by Rebecca York
She moved her lips, but no words escaped from her constricted throat.
“Amanda, when two people are going to get married, they confide in each other.’’
She felt hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat and struggled to hold it back. “That’s the problem. Don’t you understand? That’s the problem!’’ she almost shouted, hearing her voice fill the darkness of the bedroom.
Matt’s hands gripped her shoulders. “For God’s sake, what is it?’’
“I can’t marry you,’’ she gasped out the words that had been building inside her for painful hours.
His fingers tightened on her flesh, but he didn’t speak.
“I mean, I’m not sure it’s the best thing for me…or the baby. I’ve got to think about my child.’’ When she tried to pull away, he held her fast. Desperate to make him understand, she rushed on. “Nothing that happens to us is like real life. We’re on the run, and you’re protecting me. But what happens when the danger is over?’’
“You want an escape clause? You want me to tell you I’ll turn you loose as soon as we figure out how to thwart Logan?’’
“No!’’ she answered quickly, surprised by the vehemence of the denial.
“What do you want?’’
“I don’t know,’’ she answered honestly. “It’s just that the idea of standing up in front of a justice of the peace—’’
“A minister,’’ he corrected her.
She felt a shiver travel over her skin. “A minister. That’s worse! We’re going to be exchanging solemn vows.’’
“I know.’’
“But how can anything be solemn and serious in a fantasy town where volcanos go off like Old Faithful and pirate ships are down the street from the Statue of Liberty?’’
Gently he turned her toward him. “Because we’re taking it seriously,’’ he answered, tipping her face toward him. When he felt her tremble again, he rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “You’re still afraid to trust me, aren’t you?’’ he asked. “Because so many people let you down.’’
“I don’t know,’’ she whispered, pressing her face against his chest.
When she heard him curse under his breath, she raised her questioning gaze to his.
“Dammit, I was trying to avoid this,’’ he growled.
“Avoid what?’’ she asked, every muscle in her body tensing.
“If you think about it, you’ll realize there’s only one logical reason why I’d be pushing to marry you!’’
“What?’’
She heard him suck in a breath, then let the air out on a rush. “Because you’ve crawled into my soul. Into my heart. Because I love you.’’
She stared at him in dumb-eyed astonishment. “How can you? I mean, you don’t even know me.’’
He answered with a bark of a laugh. “I knew you’d say that.’’ She felt his chest heave. “If you want to call it chemistry, you can. If you want to call me crazy, you can do that, too. I prefer to think I’ve found the woman who’s perfect for me. I gave you the reasons before. Do you need to hear them again?’’
Stunned, she could only continue to stare at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light.
“Dinner this evening with you was torture, because I kept thinking you were going to tell me you’d changed your mind. And then I didn’t have the guts to come in here to bed until I figured you were asleep. If you have an ounce of compassion in your body, you’ll put me out of my misery and tell me the wedding is still on.’’
“Oh, Matt.’’ A sob escaped from her throat, and he gathered her close.
“Honey, don’t let the things that happened to you before you met me keep you from trusting my motives.’’
Another sob racked her. “How can you stand being hooked up with a woman who can’t…who can’t…?’’
“Shush,’’ he murmured, rocking her in his arms. “I know you’re scared. I know how hard it is for you to believe in what we have. But it’s real. I promise. Trust your instincts.’’
“What do you mean?’’
“Does our being together feel right?’’
She thought about that for a few moments. “Yes.’’
He brushed his lips against the side of her cheek. “Good. Because getting married is the right thing to do. For all three of us. You, me and the baby.’’
“I want to believe that,’’ she breathed.
“Then let me take care of you. For the rest of your life.’’
“I don’t want someone to take care of me. I want to be your partner!’’
“I guess I said that wrong. You are my partner. My other half.’’
She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, absorbing his warmth, feeling a calm come over her.
He held her for long moments, then murmured, “Better?’’
“Yes.’’
“Don’t do that to me again. Don’t shut me out.’’
She nestled in his arms, feeling warm and safe at last. And as his hands stroked over her back and shoulders, the feeling of comfort transmuted into something more sensual.
“Matt, I want to make love with you,’’ she whispered.
“Tomorrow night.’’
She raised her head, looked down at him. “You’re not in the mood?’’
“Oh, I’m in the mood, all right,’’ he answered, pulling her hips against his so that she could feel the truth of the statement. “But we’re going to wait.’’
“Why?’’
“Because I arranged to have our wedding ceremony tomorrow. And if we both practice a little self-denial until after it’s over, the wedding night is going to be a lot more memorable.’’
“Why didn’t you tell me the ceremony is tomorrow?’’
“Because I didn’t want to hear you say you’d changed your mind.’’ He nuzzled her cheek, then eased away from her. “You think you can sleep now?’’
“Yes,’’ she answered, the syllable ending on a yawn as she snuggled into her pillow.
WHEN SHE WOKE the next morning, she found him in the living room, sitting at a breakfast table reading the New York Times and looking pleased.
“It’s here,’’ he said.
“What?’’ she asked, sitting down and taking a sip of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
He pointed to a classified ad for a 1931 Pierce Arrow.
