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Gabriel's Bride
Suzannah Davis
WILL YOU MARRY ME? Could she really ask this man to marry her? Sarah Ann Dempsey approached him. Determined jaw… wide shoulders… pure masculinity. Suddenly a glistening drop of moisture trickled from the handsome man's navel and disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of well-worn jeans. And from the length of his outstretched legs, she knew that Gabe would make the perfect groom… .I DO? Gabriel Thornton was in trouble! And Sarah Ann's outlandish request should have been his first clue. He'd thought he'd been hired to play the part of Sarah Ann's husband. But now he'd found they were legally wed. And his chances for annulment were slipping away night by tantalizing night… .
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u485e339d-f1b6-55cd-ae58-989cf551fb91)
Excerpt (#u304fa077-10f9-5471-8439-84b90543a32d)
Dear Reader (#u2db0b742-1bfd-5670-8601-f94a83818463)
Title Page (#u4582f441-4fcd-5e90-9301-fd9e7d3b05cc)
About the Author (#ub110f7fe-efa6-5864-ae93-dc42b6f0ee9c)
Dedication (#ue44f7d29-24bc-5f06-93c0-de5e84036fec)
Chapter One (#ud336bb34-8885-572f-bd68-ff81a8111b33)
Chapter Two (#u546d3efe-0b25-5190-b803-4e7ae2eea5da)
Chapter Three (#u0d895329-c38c-5172-83ff-5be444beaea4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I Understand That Under
Certain Circumstances, You Might
Be Available…
“For certain kinds of work, I mean.”
Gabriel surged to his feet. “Ma’am, I fly choppers. That’s all. You got a hankering to tour the Everglades?”
Sarah Ann tried to smile, tried to remember this was all for Gramps. “I need you for a temporary assignment. I’ll, uh, make it worth your while.” She regretted the innuendo instantly.
He cocked one lean hip and absently ran a hand through his hair. “Just what exactly are you saying, ma’am?”
“Look, I’ve heard that you and your friends do…er, unusual work from time to time and I thought, that is…” She groaned in distress and buried her face in her hands.
“Spit it out, honey.”
Lifting her head, she forced out the words. “I need a husband. Will you marry me…?”
Dear Reader,
Happy holidays from the staff at Silhouette Desire! As you can see by the special cover treatment this month, these books are our holiday gifts to you. And each and every story is so wonderful that I know you’ll want to buy extras to give to your friends!
We begin with Jackie Merritt’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Montana Christmas, which is the conclusion of her spectacular MADE IN MONTANA series. The fun continues with Instant Dad, the final installment in Raye Morgan’s popular series THE BABY SHOWER.
Suzannah Davis’s Gabriel’s Bride is a classic—and sensuous—love story you’re sure to love. And Anne Eames’s delightful writing style is highlighted to perfection in Christmas Elopement. For a story that will make you feel all the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season, don’t miss Kate Little’s Jingle Bell Baby.
And Susan Connell begins a new miniseries—THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…—about three former high school friends who are now all grown up in Rebel’s Spirit. Look for upcoming books in the series in 1997.
Happy holidays and happy reading from
AND THE STAFF OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
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Gabriel’s Bride
Suzannah Davis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUZANNAH DAVIS
Award-winning author Suzannah Davis is a Louisiana native who loves small-town life, daffodils and writing stories full of love and laughter. A firm believer in happy endings, she has three children.
For my parents,
Lynn and Gordon,
and
for my kids,
Brian, Jill and Brad
One (#ulink_3e01bcf2-33f5-5e3e-8571-9327dcfc51c2)
As she parked in front of the bayside resort, Sarah Ann Dempsey trembled as before the gates of hell itself.
A humid gulf breeze blew in off Paradise Bay, exotic and perfumed, but offering little relief to the southwest Florida heat. Though only May, the coastline between Tampa and Fort Myers was already sweltering, and the little town of Lostman’s Island was no exception. Beneath her practical gingham shirt, perspiration trickled between Sarah Ann’s breasts, and she curled her sweaty palms around the steering wheel of her aged pickup, willing calmness.
Impossible.
But she had a mission. A desperate quest to ease an old man’s mind, and no time for cowardice or feminine vapors.
“It’s just business,” she reassured herself. Slicking her dark hair back from her damp forehead, she automatically cally tightened her severe but sensible ponytail, then stepped out of the truck.
The marina had seen better days—and worse. Tall, clattering sabal palms shaded a weathered building, a combination business office, fisherman’s supply and dining hall. White crushed-shell paths connected ramshackle, clapboard guest cottages. A wooden dock stretched into the sparkling waters of the bay, but the majority of the boat slips lay empty. For most of Sarah Ann’s twenty-eight years, the Dempsey truck farm and orange groves had supplied fresh produce to this neighboring establishment. She and Gramps had watched the place struggle, then change hands—and names—again and again.
But the latest owners were something different. Mystery men, the gossips labeled them. A trio with questionable pasts, who vanished at intervals to pursue who-knew-what devilment, then reappeared to soak up the sun and rest on their laurels, caring little if the cottages were filled or the fishing boats rented.
As she opened the truck’s tailgate, a delicate shiver tickled Sarah Ann’s spine in spite of the heat. Making her deliveries, she’d seen them all at one time or another: the dark one, with the proud look of the Seminole; the Irishman with his merry grin and bleak eyes; and the one they called The Captain, tawny like a lion, and as commanding.
“Don’t you dare lift them tomatoes!”
Sarah Ann jumped, her hands poised on the handles of the bushel basket holding the last of the season’s crop. An Amazon wearing a man’s rayon tropical shirt screaming with chartreuse parrots barreled toward her like a battleship under full steam. “But, Beulah—”
The woman batted Sarah Ann’s hands away, lifting the loaded basket to her shoulder with no more effort than if it were a soap bubble. Her homely, corpulent face was ruddy with a high, indignant color matched by henna-red hair the texture of steel wool.
“Little gal, you’ll bust a gut.” A cigarette with an inch of ash dangled from Beulah’s prominent lower lip, bobbing to punctuate her scolding words. “You ain’t got the sense the Lord gave a lemming!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“’Sorry’ don’t pay the rent. Come in and get the last piece of chocolate pie. Rather you eat it as those no-accounts I work for.”
Sarah Ann smiled, unoffended by Beulah’s brusqueness. The cook-housekeeper had established herself at the resort as a force to be reckoned with, ruling the roost with her eccentric ways, sharp tongue and gourmet cooking. Now she was as much a part of the place as the salt water and saw grass, and as immovable. Nobody messed with Beulah, but over time she and Sarah Ann had developed something of a wary friendship.
“Thanks for the offer,” Sarah Ann said. “But I’m not very hungry.”
Beulah inspected her with sharp black eyes. “Been to the hospital?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’s Harlan?”
Sarah Ann shrugged and looked away. It was difficult to talk about Gramps, but that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? Licking dry lips, she steeled herself for her task. “Is—is your boss around?”
“Who, Gabriel?”
Helplessly, she nodded. “I guess.”
“What you need with that scoundrel, missy?”
Sarah Ann’s face flamed. “Ah, it’s a…personal matter.”
“My, my, my. Hoity-toity, aren’t we, now?” Beulah’s pugnacious features soured. “Sure, sweet cakes, he’s around here somewhere. Come on.”
Beulah opened the screened door and led the way into a large open room with high pine beams and banks of screened windows. Serving as both lobby and dining hall, the area was furnished with shabby bamboo settees, Formica-topped tables and rattan chairs. Ceiling fans stirred the sultry air.
“Ain’t seen him in the office all day. He’s probably out there.” Steadying the heavy basket with an arm as muscular as any All-Pro linebacker’s, Beulah pointed through French doors that led to the cottages. “Help yourself. I got tomatoes to peel.”
She disappeared through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, her foam rubber flip-flops slapping an ill-tempered tattoo against the tile floor. Feeling abandoned at the other woman’s abrupt departure and suffocated by the thick air, Sarah Ann wiped her damp palms on her jeans and tried to breathe.
How could she go through with this?
Plucking up her courage, she stepped outside. The compound was quiet except for the hum of insects in the scarlet hibiscus and purple bougainvillea that lined the paths. Sarah Ann glanced around, her resolve wavering. Gabriel wasn’t here. Maybe this was a sign from heaven that she ought to abandon her desperate plan. Maybe—
Suddenly a rope creaked, drawing her attention to a pair of battered cowboy boots peeping over the harness of a hammock slung in the shade of two palm trees. Hesitantly, Sarah Ann moved down the shell path. The top of a blond head and two elbows came into view, followed by a swath of deeply tanned masculine chest laid open to the wayward breeze by an unbuttoned khaki safari shirt. Gulping, she stared at the man snoozing in the hammock.
His fair hair was thick and straight, sun streaked and cut short at the nape. Mirrored aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes from the glare but did nothing to disguise the square jut of a determined jaw or the deep lines of experience that bracketed a wide mouth. He was in his late thirties, she guessed, and his nose looked as though it had been broken more than once. It wasn’t a handsome face, but forceful and somehow knowing, and to Sarah Ann the strength in it was intimidating. She was actually glad she couldn’t see his eyes.
Her gaze flicked to the rest of him, and she drew an involuntary breath at the sheer masculinity on display, the width of broad shoulders, the flat muscularlity of his stomach, the light dusting of sandy chest hair that darkened as it traveled down his midsection. Fascinated, she watched a glistening pearl of moisture trickle from his navel and disappear beneath the low-slung waistband of wellworn jeans. From the length of his outstretched legs, she knew that he would dwarf her when he stood.
She also knew with an instinctive certainty that she was making a big mistake.
“You can waltz your butt right back where it came from, sister,” a deep voice drawled. “I’m not budging.”
Sarah Ann gasped, and shells crunched underfoot as she took an involuntary step backward. “Of course. Sorry, I’ll go—”
He came to a seated position on the side of the hammock with the swiftness of a springing cougar and snared her wrist before she could back out of reach. Tipping his head, he surveyed her from her scraped-back hair to the tips of her old, canvas tennis shoes. “Who the hell are you?”
Shocked and chagrined, she stammered. “S-Sarah. Sarah Ann Dempsey.”
“Dempsey? The folks who own the next place over?”
“Yes.”
“Offered to buy a parcel of frontage from the old man a while back. Turned us down flat.”
“I’m not surprised.” Her heart pounding at both the suddenness of his onslaught and her own growing irritation, she lifted her chin and stared pointedly at his fingers pressing into her forearm. “Do you mind?”
He released her instantly. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. Thought you were someone else.”
His voice held the faint twang of Texas, and his courteous reply was almost as unnerving as his pouncing on her. Surreptitiously, she massaged her wrist. “Ah, that’s all right. I shouldn’t have startled you.”
“And I must be losing my touch. There was a time…” Grimacing, he dragged off his sunglasses. From his perch on the edge of the hammock, they were on eye level, and he speared her with a predator’s tawny, golden-eyed gaze. “Something I can do for you, Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey?”
She drew a dizzy breath and knew she’d been right to be wary of those eyes. Yellow-brown, with a hint of copper ringing the irises, they seemed to see right down to the desperate center of her. Somehow she knew he was a man ruthless enough to use any advantage. Tongue-tied, she watched his patience wane.
“Ma’am?”
She pulled her scattered thoughts together with an effort. “Uh, you’re the one they call The Captain, aren’t you?”
Something in his expression closed down, and he scowled. “Beulah’s been running her mouth, I see.”
“No, that is—” She swallowed and tried again. “It’s general knowledge.”
“I’m retired,” he said, his voice flat. “Just plain Gabe Thornton now.”
Retired. From the military, without doubt. She found that encouraging. A man accustomed to giving and following orders, someone with the discipline to carry out instructions to the letter. Just what she needed. If he would hear her out.
“I understand that under certain circumstances you might be available.” He lifted one sandy eyebrow in an unspoken question that caused her to stumble over her words. “For certain kinds of work, I mean.”
He surged to his feet, and the hammock flapped, the sound raucous and harsh in the still afternoon. His expression was hooded, his eyes the color of melted caramel. “Ma’am, I fly choppers. That’s all. You got a hankering to tour the Everglades?”
Squinting up at him against the brightness, she realized she’d been right about his height, for she barely came to his shoulder. It was all she could do not to take another step back. Instead, she shook her head, tried to smile, tried to remember this was all for Gramps.
“Nothing so spectacular. Just…a temporary assignment. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She regretted the innuendo in her words instantly, for he gave her another once-over, and his skeptical expression made her face heat with humiliation. Dammit, she knew she wasn’t Cleopatra, knew she didn’t possess a single quality that would turn a man’s head, but she wasn’t offering him that!
He cocked one lean hip and ran an absent hand through the damp bramble on his chest. Overhead, the palm fronds clattered. “What just exactly are you saying, ma’am?”
“Will you stop doing that?” she exploded.
“What?”
Shoving back the tendrils that had escaped her ponytail, she glared at him. “Ma’am-ing me to death! I’m not your sainted mother.”
Incredibly, his lips twitched. “No, ma’am.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. Damn him, he wasn’t making this easy! She gritted her teeth. “I’m trying to make you a business proposition, if you’ll only listen!”
His look was sardonic. “You’ve got my attention.”
“Look, I’ve heard that you and your friends do…er, unusual work from time to time and I thought, that is…” She groaned in distress and buried her face in her hands.
A large hand cupped her shoulder, and his tone, though tinged with impatience, was almost kind. “Spit it out, honey.”
Lifting her head, she forced herself to say it. “I need a husband. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t look crazy.
But then, what did insane look like? Gabe wondered. Surely he would never have guessed it would be this bundle of female nerves currently gazing up at him as if he were the wrath of God Himself.
There wasn’t much to her, either, except for a wealth of wavy raven black hair escaping from a childish ponytail. She was petite and too slender for his tastes, save the unexpected fullness of womanly breasts pressing against her simple cotton shirt. Her milky skin would never capture the usual Florida tan, and her features were even but insignificant, with the exception of her eyes, round and a blue that was almost violet. And she certainly wasn’t any kind of sophisticate. Her hands were work worn, her nails short and practical. In any other setting, he’d have said she was as normal as the day was long.
No, she didn’t look the type to propose to a total stranger, but what the hell did he know about such mysterious, unfathomable creatures as women? For the first time in a long and distinguished career, former Army Ranger Captain Gabriel Thornton could think of nothing to say. And Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey was waiting for an answer.
“Uh, ma’am—”
“Sarah. My name is Sarah Ann.”
“Sarah.” Frowning, he searched her face. “Uh, how long have you been out in the sun today?”
