by Jaycee Clark
Gavin continued, “Actually, it seems Taylor can have kids. But that’s not what we have to tell you.”
“What do you mean she can?” Jock was getting confused.
“It’s a long story, Mr. K.,” Taylor told him.
“And it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with what we want to tell you,” Gavin said.
“Watch your mouth, young man,” Kaitie admonished.
“Yes, Mom, sorry.” Gavin looked at Taylor. “What we want to tell you will come as a shock, but we have our reasons,” Gavin said, exhaling heavily. “It fact, it’s pretty bad, or it could be, but we won’t let it.” Turning back to them, his mouth was tense at the corners, and something shifted in his eyes.
It was the seriousness that had Jock straightening in his chair. Out of all his children, Gavin was the most laid back, the most relaxed.
“Honey, what is it?” His wife’s hand reached out and covered her son’s, the other seeking his under the table and squeezing tight. “Are you sick?”
“Kaitie, let the boy tell us.”
His wife’s shoulders rose on her inhale.
“We got married today.”
Someone dropped a tray, dishes broke, silverware clattered and glasses tinkled. Jock couldn’t have cared less, didn’t even turn to look.
“And?” Hell, he thought it was something drastic like cancer or some other disease.
“You did what?” Kaitie asked in that tone he knew all too well.
“No, I’m not sick. It’s not what we’ve done that’s got us so worried. We got married, today. It’s the reason behind it that has us all walking a proverbial tightrope.”
Jock stuck his tongue in his cheek and leaned back. Better the boy handle this one on his own.
“Mom, I know you’re disappointed, what with all the plans you’ve put into the wedding at the house and all.” Gavin swallowed.
“And all?” Then she turned on Taylor. “And you went along with this? What of the invitations, the flowers, your dress? It won’t matter if you’re pregnant or not, that’s what everyone will think. ‘Oh, it’s another Kinncaid, hurried wedding. Wonder how early this baby will be born.’” Yes, Kaitie chattered when she was worried, and she’d been damn worried all afternoon.
To be told it was only marriage should have relieved her, and Jock was certain it did, but she needed an outlet—thus the complaints over the when of the deed.
“Mrs. Kinncaid, we still want to either have a big ceremony or just a reception in four weeks,” Taylor tried. Jock had to give her points. His wife was going to be pissed for a good week over this. Not that Gavin lived at home—no, he’d be the one that had to hear it all.
On a sigh, he sat back up.
“Why today?” she asked. “And what? You couldn’t call us? Your own parents?” Kaitie did have a point.
“No, Mom. I should have, but it all happened so fast.”
Her titian head shook, catching and spinning the lights. “Why?”
Gavin took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. “It’s a long story. Please listen patiently.”
“I just can’t believe . . . At least we were invited and included in Aiden and Jesslyn’s rushed wedding.”
Jock rolled his eyes. Maybe longer than a week. Maybe more like a month.
“Mom.”
“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me. I can understand hurrying through things. Fine, but we raised you better, you could have picked up the damn phone and called.”
Yeah, probably a month, at least.
“Why?” she asked again.
Jock squeezed her hand.
She turned on him, her eyes flashing. “What? Are you going to sit there and tell me this doesn’t upset you? Our own child . . .”
“Kaitie, let them explain.”
“It’s my fault.” Ryan hopped up into his chair.
“Sorry, I kept him busy as long as I could.” Brayden dropped down into his seat.
“Did you know of this?” His mother asked him.
“Of?”
“Don’t you pull that act with me.”
“Mrs. K?” Ryan started again. “It’s my fault. The reason they got married.”
That statement shut her up. Jock breathed a sigh of relief.
Gavin turned to Ryan and pointed a finger. “Do not say that again. Your mother and I did what we thought was best. None of this is in any way your fault.”
This conversation was getting dizzy.
“Will someone please explain?” Jock asked, leaning up and taking a drink of the water sitting in front of him.
“Taylor and I got married today at the Justice of the Peace. Judge McAffery.”
“Robbie?” Jock asked, nodding.
