CHAPTER 1
July—Ruban Crossing, Mississippi
“Casey, darling, you should never wear black. It makes you look like a crow.”
Before Casey could take offense at what her half brother, Miles Dunn just said, he took a seat with the rest of the Ruban family, who were gathering for the reading of Delaney Ruban’s will.
She picked a piece of lint from the skirt of her black silk dress and tilted her chin, reminding herself that she wasn’t going to cry. Not now, and especially not in front of Lash Marlow, her grandfather’s lawyer. Although he was sitting behind his desk and watching each arrival with a focused, predatory gaze, Casey was aware that he was also watching her every move. And it had been that way with them for more years than she cared to remember.
In spite of her love for her grandfather, Delaney Ruban, and in spite of Delaney’s hopes that she and Lash might someday marry, Casey had been unable to bring herself to comply.
She’d been a willing student of Delaney’s tutorial with regards to the Ruban empire, but she refused to give up what passed as the personal portion of her life. It didn’t amount to much, but it was all she had that she could honestly call her own. Even more important, she didn’t love Lash Marlow and had no intention of spending the rest of her life with a man who measured the value of a person by monetary worth.
She shifted nervously in her seat, wishing this day to be over. As Delaney’s closest living relative and the heir who had been groomed to take over the vast Ruban holdings, she knew the task that lay ahead of her, right down to how many family members would be looking to her for sustenance.
Not for the first time since her grandfather’s stroke six weeks ago did she wish her father and mother were still alive. And, if Chip Ruban hadn’t taken his wife, Alysa, to Hawaii for their tenth wedding anniversary, they might still be. But he had, and they’d drowned in a boating accident off the coast of Oahu, leaving their only child, six-year-old Casey, as well as Alysa’s ten-year-old twins from a previous marriage, to be raised by an absent and overbearing grandfather who quickly pawned off those duties to someone else.
Alysa’s mother, Eudora Deathridge, was moved into the mansion and given full authority and responsibility of her daughter’s children. And although she was Casey’s grandmother as well, Casey found herself grasping for space in a lap already too full for one more small, six-year-old girl.
With the instinct of a child who knows where she is loved, she turned to Joshua Bass and his wife, Matilda. The butler and the cook. The kitchen became the center of her universe. In Tilly Bass’s loving arms, she learned to trust and love again. On Joshua’s shoulders, she saw the world in which she lived from a new and different angle, and in doing so, learned not to be afraid of reaching for the stars. They became the surrogate parents she had needed, and now, twenty years later, they were the anchors that kept her life on a straight and honorable path.
And while Tilly and Joshua nurtured and loved her, at thirteen years old, Casey suddenly became the focus of Delaney Ruban’s world. He had looked up one day and realized that he wasn’t getting any younger, and since Casey was his son’s only child, she was, of course, to be his heir.
He looked for the child he’d all but ignored and found a girl on the brink of womanhood. Elated that she’d grown up so well without much of his effort, he decided that it was time she branched out past the familiarity of her school, her friends and Tilly Bass’s kitchen.
And so it began. The treat of accompanying him on business trips became the first step in a lifelong education. Before long, Casey was spending all of her summers with him at his office. At first, she blossomed under his tutoring. Her grandfather had never given her anything but presents, and now he was sharing his time with her. It took the better part of Casey’s teenage years before she realized Delaney’s reasons for spending time with her were selfish. Someone must step into his shoes when he was gone. He’d decided it would be Casey.
And now, at twenty-six, Casey was about to become CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation with holdings in everything from cotton mills to racehorses. Thanks to the last ten years of Delaney’s coaching, she was more than up to the task.
A low murmur of indistinguishable voices hummed behind her like a worn-out motor, rising and falling with the advent of each new person to enter the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t the job that daunted her. It was those who were gathering. They were the ones who would be waiting for her to fail.
Someone else touched her on the shoulder. She looked up. It was her sister, Erica.
“Nice dress, Casey darling.” Erica’s eyes glittered sharply as she fingered the fabric. “I suppose it has a silver lining, too. Just like your life.”