Frustration pleated her brow. “You don’t understand.”
“Damn straight I don’t.” He was coming out of his stupor, amazement and annoyance building to anger.
It was true he and his former commando partners, Mike Hennesey and Rafe Okee, were more or less free-lance troubleshooters these days and based their services out of the Angel’s Landing Marina, so her roundabout talk of special circumstances and unusual assignments had sounded legitimate at first. After all, even tired old soldiers who’d found a home of sorts needed to earn a living. And they still had the special skills and training to do it on their own terms.
It was also true that he was punchy from a two-day-andnight charter flight carting biologists around the Big Cypress Preserve in search of some exotic endangered snail. It might not be quite as exciting as invading small subtropical countries, but he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime, and besides, it paid the bills.
So all he’d wanted was a little peace and quiet and some downtime in his favorite hammock. Certainly the last thing he needed was a madwoman flinging marriage proposals at him.
“Lady, I don’t know what your game is—”
“I’m perfectly serious!”
“—but I’m not buying,” he said, his voice a growl of warning. “You want a lover? Find a gigolo. A baby? Try the local sperm bank. In the meantime, I think you’d best sashay your fanny right off my property.”
She blinked, taken aback, then burst out laughing.
Gabe was certain he was dealing with a lunatic now. Hysterical, that’s what she was. Maybe Rafe’s medical kit had some kind of sedative…
“You actually think—?” She tried to stifle another bout of wild laughter and failed. “Oh Lord, I guess that was pretty clumsy. I can’t help it. I’m nervous. I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”
“That I can believe.” Out of patience, Gabe grabbed her elbow and began hustling her around the front of the main building toward her parked truck. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“For gosh sakes, it won’t be real.” Her nose tilted at an indignant angle. “What do you take me for? I want to hire you to pretend to be my husband.”
Gabe braked to a halt at her bumper, his boots sliding on the crushed shells. Somehow this admission was even worse. “Why the hell would you want to do a crazy thing like that?”
She glanced out over the glistening bay beyond them, chewing her lip. “I have my reasons.”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
Defiance darkened her expression, and a mulish pucker compressed her soft mouth. “It’s about family. You won’t understand.”
Her assumption stung him. Hell, though he didn’t see them often, he cherished his own family back in Texas. What couldn’t he understand? “Try me.”
She took a deep breath, weighing her words. “It’s my grandfather.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dying. They tell me it’s just a matter of weeks.” Her eyes filled.
Gabe felt something punch him in the gut. “Damn, don’t do that.”
She leaned against the truck fender for support and blotted the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”
Feeling awkward around female tears, he began to stuff his shirttail into his jeans. “It’s too bad. Crusty old codger, as I recall.”
“Yes. He’s all I’ve got.” Regaining her composure, she lifted her face. “And he’s worried about me. Wants to see me settled before he goes. It’s become an obsession. He’s not peaceful. So you understand why I’d do anything to make him happy.”
“Even lie to him?”
She blanched, then swallowed hard. “Even that. What harm will it do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“None. And otherwise…” She broke off with a defensive shrug.
Gabe narrowed his eyes. There was something else, something she wasn’t telling him. “Otherwise, what?”
“Nothing.”
“If I’m going to even consider this, you’d better tell me everything.”
Her head snapped around, her expression at once hopeful and full of trepidation.
“It’s just that he doesn’t think I can swing things on the farm after…after he’s gone. He thinks if I don’t have a man to take care of me, then he ought to sell the place now so I won’t be strapped with all the responsibility.”
“That seems sensible.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No, he’s wrong, but he’s ill, and I can’t convince him differently. I don’t want to lose either Gramps or my home, Mr. Thornton. The Dempseys have been farming our land for three generations. I don’t intend to let that legacy die.”
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, fingers automatically brushing the scar hidden beneath his hair that ran from neckline to ear. It was a tangible reminder of a nightmare of green hell and fire from his other life and more than enough reason not to complicate his quest for inner peace with some farfetched, off-the-wall scheme concocted by a lunatic!
“Ma’am—Sarah, this plan of yours is pretty drastic. And why me? Don’t you have a boyfriend who could pull this off for you?”
A tide of hot color rolled up her cheeks, and her voice grew stiff. “No. At any rate, I’d rather keep this arrangement strictly business. You deal in unusual job assignments, don’t you? No one need know anything about it except Gramps, you and me.”
“You’ve got it all worked out,” he muttered.
“There’s really not much involved except your absolute discretion. Just meet Gramps a time or two, that’s all. And I’ll pay your usual fee.”
She was so sure of herself he felt sorry for her. “Honey, you can’t afford me.”
Dismay widened her eyes. “Oh, but—”
“Believe me, you’re out of your league.”
“Then a trade,” she offered, her expression harried. “That frontage land you wanted. I never meant to part with it, but if it’s the only way…”
For a moment he was tempted. The land would offer better access to Angel’s Landing, which was critical to keeping the enterprise afloat. But the whole setup was fraught with complications and headaches. No, better to follow his instincts. He shook his head.
“Forget it, I’m not interested. Not to mention that I have a real problem hoodwinking sick old men.”
“It’s shameful, I know that.” Remorse quivered in her voice. “But it’s for his peace of mind. You can’t know how worried he is. If I can relieve that…well, I know God will forgive me this white lie. Please, Mr. Thornton. I’ll give you the land.”
“Not this time, honey.” Shaking his head, he opened the driver’s door and pushed her gently into the seat. “’Husband’ isn’t my usual line of work. Tried it once. Didn’t like it.”
“It’s not much to ask,” she pleaded, as he slammed the truck door.
“Go home, Sarah Ann.”
She leaned out the window, her eyes the turbulent blue of a thunderhead. “Why won’t you help me?”
“I can think of about two dozen very good reasons.”
“Name one,” she challenged.
Goaded, he caught her chin between his fingers. “Try this.”
Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her hard. Despite her smothered squeal of protest, she was surprisingly sweet. He held her fast, taking his time, savoring the spice and fury of her mouth. When he released her, she sputtered in incoherent outrage. His lips curled in a smile both wicked and satisfied.
“Let that be a warning, Sarah Ann. Little girls shouldn’t play with fire. Every assignment gets my full attention. And real or not, you wouldn’t like what I’d expect of a wife.”
* * *
“What do you mean you turned it down?” Mike Hennesey wrinkled his sunburned nose and scrubbed at his russet curls in pure exasperation.
Rafe Okee sat across the dining table. Darkly bronzed and wiry, in jogging shorts, he pulled the bandana securing his long hair off his brow and snorted his agreement. “Hell, Cap’n! If this place is ever going to pay off, we need that frontage—bad.”
Freshly showered and looking forward to a quiet meal, Gabe scowled at his partners’ attack, then turned a fierce glare at the true author of this situation. “Been spilling the beans again, Beulah?”
“All I said was, it’s a damn fool who cuts off his nose to spite his face.”
With a graceful agility belied by her size and bulk, she slid the three plates she held balanced on one arm onto the table in front of the three men. Somehow she even managed to accomplish this feat without dripping any cigarette ashes in the dishes.
Grilled jumbo shrimp sizzled on the gargantuan platters, filling the evening air with a tantalizing aroma, but Gabe was in no mood to be placated by Beulah’s culinary skills, not when she’d obviously been indulging in her favorite hobby—troublemaking.
“You got a long nose, Beulah. That was a private conversation.”
She gave a laugh that sounded like a caw. “Cat fight was more like it. Heard you all the way to Tampa, I’ll bet. That gal sure left out of here steamed up.”
“Oh, hell, Gabe!” Mike groaned. “What’d you do to her?”
“You don’t want to know,” Beulah said, smirking. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gabe demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.” Growling under her breath, she stomped toward the kitchen.
“Jeez, did you have to tick her off again?” Rafe asked in disgust. “We’ll be eating kibbles for a week.”
“I don’t know why we put up with that Medusa.” Gabe swung a leg over his chair.
“Yes, you do.” Mike bit into a shrimp and gave a long, appreciative sigh. “And this is it.”
Rafe eyed his former commanding officer belligerently. “What I want to know is, if old man Dempsey was so willing to deal on that property that he sent his own granddaughter over to talk to you, why didn’t you latch it down, pronto?”
Gabe shifted in his seat. “The, uh, price was too high.”
Miracle of miracles, apparently Beulah hadn’t overheard Sarah Ann’s outlandish proposal and passed that on, too. At least the poor girl would be spared that kind of ridicule and embarrassment. That he would take an unmerciful ribbing from his partners didn’t even enter into it, of course.
“Heck, Gabe, we need that frontage at any price,” Mike said. “I didn’t invest in this joint just to go bankrupt.”
“We’re far from that,” he protested, picking up his fork. “Besides, what are you complaining about? You’re hardly around a week per month these days.”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah, finding missing persons turns out to be a booming business.”
“Well, that last search-and-rescue nearly killed me. I’m getting too old for the Special Ops game,” Rafe groused.
“You got a better idea?”
“Sure. Improve access to Angel’s Landing, advertise and put up that RV park like we talked about, so we can make this place pay for itself and all retire.”
Mike pushed his empty plate aside and grinned. “I thought we’d done that already.”
“Mothballing the uniforms was only part of it,” Gabe pointed out.
The Fallen Angels team had served well together through dangerous times, in situations no government would even admit to knowing about. But a man’s psyche could only take so much. One by one, they’d reached a saturation point when they’d each seen and done too much to stay any longer.
When Rafe found this place and offered a third interest to his closest buddies, Gabe immediately came aboard. He’d been drifting aimlessly—South America, the Far East, it didn’t matter—too soul weary to go home to Texas, too battle-scarred to fit in anywhere else. The partnership was a godsend, a chance to reconnect to life. And it was working. There was healing in the hard physical work, the goals, the friendship. The three of them were bound by bonds of blood, camaraderie and loyalty. They didn’t let each other down.
Gabe grimaced. Only he had, by letting his temper get the best of him and scaring off Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey and their best chance at that property.
“Can’t say that I miss those fatigues, you know. I still break out in hives whenever I see khaki.” Joking, Mike’s grin grew even wider. “And at least we don’t have to salute Gabe anymore.”
“No, we can give him orders now,” Rafe said.
Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Mutiny, is it?”
“Since you obviously screwed up earlier, you get to repeat the assignment.” Rafe jabbed a finger at him. “Get in touch with Miss Dempsey and open negotiations again. Sir.”
Gabe’s belly clenched, and he frowned. “Waste of time.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Hey, Mike’s the ladies’ man in the outfit, remember?”
The Irishman laughed. “You’re saying you didn’t handle things with your usual finesse and flair?”
“Something like that.”
Rafe shrugged. “Tough. Get back in that ring and start swinging. A Ranger never admits defeat.”
“I really blew it,” Gabe admitted. “One look at me, and she’ll spit in my eye.”
Mike and Rafe glanced at each other. Grinned.
“So, duck, sir.”
Two (#ulink_5bbfd331-5aa3-5855-a7da-819b7d9313f7)
Little girl…
Sarah Ann folded Gramps’s pajama top with a savage snap of her wrists.
Out of your league…
Her face burned. The arrogance. The utter gall!
Try this…
Teeth gritted, she slapped the pj’s onto the bureau, then cast an anxious look at the wizened man asleep in the hospital bed. The window blinds were closed against the glare of a lingering sunset and the room was dim, illuminated only by the pale light of the fluorescent fixture above the narrow bed. Silver stubble sprouted on Harlan Dempsey’s weathered cheeks, and the IV tube dripped quietly into a thin arm, but he didn’t stir.
Sarah Ann drew a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the familiar scents of disinfectant and alcohol, but nothing calmed her rankled feelings. Her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since the previous afternoon’s debacle. Damn Gabriel Thornton! Just who did he think he was?
Well, she wasn’t some simpleminded schoolgirl, easily intimidated by a mere kiss! Her thoughts balked at the word mere, then skittered away from the toe-curling memory of masterful lips and raw male power. Granted, he’d taken her completely off guard, but that’s because she’d been under the impression that the days of Neanderthal men were over and that a Texas drawl bespoke some old standard of Southern chivalry.
Wrong on both accounts.
Well, she wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him again. And there would be a next time. Someday, somewhere, Gabe Thornton would get his comeuppance, she guaranteed it. In the meantime, she still had to do her best for Gramps, and she was fresh out of ideas.
The bedside phone jangled, and she jumped to catch it on the first ring. Gramps murmured something indistinguishable and fitful, then subsided, snoring softly again.
“Sarah Ann, is that you?”
Suppressing a grimace of irritation, she tugged the phone cord to its length and stepped to the window to peer out between the slats. Her voice was low. “Hello, Douglas.”
Douglas Ritchie’s well-modulated words rumbled over the line. “Can you speak up? I can hardly hear you.”
“Gramps is sleeping.” Absently, she untucked her plain knit shirt from the waistband of her denim shorts and pulled her ponytail loose, getting more comfortable for the evening visiting hours still ahead of her.
“How is he today?”
“About the same.” She combed tired fingers through the mass of her hair, sighing at the sensation. “Weak.”
“And the doctors still don’t have any answers? That’s unacceptable. If I were you, I’d start thinking about malpractice—”
She stiffened. “Not now, Douglas, please.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That was thoughtless. You know I’d never do anything to upset you.”
“Yes, I know.”
That was the whole problem, Sarah Ann thought. How did you tell a nice guy and successful Realtor like Douglas Ritchie that you just weren’t interested?
Gabe’s blunt question “Don’t you have a boyfriend…?” rang in her ears again, staining her cheeks with chagrin.
While she wouldn’t exactly call herself experienced, she’d had several, thank you very much, including one serious beau she’d almost married before she’d dropped out of college to help Gramps. Her almost-fiancé had opted out at that point, unwilling to take on a wife with responsibilities.
After that disappointment she’d been much too busy to worry about her social life. It was hard to cultivate those kinds of friendships when you were up at dawn running a struggling tomato farm and orange groves, keeping up with the bookkeeping, taking up the slack in the warehouse, even doing some of the tractor driving, then falling into bed exhausted every night.
Lately, however, there was a difference of opinion on the boyfriend question, at least in Lostman’s Island. But just because you’d been going out occasionally for the past year with the only guy who asked, and the whole town had begun to assume you were a couple, did that have to make it so?
Tall and bespectacled, Douglas was a soft-spoken teddy bear who’d been so solicitous during Gramps’s illness Sarah Ann would have felt like the most ungrateful wretch in the world to break things off. And she’d found it flattering to have a man pursue her, even though his conversation bored her to tears and his kisses were lackluster. But she felt guilty taking advantage of his good nature and had decided that the only honorable course of action was to gently, but firmly, decline any further invitations.