“Yeah, Dad, Robbie. Anyway, there’s a reason we needed to get married so quickly.”
“Me,” Ryan interrupted.
“No, to keep you safe,” Gavin countered.
Brayden leaned up. “If I may? The short version is the woman who gave birth to Ryan has escaped from prison. Not only did Gavin and Taylor get married today, but Ryan is now officially a Kinncaid.”
Prison? What the hell was this? Ryan looked down at the tabletop.
“Ryan?” Jock asked the boy.
“Dad,” Gavin started, but Jock cut him off by raising his hand.
“Welcome to the family, son.” He stuck his hand across the table and Ryan gingerly shook it. “And Taylor too,” he added, looking at her.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. K. I know you were all excited about flowers and stuff, and I wanted to walk down the aisle beside Taylor in my tux like Gavin’s.” His face pulled tight. “But she’s out, and she wants me back.”
Silence descended.
“I can’t go back to her. I just—I just can’t. She’s not nice. Not nice at all.” Blue eyes normally as clear and guileless as a summer sky were shadowed by phantoms Jock couldn’t see. Ryan’s voice quieted, and his finger traced his scar. “She gave me this, when she threw me or I fell ’cause she hit me, through a window. I almost died that night.”
Kaitie’s hand flew to her mouth.
Taylor’s hand rested on Ryan’s shoulder, rubbing gently. “Honey, you don’t have to go into all this.”
“Yes, I do. They should know, in case she comes up. What if she goes to their house?” His chin trembled. “What if—what if she thinks I’m there and does the same thing to them she did in Austin because she wants me?”
Ryan’s young jaw firmed. Determined eyes turned back to look straight into his. What Jock saw there caught him off guard. These were not the eyes of a child, but one of a man who had seen too much.
“She–she . . . Nina just shot them because of me.”
What? Turning to Gavin, he started to ask whom the boy was talking about.
But again, Gavin was pointing his finger at Ryan. Jock could see the tick in the corner of his son’s mouth. “Ryan, I said I don’t want to hear you say that again. Did you pull the trigger?”
Ryan’s head shook. “No, sir.”
“Did you give her the gun?”
“No, sir, but—”
“Did you help her escape or supply the . . . woman with drugs?” Now Gavin was leaning low over the table, his voice no more than a whisper, but all the same effective.
“No.”
“Okay then.”
“Gavin,” Brayden said.
“I’m sick and tired of the two of them blaming themselves for what this . . .” His mouth clamped shut, biting the rest out. “Incubus—succubus?—witch, whatever does. Ryan for not stopping her, for her doing anything bad, and Taylor for feeling guilty she’s not the one on life support.”
“Life support?” Kaitie asked.
Taylor swallowed. “Charles and his wife were attacked in their home two nights ago. She broke in and shot them, the woman, thinking I was still Mrs. Charles Shepard. Charles’s and Rhonda’s parents are keeping her on life support in hopes she’ll carry the baby to term.”
Holy Mother of God.
&nbs
p; Several moments passed in silence. The murmurs filled the air with whitewashing sounds.
Finally, Kaitie leaned over and kissed Gavin’s cheek. “You could have just explained,” she offered.
Jock couldn’t hold the chuckle in. “What in the blessed hell do you think he’s been trying to do since you laid into him?”
“What’s incubus?” Ryan asked.
“It’s a sort of demon, or evil person who hurts other people, a nightmare,” Brayden offered. “Though I can’t remember if it’s the female or male version of it.”
“Oh.” Then Ryan grinned like the little boy he was. “Incubus,” he repeated. “Yeah, that’s a good description. Cool word too.”
“What other words do you like?” Brayden asked him, keeping the conversation light while Jock and Kaitie tried to comprehend everything they’d just learned.
“Oh, lots and lots of words.”
“Such as?” Brayden asked, signaling to a waiter who stood holding a tray with a bucketed bottle of champagne. The bottle’s foiled wrapper glinted in the light. Flutes stood at empty attention.
