THE BADDEST BRIDE IN TEXAS

by Maggie Shayne

  When that was finished, he headed to the kitchen. Not that he gave a damn or anything, but Kirsten was running on empty. He hadn't seen her put a crumb of food into her mouth all day. She needed to eat or she would be in trouble. And he was so hungry his stomach thought his throat must have been cut, so he figured he might just as well fix enough for two.

  The telephone shrilled while he stir-fried chicken and vegetables. This kitchen had everything—including an extension. But he ignored it, figuring Kirsten would prefer to get her own phone calls. Only when she hadn't answered on the fourth ring did he get nervous. Where the hell was she?

  He snatched up the phone and barked an impatient "Yeah?"

  There was a brief pause. Then, "Who is this? Where's Kirsten?" The voice was belligerent—and male.

  "This is Kirsten's bodyguard," Adam sort of lied. "And she's busy. Who's calling?"

  "Phillip … Mr. Cowan's driver."

  Former driver, Adam thought, unless you've got a hearse handy. "She won't be needing you tonight," he told the man instead.

  "Is she all right?" The man on the phone drew a breath. "Look, I heard about what happened, and I'm concerned about her being there alone…"

  "Yeah, well, that's why I'm here. Believe me, pard, no one's gonna get near her tonight. So you can quit worrying."

  "Oh. Well, that's … reassuring."

  "I'll bet. You and she have something going on?"

  There was a series of half-blurted words followed by an indignant "Of course not!"

  "Just curious," Adam said, not sure he believed the guy.

  "Joseph Cowan has been like a father to me," the man said. "My God, I've been with him since I was—" He broke off there.

  "Go on. Since you were…?"

  "It's none of your business. Are you some kind of cop, or…?"

  "Where are you calling from, Phil?"

  "It's Phillip. And I've already explained all this to the police. I've been out of town for several days. This was my week off."

  "Sounds like a solid alibi," Adam said. "I'm sure the rangers will verify it."

  "I imagine they're doing it as we speak," he replied, seemingly unruffled. "I didn't even know about … about Mr. Cowan's death … until they contacted me here to question me." He sighed, and the breath was broken, as if he really were grieving over this—or over something. "But I'm coming back right away, of course."

  "Of course. Look, I'm kinda busy here. Anything else I can do for you?"

  "No. I'd just … I'd feel better if I could speak with Kirsten directly," Phillip said.

  "Yeah, well, I'll pass that along." The hell he would. "If she feels like it, she'll call you when you get back. I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

  "All right," Phillip said softly. "All right."

  Adam hung up the phone.

  So what was up with the driver? His interest had seemed more than casual, that was for sure. Sighing, Adam dropped a cover on the pan, turned the burner off and headed out to find Kirsten. If she'd been in her room she would have answered the damned phone. Wouldn't she?

  The good thing about not drinking often was that it took very little time and effort to get completely blasted. By the second shot of Jack Daniel's, she felt the frayed edges of her nerves begin to smooth out. After she downed the third her lips were starting to go numb. Always a good sign.

  She poured a fourth. She didn't want to think about anything. Not the fact that a killer was on the loose, or that she was probably going to end up in prison soon. Or that the man she loved—correction, the man she had once loved—hated her guts and was doing his best to torture her now. Or that she was a prisoner in her own home. She didn't want to think about her dad, either, sitting alone in that nursing home. Believing all the lies she'd told him … so many lies. He should have been here, with her. Adam was right about that. But she couldn't bring him. She couldn't. Seeing her with Joseph would have killed him. Her father knew her too well. He would have started figuring things out, and once he realized the truth … no, his heart never would have taken it. But God, now that Joseph was dead, she should be able to bring her father home. But she couldn't. How would he bear seeing her arrested and taken away in handcuffs? How could he survive a murderer skulking around the place? Not to mention finally learning the truth about all the lies she'd told.

