"And because our love encompasses our past, present and future..."
"I, Nick, wish you to be my wife."
"And I, Martha, will be your wife."
"Forever."
"Forever."
Nick slipped the braided gold band, warm from his touch, on the third finger of Martha's left hand. She slipped a larger ring on his ring finger. They stood looking down at their entwined hands, so newly gilded. They were both overcome by the enormity of their emotions.
"Kiss the bride!" called Faye, bringing them back to reality.
Nick tenderly brought his hand up and brushed it against the baby's breath in Martha's hair, almost as if she was too fragile to touch. Then his arms went around her and crushed her to him, and the flowers in her hair were tickling his cheek, and he felt the dampness on his face and thought it was Martha's tears of happiness.
"It's raining again!" cried Lindsay.
"Run for it!" said the cello player, who played a fifteen-hundred-dollar instrument and was loath to have it ruined at a wedding where the principals seemed to find rain an enjoyable occurrence.
There was a great commotion as people simultaneously tried to fold up the musicians' chairs and run for the cabin.
"Look at those two," Sigmund said to Martha's mother once they had reached the haven of the porch.
"They don't even have enough sense to come in out of the rain," Faye said reprovingly.
Nick kissed Martha again. "Well, my Cheechako bride, I guess we'd better go in. Sorry the weather didn't cooperate."
Martha only smiled up at him. Then, laughing, she brushed the rain and the joyful tears from her cheeks and ran hand in hand with Nick to the front porch of the cabin where their guests waited.
"Martha, can I get Otter out now?" Davey wanted to know.
Martha glanced up at Nick, who shrugged and smiled.
"Not before I get a kiss from my new son," Martha said, swinging the boy up into her arms despite the mud on the soles of his shoes.
"It's Mother Martha!" announced Lindsay gleefully.
"And here are some of her mouthwatering cookies," Hallie said, appearing in the doorway to pass around the platter.
"Mother Martha's Mouthwatering Cookies!" exclaimed Nick. "That's it!"
"That's what?" Martha set Davey on the floor so he could go unpen the dog.
"The name we're going to give to your cookies! Mother Martha's Mouthwatering Cookies! We'll have it printed on the boxes and sell them from Sitka to San Diego and beyond, wait and see!"
"That will be thanks to our online presence, which will include smoked salmon and other gift items from Novak and Sons. We'll be able to sell our products anywhere in the world." Martha had already set up the website, which would be managed by one of Randy's uncles, who had extensive experience with online marketing in the Lower Forty-eight.
"Can't you two stop discussing business on your wedding day?" asked an exasperated Faye.
At that moment, a renegade wind cracked around the corner of the house, driving them all inside.
"I can't believe you're really going to live way out here in the wilderness," fretted Georgine with a distracted look out the window.
"We're going to buy a house in town," Nick said. "Martha will have a big kitchen where she can test new kinds of cookies, and Davey will have friends nearby to play with."
"And I'm finally going to go live with Wanda," Hallie said with obvious satisfaction.
"We'll stay at Williwaw Lodge on weekends," Martha said.
"And vacations," Nick said.
"That sounds pretty good," admitted a much-relieved Georgine. "Martha?"
"Yes, Mother."
"I can't tell you how pleased I am that you found such a beautiful ready-made family and so much love." Georgine beamed at everyone.
Martha hugged her and reached for the tray of cookies. "I'll munch to that," she said before handing them around.
Later, when their guests had all been ferried back to Ketchikan and Martha and Nick were alone on the Tabor, which was anchored in a secluded cove, Martha nestled in Nick's arms in the Tabor's narrow bed and said, "Thank you for such a beautiful wedding."
"Thank you for such a beautiful wife," he said.
"Do you wish it hadn't rained during the ceremony?" It was still raining, but softly.
"No. Do you?"
"No. Although for a while there I thought we might have to replace the cello player's cello."
Nick laughed. "We got a little wet," he agreed.
"We kissed in the rain," Martha said.
"And will probably kiss in the rain many, many more times," Nick said.
"Nick, do you know I love you more than—"
"Than what?"
"Than even chocolate-chip cookies?"
He studied her, his eyes gleaming. "Now that is a lot," he said. "Is it because I taste better?"
Martha laughed and rested her cheek against his. "I'm not sure," she said.
"Well, why don't you test me out?" he murmured, lowering his lips to hers.
They kissed, and then Martha pulled away. "I forgot to ask you what you thought of Sigmund's wedding gift."
He peered at her in the faint light from the kerosene lantern hanging over the bed. "You certainly picked a strange time to ask," he said. He barely recalled Sigmund's gift; it had looked like some kind of exotic rock.
