“You might be surprised at what rebellious, unseemly fantasies occasionally rush through my head,”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Carla Cassidy
CARLA CASSIDY
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
Chapter 16
Copyright
“You might be surprised at what rebellious, unseemly fantasies occasionally rush through my head,”
Tyler said softly. Immediately he felt an increase in Samantha’s pulse. The knowledge that his words had somehow stimulated her aroused a dangerous fever.
He released her wrist and drew a steadying breath. “However, I pick and choose my rebellions very carefully, and I know fantasies are best left as unfulfilled illusions.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Tyler,” Samantha replied, her voice husky and low. “Some fantasies make wonderful reality. You just have to know which ones to reach out for and which ones to leave alone....”
Dear Reader,
Everyone loves Linda Turner, and it’s easy to see why, when she writes books like this month’s lead title. The Proposal is the latest in her fabulous miniseries, THE LONE STAR SOCIAL CLUB. Things take a turn for the sexy when a straitlaced lady judge finds herself on the receiving end of an irresistible lawyer’s charms as he tries to argue her into his bed. The verdict? Guilty—of love in the first degree.
We’ve got another miniseries, too: Carla Cassidy’s duet called SISTERS. You’ll enjoy Reluctant Wife, and you’ll be eagerly awaiting its sequel. Reluctant Dad, coming next month. Reader favorite Marilyn Pappano is back with The Overnight Alibi, a suspenseful tale of a man framed for murder. Only one person can save him: the flame-haired beauty who spent the night in question in his bed. But where is she? And once he finds her, what is she hiding? Brittany Young joins us after writing twenty-six books for Silhouette Romance and Special Edition. The Ice Man, her debut for the line, will leave you eager for her next appearance. Nancy Gideon is back with Let Me Call You Sweetheart, a tale of small-town scandals and hot-running passion. And finally, welcome first-time author Monica McLean. Cinderella Bride is a fabulous marriage-of-convenience story, a wonderful showcase for this fine new author’s talents.
And after you read all six books, be sure to come back next month, because it’s celebration time! Intimate Moments will bring you three months’ worth of extra-special books with an extra-special look in honor of our fifteenth anniversary. Don’t miss the excitement.
Leslie J. Wainger
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
* * *
RELUCTANT WIFE
CARLA CASSIDY
Books by Carla Cassidy
Silhouette intimate Moments
One of the Good Guys #531
Try To Remember #560
Fugitive Father #604
Behind Closed Doors #778
†Reluctant Wife #850
Silhouette Romance
Patchwork Family #818
Whatever Alex Wants... #856
Fire and Spice #884
Homespun Hearts #905
Golden Girl #924
Something New #942
Pixie Dust #958
The Littlest Matchmaker #978
The Marriage Scheme #996
Anything for Danny #1048
*Deputy Daddy #1141
*Mom in the Making #1147
*An Impromptu Proposal #1152
*Daddy on the Run #1158
Pregnant with His Child... #1259
*The Baker Brood
†Sisters
Silhouette Desire
A Fleeting Moment #784
Under the Boardwalk #882
Silhouette Shadows
Swamp Secrets #4
Heart of the Beast #11
Silent Screams #25
Mystery Child #61
Silhouette Books
Shadows Short Story 1993
“Devil and the Deep Blue Sea”
The Loop
Getting it Right: Jessica
Yours Truly
Pop Goes the Question
CARLA CASSIDY
had her first Silhouette novel, Patchwork Family, published in September of 1991, and since that time she has written over twenty-five books for five Silhouette lines. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to her readers.
Chapter 1
The second most difficult thing Samantha Dark had ever done was return to her hometown of Wilford, Kansas. The most difficult had been six years ago, when she had left. No, not left. Run, she amended, as she pulled her car into a parking space in front of the local coffee shop. At the age of twenty-three, she’d run away from her family, leaving this small town behind.
Now she was back, but she was reluctant to go directly to the big house where nobody awaited her. Where no welcome would warm her.
She checked her watch. It was after seven. She might as well get a bite to eat before continuing on to the house. As she got out of her car she saw the figure of an older man walking away from the coffee shop, the limp in his gait instantly recognizable.
“Jeb?”
He paused and turned, his wrinkled face wreathing in a smile as he recognized her. “Samantha? Samantha Dark?” He hurried toward her, his limp more pronounced with his rapid steps.
Affection welled up inside her as the man gave her a hug, then stepped back. He grinned; his warm, crooked smile had always had the magic to make Samantha feel better, no matter how miserable she was. “When did you get back in town?” he asked.
“Just this moment. I haven’t even been to the house yet.” She took his hand in hers. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since driving into town. Tell me, are you still caretaking at the cemetery?”