  No. It would have to wait. Just a little longer. She would find a way out of this. All she needed was one chance, one opportunity. She would get away, collect her father and head for the border. They could hide out in Mexico…

  Her glass was empty. She tipped the bottle to refill it, slopped the whiskey all over her hand, gave it up and took a slug from the bottle. Then she walked over to her dresser and pawed through the drawer full of designer swimsuits. She liked her white one best. Where was it? Oh, yeah, it was all bloodstained and stuffed into a plastic bag. The cops had taken it away. Shame, too. It was her favorite. She yanked out several, finally found the black one-piece with the zipper up the front, and then had to set her bottle down to get into it. It took longer than it should. She thought about doing without it, but decided that if the killer or the cops showed up, she would rather be dressed. Besides, Adam was still lurking around here somewhere, wasn't he?

  She got the zipper tugged up, grabbed her bottle by the neck and took it with her. The hall floor wobbled a little, but she managed to grip the railing to keep her balance. She clung to it all the way down the stairs, and then turned and walked through the long corridor to the very back of the house, and through the big, ugly metal door there. This section housed the indoor pool, which was smaller and plainer than the one outside. Rectangular, Olympic sized. Not kidney shaped. No slides. Beyond the pool was the hot tub, situated in a glass alcove so one could get the feeling of being outside without the nuisance of mosquitoes or inclement weather. That Joseph had known how to live. The bastard.

  She slipped into the hot bubbling water, hissing as she sank down until it reached her chin. Then she leaned back. Took another drink. There would be no hot tubs in prison. And if she ran to Mexico, she wouldn't be able to afford one. She'd best enjoy this while she could.

  Kirsten was not in her room, or the bathroom attached to it. But her suitcase was back in the closet. Adam had taken a quick peek into the garage before coming up here, and both Cowan Mercedes were still in place. His own Jag sat outside, where he'd left it. So she must still be in the house.

  He always operated with a careful plan, a well-thought-out goal and a means to achieve it. So what the hell was he doing here, playing baby-sitter to a murder suspect—one he detested? He'd given this no forethought. He had no plan. He'd acted on impulse. He had no idea what he was doing, where this was going, or what route it would take to get there. He was flying by the seat of his pants, and he didn't like it.

  He glanced at the mess she'd made of her bedroom. A dresser drawer stood wide-open, its colorful contents spilling from it. Several bathing suits were scattered on the floor. The bed was rumpled, and the cabinet beside it stood open.

  Frowning, he walked over to that cabinet, hunkered down and peered inside. A few bottles of expensive wine stood in a neat row, unopened. But there was an empty spot in the lineup. He closed the door and eyed the empty glass sitting in a puddle on the polished top of the bedside stand. Leaned closer and sniffed.

  "Whiskey." He sighed. "Hell, I can't say as I blame her."

  He glanced again at the bathing suits strewn about the floor, the prim white outfit she'd been wearing tossed carelessly down, as well. The pool? No. It was outside. She would have set off the alarm if she'd opened the doors. What else?

  Damned if he knew. Maybe she had a tanning salon hidden in this monstrosity somewhere. Sighing, Adam resigned himself to a long search. But it ended up being a lot shorter than he'd expected. Because as soon as he headed back downstairs and started moving through the house, calling her name, he heard her off-key singing echoing through the place.

  And for just a second, he smiled. Damn.
Kirsten had always loved to sing. The problem was, she usually sounded like a wounded coyote, and that was sober. Right now her imitation of Celine Dion would have brought tears to the superstar's eyes. But at least it guided him to where she was.

  He found her in a huge room at the rear of the house with skylights, a big pool and a gigantic hot tub surrounded on three sides by glass walls that looked out onto a starry Texas night. The ceiling directly above the hot tub was glass, too. Kirsten's arms were stretched to either side and resting on the marble edge. She held a nearly empty JD bottle in one hand. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed and she was bellowing to the heavens. By all appearances, she was well and truly snockered.

  Adam walked over to the hot tub and waited for her to run out of wind on the closing note—if it could be called a note. She did, finally. Lowered her head and opened her eyes to look directly at him.

  "Found me, huh?"

  "Looks like. So how drunk are you, hon?"

  "Not drunk enough." She looked at her empty bottle with regret. "Sorry, I didn't save you any."