Unfortunately Douglas didn’t seem to be getting the message. And to ask him to pretend to be her fiancé to ease Gramps’s worries would only encourage him unnecessarily just when she most wanted to disentangle herself.
“Why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I hear the Cotton Patch has great chicken-fried steak.”
The thought of a greasy, crusty mass of beef in a plastic basket of fries held even less appeal than making conversation with Douglas. “Thanks, but I really can’t.”
“You’re swamped taking care of the farm and staying at the hospital, too, aren’t you? Sure, sweetheart, I understand.” His words were full of kindness and concern and made Sarah Ann feel guiltier than ever.
“You try to do too much,” he said. “One of these days you’re going to have to let me help you out from under all that responsibility. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“That’s not nec—” The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Chewing her lip, she turned to hang up the receiver.
“You ought not to turn the boy down. He’ll get discouraged.”
Smiling into a pair of surprisingly bright blue eyes, Sarah Ann bent over the bed and squeezed her grandfather’s hand. His deeply tanned skin was wrinkled from a lifetime of outdoor work, but his halo of wispy gray hair gave him a gnomish charm.
“Hey, there, sleepyhead. How was your nap?”
“Don’t change the subject, girlie. That Douglas would marry you in a minute if you’d give him the least bit of encouragement.”
She kept her voice light. “I’m not in love with Douglas.”
“Pshaw.” Harlan’s face was drawn with fatigue, but his spirit was as cantankerous as ever. “What do young.folks know about that? Time was when two people—”
“Did I tell you Charlie came by with the ‘dozer bid?” Sarah Ann interrupted. “If we get those damaged orchards cleared, we can replant right away.”
“Damn hurricanes. Always causing trouble,” he grumbled, sidetracked for the moment. “What about the roof on the tractor shed?”
“That’s next on the list.” She mentally counted all the other things that needed doing, too. The thought of climbing a ladder and hammering tin filled her with dread, but she’d do what she had to do. She always did. Keeping her tone cheerful, she added, “Oh, and we got next season’s contracts from the farmers co-op.”
“Those orange-eating buzzards! Until some other outfit puts in a new processing plant and gives them some competition, they’ll try to steal us blind.”
“I can handle it, Gramps.”
“No, dad-blame it, you can’t!” In the blink of an eye, Harlan worked himself into a state, harping back over ground they’d covered time and again. “And I won’t be around to tend to things for you.”
“Don’t say that, Gramps.” She tried vainly to keep the distress out of her voice. “You’re going to get well and come home very soon.”
“Time to face facts, girlie.” He wheezed painfully, and his gnarled, work-worn hands made restless circles across the white sheets. “Looks like I’ve run out of aces. Damnation, but I thought you’d be settled with a good man and a passel of babies by now. If you and Douglas—”
“Forget about him.”
He slapped a shaky fist against the bed rail, his voice quivering with both anger and physical weakness. “If you aren’t going to marry the boy, then I’m going to take him up on his offer.”
“What offer?”
“To buy the whole place, lock, stock and barrel.”
Shock widened her eyes. “What!”
Harlan nodded. “He said he’d be glad to help out, and that’ll give you a nest egg. If you’re set on being an old maid, the least I can do is leave you the money to go back to college and finish out that teacher’s degree.”
“I don’t want that. And I can’t believe you’d sacrifice everything we’ve built for this crazy notion!”
“Crazy, am I?” Mounting agitation mottled his pallid skin, and his chest heaved. “Pass me that there phone, and I’ll show you what’s what!”
The look on his face alarmed her, as did the racking cough that shook his wiry frame.
“That’s all right, Gramps. Let’s talk calmly about it, okay?” She tried to placate him with a smile and reached for the plastic pitcher and glass on the bedside table. “Here, have some water.”
“Hand me the dad-blamed phone!” He shoved the water glass aside, slopping icy liquid down the front of Sarah Ann’s shirt. “I’m gonna see you’re taken care of one way or t’other.”
“Gramps, please—”
He scrabbled for the receiver, swinging IV tubing and coughing harshly. Someone knocked on the door. Nearly frantic with concern now, Sarah Ann rushed to admit the nurse.
Her hands froze on the door handle, and her mouth dropped open. She took in cowboy boots, long jeanclad legs and a white T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. A pair of aviator sunglasses were hooked to the crew neck.
“What do you want?”
Gabe Thornton’s jaw worked at that hostile demand, but his manner was diffident, even deferential. “Miss Dempsey. I hate to bother you here, but if you could spare a moment, I’d like a word.”
“About what?” Fingers clutching the edge of the door, she cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, unnerved by Gramps’s continued hacking.
Gabe’s tawny gaze touched her, focused briefly on the damp knit clinging to her bosom, then hastily moved on. “My partners and I are very interested in that frontage property.”
Her teeth snapped together. “You’ve got your nerve. Go away.”
“If you’ll just hear me out—”
“Sarah…”
At Gramps’s strangled call, she forgot Gabe and rushed back to the bedside. Her grandfather’s pallor had turned a dull bluish tint. “Oh, my God—Gramps!”
Helplessness and fear paralyzed her, but then Gabe Thornton was beside her, taking in the situation, moving quickly, efficiently, lifting Harlan to a more upright position as easily as if he were a child and stuffing pillows behind his back.
“Take it easy, old-timer.” Gabe’s husky drawl was reassuringly matter-of-fact and held nothing of Sarah Ann’s panic. Balancing Harlan with one brawny arm, he slapped the call button on the wall, spoke quietly at the nurse’s buzz. “Respiratory distress. Get in here. Now.”
To Sarah Ann’s infinite gratitude, the imperative in his tone had a pair of nurses bursting through the door within seconds. Gabe transferred the patient to their capable ministrations. Terrified, Sarah Ann watched them work in a flurry of IV injections, blood pressure cuffs and oxygen tubing. Gabe took her elbow and gently tugged her out of the way.
“He’ll be all right,” he murmured.
She couldn’t answer and was only vaguely aware that she’d clenched a fist into Gabe’s shirt and was holding on to that anchor for dear life. He humored her, allowing the liberty, placing an arm across her back so that she was halfsupported against the bulk of his chest. She didn’t question the arrangement, merely soaked up the strength that seemed to emanate from him along with the warm scent of his skin, a mixture of male musk and soap.
Although it seemed an eternity, within just a few minutes Harlan’s breathing was less labored.
“That’s a lot better, isn’t it, Mr. Dempsey?” the head nurse asked cheerfully. Fifty and stout, Lillian Cannon was no-nonsense, performing her duties and directing her younger companion with absolute control and competency. Over the bed she caught Sarah Ann’s eye and mouthed, “He’s okay now.”
Sarah Ann slumped with relief, bowing her head and resting it for the briefest of seconds against Gabe’s chest. Her heart cried out with the sure foreknowledge of grief to come. “Okay” for now, she thought. But for how much longer?
She had the fleeting sensation of sympathetic fingers stroking her hair. Before she could decide if she was mistaken, embarrassment slammed into her. Cheeks heating, she tried to pull away, too chagrined to even look at Gabe. He let her retreat a bit, but only to guide her with a hand in the small of her back to her grandfather’s bedside. Gramps watched them approach, his blue eyes tired over the clear plastic oxygen mask covering his nose.
“You rest now, Mr. Dempsey,” Lillian said, patting his hand. Then, to Sarah Ann, “Do you know what broughtthis on?”
Guiltily, she swallowed hard and nodded. “A difference of opinion.”
The head nurse gave her a stern look, the kind that said disturbing seriously ill patients in this manner was beneath contempt. “Dr. Stephens said we’ve got to avoid this kind of upset at any cost, you know that.”
“Yes.”
“As long as we understand each other. At any cost.”
Nodding, Lillian signaled her companion and they left. For all that he’d been a great help, Sarah Ann wished fervently Gabe would do the same. Instead, he stood behind her with his arms crossed over his broad chest, a slight frown puckering his brow. Ignoring him, she leaned over the bed rail, trying to make her smile both teasing and encouraging.
“Whew, that was something. But you always like to be the life of the party, don’t you, Gramps?”
Harlan scowled, noticed Gabe then, and managed a croak. “Who—?”
“This is our new neighbor, Gabe Thornton,” Sarah Ann said stiffly, remembering why Gabe was here.
The old man looked blank.
“We talked a while back about a piece of frontage property, Mr. Dempsey,” Gabe explained.
At the mention of property, Harlan’s regard snapped back to Sarah Ann. Behind the mask his words were muffled, but clear. “Call Douglas.”
Dismay chilled her. Even after what he’d just been through, he still wouldn’t give up. “We don’t need him.”
Agitation returning, he struggled to sit up. “Dad-blame it, girlie, I said do it!”
She knew with a certainty that he’d kill himself over this—right before her eyes, here, this minute—if she didn’t do something. Something drastic. Something desperate. Something outrageous.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, Gramps. I’ve got wonderful news.” Turning, Sarah Ann caught Gabe’s hand. Laying it lovingly on the damp spot between her breasts, she beamed up into his stunned face. “Gabriel asked me to marry him—and I said yes!”
“You can’t tell him the truth. Do you want to kill him outright?”
Floating on the evening twilight, Gabe’s voice was savage. “No, it’s you I’m liable to murder, lady! Get in.”
Hauling Sarah Ann around by the arm, he reached for the driver’s door of his army green Jeep. Balking, she tried to dig her heels into the sun-warmed asphalt of the hospital parking lot
“Hold it, buster! I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“The way I see it, you got no choice.” He thrust her into the vehicle, shoving her over into the passenger side as he slid under the wheel. She made a grab for the opposite door handle, but he dragged her back with a jerk. “Sit still.”
“Listen, you—”
“Can it, sister. We’re going to talk, that’s all, and I want the shouting to take place out of earshot.”
She quit struggling. “Oh.”
He waited a moment more, then released her arm. “That’s more like it.”
Scooting into the corner as far away from him as she could, she sent him a resentful look. “I’m sick of your caveman tactics. You manhandle me again and you’ll be walking funny.”
Propping his forearm on the steering wheel, Gabe inspected her from her flowing mane to the slender but shapely turn of her ankles. Her legs weren’t half-bad, actually, he thought, and she blushed at his perusal and tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her shorts. Enjoying her squirming, he blessed her with a sour smile.
“Big talk from a gal your size. Want to try best-two-outof-three falls and see who wins?”
“That’s right, resort to brute strength when all else fails,” she said with a disdainful sniff. “It’s no more than I’d expect from your type.”
“Me? I’ve seen less ruthless behavior from a cobra! You want to tell me why the hell you told your grandpa that bald-faced lie?”
“You know why. You saw how he was,” she muttered. Then her eyes flashed blue-violet in the dusky light. “And you’re the biggest whiner I ever saw. I told you I’d give you the frontage property for doing this one little favor. What more do you want?”
Gabe rubbed his palms down his jaws and contemplated various forms of mayhem. “Not to be involved at all would be nice.”
“Why don’t you accept this gracefully?” She heaved a sigh at the glower he shot at her. “All right, I know I’ve taken advantage, but for a few hours of playacting, you get what you want as well as the satisfaction of sparing an old man needless suffering.”
“Don’t kid me that this is a selfless act. You’re getting something out of it, too.”
“I love my grandfather, not that you’d understand anything as simple as that!” she snapped. “You’re just mad because you’ve been outmaneuvered by a female.”
Gabe felt himself bristling. “Look, lady, I don’t know you or your grandpa from Adam. What if I’m the kind of guy who can say the hell with you and him, too?”
She was silent for a long moment, then spoke slowly, her voice husky. “I guess I’m betting you aren’t.”
That took the wind out of his sails. “Oh, hell.”
She spread her hands in appeal. “Please, Gabriel. I’m really desperate. You saw how happy the news made Gramps, how relieved he was. If I can give him that much before…”
She choked to a stop, pressing her knuckles to her lips. Gabe felt his anger slipping away, along with his resolve. Whatever he felt about this crazy scheme, it was clear she genuinely adored her grandfather. He felt a pang of envy. A woman who cared this deeply would be a prize to anyone she loved.
Rather desperately, he said, “But he wants to witness ‘our’ wedding. You heard him. Have the ceremony in his room, for God’s sake!”
Sarah Ann licked her lips. “We could fake it.”
Her words flabbergasted him, but it was the sight of her tongue darting over her lush mouth that made his belly tighten. Beset by the memory of her taste, he groaned silently and forced the feelings back.
No, he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and no, he was not going to let an unexpected and unwelcome flash of sexual hunger further complicate this already muddled situation. Hell, he didn’t even like this little conniver!
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he croaked.
“It wouldn’t be that hard. We just need someone to play justice of the peace. It won’t be elaborate. Five minutes is all. Perhaps one of your friends—?”
“God, no!” The thought of explaining all this to Mike and Rafe made him shudder. Talk about looking like a fool!
“Then I’ll find someone,” she said. “There are always people looking to make a few bucks. And I’ll arrange everything else—the ceremony, the rings, the deed of transfer on the land—everything. So…will you do it?”
Feeling boxed in, Gabe rubbed his pounding temple. “I must be as crazy as you are.”
She leaned forward, hopeful. “Then you will?”
Gabe grimaced. In service to his country, he’d been a weapon, and an effective one, but he drew the line at killing old men with words—even truthful ones. So he would mangle his self-respect for a few hours to humor this eccentric female and earn a chunk of land for his trouble. At least his partners would be happy.
“Thanks to you, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Her breath left her in a little relieved puff. Reaching out, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, a peace offering that made his skin burn through the thin knit of his shirt.
“Thank you.” In the gathering darkness, her whisper was breathless with gratitude. “You won’t regret it. It won’t take much time, and after it’s all over, I’ll never bother you again.”
With a prick of foreboding, Gabe wondered if that was a promise or a threat.
Three days later Sarah Ann walked toward Gramps’s hospital room, her seldom-worn dress pumps clicking against the polished tiles like an executioner’s drumroll. Though the corridor was chilly with air-conditioning, she was perspiring beneath her off-white linen sheath, a condition that could only be attributed to a bad case of prenuptial jitters.
Not that what she was about to do with Gabriel Thornton was in any sense real, of course, she told herself sternly. But for Gramps’s sake, even going through the motions had to look genuine.
At six o’clock she would meet Gabe and they would mouth words before a man she’d hired to play the part of justice of the peace. The cousin of a friend of one of her farm hands, he’d assured her he understood her need for discretion, that he’d meet them at the hospital room primed for his role, and that the ceremony would be “a piece of cake.”
