The Fountains of Bellagio were the last stop of the night. Everyone had been looking forward to the spectacular water, light, and music show on the lake outside the casino. While they were waiting for the next performance, they walked into the hotel, heading toward the bar.
Trent looked at Gracie, then down at the bright red margarita sitting in front of her. Big blue eyes stared straight back at him. "Are you sure you want to drink that? What about an orange juice?"
With a slightly dazed look in her eyes, Gracie reached up and brushed her lips across his neck. Trent held back the groan that swept through his body.
"Don't worry. You can tuck me into bed when we get back if you like."
"I don't think it's a good idea to have another margarita."
She trailed a hand along his jaw. "Last one, I promise."
Trent kept a careful eye on what she was doing. He'd never seen her tipsy, and doubted she'd ever drunk this much alcohol in one evening. She sipped her drink delicately, like a butterfly savoring a glass of nectar. Nectar with a healthy punch that would leave her with the mother of all hangovers the next morning. When everyone started moving into the hotel entrance, he grabbed the half-full glass out of her hands and left it on a table.
Gracie headed across to the water, taking an unnatural interest in the lake in front of them. He held her waist firmly beneath his hand. Her little blue dress didn't stand a chance against the shimmering fountain and skinny dipping wasn't going to be on tonight's list of attractions.
Ted Davidson, a cattle rancher from Ohio, stood beside him. "What do you two lovebirds have planned for the rest of the evening?"
Gracie turned to Ted and in a matter-of-fact voice said, "We're getting married."
The hiccup at the end was a dead giveaway to her level of sanity. Either Ted didn't hear it, or he didn't think such a sweet looking woman could get plastered on four margaritas.
Trent coughed into his hand, staring at Gracie's innocent expression. He could forgive Ted for missing her intoxicated state. If you didn't know her too well, you'd think she was stone cold sober and working on all six cylinders.
Before Trent could stop him, Ted yelled across to his wife, "Did you hear that, Marianne. Gracie's getting married."
A squeal of delight erupted from somewhere behind him.
"What's that you said? Married?"
Marianne, a woman in her early sixties with enough diamonds dripping from her neck to keep his ranch afloat for a decade, walked across to Gracie and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"That's so romantic, darlin'. And here I was, thinking you and your man were only here for a bit of romancing under the Nevada stars."
The rest of the conference group gathered around them like honeybees to a hive. Gracie swayed slightly on her feet, accepting all of the congratulations like a seasoned pro. Trent tried telling everyone it wasn't going to happen, but no one seemed remotely interested in listening to him.
"When are you getting married?" Marianne asked in a hushed whisper.
Gracie gazed up at him. With an alcoholic grin painted across her face, she told them, "As soon as we find Elvis' chapel."
Trent nearly burst out laughing. He didn't know when the little devil had managed to find out about the Elvis weddings, but the stories had stuck in her brain.
As if reading his mind, Gracie turned in his arms. "Gina told me." And in an almost wistful voice she added, "Gina with the long legs."
He didn't care who Gina was, or how long her legs were. He needed to get Gracie out of here before they ended up married.
"Let's go, Gracie. It's time to call it a night." He pulled her hand, then yanked harder when all five-foot-one inches of her slightly sloshed body refused to move.
"I want to get married." Her bottom lip quivered and he could have sworn real tears shone in her eyes. Or maybe it was the alcohol. "You promised, Trent. And cowboys never go back on their promises. That's what Gina told me."
He wondered what else Gina had been saying.
"Aw shucks, little lady," Ted bellowed. "Don't go getting all teary-eyed on us."
Marianne stepped forward with a tissue clutched in her hand. "It's all right. Tell Marianne what the problem is."
Trent nearly hauled Gracie over his shoulder. He didn't know what pearls of wisdom would come out of her mouth next. "Come on, Gracie. I'll take you back to our hotel."
"What about your wedding?" Marianne's voice carried across the still night air until every head seemed to turn in their direction.