  "Well, maybe I'd best stay sober tonight." He glanced at her hands. "Your fingers are starting to prune up. You think you've been in there long enough?"

  She shrugged.

  "I made you some dinner. Come on." He held out a hand.

  She didn't take it. "I love my father, you know," she said.

  Adam swallowed hard. "So you've been sitting here getting drunk and thinking I don't know that?"

  She looked up at him. Big eyes, totally without pretense now. Her makeup had washed off in the water.

  Her face was as naked and as honest as he'd ever seen it, and he liked it that way.

  "I know you love Max. I shouldn't have said what I did."

  "I had to take him to Sunnyside. I had to." She shook her head, shot him a look. "You think I would have taken him there if I'd had a choice?"

  Adam shook his head. "No, I know you wouldn't have. It's okay. C'mon, get out of the water now."

  Kirsten shook her head. Her eyes were moistening, and her lower lip protruding a bit. She sniffed. "If he'd known what I did to you … if he'd known we never … and he was so sick anyway, just before the wedding. All the excitement, it was just too much for him."

  Adam frowned at her. "Wait a minute. He was sick? That was why he never showed that day? I thought you must have just told him it was off … even though you never bothered to tell me."

  He'd been truly worried when Max hadn't shown up … but not for long. Within minutes his worry had focused on Kirsten. And when he learned what she'd done, his worry had turned to rage.

  "I took him to see Doc the day before," she said, speaking softly, as if she were thinking it all through in her mind and just saying it aloud to solidify the thoughts. "Doc said he ought to be in the hospital. Daddy … he said he'd go, but he made me promise to go ahead with the wedding anyway. Said it would kill him if he thought we'd postponed it because of him. So I just … I just let him think we…"

  "You never told him the difference?" Adam said slowly. "I can't believe this. Your father thinks we've been married all this time?"

  She closed her eyes, let her head rest on the floor behind her. "I couldn't tell him about Joseph. He hated Joseph. All his life, he hated him."

  Adam hunkered down beside the hot tub, his curiosity piqued. "Why?"

  Kirsten shrugged. "I don't know. But Joseph hated Daddy right back." She sat up, tipping her bottle to her lips, then frowning at it because it was empty.

  "Come on. Out of the water," Adam said. He held out his hand once more. She set the bottle down and lifted hers. Adam clasped it. Cool and damp. Small and fragile. She got to her feet, and he steadied her up the marble steps, out of the water. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. Then she took her hand away. "I can manage by myself."

  "Yeah, I can see that."

  She thrust her chin out and strode forward—then her arms started wheeling as one foot slipped on the wet surface. He snagged her waist, but it was too late. She was going in, and she took him with her. They splashed into the hot tub. When Adam got himself upright, she was wrapped around him like a spider monkey. Legs locked around his waist, arms locked around his neck. His hands were on her backside, and he was damned if he knew how they'd gotten there. But it felt good. She felt good. Firm and tight, and she was pressing against him in all the right places, and he was hard and pressing back.

  She looked up, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

  "Oh, hell," he muttered, and he told himself this was the stupidest, most idiotic, poorly thought out invitation to disaster he'd ever issued … and then he kissed her. He just bent his head and pulled her harder against him, and gobbled up her wet mouth as if he'd been starved to death for it forever.

  And it occurred to him that maybe he had been.

  She tasted good. Warmth and whiskey on her tongue as he drew it into his mouth and sucked at the flavor. His hands tightened on her butt, and she pressed herself against him. He walked forward through the churning water until her rear end landed on the built-in bench, and then he brought his hand around between them and reached for his zipper.

  She felt it, his knuckles between her legs. And she jerked her mouth away from his.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  He blinked his eyes open. "I…"

  "No way in hell, honey," she said, pushing herself up to the edge and scooting backward across the marble. "I'm not that drunk."

  He got his breathing under control with an effort. "I'm not drunk at all. Sorry, Kirsty. I didn't mean for that to happen."

  As he moved up the steps she was silent, staring wide-eyed, looking wounded, near tears. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?"

  She closed her eyes tight, bit her lip. "Nothing. Maybe … something to eat wouldn't be a bad idea after all, huh?"