“Erica, really,” Eudora Deathridge said, and gave her eldest granddaughter a none-too-gentle nudge as they moved past Casey to take their seats.
Casey let the comment roll off her shoulders, and as the women passed by her Eudora squeezed Casey’s arm. It was nothing new. Miles and Erica had begrudged Casey everything from the day she was born—from being a Ruban, to being the one Delaney had chosen to follow in his footsteps. In all their lives, they had shared a mother, but little else.
Lash Marlow cleared his throat, well aware that the sound added to the building tension. “I believe we are all here now. Shall we begin?”
Casey’s pulse accelerated. She gripped the arms of the chair, focusing on the man behind the desk and was struck by an odd, almost satisfied smile on Lash’s face. Reluctantly, she accepted the fact that he was privy to secrets about their lives she wished he did not know. It made her feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was a weakness Rubans were not allowed to feel. She watched as Marlow shifted in his seat and straightened the papers in front of him. It was the will. Delaney’s will.
Fresh tears spiked her lashes as she struggled with composure, trying to come to terms with the fact that Delaney was dead. He’d been such a large and vital man that overlooking his age had been simple. But nature had not been as kind. Despite his ebullient personality and lust for life, the past eighty-two years had taken their toll. And no matter how hard he had tried to ignore the inevitable, he had failed.
Ultimately, Lash began to read and Casey’s mind wandered, only now and then tuning in on his voice as it droned into the ominous quiet of the room. Once in a while a low murmur of voices became noticeable behind her, and she supposed Miles and Erica were voicing their opinions of the bequeathals being read.
“And to my beloved granddaughter, Casey Dee Ruban…”
Casey shook off the fugue in which she’d been hanging and focused.
“…the bulk of my estate and the home in which she’s been residing since her parents’ death, as well as the controlling reins of Ruban Enterprises. But to inherit…”
Startled, her gaze slid from the papers in Lash’s hands to his face. What did he mean… to inherit? Have mercy, what has Delaney done?
“To qualify for the entire aforementioned inheritance, my granddaughter, Casey Dee Ruban, must marry within forty-eight hours of the reading of my will, and must live with her husband, in his residence and under his protection, for the duration of at least one year, or she will forfeit her birthright. If she chooses not to adhere to my last request, then the bulk of my estate will be deeded to my step-grandchildren, Miles and Erica Dunn.”
Casey stood. Rage, coupled with a shock she couldn’t deny made her shake, but the tremor never reached her voice. She looked at Lash: at his cool, handsome face, his blond, wavy hair, his pale green eyes. Her eyes darkened as she leaned forward, bracing herself against his desk.
“Surely I cannot be held to this!”
To his credit. Lash’s gaze never wavered. “I’m sorry, Casey. I know this must come as a shock, but I can assure you it’s legal. Your grandfather was of sound mind and body when this was written. I tried to talk him out of such an unreasonable clause, but…”
When Lash shrugged, as if to say it was out of his hands, she looked away.
Someone choked in the back of the room. Casey didn’t have to look to know that it was probably Miles, reveling in his unexpected windfall.
A red haze swam before her eyes and she willed herself not to faint. Marry? She hadn’t seriously dated a man in over five years. The only man who persisted in being a part of her life was…
She looked up. The expression on Lash’s face was too calm, almost expectant. How long had he known about this? Even worse, what had he and Delaney planned?
She swayed, staggered by the idea of being bound to Lash Marlow by law, as well as in the eyes of God, even for so much as a year.
Lash stood. His voice was low, his touch solicitous as he tried to take her in his arms.
“Casey, I’m here. Let me help you—”
She stepped back. The selfish glitter in Lash’s eyes was too obvious to ignore.
Damn you, Delaney, damn you to hell.
She walked out of the room, leaving those behind to wonder what the outcome might be.
* * *
Hours later, the sun was about to set on the day as a lowslung black sports car rounded the corner of an unpaved road down in the flatlands. The trailing rooster tail of dust was evidence of how fast the car was traveling. The skid the car took as it cornered was proof of Casey Ruban’s desperate state of mind. She’d been driving for hours, trying to think of a way out of her dilemma without having to acquiesce to the terms of her grandfather’s will.
