His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  “Who, me?” Mason’s gazed skimmed the small room.

  “No, Fred.” Gillian glanced at the room and felt her confidence slip a notch. A half-dozen dripping-wet towels were lying on the floor. They had only managed to absorb half the water.

  “Who’s Fred?” His gazed landed on the squirming bundle of towels his wife was clutching to her chest.

  “Our new watchdog.”

  “Our new watchdog?”

  A black shiny nose, a tuft of black hair and one deep brown eye escaped the bundle. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin a notch. “I figured we could use the added protection.” A high-pitched bark seconded her statement.

  “Where did you purchase this vicious attack dog?”

  A pink tongue snaked out of the terry cloth and licked her fingers. “I didn’t purchase him. I found him.”

  “Where?”

  “Near my office, and before you say a word, you knew I was going there today. Cullen and Raine were with me the entire time.” Fred’s head broke all the way out and she scratched the dog behind one of his floppy ears. “In fact, without their help I would never have been able to catch him. I think he must have been beaten.”

  “You brought an abused stray home with you?” He eyed the dog with great distrust. “Don’t you realize what kind of diseases he could have? What if he bit you? I won’t even mention parasites and fleas.”

  “He didn’t have parasites and I didn’t just take him home. I stopped at a vet, who examined him, gave him all his shots and a clean bill of health. Except for being slightly undernourished and a bad case of fleas, Fred is in excellent health.”

  Fred glanced between Mason and Gillian, gave another high-pitched yap and proceeded to happily pant.

  Gillian rubbed the puppy briskly with the towel and placed him on the floor. Maybe once Mason saw how adorable Fred was, he’d stop harping. She had just spent the last hour scrubbing, soaking and shampooing the dog within an inch of his life. She used half a bottle of doggy shampoo and an entire one of flea dip to disinfect the poor thing. If she was ever going to convince Mason to allow the dog to stay, it would be easier if his house wasn’t infested with fleas.

  Mason glanced down at the animal and burst out laughing. “That’s an attack dog? What’s he going to attack? Killer caterpillars?”

  Gillian reached back down and scooped up Fred. “I didn’t say he was an attack dog. I said he was a watchdog.” Fred looked pitifully skinny with his black hair plastered to his sides. During his bath she had been appalled by the way she could feel his ribs beneath her fingers. And that had been after he polished off a creamfilled donut on the drive to the vet and two whole cans of dog food after they had gotten home.

  “What’s he going to watch,” Mason asked, chuckling, “television?”

  “No, he’s going to watch me throw your dinner into the trash in a minute.” She had married an insensitive jerk. How could he say such a thing about a poor little puppy? Fred had integrity. She had felt it the instant she spotted him hiding in an alley behind a trash bin. Fred was going to make a wonderful watchdog.

  Mason stopped laughing. “You’re serious. You want to keep this dog as a watchdog?”

  Gillian tightened her hold on the squirming puppy, who was busily trying to lick her shirt where a glob of donut cream had been smeared during his earlier snack. She could see the argument forming in Mason’s eyes. He didn’t want the dog in his house. Then again, he hadn’t been real happy with getting her, either. “Yes.” She held her breath and waited.

  Mason glanced at the damp puppy licking his wife’s chest and sighed. “Is he housebroken?”

  Gillian grinned. “He seems to be.”

  “Seems to be?”

  “I’ll clean up any accidents he might have.” She held the puppy up and rubbed his nose with her own. She had finally gotten a dog. It had only taken her twenty-five years and one husband, but she had done it. Fred licked her cheek and she laughed as she set him back down on the floor. The puppy made a beeline for one of the squeaky toys she had purchased at the pet store, which also sold her the shampoo, the leash, a set of bowls and food. “I’ll also replace anything he might chew up.”

  Mason shook his head and eyed the animal gnawing on a pink squeaky toy. “What have I done?”

  Gillian stepped as close to Mason as she could without touching him. He looked so handsome and stuffy in his suit. Here it was after six and his tie hadn’t even been loosened. She reached up and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “You made me very happy. Thank you.”

