Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay)

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Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) Page 18

by Conrad, Helen


  She waved that away. “Calvin is so happy to be back, he hardly mentioned it. And he’s got your father there, his old pal. The two of them are sipping drinks on the veranda and reminiscing like the oldsters they are.” She tugged on Terry’s arm. “Now hurry, dear. Grab something to wear. We’ll take you back and surprise Rick.”

  “Too late,” Rick said, bursting out of the bathroom like a dancer emerging from a birthday cake. “I was here first. I get the credit for talking her into coming back. The rest of you are johnny-come-latelys.”

  Terry was glad to see he’d put on his jeans at least, and was shrugging into his shirt.

  “Daddy!” Jeremy cried, releasing Terry and running to his father. Rick swung him up in his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.

  “Daddy!” Erica cried, coming out of the bedroom with Charles behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked at them all and grinned. “I came down to ask Terry to marry me, of course,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Erica laughed, suddenly dancing on her tiptoes. “Me too,” she said.

  “Me too,” Jeremy chimed in, jumping up and down beside his sister.

  “You might as well count me in as well,” Julia said, laughing. “Come on Charles. What do you think?”

  “I think there must be a streak of insanity in the Carrington family,” he said, pretending to scowl. “But what the heck. I’m probably crazy too.”

  They all looked at each other and laughed. All except for Terry. Her eyes were swimming with tears—the sweetest tears she’d ever had. The kind you got when family love reached out and took you in its arms. She was going home.

  Looking at Rick over the heads of his children, she smiled, realizing she was about to get the chance to play the best role of her life.

  EPILOGUE~ Johnny’s Final Birthday Present

  “I know it's around here somewhere. I'd just like to find it before we go to bed and it pounces on us in the dark.”

  Rick had a harried look about him. He was standing in the middle of the ranch-house living room looking slowly around the room, frowning.

  They'd been married a little over six months, but it felt like forever. When she thought about it Terry couldn't imagine what she'd ever done when she'd been alone.

  Today was her birthday and they'd had the whole family, Calvin and Julia and Johnny and her own father included, to a barbecue. Everyone had gone home now, and the children were in bed. But they hadn't found Johnny's birthday present.

  “What do you mean 'pounce on us?' Do you think it's some kind of cat?” Terry asked skeptically.

  He threw up his hands. “I don't have any idea what it is. All I know is, he said he'd left your present somewhere you were sure to find it. And I don't trust him.”

  She chuckled, remembering how they'd first met in his

  closet. “What would a birthday be without Johnny and his tricks?” she said.

  “A damn sight less worrying,” he grumbled, taking her in his arms. “If he's given you an inflatable male doll, I'll kill him.”

  She laughed, snuggling into an embrace that still excited her as much as ever it had. “In a way,” she said softly, “he gave me you. No other present could ever come close to that.”

  He buried his face in her hair. “Terry,” he murmured huskily, and she could feel desire stirring in him, as it did so easily. “Let's get to bed.”

  She smiled, returning his kiss. “What about Johnny's present?” she teased.

  “We'll worry about that later.” His arms slid under her knees and he lifted her in his arms. “Right now I've got more important things on my mind.”

  He placed her on the bedspread and smiled down at her. The best thing he'd ever done in his life was marry her. She'd destroyed his cynicism and made him look at the world with hope again. Every time they made love he tried to show her what words couldn't—how much she meant to him. And every time he never quite made it clear enough. Which only meant he had to try that much harder next time,

  “I love you,” he said, his heart in his eyes.

  “I love you too,” she whispered.

  He undressed her quickly, and she did the same for him. Naked, they lay together on the bed, slowly building the renewal of the bond between them.

  “Terry, Terry,” Rick groaned, coming down on top of her softness. “I can never get enough of you.”

  Closing her eyes, she smiled drowsily and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then she opened her eyes-and stared at the ceiling,

  “What's the matter?” He felt the change in her mood immediately.

  “I think I found Johnny's present,” she said in a choked voice.

  He looked up. On the ceiling just above their beds was a small box. Encrusted in hearts and flowers, it read, “The truly loved don't need jokes.”

  “Oh,” Terry said, laughing softly. “Isn't that sweet?”

  “Sweet,” Rick agreed, frowning. “And not like Johnny at all.”

  “I think it's nice,” she said. “After all, he couldn't very well give me the risque sort of things he always gives you.” She quickly amended that. “Used to give you.”

  “Maybe not,” he admitted. “Are we going to leave the thing up there?”

  She shrugged, sitting beside him and staring up. “I guess so. At least for tonight.”

  They stared at it for a few more moments.

  “Let's get it down,” Rick said at last. “It makes me feel funny seeing it up there. There's a string hanging from it. Maybe if you just pull it...”

  Terry bounced to her feet and pulled the string. A buzzer loud enough to do a job in a fire station went off, and at the same time a streamer unfurled and golden glitter began to fly around the room, getting all over everything.