He nodded. “Where else would I be? That’s the one place the patrons don’t complain much. I do my job, supervise the grounds and keep the kids out.”
“You never kept me out,” Samantha reminded. She released his hand, remembering all the times the cemetery and old Jeb had calmed her, consoled her. She had often run there when her father had been harsh, knowing Jeb would wipe away the tears and soothe her wounded heart.
The first time she’d met Jeb she’d been hiding behind a headstone, sobbing out her unhappiness. Jeb had found her, consoled her and that had been the beginning of a special friendship.
He grinned. “You were a special case.” He averted his gaze and his smile faltered. “Samantha, I’m glad to see you because I’ve got trouble. Maybe you can help.”
“What? What’s wrong? You know I’ll do whatever I can.”
“It’s not me. It’s my boy.”
“Dominic? What’s wrong with him?” A mental vision of Dominic Marcola in his uniform came to mind instantly. Dark hair and eyes, a good-looking man a couple of years younger than Samantha.
“He was arrested yesterday.”
“What?”
Before her eyes, Jeb seemed to age. The lines in his face appeared to deepen with his expression of helpless grief. “He was arrested. For murder.”
Samantha started in surprise as the word hung ominously i
n the evening air. When she left Wilford six years ago, Dominic had just gotten a job on the police force.
“They say he killed Abigail Monroe, but my boy wouldn’t hurt anyone. Somebody is setting him up to take a fall and he needs your help.”
“My help?”
Jeb took one of her hands in his. “Please, talk to Mr. Sinclair. He worked for your father. He’ll listen to you. Ask him to take Dominic’s case. We aren’t wealthy people, but I’ll do whatever it takes to see my boy gets the best, and Tyler Sinclair is the best defense lawyer in the state of Kansas.” He squeezed Samantha’s hand. “Please, talk to him.”
The last thing she wanted to do was ask a favor from Tyler, but she couldn’t forget how Jeb had always been there for her, drying her tears, buoying her spirits, soothing the damage her father’s cruel words had done. “I’ll talk to him and see what I can do,” she agreed. Gratefully he squeezed her hand, then released it.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he added.
Samantha nodded, unsure how to reply. She was sorry, too.
About a lot of things. She was sorry her father had passed away two weeks ago, and she hadn’t even known about it until yesterday. She was sorry he hadn’t known how completely she’d turned her life around. Most of all she was sorry she hadn’t been able to tell him she loved him.
As yet, she simply hadn’t had enough time to digest the fact of her father’s death. She didn’t even know how he’d died—whether he’d been ill or if it had been some sort of accident.
“I’ve got to get to work,” Jeb said, pulling Samantha from her thoughts. “You’ll let me know about Tyler as soon as possible?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“I’m glad you’re back, Samantha. It’s past time you came back here where you belong.” With a tired smile, he turned and limped away.
“Back where you belong.” His parting words echoed in her head as she watched him leave. The problem was she wasn’t certain exactly where she belonged.
She had run from here, seeking happiness in distant places, amid strangers. It hadn’t worked. Somehow she’d known all along that her happiness would eventually be tied to this place, and to exorcising the personal demons that had driven her away.
She got back into her car, realizing all thoughts of hunger had fled with Jeb’s plea for help. Although the idea of facing Tyler Sinclair was repugnant, it would have to be done sooner or later. She supposed it might as well be now.
Tyler Sinclair. When Tyler was seventeen years old, Samantha’s father, Jamison Jackson Dark, had taken the boy under his wing. Tyler had become the son Jamison never had, and Jamison had directed all of his affection, all of his praise on the darkly handsome young man Samantha had grown to despise.
If Tyler ran true to form, the odds were good he would still be at the office. Of course, just because he’d been a workaholic six years ago didn’t mean things hadn’t changed.
A tiny flicker of triumph flared inside her as she pulled up in front of her father’s law office and saw a light burning on the second floor. She’d been right. Tyler was here.
Samantha parked the car but remained sitting, gathering her courage to go inside. She pulled her keys from the ignition and found the one that would open the front door of the two-story building. She wondered vaguely if her father had changed the locks. She doubted it. Jamison had thrived on the very sameness of his life. He’d orchestrated it to provide a rigid methodical predictability that had driven Samantha crazy.
The building was gray brick with wood accents. It was impressive, radiating a dignity out of place amid the other storefronts. Samantha’s entire life, until the time she’d left Wilford, had revolved around this place.
Her father had not only worked here, he’d also guided his two daughters’ lives from here, laying down family rules and dispensing discipline from behind his massive oak desk. Samantha remembered one year when he’d been so involved in a sticky case, they’d celebrated Christmas in his office.
Samantha had always loved this building. She loved the smell of paper and ink, the aroma of coffee warmed too long and the lingering scent of fast food from working lunches. All the odors together combined in her mind to form what was to her the scent of justice.
