In all honesty, he’d been toying with the idea of not telling them about Monica at all. Not only to avoid the “how dare you” elopement lectures, but because he wasn’t sure how long she’d be around and didn’t want his parents getting any wild ideas about him finally settling down or—God forbid—starting a family.

  Yes, he’d married her, but she also planned to divorce him as soon as they got her money back from Matt. That could take a week, a month, six months…he didn’t know. But once they did, she would go back to her bright lights, big city life, and he would still be here, living his calmer, much more normal one. She’d said as much out at the corral, and she was right. No way did he want to share the flashier aspects of her world with parents who would undoubtedly question him about his relationship or press him to work things out. Not when his marriage to Monica was never meant to last forever.

  Which was exactly what he liked about it—no pressure, no commitment, a light at the end of the tunnel. A ball, but no chain.

  But now his parents knew he was married and were about to swoop down on them like crows on road kill. Except he wasn’t dead—he only wished he were.

  He pressed two fingers to his temple where a rhythmic pounding had begun to echo through his brain. Lord, I need a horse-size dose of Excedrin.

  As quickly as he could, he gave Monica a rundown of his parents’ personalities and what she was likely to face when they arrived. The more worried she started to look, the more he considered grabbing her up and high-tailing it before the Wrath of Ruth Ann materialized on the doorstep. But they’d never make it. His folks only lived over the next rise, and even if they did manage to escape for a while, his mother would hunt them down and demand the truth.

  “I don’t feel very well,” she said, swaying a bit on her feet. “Do you think I could go lie down?”

  “Not a chance,” he answered—never mind that he’d been thinking something awfully similar only seconds before. “We’re in this together.”

  “What are we going to tell them?” she asked anxiously. “About being married, I mean. I can’t imagine your parents will be too happy to know the truth—that we left your sister’s wedding for our own. Or that we’ve known each other a total of thirty-six hours, most of which were spent passed out cold.”

  She rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, and Ryder figured she was wishing for a nice, big bottle of aspirin herself at the moment.

  “Speak for yourself,” he replied. “I was sober and only slept for eight of those thirty-six hours. Besides, I’d be more worried about them finding out you’re the one I had to carry out of Josie’s reception.”

  Her eyes widened like a horse about to spook. “Do you think they’ll recognize me?”

  He considered that for a moment, then grinned. “Nah. Your face was in my butt most of the time.”

  The wide eyes narrowed to irritated slits.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, grin widening a fraction. “Don’t you remember sinking your teeth into my cinnamon buns?”

  “Oh God.” She groaned and sank forward, letting her body fold in half until it threatened to flip her all the way over.

  “Oh God,” Ryder echoed with dread, eyes glued to her hair.

  …

  Monica lifted her head to find him staring, his mouth hanging open, his eyes blank with astonishment.

  “What?” she asked, unsure what could have caused such a reaction when his parents hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “Your hair is pink,” he said slowly, succinctly, and with more than a little derision.

  Her hand flew to the back of her head, just now remembering the magenta streak dyed there. She had pretty much forgotten that tiny detail in all the confusion of the past few days.

  “It’s no big deal,” she assured Ryder. “You can only see it when my hair is up.”

  His eyes widened. “Well, your hair is up now,” he said. “And my parents will think it’s a big deal.”

  “Okay, okay.” She tugged at the rubber band to rid herself of the ponytail, but the thin, sticky cord caught, knotting in the thin strands of her hair. “Ow,” she gasped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s stuck. I can’t get this stupid rubber band out.”

  Ryder came forward, examining the mess before adding his fingers to the jumble. “Why did you use the damn thing if it was going to get stuck?”

  “I didn’t know it was going to get stuck,” she snapped. Though she’d had a good idea, she admitted silently. Rubber bands were notoriously bad hair care accessories.

  “Ow!” she screamed. “Stop pulling so hard. You’re going to pluck me bald.”

  “We have to get your hair down,” he said. “My parents can’t see that my new wife has bright pink hair.” He paused a moment, then added, “They can’t see that belly button ring, either. Take it out, cover it up, I don’t care. Just do something. They can’t see it.”

  A car door slammed in front of the house, and they both froze.

  “Damn, they’re here.” Ryder hurried across the kitchen to glance out the window.

  Monica couldn’t help herself; she followed and tried to peer around his wide shoulders for an advance glimpse at what she’d be up against. Before she managed it, though, he spun back around, then spun her around, and started tugging at her hair again.

  “Hurry up!” he demanded.

  Her ponytail now hung haphazardly at the back of her head, and he gave the rubber band another hard yank. “Ow! That hurts, dammit,” she said between gritted teeth. “Don’t you have a knife or scissors or something?”

  He grumbled under his breath, but let go of her hair and dug into the pocket of his pants. While he did that, she began to untie the knot at the front of her shirt.

  “What are we going to tell them?” she asked frantically. They hadn’t had a chance to cover that, and now she wished they’d started there and he’d filled her in on his parents second.

  “I don’t know.” Slipping the blade into her hair, he sliced the tiny brown band. “Just…try not to say anything incriminating, and follow my lead.”