  Terry slid back down to sit by Rick, laughing as glitter fell all around them, covering their bodies with gold. The streamer read, “The truly loved may not need jokes, but that doesn't mean they don't want them! Happy Birthday, Terry. Glad to have you in the family.”

  “I think I'm beginning to appreciate inflatable dolls,” Rick said as the scream from the buzzer died away.

  Terry grinned up at him. “Now I've had my present from everyone but you,” she told him.

  “I gave you a new car,” he grumbled. “What more do you want?”

  “You,” she said simply. “I want to make love with you.” Her eyes darkened. “Tonight is special. I can feel it.”

  He put his large hand on her stomach. “Do you think... ?”

  She nodded happily. “Tonight,” she whispered. “Tonight we'll not only make love. We'll make our future together.”

  And, wrapping her arms around him, she got ready to do just that.

  Also in the Destiny Bay series

  Destiny Bay-Forever Yours

  Book 1-My Little Runaway

  Book 2-Wife For a Night

  Book 3-Too Scared to Breathe

  Book 4-Make Believe Wife

  Book 5-Promoted to Wife

  Book 6-Not the Marrying Kind

  Available on Kindle

  COMING SOON:

  DESTINY BAY~BABY DREAMS-6 books

  DESTINY BAY~ISLANDS IN THE SUN-6 books

  Available soon from

  DoorKnock Publishing

  NOT THE MARRYING KIND

  Destiny Bay: Forever Yours: Book 6

  by Helen Conrad

  Okay, that did it. She couldn’t ignore this guy any longer. Something had to be done. Call the cops? Or the department store manager?

  Shelley Carrington stared at the handsome man in the unseasonable trench coat who had just picked up a very expensive watch and dropped it into his pocket. Despite the tray of shiny gold chains flashing on the rack between them, she'd seen him do it. And when her dark eyes, wide with shock, met his across the long glass counter, he winked at her.

  What?

  She pushed back a heavy curtain of thick blond hair and glared at him, her hands clench
ed into fists. She couldn't let him get away with it. He was stealing—and from her favorite department store! She had to stop him.

  Drawing breath deep into her lungs, she raised her head with pure determination and began to march toward where the man still stood eyeing the watch display. It looked like he might pocket another if it caught his fancy.

  She'd seen him earlier in other parts of the store. In fact, she'd begun to wonder if he was following her. He seemed to turn up everywhere she went.

  Now here he was in the jewelry department, stealing watches.

  At first glance, he certainly didn't seem like a thief. Tall and slender, he had the look of wealth and privilege about him—just the sort of man she despised. She had a quick image of him casually strolling off his yacht, or mounting his polo pony at the green. Cultured, sophisticated, urbane—and yet just below the surface, a sense of suppressed strength and vitality, a barely leashed danger like that waiting in the shiny coils of a well-balanced bullwhip.

  Wow.

  She blinked at him as she came near. She didn’t usually get such a vivid picture in her mind by just looking at someone. What was there about this man that seemed to be so…so wickedly appealing?

  She stared for a moment, then shook herself. What was the matter with her? He was a thief, darn it all! She tapped him firmly on the shoulder to get his attention.

  “I think you'd better put that watch back, mister,” she whispered loudly, trying to look stern. “If you don't, I'm going to have to notify the floor manager.”

  He turned and looked down at her, his eyes an electrifying blue that seemed to cut the air between them like lasers. She didn't know exactly what she'd expected. Anger? Resentment? The need to flee? In her psychology practice she'd dealt with all those very human emotions, and many more besides. But his reaction surprised her.

  He chuckled. No mistake about it. She heard the low, rumbling sound distinctly. As she stood staring up into his face, her mouth agape with outrage, his hand shot out and the long fingers circled her wrist.

  “Hold on, sweetheart,” he told her in a low voice laced with some strange sense of urgency. “Just give it one more minute.” He winked again, and the slight traces of a smile edged his full, well-defined lips, but his eyes were busy glancing about the store as though he were looking for someone, searching for something.

  She stood frozen, not sure what to do. Her heart was beating wildly now. What the heck was he up to? His fingers were warm and strong and his hold on her was steel-trap unyielding. As he turned his head she caught a slight scent of aftershave mixed with a less identifiable masculine fragrance that sent shivers down her spine and made her gasp softly.

  He was so awfully handsome with those blue eyes gleaming between thick black lashes, his straight, dark hair combed casually, his collar crisp and white. His silk tie was stuck with a gold tiepin. The trench coat looked as smooth as if someone had ironed it just that morning.

  A wife? No, probably a valet. She bit her lip at the thought, knowing it was crazy. But somehow he didn't have the look of a man who would iron it himself.

  These thoughts flashed through her mind as she stood there, suspended in time. Somehow his touch seemed to have cast a spell on her. His tanned fingers gripped her wrist tightly and she couldn’t seem to gather the strength to do anything about it. She found herself staring at the contrast between his dark skin and her own creamier tone as though she was in a trance and he pulled her in closer, almost pressing her against his body.

