Convenient Cowgirl Bride Page 10

  “Give us another kiss, Chase!” one of the photographers yelled.

  Chase obliged, sweeping her backward in a dip. His mouth fused to hers and her pulse galloped. Once again, she had to clutch his jacket front to keep her equilibrium. He held her like that for what seemed an eternity, then just as suddenly brought her back up to a standing position. His arm remained circling her waist—a good thing since her knees quivered to the point she wasn’t sure she could stay upright without that assistance.

  “Now, y’all forgive us. We’re still on our honeymoon, and my girl has to head out in the morning for her next gig. I get one more night to celebrate with her, and we’re going to do it up right.” Chase winked at the media mob.

  With that, he led her across the parking lot to his car and folded her into the passenger seat. He joined her moments later, the Jag purred to life and they drove away.

  “Proud of you, babe. You did good,” Chase said as he expertly maneuvered the slick car through traffic.

  She caught a glimpse of his profile. He looked relaxed, happy and sincere. Huh. She felt a little ridiculous for feeling jealous of Twyla earlier.

  “Thanks. I...” On impulse, she reached over and touched his thigh with her fingertips. “With Indy hurt, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  His eyes slid her direction, and the right corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile. “You’d have figured out a way, Savannah.”

  His faith in her made her feel warm inside. Without thinking, she squeezed the hard muscle beneath his jeans. Since sharing his apartment, she’d caught glimpses of him in various states of undress—not to mention naked. The man was seriously buff.

  She reminded herself not to jump off that cliff. As casually as she could, Savvie withdrew her hand, only to have him grab it and wrap his fingers around hers. “Kinda like touching you, kitten.”

  “Uh...” Her brain went blank and he chuckled, a sound vibrating from deep in his chest all the way to where his hand held hers. “Uh...”

  They caught a red light, and as the car idled, he turned to face her. “I surprised you.”

  “I... Yeah. A little.” She inhaled and squiggled her nose and lips as she debated how much to reveal. “Kade’s about the only person who ever believed in me. I’m...not used to compliments like that.”

  “Kitten.”

  Wow. The nuances in that one word. Kindness. Compassion. Understanding.

  The light changed to green. He was still holding her hand, but his eyes were back on traffic, giving her the opportunity to study him. Getting emotionally involved with Chase Barron was a BAD IDEA, all in caps and followed with a whole line of exclamation points. She was better off remembering his public persona—the one she saw on the tabloid covers whenever she went through a checkout line.

  No, she really needed to guard against his charm. One year. He’d given her one year. She’d take it to get her life on track, and when he pulled whatever stunt that made him the bad guy and her the injured party, they would divorce. Everyone would feel sorry for her. There was only one problem with that scenario. Chase was setting himself up to be a bad guy, but he wasn’t a bad guy at all.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t realize they’d arrived at the Crown Casino until the doorman opened the passenger door and extended his hand to help her out. Scrambling, she got her feet under her and stood as Chase came around and joined her. He reclaimed her hand and all those warm feelings suffused her again. Until she realized they had an audience: no paparazzi, but tourists wielding cell phones were very much in evidence.

  The scrutiny diminished slightly once they arrived in the lobby. Savannah felt her smile slipping, but Chase squeezed her to him with the arm draped around her shoulders. “We’ll have dinner. Celebrate. And then we’ll go hide upstairs. Sound like a plan?”

  She gave him a tentative smile and nodded. “That works. I’m starved.”

  “Good. Barron House is famous for its steaks.”

  “Excuse me.” A broad-shoulder man stopped in front of them. He wore a tailored suit but looked like he should be wearing army fatigues with bullet bandoliers draped across his shoulders.

  “Problem?” Chase asked.

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Tate asked me to send you to the security office as soon as you arrived.”

  Muttering under his breath, Chase dropped his mouth to Savannah’s ear. “Gotta take care of this, kitten. Go on over to the restaurant and get seated. Tell the waiter I’ll have my usual and I’ll join you as quick as I can.” He squeezed her shoulders again. “Sorry about this. Business first.”

  “I understand.” She flashed him a tentative smile and glanced around the palatial lobby, looking for the steak-house entrance.

  “Buck will show you the way, Sav.”

  She glanced at the man who was part of Chase’s security staff. He definitely fit his name.

  “Drop her off at Barron House before you come up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Chase walked away without a backward glance, Savannah offered a shy smile to the big man still standing in front of her. “If you need to get back to work, I can probably find my way—”

  Buck cut her off. “Not a problem, Mrs. Barron. If you’ll follow me.”

  Savannah nodded and fell into step as Buck pivoted on his heel and marched through the lobby. Curious glances—some openly unfriendly—followed her. Shoulders square, head up, she did her best to ignore them.

  It felt as though they walked several blocks, dodging the casino floor, trailing past the area she nicknamed “Boutique Row” with its high-end shops. They passed several restaurants—a froufrou café featuring French cuisine by some celebrity chef, a family-friendly diner decorated like something from the 1950s and a bar with art deco murals on the walls—before finally arriving at Barron House. Buck took his leave as soon as the entrance was in sight, and with a bit of trepidation, Savannah approached the imposing maître d’.

