James Bravo's Shotgun Bride

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James Bravo's Shotgun Bride Page 19

by Christine Rimmer


  “Serves you right,” she muttered. “And at least out of the wrong you did, you found Lola. I’m glad for that.”

  “Lo is my miracle and I thank the good Lord daily for the gift of her love. But what about your miracle, Addie?” When she only swallowed hard and looked away, he said, “James and I had a long talk, before he left.”

  “I’d wondered about that,” she said to the far wall. “I figured something had gone down between you two when you just let him go with a handshake and a pat on the back.”

  Levi grunted. “He made me admit how wrong I was to threaten to die on you unless you married him. He made me see that you blame yourself for your mother’s death—though that was not in any way your fault—and then you also lost Brandon. And the men you loved before, well, they weren’t worthy of you. So you had been hurt again and again. And I piled more hurt on you. It was a very bad thing I did, to blackmail you with the threat of dying on you. I only made everything worse for you, harder for you, when I did that, only battered your heart around all over again.”

  She looked at him then. How could she help it? The hard knot of anger within her at him? It was melting away like an icicle in the morning sun. “You know I forgive you. You’re everything to me, PawPaw.”

  “I’m old, is what I am. And I won’t be around for all that long.”

  That numbness inside her—where had it gone? Her heart ached. Tears welled. She gulped them down hard. “Please don’t say that.”

  His smile was the sweetest she’d ever seen. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not planning to go that soon.”

  “Good.”

  “Addie, I want you to have your true love before I go. I would do a whole lot of wrong all over again, God forgive me, if you would just go to James and tell him what’s in your heart for him. If you would just bring him home to Red Hill, where he belongs.”

  “Oh, PawPaw. What if he’s changed his mind by now?”

  Levi gazed at her patiently. “I promise you he hasn’t—and that’s not to make light of your fear. Lovers do leave and the people who mean the most someday will die. But in the meantime, when you find the one for you, you need to grab hold, Addie.”

  She saw the truth suddenly. “I fulfilled my own fear, didn’t I? I made him leave.”

  “But the good news is he loves you.”

  “He...he did say he would be waiting.”

  “So, then, you only need to master the fear in you. Master the fear, go after him. And once you get him, hold on tight.”

  * * *

  The next morning was Saturday. James woke up again in his dream house.

  In the month since he’d left Addie, he’d furnished the place just the way he liked it, with comfortable and attractive high-quality furniture in the neutral colors he preferred. He liked the way the kitchen faced the mountains and the back deck was wide and welcoming, with an outdoor kitchen to rival the one inside.

  It was all exactly as he’d dreamed it would be.

  And he hated it.

  Because Addie wasn’t in it with him. Because it wasn’t the house at Red Hill.

  Was he losing hope that she would come for him?

  Maybe. A little.

  Was he considering saying to hell with giving her the time to make her choice and just going after her? So what if he was? If she was going to make the wrong choice, well, where was the good in that?

  Those were the questions that chased themselves around in his brain constantly now. The only thing that kept him from going after her was the promise he’d made her: to let her do her own choosing in her own time.

  First thing, he made coffee with his brand-new pod machine and he carried a full cup out to the front porch as he did every morning, to sit on the step and stare off toward Red Hill and tell himself that today was the day Addie Anne would finally appear on his doorstep to tell him she loved him and wanted him to come home.

  She wasn’t out there.

  But his heart did a forward roll in his chest anyway.

  Because a scarecrow in a business suit sat on the front porch swing, his arm around a lady scarecrow in denim overalls, with a roundness at her waistline that could only mean the lady scarecrow was about to have a little pile of straw. The husband scarecrow had a white picture album in his lap.

  James set his coffee on the little table by the swing and picked up the album. Inside the front cover was his and Addie’s marriage certificate, complete with the seal of the Arapahoe County Clerk. Legal and binding. He smiled to himself at the thought and turned the next page and then the next, taking his time, thumbing through the pictures of him and Addie on their wedding day.

  They both looked so happy. As though the wedding really was the real thing and what they both wanted.

  Because they had been happy. And it had been exactly what he wanted, at least.

  And the scarecrows in the porch swing had him thinking she was finally admitting that she wanted it, too.

  Carefully, he set the album back down in the lap of the scarecrow. He picked up his coffee and took a sip of his favorite morning blend. His knees felt a little wobbly—with hope and anticipation, with the thrill of knowing she had to be somewhere nearby. He went to the front steps and sat down. The coffee sloshed in his cup; his damn hand was shaking. Carefully, he set the cup beside him, up against the porch post, where he knew it wouldn’t spill.

