Shotgun Bridegroom

by Day Leclaire

  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “Foolish.”

  Slowly, she inched up the hem of her skirt from calf to knee to thigh. Just far enough so the tops of her stockings and a bit of the white lace garter were visible. An unholy crash sounded directly beneath the window. He didn’t even blink, which she took as a good sign. How ironic that after all they’d been through, she’d end up seducing him. “Shall I take them off?” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, making her voice as rich and smooth as fine sipping whiskey. “Or would you like to do it?”

  “Don’t.” Two swift strides brought him to her side. He fell to his knees. “I’ll do it.”

  With a flick of his thumb, he separated garter from stocking, his fingers grazing the softness of her thighs. She gripped the arms of the chair so hard she fully expected it to fall apart in her hands. “Roll them down,” she instructed. “Gently.”

  The silk caressed her legs like the wings of a butterfly. Or perhaps it was his fingertips trailing from thigh to toe that caused the sensation. “They’re off,” he said.

  “I’m still hot. Aren’t you?”

  He lifted his head and looked at her, his incredible black eyes filled with a desperate need, an unabashed wanting that ran so deep it brought tears to her eyes. “You’re torturing me, Annie. I don’t know how long I can stand it before I take you. I don’t want to hurt you, but my control—”

  “Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Catching his hands in hers, she drew them to the buttons that ran the full length of her dress, assisting him each time his fingers fumbled. Before long, the final button slipped through the final hole. His breathing grew strained, and as though unable to help himself, his hands fisted in the two halves of her dress, preparing to tear it from her. At the last instant, he faltered. She covered his hands with her own and gently parted the dress, slipping it from her shoulders to drape over the chair. She sat before him wearing nothing but two tiny scraps of lace and cotton.

  “Your turn,” she told him.

  He struggled to pull off his shirt, and once again she was there for him, gliding the cotton across his flat belly when he’d have ripped it. She helped him push it up over an impressive chest and shoulders until he managed to yank it over his head. He was sheer delight to touch, the muscles firm and sculpted, the light pelt of hair covering his chest a delicious abrasion. His pants came next and she knelt in front of him, stripping him of the final trappings of civilization, awed by the powerful differences between man and woman.

  Reluctantly, she stood and allowed him to remove the last of her clothes, as well. The brass key hit the floor with a melodic ping. Sam didn’t bother to retrieve it and Annie smiled. Maybe he wasn’t so desperate to escape as he’d thought. Somehow they found the bed, tumbling onto the cool cotton sheets. At one point, he found the small belly-ring scar and soothed it with his tongue. Storm madness became euphoria, growing stronger with each kiss and embrace.

  From the moment he’d set foot on the island, he’d been bent on seduction. He’d teased and tempted, coaxed and promised. But in the end, it was she who seduced, teasing him with the warmth of her love. She who tempted him toward a dream fulfilled. She who coaxed him into forgetting everything but their feelings for each other. And she who promised an abiding love, keeping that promise with sweet kisses and tender caresses, gifting him with her heart and soul and, finally, with her body.

  “I love you,” she whispered into the wild winds that swept through them. “I’ve always loved you and always will.”

  “My wife. My own.”

  As the hurricane bore down on them, he let the madness come. He called it, reined it, then rode the storm with the woman he adored more than life itself. That night, Annie wasn’t ruined. Nor was she seduced or compromised.

  That night, Annie was finally loved.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MORNING came and with it the end to both the storm and Sam’s madness. Annie watched as he eased from their bed and gathered up his clothes. Something crackled and he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out Pops’s letter. It was crumpled and damp but had managed to survive both Sam’s exertions getting the house ready for the storm and the hurricane itself. Considering he’d changed before last night’s dinner, she found it telling that he still had the letter in his possession.

  He quietly left the room and Annie scrambled from the bed, throwing on her clothes. She crept downstairs in time to see him head for the kitchen. Following, she hesitated in the doorway, a hand covering her mouth as she waited for Sam to open the letter. As she waited for her marriage to crumble.