That piece of out-and-out dishonesty weighed heavily enough, but the preparations for the actual ceremony itself, deciding what to wear—the plain dress, her mother’s pearls—and how to fix her hair—a French twist to control her waves—had produced an artificial excitement that tied her into nervous knots. She prayed that for the few minutes it took, she could play the part of happy, blushing bride without throwing up.
As she turned a corner, Sarah Ann’s steps faltered at the sight of the tall figure leaning against the windowsill opposite Gramps’s doorway. Swallowing, she realized Gabe had done his breathtaking best to look the part, too. In dark suit and conservative tie, he was a solemn stranger, enigmatic and unapproachable, somewhat frightening, totally fascinating.
Who was he, really? she wondered. It was a bit disheartening to realize that it didn’t matter, for by her own choice his role in her life could be only temporary.
Gabe looked up at the sound of her steps, then straightened to his full height, his eyes piercing her, golden as an eagle’s.
“Hi.”
She tried to smile. “Hello.”
He inspected her—the simple dress, her trembling hands, the upswept hairdo—and something hungry flared in his expression, then was gone. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. So do you.”
She knew her words were stiff, inane, and she closed her eyes briefly, praying for lucidity and composure. She had to get through this—after all, it was her idea! It’s just business, she recited like a mantra.
Reaching into her small clutch purse, she passed him a folded document. “Your deed. Everything’s filed at the courthouse.”
He shoved the paper inside his jacket without looking at it. “Thank you.”
“And here are the rings. I had to guess at the size.” With a tremulous laugh, she passed him a small box, and he shoved it into a pants pocket. “Lord, this is awkward, isn’t it?”
“Deception always is, Sarah.”
Stricken, she didn’t know what to say. Frowning, Gabe raised his hand and touched her face, running a thumb under her jawbone, gently fingering the pearl stud in her ear.
“I forget you’re a novice at this kind of thing,” he muttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m an old hand at it. I’ll guide you through.”
The warmth of his skin stroking hers made her shiver. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
A slow grin curled his mouth. “It should.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“In the meantime…” Turning to the windowsill, he picked up a bundle, removed a layer of tissue and offered her a ribbon-wrapped bouquet of red roses. “Maybe you should hold on to these.”
Mystified, touched beyond words, she took the flowers, marveling at their velvety texture and inhaling their sweetness. “Oh, Gabe, they’re exquisite.”
“Just doing my part to keep up appearances.”
Like a dash of cold water, that jolted her from her haze. It’s just business. “Well, thank you. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Beulah cut them.”
Sarah Ann sucked in a breath. “You told her? About this?”
“What do you think I am—crazy? No, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, his brow wrinkling as if pondering a riddle. “But she left them on the table, and they looked right, so here they are. How she knew…sometimes I think she’s a witch.”
“At any rate, it’s a nice touch. You should have one, too.” She plucked a bud and stuck it in his lapel. “They’re really quite lovely.”
“Yeah.” He searched her face for a long moment, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Ready to get this over with?”
Drawing a breath for courage, she nodded. “Yes.”
Gabe pushed open the door and ushered her inside.
“There they are,” Gramps said in a hearty voice. “About time!”
Sarah Ann blinked, taken aback by the unexpected sea of smiling faces that greeted them. Gramps sat propped upright in his bed, clean-shaven and looking dapper and more cheerful than he had in weeks. Beside him stood his oldest friend, retired Judge Henry Holt, stout and graying, ing, but still vigorous at seventy-five. A fresh-faced young man wearing a rather shiny suit and holding a Bible stood before a makeshift bower of flowers and greenery, apparently the work of Lillian, the head nurse, and her staff, who waited to one side, white uniformed and dewy-eyed with expectation.
“My goodness.” Sarah Ann’s voice was faint. Beside her, Gabe breathed an expletive.
Lillian bustled up to them, all goodwill. “Now, don’t be upset with our little surprise, Sarah Ann. When Harlan told us your plans, we just couldn’t help getting into the spirit of things. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“I know how busy you’ve been, and of course, all the details, the blood tests—”
“Blood tests?” Sarah Ann echoed, shooting a wide-eyed glance at Gabe.
“Don’t tell me you forgot?” Lillian asked. Reading Sarah Ann’s dismay and totally misinterpreting it, she took charge. “Well, we can take care of that right now! Charlotte, hand me that tray.”
Before they had a chance to protest, Lillian pricked their fingers, prepared slides and sent the tray off to the lab.
“There, all done. A whirlwind courtship, wasn’t it? It’s so romantic,” the nurse said with a sigh. She patted Gabe’s arm. “Congratulations, young man. You’re getting a mighty fine gal.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Come here, girlie, and give your old Gramps a hug,” Harlan ordered from the bed. Sarah Ann obliged. When she released him, Harlan offered his hand to Gabe, shook it soundly. “I want to welcome you to the family, son. You’re both making me a mighty happy man today.”
Gabe cleared his throat again. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Gramps.” Tears prickled behind Sarah Ann’s lids.
“Now, none of that,” he chided, then turned to his old friend. “Tell her, Henry. It’s a happy time.”
“Good gracious, yes!” the judge agreed. “And this is your intended?”
He pumped Gabe’s hand, beaming. “Harlan asked me to be a witness. Flat tickled me, I don’t mind telling you. Got all the necessary paperwork right here.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I knew you wouldn’t mind, so I’ve taken care of everything. I still have some pull down at the courthouse. Got you one of their gold-embossed licenses. Made it real special.”
“Ah, Sarah and I appreciate it,” Gabe said, his words strangled.
“Are we ready to get started?” the young man with the Bible asked hopefully.
“Absolutely!” Gabe took Sarah Ann’s arm and positioned them in front of the bower, evoking a titter of indulgent laughter from the witnesses at his apparent eagerness.
Only Sarah Ann knew that it was really his desperation to have this charade behind them, and it matched her own. She’d had no idea it would be so hard! At least her counterfeit justice of the peace was ready to do the job he’d been paid for. She caught his eye, trying to convey silent messages: Get on with it! Make it look good! Hurry!
All she got was a puzzled look in return, but then he started reading with all due solemnity and restored her confidence. “Dearly Beloved…”
It was the work of barely five minutes, the recitation of names, the exchange of rings and vows. Sarah Ann’s fingers were icy; Gabe’s replies as wooden as her own. Fraud, her guilty conscience whispered. Liar. But one look at Gramps’s face, and she knew she would do it all again, a hundred times over if necessary.
The young man closed his Bible, smiling cordially at the couple in front of him. “Now, by the power vested in me by the state of Florida—”
The door burst open, spilling bodies and boisterous commotion into the already-overcrowded room.
“Where’s the wedding?” roared a swarthy man with oiled-down hair and a polyester suit. His eyes lit up in triumph at the sight of flowers and guests, but his voice was slurred. “Oh, ho, fellows! This has gotta be the place! Had a hell of a time finding it, though, didn’t we? Why don’t they have more signs? We ain’t brain surgeons.”
His scruffy companions nodded, laughed uproariously at this apparent witticism and leered at the group of nurses. Revolted, Sarah Ann took an involuntary step backward, grateful to have Gabe’s protecting arm at her waist.
“Here now, what’s the meaning of this?” Judge Holt demanded. “Good God, man, you’re drunk!”
“I ain’t,” the intruder replied indignantly. He lifted a beer bottle and grinned. “Just celebrating the festivities ahead of time. Carrot-headed fellow down at the Whistling Pirate kept buying rounds, ain’t that right, boys?”
“A swell guy,” one of his friends agreed. “Big, too. Drink a keg of beer all by himself.”
“Well, we sure gave him some help.” Taking a final swallow, the leader tossed the empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket, rubbed his hands, and looked around expectantly. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Mister,” Gabe growled, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Wait a minute! I been hired to do a job, and by gum, I’m gonna do it! Which one of you is the Dempsey gal? You want a justice of the peace or not?”
“Justice of the—” Horror stole Sarah Ann’s breath, clogged her throat. “You?”
Belligerent now, the man scowled. “You hired me, didn’t you? Paid good money for this part. Just ‘cause a man’s a little late…”
She swung to the man holding the Bible. “Then who’s this?”
“Why, Reverend Cullen, girlie,” Harlan said. “The new hospital chaplain.”
Sarah Ann’s knees buckled. Gabe caught her, steadying her until she found her feet again. Their eyes met. Realization dawned. An ordained clergyman. Blood tests. The judge’s license.
She saw the wrath building in Gabe’s expression, saw the house of cards she’d been trying to build for Gramps tumble and fall. Panic consumed her, made her voice a thin wail. “Oh, my God.”
“We’re churchgoing folks,” Harlan continued. “I couldn’t have my granddaughter married by a civil servant.”
“Certainly not!” Lillian snapped, recovering her authority. “And this one’s a pure disgrace to his calling! You men, out!” Like a drill sergeant, she herded the protesting intruders outside, slammed the door behind them and restored order. “Go ahead, Reverend.”
Nonplussed, Reverend Cullen fumbled with the Bible. “Uh, ahem. Where were we? Oh, yes.”
Trapped within the circle of Gabe’s arms, Sarah Ann trembled uncontrollably as the clergyman blessed them with a benign smile.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Three (#ulink_456340f6-6c96-561b-958b-ef996b777f8e)
Husband.
Wife.
Gabe stared down into Sarah Ann’s pansy-colored eyes and saw hysteria blossoming. From long experience in the face of unmitigated disaster, he knew the only alternative was damage control.
So he took the preacher’s suggestion and kissed her.
To keep her quiet, he told himself, molding his mouth against hers.
To keep up appearances for the old man’s sake, he assured himself, holding her still with a hand to the back of her head.
To keep the situation from blowing wide open in front of all these witnesses, he said inwardly, deepening the kiss.
And to see if she still tasted of spice and promise.
She did.
With a groan of impatience, Gabe tightened his hold and brought them both closer to the edge of forgetfulness. She’d been quaking in his arms, but now she melted against him, her subtle curves complementing his hard angles. Growing pliant, quiescent, she warmed to the heat of his lips, opening for him. She looped her arms around his neck, and the rich perfume of her bouquet filled his head, made him dizzy with desire.
Which wasn’t his original intention at all.
Coming to his senses, Gabe broke off the kiss, pushing Sarah Ann’s face into the crook of his shoulder, his breathing gusty, his heart pounding. Holding her protectively, his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear, he whispered to her, the picture of the tender and devoted lover, but his low tone was harsh with anger directed at himself and his lack of control.
“For God’s sake, get a grip.” He felt her jerk, but easily contained her involuntary movement. “Don’t panic.”
Muffled against his shirt collar, her words were barely audible. “Let me go, you bastard.”
“Listen to me, damn you.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “Everyone’s watching. Get hold of yourself. Put on a smile and look like you’re in love, or you’ll blow everything.”
He sensed her surprise. What had she expected? he thought. That he’d call the whole thing off because of this cosmic blunder, revealing them both as liars and fools or worse? Not bloody damn likely!
He waited until the subtle tension in her limbs indicated a semblance of composure, however brittle, then gingerly released her.
Sliding her arms from around his neck, she gave him a smile that never reached her eyes and murmured, “I hate and despise you.”
His expression was equally affectionate, equally false. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”
“Oh, my goodness, I think I’m going to cry!” Lillian bustled forward to envelop Sarah Ann in a warm hug. “Every happiness, my dear.”
They were immediately surrounded by a bevy of wellwishers. Gabe did his best to accept the congratulations heaped upon him with something approaching equanimity. He was hard-pressed to know what else to do, except follow the old military tactics of falling back to regroup in the face of a total rout.
He nearly lost his poise when Judge Holt pressed a pen into his hands to sign the fancy license. Short of confessing to their false intentions on the spot, there was no alternative. With a look that dared her to do less, he passed the pen to Sarah Ann. She swallowed hard, then scratched her name on the line beside his.
It was a bizarre way to acquire a wife, and it produced a peculiar tickling in the back of his mind, as if demons or angels performed a frenzied tarantella on his synapses at his expense. Gabe shrugged to himself. Well, there had to be legal remedies to this situation, strange as it was, and since Reverend Cullen and the nurses were already taking their leave, he’d find a way to extricate himself from this little party real soon, too. Until then, his best bet was to follow his own advice and refuse to panic.
“Oh, no, Gramps, we really couldn’t.” Sarah Ann stood at the hospital bed with Judge Holt. The thin edge of alarm in her voice snagged Gabe’s attention.
“Nonsense, girlie,” the old man said. “I insist. I know you. You’ll think you have to sit here with me or some such foolishness.”
“I really shouldn’t leave you—”
“I’m tired out from the excitement. I’ll just go on to sleep, whether you’re here or not. What do I want with more company?” He gestured to Gabe. “You talk some sense into her, son.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as you tell me how it’s done.”
Harlan chuckled. “He’s got your number already, girlie.”
Distress tugged at Sarah Ann’s mouth—her well-kissed mouth, Gabe noted, then forcibly curtailed that wayward thought.
“We…we planned to spend a quiet evening,” she said, shooting Gabe a frantic glance. “At…at home.”
Harlan shook his head, emphatic. “I won’t hear of it. Besides, it’s all arranged, isn’t it, Henry?”
“Yes, indeed.” The judge beamed his pleasure. “I’m official chauffeur.”
“To where?” Gabe asked carefully.
“The honeymoon suite at the best hotel in Lostman’s Island.” Harlan smiled in satisfaction. “It’s my wedding gift to you two kids.”
“Good God, woman, stop looking at me like that—I’m not going to pounce on you!”
Heart in her throat, Sarah Ann watched Gabe prowl the perimeter of their luxurious suite like a caged tiger. Taking his assignment seriously, Judge Holt had ushered them inside moments before, wishing them a good night’s rest with a twinkle in his eye.
But considering the way Gabe had kissed her into putty earlier, and worse, the shameless way she’d responded, Sarah Ann wasn’t reassured by Gabe’s growled declaration. He was livid, and he had a right to be.
Looking away from Gabe’s intimidating scowl, she let her gaze wander the room. Gramps had really gone all out. The Victoria, a turn-of-the-century bed and breakfast establishment, was a haven of antiques, plush fabrics and fresh flowers. A four-poster bed draped with netting sat on a pastel oriental rug. A magnum of champagne cooled in a sterling ice bucket. A pair of terry cloth robes hung in the bath beside the huge claw-footed tub, and the judge had even supplied overnight kits for them both. Soft lighting and softer music added to the ambiance.