  Only then did he dare to say her name. “Addie.”

  For endless seconds there was nothing. And then he heard her footsteps, light and quick as ever, coming around the corner from the side deck.

  There was plenty of room on the step beside him. She dropped into the empty space, filling it with everything that mattered in the world.

  His vision fogged over with unmanly tears. He didn’t dare to look at her. “Addie,” he whispered, as if it were the only word he knew.

  She took his hand. Nothing had ever meant so much as that—her hand in his, guiding his palm to rest on her belly.

  “Rounder,” he said, his voice a sandpaper rasp.

  “James, I...” She seemed unable to go on. But then she did. “I got here an hour ago, set out the scarecrows and then couldn’t quite manage to knock on your door. I’ve been sitting in a chair on the side deck, trying to get up the nerve to face you. I’m such a wimp...”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  He couldn’t stand anymore not to see her face. Slowly, he turned his head. “Where’s your horse?”

  “I drove the pickup, left it around that bend in your driveway.” She pointed toward a clump of ponderosa pines not far from the house. “It seemed so important, that you see the scarecrows first. And the wedding album. Carm sent it about two months ago. I stuck it under some towels in the upstairs hall closet, hid it from you.”

  “And from yourself?”

  A little hum of agreement escaped her. She stared off toward the pines and confessed, “I hid the marriage license, too. That was silly, huh? Like hiding what we really are to each other would make it so I never had to tell you what I’m so afraid to say.”

  “You can do it,” he said gently. “I know you can.”

  She turned her head to gaze at him again. Her golden eyes shone and her soft mouth trembled. And then, at last, she gave him the words he’d waited so long to hear. “I...don’t like my life without you. I miss you so much, it hurts. I...well, I have made my choice and my choice is you, James. I want you to come back to me, please.
I want you as my husband and a second father to my baby. I want us to have more babies—I mean, if you want that, too...”

  “You bet I do.”

  “I...I love you, James.” A small cry escaped her. “There. I said it.” She squeezed her eyes shut, quivered out another breath—and opened her eyes again. “You’re still here.”

  He felt the welcoming smile break across his face. “Damn it, Addie. I was getting worried.” He couldn’t wait a second longer. He reached for her.

  “James.” She melted against him with another, happier cry.

  “Addie, Addie...” He buried his face in the crook of her neck and breathed in the yearned-for scent of her. “I love you. Only you. Always.”

  She held on so tight. “I love you, too. I love you, love you, love you, I do.”

  He took that sweet mouth of hers then, in a kiss he would never forget for as long as he lived. A kiss of reunion, a kiss that promised she would take him with her, home to Red Hill.

  A kiss that said she was ready at last to take a chance on forever.

  With him.

  After the kiss, he got up. She rose beside him. He took her hand and led her into the house. He showed her the rooms and the back deck and the outside kitchen.

  And the master bedroom, too. They spent an hour in there, celebrating their reunion. It was by far the happiest he’d ever been in that king-size bed.

  Afterward, they dressed slowly, stealing kisses as they buttoned up and pulled on their boots, laughing together like a couple of kids.

  “This house is beautiful,” she said once they had all their clothes back on and sat on the bed side by side.

  “I think we can get a good price for it,” he replied with satisfaction.

  “But...do you want to live here? I would be happy to live here. It’s such a fine house and it’s right next to Red Hill.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “It was my dream house.”

  “I know. And I mean it. Let’s live here. As long as we’re together, I’m happy wherever we are.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Dreams change, Addie Anne. I don’t want to live here anymore. We belong at Red Hill. I want us to raise our family there.” He pulled her close for another sweet, endless kiss. When he lifted his head, he said, “Give me five minutes. I’ll pack up a few things and we’ll go home.”

  * * * * *

  Watch for MS. BRAVO AND THE BOSS, the next installment in Christine Rimmer’s THE BRAVOS OF JUSTICE CREEK miniseries, coming soon, only from Harlequin Special Edition.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE DETECTIVE’S 8 LB, 10 OZ SURPRISE by Meg Maxwell.

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  The Detective's 8 lb, 10 oz Surprise

  by Meg Maxwell

  Chapter One

  In the fifteen minutes it had taken detective Nick Slater to go down the street to Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen to pick up his lunch order of a roast beef po’boy with a side of spicy slaw, someone had left an infant in a blue-and-white baby carrier on his desk.