  “Hi,” she ventured. “Table for two?”

  She got a snooty look and a cold “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Uh...not exactly. At least I don’t think so.” Before she could mention Chase’s name, the maître d’ gave her a head-to-toe perusal, and she could tell she’d failed miserably.

  “We also have a dress code,” the man added, his tone snide.

  She leaned a little to the side to glance into the restaurant. There were wood-paneled walls, low lights, white tablecloths and red linen napkins. A multisided fireplace blazed in the center of the space, flames leaping behind faceted glass. Waiters in starched white shirts, black leather vests and long black aprons bustled through the room. Women wore little black dresses. Men wore coats and ties.

  Swallowing hard, she stammered, “Oh. I—I’ll go change. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” People seated nearby were starting to stare and murmur to each other.

  Pivoting, she ran smack-dab into a warm body—a very warm and very muscular body. Her Stetson flew off her head but a hand grabbed it.

  “Everything okay, kitten?” Chase eyed the maître d’. “Joseph, is there a problem with my table?”

  “Mr. Barron, sir. I—I didn’t know the young woman was with you. She didn’t say.”

  “My wife shouldn’t have to say, Joseph.”

  “Wife?”

  The man sounded stunned, and when Savvie took the chance to look at him, his expression said it all. She was hardly the woman anyone would pick out in a crowd as being married to Chase Barron.

  “Yes, Joseph. My wife.”

  The maître d’ stepped closer and leaned in, his voice a low murmur as he said, “But the dress code, sir.”

  Sav stiffened and tried to pull away from Chase. “I’ll go change. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed—”

  “No.” Chase tightened his grip. “You won
’t change and you have nothing to apologize for.” He eased back just a hair and tilted her chin up with two gentle fingers. “You’re my wife, Savannah. You wear whatever you want wherever you want, especially in my hotel.” His eyes searched hers. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She replied with a breathy, “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He gave her a tight smile as his gaze slid to the officious man standing nearby, wringing his hands. “You will seat us now, Joseph, and you will report to my office first thing in the morning. We’ll discuss your status then.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Right this way, Mr. Barron.”

  They made it maybe five feet into the restaurant. Savannah’s cheeks were burning under the stares of the other patrons, when she felt Chase’s hand tighten against the small of her back. She froze when he stopped walking.

  She glanced up. Cyrus stood there, seething. “Had you married Janiece, we would never suffer this embarrassment, Chasen. Your choice is unsuitable. This...woman is not and never will be good enough to be a Barron.”

  Thirteen

  Chase didn’t know how to respond so he hesitated. He realized his mistake the moment Savannah backed away. He glared at his father. “I’m not doing this here and certainly not in public. You need to pack up and go back to Oklahoma City, Dad. I’m married. End of discussion.”

  “No, you aren’t. You’re playing games, boy. Just like you always do. You don’t love that woman. She’s a handy piece to warm your bed while you thumb your nose at me. I know what’s best for you, for this family.”

  Chase stepped closer and hissed out an angry whisper. “Keep your voice down. You complain every time I show up in the tabloids. Well, guess what? Every person in this restaurant has a cell phone, and you can bet they’re taking our pictures and blasting them out to every social media outlet on the web.”

  Cyrus smoothed his expression just as he’d smooth a wrinkle in his suit coat. Chase saw his father’s eyes flick behind him right before a self-satisfied smile settled on his face.

  “It appears your new bride has cut and run. Come and sit down. We’ll have dinner. Discuss things.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Chase discovered his father was right. Savannah had disappeared. Anger flashed through him. So much for standing up with him. Fine. He shouldn’t have expected loyalty from her, despite what they’d shared last night. He’d seen her expression when she’d come out of the rodeo office earlier. He’d explained that Twyla was a former employee, and that when she’d approached, he’d been cordial. It wasn’t his fault the paparazzi were hanging around. And as soon as Savannah appeared, he’d disengaged and caught up to her.

  The last thing he needed was his father thinking exactly what Chase was thinking. His marriage to Savannah had to appear real and solid. He’d done his bit, but at the first sign of trouble, she’d tucked her tail and run.

  “Chasen? Are you coming?”

  Fine. He’d sit. Have dinner. He needed to eat, anyway. Savannah could call for room service and hide. Whatever. “Yeah, Dad. Right behind you.”

  * * *

  Savannah didn’t run. She didn’t cry, despite how much she wanted to. She kept her fists clenched at her sides, her chin up and her steps measured. She was so totally embarrassed—mortified, as her college English professor would say—but far too aware of the stares and the security cameras. She would not give the Barron staff any more reason for gossip. Backtracking through the maze of hallways, she finally found the correct bank of elevators. Her control was hanging by a thread. She stabbed the button. Then stabbed again. And again. Jabbing it with her thumb until a hand gentled her frantic motions.

  “Easy, hon. Deep breaths.”

  Tucker stood beside her, partially shielding her from view. When she regained a little control, he led her to the last elevator. He punched in a code on a number pad and urged her on board.

