ever had on her hand.

All she wanted to do was take it off. Bury it in one of those rosebushes on the roof.

She was in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. Wondering what Mark was doing out there. Expecting things? Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he? Last night had been amazing. Sonnets could have been written about last night.

Such a huge mistake.

Not just the sex or the ring but the whole thing. What had she been thinking? She could have hired someone to be her fiancé. It would have been clean, neat. She would have sent the rings back a couple of weeks after the annulment, and voilà. No harm, no foul. Weddings by Desire would have gotten their money’s worth, she would have gotten her job and no one would have been hurt. Especially not her.

She rocked back, thinking about the kiss at Harry Winston. Mark had caught her completely by surprise, and while it had been the sweetest gesture ever, it had made her heart hurt so badly she’d nearly…

In truth, she hadn’t been on the verge of running.

Her feet hadn’t moved, she hadn’t tried to take the ring off. She’d felt bad, that’s all. And for none of the right reasons.

Why had she asked Mark to do this for her? What had she expected would happen? Had she chosen him simply because she knew she could get him to agree? Or had she wanted things to change between them?

Did she still love Mark?

A soft tap on the door reminded her that the suite only had the one bathroom. “I’ll be right out.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She went to the sink and looked at her face. After all they’d done to her today, makeup-wise, she wasn’t surprised to find her skin blotchy and her eyes redrimmed. Nice.

After a few splashes of cool water, she dried off and met Mark in the bedroom. “It’s all yours.”

“Actually, I’m set, I was just worried that something was wrong.”

“Just tired. Anxious about tomorrow.”

“The Post, huh?” He was sitting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles, a couple of the big pillows behind his back.

All she wanted to do was curl up next to him. Feel those strong arms around her shoulders. Hear his heartbeat beneath that cowboy shirt. Instead she went to one of the chairs by the window. “It’s not the Times, but fantastic, nonetheless. I think I’d be a pretty good fit there.”

“They’re gonna love you.”

“I just need to give them the right impression. I learned a lot from interviewing at the Dallas paper. If I’m on my game, I truly think I have a shot.”

“Then let’s make sure you’re on your game. How about room service tonight, then an early bedtime. You need the rest.”

She had to swallow a sudden rush of tears. That alone proved that she was way too tired. “I promised to take you around the city tonight.”

“The city will still be there.”

“Let’s look at the menu, then.”

He nodded, and his eyes told her he knew she was a lot more than exhausted. She didn’t have to make a decision about making love because he’d done it for her. For her. Was it any wonder she had these…feelings?

Maybe it was still love. But love wasn’t always enough, was it?

HE’D GONE to the top-floor pool and had a swim, had breakfast, read the paper, paced the room, tried to watch TV, then paced some more and still Trish hadn’t gotten back from her interview.

He hoped it had gone well for her, that the people at the Post were smart enough to see that she was a once-in-a-lifetime find. Of course, her success would mean…

He put the brakes on his thoughts. Even if it didn’t work out with the Post, Trish was still going to move out of Briscoe. So why not wish her the best?

He’d thought a lot about last night. He hadn’t gotten much sleep despite his exhaustion. He’d wanted so badly to touch her. To make love with her. But he’d kept his hands to himself. Literally. After he knew she was soundly asleep, he’d taken a second shower. It had been quick because he’d been hard and ready from the moment he’d seen her in that old T-shirt.

Even that hadn’t stopped the ache. Maybe it had just been too long since he’d been so attracted to a woman. But probably it was because she was Trish.

He crossed the room to the minibar but nothing had changed since the last time he’d rooted through the contents. Just as he shut the fridge door, the suite door opened. He knew instantly that the interview hadn’t gone well.

“Hey,” she said, her accent, which she’d worked hard to lose, was clear in that one word. That only happened when her guard was down.

“Hey.”

She dropped her purse on one of the end tables followed by her jacket. She looked cool and professional even without it. A pale green silky blouse and dark green pants gave her the sophistication she aimed for without all that morose black New York women seemed to like so much.

“Well, that sucked.”

