by Renee Roszel
“Mary,” he said, unable to keep from smiling. “I was looking for—”
“Just exactly who are you!” she demanded, chin high.
For a second he’d forgotten everything but his relief that she hadn’t bolted for parts unknown. “Oh—right.” His smile died, and he nodded in understanding. “About that…”
“Never mind about that! I don’t know why I even asked, because I never want to speak to you again!” Her angry expression altered slightly and she winced, as though having a thought she wasn’t completely happy about. “But—but before I go, I need to know who hired the PI and the lawyer to get Becca back? Was it Bonner?”
Remorse twisted his gut. Mary still found him detestable. That reality plunged him into gloom. Why admit he hired the PI and called in some favors to hire the best family law expert in Colorado to get Mary’s half sister for her? The last thing he wanted from her was grudging indebtedness. “I’m Bonner’s lawyer,” he said solemnly, “not his father. I don’t know everything he does.”
Mary stared, her frown dubious. “Don’t give me that malarkey. My guess is you know more about what Bonner does than Bonner knows!”
Taggart heard a sound at his back and realized the courtroom door had burst open. A second later an arm fell heavily across his shoulders. “I can’t believe you kept me out of the clink that time, man! That stuff you said about me was brilliant. You almost had the prosecutor in tears. I’m practically a saint.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.” Taggart peered at his friend. “And you’re not scot-free, old buddy. You have five years of probation to serve. And Judge Bancroft’s ruling was damned imaginative.”
“Well, it’s not jail.” Bonner’s glance gravitated to Mary. Taggart watched his features change from kidding to lecherous. “My, my, who’s this?”
Taggart looked at Mary who was watching Bonner, her expression curious. He had a feeling she guessed she was finally looking at Miz Witty’s real grandson. “Mary O’Mara, this is the infamous Bonner Wittering.”
Bonn laughed, slapped Taggart’s shoulder, his gaze remaining on Mary. “He means interesting. Poor slob’s never been good with words.” He held out a hand. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Mary.”
Taggart wasn’t surprised that Bonner didn’t recognize the name. Typical of his live-for-the-moment mentality, once the problem was solved, he forgot Mary was the one who’d written the intimidating “out of the will” letters.
Taggart could tell when Mary came to the same realization. Her gaze flashed to meet his, fiery indignation and glittery gratitude illuminated her eyes in an amazing display. In that one instant, she knew Bonner had no idea who she was, and therefore, couldn’t have been responsible for helping her and Becca. Her attention returning to Bonn, she politely accepted his hand. “Mr. Wittering,” she said. “The pleasure is all yours.”
Removing her hand from his grasp, she shifted her gaze to Taggart. “Then I really do have you to thank for Becca?” She looked pained, almost pleading that it not be true. He was sickened to see how desperately she didn’t want to be indebted to a sleazy, rat-rescuing lawyer.
“What’s going on?” Bonner cut in, removing his arm from about Taggart’s shoulders and facing him. “What did you do to this lovely woman to make her angry with us?”
Taggart grunted out a caustic chuckle and shook his head at his friend. “She’s the Mary who works for your grandmother. The one who wrote you the letters. Remember?”
Bonner looked surprised and glanced at her in disbelief. “Her?” he asked. “She’s the crotchety old battle-ax you went out there to sweet talk?”
“That’s why you wanted me to go, not why I went,” Taggart said. “And I’m afraid even your charm won’t be enough this time. She hates us, and with good reason.” He held a hand toward his friend. “Good luck Bonn. Make this work. You can turn your life around.”
Bonner accepted Taggart’s hand, though he frowned. “You’re not serious about being through as my lawyer. What’ll I do without you, man?”
They shook hands and Taggart released his grip. “You’ll grow up.”
Bonner peered at Mary, transferring his scowl to her. “Ah, I think the dawn just broke.” He cocked his head, eyeing her critically. “Honey, if I can be credited with any brains at all, then I’m guessing you’re the reason Tag’s causing me all this grief.”
