THE BRIDE WORE BLUE JEANS

by Mary Anne Wilson

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  THE BRIDE WORE BLUE JEANS

  Mary Anne Wilson

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

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  Prologue

  ^ »

  Boston, Massachusetts

  The item made the front page of the Boston daily in a three-inch double column near the top right corner under the banner:

  Plea Bargain for Celebrity Bodyguard.

  The former employee of local talk show host Gerald Darling pleaded guilty to felonious aggravated assault charges stemming from a brutal attack on the celebrity at his Boston home.

  Quinton James Gallagher, 35, held without bail, faces up to five years in state prison after accepting the District Attorney's offer to drop the attempted murder charge and a possible twenty-year sentence to the lesser charge with a maximum sentence of five years.

  On New Year's Eve, Gallagher rocked the entertainment world when he admitted attacking Darling and leaving him with broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and numerous contusions and bruises. Gallagher alleged that he found Darling raping an unnamed woman. Darling denied all charges and the alleged victim failed to back up Gallagher's accusations.

  Gallagher was hired by the talk show host three months prior to the incident and before that made a living at odd jobs that ran the gamut from handyman to security expert.

  When informed of the plea agreement, Darling, now fully recovered from the attack, stated that he just wanted to put the matter behind him and get on with his life. "Justice has been served," said Darling.

  * * *

  Quint Gallagher stared at the newspaper his attorney, Willis Gray, had folded and pressed against the Plexiglas partition in the visitor's room of the jail.

  "I only agreed to the deal four hours ago and it's already in the papers," Gray said, his narrow face intense as he peered at Quint around the edge of the paper. His voice sounded tinny through the small microphone in the glass barrier.

  Quint hunched toward the glass, his elbows on the narrow shelf and his hands clenched so tightly that they ached as he stared at the newspaper. His own reflection overlaid the black and white newsprint, an odd illusion. His short black hair was combed straight back from a face stamped with years of living on the edge. A ragged cut on his forehead had healed to a pink scar and his dark eyes flashed with cold rage.

  "I should have let it go to trial," he muttered, anger clipping every word.

  "And you would have been put away for twenty years. No one backed up your version, least of all the so-called victim." The attorney shrugged. "This way, with good behavior, you'll walk away in two years."

  Quint sat back, letting his fists hit the table with a dull thud. "Walking out of here right now would be better."

  "Considering the fact you almost killed one of this city's major celebrities with your bare hands, the only place most people want you to walk is around a prison yard for the rest of your life." Gray pulled the paper back and dropped it into his open briefcase before he snapped the lid shut, then grabbed the handle. He never looked away from Quint. "It wasn't a popular move for the D.A. to go to a plea bargain. You're lucky Darling didn't put up a fight to see the original indictment saved."

  "Sure, damned lucky," Quint ground out.

  Gray stood. "I'm going to talk to the D.A. about your transfer to the prison."

  Quint stayed seated, prolonging the time before he had to go back to the suffocating cell. "Did you take care of the other things for me?"

  "Everything is in order." He smoothed the front of his immaculate suit. "One last thing?"

  "What?"

  "The next time you get the urge to jump in and play knight in shining armor, don't."

  "There won't be a next time." Quint stared intently at Gray as the attorney nodded, then headed for the heavy steel security door at the back of the room. "Every man for himself from now on." Quint watched the door shut behind Gray, then he muttered to himself, "A rule to live by."

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  Chapter 1

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  May – two years later

  Quint could feel his heart drumming against his ribs, but as he approached the release area of the prison, the only outward manifestation of his raw nerves was the way he gripped the plain brown bag that held all of his personal effects. He stopped at the head of a line of six men, six feet from the barrier, and looked at one of the three guards who stood between him and freedom.

  "Gallagher, Quinton James." The man read from the clipboard in his hand, then looked at Quint to compare the picture on the prison records with the man about to be released.

  The photo on the clipboard had been taken at the jail when Quint had been booked. He knew that the man facing the guard today was irrevocably changed from the man who had tried to kill Gerald Darling with his bare hands.

  The man the guard studied was leaner, honed to sinewy muscle by a combination of the plain prison diet and hours of working out in the weight room. The scar had healed to a pale jagged line that cut down his left temple through his eyebrow coming precariously close to his eye.

  His dark hair, streaked with gray, had grown long enough to lie on his shoulders and the beard he'd grown in prison had been shaved off two hours ago. He controlled his expression, giving away none of the heart pounding anticipation of freedom just feet from him.

  He'd learned the hard way to keep to himself and stay out of other people's business, everyone in this world was on their own, including him. That harsh reality had been burned into his soul over the past two years.

  "Are you being met or do you need a bus ride to the airport?" the guard asked.

  "I've got a ride," Quint said.

  The man nodded, then held out an envelope to him. "Release hardship money and your instructions for reporting to your parole officer."

  Quint took the envelope in his free hand, then waited through the verification of the other men being released with him. Finally, the guard came back to the front of the line and signaled to the guard in the gun tower near the release area. The ten-foot high gate slid back with a low metal groan.