  She faced the back wall, chin tucked to her chest, staring at her boots. She couldn’t face Tucker. He’d released her hand and turned toward the doors.

  “I need to stop by the security office for a moment, then I’ll escort you up to the apartment. Okay?”

  Not trusting her voice, she lifted her shoulders almost to her ears.

  “Savvie?”

  She nodded, still unable to speak.

  “Okay, hon.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Tucker turned her and, keeping a gentle hand on her arm, propelled her down a long hallway. She caught enough in her peripheral vision to realize this was one of the executive floors. Tuck halted before a heavy wooden door, and she waited while he punched in another code, then placed his palm against a plate.

  Why would the security to the security room be so secure? Her brain was caught on a hamster wheel of confusion—her way of ignoring the ache in her chest and stalling any sort of processing of what had happened downstairs.

  The door opened to laughter and a female voice stating, “I mean, really? Wearing boots and jeans was bad enough, but that cowboy hat? The maître d’ went off on her and she all but knocked Chase down.”

  The laughter died away as the people in the room became aware of who stood in the doorway.

  Tucker’s voice could freeze-dry steaks as he ordered, “Rack up that footage from Barron House for me. Now.”

  Savannah cringed and turned away. How soon before that footage hit social media? Anger wafted off Tucker in waves as he watched the exchange between Savannah and the maître d’.

  His voice was clipped and hard when he ordered, “Erase it.” He stood stock-still, and Savannah sensed movement behind her. “I’ll be back as soon as I get Mrs. Barron settled. We’ll have a little discussion. No one is off duty until I’m done. We clear?”

  She heard a few mechanical squeaks, rustling paper, a couple of murmurs, but they exited to dead silence. Tucker kept his arm around her shoulders as he propelled her down the wide hallway back to the elevator. As soon as he punched in the code, the doors whispered open and they stepped in. With a whoosh she felt in her stomach, they shot upward to the penthouse floor. He walked her to the apartment, keyed the door and ushered her inside. He let the door close before he turned her to face him with his hands resting on her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “No. But I will.”

  “Please, just let it go.”

  “Not gonna happen, Savannah. One, they disrespected you. I can’t allow that to stand. You’re Chase’s wife, even under these circumstances. Employees—especially those who work in our security office—are given our absolute trust due to the confidentiality of the situations they often monitor. I will not allow what they were doing to continue. We clear on that?”

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded.

  “Good. Two, my cousin can be a total and complete jackass.”

  That shook her out of her stupor. “Please. Just let it go. We both know this whole thing is a sham. It’s just pretend. He’s not really—” Her voice hitched around the cold knot forming in her chest. She had to focus on breathing for a moment. “—not my husband.” The words came out in a whisper.

  “He should have come after you, Savannah. You’re the one helping him out of a bind.” He shook her gently. “You deserve better.”

  “Maybe. I gotta go, Tucker. Please. Just let me go.”

  He hugged her tight and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. Then he backed up a step and fished in his jacket pocket. He handed her an envelope. “It helps when the Barrons own the bank, but I still pulled some strings to get it here ASAP. Here’s a debit card for your checking account. There’s thirty grand in there for your travel expenses and bills. If you need more, call me. Anytime, sweetheart. Okay?”

  With gentle care, he knuckled her chin up. “Any
time. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good luck, Savannah.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. He headed for the door and slipped out.

  “I’m gonna need it,” she murmured. One thought kept running through her head. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. I’m such an idiot. If she’d been close to a wall or the breakfast bar, she’d bang her head. How could she have slept with him? She knew what he was. Who he was. Who his father was. And she’d had about enough.

  She schlepped to the bedroom, found her duffel and an empty suitcase in the closet. While an outsider might think there was no rhyme or reason to her packing, she was quite methodical. She knew what she needed to take. She’d leave the rest to keep up the charade.

  Thirty minutes later, she was getting into the backseat of a cab, after a five-minute fight with the doorman, who insisted he call the hotel’s limo. She’d won the argument.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Clark County Fairgrounds. Rodeo barn parking lot.”

  She had just enough cash in her pocket to pay the cabdriver. Kade had loaded up Indigo and left early that morning. She hitched the new trailer to her new truck, loaded her new horses in the trailer and pulled out. The fuel tanks were topped off but she wanted an ATM. She’d need a big chunk of cash before hitting the road, headed south. The San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo was her next stop.

  She located a truck stop on the outskirts of Henderson and pulled in. She could stock up on Diet Cokes, Snickers and salt-and-vinegar potato chips. She hit the ladies’ room and ATM, grabbed her drinks and snacks, and got in line to pay. Within ten minutes, she was ready to go. The truck came with one of those fancy navigation systems. She’d punched in her destination, and it spit out her itinerary. Without the trailer, she could probably make the trip to San Antonio in eighteen hours. With the trailer, she’d need to stop and spend the night somewhere. Considering her late start, it would probably be either Phoenix or Tucson. She’d drive until caffeine didn’t work any longer, then she’d find a rest stop. She could let the horses out for a bit of exercise, and grab a nap in relative safety.