  “Wait for it,” he murmured very close to her ear.

  She shivered.

  Then his eyes met hers again and something happened. She wasn't sure just what it was, but some sort of connection was made. It was as though he knew her and she knew him on some basic, nonverbal level. The moment quivered between them, and then his lip curled cynically and his attention rocketed to the other side of the floor.

  “Okay—now!” he ordered firmly, letting go with a shove. “Call out 'thief’ just as loud as you can. Make a scene.” He grinned. “Come and get me, baby.”

  She watched, stunned, as he turned and began to stride quickly toward the escalator. “Th…thief,” she whispered, then glanced around at the shoppers walking past.

  “Thief!” she called more loudly. “Stop that man! He's taking a watch!”

  People hesitated on all sides, looking about curiously, but no one made a move to stop him. Shelley stared at them all, astounded.

  “Isn't someone going to stop him?” she cried.

  The women merely gaped at her, and the nearest men began to avoid her accusing gaze.

  “Oh!”

  Shelley pulled in air and glared at them.

  “Then I'll do it myself,” she cried, and instantly she was running through the store in the direction the man had taken, golden hair flying out behind her. “Stop that man!” she shouted again as she thought she saw a flash of him just ahead. “Stop that thief!”

  Faces blurred on either side as she dodged past the mannequins, but no one stepped out to help her. By now, she was motivated almost as much by her anger at the unhelpful bystanders as by the crime itself.

  This was what the world had come to, was it? No one ready to stand up for justice and fairness? All right. So be it. Shelley herself would become a one-woman vigilante committee.

  She bounded down the moving escalator two steps at a time, pushing past the standing riders. She caught sight of the man just below and her adrenalin surged.

  “You stop right there!” she cried as she raced up to him. He was almost to the heavy glass doors that led out onto the street and into the town of Destiny Bay. He turned back at the sound of her voice and she threw herself at him, “like,” she would tell her friend Robin later when the sting of the whole affair had dimmed enough to joke about it, “an angry Scottish terrier at a disinterested Great Dane.”

  Taking up handfuls of trench coat to keep hold of him, she managed to foil his escape. But now that she had him, what on earth was she going to do with him?

  “Someone call the manager,” she called to the crowd that was gathering. “Quickly.”

  Yes, quickly. She looked up into his eyes and found them disconcertingly amused. “What took you so long?” he murmured for only her to hear. “I thought I was going to have to come back and do all this over again.”

  She straightened, releasing one hand but holding on to him with the other. Blinking up into his sparkling blue gaze, she frowned. “I don't get it,” she began. “Do you mean to tell me you want to—?”

  “Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips. “Not now.”

  There wasn't time for explanations. Suddenly the store manager was there, along with two huge, uniformed policemen. Then Shelley's prisoner was emptying his pockets of the three watches, two fine calf leather wallets, and a small electronic device he'd picked up during his trip through the store.

  Shelley stood back, watching in confusion. Her part was over, but for some reason she couldn't turn away. She'd caught a thief, but only because he'd wanted to be caught. Now that she had time to think, she knew he could easily have pulled out of her grasp. He could have outrun her even more easily if he'd really been trying. Why would anyone want to be caught shoplifting?

  “It's Miss Carrington, isn't it? Hi. I’m Kurt.” One of the policemen smiled at her. She knew he might have seen her on one of her trips to the local station house. Her office partner did a lot of work with the department of probation, and she occasionally went along when he was called in to do psychological evaluations of prisoners.

  On the other hand and more likely, he knew who she was because everyone in town knew all the Carringtons. That was a fact she should have remembered before being so crazy as to move back here and try to create a career for herself in her old hometown. This wasn’t a place where she could go incognito.

  Have a taste for something more hard-hitting and supernatural?

  DEAD FURST

  by Kent R. Conrad

  (Fr
om a review on Amazon)

  “Most importantly, however, this is a story that grabs you by the guts and never lets you go.”

  (an excerpt)

  The night I died was still and cool - the weird cool that L.A. surprises you with mid-fall, when you’re still running the A.C. in the car during the day. A dewy condensation sparkled off the side-mirrors of the cars parked on either side of the street, crowding together as if to keep warm. I’m a parallel parker nonpareil, so there was barely room for breath between my little Honda and the Prius in front of it, license plate “GRNBB.

  The place where I was killed had a still quietness, hidden from the city. I leaned against my car, hiding from the flickering street light three houses down, and listened. I could hear the thick wet sounds of Echo Lake, the rumble of traffic just down the hill, but far enough away that I might have been in Mojave - except Mojave’s got stars and all of L.A.’s stars are on the streets, or in the clubs, or waiting in the house across the street from the man with the camera.

  Available on Kindle, Nook

  From DoorKnock Publishing

 

 

 


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