Shotgun Bridegroom

by Day Leclaire

  She swallowed, the bitterness of regrets like acid on her tongue. “Something like that.”

  “Let me guess. The shotguns were punctuation, right?”

  She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t! She focused every scrap of attention on the wall behind him. There was a plaster casting of her hand hanging there, one of the few personal belongings she’d brought from home when she’d moved in with Aunt Myrtle. She’d been in kindergarten when the mold was made. Beside her tiny handprint hung an identical one Sam had done several years before her own. It was larger, the hand slammed into the mold with all the strength and enthusiasm a five-year-old could muster. Hardened plaster curled like waves away from the deep wells left by his fingers and palm. He had that effect on life even then—driving through it, forcing all in his path to give way.

  Sam shifted his stance, blocking her view of the wall. “Where have you gone, Annie?”

  “Away,” she answered simply. To a time Sam had filled her world and been the love of her life. A time she’d been secure in the knowledge that one day she’d marry him and bear his children, children whose handprints would decorate their walls, as well.

  A time that would never be.

  “You can’t escape me that easily. I have questions. Lots of questions. And you’ll answer every last one of them.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “What’s the point? It happened. It’s over and done with. Talking about it isn’t going to change a blessed thing.”

  “I wasn’t planning to waste time talking. You might remember I preferred action.”

  She turned on him. “I won’t let you do it, Sam!”

  “What? Have my revenge?”

  “Well, that, too. But I meant Aunt Myrtle.”

  “How did you get from revenge to Aunt Myrtle?”

  She faced him down, practically daring him to do his worst. “Because I don’t believe for one little minute you came back for me.”

  An odd expression crept into his gaze. “No?”

  “Why would you? Because I had you helped off the island? That’s not much of a reason.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Again. “Helped off? You have an interesting way with words, sweetheart. We’re going to have to work on that.”

  “Children, children,” Aunt Myrtle chided from the doorway. “You’re not arguing, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Annie instantly replied. Old habits, it would seem, died hard.

  Aunt Myrtle carried sixty years on her spare frame and looked every single day of her age with a few heaped on just to prove that life wasn’t always fair to the kindhearted. A difficult youth and a serious car accident while in her thirties had aged her unbearably. Yet she still maintained her sense of humor, along with a graciousness and bone-deep kindness that made her one of the most beloved women on the island. Here was the true saint. Next to her, Annie was merely a pretender to the throne. She shot Sam a warning glance. She’d cut out her tongue sooner than say anything upsetting. Judging by Sam’s expression, he felt the same way.

  Aunt Myrtle carefully tapped her way into the kitchen, the cane Annie had bought her as a birthday present topped by a beautifully carved bird of paradise. “I see you’re welcoming Sam home, Annie. Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”

  “Lovely.” And actually, it was. She might have had Sam run off all those years ago, but her feelings for him had never died. And now...seeing him again, seeing the subtle changes seven years had wrought...tasting his kisses...

  “You’ll be staying with me, of course?” Aunt Myrtle invited Sam, giving him a fierce hug and kiss.

  He nodded, helping her into a chair. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it. I also wanted to check out the old place. See how much of it’s fallen apart. Maybe do some repairs.”

  “It’s a mess,” Annie volunteered. “The hurricanes haven’t helped.”

  Myrtle nodded, smiling her appreciation for the cup of tea Sam poured. “Thank you, dear. But you did know Annie goes over every now and then to tidy the place and arrange for the worst of the damage to be repaired, didn’t you?”

  That caught his attention. “Has she?”

  Annie shrugged. “I always figured you’d return. Besides, I...I owed you.”

  “And now it’s payback time.”

  Myrtle clucked her tongue. “My, my. That sounds so ominous, Sam. You run around saying things like that and you’ll set people to talking.”

  “He already has,” Annie acknowledged.

  “That’s because they have nothing better to do with themselves,” Myrtle said serenely. “And Sam does nothing to counter their unfortunate opinions. That will change once he’s been here a while.”

  “Don’t count on it, sweetheart.” He pinched Myrtle’s cheek, giving her a roguish smile. “I was always good fodder for gossip.”

  “You were a tad unruly,” she confessed. But her love came through in the softness of her deep-set eyes and the brilliance of her smile. “It comes from being a Beaumont, dear heart.”

  “Well, since I’m obligated to give people something to talk about, I’d better get to it.” He switched his attention to Annie. “Why don’t you come with me? You can show me what you’ve done to the place while I was gone.”

  She gave him a cocky grin. “Your motorcycle or mine?”

  “Same thing, isn’t it?” He frowned. “Now that I think about it, you’ve gotten damned possessive of my belongings. My old motorcycle, my aunt, my house. I wonder why?”

  Aunt Myrtle answered before Annie had a chance. “I think you should look into that, Sam. In fact, I think you should investigate the matter very carefully.”

  “Trust me. I will.” He glanced at Annie. “Coming?”

  This was a bad idea...an irresistibly bad idea. “Should I have Aunt Myrtle chaperon us?”

  He shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

  “Well, are you going to try anything while we’re at your house?” she demanded.

  “I’m sure going to give it my best effort.”