  She rolled her eyes, suspecting that he didn’t have any better idea of how to handle his parents in this situation than she did.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch and they both straightened, stiff as boards. She smoothed the tails of her shirt, knowing they were wrinkled beyond redemption, only to have Ryder whirl her around again to face the door. She’d barely regained her balance and was quickly running a hand through her hair to grab the rubber band and shake some bounce back into her battered, so-called carefree ’do when the front door swung open.

  Monica didn’t even want to consider what a hideous picture they made—her hair a mess, her clothes making her look like a throwback to The Beverly Hillbillies on a bad day; Ryder standing behind her looking guilty and uncomfortable, she was sure. It probably didn’t help that he was still holding the pocketknife, blade open, either.

  His mother entered first, barreling into the house like a steam-driven locomotive. She wore an outfit similar to Monica’s, except that her jeans fit and her shirt was tucked neatly at her belted waist. She was also wearing shoes, which was a big plus, as far as Monica was concerned. Her short, silver-streaked hair looked windblown, her cheeks rosy.

  A moment later, a tall, gray-haired man followed. The moment she saw him, Monica knew he had to be Ryder’s father. She imagined Ryder would look exactly like him in twenty or thirty years.

  Ryder’s mother stopped several feet away, taking in the scene before her. Then her hands moved to her hips and she fixed Ryder with a parental glower that made even Monica quake in her boots…well, if she’d been wearing any, she would certainly be quaking in them.

  “Just what in blazes is going on here, Ryder Winthrop Nash?” she demanded.

  Monica’s eyes widened and she bit back a chuckle. Turning to Ryder, she whispered over her shoulder, “Winthrop?”

  “Don’t ask,” he answered sotto voce. Then to his mother, “Hi, Mom.”

  “Don’t ‘Hi, Mom’ me.” She came forward a few steps, but kept her stance rigid. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Monica. “Who is this woman? Is she the one who answered your phone? The one who wasn’t supposed to mention that you’re married?”

  Ryder started to explain, but Monica cut him off by moving forward, hand extended. “Hello, Mrs. Nash. I’m Monica. And, yes, I am the one who answered the phone.”

  His mother seemed to relax a bit, her shoulders lowering as she thought it over and decided it would be safe to shake Monica’s hand. “You look familiar,” she nearly accused. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “No,” Monica and Ryder answered at the same time, perhaps a bit too quickly and a bit too loud.

  “No,” Ryder said more calmly, “I don’t see how you could. Monica is from out of town. She’s never even been to Nevada before this,” he added, as though making sure to cover all the bases.

  His mother squinted, studying Monica a moment longer. “You still look terribly familiar.” Then she released a breath and carefully asked, “Is it true the two of you are married?”

  Again, Monica spoke before Ryder had the chance. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh.” Tears came to the woman’s eyes, and her shoulders slumped even lower than before. “I can’t believe it. My oldest child, married. And he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell his very own mother. When did all of this happen?” she rushed, clearly trying to grasp the situation.

  “You’d better have a good explanation for this,” his father added sternly. “Your mother nearly had a heart attack when she hung up the phone.”

  “Mom, Dad,” Ryder said softly. “Why don’t we have a seat, and Monica and I will explain everything.”

  Monica turned to face him, noticing that he used his body to block the kitchen entranceway, gesturing toward the living room instead. He probably didn’t want his parents to see the mess on the counter.

  As his parents passed ahead of her, he lifted his brows heavenward. Then he took her hand, and they moved together into the living room.

  Ryder took a seat in a wide, comfortable chair, urging Monica onto the arm next to him. She assumed he wanted to project an air of true love and newlywed bliss. His parents sat on the sofa adjacent to them and exchanged a somewhat curious, mostly worried glance.

  “You’ve already met Monica,” Ryder began. He put a hand on her knee. “Monica, this is my mother, Ruth Ann, and my father, Jordan.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, giving them a lopsided grin. They didn’t quite concur, she knew.

  “I know this is a shock,” Ryder said. “And I wish you didn’t have to find out this way, but the truth is, Monica and I were married yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” his mother all but shrieked. “But yesterday was Josie’s wedding.”

  Ryder nodded. “Why do you think we didn’t tell you? We didn’t want to spoil her big day.”

  “But…but how could you get married the same day as your sister? Why didn’t you tell someone so we could make plans and—”

  “That’s exactly why we didn’t tell anyone. We didn’t want you to fuss. We didn’t want parties and fancy clothes and a bunch of guests milling around. We just wanted to get married.” He turned to Monica. “I guess we got kind of caught up in the wedding fever. Didn’t we, sugar?”

  She blinked at the smoldering gaze he cast her way, then choked out, “It was a fever all right, sugar.”

  Ruth Ann’s lips flattened.

  His father leaned forward, his brows knit in a frown. “You could have at least told us about her, Ryder. We didn’t even know you had a sweetheart.”

  Monica smiled. She’d never been referred to as someone’s sweetheart before. The term was quaint, polite. She liked it.

  “We haven’t known each other all that long,” Ryder said, skirting the truth. “Matt introduced us a while back, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. Phone calls and such. And then when we got to talking at Josie’s reception…well, it just felt right. So we drove to Las Vegas and tied the knot.”