He joined her, choosing the leather club chair across from her so he could see her face. “What happened?”

“I waited along with a half dozen other eager young hicks. Filled out forms. Waited some more. Then we were all brought into this conference room where a junior, junior assistant, some guy named Frank who I swear was maybe seventeen, asked each of us where we’d graduated, where we’d worked and why we should get the job. The job, mind you, was as a research toady. Nothing glamorous, lousy pay. We had about a minute to answer. Frank didn’t even listen. He told us we’d be contacted if they wanted us to move to the next level. That was it.”

“Did he say when you’d be contacted?”

“No. And I won’t be. I was about as invisible as I could be. The only shot I had was to get into a dialog with someone.”

“Sounds to me like you have an even chance with everyone else there.”

“Not really. There were two people that had a lot more experience. The rest of us were just hicks from nowhere.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t better, but hell, it’s only one interview. You have the Times and that other paper, right?”

She nodded. “Right. Well, I’d better get it in gear.” She looked at her watch, the one that had belonged to her mother. “Gwen will be calling any minute, and I’ve got to get something to eat.”

“Want me to call room service?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Nope. I think I’d like to get out of the hotel. I’ll call Gwen instead and find out the schedule. After that, I want to find a real New York deli. I’m in the mood for a bagel and a schmear.”

He laughed, hearing her say that with her Briscoe accent in full gear. “Oy,” he said.

Trish smiled. “I don’t think we can pass, bubba.”

He crossed over to the couch and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “No, I don’t think we can.”

When he started to move away, Trish caught his arm, met his gaze. “Thanks for the support.”

“I want the best for you. I always have.”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. Instead she let him go and ducked under his arm in her haste to get to the bedroom.

He watched the closed door for a long while. Wishing…

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE NIGHT STRETCHED before Trish like a giant red carpet to the city. After another round of wedding interviews and a lunch that was great, but wasn’t the deli she’d longed for, she, Mark and the engagement ring were finally on their own.

“What do you want to see first?”

Mark leaned back on his heels as he watched the traffic roll by on Madison Avenue. “Darlin’, I have no clue.”

“Well, haven’t you ever wanted to see anything in New York? Rockefeller Center? Times Square? The Rainbow Room?”

He looked at her then and his slow smile pulled her right back to their first year of high school. Mark had been just Mark since they were six. Nothing special, not the most annoying of the local boys, but a bit of a show-off. Then she’d gone to Briscoe High wearing a sassy short skirt and a twelve dollar blouse from Nordstrom’s Rack. Not to mention Clinique eye makeup and lip gloss. She’d thought she was so hot, eggs would fry on her butt.

She’d walked into first period English and neighbor Mark turned in his chair. His gaze had roamed from her Payless Shoes to her Glamour Cuts hair, and he’d smiled. That smile.

It was all over but the formal announcements.

Here she was on the brink of her brand-new life, ready to take on Manhattan and still, as always, her heart skipped two beats, the butterflies swam in her tummy and she just plain melted. The disappointment from the nonexistent newspaper interview had transformed itself into a fierce desire to show them. Her confusion about roping Mark into the extravaganza of this wedding had become muted as he’d so clearly gotten into the spirit of the fun during the wedding chores.

If only she wasn’t so drawn to him. If she’d met someone else, or if he’d done some horrible thing to her. But no. He was still that boy that had made her sigh in Mrs. Carrel’s first-period class.

“How about we walk a while. I’ve been sitting too much. I’m getting used to it.”

She pointed past his shoulder. “That way is Times Square.”

“Times Square it is.”

He turned, reached back and took her hand in his. “Give me the nickel tour,” he said.

“I don’t know enough about the city to do that.”

“Sure you do. Tell me what you love about it. What draws you here above all other places.”

They walked at a leisurely pace, which seemed slow compared to those rushing past them. Everyone seemed to be late for something. Trish, on the other hand, wanted the world to slow, to stop. Holding Mark’s hand, thinking about how to explain her love for the city. It was heaven.

“Well?”