By naming Miles and Erica as the recipients of his estate should she default, Delaney had been certain Casey would comply. He’d been well aware of her disdain for the sycophantic life-style her half brother and half sister had chosen to live. They were thirty years old. Both had college degrees. Neither saw fit to use them.
Therefore, he had surmised that Casey would ultimately agree to his conditions. And he also knew Casey had no special man in her life, which would most certainly make Lash the prime candidate to fulfill the terms of the will. But he hadn’t counted on Casey’s total defiance, or the wild streak of rebellion that had driven her deep into the Mississippi Delta.
A short while later, the sun was gone and it was the time of evening when the world existed in shades of gray, faded by distance or muted by overlying shadows. Ahead, Casey could just make out the blinking lights on what appeared to be a roadhouse.
The fact that Sonny’s Place was in the middle of nowhere was of no consequence to her. What mattered were the number of cars and pickup trucks parked outside the building. It stood to reason there would be a large number of men inside.
Blinking back a fresh set of angry tears, she gritted her teeth, focusing on the decision she’d made. As she accelerated, her fingers gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
She turned into the parking lot in a skid, slamming on her brakes and barely missing a truck parked beneath the widespread limbs of an ancient oak. Gravel spewed, spit out from beneath the wheels of her sports car like a bad taste.
Casey killed the engine and was out of the car before the dust had time to settle. There was a defiant tilt to her chin and determination in her stride as she started toward the entrance, yet when she stepped inside, a moment of unrefined terror swamped her. Dank air, thick smoke and the scent of stale beer hit her in the face like a slap. And then Lash’s smirk flashed in her mind and she let the door swing shut behind her.
* * *
Ryder Justice sat with his back to the wall, nursing the same beer he’d bought over an hour earlier. He hadn’t really wanted the drink, he’d just wanted a place to sit down.
The months and the miles since he’d walked out on his family and his business had long ago run together. He didn’t know what day it was and didn’t really care. All that mattered was staying on the move. It was the only way he knew to stay ahead of the memories that had nearly driven him insane.
A few words with the man at the next table had assured him he’d be sleeping on the ground again tonight. He was too far from a town to rent a room, and too nearly broke to consider wasting the money.
A grimy ceiling fan spun overhead, stirring the hot, muggy air without actually cooling it. He lifted the long-neck bottle, intent on draining what was left in one swallow when the door flew open and the woman walked into the room. Her appearance was sudden, as was the swift jolt of interest he felt when she lifted her hand to her face, pushing at the black tangle of her windblown hair that had fallen across her forehead.
She was taller than average, and the kind of woman who, at first glance, seemed on the verge of skinny. Except for the voluptuous curves of her breasts beneath the black, clinging fabric of her dress, she appeared shapeless. And then she turned suddenly, startled by the man who came in behind her, and as she did, the dress she was wearing flared, cupping slim, shapely hips before falling back into loose, generic folds.
Ryder’s interest grew. It was fairly obvious that she wasn’t the kind of woman who frequented places like this. Her movements were short, almost jerky, as if she were as surprised to find herself here as the men were to see her. And although he was some distance away, he thought she looked as if she’d been crying.
Who hurt you, pretty girl? What drove you into the flatlands ?
The beer forgotten, he leaned forward, studying her face as one might study a map, wondering what—or who—had backed her into a corner. And he was certain she’d been backed into a corner or she wouldn’t be here. He knew the look of desperation. It stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror. And like every other man in the place, he sat with anticipation, waiting for her to make the first move.
* * *
A half dozen dirty yellow lightbulbs dangled from a sagging fixture in the middle of the room. Only four of the bulbs were burning, cloaking the fog of cigarette smoke and dust with a sickly amber glow.
Heads turned and the understated rumble of voices trickled to a halt as Casey’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. When she was certain she’d seen the location of every man in the place, she took a deep breath and sauntered into the middle of the room, well aware that each man was mentally stripping her—from the black silk dress flaring just above her knees to the opaque black stockings on her legs.