  The corners of his mother’s mouth turned down. “But you left the reception with that awful girl in the wedding dress who tried to ruin the entire thing.”

  Monica’s grip on Ryder’s hand tightened.

  “Who?” Ryder asked, with such feigned ignorance that Monica almost believed he didn’t know what Ruth Ann was talking about.

  “That woman. She was drunk, and she climbed up on the dais and went on about how she was supposed to marry Matt instead of Josie.”

  “Oh, her.” Ryder gave an unconcerned snort. “I took her outside for a while, then called a cab and sent her on her way. Monica and I left half an hour or so after that. I hope that woman’s tirade didn’t upset Josie too much.”

  Monica squeezed Ryder’s hand again, this time as a warning to watch what he said about “that woman.”

  “No, no,” his mother assured them. “She was upset for a few minutes, but Matt assured her that the woman was out of her mind. She must have been to barge into a wedding reception like that.”

  Every muscle in her body growing tense, Monica had to grind her teeth to keep from launching a blistering retort. So Matt had told everyone she was out of her mind, hmm? Just wait until she got a hold of him. She’d draw and quarter the lying bastard.

  Ryder’s thumb began a gentle, calming stroke against the palm of her hand, silently warning her to keep her cool. It worked. She flexed her shoulders and reminded herself to play along, no matter what was said.

  With a slight sniffle, Ruth Ann dabbed at tears. “I just wish you’d told us, dear. Your father and I would have loved to plan a beautiful wedding for the two of you. We wanted to see you standing at the front of the church while you waited for your lovely bride to walk down the aisle.”

  “You know better than that, Mom. You’d never have gotten me married off that way. One of the reasons I suggested going to Vegas is because it was a no fuss, no muss elopement.” He lifted his head and smiled at Monica. “Monica didn’t want a big wedding, either, did you, darlin’?”

  Frankly, she had. She’d wanted a huge wedding with Matt, complete with bachelorette party, matching bridesmaid gowns, and a band that knew the “Chicken Dance.” But she smiled serenely and answered, “No.”

  Apparently coming to terms with her only son’s sudden marriage, Ruth Ann took a deep breath and slapped her knees. “Well, you have to at least let us throw you a reception. Nothing fancy—a barbecue maybe, with all of our friends.”

  Monica was already shaking her head, not wanting to dig an even bigger marital hole that might become difficult to crawl out of later.

  “Actually, Mom,” Ryder said smoothly. “We were planning to leave right away for our honeymoon. I was going to let you know as soon as I got everything stowed away for the ranch, but then when I came in for lunch, you were already on the phone with Monica and I went ahead and ruined the surprise with my outburst,” he explained. “Since Matt and Monica are such good friends, and he’s the one who introduced us, we actually thought we’d try a few days in Hawaii, too, maybe even hook up with them while we’re there. We just need some details about their trip.”

  His mother beamed. “What a wonderful idea! I’m sorry to see you leave so soon after finding out about all of this, of course, but every newlywed couple deserves time alone.” She glanced at her husband. “Your father and I will make all the arrangements. Think of it as our gift to you, since we didn’t have the opportunity to plan a big wedding.”

  “That’s not necessary, Mrs. Nash,” Monica rushed out.

  “We insist. Don’t we, Jordan?”

  “Absolutely,” the unusually quiet man agreed. “I’ll see if I can’t get you seats on a flight that leaves first thing in the morning.”

  Monica glanced at Ryder, wondering at the thoughts going through his head right now. She’d be willing to guess they weren’t nice ones. But since he wasn’t contradicting his parents’ plans, she decided he must want her to go along with them, too. With a nod, she said, “That’s very sweet of you both—thank you. Morning would be great…you can leave that soon, can’t you, darling?” she asked, turning her best smitten gaze on Ryder.

  He met her eyes, revealing nothing but agreement and adoration of his new bride. But she didn’t miss the muscle in his jaw that jumped before he spoke. “I’ll have to clear up a few more things with the hands first, make sure someone can oversee the herd while I’m gone, but, yeah, I think we can leave in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about the workload, son,” his father said. “Until we get the barn rebuilt at our place, there’s not much work for the boys to do. I’ll send them over here to make sure everything’s taken care of.”

  “Thanks, Pop. I’d appreciate that.”

  His mother gasped suddenly and covered her mouth. “Oh, I still can’t believe my baby boy is married. And to such a pretty girl.” She hopped up and wrapped her arms around Monica.

  Monica sat like a statue for moment, both stunned and touched by the gesture. She was the only child of two rather standoffish parents; as much as she loved them, they weren’t big on showing emotion. In high school, her best friend had insisted that every outrageous act Monica insisted on performing—from her Goth phase to the time she’d gone skinny-dipping on a dare—were simply a need to rebel against her parents’ uptight way of life.

  Her friend was probably right…and Monica hadn’t changed much over the years. She still enjoyed doing her own thing, and obviously continued to act rashly from time to time, or she wouldn’t have woken up in bed with a cowboy she’d never met before and be planning a honeymoon she didn’t really deserve.