“Movies,” she said. “Woody Allen had a large part in my first stirrings of love for New York. But he wasn’t the only one. Every time I saw pictures of Manhattan I got all excited. It was as if I’d already been there, as if it was where I belonged, if I could only get there.”

“I think you’d have to go pretty far to find a place less like Briscoe.”

“That had something to do with it,” she said. They stopped at a crosswalk and marveled at the games the pedestrians played, daring taxicabs and black limos to run them down like bowling pins.

“I don’t mind traveling,” he said, “but it’s getting home that I like the best.”

She shoved his shoulder with her own. “Liar. You hate leaving your ranch.”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t hate it, but I do worry. Dad has other interests these days, and we both know that if Chris could, he’d spend all day playing video games.”

“How’s your dad’s book coming?”

“I have no idea. He won’t let me read it till it’s done.”

“Still. Good for him. It’s really never too late, is it? Not for the big dreams.” They slowed their pace as they waded through a crowd of people exiting a tour bus. As she caught sight of all the cameras around all those necks, she mentally kicked herself for not bringing hers along.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mark said. “It’s weird, though, that I never knew he wanted to write. He never said anything.”

“He probably told your mom.” She looked over at Mark and was surprised at the sadness she saw there. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Mark, it’s me.”

He smiled at her. “I thought my father would love the ranch until he kicked the bucket.”

“I’m sure he does love the ranch.”

“Not so’s you’d notice.”

“Now he has you. He trusts you to take care of things.”

“But—” He loosened his grip on her hand but she just held on more tightly.

“But what? The man’s worked hard his whole life. He deserves a chance to branch out. Not everyone is like you, Mark, not even your hero.”

“My hero?”

“I know how much you care about your dad. How you’ve tried to model yourself after him. It’s a great compliment to him that you’ve turned out so well. But don’t begrudge him because he did his job.”

Mark shook his head as they stopped at the corner of Times Square. For a long time, he just looked at the lights, at the giant TV screens and the Broadway marquees. He seemed awfully interested in the pizza joint across the street, and Trish realized she was hungry, too. But pizza wasn’t on her menu.

“Come on,” she said, tugging on his hand. “I want to take you to dinner.”

Trish had memorized the address, but had no idea how far the place was from where they were, so they hailed a cab. It took about twenty-five minutes to arrive, and after she paid the driver, they got out at East 86th Street. At Papaya King. Supposedly one of the best hot dog joints in the world.

“This is where we’re having dinner?” he asked, grinning to beat the band.

“I also know how you feel about hot dogs.”

Mark looked at the joint, which was really just a big old hot dog stand painted brilliant greens and yellows. There was a line, of course, but everyone in it seemed to be in a pretty happy mood, a good sign.

OF COURSE TRISH had brought him to eat hot dogs in New York. He’d loved dogs since childhood, and he was the nutcase at barbecues who passed up the sirloin steaks and even the Texas beef ribs only to eat a half dozen hot dogs, complete with mustard, relish and onions. As everyone liked to tell him so often, it was a sickness.

She dragged him into the line and she was so tickled with herself she was practically hopping from foot to foot. Damn, she was adorable when she got like this. It was one of the things he liked most about Trish, that she could be such an unabashed kid. She didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. Even the cliques of Briscoe, which were downright evil.

He was helpless, of course. He had to kiss her. And when he did, not even hot dogs stood a chance. He pulled her into his arms and in front of God and all the people in line, he made sure she was well and truly kissed.

She fell into him, as if her bones had gone soft. He was all too eager to hold her. To keep her close. To taste her and feel her.

But the hot dog line would wait for no man or woman. They broke it up and moved along, but he didn’t let go of her. His arm was around her waist and hers was around his. It was just like old times when she slipped her hand into his back pocket.

He enjoyed his Papaya King hot dogs and his mango pineapple juice. But it was nothing compared to how much he enjoyed the company.

“WHAT WERE YOUR responsibilities at the Star-Telegram?”

Trish stopped herself from adjusting her jacket again and looked squarely at Tom Finster, the man interviewing her at the New York Times. “I was an editorial assistant for the Lifestyle editor. I was responsible for compiling column material for weddings, birth announcements, the calendar of events and the obituaries. I also wrote some feature articles, which you’ll see in my portfolio.”