  “Now, Sam. I thought I taught you better than that,” Aunt Myrtle reprimanded sternly.

  He sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I believe you did.”

  “Always give it your best effort.” She took a dainty sip of tea before adding, “But in the end, make sure the deed gets done.”

  There was a moment of absolute silence. Annie stared in disbelief. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Aunt Myrtle was trying to encourage him.

  Then Sam chuckled. “Yes, ma’am,” he assured her, sweeping a protesting Annie toward the door. “Heaven knows, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

  Aunt Myrtle indulged in a smile as the two disappeared through the door. “That’s what I’m counting on. Yes, indeed, I am.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAM guided his Harley along a path through the woods from Aunt Myrtle’s to his place. Annie had climbed on behind him without a murmur of protest and now she clung, just like old times. Her arms circled his waist, her fists digging into the flat of his belly while her slender thighs cupped his hips.

  Instead of finding pleasure in the contact, it left him cursing every rut and hole they had the misfortune to encounter, because with each tiny bounce her soft breasts scraped against his back. And heaven forbid the tires slide on sand, because whenever that happened, she’d wriggle her bottom into position again, cradling him closer than before.

  The dual action drove him wild with desire. What would she do if he overturned the bike and rolled her up against the nearest sand dune? Would she spread those sweet thighs in welcome or shriek like an outraged spinster? He didn’t bother to find out. Deciding discretion was the better part of retaining his sanity, he gunned the engine and swept recklessly up the dirt drive.

  The house he’d inherited from his parents was located on the sound, facing west, like all Beaumont land. Oceanfront property had traditionally been owned by Delacortes, and borne the brunt of storms and winds and pounding surf. But his place, called Soundings, located on an und
eveloped peninsula and surrounded by wetlands, commanded a spectacular view of the calmer waters between the island and the mainland. It also had the added benefit of several sweeping decks from which he and Annie had frequently watched the sunset—when they could slip away from her father.

  “Sorry about the lawn,” Annie said as they climbed off his motorcycle. “I meant to have someone come out and mow it down a bit.”

  He broke away from her, fighting to hide how badly she’d affected him. Hell, it was worse than when he’d been a randy teenager. The loss of control filled him with an ironic amusement that did little to ease his frustration but helped immensely to restore his sense of humor. “Mowing my lawn wasn’t your responsibility.”

  She shrugged. “I decided it was.”

  Curious. “Now why would you think that?”

  “It’s how I was raised.”

  The reminder irritated him. “That’s right. You’re a Delacorte.” He waited a beat before adding, “As highhanded as they come... and one of the last of a dying breed. Or is it the last now that your sisters have married?”

  She rose instantly to the bait. Swiveling to face him, her mouth compressed into a tight line and her chin jutted as defiantly as a Beaumont. If it weren’t for the Delacorte coloring and dainty stature, he’d have thought her a kissing cousin—the relationship close enough to be considered kin, but distant enough to marry without worrying about three-eyed offspring.

  “A dying breed,” she repeated. “You can’t resist rubbing that in, can you?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Why not? It’s not my fault the Delacortes can’t plow a fertile field. The Beaumonts have always been prolific and proud of it. Hell, I have more relatives across the eastern seaboard than I can count. I even have a cousin somewhere in Costa Rica.” He frowned in contemplation. “Or is it Nevada? Maybe both. I seem to recall he goes back and forth between his coffee plantation and his wife’s place.”

  He’d managed to distract her with that one. “That’s your cousin Rafe, isn’t it? I hadn’t heard he’d married.”

  “Hitched himself to some crazy woman who spends most of her spare time planning marriage balls.”

  “Marriage balls?” she asked, clearly intrigued. “What are those?”

  “They’re a big bash designed to bring people together who want to find a partner. They meet, then wed and bed, all in one night.” Sam shrugged, allowing cynicism to slash through his tone. “Apparently, some people in this world actually want to get married. Go figure.”

  His comment hit the mark. Her baby blues widened a fraction, mirroring an anguish that struck like a blow. When would he learn? Annie’s pain had always been his own, magnified by some quirk of fate.

  He released his breath in a gusty sigh. “Aw, hell, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it. I deserved it.” Her voice dropped. “I deserve that and more.”

  “Why?” The question was torn from him and he clenched his hands so he wouldn’t touch her. If he took her in his arms again, she wouldn’t escape. He’d drop her to the overgrown grass and make her his in the most permanent way possible. “Can’t you just tell me that much?”

  For an instant, he thought she’d reply. Then she turned abruptly and faced the house. “We’d better get on with this. Aunt Myrtle will wonder what’s taking so long. And there’s been enough speculation on that point, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for a response but pointed to the roof on the north side. “You had some damage there. A tree came down on it during Hurricane Bonnie.”

  It took a full minute for him to release his anger and regain a small measure of calm. “Let’s go in and take a look.”

  She silently followed as he climbed the porch steps and shoved open the front door. “All the doors and casings have warped over the years,” she warned. “They’ll need to be trimmed up and rehung. I guess you can take care of it easily enough if you’re staying. Of course, you’ll also need to have the power turned on. The water, too. But that shouldn’t take much more than a day or two to arrange.”