"Well?"
"It's—uh, nice, I guess," Nick said. "What is it?"
"It's a crystal. It's supposed to improve the vibrations of our marriage."
Nick stared for a moment, then threw his head back in laughter.
"Where," Nick asked wickedly, "are we supposed to put it?"
"On a shelf or something, I suppose."
"What would improve the vibrations is if you would put your arms around me, like this and this," Nick said, demonstrating. "And your head like so, and your legs like so," he continued.
"I think I'm beginning to vibrate already," admitted Martha. Smiling, she lifted her lips to his.
And then the only sound was of the gently falling rain.
The End
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Page forward for an excerpt from
MORGAN'S CHILD
The Circles of Love Series
Book Three
Excerpt from
Morgan's Child
Circles of Love Series
Book Three
by
Pamela Browning
Award-winning Author
MORGAN'S CHILD
Awards & Accolades
Waldenbooks Romance Bestseller
"Maybe if you can give me some idea about your business," Morgan said, impatient because she'd interrupted his private dart game. This woman looked angry, worried, and very, very serious.
"It's personal," she said, and then she lowered her eyes to her huge belly and lifted them back to his. He stared at her, dumbfounded. She was implying—she must mean…
After he forced a courteous expression, he turned back to the woman, who had stood up. Now that she was on his eye level, he saw the panic behind her eyes.
"My office is this way," he said, wondering what was going on here. He had an idea that she was going to be big trouble.
He ushered her into his office.
"Please sit down," he said.
She sat. Here in the natural brightness of his office, the woman looked prettier.
Her blond hair hung past her shoulders in sun-ble
ached stripes, and she was appraising him with eyes as clear and gray as the summer sea at dusk. The smooth planes of her face were agreeable to the eye, but she was clearly a person of no sophistication, and as for those clothes, they were outlandish—a huge brownish-green dress with a ridiculous flirty ruffle around the hemline. She wore a flowing tie-dyed scarf around her neck, but it must have been an afterthought because the colors had nothing to do with those of the dress, which looked like a camouflage tent for an army tank.
"I don't believe I heard your name," he said.
"Kate Sinclair."
"Will you state your business?"
"I thought about writing you a letter, but I couldn't think of any way to phrase it, and I thought about telephoning, but I was sure you'd think I was some kind of oddball. But now..." and her words dwindled away. To his horror, her eyes filled with tears.
She pulled a clean white handkerchief out of her handbag and pressed it to each eyelid in turn.
"Ms. Sinclair, I wish you'd get to the point," Morgan said.
"This baby—" she said, folding her hands protectively over her abdomen "—this baby is yours."
Morgan leaned back in his chair and regarded her with distaste. Then, without meaning to, he winced. He'd forgotten where he'd hidden the dart.
"I've never seen you before in my life," he said, changing positions and unobtrusively sticking his hand in his pocket. The point of the dart had maneuvered itself into a most inconvenient place and was poking a very tender part of his anatomy.
"Courtney is an acquaintance of mine. She wanted to have a baby without actually bearing it, so I volunteered."
Morgan wasn't having any luck with the dart. He couldn't reach it without twisting his torso into an awkward and obvious position.
"Now I think it was the stupidest thing I've ever done," Kate continued, oblivious to his discomfort, "but at the time—at the time—" and she buried her face in the handkerchief. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
Now she wouldn't see, so Morgan writhed uncomfortably and plucked the dart out of his pocket.
She didn't notice, he thought thankfully when she lifted her head. He slipped the dart into a desk drawer and accorded her his full attention.
"Am I to understand that my ex-wife asked you to serve as a surrogate mother?" he asked, ending his sentence on exactly the right note of disbelief.
"Yes," she whispered.
"And you claim that this child of yours is the result of those fertilized embryos that were given by the court into the custody of my ex-wife?"
Kate nodded miserably.
"Would you mind telling me what in God's name this has to do with me? She insisted on custody, and she was awarded it. I have nothing more to do with the matter." His eyes blazed with fury.
"Courtney doesn't want the baby now," Kate said. "Her new husband says there's no room for a baby in their lives."
Morgan's Child
Circles of Love Series
Book Three
by
Pamela Browning
~
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Morgan's Child
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Pamela is a former newspaper reporter, columnist and feature writer who has written 50 books for adults and children. She's worked as a college public relations guru, an editor, and a cruise lecturer.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Author Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Excerpt from MORGAN'S CHILD (Circles of Love Series, Book 3)
Meet the Author
Kisses in the Rain Page 22