He had the portfolio in front of him. Open. But he didn’t even glance at it. Or her. Mostly he was watching his computer monitor.

“What makes you think you’re right for the Times?”

“I’ve studied the paper for years. I know each section well, I know the styles and points of view of all your columnists. I’ve done my homework about the city, about the paper and about the people. I’ve got an old-fashioned work ethic, and I believe in doing the best possible job no matter what the task.

I’m accurate, I know about the printing cycles, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, showing no more interest in her than he would a pesky fly on the window pane.

It was nothing less than torture. Her dreams smashing against indifference and shattering into a million tiny pieces. He wasn’t going to hire her. It wouldn’t have mattered what she’d said, either.

She knew the newspapers in New York were competitive, but she’d never have guessed she’d have been so outclassed. Her old boss at the Star had tried to warn her, but had she listened? She was so sure she could convince these people to take a chance on her….

It didn’t mean she was going to quit. There were smaller papers in the city. If she had to, she’d apply at each one. Somehow, she’d find a way to stay here, to keep the dream going.

Only the dream had lost its vibrancy. It had turned from color to black and white, and at the moment, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to repaint.

Finster typed for a moment, then turned to her. “You have a nice résumé, but I’ll be honest with you. To get into this paper, you’d need a lot more experience. Go back to Dallas and get some years under your belt. Get your feet wet in the national and international sections.”

Trish sat straighter. “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Finster. You’ve given me a strong direction and that means a lot.”

He actually smiled. “This is the most competitive market on the planet. Good isn’t enough. Excellent isn’t, either. You have to walk in here a star.”

She stood and held out her hand. “I’ll be back.”

“I bet you will,” he said as he gave her back her portfolio.

She headed out of the old building, debating stealing a little more time to get a good look at the offices, at the bullpen, but she was needed back at Hush. The final wedding dress fitting was today, and then they were going to tape some TV promos. Gwen had nearly had a heart attack when she found out Trish would miss two hours.

At least Mr. Finster had turned out to be a mensch. She grinned. A mensch. She wondered if there was another soul in Briscoe, Texas, who knew the word, let alone what it meant. No, she was meant for bigger things. If it took a few more years to get there, so be it.

But on her way back to the hotel, the city looked different to her. The color here had changed, too. Or maybe it was just that her eyes had lost their stars.

MARK TRIED TO KEEP his mind on the reporter and not worry so much about Trish’s interview, but it was tough. The woman, name of Patty, was from some tabloid, something he’d never heard of. She was dressed in some weird outfit that he supposed was the height of fashion, but man it looked uncomfortable. Especially the shoes. Those heels had to be at least four inches tall.

“One last question?”

Mark nodded. “Whatever you need, ma’am.”

Patty smiled at him as if he were some kind of treat she got out of a cereal box. “You are just the most adorable man. Anyway, tell me a little more about your first trip to New York. What’s the most exciting thing you’ve seen?”

He didn’t have to give that one much thought. “The look on Trish’s face when she put on the engagement ring.”

Patty sighed. “One thing’s for sure. They certainly picked the couple who were most in love. It gives me hope. Of course, finding a guy like you in New York is damn near impossible.”

“Why’s that? I’m not all that different, even if I do come from Texas.”

She laughed, then, and he wasn’t such a hick that he didn’t get the joke. She didn’t even bother to explain. All she did was pat him on the shoulder as she teetered out of the bar in her high-heeled shoes.

CHAPTER NINE

“WHAT AREN’T YOU TELLING ME?”

Trish looked away knowing it was stupid and useless to try to fool Mark. He above all people knew when she was upset. He read her so well. No one, not even her own mother, had ever been as attuned to her. Sometimes, she loved that. Right now, not really.

“Talk to me, girl.”

They were finally back in the suite after a very, very long day. It was just past midnight, and they both needed to get a good night’s sleep.

Tomorrow was the wedding.

