Kitabı oku: «Hitched!», sayfa 2
“Close enough, I guess. How about you? Do you have much family?”
“One sister, and she’s…well, she’s kind of in trouble at the moment.”
“That’s too bad.” He didn’t want to pursue this line of questioning. He wasn’t particularly interested in her or her sister, would never see her again once this was over. He had plenty of problems of his own without getting caught up in hers.
But looking into her vulnerable face, he couldn’t bring himself to break off the conversation. At a loss, he finally said, “I have a sister, too.”
“Has she ever been in trouble?”
Rand laughed. “Clementine? She’s been in trouble since the day she was born, but probably not the kind of trouble you mean.”
“Clementine. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone with that name. Except, ‘Oh, my darling,’ of course.”
“She used to hate it, but now that she’s older, she kind of likes it.”
“Older like…?”
“She’s twenty-one.” He knew she wasn’t interested in hearing about his sister, but he was struggling to keep the conversation going. “How old are you?” About his age, he figured.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“No kidding.” Idiot. You can’t tell her you thought she was at least five years older than that. Damn shame Clemmie couldn’t get hold of Maxine for a few hours and do something about that frumpy exterior.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Rand glanced around to find one of the ashen-faced flight attendants standing in the aisle, holding a basket with cans of soda and tiny bags of pretzels. “Would either of you care for a drink or a snack? It’s not much, but this was supposed to be a short flight.”
“They wouldn’t let you use that big cart, huh?” Rand guessed.
She nodded. “He said if they needed to get through the plane in a hurry, they didn’t want that thing in the way.”
“Which makes sense, I suppose.” He took a couple of cans from the basket and handed one to Maxine. “How’s it going up front?”
The flight attendant licked her lips. “Okay, I guess. They’re obviously doing drugs, though, and you never know where that will lead.” She made a face.
“Maybe if they get enough of that junk in them, they’ll fall asleep.”
“God, I hope so, but it just seems to make them more squirrelly.”
The beefy man across the aisle—an insurance salesman from Dubuque, Rand recalled, Larry something-or-other—leaned into the quietly spoken conversation. “Why doesn’t the captain do something?” he demanded, his face reddening. “We’ve got them outnumbered, for God’s sake.”
The woman in the maroon-and-gold Alar uniform was rendered speechless by this asinine criticism, so Rand jumped in.
“Good idea. You make the first move.”
“Me? I—we—ah…” The man’s bluff had been called and his bravado evaporated.
A bit of color had returned to the flight attendant’s cheeks and she gave Rand a grateful glance before moving on.
Rand turned around to Maxine, who studied him without expression.
“Maybe we should gang up on those hijackers,” she said defiantly. “If we’re going to die anyway—”
“Nobody’s going to die,” he said, appalled.
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a prediction. Why don’t we just settle down and—”
“May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s voice burst from the intercom. “Time to buckle up. We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes at—”
The sound was cut off to a chorus of “Landing where?” Maxine and Rand looked at each other. He smiled. She didn’t.
“See?” he said encouragingly. “In an hour we’ll be off this plane and going about our business again.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” she said with feeling. “In the meantime, keep talking, will you? Tell me the story of your life…anything to keep my mind off them.”
THE HIJACKERS apparently changed their minds with disturbing frequency because minutes stretched into hours while the plane continued on a meandering course through the sky. After a while, Rand found himself running out of things to say and he still couldn’t loosen Maxine up enough to do more than nod or answer “Yes” or “No.” She did show an annoying tendency to ask personal questions, however, which he turned aside with growing impatience.
He wasn’t a man who talked about his personal business, especially when he was ashamed of it.
The hijackers took turns exploding out of the cockpit to wave guns and grenades around, to make threats. Singly, they’d stalk to the back of the plane, get everybody all worked up to screaming and crying, then turn and stalk back, to disappear inside the cockpit again.
Finally the insurance man across the way got fed up for real. “We really oughta rush ’em,” he whispered hoarsely to Rand. “They’re gonna get us if we don’t get them first.”
That thought had occurred to Rand, too, but had quickly perished. Whatever those two hijackers were doing in the cockpit wasn’t making them sleepy it was making them mean—make that meaner. They gave every indication that they’d as soon shoot the passengers as keep an eye on them.