  He gave a noncommittal response, knowing full well it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He still hadn’t answered that all-important question. Was he sticking around? Or had he returned for a short visit—just long enough to take his revenge before returning to Wall Street? Since he didn’t know the answer to that himself, it was a bit difficult to satisfy her curiosity.

  He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, then examined the foyer in surprise. “Looks clean.”

  “I stir myself every so often to come in and give the place a good going-over.”

  “That must set people to talking.” He rocked back on his heels, slanting her an amused glance. “Or is that only to be expected of Saint Annie?”

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sundress... but not before he’d seen them clench in white-knuckled fists. Interesting that she resisted the label others on the island would be only too happy to accept. “I can’t help what people think,” she informed him. “I don’t come over here to please them.”

  Then why did she? “We had some good times here. Do you think about that when you drop by?”

  He must have hit another nerve. She walked determinedly toward the staircase, carefully avoiding his gaze. “Why don’t we go to the attic first so you can check out the damage up there?”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond but started up the steps. Temptation beckoned and he followed, admiring the graceful sway of her pert backside and the jaunty bounce of sunlit curls tumbling down the length of her spine. Her dress molded briefly to long, slender legs and thighs, teasing him with a glimpse of what was hidden beneath before billowing modestly outward. He found it ironic that a simple calf-length sundress could stir a more potent reaction than the slinky bits of nothing commonly worn by the women he dated.

  The final stairs leading from the second story to the attic were narrow and steep, and it was hotter than Hades in the cramped area beneath the rafters. One side had been boarded over, the tiny square window sealed in plastic. She crossed to the opposite end, to the only other window, and tried to force it open.

  When she didn’t succeed, Sam came up behind, no doubt crowding her if the rigid line of her spine was any indication. “Here. Let me.”

  She stepped aside, though probably not as far as she’d like, since the steep pitch of the roof prevented her from entirely escaping physical contact. Her hair clung to the nape of her neck in damp ringlets and the upper slopes of her breasts glowed with the soft sheen of perspiration. She smelled of summer warmth and salt-tainted earth underscored by a delicate woman’s fragrance. It was a unique scent he knew well, one he’d carried in the deep recesses of his memory for seven long years.

  Giving the casing a hard whack, he forced the swollen wood to give way. The window swung open and a soft breath of humidity-laden air swept into the stuffy interior. Annie closed her eyes and tilted back her head, easing the loosened bodice of her dress away from her chest. The sultry breeze kissed the dew from her skin, while sunlight slipped through the bodice of her dress, turning it almost transparent. He caught tantalizing glimpses of her sweetly rounded breasts, the rosy centers a delicate blush of color against the thin cotton barrier. Sam could only stare, certain he’d carry the image of this moment for the rest of his life.

  Slowly, her lashes drifted upward, her eyes shadowed within the dusky gloom of the attic—shadowed, too, by memories still ripe enough to add sweetness to the bitter tang of a love long lost For an instant, her lips parted as though hungering for another kiss. It would be so easy to draw her into his arms, to give her the physical surcease she craved. But he didn’t want to win that way. He wanted more. He wanted it all. Body and soul. Only when she surrendered emotionally as well as physically would he be appeased.

  “What did you have to show me, Annie?”

  Her breath hitched in the heavy air, awareness swift to return. She released the neckline of her dress and pressed her hand pro
tectively to the exposed cleft between her breasts. It was such an utterly feminine gesture, one made by countless women through the ages when confronted by a masculine threat. He didn’t know whether to be amused, insulted or reassured. He caught her fingers in his and drew them away trom her body. He could hear the frantic give and take of her breath, see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. It would be so easy to take the next step.

  Annie was ripe for ruining.

  Instead, he gestured toward the part of the roof that had been damaged. “I gather you had someone board it up,”

  Her swift recovery impressed the hell out of him. Murmuring something painfully polite, she eluded his grasp and strode to the opposite end of the attic. No doubt she confronted her students with similar poise—her chin high, her step brisk and purposeful, her gaze direct and determined. Only her glorious blond hair escaped her mastery, tumbling merrily in utter disorder. It made her infinitely more human, more vulnerable... and appealingly flawed.

  “The repairs were makeshift,” she explained in her best schoolteacher tone of voice. Sam buried a smile. He’d give her credit for trying, but there wasn’t a schoolteacher alive who’d succeeded in intimidating him. Perhaps Annie would be the first. She had a good shot at it, particularly when she leveled her best “Aunt Myrtle” look on him. “Are you listening?”

  “Hanging on every word,” he assured her gravely.

  Satisfied, her arm swung in a wide arc to indicate a good portion of the roof. “So you’ll probably need to replace this whole section. You might also want to check for dry rot and termites. I’ve chased the squirrels and bats our.” She glanced over her shoulder, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Good golly, was that ever a mess.”

  Her soft chuckle provoked a smile. He never could resist her laughter. “Yeah, I can imagine.” Crossing to inspect the damage, he took care not to crowd her again. Scaring her off wasn’t part of the plan. “You did good, sweetheart. Thanks.”