She finally got out of her car and walked toward the front entrance. The large copper plaque above the door announced the establishment. Justice Inc. Jamison Jackson Dark: Senior Partner. The latter had always amused Samantha. Senior partner? Her father had been the only partner.
The key worked. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, careful to lock the door behind her. Silence greeted her. The lobby was small, but tastefully furnished in shades of rich burgundy and forest green.
Nothing appeared to have changed. Except now her father was dead. She couldn’t believe he’d passed away and neither Tyler nor her sister, Melissa, had contacted her. She shoved aside this thought, refusing to be ambushed by any unexpected grief. She needed all her wits about her to deal with Tyler.
Her father’s office was on the first floor at the back of the building, but Samantha didn’t go there. Instead she headed for the stairway.
As she climbed the steps, her mind filled with a vision of Jeb’s face—the worry lines on his forehead, the deep grief that shadowed his eyes. He’d had the look of hopeless fear that she recalled seeing in the eyes of many of her father’s clients.
The idea of Dominic murdering anyone was absurd. She remembered him as an intense, sober young man who had aspired to be a police officer since he was a child. Samantha had attended the ceremony inducting him into the force and would never forget the pride on his face, and on his father’s.
Jeb was right about one thing. Tyler Sinclair was not only the best defense lawyer in the state of Kansas, he was probably the best west of the Mississippi. For now. The words shimmered in her head like a golden promise. Eventually, she intended to give him a run for his money.
His office door was closed, but she could hear the faint sounds of life emanating from within. The shuffle of papers. The creak of a chair. Even through the door she imagined she could feel his energy. Powerful. Vibrant. Arrogant.
She narrowed her eyes, irritated by her fanciful notions. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into his office. He sat at the desk facing her. At the sight of her, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Hello, Samantha. I’ve been expecting you for the last two weeks.”
Immediate irritation reared up inside her. “That’s strange. How could you be expecting me when you didn’t even bother to let me know Father had died?”
He reached into his top drawer, withdrew a handful of letters and tossed them on the top of his desk. Samantha took a step closer, close enough to see that the letters were addressed to her at her old address and had been stamped return to sender. She felt the heat of color flush her face. “I moved. I guess the forwarding change of address expired.”
“That makes it difficult to get in touch with you.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Please. We have some things to discuss.”
Although she would have preferred to stand, feeling as though she needed the advantage of being taller than him while he sat, she moved to the chair and sat down.
“Just give me a moment,” Tyler said and directed his attention back to some paperwork in front of him. As he made notations on the top sheet of a legal pad, Samantha took the opportunity to study him.
Six years hadn’t changed him except to enhance his features, making him more handsome than ever. He’d been twenty-six years old when she left. That made him thirty-two now.
There was no sign of gray in his thick, styled, black hair, and the lines that radiated like starbursts at the corners of his eyes only added character. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that he was alone, he still wore his suit jacket, with tie neatly in place. He looked as fresh and vibrant as he probably had when he left for work this morning.
Samantha was aware that her lon
g day showed in the wrinkles of her dress and the messy escape of hair from her braid. She’d worn her lipstick off long before noon and hadn’t replaced it, and she suspected her mascara had smudged dark shadows beneath her eyes.
Tyler had always made her feel this way—unkempt and inadequate. Samantha straightened her back, reminding herself she was no longer the out-of-control twenty-three-year-old she’d been when she left here. She was twenty-nine, had completed law school with grades in the top-ten percentile, and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by the shrewd, handsome man in front of her.
“There.” He set down his pen and closed the manila file he’d been working on. Once again he leaned back in his chair, his gaze so blue, so direct, but with a touch of amusement that made her want to scream. “Since we couldn’t contact you to tell you about Jamison’s death, how did you find out?”
“I have a subscription to the Wilford Sun. Unfortunately I don’t read it every day. Yesterday I was doing a little catching up and found his obituary.”
The humor left his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to hear about it that way.”
She shrugged. “It’s my own fault. I didn’t think about the forwarding address expiring, and my phone number was unlisted.” It was also her own fault for intentionally staying so out of touch with everything and everyone in Wilford. Remorse shot through her at this thought. She laced her hands together in her lap, wanting to look as cool and composed as he did. “How did he die?” Her voice cracked slightly with strain, belying the aura she’d tried to maintain.
“An accident. He fell from the balcony in your mother’s bedroom.”
Samantha stared at him. It was the same way her mother had died when Samantha was six years old. “That’s impossible,” she replied in a whisper. “Father hadn’t been in her room for over twenty years—not since she died. He certainly would never have gone onto that balcony. He was scared of heights.”
Reluctant Wife Page 1