“Take it easy,” he tried to calm the jittery man. “Nobody’s been hurt yet. Why start something we may not be able to finish?”
“Yeah, well…” The man subsided, mumbling.
The next time one of the gunmen appeared, he took one look at the insurance salesman, apparently didn’t like what he saw, raised his pistol and fired point-blank.
At the same instant, the plane banked into a sharp descent, throwing the gunman off-balance. The bullet panged into a vacant seat in the first row, sparing the insurance salesman. The first-class cabin erupted in shrieks and cries, so the hijacker fired a couple more shots after the first, playing hell with the upholstery.
Rand shoved Maxine against the window and turned to shield her with his body. In the aisle, the hijacker was swearing and making all kinds of threats, ending with a bellowed, “You think I don’t know what’s going on out here? You want to jump me, right? Try it! I’m begging you to try it! Hell, I might just throw this grenade and get it over with.”
Fully believing the end was near either from bullet, grenade or a crash landing, Rand braced himself for the worst. So much for his own petty problems. He wasn’t going to live long enough to—
The wheels slammed down onto solid earth. The plane vaulted into the air and landed again, heavily. The odor of burning rubber permeated the cabin.
“Please!” The word was just a gasp from Maxine. “You’re crushing me! Let me up!”
Why the hell not? If the hijacker hadn’t thrown the grenade by now, maybe he wouldn’t. “Sorry.” Rand straightened. A quick glance forward produced an exclamation of astonishment.
The hijacker wasn’t there. And hurtling past the window was a landscape Rand didn’t recognize: sand and cactus and a few stunted trees.
But first things first. “You okay?” he asked Maxine. “I didn’t mean to crush you but I was afraid—”
“Shit!” The insurance salesman was hyperventilating. “He’s crazy! Did you see that? He tried to shoot me!”
Rand grimaced. “Buck up, fella. You survived to tell about it.”
The man groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He stumbled to his feet and staggered forward to the rest room, bouncing side to side with the motion of the plane.
Into a tense silence, a petulant voice intruded. “Grandma, I’m hungry!”
Jessica, the little girl in the seat behind them. A tug on his sleeve made Rand start; the child stood in the aisle, looking up at him plaintively.
Maxine’s smile didn’t mask her concern. “Honey, you have to sit down.” She dug around in her shoulder bag. “Here.” She held up a candy bar. “You can have this if you’ll get back into your seat and—”
“Jessica!” The little girl’s grandmother sounded panicky. “Get back in this seat at once!”
“Choc-late!” Jessica escaped her grandmother’s clutches and lunged for the chocolate bar. She grabbed it, then fumbled at the wrapper.
Rand tried to take it from the chubby hands. “Let me help you, hon.”
“No, let me help.”
The hijacker had crept up on them all unseen. Now he reached for the candy bar.
Jeez, this guy would take candy from babies? Talk about rotten!
Jessica lunged for the chocolate. “Mine!” she screamed, holding the bar in both hands and backing away. She whirled around, then dashed down the aisle as fast as her chubby little legs would carry her.
The gunman straightened, swaying with the roll of the plane, and his arm came up. All Rand could see was the revolver rising, a finger already tightening on the trigger.
CHAPTER TWO
JESSICA’S GRANDMOTHER let out a bloodcurdling screech and leaped into the aisle, blocking it. Her frantic gaze met that of the gunman and she screamed again. She turned, then stumbled after Jessica, blundering into the curtain.
“Crazy old bat.” All the gunman’s attention was riveted on the floundering woman. His lip curled and he squeezed the trigger.
Rand acted purely on instinct. Grabbing the gun hand, he shoved it up and the bullet whistled harmlessly into the overhead luggage bin. Struggling into the aisle, he wrestled for the gun, slowly forcing the hijacker back.
In the cramped space, the man teetered, swore. Balance gone, he made a panicky grab for the last straw—Rand, who fought off the grasping hands.
The hijacker toppled backward, bouncing off the metal arm of a seat on his way down. He landed flat on his back, his head striking the floor with a solid thump. The gun popped free, ending up at Rand’s feet. The hijacker didn’t move.
Breathing hard, Rand bent to retrieve the weapon. The plane lurched, bounced, skidded, knocking him to his hands and knees—but he had the gun. He struggled up, to find Maxine kneeling in the aisle seat. Her eyes behind the ugly glasses were wide and scared.