Mark’s Dad and his brother had come in yesterday along with Darryl and Trish’s friends. Not that they’d had a moment to talk, but Hush was certainly treating them well.

“Is it about tomorrow?”

“Partly,” she said, resigned to spilling all the beans. If she was going to talk, she might as well have something to wet her throat. She went to the fridge and pulled out a diet soda for her and held up a beer for him.

“I’ll take a soda, if there’s one that’s not that diet crap.”

She got him his favorite and went back into the living room. Her gaze skidded to the panoramic view of the city and for the very first time, it didn’t make her breath catch.

“Alrighty then,” he said, leaning back in the club chair. “Which part about tomorrow is making you so upset?”

“Just the wedding part,” she said, only partly kidding.

“I know. It’s a big deal,” he said, as if he hadn’t caught that it was a joke.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a joke. Maybe she just wanted it to be.

Mark popped the top of his soda. “You know, I’ve come to the conclusion that we were the perfect two people to have won this prize.”

She paused with her drink halfway to her mouth. “Oh?”

He nodded. Took a swig of pop. “We’ve given them more than they had any reason to expect. We haven’t complained, we’ve been forthright in all the interviews. Hell, you think a young couple who were truly in this for the wedding would have been so accommodating? Couldn’t happen.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because getting married for keeps is a very emotional experience. It’s for life. It matters. No matter what, you’re signing on to go the distance with that one other person. That ring has to be significant, and that doesn’t come with a hefty price tag. No matter how beautiful those rings were, they weren’t from the heart.”

As if she’d been kicked out of her chair by a giant boot, she was on her feet, soda sloshing out of her can, finger pointed straight at his face. “You know what? You’re stubborn as a mule, Mark Reynolds. Even when it makes sense to get some damn help on your ranch, help that wouldn’t hurt your bottom line a bit, you dig your heels in and work until you get sick. How many times have you had pneumonia?”

He opened his mouth, but she just stepped closer. “You think everyone who doesn’t think like you do is not just wrong, but stupid. Don’t even try to deny it, because I’ve been with you after a night at the Renegade, and you’ve sliced and diced those good ol’ boys into mincemeat.”

Again, he opened his mouth.

“You never give your brother a break. He’s a kid, dammit, and he has a right to choose his own life. Sure he can help on the ranch, it’s good for him to have the discipline, but don’t discount his dreams. He has a right to them, too.”

“Are you finished?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Let me know,” he said, as calm as you please.

She wanted to yell some more, and the truth was there was more to yell about. Mark was no saint, and he was no angel. He brooded and was quick to leap on other people’s mistakes.

But he was also the most amazing man in the whole damn world.

She burst into tears, great big wet tears, and she ran into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

A minute later, she heard him open it. Shocking, because she was still wailing like a banshee. She should have locked the damn door.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Quietly. Patiently. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Not because she was crying, but because she could feel all that TV makeup running down her cheeks.

Oh, the hell with that. He’d seen her look her worst. She’d seen him, too. They’d been through it all together. No, not all.

“You need some tissues?”

She sniffed and nodded. The bed rose a little, then dipped when he came back. She held her hand out and he stuffed it. Several minutes later, she finished mopping up her face, and while she knew her eyes were swollen and her skin a perfect mess, she faced him.

“I’m not ready,” she said.

“For what?”

“For New York. For the Times or the Post or any of them. I’m a small-town girl with a dream too big for my britches.”

“Not forever. You’ll get the experience and then you’ll come back.”

She shifted on the bed until she was sitting closer to Mark. “I don’t know if I want to,” she said, her voice an embarrassed whisper.

His hand touched hers. “It’s okay. You get to change your dreams, Trish. You have a right to do that.”

“I just don’t know what I want,” she said. “It’s always been so clear. All of it. The job, the apartment, the travel. I’d dreamed it in every detail. And now, all I feel like is the biggest fool in the whole world. I screwed up, Mark. So, so badly.”

He stood and pulled her up with him. “Let’s you and I go to bed. You tell me every little thing that’s got you worried. In the morning, things will be a lot clearer.”