Behind her, she heard the bartender gasp then mutter the name Ruban. She’d been recognized! Her lips firmed. It would seem that even down here in the Delta she was unable to escape the power of Delaney Ruban’s name.
Smoke drifted, burning her eyes and searing her nostrils with the acrid odor, yet she refused to move away. She turned slowly, judging the faces before her, looking for a man who might have the guts to consider what she was about to ask.
The bartender interrupted her train of thought.
“Miss, is there something I can do? Are you having car trouble? If you are, I’d be more than glad to call a tow truck for you.”
There was nervous fear on the bartender’s face. Casey knew just how he felt. Her own stomach was doing a few flops of its own. She shivered anxiously, and at that point, almost walked out of the room. But as she turned to go, the image of Lash Marlow’s face slid into her mind. It was all the impetus she needed. She turned again, this time putting herself between the men and the door.
“I need something all right,” Casey said, and when she heard her voice break, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. This time when she spoke, her words came out loud and clear. “I don’t need a tow truck. I need a man.”
The bartender grabbed a shotgun from beneath the bar and jacked a shell into the chamber as the room erupted.
Wide-eyed, Casey spun toward the sound.
The appearance of the gun was enough to quiet the ruckus she’d started, but only momentarily. When the bartender began to speak, she knew her chances of succeeding were swiftly fading.
“Hold your seats, men. That there is Casey Ruban. Old Delaney Ruban’s granddaughter, so unless you’re real tired of living, I suggest you suck it up and stay where you’re at. This shotgun won’t do nearly as much harm to you as the Rubans can.”
“I heard he’s dead,” someone muttered from the back of the room.
“But the rest of them aren’t,” the bartender said.
Casey spun toward the men in sudden anger. “Let me finish.”
At that point, they were so caught up in what she’d said, they would have let her do anything she asked.
“I need a husband.”
Someone cursed, another laughed a little nervously.
Casey chose to ignore it all. “I’m willing to marry the first unattached man who’s got the guts to stand with me against my family.”
When no one moved or spoke, hope began to die. This was a crazy idea, as crazy as what Delaney had done to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to quit. Not yet.
With an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and a shame unlike anything she’d ever known, she lifted her head, selling herself in the only way she knew how. She started walking, moving between the tables, staying just out of reach of the daring men’s grasp.
“I’ll live with you. Cook your food. I’ll even share your bed.”
Total silence reigned and Casey could hear their harsh, rasping breaths as they considered taking her to bed and suffering the consequences. If this hadn’t been so pitiful, she would have smiled. It would seem that Delaney was going to win after all.
A sound came out of the shadows. The sound of chair legs scraping against the grit and dirt on the old wooden floor, and the unmistakable rap of boot heels marking off the distance between Casey and the back of the room. She squinted against the smoke and the harsh, overhead glare, trying to see, and then when she did, felt an overwhelming urge to run.
The man had don’t care in his walk and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. Their deep gray-blue cast was the color of a Mississippi sky running before a storm front. An old, olive drab duffel bag hung awkwardly on the breadth of his shoulders, as if it had to find a place of its own somewhere between the chip and the weight of the world.
He was tall, his clothing worn and ragged. But it was the still expression on his tanned, handsome face that gave her pause.
Before she had time to consider the odds of winding up facedown and dead in a ditch at some murderer’s hands, he was standing before her.
Casey took a deep breath. Murderer be damned. Her grandfather had already signed her fate. At least she was going to be the one who controlled the strings to which it was attached.
“Well?” she asked, and surprised herself by not flinching when he reached out and brushed at a wild strand of hair that had been stuck to her cheek.
Ryder Justice was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. He’d been around long enough to know when someone was afraid. From the moment she’d walked into the room, her fear had been palpable, yet just now when he’d touched her, she hadn’t blinked. And the power in her voice told him there was more to her backbone than the soft, silky skin obviously covering it. He also knew what it felt like to be backed into a corner, and for some reason this woman was as far in a hole as a person could get and not be buried. And, he was tired of running. So damned tired he couldn’t think.
“Well, what?” he asked.
Casey’s breath caught on a gasp. His voice was low and deep and an image of him whispering in her ear shattered what was left of her composure. Hang in there, she warned herself, then lifted her chin.