She gave voice to the obvious. “You could have been killed!”
“You wanted me to do something, didn’t you?”
The insurance guy, back from the rest room, pointed to the unconscious man in the aisle. “He’s out cold. One down and one to go!”
Rand hefted the comforting weight of the pistol in his hand. He didn’t give a hoot in hell what the insurance guy had to say but for some reason thought Maxine’s opinion might be useful. “Now what?”
“How about this,” she responded promptly. “You stand in the entryway beside the cockpit.” She’d obviously given their situation some thought. “I’ll scream my head off, and when the other hijacker comes out to see what’s going on, you get the drop on him.”
Rand groaned. This sounded like a recipe for disaster. “There’s gotta be an easier way.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You think of it, then. This plane is going to stop soon and when the guy up front sees what you’ve done to his partner—” She made an appropriate slashing motion across her own throat, complete with sound effects.
Her point was well taken. A gun battle inside an airplane would not be a good idea. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “You sure this’ll work?”
“As sure as you were that we’d be off this plane three hours ago.”
She had him there. “Lacking a better idea…”
The level of hysterical wailing in tourist class steadily increased, although first-class passengers appeared too stunned to join in. Jessica’s shrieks soared above all else, but he deliberately shut out the racket. “You.” He indicated the insurance agent. “Keep an eye on that guy. If he so much as blinks, slug him.”
“Hard enough to make him see stars for a month,” the man promised. He dragged a heavy hardcover book out of his seat pocket and held it at the ready.
“All set?” Rand looked at Maxine.
She took a deep breath and nodded. The woman wasn’t short on nerve.
Satisfied, Rand stepped over the unconscious hijacker, then crept toward the front of the airplane. The revolver gave him confidence, although he hadn’t held one in years. His father and great-grandfather had taken pains to teach him how to handle firearms when he was just a kid, before the days of political correctness.
The plane came to a final grinding stop. Holding his breath, Rand placed an ear flat against the cockpit door and strained to hear. Nothing. He turned and positioned himself to the side, where he’d be hidden when the door opened. Maxine, standing near the flight attendants’ galley on the left, looked to him for a signal.
He nodded and she nearly split his eardrums.
“Eeeee…! No! Stop! Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you! Aaargh! Eeeeee…!”
The cockpit door slammed open so hard that it banged against the barrel of Rand’s pistol. For a moment he couldn’t see Maxine and terror swamped him. If he screwed up and she was the one who got hurt—
“Dammit, what’s goin’ on out here? I’ve had just about enough of—”
Rand shoved the door with all his strength and raised the pistol, fully prepared to shoot the crap out of the hijacker. Instead, he looked into the blank face of a man who didn’t know what had hit him…a man slowly crumpling, knocked silly when the heavy door connected solidly with his head.
The insurance salesman rushed up “We got him!”
The pilot barged through the door, rumpled and a bit crazed. Dried blood crusted his forehead, but he didn’t appear to be seriously hurt. He stopped short at the sight of his tormentor sprawled on the floor. “What the hell!”
The co-pilot joined them, taking everything in at a glance. “Where’s the other one?” he demanded.
“In first class, dead to the world.” The insurance guy pointed.
Rand finally got a word in edgewise. “Where are we?”
“Mexico,” the pilot said. “It’s a miracle we’re still alive. Those guys wanted to go to Argentina. By the time they finally agreed to a fuel stop, things were getting desperate.” He slapped the other pilot on the shoulder. “It’s a damn good thing you remembered this old airport, Joe.”
The co-pilot shrugged. “My dad used to fly in and out of here in the fifties. This place was an early Cancún, apparently.” He didn’t look as if he fully believed what had happened, even now. “We’d better get the door open and see what the hell we’ve landed in.”
Rand had more immediate concerns. Where was Maxine? Still hiding in the galley? “Here.” He thrust the revolver into the salesman’s hand. “Take over.”
Turning away, he finally spotted Maxine struggling up the rapidly filling aisle. She was lugging her suitcase and his, his briefcase slung over her shoulder. He pushed his way to meet her, so relieved that he nearly put an arm around her.
She leaned close to be heard. “I don’t know about you, but I want out of here.”