She met his accusing frown, her defiance changing to confusion. “What?”
Bonner indicated Taggart with a brusque wave. “Hell, Tag’s leaving Boston and a big money law firm, moving west to have some hand-to-mouth, hick practice in the mountains. Craziest of all, he says he wants to do free legal stuff for kids, or some such nonsense, while he leaves me here to fend for myself!” He thumped Taggart on the arm. “Dang! Five years’ probation doing community service as athletic coach of an inner city recreational club.” He shook his head. “All those grubby kids. I don’t know, man. Now that I think on it, maybe I’d be better off in jail.”
Taggart experienced a rush of compassion for his friend and managed a brief grin. “No, you wouldn’t. You’ll be a great athletic director. You love sports and the kids will love you. You’re a funny guy—a good man, Bonn. I have faith in you.”
He turned to Mary. Her stiffened stance and critical expression told him all too clearly there was little left to say between them. He was suddenly bone-weary. Seeing her again, knowing his love for her was without hope, reopened the wound inside him, and oh, how it bled. He ached to hold her, but resisted, stuffing his hands into his slacks pockets.
With a brisk nod of farewell, he murmured, “Goodbye Miss O’Mara.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARY reeled from everything Bonner had said. She was having trouble absorbing it all.
Taggart’s swift exit gave him a hefty head start. When she realized he was gone, she dashed after him. Why couldn’t she let him go? Why did she feel an urgent need to catch him? Why was she tugging on his suit sleeve? “What did he mean when he said you’re leaving your law firm and moving west? You’re not going to set up a law practice in Colorado—are you?”
“Yes, I am.” He continued to walk rapidly, and Mary had to run to keep up.
Her heart fluttered at the thought of Bonn—er—Taggart Lancaster being so close, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d pretended to be Bonner, to play Miz Witty for a fool, even if she had known all along he wasn’t her grandson.
“How could you go along with Bonner’s scheme to cozy up to Miz Witty for his inheritance?” she demanded.
“How could I…” Taggart came to a halt, turning on her. “Why do you think I told Bonner I couldn’t be his lawyer anymore?” His tone was harsh. “I thought he only wanted to ease her last days. When I found out he’d conned me, sent me there to insure his place in her will, I told him that was the last straw. I was quitting. I’d get him through this insider trading mess, but that was it.”
Mary could see the truth glowing in his eyes. Those earthy eyes had always confused her with what looked like, but couldn’t be, genuine sincerity. She realized now that the whole time, in all things but the name he’d gone by, he had been sincere, in everything he’d said or done.
“I called Miz Witty and told her the truth,” he went on. “She said she knew I wasn’t Bonner, but decided to play along.”
“Why?” Mary asked, dumbfounded.
He hailed a cab and Mary instinctively jumped in with him.
“Where are you going?” He looked as puzzled to see her there as she felt.
“I don’t know—yet,” she said, very confused, yet strangely giddy. “Did Miz Witty say why she played along?”
He frowned, glanced away for an instant, then turned back to watch her intently. “Something about thinking you and I would make a nice couple.”
Mortified, Mary couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had Miz Witty sensed how Mary felt? From the first moment she’d met Taggart Lancaster, she’d tried to hate him, but failed miser
ably. She blinked, gathering her courage and poise.
He was close. She could feel his heat and it made her feel good. She was glad simply to be near him, no matter how foolish that gladness might be. “What about Lee?” she asked, reluctantly returning her gaze to his.
“What about her?” he asked.
“Is she willing to move to Colorado?”
“I hope not.” He looked as though he’d never told a truer truth in his life.
Mary watched him with bewilderment. “But, she as much as told me you were getting married.”
“Not to her.”
“Not to her?” she echoed.
“No,” he whispered, his gaze holding hers in its soft grasp. “Lee said a lot of things—stupid things.”
