by Sara Daniel
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Bride Worth Fighting For
Copyright 2015 by Sara Daniel
ISBN: 978-1-61333-888-9
Cover art by Fiona Jayde
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
Look for us online at:
www.decadentpublishing.com
Wiccan Haus Order of Books
Shifting Hearts by Dominique Eastwick
A Man Worth Fighting For by Sara Daniel
An Apple Away by Kate Richards
Siren's Serenade by Dominique Eastwick
Psychic Lies by Sara Daniel
Unveil my Heart by Nya Rayne
Finding Her A-Muse-ment by Rebecca Royce
Guarding His Heart by Carolyn Spear
Lifebound by Leigh Daley
The 13th Guest by Rebecca Royce
A Bride Worth Fighting For by Sara Daniel
Coming Soon
Healing his Soul's Mate by Dominique Eastwick
Sorcerer’s Legacy by Carolyn Spear
Also by Sara Daniel
More Than a Fantasy
One Night with the Bride
Captivating the CEO
One Night with the Bridesmaid
One Night with the Groom
Once Upon a Marriage
A Model Hero
One Night with the Best Man
One Night with Her Husband
One Night with His Wife
A Man Worth Fighting For
Psychic Lies
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
A Man Worth Fighting For by Sara Daniel
Welcome to the Wiccan Haus
Something wiccan this way comes to a mystical mysterious island where authors get to play and bring their love stories to life. At the Wiccan Haus you will meet Rekkus, Cyrus, Sage, Sarka, Cemil and Myron, all of whom return in most, if not all, the stories. Yes each one will eventually get their HEA as well.
We hope you enjoy the stories from all the authors and return time and again to keep up with the staff and meet new characters along the way. But fear not if this is your first or twenty-first story each book stands on its own. If you want to know more about the series please sign up for our newsletter.
A Letter From Sara
Dear Reader,
I was enchanted by the Wiccan Haus from the moment I read Dominique Eastwick’s Shifting Hearts on its original release day, and I immediately knew I wanted to be part of this amazing paranormal world.
I’ve had an amnesia book “simmering” in my head for a while, and the Wiccan Haus provided the perfect setting for my heroine to heal and my hero to explore his issues. (Of course, being a guy, he’s naturally in denial that he has any issues!)
Whether you want to chat about weddings, people you’d fight for, The Wiccan Haus, or something crazy and quirky like squirrels, I love to hear from my readers. Drop me an email at [email protected] and share whatever’s on your mind. Also, subscribe to my newsletter to stay up-to-date on my book releases and other author news: http://eepurl.com/rx_AL
Sara Daniel
www.SaraDaniel.com
Dedication
For Tina, Tina, Toni, Delphina, Sheri and the Wiccan Haus street team. Your support makes every moment of this journey worthwhile.
A Bride Worth Fighting For
A Wiccan Haus Story
By
Sara Daniel
Chapter One
“I don’t.” The groom’s words rang through the church. He strode from the altar, the crunch of his dress shoes on the paper aisle runner like gunshots in the dead silence.
Oh. Shit.
While the groom darted away from the wedding, Tucker Wilde stood frozen in front of the congregation. His role was supposed to be simple. Stand straight. Keep his mouth shut during the pastor’s blanket call for objections. Hand over the rings at the right moment. Not warm his brother’s cold feet and herd him back into the church.
Gwen Fairfax, who would have been the most beautiful woman in the room even if she hadn’t been wearing a beaded, strapless white gown and a fancy upswept hairstyle, grabbed both sides of her voluminous skirt and turned toward the narthex. The yards of lacy white fabric tangled around her ankles, and she stumbled.
Tucker reached for her, and the maid of honor, still holding the bride’s bouquet, bent to adjust the train. Gwen righted herself and hurtled up the center aisle like Cinderella panicking at the stroke of midnight.
“John!” she wailed, shoving open the outside doors.
Half the audience stood and craned their necks. Others turned to their companions and exchanged play-by-play commentary of what they’d witnessed. Amidst the chaos, only one person didn’t look stunned. Slumped in a wheelchair in the front row, Tucker’s father wore his customary vacant expression.
Next to him, Darlene, with her coifed hair and diamond necklace worth enough to solve world hunger, canceled out his indifference, turning her fury and disbelief on Tucker as if he had instigated his baby brother’s defection. As he’d been a mere bystander, as shocked as the rest of the guests, he shrugged off her glare.
The pastor cleared his throat and shuffled closer, nudging him with an elbow. “As best man, you might want to retrieve the groom.”