“You and me both.” But now new worries set in. Neither friends nor family were aware he was on this plane and publicity was the last thing he wanted. Was there a way to avoid all the hoopla surrounding a hijacking?
“When the door opens…” she began.
“Just part of the crowd.” He tried to shield her from the press of frantic passengers stumbling over the unconscious man in the aisle as if they didn’t even know who he was.
Suddenly the airplane door blew. Instead of leading the charge to escape, Rand stepped aside, drawing Maxine with him. A dozen or so passengers rushed to the opening where the door had been.
No jetway awaited them, just a too-short metal stairway leading down to a graveled field. The first step was a good six feet below the door, but that merely slowed the stampede instead of stopping it.
Two Mexican officials trying to climb into the plane were instead shoved out of the way by the mob. At the first break in the exodus, they tried again with better results. Shouting in a mixture of Spanish and broken English, gesturing grandly, they forced the passengers back until they could drag the two still-unconscious hijackers to the door and pass them down to colleagues waiting on the stairs.
By then, the flight attendants had gained the upper hand, and the evacuation proceeded in a more orderly manner. When the time came, Rand moved into the line, drawing Maxine with him. At the door, he lowered her to the first step, tossed out the luggage and leaped down beside her. When they reached solid ground again, dry heat hit him a hammer blow.
Even in growing darkness, he could easily see that they’d landed in the middle of nowhere. Off to his right, a few lights glowed in the distance, evidence of civilization. Other than that, all he could make out was a small concrete block building at the edge of the field and an overabundance of cactus and rocks.
The pilot had it right; this was insane. The hijacked plane, on the small size by commercial standards, dwarfed the two private planes parked nearby at the edge of what appeared to be a vast network of crumbling pavement.
Maxine’s whole body sagged. “I never thought we’d get off that airplane alive.”
He slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, don’t cave now. You were great. Hell, we were great.”
She managed a shaky smile. “We weren’t bad at that. Do you suppose—”
“That way, señor.” A uniformed Mexican official bustled up, indicating that they should join the flow of passengers toward a metal shack on the edge of the field. “My colleagues wait to interview all the passengers. We must determine the facts surrounding this crime.”
Rand and Maxine exchanged dubious glances. “We don’t know a thing, but we’re happy to cooperate,” he assured the officer. Once out of earshot, he had a different message for her.
“Look,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t want to get any more mixed up in this than I have to. I’m going to ask that insurance guy if he’ll take the responsibility for bringing down the bad guys.”
“You’ll never get away with it.”
“I will if you’ll go along with me. Nobody really saw what happened except you, me and that salesman. Jessica and her grandmother were heading the other direction, if you recall, and those up front were cowering, not watching.”
“Yes, but—”
“Maxine, please do this.”
“Why? You did a brave thing. You should get credit for it.”
“It wasn’t brave—it was an automatic reflex. I don’t want credit.”
“Or publicity, apparently.”
“That, too.” She was shrewd, that one. “Will you stick with me on this?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Okay,” she relented. “If you can get that guy from Dubuque to lie through his teeth, I suppose it’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks. He’s right over there, so how about you watch the luggage while I talk to him.” The salesman wasn’t going to be a problem, though. He already half believed he’d pulled off the rescue all by himself.
WHEN RAND TOLD the authorities, innocent locals because the big-city boys hadn’t yet arrived on the scene, that the villains were brought down by the heroic actions of the insurance salesman from Dubuque, nobody questioned this version of events. Maxine, however, gave him a look that he found almost…calculating.
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, Maxine and Rand followed their luggage onto the last of three aged buses for the short ride into the village of Platillo Volante. Exhausted and unhappy, the Alar passengers settled into their seats with barely a murmur.
When the pilot rose at the front of the bus, nobody seemed to care much. Clinging to a pole while the bus careered down the rocky road, he called for attention.
Someone at the back of the bus roused enough to shout a question. “What time will we be taking off tomorrow? I gotta get home to Texas.”
“Uh, that’s what I have to talk to you about.”
Dead silence greeted this announcement. In the third seat from the front, Rand and Maxine exchanged startled glances.
The pilot continued. “I regret to inform you that the plane was damaged in landing. It looks like…it looks like we’ll have to bus you folks out of here.”
“Bus us out of here!”