She nodded, drained of every bit of energy, and headed to the bathroom. She needed a shower. She needed to sleep. She wished she were anywhere but here.

SLEEP WOULDN’T COME. Trish had no idea what time it was, but it was way late. She was going to look like crap tomorrow, which was just perfect.

She looked over at Mark in the moonlight. He’d been asleep for a while. Of course, that was her fault, too. He’d wanted to talk. She tried, but in the end, she just couldn’t. She’d already confessed to being a fool. She hadn’t the strength to fill in the details.

So, what now? What next?

She fiddled with her engagement ring. Her fake engagement ring. Tomorrow she would add a fake wedding band and sign fake wedding papers, and kiss her fake husband in front of hundreds of strangers.

Did it get any better than this?

She laughed at her own joke because really what were her options? She couldn’t stop the proceedings at this stage of the game. That truly would be unethical, even beyond her shaky moral code.

She didn’t used to have the shakes when it came to stuff like this. She used to be proud of her accomplishments and her behavior.

Not only had her dreams gone up in smoke, but her self-image was way too close to the ashes.

Mark turned over, and she got real quiet, afraid she would wake him with her screaming thoughts. Too late. His head came up from the pillow.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

He shook his head, then scooted closer. “You need something?” he asked, his voice all growly. “Water?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

With a sigh, she met him halfway on the bed, resting her head on his chest. “I’m so screwed.”

He laughed, but in a nice way. “There’s nothing you can do about any of it tonight, Trish. You might as well get some rest.”

“I’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

There was a long stretch of silence where the only thing she heard was his breathing. Then his hand pushed back the hair from her forehead in the gentlest caress. “Maybe I can help.”

For a moment she thought he was going to sing her a lullaby or something. He disabused that notion as he pulled her up to meet him in a kiss.

She hesitated, but not for long. He hadn’t been sleeping so long that he had morning breath, but she had the feeling she wouldn’t have cared if he had. She needed this. Needed him.

He couldn’t hate her too much if he could kiss her like this, could he? Maybe he wasn’t embarrassed for her. Or filled with pity.

No, she was the only one feeling those things.

“Hush,” he whispered, pulling away only a smidgen. “Don’t you worry about a thing, honey. I’ve got you.”

Touching his naked chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and his comfort, she fell into his embrace leaving behind her doubts and fears and judgments.

True to his word, he never once let her go. With a slow tenderness, he made love to her. With her. So thoroughly that there wasn’t an inch of her body that didn’t thrum with pleasure. From her lips to her toes, he showed her how he felt about her. Despite everything.

He whispered the words that had come to be theirs alone. Words that on another man’s tongue would have sounded absurd. But theirs was a shared history of silliness, of sounds whose familiarity made them special.

Even though that old T-shirt was on the ground somewhere outside the bed, she felt wrapped in him no matter where his hands were. No matter how his teasing tongue made her plead.

When it was time to catch her breath, to cool her body down after the most perfect climax ever, he was still there.

“You still with me?” he said, his voice low and intimate.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, because there’s something I want you to think about. You remember when we were growing up, there was the Briscoe County newspaper?”

She nodded against his chest. “It was what, four pages?”

“On a good day. But anyway, Jeb Smith still has all the equipment in storage. It’s pretty dated, but it wouldn’t take all that much to get the paper up and running again, especially now that computers can do so much of the work.

“Maybe, instead of going back to Dallas, you could consider becoming a publisher. Briscoe County has grown. There’s lots of folks who could use a weekly paper. And if you were the publisher, you could make that paper into anything you wanted it to be. That would give you lots of experience, wouldn’t it? I mean, you could write the stories, do the copy editing, editorialize, all of it. And when you’re ready, you could come back and have something real and fine to show these New Yorkers. Anyway, it’s something to think about, right? An option.”

“Right,” she said. “An option.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Go to sleep. There’s plenty of time to decide what you’re going to do.”

She nodded again, her body limp and so tired she could barely move her head. But her thoughts? A whole different story.