Did he? He glanced at Darlene again. An hour ago, John had confessed he wasn’t marrying for love but because their stepmother had promised him the CEO position of Wilde Land Development if he tied the knot.
No one who knew Tucker would expect him to convince someone to marry for the sake of corporate greed. On the other hand, if she wanted this union badly enough to promise the very thing she’d denied John for years, Tucker needed to find his brother and figure out what scheme Darlene had planned that precipitated her change of heart.
He weaved through the congregating guests who’d spilled into the aisle and pushed open the doors to the church. Outside in the bright sunshine of the cool April day, Gwen stood on the street at the open door of John’s yellow sports car. Her pleading tone floated to him as he descended the front steps two at a time.
“I made a mistake. I thought I could marry you, but I can’t.” John’s voice carried in the wind as he leaned out of his car to grasp the door handle.
“I don’t understand. You pushed for this marriage,” she said. Her full skirt filled the opening, prevent
ing John from closing the door.
“You should be relieved. You don’t even love me.”
What the heck? Tucker tripped over the bottom step onto the sidewalk. Instead of dragging his brother inside, he might applaud him for having the guts to call the whole thing off.
“But I like you—at least I did before you left me standing in there like a fool.” She gestured toward the church.
“I’m done jumping through hoops for Darlene. I want to live my own life. I don’t care if I’m never in charge of anything, as long as I don’t answer to her anymore.” John pushed Gwen back and pulled the door closed. The car roared to life.
“Wait, please. Open the door.” She pounded on the window.
Tucker sauntered toward the street, proud of his brother for growing a pair. They already had one scheming, manipulative woman in the family and didn’t need another. Gwen no doubt brought something to the table that Darlene wanted, although he had no idea what.
Knowledge and preemptive strikes were his best allies in protecting what had once been open prairies, wetlands, and forests against the Wilde Land Development machine.
The yellow sports car started moving forward. Gwen ran alongside it, keeping up a decent pace considering her attire. She beat her fist on the window. “John, wait. Please. My dress is caught in the door.”
Her dress? Oh shit.
Instead of begging him to return to the church, she pleaded for him not to drag her behind a moving vehicle. Shit, shit, shit.
Tucker dashed toward them.
She screamed and staggered.
Oh God, no. “Stop the car, John,” he shouted, sprinting faster.
Gwen righted herself and kept running alongside the car.
He couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief though, because his brother kept driving, and as fast as Tucker was running, he couldn’t close the distance between them.
The car slammed to a stop, and the door flew open. She tripped forward into the door. Her forehead struck the upper corner, and she fell back, her head connecting with the pavement.
The sickening thud of contact reverberated in a sudden deathly silence.
“Gwen, are you okay?” Tucker yelled.
She didn’t move or respond.
Probably just the wind knocked out of her. He hoped. He prayed.
But the thud echoed in his head as he dashed the remaining feet to her body on the road. He yanked his phone from his pocket, dialing 911 as he dropped to his knees next to her.
Blood gushed from a gash on her forehead, the cut deeper than anything he could have imagined. “Blood. A lot of blood. We need an ambulance now,” he shouted at the operator.
His hand trembling, he grabbed the silver decorative handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket and pressed it over the wound. The cloth soaked through immediately. Needing more fabric, he yanked off his coat and replaced the hankie with an arm sleeve. She’d hit the pavement with the back of her head, but he couldn’t tell if any blood flowed from that side, too.
He could wrap the coat all the way around her head, but what if he caused more injury by trying to move her? Damn it, he was a naturalist, not a doctor. Of course he didn’t know what the hell to do. But he couldn’t let her die.
“Gwen, stay with me,” he begged. “I’ll stay with you while you heal, but you have to stay with me now. Please.”
***
“Good afternoon, Ms. Fairfax. I’m Jess, your nurse for the day.”
A nurse? For her?
“Can you tell me what day today is?” the cheerful woman continued.
Her head throbbed. If she was just waking up, the greeting should have been good morning. “July, I think.”
Her throat stung as she pushed out the words in a voice deeper and fainter than her own should have been. She said the year with more confidence, but the day—oh, crap. Ever since her mother’s funeral, they blurred together. Combined with whatever badass nap she’d awoken from, everything had a fuzzy and faraway tint.
“It’s May, and you’re a year behind.” The nurse pulled a stethoscope from the pocket of her blue scrubs.
Sharp pain drilled through Gwen’s forehead. May, but not the month before her mother died—a year later. Her vision blackened around the edges. What the hell had caused the past ten months to disappear from existence?