“To the nearest decent airport,” the pilot elaborated. “Alar Airlines will send in a crew to fix the plane, but it would be too dangerous to have passengers on board when we take her up, even if you wanted to wait around.”
“Where’s the nearest decent airport, then?”
The pilot squirmed. “They tell me that Platillo Volante is only a few hours from Tijuana. Alar Airlines will send nice, air-conditioned buses to transport us there just as soon as arrangements can be made. In the meantime, you’ll be staying at the best hotel in town.”
“To hell with this,” Rand muttered to Maxine. “I don’t have time to sit around in Podunk, Mexico.”
“What makes you think you have a choice?” she retorted. “Think of it as a nice Mexican vacation.”
She had a point, but he was still fuming over the glitch in his plans when the bus pulled up in front of the “best hotel in all of Platillo Volante.” A collective groan arose from the captive guests. If the crumbling exterior of the once-grand building was any indication, they were in for a rough night.
Weary travelers dragged off the bus and stood around in dejected bunches, waiting for the driver to unload their luggage.
And in Rand’s case, waiting some more. By the time all the others had picked up their bags and wandered into the hotel, he realized he had a little problem. When the driver would have gotten back on the bus, Rand stopped him.
“Wait a minute. My briefcase is missing.”
All this got him was a blank look and a “¿Señor?”
“I said—”
“Let me try,” Maxine suggested, launching into fluent Spanish.
The man’s response was not encouraging. He shrugged, spread his arms wide, said a few words, climbed into the bus and drove away.
“He says—”
“Yeah, I figured it out. My briefcase is missing.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Dammit!”
She looked genuinely distressed. “I hope there wasn’t anything valuable inside.”
“Just my life,” he grumbled.
An exaggeration, but he was in no mood to worry about that. In addition to a few personal letters, a magazine or two, an address book and a bottle of water, all he could remember sticking in that briefcase was a safe-deposit key to a box in a bank in Boston—a nearly empty box, unfortunately. Nobody in Mexico was likely to figure that out.
“You can always contact the police,” she interrupted his thoughts.
“Think so?” He glowered at her. “You may not have noticed, but I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Really? Even a little?” She appeared dubious. “I mean, you grew up in Texas, after all.”
“What makes you think I grew up in Texas?” He looked around and realized everyone else had gone inside. “I spent most of my time at boarding schools or in Boston with my mother’s side of the family.” He lifted his remaining piece of luggage. “Summers I spent in Texas, but I only picked up enough Spanish to order desayuno, comida and antojitos—breakfast, lunch and something to go with the beer.” He headed for the hotel door.
She hurried after him. “I still think—”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve got enough trouble without that.” He strode through the hotel entrance. “The briefcase is spilled milk. There’s no need crying about it.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Stepping up to an ornately carved desk, he spoke to the grinning clerk. “Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll do it for you. The young lady and I would each like a single with bath. Tell ’im, Maxine.”
The clerk’s dark eyes flashed and the smile vanished. “Tell the gringo I caught that one,” he replied in accents that could only be learned on the mean streets of Los Angeles. “You say you’d like two singles with bath, huh? Well, I’d like a trip to Europe, which is just about as likely.” The clerk, José, according to his name tag, reached under the counter, pulled out an ornate key and slapped it down in front of Rand. “Room one.”
Embarrassed but too tired and annoyed to apologize, Rand plunged ahead. “Room one—that sounds good. Best in the house, right?” He handed the key to Maxine. “That’ll do for the lady. Now, how about me?”
“I told you, room number one. That’s all we got left. It’s downstairs next to an air conditioner. We don’t usually rent it, but since you ask so damn nice—” José’s mouth curled up. He was really enjoying this.
Rand stared at the key, then at the clerk. “If I apologize and ask real nice, do you think you could find one more room?”
The man’s slowly shaking head ended that line of questioning. “This is all we got. Take it or leave it.”
Rand glanced at Maxine. “Do we take it?”
“Have we got a choice?”
“Apparently not.” His stomach rumbled. “Any chance we can get something to eat?” he asked José.
The clerk seemed to relent a bit. “I guess I could send something to your room. Nothing fancy, though. A couple of burritos, maybe a quesadilla.”
“That sounds great.” Rand’s mouth watered at the mere mention of food. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, if you didn’t count a couple of cheese cubes and a package of pretzels. He looked around. “There wouldn’t be anybody handy to show us the way?” José’s expression made him add, “No, I suppose not.”