  "Good luck," the guard murmured as Quint passed him and stepped through the gate.

  In single file, the men walked down a narrow walkway, past a brick wall and into a broad parking area. Quint stopped as the other men hurried past him to greet their waiting loved ones – wives, lovers, children, friends.

  No one was here for him. When he'd gone in, he felt relieved he'd left nobody waiting and worrying for him. But now… He averted his eyes as the gate shut behind him and squinted into the brightness of the early morning sun.

  For the first time since he'd been brought here in chains and ankle shackles, he was locked out, not in. For the first time in over two years, he was in his own clothes, a black T-shirt, jeans and scuffed cowboy boots.

  He raked his loose hair back from his face with his fingers and inhaled deeply, then he passed by the other released prisoners clustered with their families. He stepped out into the graveled parking lot framed by chain-link fence topped with razor wire and spotted the only thing waiting for him.

  His car, a black Corvette convertible, looked the same as it had the last time he'd seen it. It hugged the ground, looking as if it were moving at top speed even when it was parked in a drab parking lot between an old sedan and a pickup truck. He went toward it, making himself walk and not run. But he didn't take his eyes off the car.

  He'd notified Willis Gray about his release date and the last thing the attorney did for him was to order the car out of storage and have it brought out here for him. A man stood by
the back fender dressed in a navy uniform with a patch on the breast pocket that read Parris Storage and Parking.

  "I'm Quint Gallagher," he said to the man. "This is my car."

  "Easy to say," the man muttered as he straightened up and eyed Quint. "I'll have to see ID. I can't just hand over a car like this without being sure it's the right person who's getting the keys."

  "Got to make sure you aren't handing it over to some escaped serial killer, I suppose," Quint said as he opened the paper bag that held his personal property. He found his driver's license at the bottom of the bag and held it out to the man. "You can't be too careful, can you?"

  "No sir, we can't be too careful." The man glanced past Quint at the gray and beige buildings behind the fence. He didn't bother to temper the distaste in his expression. "I've never delivered anything out to this place before."

  "I wouldn't expect too many people have."

  "You out here visiting someone?" the man asked as he turned back to Quint.

  Quint looked right at him. "No, I just broke out and I wanted a fast car for the getaway."

  The man's eyes widened. "What in the—?"

  "Take it easy." He was actually thankful that he still had a trace of humor left in him. "It's a joke."

  "Sure, of course." The man colored as he laughed nervously and held out the key to Quint. "Here you go. She's all yours, sir." When Quint took the key, the man pulled a yellow paper out of his pocket and read from it. "Says here there's two pieces of luggage and a cardboard box in the trunk." He looked at Quint. "You can check to make sure everything's there."

  "No need," Quint murmured.

  "Then here's the receipt. Drive carefully, sir," the man said as he offered the paper to Quint and turned to go. Quint opened the door of his car and slipped into the surprising freshness of leather and cleaner. The storage company had detailed it and it didn't hold any traces of sitting for two years.

  He tossed his paper bag over the console onto the other seat, closed the door, then pushed the key in the ignition.

  As the engine started up. Quint felt the low throbbing vibrate through the racing frame. Quickly he lowered the windows and the convertible top, relishing the feeling of the sun on his face. Open sky. Fresh air. His heart lurched in his chest when he realized that this was not a dream. He was alone, but he was free.

  He drove toward the only opening in the barrier and slipped through onto the public road outside. He turned west, pressed the accelerator and felt the car surge forward. As he drove away from the prison, he relished the rushing air tangling his shoulder-length hair and stinging his eyes.

  As he flipped on the radio to the pulsating sound of hard rock, he glanced at the envelope the guard had given him as he left. A few hundred dollars and parole papers. Since his only relative, his brother, lived in California, his attorney had made sure his parole had been transferred to that state.

  He had seven days to report to the parole office in Santa Barbara. And he'd be there. This time he'd look out for himself, do it by the rules and get on with his life without taking on other people's problems.

  "Every man for himself," he murmured when he spotted the sign for the route west. "A rule to live by."

  * * *

  Scarlet, Oklahoma – two days later

  "I just have to say that this is all so romantic, Miss Thomas!" Marla Clark, the seamstress who'd driven out from the next town to the Raines estate, carefully knelt by Anne Marie Thomas on the Mexican tile floor of the guest house.

  "Call me Annie," the auburn-haired woman in the antique gown murmured, tension from the past week of hurried wedding plans making her shoulders and neck ache.

  The petite gray-haired seamstress stopped in mid-motion as she pinned the side hem of the ivory satin-and-lace dress. She looked up and met Annie's gaze in the mirror. "The mister says to call you Miss Thomas for now."

  Annie closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, tempted to tell the woman that she hated being called Miss Thomas by an employee as much as she hated Trevor's parents insisting on calling her Anne Marie.

  "Annie sounds so … so plain, my dear," Mrs. Raines had murmured with a faint wrinkling of her nose in distaste. "Anne Marie, now that has a nice sound to it."