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Suzannah Davis
WILL YOU MARRY ME? Could she really ask this man to marry her? Sarah Ann Dempsey approached him. Determined jaw… wide shoulders… pure masculinity. Suddenly a glistening drop of moisture trickled from the handsome man's navel and disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of well-worn jeans. And from the length of his outstretched legs, she knew that Gabe would make the perfect groom… .I DO? Gabriel Thornton was in trouble! And Sarah Ann's outlandish request should have been his first clue. He'd thought he'd been hired to play the part of Sarah Ann's husband. But now he'd found they were legally wed. And his chances for annulment were slipping away night by tantalizing night… .
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u485e339d-f1b6-55cd-ae58-989cf551fb91)
Excerpt (#u304fa077-10f9-5471-8439-84b90543a32d)
Dear Reader (#u2db0b742-1bfd-5670-8601-f94a83818463)
Title Page (#u4582f441-4fcd-5e90-9301-fd9e7d3b05cc)
About the Author (#ub110f7fe-efa6-5864-ae93-dc42b6f0ee9c)
Dedication (#ue44f7d29-24bc-5f06-93c0-de5e84036fec)
Chapter One (#ud336bb34-8885-572f-bd68-ff81a8111b33)
Chapter Two (#u546d3efe-0b25-5190-b803-4e7ae2eea5da)
Chapter Three (#u0d895329-c38c-5172-83ff-5be444beaea4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I Understand That Under
Certain Circumstances, You Might
Be Available…
“For certain kinds of work, I mean.”
Gabriel surged to his feet. “Ma’am, I fly choppers. That’s all. You got a hankering to tour the Everglades?”
Sarah Ann tried to smile, tried to remember this was all for Gramps. “I need you for a temporary assignment. I’ll, uh, make it worth your while.” She regretted the innuendo instantly.
He cocked one lean hip and absently ran a hand through his hair. “Just what exactly are you saying, ma’am?”
“Look, I’ve heard that you and your friends do…er, unusual work from time to time and I thought, that is…” She groaned in distress and buried her face in her hands.
“Spit it out, honey.”
Lifting her head, she forced out the words. “I need a husband. Will you marry me…?”
Dear Reader,
Happy holidays from the staff at Silhouette Desire! As you can see by the special cover treatment this month, these books are our holiday gifts to you. And each and every story is so wonderful that I know you’ll want to buy extras to give to your friends!
We begin with Jackie Merritt’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Montana Christmas, which is the conclusion of her spectacular MADE IN MONTANA series. The fun continues with Instant Dad, the final installment in Raye Morgan’s popular series THE BABY SHOWER.
Suzannah Davis’s Gabriel’s Bride is a classic—and sensuous—love story you’re sure to love. And Anne Eames’s delightful writing style is highlighted to perfection in Christmas Elopement. For a story that will make you feel all the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season, don’t miss Kate Little’s Jingle Bell Baby.
And Susan Connell begins a new miniseries—THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…—about three former high school friends who are now all grown up in Rebel’s Spirit. Look for upcoming books in the series in 1997.
Happy holidays and happy reading from
AND THE STAFF OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Gabriel’s Bride
Suzannah Davis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUZANNAH DAVIS
Award-winning author Suzannah Davis is a Louisiana native who loves small-town life, daffodils and writing stories full of love and laughter. A firm believer in happy endings, she has three children.
For my parents,
Lynn and Gordon,
and
for my kids,
Brian, Jill and Brad
One (#ulink_3e01bcf2-33f5-5e3e-8571-9327dcfc51c2)
As she parked in front of the bayside resort, Sarah Ann Dempsey trembled as before the gates of hell itself.
A humid gulf breeze blew in off Paradise Bay, exotic and perfumed, but offering little relief to the southwest Florida heat. Though only May, the coastline between Tampa and Fort Myers was already sweltering, and the little town of Lostman’s Island was no exception. Beneath her practical gingham shirt, perspiration trickled between Sarah Ann’s breasts, and she curled her sweaty palms around the steering wheel of her aged pickup, willing calmness.
Impossible.
But she had a mission. A desperate quest to ease an old man’s mind, and no time for cowardice or feminine vapors.
“It’s just business,” she reassured herself. Slicking her dark hair back from her damp forehead, she automatically cally tightened her severe but sensible ponytail, then stepped out of the truck.
The marina had seen better days—and worse. Tall, clattering sabal palms shaded a weathered building, a combination business office, fisherman’s supply and dining hall. White crushed-shell paths connected ramshackle, clapboard guest cottages. A wooden dock stretched into the sparkling waters of the bay, but the majority of the boat slips lay empty. For most of Sarah Ann’s twenty-eight years, the Dempsey truck farm and orange groves had supplied fresh produce to this neighboring establishment. She and Gramps had watched the place struggle, then change hands—and names—again and again.
But the latest owners were something different. Mystery men, the gossips labeled them. A trio with questionable pasts, who vanished at intervals to pursue who-knew-what devilment, then reappeared to soak up the sun and rest on their laurels, caring little if the cottages were filled or the fishing boats rented.
As she opened the truck’s tailgate, a delicate shiver tickled Sarah Ann’s spine in spite of the heat. Making her deliveries, she’d seen them all at one time or another: the dark one, with the proud look of the Seminole; the Irishman with his merry grin and bleak eyes; and the one they called The Captain, tawny like a lion, and as commanding.
“Don’t you dare lift them tomatoes!”
Sarah Ann jumped, her hands poised on the handles of the bushel basket holding the last of the season’s crop. An Amazon wearing a man’s rayon tropical shirt screaming with chartreuse parrots barreled toward her like a battleship under full steam. “But, Beulah—”
The woman batted Sarah Ann’s hands away, lifting the loaded basket to her shoulder with no more effort than if it were a soap bubble. Her homely, corpulent face was ruddy with a high, indignant color matched by henna-red hair the texture of steel wool.
“Little gal, you’ll bust a gut.” A cigarette with an inch of ash dangled from Beulah’s prominent lower lip, bobbing to punctuate her scolding words. “You ain’t got the sense the Lord gave a lemming!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“’Sorry’ don’t pay the rent. Come in and get the last piece of chocolate pie. Rather you eat it as those no-accounts I work for.”
Sarah Ann smiled, unoffended by Beulah’s brusqueness. The cook-housekeeper had established herself at the resort as a force to be reckoned with, ruling the roost with her eccentric ways, sharp tongue and gourmet cooking. Now she was as much a part of the place as the salt water and saw grass, and as immovable. Nobody messed with Beulah, but over time she and Sarah Ann had developed something of a wary friendship.
“Thanks for the offer,” Sarah Ann said. “But I’m not very hungry.”
Beulah inspected her with sharp black eyes. “Been to the hospital?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’s Harlan?”
Sarah Ann shrugged and looked away. It was difficult to talk about Gramps, but that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? Licking dry lips, she steeled herself for her task. “Is—is your boss around?”
“Who, Gabriel?”
Helplessly, she nodded. “I guess.”
“What you need with that scoundrel, missy?”
Sarah Ann’s face flamed. “Ah, it’s a…personal matter.”
“My, my, my. Hoity-toity, aren’t we, now?” Beulah’s pugnacious features soured. “Sure, sweet cakes, he’s around here somewhere. Come on.”
Beulah opened the screened door and led the way into a large open room with high pine beams and banks of screened windows. Serving as both lobby and dining hall, the area was furnished with shabby bamboo settees, Formica-topped tables and rattan chairs. Ceiling fans stirred the sultry air.
“Ain’t seen him in the office all day. He’s probably out there.” Steadying the heavy basket with an arm as muscular as any All-Pro linebacker’s, Beulah pointed through French doors that led to the cottages. “Help yourself. I got tomatoes to peel.”
She disappeared through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, her foam rubber flip-flops slapping an ill-tempered tattoo against the tile floor. Feeling abandoned at the other woman’s abrupt departure and suffocated by the thick air, Sarah Ann wiped her damp palms on her jeans and tried to breathe.
How could she go through with this?
Plucking up her courage, she stepped outside. The compound was quiet except for the hum of insects in the scarlet hibiscus and purple bougainvillea that lined the paths. Sarah Ann glanced around, her resolve wavering. Gabriel wasn’t here. Maybe this was a sign from heaven that she ought to abandon her desperate plan. Maybe—
Suddenly a rope creaked, drawing her attention to a pair of battered cowboy boots peeping over the harness of a hammock slung in the shade of two palm trees. Hesitantly, Sarah Ann moved down the shell path. The top of a blond head and two elbows came into view, followed by a swath of deeply tanned masculine chest laid open to the wayward breeze by an unbuttoned khaki safari shirt. Gulping, she stared at the man snoozing in the hammock.
His fair hair was thick and straight, sun streaked and cut short at the nape. Mirrored aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes from the glare but did nothing to disguise the square jut of a determined jaw or the deep lines of experience that bracketed a wide mouth. He was in his late thirties, she guessed, and his nose looked as though it had been broken more than once. It wasn’t a handsome face, but forceful and somehow knowing, and to Sarah Ann the strength in it was intimidating. She was actually glad she couldn’t see his eyes.
Her gaze flicked to the rest of him, and she drew an involuntary breath at the sheer masculinity on display, the width of broad shoulders, the flat muscularlity of his stomach, the light dusting of sandy chest hair that darkened as it traveled down his midsection. Fascinated, she watched a glistening pearl of moisture trickle from his navel and disappear beneath the low-slung waistband of wellworn jeans. From the length of his outstretched legs, she knew that he would dwarf her when he stood.
She also knew with an instinctive certainty that she was making a big mistake.
“You can waltz your butt right back where it came from, sister,” a deep voice drawled. “I’m not budging.”
Sarah Ann gasped, and shells crunched underfoot as she took an involuntary step backward. “Of course. Sorry, I’ll go—”
He came to a seated position on the side of the hammock with the swiftness of a springing cougar and snared her wrist before she could back out of reach. Tipping his head, he surveyed her from her scraped-back hair to the tips of her old, canvas tennis shoes. “Who the hell are you?”
Shocked and chagrined, she stammered. “S-Sarah. Sarah Ann Dempsey.”
“Dempsey? The folks who own the next place over?”
“Yes.”
“Offered to buy a parcel of frontage from the old man a while back. Turned us down flat.”
“I’m not surprised.” Her heart pounding at both the suddenness of his onslaught and her own growing irritation, she lifted her chin and stared pointedly at his fingers pressing into her forearm. “Do you mind?”
He released her instantly. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. Thought you were someone else.”
His voice held the faint twang of Texas, and his courteous reply was almost as unnerving as his pouncing on her. Surreptitiously, she massaged her wrist. “Ah, that’s all right. I shouldn’t have startled you.”
“And I must be losing my touch. There was a time…” Grimacing, he dragged off his sunglasses. From his perch on the edge of the hammock, they were on eye level, and he speared her with a predator’s tawny, golden-eyed gaze. “Something I can do for you, Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey?”
She drew a dizzy breath and knew she’d been right to be wary of those eyes. Yellow-brown, with a hint of copper ringing the irises, they seemed to see right down to the desperate center of her. Somehow she knew he was a man ruthless enough to use any advantage. Tongue-tied, she watched his patience wane.
“Ma’am?”
She pulled her scattered thoughts together with an effort. “Uh, you’re the one they call The Captain, aren’t you?”
Something in his expression closed down, and he scowled. “Beulah’s been running her mouth, I see.”
“No, that is—” She swallowed and tried again. “It’s general knowledge.”
“I’m retired,” he said, his voice flat. “Just plain Gabe Thornton now.”
Retired. From the military, without doubt. She found that encouraging. A man accustomed to giving and following orders, someone with the discipline to carry out instructions to the letter. Just what she needed. If he would hear her out.
“I understand that under certain circumstances you might be available.” He lifted one sandy eyebrow in an unspoken question that caused her to stumble over her words. “For certain kinds of work, I mean.”
He surged to his feet, and the hammock flapped, the sound raucous and harsh in the still afternoon. His expression was hooded, his eyes the color of melted caramel. “Ma’am, I fly choppers. That’s all. You got a hankering to tour the Everglades?”
Squinting up at him against the brightness, she realized she’d been right about his height, for she barely came to his shoulder. It was all she could do not to take another step back. Instead, she shook her head, tried to smile, tried to remember this was all for Gramps.
“Nothing so spectacular. Just…a temporary assignment. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She regretted the innuendo in her words instantly, for he gave her another once-over, and his skeptical expression made her face heat with humiliation. Dammit, she knew she wasn’t Cleopatra, knew she didn’t possess a single quality that would turn a man’s head, but she wasn’t offering him that!
He cocked one lean hip and ran an absent hand through the damp bramble on his chest. Overhead, the palm fronds clattered. “What just exactly are you saying, ma’am?”
“Will you stop doing that?” she exploded.
“What?”
Shoving back the tendrils that had escaped her ponytail, she glared at him. “Ma’am-ing me to death! I’m not your sainted mother.”
Incredibly, his lips twitched. “No, ma’am.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. Damn him, he wasn’t making this easy! She gritted her teeth. “I’m trying to make you a business proposition, if you’ll only listen!”
His look was sardonic. “You’ve got my attention.”
“Look, I’ve heard that you and your friends do…er, unusual work from time to time and I thought, that is…” She groaned in distress and buried her face in her hands.
A large hand cupped her shoulder, and his tone, though tinged with impatience, was almost kind. “Spit it out, honey.”
Lifting her head, she forced herself to say it. “I need a husband. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t look crazy.
But then, what did insane look like? Gabe wondered. Surely he would never have guessed it would be this bundle of female nerves currently gazing up at him as if he were the wrath of God Himself.
There wasn’t much to her, either, except for a wealth of wavy raven black hair escaping from a childish ponytail. She was petite and too slender for his tastes, save the unexpected fullness of womanly breasts pressing against her simple cotton shirt. Her milky skin would never capture the usual Florida tan, and her features were even but insignificant, with the exception of her eyes, round and a blue that was almost violet. And she certainly wasn’t any kind of sophisticate. Her hands were work worn, her nails short and practical. In any other setting, he’d have said she was as normal as the day was long.
No, she didn’t look the type to propose to a total stranger, but what the hell did he know about such mysterious, unfathomable creatures as women? For the first time in a long and distinguished career, former Army Ranger Captain Gabriel Thornton could think of nothing to say. And Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey was waiting for an answer.
“Uh, ma’am—”
“Sarah. My name is Sarah Ann.”
“Sarah.” Frowning, he searched her face. “Uh, how long have you been out in the sun today?”