Trent gazed across the lake, trying to think fast before he ended up married to a slightly drunk bride. He wanted to marry Gracie, but she didn't want to marry him. She'd strangle him in the morning if they got within three feet of a wedding chapel.
He could see one of those intersections on life's highway coming up. If he didn't take the opportunity that had presented itself in a swirl of alcohol and sequins the ranch could end up serving beef and biscuits to suit clad executives. If he went along with tipsy Gracie and hunted out a chapel, then his ranch would be safe, and he'd have a wife. And maybe a family, if parts of him lived long enough to repeat what had happened earlier in the night.
Trent looked around. Gracie had moved further toward the fountain, sitting close to the water's edge. He dodged a few tourists, trying to reach her before she ended up waist deep in the water. He could hear Gracie discussing her wedding dress with Marianne.
What was a man to do?
Ted decided to take matters into his own hands. He rounded up the group who'd traveled together in the shuttle. In a booming voice he said, "Now listen up, folks. We're going to get this lovely lady married tonight if it kills us."
Ted didn't know how close he might get to death once Gracie was working at full throttle again.
"Trent, I take it you want to marry this little lady?"
Now was his chance. Tell the truth or lie like his ranch depended on it. He made his choice.
"I do." Heaven help him. He'd never been a religious person, but he had a strong urge to pray for deliverance from a five-foot-one redhead who'd make his life a living hell.
"Then let's get this show on the road." Ted looked at him. "Do you have a license?"
He cleared his throat. "Ah. No."
"Don't worry. I came here for my brother Frank's wedding last year. I know exactly what to do. All aboard the shuttle, folks. Next stop is the Regional Justice Center. If luck's on our side, we'll get there before they close."
***
Trent clutched his marriage license in his sweaty hand. All it had taken was fifty-five dollars and thirty minutes. The shuttle driver was now speeding toward a chapel of love. Gracie wasn't saying much and moving even less.
The other ladies were more than making up for Gracie's lack of enthusiasm. They fussed over her hair, checked her lipstick and reminisced about their own wedding days. Gracie smiled and nodded at everything going on around her. If anyone noticed her slightly glazed expression, they didn't comment.
Ted kept slapping him on the back.
Trent felt slightly queasy. He'd never done anything this underhand in his life, but his ranch depended on him. There was nothing more important in his life than his land. But man-oh-man, Gracie would kill him once she found out what he'd done.
They pulled up at a drive-through chapel where Elvis was on checkout.
"Damn. If this isn't the most romantic wedding I've ever been too." Ted wiped a tear from his eye.
After a few hasty "I do's" and a couple of signatures, Elvis had done the deed and Trent had a wife. He should have felt relieved. He didn't. He felt sick. Gracie didn't look much better.
The only thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't looking forward to telling the bride they were married.
***
Gracie groaned as a blast of sunlight seared the back of her eyeballs. She tried to turn her head to move from the inferno. As soon as the thought hit her brain her head felt like exploding and her stomach h
eaved. She fell out of bed and crawled across to the Italian marble bathroom, gripping the toilet bowl with what little strength she had left. She'd never felt this sick in her life. She remembered drinking a couple of margaritas, but they wouldn't have left her feeling this bad. She must have picked up a horrible virus yesterday.
As another wave of nausea hit, Gracie gave up on being brave and started bawling her eyes out. She had no idea why she was crying. It must be the virus, making her an emotional wreck. She couldn't remember much of last night. She had a vague recollection of the conference dinner and the Cirque du Soleil performance at the hotel. If she tried really hard, she remembered some pretty music, flashy lights, and water. Lots of water shooting everywhere. And Elvis. She felt her head for a temperature.
Had she been hallucinating?
And where had Trent gone? Surely he must be sick not to be here with a cold wash cloth and words of comfort. They'd had mind blowing sex last night. That must count for something when a girl felt like her head had been ripped off and stuffed on backward?
Gracie pushed away from the toilet, resting her face on the cold marble floor tiles. She'd wait here until her head stopped spinning and her stomach stopped heaving. It vaguely crossed her mind that the floor of a hotel bathroom wasn't the most hygienic place to put her face, even if it happened to be the Venetian. But she was beyond caring.