  Mason captured her mouth in a slow kiss. “You’re welcome.”

  He tried to pull her closer but she backed away. “I need a shower.” Her shirt and jeans were drenched with the smell of wet dog and flea dip.

  He eyed the dog gnawing contentedly on his toy. “I’ll join you.” He stepped closer and backed her against the washing machine. “Will dinner hold?”

  The heat of his gaze melted all her resistance. She had no idea if dinner would hold or not, nor did she care. “Will you?”

  Mason growled and rubbed up against her. “No.”

  Gillian grinned, wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered herself to his hard body. The hell with the suit. That’s what the cleaners were for.

  An hour and a half later Mason met the pizza deliveryman at the front door and paid him. So much for Gillian’s meat loaf. They had been so carried away as they left the laundry room that Gillian had forgotten to shut off the oven. By the time they had showered, made love on the bathroom floor, showered again and then got dressed, the meat loaf had been burnt to the consistency of tree bark.

  He had been ordered to call for pizza and to take Fred out back while Gillian cleaned up the laundry room and started in on the kitchen. He had gladly taken the easier end of the deal. Tossing an old tennis ball to a puppy beat tackling the mess she had made in the kitchen.

  How Gillian had talked him into letting her keep the dog was still a mystery. He didn’t like animals. Didn’t understand animals. And never had any desire to own one. Within the past forty-eight hours he not only obtained a wife, had a psychopath delivering leeches to his door and experienced his first nightmare, but now he had a dog. A vicious watchdog that barely came up to his calves and that had a bark the Tabernacle Choir would envy. Even when Fred became full grown he still wouldn’t reach his knee. The burglars must be shaking in terror by now, knowing what a ferocious dog guarded their house. And what in the hell kind of name was Fred for a dog?

  Mason carried the flat white box into the kitchen. “Pizza’s here.”

  Gillian finished wiping egg yolk from the cookbook and carefully closed the book. “Great, I’m starved.” The laundry room was clean and dry. A load of towels was already in the washer and the window had been opened to air the room out. The kitchen was almost back to normal and the meat loaf was in the trash. Even Fred had turned up his nose at the burnt offering. It was the first tidbit of food the puppy ignored. So much for impressing Mason with her wifely skills. It was a good thing he didn’t marry her for her culinary talents.

  She joined him at the kitchen table and swiped the first piece of pizza. She took a bite and sat at one of the places she had set earlier. “It’s all your fault.”

  “What is?” He took a bite out of his slice.

  “That dinner got ruined.” The tip of her tongue licked a drop of tomato sauce from the corner of her mouth. “I’ll have you know that I make a very good meat loaf.”

  Mason grinned. “So’you tell me.”

  The slice of pizza Gillian was raising toward her mouth stopped in midair. Mason had smiled! Hell, it wasn’t even a smile, it was a grin. That flash of white teeth and the sparkle that had gleamed in his eye did the most amazing thing to her heart. If she thought Mason was handsome when he was all dark and moody, it was nothing compared to when he smiled. She continued to stare at him as the grin slowly disappeared.

  “What’s the matter?” Mason reached for a napki
n and wiped his mouth.

  “You should do that more often.”

  “What?”

  “Smile.” She took another bite of her pizza and was fascinated by the flush stealing up Mason’s face. He was embarrassed! “I always knew you were handsome, but I never realized just how handsome until now.” Gillian grinned as his flush deepened to a dull red.

  He muttered, “Thanks,” as he got up and headed for the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of soda.

  She glanced over at Fred, sleeping on the rug in front of the sink with his pink squeaky toy between his paws. Maybe she should bring a dog home every day. She liked Mason when he was like this, all relaxed and casual. There was a distinct possibility that their marriage might work out after all. He wasn’t nearly as oppressive as she first thought he would be, and the sex…What could she say about their lovemaking besides that it was perfection in the highest form? Mason touched more than her body when they came together. He touched her heart. Her soul. But was it love?