  Nick froze in the back doorway of the otherwise empty Blue Gulch Police Station, staring at the baby and mentally taking stats.

  Newborn, one month, maybe six weeks old. Boy, according to all the blue. Healthy, from the peaches-and-cream big cheeks and the rosy bow-shaped lips, slightly quirking. Cared for, given the cap and clean outfit, the hand-knit blanket tucked around him in the sturdy, padded carrier. Sleeping—for now.

  All that had been on his desk when he left were his frustrating notes on the Jergen burglary case, half-finished paperwork for Farley Melton’s seventh disorderly conduct arrest of the year, a “just because” card with two folded twenties and a ten that he was going to send to his sister at Dallas City College, and a scrawled note from himself that he was running out to pick up lunch, back in ten.

  Now there was a baby.

  “Hello?” he called out, expecting the parent or caregiver or someone, anyone to appear. The Blue Gulch Police Station wasn’t very big. Aside from the main room with the long reception desk, and Nick’s and the other two officers’ desks, the chief had a private office next to the two jail cells and a break room that served as conference room, interrogation room and lunchroom.

  “Hello?” he tried again.

  Silence.

  Nick kept one eye on the baby and walked over to the break room—empty. Chief’s office—empty. Jail cells—one empty, one containing the sleeping form of Farley Melton.

  Cynic that he was, he walked over to his desk, put the bag containing his lunch on his chair and lifted up the baby carrier to see if the cash was still in the card. It was. He set the carrier back down.

  Okay, so the baby’s mother came in for some reason to talk to an officer or lodge a complaint, saw no one was around and set the carrier down while she went to use the restroom.

  Except both restroom doors were ajar, the lights out.

  Nick glanced out the windows at the front of the station to see if anyone was sitting on the steps or the bench. No one.

  “Hello?” he called out again, despite the fact that clearly no one was there. Except for Farley snoring in his jail cell and the gentle hum of an oscillating fan in the corner, the office was quiet.

  Why would someone leave a baby on his desk—and when no one was in the station? He mentally went down the list of who in Blue Gulch had had a baby recently. The Loughs, who lived a quarter mile from here in the center of town. But they had a girl with blond wisps. Nick eyed the baby; fuzzy dark hair peeked around the baby’s ears, just below the blue cotton cap.

  Then there were the Andersons, who lived on the outskirts of Blue Gulch and didn’t often come to town. They’d had a boy back in June. Had one of the Andersons left the baby on Nick’s desk for some reason that even he, seasoned detective, couldn’t come up with? Nick grabbed his phone, looked up their number and punched it in.

  He heard a baby cooing the moment Mike Anderson said hello.

&nbs
p; Nick pretended to be alerting residents about the coyote sightings in his area, which was true, and to be careful, then hung up, racking his brain for who he might be forgetting. Blue Gulch was a small town, population 4,304—4,305, he corrected. If there had been another hugely pregnant woman in town over the summer, he’d have known about her.

  Nick stared at the baby. A tiny blue-encased foot kicked out. Then the other. The big cheeks turned to the left. Then to the right.

  Little eyes opened just a crack. Then closed again.

  And then the first waaaah. The baby started sort-of crying, the bow-shaped mouth suddenly opening wide and pouring forth a screeching wail you wouldn’t think could come from such a tiny creature.

  He glanced at the clock—1:16 p.m. Michelle Humphrey, department secretary, was on her lunch break. Officer Midwell, who was supposed to be manning the station, was probably at the coffee shop for his sixth iced coffee of the day, flirting with the barista he had a crush on. And the chief, nearing retirement, took long naps in his pickup truck in the back parking lot these hot summer days. You take over for me, Nick, will ya? was Chief McTiernan’s favorite refrain. Nick wasn’t much interested in being chief, even for an hour. He liked being a detective, needed to be out in the field.

  And besides, Nick was planning on leaving Blue Gulch in the coming weeks. He’d moved back two years ago to take care of his sixteen-year-old sister when their mother died. But now that Avery was in college, living in a dorm, Nick didn’t have to live in this town he hated, a place that reminded him of his worst memories on a daily basis.

  “Waaah. Waaah! Waaaah!”

  Oh hell. He’d have to do something, like pick up the baby.

  He reached into the carrier and pulled down the tiny blanket and froze.

  There was a note taped onto the baby’s pajamas.

  Detective Slater: Please take care of Timmy until I can come back for him in a week. I am not abandoning him. I know I can trust you.

 

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