  Sam turned the envelope over in his hands a couple of times, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he crossed to the table and picked up a box of matches. Carrying both the letter and box to the sink, he removed a wooden match from the box and struck it against the cover. A flame leaped to life and he held it to the envelope.

  “Wait,” she whispered.

  He turned, the match a fraction of an inch from the envelope. “I was going to burn it.”

  “I know.” She slipped into the room. “Don’t.”

  “You don’t want to stop me, Annie.” He dropped the burning match into the sink before it could singe his fingers and reached for another. “You’re afraid this letter will destroy our marriage. There’s nothing your father could say that’s worth that. If there’s something I need to know, you can tell me. Otherwise, it’s not important.”

  Her chin quivered. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He really didn’t. It was the stroke. It...it changed him.”

  “Let me burn it, Annie.”

  She shook her head. “Those are his last words to me. I can’t burn his letter without knowing what he wrote.”

  “Even if it hurts you?”

  “Yes.” She crept to his side, allowing the strength of his arms to comfort her. Gently, she removed the matchstick from his grasp and set it aside. “Even if it hurts.”

  His breath escaped in a drawn-out sigh. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” There wasn’t room in her marriage for secrets. Either he loved her or he didn’t. “Open it, Sam.”

  He ripped the end off the envelope and extracted the single sheet of paper. He held it to the light and swiftly scanned what was written. Without hesitation, he handed it to her. “Read it, sweetheart.”

  Her hands shook so badly it took two tries to grasp the typewritten note. “Dear Sam,” it began. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the letters. “I can’t believe it. He addressed it to you.”

  “Somehow he knew.”

  She blinked, but it didn’t help. The tears wouldn’t stop. “I can’t read it. I...” Her voice trembled. “I can’t see it clearly enough.”

  Sam eased the letter from her hands. “Then I’ll read it to you. Come on, let’s sit down.”

  She started to take the chair next to him, but he pulled her onto his lap. Grateful for his unswerving tenderness, she rested her head against his shoulder. “What does it say?”

  “It starts,

  ‘Dear Sam, I’m assuming you’re the one who will receive this letter.’

  He must have known I wouldn’t let you go easily.” His eyes reflected a ruthless determination. ”He was right.”

  No question of that. “Keep reading, Sam. I’ve waited so long. I don’t think I can stand another minute.”

  “Easy, sweetheart. We’ll get through this together. He says,

  ‘First, I must apologize. I shouldn’t have interfered in your relationship with Annie. I regret the pain I’ve caused the two of you. At the time, I thought my decision justified. In my opinion, she was too young, your age difference too great. I was dying and, selfishly, didn’t want to lose her when you moved to New York. Unfortunately, I did anyway.’”

  “I wish I could say he was wrong.” She touched a corner of the letter. “But it did change our relationship. Maybe if I’d known how seriously ill he was, I’d have understood why he went to such
extremes.”

  “Maybe.” Sam didn’t sound nearly as certain.

  “Finish it. Let’s get it over with.”

  “‘She was going to leave with you, Sam. Her bags were packed and nothing I said would change her mind. And so I told her the truth about her mother, a truth I would have made public if she insisted on going after you. I regret that. She agreed not to elope but left home the next day and moved in with Aunt Myrtle. I hope someday the two of you will forgive me. And I hope your marriage is blessed with happiness.’

  “It’s signed Joe Delacorte.”

  “That’s it?” She couldn’t believe it. “That’s all he said?”

  “So now we’re supposed to divorce, right?” Sam teased tenderly.

  Tears clogged her throat. “But that’s not all of it. He didn’t tell you the rest.”

  He tossed the letter onto the table. “I can’t seem to convince you, Annie. I don’t need to know. Whatever secret your father revealed about your mother died with the two of them. It’s in the past All you have to worry about now is the future.” He cupped her chin, lifting her face to his. “Our future.”