  He lowered his head, ashamed of himself, shocked by the desire that had just rocketed through him so powerfully that all common sense had fled. For crying out loud, he was over her.

  He was.

  "So what did you make?"

  He looked up at her again. A huge mistake, he thought. Because he couldn't keep his eyes on her face. Her bathing suit fit like a second skin, and that zipper was down low enough to reveal the smooth, round tops of her breasts. Her nipples showed right through the fabric. She sure as hell had kept herself in shape. She looked better than ever. And he wanted her. He might be completely over the emotions he'd once felt for her, but the physical part was even stronger than it had been before. Damn his body for craving hers like this.

  "Adam?"

  He swallowed hard. "Stir-fry," he muttered. "Chicken."

  She nodded, staggered across the floor to a rack with towels hanging from it, reached for one and missed. Blinking slowly, she tried again, snagging a towel this time and half falling, half sitting on a bench to rub at her hair, and her face, and her arms. He wanted to do it for her.

  Adam walked over, dripping dark-colored water. His clothes were not chlorine proof, then. Great. He snatched a towel of his own. "Hey, Kirsty, you'd best turn around, unless you want an eyeful. If I don't get out of this stuff, my skin's gonna be dyed to match my pants."

  Without looking at her to see if she'd obeyed, he shucked off the trousers, peeled off the shirt. Stood there in his dripping wet shorts and nothing else. When he started rubbing himself down, he glanced her way and figured it was a damned good thing he hadn't had any of that whiskey, because the way she was looking at him just then would have been too much to resist.

  Maybe it was anyway.

  He dropped the towel and took a single step toward her. Then he stopped himself. She was drunk. His daddy had never sired any son who would take advantage of a woman in the condition she was in right now. Especially after what she'd been through today. His mama would be ashamed of him if she could see him. And Garrett would knock him right square on his backside for even thinking about it. Garrett put a lot of stock in honor and chivalry and
respecting a woman. Enough so that Adam knew better than to do what every cell in his body was screaming to do right now.

  He licked his lips and turned away, knotted the towel at his hip to hide the bulge of his arousal. Didn't do a hell of a lot of good. Then he reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's find some dry clothes. Then we'll see if a plateful of food does anything to absorb all the whiskey in your belly."

  "Hell, it's all in my bloodstream by now, Adam. And I like it there."

  He frowned at her, worried by those words. "Don't get to liking it too much."

  "What difference would it make if I did? I'm only going to prison anyway."

  "You think so?"

  She shrugged as he led her back through the house. "That or Mexico."

  "Why, Kirsten?" He watched her face, half expecting her to confess to murder, half praying she wouldn't.

  "Because it's looking like that's what Joseph wants. And Joseph Cowan always gets what he wants."

  Adam narrowed his eyes on her. What the hell did she mean? Did she think her husband was setting her up from beyond the grave? Hell, she was drunk. She wasn't making any sense, and he probably shouldn't pay a lot of attention to anything she might say.

  "That's what he was always saying." They stopped outside the library, and she flung open the double doors and stood staring inside. Adam followed her gaze to the huge portrait of Joseph Cowan that hung on the wall above the fireplace.

  "'Don't try to fight me, Kirsten,'" she quoted, mimicking Cowan's voice. "'I'm a powerful man. I always get what I want.'" Then she pressed a hand to her lips to stifle a bark of bitter laughter. "Well, guess what, you bastard. You didn't. Not always."

  There were wet footprints throughout the house, and more water dripped from Adam now, to puddle on the library floor. He secretly gloried in that.

  "You didn't get a baby, did you, Joseph?" Kirsten suddenly cried. "And God knows you tried." She laughed again, but the sound was so anguished it was more like a cry. "You stupid old fool—on me all the time. Grunting and sweating until I thought your heart would give out. I hoped it would, I really did. Did you know that, Joseph? Did you know I was lying there wishing your heart would explode in your chest? Did you know how much I hated your hands on me? How I used to throw up when it was over? How I used to stay in the scalding shower until my skin was raw trying to wash your stench away? Did you!"