Recalling Lee’s cruel assertion that he’d laughed at her the whole time he’d been in Wittering, she had to ask, “Was one of the stupid things, that you thought I had a naive crush on you, and you found it funny?”
He looked shocked. “What?”
She experienced an odd upwelling of emotion. Was it a frantic surge of longing? Of hope? “Then you weren’t laughing at me?”
He shook his head. “No. Never,” he murmured, in the gathering darkness. “I told Lee you hated me, whether you knew me as Bonner Wittering, playboy, or Taggart Lancaster, high-priced shyster.” He paused for a heartbeat, then went on, “It was never funny, Mary. Believe me, every day I hated myself—and the lie—more and more.” His assertion held great depth of emotion and honest regret. Suddenly, Mary no longer doubted him, could no longer find anything to dislike about him, and a great sorrow lifted away.
“Lee was angry, spiteful.” His compelling eyes held her prisoner. She could hardly breathe. “You see, I told her I didn’t love her. I also told her who I do love.”
She leaned toward him, compelled by some foolish longing. “You did?” Her throat was dry, her words scratchy.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I told her—I love you.”
Her heart thumped erratically. The noise was so loud she knew she must have heard wrong. “Who?” she asked, barely able to make a sound.
His expression serious, his dark eyes probing, he said, “You, Mary. I love you. From the first moment I saw you, I was lost.” His nearness, the shimmer in his eyes, was the answer to a prayer.
He took her hand, lifted it, brushing his lips across her knuckles. She began to tingle with anticipation, with need. “I didn’t think it could happen again,” he murmured.
His last word caught her off guard. “Again?”
He nodded. “I was married—for three years. Three perfect years. After Annalisa died—I didn’t even hope…” The sentence tapered off, and Mary sensed he was having difficulty retaining his composure. “Then suddenly there you were, and my heart was yours.”
His gaze was as gentle as a caress, his eyes sad. “I know you hate me, but I hoped, maybe one day you might forgive me. And if I were in Wittering, practicing law—helping children, and people like your dad, get justice—that we might…” His words vaguely unsteady, he let the sentence die away.
She stared. His disclosure was slow to register on her dizzied senses. “You—you love me?” she asked in disbelief. Did he really say it, or had she finally gone around the bend to complete insanity?
He nodded. “More than life.”
He held her hand. The act was so sweet, so pure, she wanted to cry. Strange new, miraculous thoughts began to race through her mind. “You love me?” she repeated, her voice cracking with emotion. She adored the sound of it but had a hard time believing.
He smiled, the expression melancholy, charmingly so. “Don’t be so shocked. It isn’t—necessarily catching.”
Her heart soared into heaven. The beauty of his quiet admission filled her heart, restored her soul. “But—but it is!” she cried, then shook herself. How could she blurt such an idiotic remark? “I mean—I love you. I didn’t want to, but—but I couldn’t help myself.”
He stared for a moment, wordlessly, his look so galvanizing it sent a current of electricity zinging through her. Then, like sunshine breaking through after a bitter ice storm, his smile appeared. Somewhere on high, Mary was sure she could hear a chorus of angels burst into song.
“Well, then…” He took her face between his big, warm hands. “I have a question I want to ask you.”
She cupped her hands over his, her whole being filled with a radiant, new peace. “Ask away.”
“I was hoping—a little nursing student with a wicked temper might consent to marry me.” He paused, his expression going serious. “If she’ll have a reformed shyster who is tired of saving rats from sinking ships.”
She studied his lean, sharp-edged face. Happy tears came to her eyes. “I think I can speak for her…” Slipping her arms about his neck, she brought him closer. “…when I say—yes—oh, yes—my darling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He took her in his arms. “I love you, Mary O’Mara. I’ll love you forever and ever…”
His vow of undying passion tasted hot and sweet against her lips—a delicious prelude to paradise.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6590-8
SURRENDER TO A PLAYBOY
First North American Publication 2003.
Copyright © 2003 by Renee Roszel Wilson.
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