He didn’t answer at first, keeping his focus on the horizon. “Just trying to be a good hair climber,” he said quietly.

  Her brows knit together. Now what is he talking about? She shrugged, deciding it probably didn’t matter.

  But if she’d had any doubts about the legitimacy of their marriage, his comment—however cryptic—erased all uncertainty from her mind. He wasn’t spinning tales or creating an elaborate hoax. They really were married. Leave it to her to find the one man on the face of the earth who wasn’t afraid of commitment.

  “Well, then, we don’t have a choice,” she said with determination. “We have to go through with the plan.”

  He shot her a questioning, apprehensive glance. “What plan?”

  “The plan to hit Matt where it hurts, of course. His bank account. The only way you’re going to get that money from me is if I get it back from him,” she told him frankly.

  Ryder’s lips went flat. “How do you plan to do that?” he asked, and she could see the skepticism in his eyes.

  She took a deep breath and admitted, “I’m not sure exactly. But I’ll think of something. If Matt won’t return my money voluntarily, maybe we can find some sort of proof that I gave it to him in the first place in case I need to take legal action to get it back. I’ll call Inside Edition and make it a national scandal, if I have to.” Her molars had begun to grind together, and she had to take a deep breath before deliberately relaxing her jaw. “Anyway, he carries his attaché case and laptop with him everywhere, so if there’s a record of the money changing hands and showing that it was supposed to be a loan, then that’s where it will be.”

  He snorted and gazed back across the pasture, all but dismissing her.

  His disregard made her bristle. “I don’t need your help, you know. I can track down Matt and get my savings back all by my lonesome. You can stay here and brush your horses, and I’ll FedEx the money to you once I have it.”

  One brow shot up on Ryder’s bronze face. “I don’t think so. Don’t take this the wrong way, darlin’, but you’ve caused enough trouble already. I’d have to be loco to let you try something like this on your own. You’d probably end up in Tijuana with a belly full of tequila and a new husband on each arm.”

  She glared at him, shooting daggers for that last comment. “Do you have a better idea?” she asked crossly. “Because if you do, I’d love to hear it.”

  “I told you, you can muck some stalls and groom some horses, and we’ll call it even.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Uh-uh. No way. That is not an option. If you want your money, you have to help me find Matt and get my money back.”

  He continued to study her. “And you think we can do that?” he asked doubtfully. “Just the two of us, trying to convince Matt to repay the money he took from you.”

  Taking a deep breath, she avoided his gaze and quietly said, “We have to. We don’t even know each other; we can’t stay married. You have a life here, one that means a great deal to you, and which I know nothing about. And I have a life back in Chicago, one you would hate. I think the best thing to do is go our separate ways. Since you won’t allow that until you have your precious money, this is our only option.”

  She turned to him then, spine straight, hands on hips. “Now, are you in, or are you out?”

  Please say yes.

  He took a deep breath, looked out across his fields of grass and livestock, and nodded. “All right, I’m in. I just hope you know what you’re doing, darlin’. ’Cuz if you don’t, we’re in one steaming heap of trouble.”

  “I’m very good under pressure,” she said by way of an answer. She didn’t think it made either of them feel any better. “First things first. We have to track down Matt. Do you know where he and your sister are honeymooning?”

  He thought a moment. “They’re staying in Hawaii for a few days before moving on to visit France or Rome or something like that.”

  Her jaw snapped closed. She and Matt had talked about going to Hawaii for their honeymoon. It seemed he meant to drive that stake through her heart as far as he could.

  That knowledge steeled her resolve. If even an inkling of doubt had remained in her mind, it dissolved like sugar in water. Oh, she’d get her money back, all right. And along the way, she might just make her vermin of an ex pay, big-time. For marrying another woman, jetting off to an island paradise, and getting her into this mess with Ryder.

  She glanced his way and forced back her thoughts of revenge. “We don’t have much time, then, and Hawaii encompasses a lot of vacation spots. Where, exactly, did they go?”