  “Do you mean that?” she demanded in a low voice.

  “After last night, do you even have to ask?”

  “Sam? Annie?” Bertie’s voice came from outside, resonating with unmistakable urgency. “Come quick!”

  They were on their feet in an instant, racing for the foyer. It took precious minutes for Sam to force open the front door, warped again from the storm. Bertie was leaning against one of the porch support pillars, clearly winded.

  “What happened?” Annie demanded. “Is it Pansy?”

  Bertie shook his head. “It’s Myrtle. I ran here as quick as I could. So many trees are down, I had to leave my car about a mile back and hoof it.”

  “What’s happened? What’s wrong with Myrtle?”

  “She went out on the porch during the storm to try and fasten a loose shutter. I didn’t hear her slip out. When we finally realized she’d gone missing—”

  “What happened?” Annie cut him off, frantic with fear. Sam caught her close, but she fought free of his hold. “Where is she?”

  “She’s hurt, Annie. She got knocked on the head and is suffering from exposure.”

  “She can’t die! She can’t.”

  “Easy, sweetheart,” Sam murmured. “No one said anything about dying. Panicking isn’t going to help. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can for her.”

  “You don’t understand!” The breath sobbed from her lungs. “I have to get to her.”

  “Calm down, Annie.” He grabbed her arm, refusing to turn her loose no matter how hard she fought. “Listen to me, dammit! Arriving in hysterics isn’t going to help Myrtle. All it’s going to accomplish is to upset her.”

  “They’re doing the best they can,” Bertie offered. “Pansy insisted I come get you, but to be honest there’s not much you can do.”

  “There’s one thing. I can go to her.”

  “Annie—” Sam began.

  “You don’t understand,” she shouted, barely registering his words. All she knew was that the path between her and Myrtle was blocked and she’d do whatever it took to get past. “I have to get there!”

  He still wouldn’t release her. “Why, Annie? Why do you have to?”

  “Because she’s my mother!” She burst into tears, the words an aching whisper. “She’s my mother, Sam. Don’t you understand? I’m not a Delacorte. I never have been. That’s my secret. That’s what I didn’t want you to know.”

  He closed his eyes, comprehension written in the exhausted lines of his face. “We’ll take the motorcycles.”

  “The bikes. Oh, thank heaven.” Annie flew down the steps. “Hurry, Sam. We have to hurry.”

  “Slow down, sweetheart. We’ll ride together. Bertie can take the other Harley.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Come on, Deputy. We stashed the motorcycles in the boathouse. I assume you can ride?”

  In other circumstances, Bertie’s bewildered expression would have been laughable. “Yeah, I can ride.”

  By the time Sam reached the boathouse, Annie was already there, tearing open the door. Part of the roof had been lost, but the motorcycles had escaped damage. She hovered impatiently to one side as Sam wheeled out the first bike, then went back for the second. Not bothering to wait, she climbed on and gunned the engine. Instantly, Sam ripped down the ramp and slewed the second Harley around in front of her, sand flying in his wake.

  “You’re not driving,” he announced, his tone warning he wouldn’t be opposed. “I’ll get you to her, I promise. But you’re riding with me, not on your own. Now hand the bike to Bertie and come on.”

  The minute she’d mounted behind him, he revved the engine, streaking off across the yard. It seemed to take forever. Every time they’d start to make progress, a downed tree would block the road and they’d have to find a path around it A full hour later, they arrived at Annie’s old home.

  Emergency workers were gathered in the driveway, and with an exclamation of horror, Annie leaped from the bike and ran toward them. Sam let her go, allowing her the privacy she’d undoubtedly prefer. Bertie roared up beside him and cut his engine. For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Finally, Sam eyed the deputy. “You’re not to utter a word to anyone about what Annie said.”

  “I’m not a fool, Beaumont. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He waited a beat. “Because you’ve owed me for a long time and today I’m collecting.”