“They did it? Your friends are going to make sure someone takes care of the ranch?’’
“It looks that way.’’
“Is it a trick?’’
He shook his head. “If Randolph Security says they’ll do something, they will.’’
“But it’s still not safe to surrender to them?’’
He shook his head. “Not until I have some proof that will get them out of their legal obligation to Roy Logan. Otherwise he can make life hell for them—since I was on their payroll when I went berserk.’’
“You’re not berserk.’’
“Tell it to the judge.’’
MATT JANGLED THE CAR KEYS in his hand. “The wedding is at six this evening,’’ he informed Amanda, watching her eyes.
“Okay.’’
“Until then, I’ll continue with the investigation of the syndicate members—and do some shopping.’’
“For what?’’
“Wedding outfits.’’
She seemed to take the news without panicking, but he wasn’t going to kid himself. He could walk in here this evening, and she could still say the deal was off again.
He wanted to sweep her into his arms and cling to her. Instead he kissed her on the cheek, then made a hasty exit before she said something else he didn’t want to hear.
The only way he could get through the endless day was by staying busy every minute. First he asked around about Tallwood, the man who had been killed, and found out that the guy had been a pillar of the community. Then he checked on two more of his associates, Will Marbella and Harry Hill. Again, there was nothing out of the ordinary about th
eir backgrounds. They were all macho guys who liked to hunt and fish—when they weren’t busy making money.
By the afternoon, he was jumpy as a bullfrog on a hot rock. So he knocked off and double-checked the arrangements at the wedding chapel, then went shopping. Instead of a tuxedo, he bought himself a Brett Maverick outfit—old-fashioned black suit, ruffled shirt, string tie and black broad-brimmed hat—to fit his gambler image. Then he picked out a dress he knew would be a knockout on Amanda.
He stopped in his tracks when he got back to their room and caught sight of her. Apparently she’d been busy, too. But her time had been spent in the hotel beauty salon. Her golden hair was tamed into a sophisticated, unswept hairdo. Her eyes were accented with subtle liner and shadow, and her skin glowed with a hint of blusher.
“You look like a movie star,’’ he breathed.
“Oh, go on!’’
“I mean it.’’
“I’ve never spent a day indulging myself like this. It was expensive.’’
“Feel free to do it any time you want,’’ he said, then held out the dress box that had been tucked under his arm. “Let’s see how you look in this.’’
“I hope it’s big enough.’’
“It’s a size fifty tent.’’
She made a face as she took the box, then disappeared into the bathroom.
He went to the bar and poured a shot of bourbon, downed it and thought about another. But he only allowed himself the one.
An eternity later Amanda emerged wearing a peach-colored Victorian gown trimmed with lace and ribbons that made her look as if she’d stepped out of an old photograph.
“Matt, it’s beautiful,’’ she breathed.
“Very beautiful,’’ he agreed, crossing to her and folding her close. “I think you’re the most beautiful bride this town has ever seen.’’
“Maybe the roundest,’’ she murmured.
“Naw. They probably have weddings in the delivery room here.’’
Later he didn’t remember the drive to the wedding chapel. He just remembered stepping into the reception area, which was furnished like an old-fashioned parlor with brocade couches, globe lamps and crystal chandeliers. It was the perfect setting for the outfits he’d bought.
He was aware of Amanda standing beside him, looking as dazed as he felt. Then the Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Philips stepped forward to greet them, followed by two assistants, a man and a woman who would act as witnesses.
“My, but don’t you look fancy,’’ the minister’s plump wife chirped. “We’ll get started with the ceremony in a minute. But first you have to fill out some forms,’’ she advised, her gray taffeta skirt rustling as she led the way to an antique mahogany desk.
Matt held his breath as he watched Amanda write in the basic information required. When she signed her name, he felt as though he’d leaped another major hurdle. And when she accepted the spray of white orchids he’d ordered and cradled them in her arm, he relaxed another notch.
“This way.’’ Mrs. Philips gestured toward tall oak doors set in a stone archway. They stepped into a chapel that looked to have been transported from an English estate. The ceiling featured Gothic arches that could have been a hundred years old, and there was a stunning rose window at the front with a light behind it to set off the colors of the glass.
It seemed almost anachronistic when Mrs. Philips asked them to stop so she could snap several photographs.
“I didn’t think we were going to have pictures,’’ Amanda whispered.
“We’re having all the trimmings,’’ Matt corrected, his hand tightening on hers. “And later we’re going to do it all over again, in front of our friends.’’
She nodded gravely, and they posed for the photo. He led her to the altar, his heart drumming so hard inside his chest that he could hardly breathe.
“This place is beautiful,’’ she whispered, looking around at the stone walls and the three rows of dark wood benches.
“I was hoping you’d like it,’’ he managed to reply, amazed that he could make his voice sound normal.
The Reverend Mr. Philips, who had slipped on a traditional black robe over his suit, cleared his throat. “Are we ready to begin?’’
Every muscle in Matt’s body tensed as he waited to hear Amanda’s answer. When she said yes, he almost allowed himself to relax. But it wasn’t until they’d said the ancient vows and exchanged the gold rings he’d bought that he felt a profound surge of relief.