As Bob, the lucky waiter of the evening, opened the bottle of bubbly and poured the glasses, Jock realized the boy still called them Mr. and Mrs. K. When everyone had a glass of golden sparkles, and Ryan a glass of ginger ale, Bob excused himself.
Ryan, wiggling in his seat, finally answered Brayden. “I like succeed. And conundrum— that’s a problem. Learned it in math the other day.”
Jock leaned up on his elbows. “Succeed and conundrum, huh? Well, Mr. Ryan Kinncaid. Kaitie here and I have a conundrum you can help us succeed in solving.”
Both Kaitie and Ryan looked at him. He continued, looking straight into Ryan’s eyes. “We like our grandkids to call us Grams and Pops. Not Mr. and Mrs. K.”
“He’s right,” Kaitie agreed.
Ryan’s face lit up with his smile. “Okay. Grams and Pops.”
Jock grinned.
Then he looked at Gavin and nodded to his son, holding his glass up.
Gavin stood. “There’s a tradition we Kinncaids hold to. On special days, days of weddings, and births, the men of our family make a solemn vow before his clansmen. Supposedly this goes way back to when we all wore blue paint and lived to fight off the English.” His son’s gaze scanned the table. “Since we’re so few in numbers I guess I’ll get to do this again.”
Emotion swelled in Jock’s chest. His son had become a man. He shook off the thought.
Gavin raised his glass to both Taylor and Ryan and swore, “As those before me have done, and those after will follow, I pledge my love to you, wife of mine. For on this day, you become my helpmeet, my other half. And to my son, a child of heart and love,” he added to Ryan. “You both become Kinncaids. And as tradition holds, I swear before all those here: This I’ll defend.”
• • •
Nina’s focus tightened to one sharp point. She’d done a line back at the last rest stop and she was ready to go. Go for fucking ever.
Damn straight.
Damn straight.
Someone screamed on the stereo about drugs and hate. The words stabbed her mind. Kept her seeing the road, what was in front of her, what was behind and where the fuck she was going.
A semi blew past her, the suck of wind tossing into the old convertible they were in. Rod snored in the passenger seat. How in the hell he could sleep with all they had to do was freaking beyond her. Nina patted her thigh as she cruised down I-66. No stopping tonight, no stopping. No way.
They’d finally reached Virginia, big damn state. She had hoped it didn’t take nearly as long to drive across as Tennessee did. Nina hated that redneck, hillbilly state. And people thought Texas was bad. Texas was freaking normal. These people were weird.
A sign quickly approached. Zooming past, she caught the words. Arlington National Cemetery next two exits.
In the nation’s fucking capital. Not long now. She sniffed.
Ryan was here some-damn-where and she’d find him. Him and that Shepard bitch and who-the-hell-ever else was with them.
Have to drive all this damn way for her own freaking kid. The idea that someone had already tipped them off to her escape rushed the blood through her veins. Rush.
She was on a fucking high!
The paper with Taylor Shepard’s—no wait. Reese. Like the candy cups. Peanut butter and chocolate. Whatever. Reese? Who the hell was named Reese?
Nina squinted at the next sign. Now which fucking way? Grabbing the map, she tried to see her highlights.
“Wake the hell up and be useful, why don’tchya?” She shoved Rod, and his head whipped up.
“Huh?”
“The map. Read the damn map. What’s the exit?”
Cars whizzed by. Three o’clock in the morning and people had nothing better to do than drive? Why the hell weren’t they at home in bed?
“Where are we?”
“D.C., honey. We’re in Washington, D-fucking-C.
Chapter 18
Liquid gold surrounded her, flowed through her veins, made her want to weep with its suffocating beauty. Taylor lifted a hand to touch the sun, bright, powerful.
Roughened skin scraped her palm, pulling her from the iridescent dream into the pale dawn of reality. But the wonderful feelings, gossamer in their tangibility, sharp as talons in their intensity, still soared through her.
She felt him shift and thrust within her, and shuddered as heat and need pulsed through her system.
He leaned down, kissed her mouth, his tongue as deft at stroking her to passion as him inside her.