"Are you all right in there?"
Her eyelids blinked. She stared at the toilet rolls stacked in a fancy wire basket under the wall-hung vanity.
"Gracie?"
The voice got closer. She blinked again.
Trent crouched on the ground beside her, feeling her pulse and checking her body. "Can you hear me? Are you bleeding? Do I need to call a doctor?"
It was too much. She winced as his voice boomed off the tiles. "Trent?"
"It's me. Can you move? Are you hurt anywhere?"
More questions. Too many questions all at once. "My head hurts, and I want to be sick, and I can't see out of my eyes, and I'm going to cry."
"Do you want me to lift you back into bed?"
"No. I need to be close to the toilet." Gracie took a deep breath hoping some part of her body was filtering out all the bugs on the floor. She tried to pull herself together. "What's wrong with me?
"It's called a hangover."
"Hangover? But I only had two drinks all night."
"No. Four."
"Four?" she groaned.
"Umm. And there's one more thing." He cleared his throat and moved toward the toilet rolls. "The thing is, last night, while we were taking in the sights of Vegas?well?we got married."
Gracie froze. Her brain tried to compute what he'd said. Married? She pulled herself up onto her elbows and waited for the room to stop spinning. "Who got married?"
"We did."
"Us?"
"Yep."
Gracie stared at him. She needed pain relief and she needed water. She dropped her head back to the cold tiles. "Ha, ha. I so don't believe you." He had a sick sense of humor if he thought she'd find that joke funny. His timing sucked.
"It's true. You're my wife."
"Go away. I'm not in the mood for your jokes." Wiping dribble off the side of her face, she rolled onto her side. "Just leave some pain relief and a glass of water by my bed and I'll sort myself out."
***
By lunchtime, Gracie's head had stopped pounding enough to enjoy a cheesy pasta dish in St. Marks Square. Before Trent left for the conference, she'd drunk a gallon of water and swallowed enough painkillers to tranquilize a horse. He'd ordered room service and she'd tried to eat a piece of toast. It hadn't gone down well. The fruit juice had felt better, so she'd stuck with that and planned her day.
Going for a slow walk around the Venetian had seemed like a sensible thing to do. It was about time she did something sensible. Four margaritas had to be the most insensible thing she'd ever done.
Reaching for her sunglasses, she gently pushed them onto her nose. If she didn't move too quickly, she could almost pretend she was normal. As she gazed at the tourists shuffling along the street, a lady with bouncy gray hair came hurtling toward her. She vaguely recalled seeing her last night at the dinner, then on a bus tour of Vegas. Margaret? Marion? Definitely not Margarita.
"Gracie, darlin'. How are you?"
She gave the woman a polite smile. She must have seen Gracie's fall into an alcoholic stupor and was concerned about how she felt. Parts of last night were slowly coming back, but most of it was still a big black ball of fuzz. She only hoped she hadn't done anything too embarrassing. "I'm much better. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, but I'll be fine in another hour or two."
The lady beamed a megawatt smile down at her.
"Did you enjoy last night?" Gracie asked, not sure whether she really wanted to know.
"It was the most romantic thing I've seen in a long time."
Gracie thought she must be referring to the Fountains of Bellagio. That was one tour stop she'd managed to remember. Even to a woman who'd been tipsy, the fountains were definitely something you wouldn't forget in a hurry. "I agree. The lights, the music, and the water were incredible. I'm going to try and get back before we leave for the airport."
"No, darlin'. I meant your wedding. It was so romantic. Ted and I would have done something similar if we were your age." In a whisper she added, "You just keep that man of yours happy. Lots of good lovin' and good food is the secret to a long marriage. I must dash. I'm catching up with Ted for lunch. It was a pleasure meeting you little darlin'." With a wave of her hand, she disappeared into a crowd of tourists.
Gracie hadn't moved a muscle after the word wedding.
She was married?