  Annie had kept quiet then and she knew that now wasn't the time to make any changes. "Whatever he says."

  The woman looked vaguely relieved as she went back to carefully hemming the fragile gown. "As I was saying, it's just so romantic."

  Annie closed her eyes tightly for a moment and took a deep breath, then opened them to face her own image in the mirror. Romantic? It should have been with the whirlwind courtship, the rushed visit to see Trevor's parents, the party to introduce her to important people in the county, and the giddy rush to get married.

  But she felt far from romantic right now and, in a shocking moment of truth, she realized that her relationship with her fiancé hadn't ever been truly romantic. When Trevor had first walked into the restaurant in Taos where she was working as manager, she'd noticed him. With blond good looks, a compact build and a certain air of self-confidence, he'd stood out from the usual crowd in the upscale restaurant.

  Only recently she'd realized that his self-confidence came from knowing he could do whatever he wanted to do. He was the only son of people who owned half of this county in Oklahoma.

  She stared at herself, at her skin touched with paleness making a striking contrast to her deep auburn curls piled on top of her head and ringed by a halo of white roses. Her green eyes were filled with tension, and there was a vague unsteadiness in the set of her chin.

  She was feeling pre-wedding jitters at their worst. Making a lifetime commitment wasn't something she'd agreed to casually, but it was for the best. When she opened her hands that had curled into fists and flexed her fingers, the heavy engagement ring slipped off and fell to the floor.

  "Oh, ma'am!" Marla gasped as she twisted and picked up the two-carat diamond. "You can't lose this. It's absolutely gorgeous." She handed the ring up to Annie. "This just about tops everything, doesn't it?"

  She held the ring in her hand and closed her finger around it without putting it on. The opulent ring went along with the Raines family reputation. Trevor Raines, Senior, and his wife Angelica were owners of a six-thousand-acre ranch and politically active in local politics. But all Annie saw was a real home for her daughter.

  Since she'd had Sammi two years ago, her life had been guided by what was right for her child. And this situation wasn't any different. Sammi needed a father and grandparents. If Annie wasn't madly, deliriously in love with the child's father, that didn't matter. She and Trevor could get along, and maybe, someday, real love would come.

  Maybe Sammi could wear this same dress on her wedding day years from now. It had been worn by Trevor's grandmother and his mother and was undeniably beautiful, fashioned from antique lace overlaying fine satin. Real diamonds trailed around the high choker neckline. The bodice was being altered to fit Annie's less than voluptuous measurements, and the waist was being tucked in almost an inch.

  "We were talking about it just today, me and the cook, Mrs. Bryce," Marla babbled on as Annie stared at herself. "We all know about the Raines family and especially young Mr. Raines. Good-looking, wild, a real lady's man—"

  The woman cut off her own words, then fumbled to regroup. "I'm real sorry. I didn't mean anything. You … you know, he's been one of the area's most eligible bachelors for so long, a real catch." She warmed up to the subject. "And you're the lucky lady who got him. It's all over about how he met you a couple of years back, then you broke up, then he went after you again and brought you back here, you and that little baby."

  She smiled at Annie in the mirror. "Who would've guessed that Trevor Raines would settle down to be a husband and father? And that baby, she's just an angel. So cute, with blond hair like her father's and huge green eyes like yours, and such a pretty name, Samantha, just as pretty as the little sweetie herself."

  Sammi had been
formalized to Samantha for the Raineses, the way they'd formalized her to Anne Marie. "Yes, she's terrific," Annie said and wished she was here right now instead of in Taos with Jeannie and Charlie.

  "I haven't seen her around this week."

  "My friend and her husband were here for the party and they offered to take her back to Taos with them until the wedding. They're like her aunt and uncle and she loves them. They'll bring her back when they come for the service."

  "That gives you and Mr. Trevor time together. That's so romantic." Marla sighed.

  That's what Annie had thought. Time to be with Trevor, but all it had done was make her lonely for her daughter and see how much distance there was between herself and the man she was going to marry tomorrow.

  "It's all so perfect now that you're back together and getting married. What a lovely little family you'll be."

  That was it. Sammi would have a real family. "Yes, lovely," Annie whispered.

  "Is the baby going to be in the wedding party?" Marla asked.

  "No, she's too young. She'd probably eat rose petals instead of sprinkling them on the carpet."

  She smiled at Annie in the mirror. "And Mr. and Mrs. Raines would probably smile indulgently. They're really going to spoil that little girl. You know the old saying about money can't buy happiness, but I think it sure can help."

  Annie hated the jarring thought of the money involved. It actually had little to do with her decision. The really important thing was the family. Giving Sammi what Annie hadn't had for most of her life.

  Marla stood and put her hands on her hips as she eyed Annie from head to foot. "I think that's it. I'll just make a few changes, then it's all ready for tomorrow."

  Annie touched the diamonds on the choker neckline. "It's a lovely dress."

  "It is, but you make it look even better," Marla said. "Now, let me help you get out of it so I can finish the alterations."