CHAPTER TEN

THE ROOFTOP GARDEN at Hush had been transformed. The flowers bloomed in a sea of brilliant colors and fragrances. In the center of the roof Weddings by Desire had gone all out to create a magical space. There was a rose-covered arbor, a string quartet, champagne at the ready and chairs and room for everyone, including the press. The decorations were all pastel and soft and blended with the flowers seamlessly.

Trish wasn’t able to enjoy the scenery for long, however. Gwen hurried her away into the bridal room, adjacent to the swimming pool. Hush had taken equal care there, providing the bride-to-be and the wedding party with ample space to dress, do makeup and hair—there was even a gorgeous chaise for the bride to rest on, should the need arise.

Trish would have preferred a bed and about six more hours of sleep, but her adrenaline was sufficient to keep her awake. That and the espressos she was sucking down.

She was led to the beauty station where two women and a man were at the ready. One for hair, one for makeup, one for nails. Sinking down in the barber chair, Trish tried to relax. She had an entire hour scheduled here, then it was on with the dress, then on with the show.

The team situated themselves so they could all work at once, and Trish gave herself over to the primping. But instead of the calming meditation she’d meant to do, she thought again about what came next. Not just here, at Hush, either. She knew this was a defining moment. That what she decided here would determine the course of the rest of her life.

MARK DIDN’T HAVE TO BE at the hotel for another forty-five minutes, so he let the waiter pour him another cup of coffee. His father, his brother and his best friend Darryl had joined him for breakfast in a little coffee shop two doors down from Hush.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

His father shrugged. “It’s a good place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”

Mark turned to Chris.

“I like it. There’s so effin’ much to do here. All night long, man. I saw a Chinese restaurant that’s open until five in the morning. Jeez.”

“It ain’t bad,” Darryl said. “But I miss home.”

Mark sipped his coffee, debating the wisdom of finishing the last Danish. Better not.

“So,” his Dad said, “this wedding thing. You and Trish. It’s all for show.”

“That’s right. But we can’t tell anyone that.”

“You have your license, right? And there’s going to be a real justice of the peace up there?”

“The marriage will be legitimate. Just short-lived.”

“Why’s that again?”

Mark sighed. “Dad, I told you. Trish wants to live here. In the city. She wants to work for a major paper. I can’t wait to get back to the ranch.”

“That’s fine and dandy, but pretty inconsequential. Do you love her?”

Mark did not want to have this conversation. It was hard enough to face the day feeling the way he did. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

“Sure, we can talk about anything you like. But the problem isn’t going away. You need to tell her.”

“What, that she needs to give up her dreams and become a rancher? She hates Briscoe. She hates ranching. It’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know, if you don’t ask her?”

“She knows her options.” Including the one he’d offered up last night. Not that he would tell his father, but he’d pulled out the only ace he’d had. That Briscoe paper idea had been his last, desperate plea.

Trish hadn’t brought it up once this morning. Not a word. It was time to let it go.

“I see her point,” Chris said. “If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t go back to the ranch. Not a chance.”

It hurt to hear his brother’s words, but they weren’t a surprise. Mark remembered what Trish had said about allowing Chris to have his own dreams. “What do you want?” he asked. “Is there something specific? After college, I mean?”

Chris looked startled. “Well, yeah.”

Even their father was paying attention now.

“I want to fly.”

“Fly what?”

Chris’s cheeks were flushed and he looked as if he was exposing a dirty secret. “Helicopters. I want to join the Air Force and get my license. And when I get out of the service, I want to be a life flight pilot for a hospital.”

Mark sat back in his chair, dumbfounded. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since I was twelve.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He gave Mark a look that was like a punch in the stomach. “You didn’t want to hear it. I know you love the ranch, dude, but it’s not for me. It never has been.”

“Yeah,” Mark said quietly. “It doesn’t have to be for you. I’d still prefer you go to college.”

Chris nodded. “I’m planning on it.”

Mark got the check from the center of the table. He left the money along with a New York-size tip. “I’ve got to get ready. See you guys up on the roof. And, Darryl, don’t you dare have a beer until the wedding’s over.”

“Jeez, man. I may be a hick, but I’m not a dummy.”