“I asked a question. Do you have an answer?”
Ryder touched the side of her cheek and felt an odd sense of pride when, once again, she stood without flinching.
“About the only thing I have to my name is guts. If that’s all you need, then I’m your man.”
“Hey, man, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” the bartender warned.
Ryder’s gaze never wavered from Casey Ruban’s face. Once again, his voice broke the quiet, wrapping around Casey’s senses and making her shake from within.
“I know enough,” he said.
“My name is Casey Ruban,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Ryder Justice.”
Justice! Casey took it as a sign. Justice was exactly what she’d been searching for.
“You swear you are free to marry?”
He nodded.
“My grandfather always said his handshake was as good as his word,” Casey said, and offered her hand.
Without pause, Ryder enfolded it within the breadth of his own and once again, Casey felt herself being swallowed whole. Her gaze centered on their hands entwined and she had a sudden image of their bodies in similar positions. She bit her lip and stifled a shudder. Now was not the time to get queasy. She had an empire to save.
“Come with me,” she said shortly. “We have a little over twenty-four hours to get blood tests, apply for a license, and find a justice of the peace.”
At the mention of haste, his gaze instinctively drifted toward her belly partially concealed beneath the loose-fitting dress.
Once, being an unwed mother might have horrified Casey. Now she wished that was all she was facing.
“Wrong guess, Mr. Justice. It’s just that I’ve got myself in a race with the devil, and I don’t like to lose.”
Ryder followed without comment. He’d been on a first-name basis with the old hound himself for some time now. He never thought to consider the fact that the devil was giving someone else a hard time as well.
The room erupted into a roar as they stepped outside, and Casey found herself all but running toward her car. Only after she slid behind the wheel and locked them in did she feel safe. And then she glanced toward the man beside her and knew she was fooling herself.
His presence dwarfed the sports car’s interior. He scooted the seat as far back as it would go and still his knees were up against the dash. The duffel bag he’d had on his shoulders was now between his feet, and Casey imagined she could hear the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat as he turned a cool, calculating gaze her way.
“Buckle up, Mr. Justice.”
He reached for the seat belt out of reflex, then gave Casey another longer, calculating look.
“I have a question,” he said.
Casey’s heart dropped. Please stranger, don’t back out on me now.
“I have one for you, too,” she said quickly.
“Ladies first.”
She almost smiled. “Do you have a home? Do you have a job?”
His expression blanked, and Casey would have sworn she saw pain on his face before he answered.
“I don’t have an address or a job. Does it matter?”
She thought fast, remembering the conditions of the will. She had to live in her husband’s residence and under his protection. This was good news. It was something she could control.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Good, then you’re hired.”
He cocked an eyebrow as Casey started the car.
“Exactly what have I been hired to do?”
“You’re going to be the new chauffeur for the Ruban family. You… I mean… we… will live in the apartment over the garage on Delaney’s…I mean, on my estate.”
Ryder frowned. “Lady, I have to ask. Why marry a stranger?”
She backed out of the parking lot, the tires spinning on loose gravel as she drove onto the road, heading back the same way she’d come.
“Because I will be damned before I let myself be forced into marriage with a man I can’t abide.”
He wondered about the man she’d obviously left behind. “You don’t know me. What if you can’t abide me, either?”
Her gaze was fixed on the patch of road visible in the twin beams of her headlights.
“Living a year with a total stranger is better than living one night under Lash Marlow’s roof. Besides, I don’t like to be told what to do.”
So, his name is Lash Marlow. This time Ryder did smile, but only a little.
“Casey.”
Startled by the sound of her name on his lips, she turned her gaze from the road to his face.
“What?”
“I think you should try calling me Ryder. I’ve never gone to bed with a woman who called me Mister, and I don’t intend to start now.”
Gone to bed with…!
Almost too late she remembered what she was doing and swerved to avoid the ditch at which she was heading. By the time she had the car and herself under control, she was too desperate to argue the point.
First things first. Marriage. Then rules. After that, take it one day at a time. It was the only way she knew.