  Bertie’s jaw clenched, a dead giveaway as far as Sam was concerned. “How do you figure?”

  “Shall we start with that beating you gave me seven years ago?”

  Hot color washed up Bertie’s neck. “Yeah. Guess I do owe you for that,” he said, not bothering with a denial. “When did you figure out it was me?”

  “Had it confirmed about two seconds ago. Had it figured out the morning after you locked Annie and me in the boathouse.”

  Bertie didn’t deny doing that, either. “How’d you know I was the one who attacked you?”

  “When a few of the good ol’ boys jumped me, you started pulling them off. In the process, you threw a punch or two and it looked...familiar.”

  Bertie’s throat worked for a minute before he said, “I owe you an apology for that.”

  “Yeah, you do. You believed Pops’s story, didn’t you?”

  “Stupid, huh? Thinking you’d switched your affections from Annie to Pansy.”

  “Real stupid.” Sam’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did Pansy know what you did?”

  “Not then. I confessed to her when she was pregnant with Bert Junior.”

  Comprehension dawned and Sam released a short laugh. “I gather she didn’t take it well.”

  Bertie sighed morosely. “Cried for six months solid. Said you’d come back and even the score one of these days. She was convinced you’d press charges and I’d end up in jail. Or you’d have me thrown off the police force. I couldn’t convince her you were more likely to beat the tar out of me and call it square.”

  Sam didn’t correct him on that score. Marrying Annie had one serious drawback. While it had gone a ways toward appeasing his hunger for revenge, it had also tied his hands. He didn’t think his sweet wife would take it too well if he went around pummeling her in-laws. “I gather you were also the one who rigged the doorknobs that second time around?”

  “Yeah. Guess I should apologize for that, too, as long as I’m at it. It just seemed too good an opportunity to miss.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I sure didn’t mean to trap the wrong woman in there with you.”

  “You’re just full of clever ideas, aren’t you?”

  “Aw, heck, Sam. It wasn’t me. I read this really cute article in some Texas magazine a tourist left behind. Told all about how this kid bought a nine-dollar date for his mom and then tried to compromise the two of them so they’d have to get married.” Bertie shook his head. “That kid
was smart. Scary smart, you know the kind I mean?”

  “I have a good idea.”

  “Anyway, I thought since this kid was some sort of brain, I’d steal a page from his book. Compromising folks doesn’t seem to set too well in Texas, but I figured it’d be a slam dunk on Delacorte Island. Especially since it was Annie. She’s sort of special. If somebody tries to mess with the town saint, they’re gonna pay a steep penalty. Not that marriage to her would be much of a penalty,” he hastened to add.

  “I get your drift.”

  Bertie cleared his throat. “So how is it, do you suppose, that Myrtle ended up being Annie’s momma?”

  Sam focused his attention on the crowd spread out across Bertie’s driveway. He thought he caught a glimpse of Annie’s dress, but then it disappeared before he could be certain. “Good question.”

  “You figure she and old Joe...?” He shrugged awkwardly.

  “I can’t see Myrtle having an affair with a married man, can you?”

  “Nope. Course, I can’t see Myrtle having an affair at all.” He brightened. “Maybe she went to a fertility clinic and Annie’s one of those test-tube babies.”

  “I wouldn’t go there if I were you, Bertie.”

  “Sorry, Sam.” He inclined his head toward the group of emergency personnel. “Looks like they’re waving you over.”

  “Actually, I think they’re waving you over, Bertie.”

  Leaping off the motorcycle, the deputy swore beneath his breath. “It’s Pansy. Hell’s bells, she must have gone into labor.”

  Sam waited another minute before following Bertie into the milling crowd. He’d given Myrtle and Annie about as much privacy as he could stand. Time to tie up some loose ends. He found mother and daughter sitting off to one side. Myrtle’s head was bandaged and she had a blanket wrapped around her spare frame. But other than that, she looked in surprisingly good shape.