Mark hit his friend on the back of the head, but he smiled as he did it.

“Still time to tell her you love her,” his dad said.

“Dad, she knows.”

“Does she? Really?”

Mark didn’t answer. But he pondered the question all the way back to the suite.

THE STRING QUARTET started playing the wedding march, and it was all Trish could do not to throw up. She was standing at the edge of the garden, Gwen at her side. From here, she could see it all. The gorgeous decorations, the stunning flowers, her friends Stephanie and Larissa from Dallas, Penny who she’d known since third-grade and her maid of honor, Ellen. Across the aisle sat Mark’s dad and Chris. Even Darryl looked good in his tux. And, of course, the media. There were three television cameras, a whole gaggle of photographers and reporters. Piper Devon, Hush’s famous owner, was there, too, looking stunning in a pale pink dress.

It was someone’s dream wedding. Just not hers.

It should have been. Mark, in his perfect tuxedo complete with a rose in the lapel, was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband. Best friend, confidant, lover. But the life he could offer her, had offered her…what of that? Was it possible for her to find happiness, the forever kind, in Briscoe? Could she find the satisfaction she’d yearned for on a horse ranch? Running a newspaper that would be more focused on the grain reports than the situation in Washington?

Gwen touched her arm. It was her cue, and she had rehearsed this moment enough that she knew just how slow to walk, just how hard to smile.

If only her heart wasn’t breaking into a million pieces. If only the ring on her finger meant what it was supposed to mean, instead of a glittery, brilliant lie.

Each step brought her closer to the shambles her life had become. She’d finally, early this morning in the fabulous shower, come to terms with the end of her dream. New York wasn’t for her. Not now. Maybe never.

So what would she put in its place?

Dallas, where she could get her old job back, where she could continue to learn and develop as a journalist? Where she could start dating again, looking to find a man like Mark?

She felt the cameras on her, heard the delicate strings as they wafted over the garden. The justice of the peace looked serene and happy in his best Sunday suit. Everyone around her seemed so pleased. So thrilled to be part of this momentous occasion.

Even Mark. God, the way he looked at her! Despite every one of her sins, her conceits, her schemes, everything about him, especially his eyes, spoke of his love for her.

Too quickly, she was at his side. He smiled at her and with great care, lifted the veil from her eyes.

The justice cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved—”

“Wait.”

Mark looked at her sharply. The justice seemed insulted. And she could feel Gwen’s panic from five feet away.

“Wait,” she said again because she had to. The veil had been lifted, all right, and with a clarity that made the rooftop shimmer, she turned to Mark. “We need to talk.”

He nodded once, took her hand and led her back down the aisle. All the way to the quietest part of the garden. All the way past the furious clicking of cameras.

The quartet had stalled, but by the time they were alone, they were playing Pachelbel’s Canon.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Everything,” she said, not at all sure how to go about this. “You’ve been…I…”

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”

He nodded. “I have since that first day of high school.”

“Do you love me enough not to resent me when there’s so much to be done on the ranch? When you’re out there in the middle of winter and I’m away on a story? Do you love me that much?”

“Someone told me once that I was as stubborn as a mule. That I could hire help when I needed it. I think that piece of advice was worth taking.”

“You’ve always wanted someone by your side. A helpmate.”

“That’s true. But help comes in a bunch of different ways.”

“You have to be sure about this, cowboy, because what I’m saying here is that I love you. I love you so much it would be a sin against everything that’s holy to walk away. But I’d rather cut off my own arm than give you a life of resentment and disappointment.”

His slow smile—that slow smile—changed everything. “Honey, you’re who I choose. Is that clear enough?”

She smiled right back. “Wow. That’s very, very clear.”

“Are you gonna be okay with the Briscoe County paper?”

“Yeah. I am. As long as you’re there. As long as we can be together.”

He looked over his shoulder at the stunned and impatient crowd, then back into her eyes. “Trish Avalon, will you be my wife? For keeps?”

She flung her arms around his neck, whacking him in the head with her bouquet. After a kiss that made her toes curl and her heart happy, she met his gaze and said, “I do.”