Gavin rose above her, his muscles corded as he braced on his arms. He rocked against her and she arched up to meet him as his grin crooked his mouth.
“Morning, wife.”
Taylor could only moan.
“I wondered when you were going to wake up and join me.” He leaned down, warm breath whispered against her ear, chills shivered down her spine.
The joining, gentle in its rousing, suddenly awoke in a storm of emotion. Wave after wave crashed through Taylor, and all she could do was accept.
He rolled to his side and pulled her with him, still joined. They lay and touched, caressed and kissed, until she only felt him. Saw him. Scented him. There was only Gavin.
Gavin pulled her leg up to hang over his hip, thrusting deeper, always deeper . . .
Taylor watched him, the tension in him building, building, her nerves coiling with each measured stroke.
They rocked together until he reached between them and Taylor gasped as the orgasm all but blindsided her.
Gavin stiffened, the blue of his eyes going opaque as he whispered her name with so much tenderness her eyes stung.
“I love you,” she whispered as his eyes slid closed. His hair was wet through her fingers; water still pearled on his shoulder and back. The fresh scent of soap and mint from toothpaste tickled her nose.
“Love you more.” He grinned. Reaching out, he caressed her breast, his finger drawing circles and shapes on it. She sighed and wiggled. He dropped his hand to her waist. A glance at the clock told her they still had a couple of hours anyway.
“When did you get in?” The last two words were stretched by her yawn.
Black spiky lashes lay on his cheeks. “A little while ago.”
“Was it a boy or a girl?” He’d gotten called out a little after midnight.
“Two boys and two girls,” he mumbled.
She watched as he drifted to sleep. The rugged curve of his jaw, the straight line of his nose begged her finger to run over and down them. Taylor simply watched.
Wife. Gavin was always calling her wife. Husband. He was hers and it terrified and thrilled her and calmed her as nothing else in her life ever had. She still couldn’t believe she was actually Mrs. Gavin Kinncaid. The ceremony might have been rushed, but she didn’t care. Husband, wife, father, mother, son.
Family.
The entire newness of it could almost be overwhelming.
&nbs
p; Her head fit perfectly in the crook of his shoulder as his arm curved around her, keeping her close.
“Any more phone calls?”
She barely suppressed the yelp that lodged in her throat at the sound of his voice. “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered. “You should be. You’re tired, and who knows when your pager will go off again.”
His shoulder barely moved under her head with his faint shrug.
The phone calls. She didn’t care to get into that right now. Patting his chest, she said, “Go to sleep.”
“With all the thinking you’re doing?” He opened his eyes, skewering her. “Calls?”
“Only a couple.”
“Did they say anything?”
Taylor shook her head. “Do they ever?”
For the last couple of days they’d received several hang-ups. Or maybe breathing. Once, she could have sworn someone chuckled “Ryan,” but she couldn’t be sure. No caller ID. It was always unknown.
But she knew, as did Ryan, who it was leaving messages and calling all hours of the day and night.
“What aren’t you telling me? Is it Ryan?” He started to sit up, but she tightened her arm across him and he stilled.
“No. He’s upset, as he has been, and he’s not really eating, not like normal. He’s gotten so quiet. Last night he had a nightmare.”
His screams had brought her awake instantly. She’d been trying to calm him when someone knocked—the patrolman. Seeing her light he’d come up to the door at three a.m. and heard the screams. She assured him everything was fine, that it was a nightmare. What a mess. Damn Nina Fisher.
“What was it about?”
Taylor shook her head. “I have no idea, he wouldn’t tell me. Wouldn’t even mutter a word about it, just wanted me to sleep with him. I did.” That’s what was wrong. “I did. I fell asleep in his room.”
“I carried you into this one. You were about to fall off that little bed of his.”
“Hmm . . . That’s the only reason you wanted me here?”
His grin was tired and faded slowly. Taylor settled against him, listening to the strong thump of his heart, until she too fell asleep.
• • •
It was noon when a knock echoed through the entryway and into the living area.