Then the minister pronounced them man and wife and told Matt he could kiss the bride.
He looked into her face, seeing that she still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“It’s all real. We’re husband and wife. For keeps,’’ he whispered as he gathered her close and touched his lips to hers. He’d meant it to be a light, short kiss, but the moment her mouth softened under his, he was lost. Pulling her into a fierce embrace, he melded his mouth to hers, tasting her, then greedily deepened the kiss, thinking of how lucky he was to have made her his bride.
The sound of the Reverend Mr. Philips clearing his throat reminded him that he and Amanda were not alone. Blinking, he brought the chapel back into focus.
“Come out in the parlor and cut the cake,’’ Mrs. Philips said brightly. “And let’s have a toast to your happiness.’’
Back in the reception area, a small wedding cake waited along with champagne glasses. Amanda elected to have ginger ale; Matt sipped champagne, wondering how long he had to stay here before he could whisk Amanda back to their hotel room and into bed for what he knew was going to be a very memorable wedding night.
The cake cutting took another fifteen minutes with Mrs. Philips fussing around, posing them for more photos. They were Polaroids, as it turned out, so Amanda was able to take them in a large envelope, which the minister’s wife tucked inside a white album along with the marriage certificate.
They made their escape then, and Matt left Amanda by the door while he walked around the side of the building to the parking lot.
He was inserting the key in the car door lock when a loud voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You son of a bitch. I swore if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you.’’
Chapter Twelve
Amanda rounded the building in time to see a tall blond man leap toward Matt. She’d never laid eyes on him before in her life, but she knew that he was intent on mayhem.
“Watch out!’’ she screamed.
Matt was already whirling to protect his back, already ducking fast enough to avoid the large, solid fist aimed at his jaw. But the keys in his hand went flying.
All his attention was centered on the attacker. His own fist came up and connected with the man’s shoulder. Then he spotted her from the corner of his eye and shouted, “Amanda, get out of here.’’
To her dismay, the distraction cost him a fist in the gut. He ducked the next blow, then initiated an assault of his own.
The Reverend Mr. Philips and his wife must have had a surveillance camera aimed at the parking lot, because they came charging out the side door of the chapel, stopping short several yards from the brawling men.
“Oh, no. Your husband! I’ll call the police,’’ the minister gasped.
“No!’’ Fear shot through Amanda as she imagined the two of them being hauled off to jail. Then present reality slammed back into focus as she saw Matt take another blow, then deliver one in return.
Scurrying around the brawling men, she bent to snatch up the keys. As she knelt there, a leg came down near her hand, missing her fingers by millimeters. It wasn’t Matt’s leg. Instinctively she turned, twisted her finger in the brown trousers, and sank her teeth through the fabric into a calf muscle.
As she clamped on to his flesh, the man yelped, tried to wrench away and yelped again as he succeeded in pulling free of her teeth.
“You bitch,’’ he screamed, drawing back his foot to kick her in the abdomen.
Matt’s howl of rage was accompanied by a burst
of strength as he grabbed the man by the shoulders before his foot could connect with Amanda, and flung him against the wall of the wedding chapel, where he slid down into a heap.
Panting, Matt pulled Amanda to her feet.
In the distance she could hear a siren wailing. Handing over the keys, she let Matt steer her toward the truck. They were in the vehicle and out of the parking lot almost before she could blink again.
“Who was that guy?’’ she asked between panting breaths.
“That was one of the jerks I cleaned out in a poker game two weeks ago.’’
“He came after you here?’’ she asked, fighting confusion.
“No. It’s just damn bad luck he came to Vegas to lose some more money and spotted me.’’
“He hurt you!’’
“I’m okay,’’ he insisted, but she watched his hands clamp around the wheel.
“What are we going to do now?’’ Amanda asked.
“Get out of town.’’
“Can we stop at the hotel?’’
He thought about it for a moment. “That’s probably okay, since we registered under a different name. Anyway, we should get out of these clothes. They’re too conspicuous, even for Vegas.’’
BUD LOGAN WOULD HAVE BEEN gratified to witness the altercation in the wedding-chapel parking lot. Instead he was several miles away in the office of Chet Houston, one of the Las Vegas businessmen he’d introduced to Colin.
Bud had called the meeting and he was conscious of holding the undivided attention of Houston and his partners, Dave Trafalgar, Harry Hill and Will Marbella—even as he kept his own fear firmly in check.
Marbella’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling us Chris Tallwood’s death wasn’t an accident?’’ he asked.
Bud gave him his best salesman’s look. “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. And I know who ordered the hit. It was my brother Roy.’’
He waited for the inevitable babble of reaction to subside, then continued, “I’ve got an informant at his ranch, and I know what he’s up to. He thinks you were responsible for his son Colin’s death.’’
“We weren’t,’’ Trafalgar growled.
“I know that,’’ Bud answered without missing a beat, not caring whether it was true. “But once he gets an idea in his head, it’s like trying to make a cur drop a bone. He’s going to take you out, one by one.’’