Why didn’t she want to be married? She’d freely admitted she wasn’t repulsed by his prosthetic eyes, and she’d responded to his lips. He’d felt her tremble at his touch, heard the soft moans when he kissed her. Yet she seemed terrified of the idea that they would remain married. He couldn’t force her into a relationship she didn’t want.
“Stephanie?” he interrupted her ongoing speech.
“What?” She spewed the word out with a burst of air, like a relief valve on a pressure cooker.
“I don’t hear your crutches. Are you walking on your sprained ankle?” He kept his voice low and even, hoping to soothe her frazzled emotions.
“We have bigger problems on our plate than a stupid sprained ankle. Who cares about my foot at a time like this?”
“I do.” He rose to his feet, leaving his cane behind. He reached her in four strides and placed a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing this.” He bent to sweep his left arm behind her knees, scooping her off her feet and cradling her against his chest. She let out a squeal. She felt good in his arms—as if she belonged there. A fresh scent wafted from her hair.
“Are you using a new shampoo?” he asked, hoping to distract her, but truly curious.
“As a matter of fact, I am. It’s strawberry and—”
“Wait, don’t tell me.” He buried his nose in her hair and filled his lungs with air. He was tempted to go further and test the tender skin of her neck with his lips. Instead, he pulled away. “It’s really faint. Strawberry and mango?”
“That’s it,” she exclaimed with wonder. “You never miss.”
“Nope, I don’t.”
“Hey.” Her outraged tone was back, and she squirmed indignantly in his firm grasp. “Put me down.”
“You didn’t mind when Jarrett carried you.” He marched from the living area to his bedroom. “Why would you object when your husband does it?”
“How can you joke about this? It’s a disaster. You have to do something.”
“I am doing something. I’m making my wife follow the doctor’s orders.” Branson smiled. He liked the way the word wife rolled off his lips.
“We can’t stay married, Branson.”
Best not to mention the fact he wasn’t the least bit upset to find they were legally married. She obviously had different feelings on the matter.
“It doesn’t do any good to panic.” His knees found the side of the mattress and he set her gently on the bed. “Stay,” he commanded.
“I’m not a dog, Bran. You can’t order me around.”
He dropped to one knee and lifted her hand, eliciting a gasp of surprise. “Stephanie? Will you please stay off your foot, like the doctor asked? As your temporary husband and caretaker, I’d be immensely grateful.”
“Fine. I’ll stay.” He could hear the grin in her voice and knew he had the upper hand.
He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “Now let’s talk about this logically. What are the facts?”
“Fact one—we’re married. Fact two—we can’t be married. Fact three—we need to do something about it, like go back to that wedding chapel and have them un-marry us before it’s too late.”
“No… fact three—there’s no such thing as getting un-married. It’s called a divorce, and it takes a while, like months.”
“What about an annulment?”
“Maybe.” Branson had hoped she wouldn’t think about an annulment. He’d done enough research with his upcoming marriage to Carina to know an annulment was quick and immediate, but each state had specific specifications to qualify. Maybe he’d luck out, and they wouldn’t meet the legal requirements for annulment in Nevada. “We can look it up, I suppose.”
“Hand me my purse, so I can get my phone,” she directed. “It’s on this end of the couch. I’ll research it right now. Maybe we can get an annulment tonight.”
“Do I look like your personal servant?” he bantered, though he followed her instructions.