“It’s just me,” the clerk said with a shrug. “I can take you to the room or bring food, your choice.”
It really wasn’t a choice at all.
RAND’S CLOSET in Boston was bigger than this room. His sister’s childhood playhouse behind the Rocking T ranch house was bigger than this room. The desk clerk’s ego was bigger than this room.
Maxine took the high road. “At least it looks reasonably clean,” she said primly, dropping her suitcase at the foot of the bed.
“Reasonably.” Rand sat down cautiously on the double bed. Other than that, the only furniture in the tiny room was a small chest of drawers and a night table with lamp.
“If you hadn’t been such a jerk, this wouldn’t have happened,” she said, abandoning the high road.
“That’s harsh.” He gave her a reproving glance.
“Reality’s harsh,” she countered. “And the reality is, I’m stuck in this cubbyhole with a complete stranger. I don’t deserve this.”
“If it’s any comfort, neither do I.”
“No comfort at all.” She opened the top drawer of the bureau and looked in curiously. “How are you going to explain this to your girlfriend?”
“What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”
“You do, don’t you?”
“I sure as hell don’t.” But he wished he did, because then he wouldn’t have to figure out how to get around his great-grandpa’s will. He could just get married and be done with it. “How about you?” he added.
“How about me what?”
“Got a boyfriend?” As unlikely as that seemed.
Her eyes flashed behind the unattractive glasses. “As a matter of fact—”
A knock on the door interrupted. He pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her since she was nearer the door than he and the room wasn’t big enough to get past without major maneuvering. She glanced at the bill and her eyes widened; then she passed it on before accepting a small metal tray from unseen hands.
Sitting on the foot of the bed, she put down the tray and lifted the light cloth covering. “On top of everything else, you’re an overtipper.”
“Hell,” he said, “I can afford it.” Or could once, but that was none of her damn business.
The heady aromas of spicy Mexican food floated up to him, and his mouth watered again in anticipation. “I’m starved.” He reached for a burrito.
“Me, too.” She chose a wedge of quesadilla oozing cheese. They ate in silence for a few moments, then opened the two bottles of water and drank.
Eventually she said out of the clear blue, “I wonder what will become of the hijackers.”
“I hope whoever locks them up throws away the key.” He selected another burrito. He could hardly believe she’d been thinking about those two jerks. “They sure played hell with my life,” he went on. “I should be in Hells Bells, Texas, right about now, trying to—” He shut up, musing that he was probably better off stranded here than trying to fast-talk his father.
“Trying to what?”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”
“Yes.” She gave him that assessing look again. “Does it have anything to do with you giving all the credit for stopping those hijackers to that guy from Dubuque?”
“What if it does? I just don’t want my name in the newspapers. What’s so strange about that?” One thing would lead to another. If anything got printed about his recent business reverses, he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing his judges that he was a changed man. “Besides,” he added, “I didn’t do all that much.”
“A guy saves an entire plane full of people and dodges credit for it. You don’t consider that a bit peculiar?”
“No stranger than setting out for San Antonio and ending up lost in Baja California,” he improvised. “Besides, my mother would probably have a heart attack if she heard about this. I want to keep her in a good mood and this wouldn’t do it.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to keep your mother in a good mood?”
“Because…” Fed up with her questions, he glared—and gave in. “Look, I’m on my way to Texas to claim an inheritance. I need my mom’s cooperation.”
“That sounds simple enough.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt.
“You’d think so.” Shut up, Rand. “Unfortunately there’s nothing simple about it. I don’t meet the conditions of the will because, for starters, I’m not married.” Now, why had he said that? Maybe because he was sick and tired of keeping his problems to himself.
She was incredulous. “You’ve got to be married to get whatever this is?”
“It was my great-grandpa’s bright idea. He left me his ranch and everything on it, which adds up to a small fortune. But to get it, I have to not only be married but be happily married before I turn thirty.”
“Which is—?”
“September 30…less than two weeks.”
“Gee, you are in trouble.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Look at the bright side. The key word is married, because once you’ve done that, who’s to judge what happily means?”
“That’s easy—my parents and two sets of aunts and uncles. The final say is theirs. But since I’m not married, happily or otherwise, it’s a moot point.”