  He concentrated again, his eyes narrowing to a squint. “Waikiki would be my guess.”

  Of course, Waikiki. That’s where she’d wanted to go. “Where are they staying?”

  He thought for a moment, then sighed with defeat. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’d have to ask my mother.”

  Monica grinned, undeterred. “I can call her. What’s her number?”

  He gave her another look. Not “hysterical-female” or “petulant child”—the two she recognized. This one was new and seemed to say, Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?

  “Are you crazy?” he shot at her, letting her know her guess had been on point. “My mother doesn’t even know you exist yet, and I have no intention of introducing the two of you over the phone.”

  He pulled on his gloves, making sure that each tan leather finger fit snuggly against his own flesh ones. “I’ll call her later and find out where Josie and Matt are staying. Okay?”

  Fixing her with a pointed gaze, he seemed to be waiting for her to respond. She shrugged a shoulder and said, “Sure.”

  “Good.” With a nod, he headed for the stables without a backward glance.

  “Can I go in now?” she called after him.

  “Be my guest,” he tossed over his shoulder. “And while you’re in there, see if you can’t clean the place up a bit. Miz Nash.”

  Monica gave him the evil eye for all of ten seconds before deciding it must not work on someone when his back was turned. Rude hand gestures probably wouldn’t have much effect, either, but she was sinfully tempted to give it a shot.

  And then she remembered that she’d been granted a reprieve, released from bondage. She was free! No more breathing sawdust or standing in the hot sun.

  Monica didn’t bother hiding her smile. Not only was she dismissed, but she now had a plan. Another one, or an addendum to the original, whatever. The point was, she’d be getting her money back from Matt the Rat. And rubbing his nose in it if she got half a chance.

  As quickly as the floppy rubber boots would carry her, she ran back to the house and dumped the footwear at the front door, thankful to be free of the sweaty, uncomfortable things. If she ever had to go out to the barn again—which she sincerely hoped never happened—she’d put socks on before the boots.

  She ran into Ryder’s bedroom to pack her things—and then remembered that she didn’t have any things. A slightly used wedding dress and a still-damp bra and panty set didn’t exactly warrant the use of luggage.

  She stood in the middle of the room for a minute, feeling futile. And then she shrugged to herself, deciding that she would simply have to do some airport shopping or stop somewhere along the way to pick up a few things. Clothes, for sure, but also necessities like deodorant and a toothbrush of her own.

  But without needing to pack, she didn’t really have anything to do. No small tasks to occupy her time. She went back to the kitchen and dug through the cupboards, finding a pack of saltines to nibble on and almost, almost considered straightening up Ryder’s kitchen.

  It wouldn’t take much, just gathering up all the assorted glass and plastic containers to be recycled, running a wet cloth over the countertop. But her feminist side balked, asserting that if Ryder had made the mess, then Ryder could darn well clean it up!

  So she wandered toward the living room with her little waxed paper bag of crackers. As she passed the phone, she wished she could call Ryder’s mother to press her for details about Matt and Josie’s honeymoon. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, and having to bide her time with just about anything gave her hives. But it really wasn’t her place to approach his mother, and she not only needed to respect those boundaries, she needed to trust him.

  Trust him, a near stranger. Also not something she excelled at. But this near stranger happened to be her new husband, and though the ink was barely dry on that dubious merger, she had to admit that Ryder had been nothing but honorable so far.

  She couldn’t claim to remember every moment of their association—except for waking up in bed with him, both half-naked, and not being entirely clear on whether or not they’d shared the intimacies of a wedding night—but she was pretty sure he’d only ever been 100 percent honest with her. Granted, Matt was a prime example that she might not be the best judge of character, but where he’d been smoothly charming and slick in gaining her confidence, Ryder seemed to be more of a forthright-to-a-fault kind of guy. If she Googled “painfully honest,” she wouldn’t be the least surprised to see it pop up with a full-color photo of Ryder right there to illustrate the term.