Married?
Trent was in trouble, big time. No, more than that. Trouble so big, he'd be lucky if she got on the flight back to Montana with him. She thought he'd been joking when he'd told her they were married. Yeah right. The man was certifiably insane to think she'd happily go along with his harebrained scheme. Gracie Donnelly was no one's door mat.
The slimy, unscrupulous, devious, toad had just blown any friendship with her. She wouldn't stay Mrs. Trent McKenzie for long. If a woman could get hitched in Vegas overnight, then she could get unhitched just as quick. Gracie sat and fumed for another ten minutes, carefully planning her exit strategy from Trent's life.
"Would madam like something else?"
Gracie looked at the waiter standing beside her. "How about a divorce? Can you order that to go?" She had to give him credit. He wasn't fazed in the least by the petit redhead asking him a crazy question.
"No madam, you'll have to visit a lawyer for that. There's plenty along the Strip." He grinned. "Good luck."
Gracie grabbed her handbag, added a healthy tip to her bill and headed toward the nearest exit. Thanks to a demented fool of a cowboy she was now shopping for a divorce.
***
Trent paced backward and forward along the corridor. Still no sign of Gracie. Their shuttle would be leaving in half an hour for the airport and he hadn't seen her since breakfast this morning. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to figure out where she might have disappeared to.
She was probably shopping up a storm in one of the casino boutiques. Or maybe she'd decided to see another show before they left. Or maybe she wasn't answering her door on purpose. He banged again, loudly, just in case she had the television on full volume.
"Trent, how are you?" Marianne Davidson walked toward him with a pile of shopping bags clutched in her hands.
Trent tipped his hat in her direction. "Ma'am. Nice to see you again."
"I saw your lovely wife at lunchtime. Such a nice person. I told her how romantic we thought your wedding was. Ted hasn't stopped talking about it."
Trent stared at Marianne. Oh, boy. When he'd left Gracie this morning, she still didn't believe they were married. She'd definitely know they were husband and wife now. "Gracie hasn't come back from shopping yet and
we're getting close to needing to leave. Can you tell me where you last saw her?"
A frown creased Marianne's brow. "I hope she's all right, Trent. Now let's see. I went to see the shark reef just after I left her. So that must mean I was in the Mandalay Bay Resort."
"Thanks. I'll go and phone the hotel to see if they can put a call out for her."
Marianne wished him well and disappeared into a room further down the hall. The elevator pinged open as Trent slotted his key card into his door. Out stepped Gracie. She looked hot and disheveled, with a mutinous scowl in her eyes that didn't bode well for him. But at least she was alive. "Thank goodness you're back. I've been worried."
"I don't know why, Trent McKenzie. You weren't worried last night when you signed my life away on that tiny little marriage license you registered at the Regional Justice Center." She reached inside her handbag and waved a piece of paper in the air. "This license is worth zip, Mr. McKenzie. You're nothing more than low-life scum to pull a trick like that."
"Gracie, look?" He reached out to calm her down.
"Don't you dare touch me. I've spent the last three and a half hours trying to find some way out of this marriage. All I've got for my troubles are sore feet, another headache, and a bad temper. I'm going to have a quick shower and get my bags ready for the shuttle. If I never speak to you again, it'll be too soon."
Gracie stormed past him in a flurry of cotton and anger. She didn't wait for the door to close softly in her wake. Giving it a good shove with her arms, she slammed it loudly against the frame.
Trent stared at her door. He was in trouble now.
***
Gracie flicked through a magazine for the third time. Not because it happened to be particularly good, but because it saved her from having to talk to the idiot sitting beside her. The plane trip back to Bozeman had so far been uneventful, unlike the hostile shuttle ride across to the airport. She'd nearly thrown her suitcases at Trent's head as he'd been ever so pleasant at making sure she was ready for their return flight.
As soon as she got back to Bozeman she'd book into a hotel. She wasn't going anywhere near the Triple L. Trent might have married her, but she wouldn't spend another night under the roof of her husband. He was on his own.