Frustration pleated her brow. “You don’t understand.”
“Damn straight I don’t.” He was coming out of his stupor, amazement and annoyance building to anger.
It was true he and his former commando partners, Mike Hennesey and Rafe Okee, were more or less free-lance troubleshooters these days and based their services out of the Angel’s Landing Marina, so her roundabout talk of special circumstances and unusual assignments had sounded legitimate at first. After all, even tired old soldiers who’d found a home of sorts needed to earn a living. And they still had the special skills and training to do it on their own terms.
It was also true that he was punchy from a two-day-andnight charter flight carting biologists around the Big Cypress Preserve in search of some exotic endangered snail. It might not be quite as exciting as invading small subtropical countries, but he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime, and besides, it paid the bills.
So all he’d wanted was a little peace and quiet and some downtime in his favorite hammock. Certainly the last thing he needed was a madwoman flinging marriage proposals at him.
“Lady, I don’t know what your game is—”
“I’m perfectly serious!”
“—but I’m not buying,” he said, his voice a growl of warning. “You want a lover? Find a gigolo. A baby? Try the local sperm bank. In the meantime, I think you’d best sashay your fanny right off my property.”
She blinked, taken aback, then burst out laughing.
Gabe was certain he was dealing with a lunatic now. Hysterical, that’s what she was. Maybe Rafe’s medical kit had some kind of sedative…
“You actually think—?” She tried to stifle another bout of wild laughter and failed. “Oh Lord, I guess that was pretty clumsy. I can’t help it. I’m nervous. I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”
“That I can believe.” Out of patience, Gabe grabbed her elbow and began hustling her around the front of the main building toward her parked truck. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“For gosh sakes, it won’t be real.” Her nose tilted at an indignant angle. “What do you take me for? I want to hire you to pretend to be my husband.”
Gabe braked to a halt at her bumper, his boots sliding on the crushed shells. Somehow this admission was even worse. “Why the hell would you want to do a crazy thing like that?”
She glanced out over the glistening bay beyond them, chewing her lip. “I have my reasons.”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
Defiance darkened her expression, and a mulish pucker compressed her soft mouth. “It’s about family. You won’t understand.”
Her assumption stung him. Hell, though he didn’t see them often, he cherished his own family back in Texas. What couldn’t he understand? “Try me.”
She took a deep breath, weighing her words. “It’s my grandfather.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dying. They tell me it’s just a matter of weeks.” Her eyes filled.
Gabe felt something punch him in the gut. “Damn, don’t do that.”
She leaned against the truck fender for support and blotted the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”
Feeling awkward around female tears, he began to stuff his shirttail into his jeans. “It’s too bad. Crusty old codger, as I recall.”
“Yes. He’s all I’ve got.” Regaining her composure, she lifted her face. “And he’s worried about me. Wants to see me settled before he goes. It’s become an obsession. He’s not peaceful. So you understand why I’d do anything to make him happy.”
“Even lie to him?”
She blanched, then swallowed hard. “Even that. What harm will it do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“None. And otherwise…” She broke off with a defensive shrug.
Gabe narrowed his eyes. There was something else, something she wasn’t telling him. “Otherwise, what?”
“Nothing.”
“If I’m going to even consider this, you’d better tell me everything.”
Her head snapped around, her expression at once hopeful and full of trepidation.
“It’s just that he doesn’t think I can swing things on the farm after…after he’s gone. He thinks if I don’t have a man to take care of me, then he ought to sell the place now so I won’t be strapped with all the responsibility.”
“That seems sensible.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No, he’s wrong, but he’s ill, and I can’t convince him differently. I don’t want to lose either Gramps or my home, Mr. Thornton. The Dempseys have been farming our land for three generations. I don’t intend to let that legacy die.”
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, fingers automatically brushing the scar hidden beneath his hair that ran from neckline to ear. It was a tangible reminder of a nightmare of green hell and fire from his other life and more than enough reason not to complicate his quest for inner peace with some farfetched, off-the-wall scheme concocted by a lunatic!
“Ma’am—Sarah, this plan of yours is pretty drastic. And why me? Don’t you have a boyfriend who could pull this off for you?”
A tide of hot color rolled up her cheeks, and her voice grew stiff. “No. At any rate, I’d rather keep this arrangement strictly business. You deal in unusual job assignments, don’t you? No one need know anything about it except Gramps, you and me.”
“You’ve got it all worked out,” he muttered.
“There’s really not much involved except your absolute discretion. Just meet Gramps a time or two, that’s all. And I’ll pay your usual fee.”
She was so sure of herself he felt sorry for her. “Honey, you can’t afford me.”
Dismay widened her eyes. “Oh, but—”
“Believe me, you’re out of your league.”
“Then a trade,” she offered, her expression harried. “That frontage land you wanted. I never meant to part with it, but if it’s the only way…”
For a moment he was tempted. The land would offer better access to Angel’s Landing, which was critical to keeping the enterprise afloat. But the whole setup was fraught with complications and headaches. No, better to follow his instincts. He shook his head.
“Forget it, I’m not interested. Not to mention that I have a real problem hoodwinking sick old men.”
“It’s shameful, I know that.” Remorse quivered in her voice. “But it’s for his peace of mind. You can’t know how worried he is. If I can relieve that…well, I know God will forgive me this white lie. Please, Mr. Thornton. I’ll give you the land.”
“Not this time, honey.” Shaking his head, he opened the driver’s door and pushed her gently into the seat. “’Husband’ isn’t my usual line of work. Tried it once. Didn’t like it.”
“It’s not much to ask,” she pleaded, as he slammed the truck door.
“Go home, Sarah Ann.”
She leaned out the window, her eyes the turbulent blue of a thunderhead. “Why won’t you help me?”
“I can think of about two dozen very good reasons.”
“Name one,” she challenged.
Goaded, he caught her chin between his fingers. “Try this.”
Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her hard. Despite her smothered squeal of protest, she was surprisingly sweet. He held her fast, taking his time, savoring the spice and fury of her mouth. When he released her, she sputtered in incoherent outrage. His lips curled in a smile both wicked and satisfied.
“Let that be a warning, Sarah Ann. Little girls shouldn’t play with fire. Every assignment gets my full attention. And real or not, you wouldn’t like what I’d expect of a wife.”
* * *
“What do you mean you turned it down?” Mike Hennesey wrinkled his sunburned nose and scrubbed at his russet curls in pure exasperation.
Rafe Okee sat across the dining table. Darkly bronzed and wiry, in jogging shorts, he pulled the bandana securing his long hair off his brow and snorted his agreement. “Hell, Cap’n! If this place is ever going to pay off, we need that frontage—bad.”
Freshly showered and looking forward to a quiet meal, Gabe scowled at his partners’ attack, then turned a fierce glare at the true author of this situation. “Been spilling the beans again, Beulah?”
“All I said was, it’s a damn fool who cuts off his nose to spite his face.”
With a graceful agility belied by her size and bulk, she slid the three plates she held balanced on one arm onto the table in front of the three men. Somehow she even managed to accomplish this feat without dripping any cigarette ashes in the dishes.
Grilled jumbo shrimp sizzled on the gargantuan platters, filling the evening air with a tantalizing aroma, but Gabe was in no mood to be placated by Beulah’s culinary skills, not when she’d obviously been indulging in her favorite hobby—troublemaking.
“You got a long nose, Beulah. That was a private conversation.”
She gave a laugh that sounded like a caw. “Cat fight was more like it. Heard you all the way to Tampa, I’ll bet. That gal sure left out of here steamed up.”
“Oh, hell, Gabe!” Mike groaned. “What’d you do to her?”
“You don’t want to know,” Beulah said, smirking. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gabe demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.” Growling under her breath, she stomped toward the kitchen.
“Jeez, did you have to tick her off again?” Rafe asked in disgust. “We’ll be eating kibbles for a week.”
“I don’t know why we put up with that Medusa.” Gabe swung a leg over his chair.
“Yes, you do.” Mike bit into a shrimp and gave a long, appreciative sigh. “And this is it.”
Rafe eyed his former commanding officer belligerently. “What I want to know is, if old man Dempsey was so willing to deal on that property that he sent his own granddaughter over to talk to you, why didn’t you latch it down, pronto?”
Gabe shifted in his seat. “The, uh, price was too high.”
Miracle of miracles, apparently Beulah hadn’t overheard Sarah Ann’s outlandish proposal and passed that on, too. At least the poor girl would be spared that kind of ridicule and embarrassment. That he would take an unmerciful ribbing from his partners didn’t even enter into it, of course.
“Heck, Gabe, we need that frontage at any price,” Mike said. “I didn’t invest in this joint just to go bankrupt.”
“We’re far from that,” he protested, picking up his fork. “Besides, what are you complaining about? You’re hardly around a week per month these days.”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah, finding missing persons turns out to be a booming business.”
“Well, that last search-and-rescue nearly killed me. I’m getting too old for the Special Ops game,” Rafe groused.
“You got a better idea?”
“Sure. Improve access to Angel’s Landing, advertise and put up that RV park like we talked about, so we can make this place pay for itself and all retire.”
Mike pushed his empty plate aside and grinned. “I thought we’d done that already.”
“Mothballing the uniforms was only part of it,” Gabe pointed out.
The Fallen Angels team had served well together through dangerous times, in situations no government would even admit to knowing about. But a man’s psyche could only take so much. One by one, they’d reached a saturation point when they’d each seen and done too much to stay any longer.
When Rafe found this place and offered a third interest to his closest buddies, Gabe immediately came aboard. He’d been drifting aimlessly—South America, the Far East, it didn’t matter—too soul weary to go home to Texas, too battle-scarred to fit in anywhere else. The partnership was a godsend, a chance to reconnect to life. And it was working. There was healing in the hard physical work, the goals, the friendship. The three of them were bound by bonds of blood, camaraderie and loyalty. They didn’t let each other down.
Gabe grimaced. Only he had, by letting his temper get the best of him and scaring off Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey and their best chance at that property.
“Can’t say that I miss those fatigues, you know. I still break out in hives whenever I see khaki.” Joking, Mike’s grin grew even wider. “And at least we don’t have to salute Gabe anymore.”
“No, we can give him orders now,” Rafe said.
Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Mutiny, is it?”
“Since you obviously screwed up earlier, you get to repeat the assignment.” Rafe jabbed a finger at him. “Get in touch with Miss Dempsey and open negotiations again. Sir.”
Gabe’s belly clenched, and he frowned. “Waste of time.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Hey, Mike’s the ladies’ man in the outfit, remember?”
The Irishman laughed. “You’re saying you didn’t handle things with your usual finesse and flair?”
“Something like that.”
Rafe shrugged. “Tough. Get back in that ring and start swinging. A Ranger never admits defeat.”
“I really blew it,” Gabe admitted. “One look at me, and she’ll spit in my eye.”
Mike and Rafe glanced at each other. Grinned.
“So, duck, sir.”
Two (#ulink_5bbfd331-5aa3-5855-a7da-819b7d9313f7)
Little girl…
Sarah Ann folded Gramps’s pajama top with a savage snap of her wrists.
Out of your league…
Her face burned. The arrogance. The utter gall!
Try this…
Teeth gritted, she slapped the pj’s onto the bureau, then cast an anxious look at the wizened man asleep in the hospital bed. The window blinds were closed against the glare of a lingering sunset and the room was dim, illuminated only by the pale light of the fluorescent fixture above the narrow bed. Silver stubble sprouted on Harlan Dempsey’s weathered cheeks, and the IV tube dripped quietly into a thin arm, but he didn’t stir.
Sarah Ann drew a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the familiar scents of disinfectant and alcohol, but nothing calmed her rankled feelings. Her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since the previous afternoon’s debacle. Damn Gabriel Thornton! Just who did he think he was?
Well, she wasn’t some simpleminded schoolgirl, easily intimidated by a mere kiss! Her thoughts balked at the word mere, then skittered away from the toe-curling memory of masterful lips and raw male power. Granted, he’d taken her completely off guard, but that’s because she’d been under the impression that the days of Neanderthal men were over and that a Texas drawl bespoke some old standard of Southern chivalry.
Wrong on both accounts.
Well, she wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him again. And there would be a next time. Someday, somewhere, Gabe Thornton would get his comeuppance, she guaranteed it. In the meantime, she still had to do her best for Gramps, and she was fresh out of ideas.
The bedside phone jangled, and she jumped to catch it on the first ring. Gramps murmured something indistinguishable and fitful, then subsided, snoring softly again.
“Sarah Ann, is that you?”
Suppressing a grimace of irritation, she tugged the phone cord to its length and stepped to the window to peer out between the slats. Her voice was low. “Hello, Douglas.”
Douglas Ritchie’s well-modulated words rumbled over the line. “Can you speak up? I can hardly hear you.”
“Gramps is sleeping.” Absently, she untucked her plain knit shirt from the waistband of her denim shorts and pulled her ponytail loose, getting more comfortable for the evening visiting hours still ahead of her.
“How is he today?”
“About the same.” She combed tired fingers through the mass of her hair, sighing at the sensation. “Weak.”
“And the doctors still don’t have any answers? That’s unacceptable. If I were you, I’d start thinking about malpractice—”
She stiffened. “Not now, Douglas, please.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That was thoughtless. You know I’d never do anything to upset you.”
“Yes, I know.”
That was the whole problem, Sarah Ann thought. How did you tell a nice guy and successful Realtor like Douglas Ritchie that you just weren’t interested?
Gabe’s blunt question “Don’t you have a boyfriend…?” rang in her ears again, staining her cheeks with chagrin.
While she wouldn’t exactly call herself experienced, she’d had several, thank you very much, including one serious beau she’d almost married before she’d dropped out of college to help Gramps. Her almost-fiancé had opted out at that point, unwilling to take on a wife with responsibilities.
After that disappointment she’d been much too busy to worry about her social life. It was hard to cultivate those kinds of friendships when you were up at dawn running a struggling tomato farm and orange groves, keeping up with the bookkeeping, taking up the slack in the warehouse, even doing some of the tractor driving, then falling into bed exhausted every night.
Lately, however, there was a difference of opinion on the boyfriend question, at least in Lostman’s Island. But just because you’d been going out occasionally for the past year with the only guy who asked, and the whole town had begun to assume you were a couple, did that have to make it so?
Tall and bespectacled, Douglas was a soft-spoken teddy bear who’d been so solicitous during Gramps’s illness Sarah Ann would have felt like the most ungrateful wretch in the world to break things off. And she’d found it flattering to have a man pursue her, even though his conversation bored her to tears and his kisses were lackluster. But she felt guilty taking advantage of his good nature and had decided that the only honorable course of action was to gently, but firmly, decline any further invitations.