  Maybe that was why she leaned toward having faith in him. She’d been worked up and emotionally wrecked over Matt’s betrayal and what to do about it for what felt like decades rather than only a few days; it would be nice to take a deep breath and let someone else take care of things for a change. Not forever—she was too tightly wound in general to take her hands off the wheel for that long. But it wouldn’t hurt to push her troubles to the side and relax for a couple hours.

  To that end, she returned to the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke, then headed for the living room to plop herself down in front of the television. Picking up the remote, she started flipping through channels, hoping to find something interesting…and anything but Green Acres. Normally, it would be one of her go-tos, and she’d be delighted to discover that Ryder had a channel that carried the oldie-but-goodie. Now that she’d managed to fall into the alternate universe that was “farm living,” it didn’t hold nearly the same appeal.

  …

  Ryder heard the house phone ringing from across the yard, but didn’t alter his stride. Voicemail kicked in after five rings, so even if he hurried, he wouldn’t catch whoever was calling.

  His cell phone was hooked to his belt, but everybody knew coverage was sketchy the farther you got from town. He could make and receive calls right around the house and usually in the barns, but if he rode into the pastures or past the row of trees along the far side of his property, it was hit or miss. The landline was far more reliable, which is why he kept it and used it to collect messages while he was working.

  Sure enough, the trills stopped before his foot hit the step of the porch. He’d check to make sure it wasn’t an emergency, but grabbing a beer and washing up was higher on his list than checking voicemail right now.

  And then there was the matter of checking up on the missus. He shook his head, still not used to the idea. He also wasn’t used to anyone being around when he came in for lunch, but knowing Monica would be waiting gave him a tiny punch of anticipation low in his belly. His life would be easier if it didn’t, but there it was.

  His next thought was that maybe she’d taken him up on his suggestion about cleaning the kitchen. As much aggravation as she’d caused him already, it sure would be nice if she’d made herself useful while he was working outside. Then again, it was probably too much to hope that Monica was that kind of woman. And after roping her into cleaning stalls this morning, he doubted she was of a mood to make his life easier in any way, shape, or form.

  So maybe she was doing something harmless like taking a nap or watching TV. Whatever the case, he just hoped she’d managed to keep herself out of trouble. More than once since they’d parted ways out in the yard, he’d caught himself wondering if leaving his new bride to her own devices had been the wisest course of action. After all, Monica did have a habit of getting into hot water. Like showing up in a wedding gown at someone else’s reception, marrying the first man she stumbled into, and coming up with the half-assed idea of tracking down her ex-fiancé to get back the money he’d absconded with. Not to mention giving the man her savings in the first place.

  With all of those less-than-sensible images of Monica running through his brain like water on a mill wheel, he’d decided it might be smart to keep her with him the rest of the day. Even if he didn’t put her to work mucking stalls, he intended to drag her back with him after lunch. She could certainly curry one of the horses or polish some saddles—something non-strenuous that wouldn’t cause her to chip a nail or split an end.

  The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the house, screen door banging closed behind him, was that he’d been right on the housekeeping front—she hadn’t bothered. Everything was exactly as he’d left it…and not in a good way.

  The second thing that caught his attention was voices. One of them came from the living room and was indistinct enough that he placed it as the television.

  Whew. He’d lucked out…Monica had camped out in front of the TV and actually managed to keep herself out of trouble.

  Releasing a breath, he removed his Stetson, but before he could hang it on one of the hooks on the wall beside the door, he heard laughter—a light, breezy chuckle that was unmistakably Monica’s coming from farther back in the kitchen.

  “No, ma’am, I’m not the new cleaning lady.”

  Who was she talking to? Ryder spotted the empty phone charger and his gut clenched, everything in him going cold.

  “I’m not sure when he’ll be back, but I’d be happy to give him a message.”