Maybe if she considered the past one day at a time. What did she do yesterday? No idea. Not a single memory surfaced. Okay, what about the day before? Blank. Oo-kay, what was the last thing she remembered?
With nothing to ground herself, she teetered on a black pit of emptiness. Maybe she was dead, but she’d never imagined the afterlife would look so…blah. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with me?”
When the nurse didn’t reply, she studied the “blah” surroundings. The bed with white sheets, the pale-green gown draped across her shoulders, and the flowers on the tray all screamed a hospital environment. So she wasn’t dead. Yet.
After pressing the stethoscope to her chest, the nurse jotted a note on a clipboard. “I’m going to send in your family.”
Thank goodness. Her mother would know what to do. Everything would be all right again with Mom by her side. No, Mom had died. She whimpered. Why was that awful reality the only thing she could fixate on?
The medical staff left, replaced by a woman whose platinum-blonde hair had been sprayed into a perfect immobile style. A diamond necklace settled against the collar of her ivory silk blouse. Gwen’s mother would have been terrified she’d get mugged if she stepped out of her apartment wearing that necklace.
“Gwen, I’m so happy you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
No matter how hard she stared at the woman, not an ounce of recognition washed over her. The more she tried to think the more her head pounded. What would give a person such a horrible headache? Cancer. Maybe she was dying, just like her mother.
“My head hurts,” she whispered.
“Well, that’s to be expected. Considering.” The woman flipped her stylish scarf over her shoulder.
Considering what? A mental illness that left her trapped in a fog, unaware of the passage of time? Had she become so depressed after her mother’s funeral she’d gone insane?
“You’re not my mother.” She blurted the one thing she knew with absolute certainty.
“Of course not.” The woman laughed. “I’m your mother-in-law—almost.”
Mother-in-law? That meant….
“I’m married?” She dropped her gaze to her left hand. She wore no ring or any jewelry to jog her memory. The chipped rose-colored nail polish and bare cuticles suggested a grown-out manicure. Although she knew what a nail salon was, she couldn’t remember a specific instance of being inside one.
“Engaged.”
Trying to remember getting a manicure made her head throb so badly she didn’t attempt to consider why the backs of both her hands were bruised and taped with IV lines. However, she couldn’t avoid the woman’s bombshell announcement.
She was engaged.
She loved someone.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she wished the nightmare away. If only the intense pain in her head would allow her to pass out so she didn’t have to think anymore.
“You don’t remember your fiancé?” the woman snapped.
Despite the blankets covering her, Gwen shivered. Not recalling her fiancé would not endear her to her future in-laws. On the other hand, bluffing her way through required a mental strength she didn’t possess.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to me or how I got here.” Pain sliced through her forehead, wrapping around her skull until the ache at the back of her head consumed every thought. “My head. Oh God. Doc. I need a doctor.”
“Before we bother the doctor, let’s try giving your memory a kick start.” The woman gestured to the doorway. “Meet your fiancé, Tucker Wilde.”
Chapter Two
What the hell was Darlene up to? Tuck
er froze in the doorway to the hospital room. From the bed, Gwen shot him a weak, panicked smile. After lying in a month-long drug-induced coma from the doctors’ desperate attempt to heal the swelling and trauma to her brain, she finally displayed an emotion. She was alive. He wanted to gather her in his arms and laugh and cry with relief.
“It appears,” Darlene said to him, “that your fiancée has amnesia and does not remember us.”
Whatever his stepmother was trying to pull, Tucker had no intention of going along with her manipulative bullshit.
Gwen’s tremulous smile faded. “I’m sorry, really. If you can just explain what happened, I’m sure I’ll remember.” Tears glistened in her eyes, and her hands shook on top of the covers.
After everything Gwen had been through, Darlene had some nerve to insert even a hint of accusation in her tone, let alone fabricate lies about the situation. To make a person cry the moment she came out of a coma was unconscionable. Of course, he’d known for years Darlene had no conscience or scruples.
He strode to Gwen’s bedside and took her ice-cold hand in his. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Our family should be apologizing to you.”
But with John barred from entering the hospital, his father gone in every way that mattered, and Darlene unrepentant, he alone was left to apologize and help her through the mess they’d created.
Gwen curled her fingers around his, and a vise-like pressure squeezed his heart.
“Will you help me remember?”
“Of course.” He couldn’t deny her anything, and after a month of fruitless searching, he needed answers. Why was Darlene so set on including Gwen in the family? And why had Gwen agreed to the marriage despite the lack of love on both sides?