Unfortunately Douglas didn’t seem to be getting the message. And to ask him to pretend to be her fiancé to ease Gramps’s worries would only encourage him unnecessarily just when she most wanted to disentangle herself.
“Why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I hear the Cotton Patch has great chicken-fried steak.”
The thought of a greasy, crusty mass of beef in a plastic basket of fries held even less appeal than making conversation with Douglas. “Thanks, but I really can’t.”
“You’re swamped taking care of the farm and staying at the hospital, too, aren’t you? Sure, sweetheart, I understand.” His words were full of kindness and concern and made Sarah Ann feel guiltier than ever.
“You try to do too much,” he said. “One of these days you’re going to have to let me help you out from under all that responsibility. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“That’s not nec—” The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Chewing her lip, she turned to hang up the receiver.
“You ought not to turn the boy down. He’ll get discouraged.”
Smiling into a pair of surprisingly bright blue eyes, Sarah Ann bent over the bed and squeezed her grandfather’s hand. His deeply tanned skin was wrinkled from a lifetime of outdoor work, but his halo of wispy gray hair gave him a gnomish charm.
“Hey, there, sleepyhead. How was your nap?”
“Don’t change the subject, girlie. That Douglas would marry you in a minute if you’d give him the least bit of encouragement.”
She kept her voice light. “I’m not in love with Douglas.”
“Pshaw.” Harlan’s face was drawn with fatigue, but his spirit was as cantankerous as ever. “What do young.folks know about that? Time was when two people—”
“Did I tell you Charlie came by with the ‘dozer bid?” Sarah Ann interrupted. “If we get those damaged orchards cleared, we can replant right away.”
“Damn hurricanes. Always causing trouble,” he grumbled, sidetracked for the moment. “What about the roof on the tractor shed?”
“That’s next on the list.” She mentally counted all the other things that needed doing, too. The thought of climbing a ladder and hammering tin filled her with dread, but she’d do what she had to do. She always did. Keeping her tone cheerful, she added, “Oh, and we got next season’s contracts from the farmers co-op.”
“Those orange-eating buzzards! Until some other outfit puts in a new processing plant and gives them some competition, they’ll try to steal us blind.”
“I can handle it, Gramps.”
“No, dad-blame it, you can’t!” In the blink of an eye, Harlan worked himself into a state, harping back over ground they’d covered time and again. “And I won’t be around to tend to things for you.”
“Don’t say that, Gramps.” She tried vainly to keep the distress out of her voice. “You’re going to get well and come home very soon.”
“Time to face facts, girlie.” He wheezed painfully, and his gnarled, work-worn hands made restless circles across the white sheets. “Looks like I’ve run out of aces. Damnation, but I thought you’d be settled with a good man and a passel of babies by now. If you and Douglas—”
“Forget about him.”
He slapped a shaky fist against the bed rail, his voice quivering with both anger and physical weakness. “If you aren’t going to marry the boy, then I’m going to take him up on his offer.”
“What offer?”
“To buy the whole place, lock, stock and barrel.”
Shock widened her eyes. “What!”
Harlan nodded. “He said he’d be glad to help out, and that’ll give you a nest egg. If you’re set on being an old maid, the least I can do is leave you the money to go back to college and finish out that teacher’s degree.”
“I don’t want that. And I can’t believe you’d sacrifice everything we’ve built for this crazy notion!”
“Crazy, am I?” Mounting agitation mottled his pallid skin, and his chest heaved. “Pass me that there phone, and I’ll show you what’s what!”
The look on his face alarmed her, as did the racking cough that shook his wiry frame.
“That’s all right, Gramps. Let’s talk calmly about it, okay?” She tried to placate him with a smile and reached for the plastic pitcher and glass on the bedside table. “Here, have some water.”
“Hand me the dad-blamed phone!” He shoved the water glass aside, slopping icy liquid down the front of Sarah Ann’s shirt. “I’m gonna see you’re taken care of one way or t’other.”
“Gramps, please—”
He scrabbled for the receiver, swinging IV tubing and coughing harshly. Someone knocked on the door. Nearly frantic with concern now, Sarah Ann rushed to admit the nurse.
Her hands froze on the door handle, and her mouth dropped open. She took in cowboy boots, long jeanclad legs and a white T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. A pair of aviator sunglasses were hooked to the crew neck.
“What do you want?”
Gabe Thornton’s jaw worked at that hostile demand, but his manner was diffident, even deferential. “Miss Dempsey. I hate to bother you here, but if you could spare a moment, I’d like a word.”
“About what?” Fingers clutching the edge of the door, she cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, unnerved by Gramps’s continued hacking.
Gabe’s tawny gaze touched her, focused briefly on the damp knit clinging to her bosom, then hastily moved on. “My partners and I are very interested in that frontage property.”
Her teeth snapped together. “You’ve got your nerve. Go away.”
“If you’ll just hear me out—”
“Sarah…”
At Gramps’s strangled call, she forgot Gabe and rushed back to the bedside. Her grandfather’s pallor had turned a dull bluish tint. “Oh, my God—Gramps!”
Helplessness and fear paralyzed her, but then Gabe Thornton was beside her, taking in the situation, moving quickly, efficiently, lifting Harlan to a more upright position as easily as if he were a child and stuffing pillows behind his back.
“Take it easy, old-timer.” Gabe’s husky drawl was reassuringly matter-of-fact and held nothing of Sarah Ann’s panic. Balancing Harlan with one brawny arm, he slapped the call button on the wall, spoke quietly at the nurse’s buzz. “Respiratory distress. Get in here. Now.”
To Sarah Ann’s infinite gratitude, the imperative in his tone had a pair of nurses bursting through the door within seconds. Gabe transferred the patient to their capable ministrations. Terrified, Sarah Ann watched them work in a flurry of IV injections, blood pressure cuffs and oxygen tubing. Gabe took her elbow and gently tugged her out of the way.
“He’ll be all right,” he murmured.
She couldn’t answer and was only vaguely aware that she’d clenched a fist into Gabe’s shirt and was holding on to that anchor for dear life. He humored her, allowing the liberty, placing an arm across her back so that she was halfsupported against the bulk of his chest. She didn’t question the arrangement, merely soaked up the strength that seemed to emanate from him along with the warm scent of his skin, a mixture of male musk and soap.
Although it seemed an eternity, within just a few minutes Harlan’s breathing was less labored.
“That’s a lot better, isn’t it, Mr. Dempsey?” the head nurse asked cheerfully. Fifty and stout, Lillian Cannon was no-nonsense, performing her duties and directing her younger companion with absolute control and competency. Over the bed she caught Sarah Ann’s eye and mouthed, “He’s okay now.”
Sarah Ann slumped with relief, bowing her head and resting it for the briefest of seconds against Gabe’s chest. Her heart cried out with the sure foreknowledge of grief to come. “Okay” for now, she thought. But for how much longer?
She had the fleeting sensation of sympathetic fingers stroking her hair. Before she could decide if she was mistaken, embarrassment slammed into her. Cheeks heating, she tried to pull away, too chagrined to even look at Gabe. He let her retreat a bit, but only to guide her with a hand in the small of her back to her grandfather’s bedside. Gramps watched them approach, his blue eyes tired over the clear plastic oxygen mask covering his nose.
“You rest now, Mr. Dempsey,” Lillian said, patting his hand. Then, to Sarah Ann, “Do you know what broughtthis on?”
Guiltily, she swallowed hard and nodded. “A difference of opinion.”
The head nurse gave her a stern look, the kind that said disturbing seriously ill patients in this manner was beneath contempt. “Dr. Stephens said we’ve got to avoid this kind of upset at any cost, you know that.”
“Yes.”
“As long as we understand each other. At any cost.”
Nodding, Lillian signaled her companion and they left. For all that he’d been a great help, Sarah Ann wished fervently Gabe would do the same. Instead, he stood behind her with his arms crossed over his broad chest, a slight frown puckering his brow. Ignoring him, she leaned over the bed rail, trying to make her smile both teasing and encouraging.
“Whew, that was something. But you always like to be the life of the party, don’t you, Gramps?”
Harlan scowled, noticed Gabe then, and managed a croak. “Who—?”
“This is our new neighbor, Gabe Thornton,” Sarah Ann said stiffly, remembering why Gabe was here.
The old man looked blank.
“We talked a while back about a piece of frontage property, Mr. Dempsey,” Gabe explained.
At the mention of property, Harlan’s regard snapped back to Sarah Ann. Behind the mask his words were muffled, but clear. “Call Douglas.”
Dismay chilled her. Even after what he’d just been through, he still wouldn’t give up. “We don’t need him.”
Agitation returning, he struggled to sit up. “Dad-blame it, girlie, I said do it!”
She knew with a certainty that he’d kill himself over this—right before her eyes, here, this minute—if she didn’t do something. Something drastic. Something desperate. Something outrageous.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, Gramps. I’ve got wonderful news.” Turning, Sarah Ann caught Gabe’s hand. Laying it lovingly on the damp spot between her breasts, she beamed up into his stunned face. “Gabriel asked me to marry him—and I said yes!”
“You can’t tell him the truth. Do you want to kill him outright?”
Floating on the evening twilight, Gabe’s voice was savage. “No, it’s you I’m liable to murder, lady! Get in.”
Hauling Sarah Ann around by the arm, he reached for the driver’s door of his army green Jeep. Balking, she tried to dig her heels into the sun-warmed asphalt of the hospital parking lot
“Hold it, buster! I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“The way I see it, you got no choice.” He thrust her into the vehicle, shoving her over into the passenger side as he slid under the wheel. She made a grab for the opposite door handle, but he dragged her back with a jerk. “Sit still.”
“Listen, you—”
“Can it, sister. We’re going to talk, that’s all, and I want the shouting to take place out of earshot.”
She quit struggling. “Oh.”
He waited a moment more, then released her arm. “That’s more like it.”
Scooting into the corner as far away from him as she could, she sent him a resentful look. “I’m sick of your caveman tactics. You manhandle me again and you’ll be walking funny.”
Propping his forearm on the steering wheel, Gabe inspected her from her flowing mane to the slender but shapely turn of her ankles. Her legs weren’t half-bad, actually, he thought, and she blushed at his perusal and tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her shorts. Enjoying her squirming, he blessed her with a sour smile.
“Big talk from a gal your size. Want to try best-two-outof-three falls and see who wins?”
“That’s right, resort to brute strength when all else fails,” she said with a disdainful sniff. “It’s no more than I’d expect from your type.”
“Me? I’ve seen less ruthless behavior from a cobra! You want to tell me why the hell you told your grandpa that bald-faced lie?”
“You know why. You saw how he was,” she muttered. Then her eyes flashed blue-violet in the dusky light. “And you’re the biggest whiner I ever saw. I told you I’d give you the frontage property for doing this one little favor. What more do you want?”
Gabe rubbed his palms down his jaws and contemplated various forms of mayhem. “Not to be involved at all would be nice.”
“Why don’t you accept this gracefully?” She heaved a sigh at the glower he shot at her. “All right, I know I’ve taken advantage, but for a few hours of playacting, you get what you want as well as the satisfaction of sparing an old man needless suffering.”
“Don’t kid me that this is a selfless act. You’re getting something out of it, too.”
“I love my grandfather, not that you’d understand anything as simple as that!” she snapped. “You’re just mad because you’ve been outmaneuvered by a female.”
Gabe felt himself bristling. “Look, lady, I don’t know you or your grandpa from Adam. What if I’m the kind of guy who can say the hell with you and him, too?”
She was silent for a long moment, then spoke slowly, her voice husky. “I guess I’m betting you aren’t.”
That took the wind out of his sails. “Oh, hell.”
She spread her hands in appeal. “Please, Gabriel. I’m really desperate. You saw how happy the news made Gramps, how relieved he was. If I can give him that much before…”
She choked to a stop, pressing her knuckles to her lips. Gabe felt his anger slipping away, along with his resolve. Whatever he felt about this crazy scheme, it was clear she genuinely adored her grandfather. He felt a pang of envy. A woman who cared this deeply would be a prize to anyone she loved.
Rather desperately, he said, “But he wants to witness ‘our’ wedding. You heard him. Have the ceremony in his room, for God’s sake!”
Sarah Ann licked her lips. “We could fake it.”
Her words flabbergasted him, but it was the sight of her tongue darting over her lush mouth that made his belly tighten. Beset by the memory of her taste, he groaned silently and forced the feelings back.
No, he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and no, he was not going to let an unexpected and unwelcome flash of sexual hunger further complicate this already muddled situation. Hell, he didn’t even like this little conniver!
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he croaked.
“It wouldn’t be that hard. We just need someone to play justice of the peace. It won’t be elaborate. Five minutes is all. Perhaps one of your friends—?”
“God, no!” The thought of explaining all this to Mike and Rafe made him shudder. Talk about looking like a fool!
“Then I’ll find someone,” she said. “There are always people looking to make a few bucks. And I’ll arrange everything else—the ceremony, the rings, the deed of transfer on the land—everything. So…will you do it?”
Feeling boxed in, Gabe rubbed his pounding temple. “I must be as crazy as you are.”
She leaned forward, hopeful. “Then you will?”
Gabe grimaced. In service to his country, he’d been a weapon, and an effective one, but he drew the line at killing old men with words—even truthful ones. So he would mangle his self-respect for a few hours to humor this eccentric female and earn a chunk of land for his trouble. At least his partners would be happy.
“Thanks to you, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Her breath left her in a little relieved puff. Reaching out, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, a peace offering that made his skin burn through the thin knit of his shirt.
“Thank you.” In the gathering darkness, her whisper was breathless with gratitude. “You won’t regret it. It won’t take much time, and after it’s all over, I’ll never bother you again.”
With a prick of foreboding, Gabe wondered if that was a promise or a threat.
Three days later Sarah Ann walked toward Gramps’s hospital room, her seldom-worn dress pumps clicking against the polished tiles like an executioner’s drumroll. Though the corridor was chilly with air-conditioning, she was perspiring beneath her off-white linen sheath, a condition that could only be attributed to a bad case of prenuptial jitters.
Not that what she was about to do with Gabriel Thornton was in any sense real, of course, she told herself sternly. But for Gramps’s sake, even going through the motions had to look genuine.
At six o’clock she would meet Gabe and they would mouth words before a man she’d hired to play the part of justice of the peace. The cousin of a friend of one of her farm hands, he’d assured her he understood her need for discretion, that he’d meet them at the hospital room primed for his role, and that the ceremony would be “a piece of cake.”