  Dammit. Why hadn’t she let the call go to voicemail? She really shouldn’t be answering his phone; it was only going to create more problems than it would solve.

  “I’m not Stephanie, but he definitely knows I’m here. My name is Monica.”

  Shit. Whoever it was knew about his relationship with Stephanie and now knew he had a woman named Monica hanging out at his house. Neither of those boded well.

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Nash.”

  Chapter Ten

  Try not to make a ring around the finger feel akin to a rope around the neck.

  “No!” Ryder thundered, Stetson falling from his grasp as he lurched toward the sound of Monica’s voice. She’d been standing with her back to him, but spun around at his shout, eyes wide, phone still pressed to her ear. And he was almost there, almost had his fingers wrapped around the handset to take over the conversation before things got ugly.

  “Don’t you dare tell her we’re married!” he barked, snatching the phone from her.

  “What?”

  He realized his mistake almost immediately, and his mother’s shrieks from the other end of the line confirmed it.

  Dammit-dammit-dammit. Shit-shit-shit.

  Slapping a hand over his eyes, he dropped his head and cursed his own stupidity. He’d been so worried about how Monica was going to screw things up that he hadn’t noticed the trap of his own making lying right in front of him. Son of a bitch.

  With a heavy sigh of regret, he lifted the phone and did what he could to stomp out the blaze he’d set with his own big, fat mouth.

  “Mom. Mom,” he nearly yelled to be heard over her high-pitched, rapid-fire questions. “Mom, listen. Mom—”

  “Jordan! Get the truck,” she ordered, her voice carrying clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t talking—or listening—to him.

  “Mom, that’s not necessary,” he tried one more time. “I can explain.”

  The line seemed to go dead then, and he waited a moment to see if he could hear anything. “Mom? Mom, are you there?”

  Smart enough to know a lost cause when it hung up on him, Ryder slowly crossed the kitchen and set the phone back in its base. Biting back a groan, he forced himself to breathe deep and count to ten before turning to fix Monica with a steel dagger glare.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he ground out.

  She opened her mouth, a hand going to her heart. Shirley Temple couldn’t have looked more innocent. “All I did was answer the phone. You’re the one who blurted out that we were married loud enough for her to hear.”

  Yeah, he got that. She didn’t need to rub it in.

  “But why did you answer the phone to begin with?”

  “Um…because it was ringing?” She made the statement a question, her expression clearly implying that the sun had baked off a few of his IQ points before he’d come in. “I was going to let it go, but when it kept ringing, I thought you might not have voicemail, and I didn’t want you to miss a message. It might have been an emergency.”

  Well, it is now.

  It was hard to stay mad at Monica, or even continue to blame her, when her explanation made perfect sense. He hadn’t warned her not to answer the phone or let her know calls would go to voicemail. And if he’d just kept his mouth shut, taken the phone away from her, or created some kind of commotion in the background to disrupt the exchange, Hurricane Ruth Ann wouldn’t now be bearing down on them at record speeds.

  “Okay.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed in resignation. “My parents are definitely on their way over, so before they get here, there are some things you should know.”

  He couldn’t decide if Monica’s expression was fear or acceptance or a mix of both. Since they didn’t have much time, he didn’t ask, just barreled ahead in an attempt to prepare her for what was to come. He had a very close-knit family, and his parents were more than a little overprotective. On the verge of suffocating, he often thought.

  When they’d found out Josie was getting married, his parents had gone nuts. They’d alternately cried and celebrated every other night right up until the ceremony. Discovering that he had not only eloped, but with a total stranger, would send his mother into high gear. He’d never hear the end of it. Even if Mom and Pop both fell instantly in love with his new bride, they would still hold it against him—that he hadn’t brought Monica home to meet them…hadn’t let them fuss over her and plan the entire wedding…that there hadn’t been a wedding. And the fact that he’d broken the news of his nuptials over the phone in a less-than-polished manner…oh, his mother was going to take a switch to him for that one.