That piece of out-and-out dishonesty weighed heavily enough, but the preparations for the actual ceremony itself, deciding what to wear—the plain dress, her mother’s pearls—and how to fix her hair—a French twist to control her waves—had produced an artificial excitement that tied her into nervous knots. She prayed that for the few minutes it took, she could play the part of happy, blushing bride without throwing up.
As she turned a corner, Sarah Ann’s steps faltered at the sight of the tall figure leaning against the windowsill opposite Gramps’s doorway. Swallowing, she realized Gabe had done his breathtaking best to look the part, too. In dark suit and conservative tie, he was a solemn stranger, enigmatic and unapproachable, somewhat frightening, totally fascinating.
Who was he, really? she wondered. It was a bit disheartening to realize that it didn’t matter, for by her own choice his role in her life could be only temporary.
Gabe looked up at the sound of her steps, then straightened to his full height, his eyes piercing her, golden as an eagle’s.
“Hi.”
She tried to smile. “Hello.”
He inspected her—the simple dress, her trembling hands, the upswept hairdo—and something hungry flared in his expression, then was gone. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. So do you.”
She knew her words were stiff, inane, and she closed her eyes briefly, praying for lucidity and composure. She had to get through this—after all, it was her idea! It’s just business, she recited like a mantra.
Reaching into her small clutch purse, she passed him a folded document. “Your deed. Everything’s filed at the courthouse.”
He shoved the paper inside his jacket without looking at it. “Thank you.”
“And here are the rings. I had to guess at the size.” With a tremulous laugh, she passed him a small box, and he shoved it into a pants pocket. “Lord, this is awkward, isn’t it?”
“Deception always is, Sarah.”
Stricken, she didn’t know what to say. Frowning, Gabe raised his hand and touched her face, running a thumb under her jawbone, gently fingering the pearl stud in her ear.
“I forget you’re a novice at this kind of thing,” he muttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m an old hand at it. I’ll guide you through.”
The warmth of his skin stroking hers made her shiver. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
A slow grin curled his mouth. “It should.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“In the meantime…” Turning to the windowsill, he picked up a bundle, removed a layer of tissue and offered her a ribbon-wrapped bouquet of red roses. “Maybe you should hold on to these.”
Mystified, touched beyond words, she took the flowers, marveling at their velvety texture and inhaling their sweetness. “Oh, Gabe, they’re exquisite.”
“Just doing my part to keep up appearances.”
Like a dash of cold water, that jolted her from her haze. It’s just business. “Well, thank you. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Beulah cut them.”
Sarah Ann sucked in a breath. “You told her? About this?”
“What do you think I am—crazy? No, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, his brow wrinkling as if pondering a riddle. “But she left them on the table, and they looked right, so here they are. How she knew…sometimes I think she’s a witch.”
“At any rate, it’s a nice touch. You should have one, too.” She plucked a bud and stuck it in his lapel. “They’re really quite lovely.”
“Yeah.” He searched her face for a long moment, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Ready to get this over with?”
Drawing a breath for courage, she nodded. “Yes.”
Gabe pushed open the door and ushered her inside.
“There they are,” Gramps said in a hearty voice. “About time!”
Sarah Ann blinked, taken aback by the unexpected sea of smiling faces that greeted them. Gramps sat propped upright in his bed, clean-shaven and looking dapper and more cheerful than he had in weeks. Beside him stood his oldest friend, retired Judge Henry Holt, stout and graying, ing, but still vigorous at seventy-five. A fresh-faced young man wearing a rather shiny suit and holding a Bible stood before a makeshift bower of flowers and greenery, apparently the work of Lillian, the head nurse, and her staff, who waited to one side, white uniformed and dewy-eyed with expectation.
“My goodness.” Sarah Ann’s voice was faint. Beside her, Gabe breathed an expletive.
Lillian bustled up to them, all goodwill. “Now, don’t be upset with our little surprise, Sarah Ann. When Harlan told us your plans, we just couldn’t help getting into the spirit of things. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“I know how busy you’ve been, and of course, all the details, the blood tests—”
“Blood tests?” Sarah Ann echoed, shooting a wide-eyed glance at Gabe.
“Don’t tell me you forgot?” Lillian asked. Reading Sarah Ann’s dismay and totally misinterpreting it, she took charge. “Well, we can take care of that right now! Charlotte, hand me that tray.”
Before they had a chance to protest, Lillian pricked their fingers, prepared slides and sent the tray off to the lab.
“There, all done. A whirlwind courtship, wasn’t it? It’s so romantic,” the nurse said with a sigh. She patted Gabe’s arm. “Congratulations, young man. You’re getting a mighty fine gal.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Come here, girlie, and give your old Gramps a hug,” Harlan ordered from the bed. Sarah Ann obliged. When she released him, Harlan offered his hand to Gabe, shook it soundly. “I want to welcome you to the family, son. You’re both making me a mighty happy man today.”
Gabe cleared his throat again. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Gramps.” Tears prickled behind Sarah Ann’s lids.
“Now, none of that,” he chided, then turned to his old friend. “Tell her, Henry. It’s a happy time.”
“Good gracious, yes!” the judge agreed. “And this is your intended?”
He pumped Gabe’s hand, beaming. “Harlan asked me to be a witness. Flat tickled me, I don’t mind telling you. Got all the necessary paperwork right here.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I knew you wouldn’t mind, so I’ve taken care of everything. I still have some pull down at the courthouse. Got you one of their gold-embossed licenses. Made it real special.”
“Ah, Sarah and I appreciate it,” Gabe said, his words strangled.
“Are we ready to get started?” the young man with the Bible asked hopefully.
“Absolutely!” Gabe took Sarah Ann’s arm and positioned them in front of the bower, evoking a titter of indulgent laughter from the witnesses at his apparent eagerness.
Only Sarah Ann knew that it was really his desperation to have this charade behind them, and it matched her own. She’d had no idea it would be so hard! At least her counterfeit justice of the peace was ready to do the job he’d been paid for. She caught his eye, trying to convey silent messages: Get on with it! Make it look good! Hurry!
All she got was a puzzled look in return, but then he started reading with all due solemnity and restored her confidence. “Dearly Beloved…”
It was the work of barely five minutes, the recitation of names, the exchange of rings and vows. Sarah Ann’s fingers were icy; Gabe’s replies as wooden as her own. Fraud, her guilty conscience whispered. Liar. But one look at Gramps’s face, and she knew she would do it all again, a hundred times over if necessary.
The young man closed his Bible, smiling cordially at the couple in front of him. “Now, by the power vested in me by the state of Florida—”
The door burst open, spilling bodies and boisterous commotion into the already-overcrowded room.
“Where’s the wedding?” roared a swarthy man with oiled-down hair and a polyester suit. His eyes lit up in triumph at the sight of flowers and guests, but his voice was slurred. “Oh, ho, fellows! This has gotta be the place! Had a hell of a time finding it, though, didn’t we? Why don’t they have more signs? We ain’t brain surgeons.”
His scruffy companions nodded, laughed uproariously at this apparent witticism and leered at the group of nurses. Revolted, Sarah Ann took an involuntary step backward, grateful to have Gabe’s protecting arm at her waist.
“Here now, what’s the meaning of this?” Judge Holt demanded. “Good God, man, you’re drunk!”
“I ain’t,” the intruder replied indignantly. He lifted a beer bottle and grinned. “Just celebrating the festivities ahead of time. Carrot-headed fellow down at the Whistling Pirate kept buying rounds, ain’t that right, boys?”
“A swell guy,” one of his friends agreed. “Big, too. Drink a keg of beer all by himself.”
“Well, we sure gave him some help.” Taking a final swallow, the leader tossed the empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket, rubbed his hands, and looked around expectantly. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Mister,” Gabe growled, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Wait a minute! I been hired to do a job, and by gum, I’m gonna do it! Which one of you is the Dempsey gal? You want a justice of the peace or not?”
“Justice of the—” Horror stole Sarah Ann’s breath, clogged her throat. “You?”
Belligerent now, the man scowled. “You hired me, didn’t you? Paid good money for this part. Just ‘cause a man’s a little late…”
She swung to the man holding the Bible. “Then who’s this?”
“Why, Reverend Cullen, girlie,” Harlan said. “The new hospital chaplain.”
Sarah Ann’s knees buckled. Gabe caught her, steadying her until she found her feet again. Their eyes met. Realization dawned. An ordained clergyman. Blood tests. The judge’s license.
She saw the wrath building in Gabe’s expression, saw the house of cards she’d been trying to build for Gramps tumble and fall. Panic consumed her, made her voice a thin wail. “Oh, my God.”
“We’re churchgoing folks,” Harlan continued. “I couldn’t have my granddaughter married by a civil servant.”
“Certainly not!” Lillian snapped, recovering her authority. “And this one’s a pure disgrace to his calling! You men, out!” Like a drill sergeant, she herded the protesting intruders outside, slammed the door behind them and restored order. “Go ahead, Reverend.”
Nonplussed, Reverend Cullen fumbled with the Bible. “Uh, ahem. Where were we? Oh, yes.”
Trapped within the circle of Gabe’s arms, Sarah Ann trembled uncontrollably as the clergyman blessed them with a benign smile.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Three (#ulink_456340f6-6c96-561b-958b-ef996b777f8e)
Husband.
Wife.
Gabe stared down into Sarah Ann’s pansy-colored eyes and saw hysteria blossoming. From long experience in the face of unmitigated disaster, he knew the only alternative was damage control.
So he took the preacher’s suggestion and kissed her.
To keep her quiet, he told himself, molding his mouth against hers.
To keep up appearances for the old man’s sake, he assured himself, holding her still with a hand to the back of her head.
To keep the situation from blowing wide open in front of all these witnesses, he said inwardly, deepening the kiss.
And to see if she still tasted of spice and promise.
She did.
With a groan of impatience, Gabe tightened his hold and brought them both closer to the edge of forgetfulness. She’d been quaking in his arms, but now she melted against him, her subtle curves complementing his hard angles. Growing pliant, quiescent, she warmed to the heat of his lips, opening for him. She looped her arms around his neck, and the rich perfume of her bouquet filled his head, made him dizzy with desire.
Which wasn’t his original intention at all.
Coming to his senses, Gabe broke off the kiss, pushing Sarah Ann’s face into the crook of his shoulder, his breathing gusty, his heart pounding. Holding her protectively, his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear, he whispered to her, the picture of the tender and devoted lover, but his low tone was harsh with anger directed at himself and his lack of control.
“For God’s sake, get a grip.” He felt her jerk, but easily contained her involuntary movement. “Don’t panic.”
Muffled against his shirt collar, her words were barely audible. “Let me go, you bastard.”
“Listen to me, damn you.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “Everyone’s watching. Get hold of yourself. Put on a smile and look like you’re in love, or you’ll blow everything.”
He sensed her surprise. What had she expected? he thought. That he’d call the whole thing off because of this cosmic blunder, revealing them both as liars and fools or worse? Not bloody damn likely!
He waited until the subtle tension in her limbs indicated a semblance of composure, however brittle, then gingerly released her.
Sliding her arms from around his neck, she gave him a smile that never reached her eyes and murmured, “I hate and despise you.”
His expression was equally affectionate, equally false. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”
“Oh, my goodness, I think I’m going to cry!” Lillian bustled forward to envelop Sarah Ann in a warm hug. “Every happiness, my dear.”
They were immediately surrounded by a bevy of wellwishers. Gabe did his best to accept the congratulations heaped upon him with something approaching equanimity. He was hard-pressed to know what else to do, except follow the old military tactics of falling back to regroup in the face of a total rout.
He nearly lost his poise when Judge Holt pressed a pen into his hands to sign the fancy license. Short of confessing to their false intentions on the spot, there was no alternative. With a look that dared her to do less, he passed the pen to Sarah Ann. She swallowed hard, then scratched her name on the line beside his.
It was a bizarre way to acquire a wife, and it produced a peculiar tickling in the back of his mind, as if demons or angels performed a frenzied tarantella on his synapses at his expense. Gabe shrugged to himself. Well, there had to be legal remedies to this situation, strange as it was, and since Reverend Cullen and the nurses were already taking their leave, he’d find a way to extricate himself from this little party real soon, too. Until then, his best bet was to follow his own advice and refuse to panic.
“Oh, no, Gramps, we really couldn’t.” Sarah Ann stood at the hospital bed with Judge Holt. The thin edge of alarm in her voice snagged Gabe’s attention.
“Nonsense, girlie,” the old man said. “I insist. I know you. You’ll think you have to sit here with me or some such foolishness.”
“I really shouldn’t leave you—”
“I’m tired out from the excitement. I’ll just go on to sleep, whether you’re here or not. What do I want with more company?” He gestured to Gabe. “You talk some sense into her, son.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as you tell me how it’s done.”
Harlan chuckled. “He’s got your number already, girlie.”
Distress tugged at Sarah Ann’s mouth—her well-kissed mouth, Gabe noted, then forcibly curtailed that wayward thought.
“We…we planned to spend a quiet evening,” she said, shooting Gabe a frantic glance. “At…at home.”
Harlan shook his head, emphatic. “I won’t hear of it. Besides, it’s all arranged, isn’t it, Henry?”
“Yes, indeed.” The judge beamed his pleasure. “I’m official chauffeur.”
“To where?” Gabe asked carefully.
“The honeymoon suite at the best hotel in Lostman’s Island.” Harlan smiled in satisfaction. “It’s my wedding gift to you two kids.”
“Good God, woman, stop looking at me like that—I’m not going to pounce on you!”
Heart in her throat, Sarah Ann watched Gabe prowl the perimeter of their luxurious suite like a caged tiger. Taking his assignment seriously, Judge Holt had ushered them inside moments before, wishing them a good night’s rest with a twinkle in his eye.
But considering the way Gabe had kissed her into putty earlier, and worse, the shameless way she’d responded, Sarah Ann wasn’t reassured by Gabe’s growled declaration. He was livid, and he had a right to be.
Looking away from Gabe’s intimidating scowl, she let her gaze wander the room. Gramps had really gone all out. The Victoria, a turn-of-the-century bed and breakfast establishment, was a haven of antiques, plush fabrics and fresh flowers. A four-poster bed draped with netting sat on a pastel oriental rug. A magnum of champagne cooled in a sterling ice bucket. A pair of terry cloth robes hung in the bath beside the huge claw-footed tub, and the judge had even supplied overnight kits for them both. Soft lighting and softer music added to the ambiance.
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