  Could she love a man who didn’t believe in it? Who didn’t love her back? Her mind cried no, but her heart wasn’t so sure. She had to try to discover what was in his heart. She had to get through Mason’s iron control before she could touch his heart.

  The only time his control threatened to slip was when they made love. It wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to find a heart filled only with lust, desire and physical need. She wanted more. Needed more.

  Mason’s gift was his control. She understood that, accepted that. But it didn’t mean he had to control everything that touched his life. He didn’t have to control her or their marriage. She was gifted with love and compassion, but it didn’t mean she loved everyone and everything. Lord knew she tried. People who didn’t pull at her heartstrings were few and far between. But they were out there.

  To see what was truly in Mason’s heart, she had to get past the iron gate of his control. She had to understand her husband. To know what his hopes and dreams were. For that she had to comprehend his past. She knew just about what everyone else in the society knew about Mason and his family. Maybe a little more. His parents were pledged in one of the few marriages that never worked. He had two younger sisters, and by the time he was twelve he was truly the man of the house. From all accounts Mason was a somber young man who took his role in his family very seriously. His mother refused help from the Council and raised her family the best she could. The key to who Mason really was lay in his past.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Mason said as he handed Gillian a glass of soda.

  “Oh, sorry.” She took the glass. “My mind was wandering.”

  “It looked serious.” He took a second slice of pizza. “Anything I can help you with?”

  Gillian shook her head as she polished off her slice. She took her time slowly chewing the crust. In her mind, it was the best part of the meal. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “If you can’t, who could?”

  “Why do you hate social workers?” The question had been bugging her for a long time. Mason didn’t seem to mind a working wife. Just one that worked in her field of expertise, social services.

  Mason stared at her for a long time before answering. “My contact with one of them, years ago, wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  Mason had had contact with a social worker! When? Who? But more important, why? Was there an old girlfriend who worked in social services who broke his heart? As calmly as she could, she asked, “Care to explain?”

  “Must I?”

  “I can’t force you to tell me.” She could tell he really didn’t want to discuss the subject. “But if you don’t I’ll be forced to seek the answer elsewhere. Or worse—” she gave him a big smile, hoping to sway him “—I’ll use my own imagination to think up a scenario to go with that statement.”

  “I shudder to think what your mind could come up with.”

  “Just look at it this way. If you answer one of my questions, I’ll have to answer one of yours.”

  One of his black eyebrows shot up to the middle of his forehead. “Any question?”

  She had to think about that one. Any question? Would she answer any question Mason might pose? Maybe not willingly, but she’d answer. “Sure, why not? You’re my husband now and there shouldn’t be any secrets between us.” She gave him an impish grin. “But then again, you might wish you had left my secrets buried.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” He toyed with the moisture that had built on the outside of his glass. “My mom had a hard time raising us kids after my father walked out. When you get to know my mom better, you’ll realize her ‘gift’ must be stubbornness. She blamed the Council for her disastrous marriage and refused all offers of help from the society. The only time she accepted their help was for my education. She was putting in ten hour days, six days a week, at what was a sweatshop a couple blocks over from our apartment. She sewed for sixty hours a week and still couldn’t make ends met. The rent was always due and Kara wasn’t the healthiest of kids. She had asthma, constant ear infections, and her appendix and tonsils were both taken out before her tenth birthday. Mom missed a lot of work because of Kara.”

  Gillian could hear the love in his voice when he talked about his sisters and mother. Would it one day be there when he talked about her?

  “Anyway, to make a long, boring story short, occasionally, when things got too tight, Mom applied for public assistance. Nothing much, just a helping hand so Kara could get the proper medicine and some food for the table.”

  She cringed. She knew all the parts Mason was leaving out of his story. Over the years she had seen families like his, felt their pain, and each and every time it saddened her heart. Mason was a proud man whose childhood must have torn at his soul. “Was she denied?” She had heard stories before about families who had been denied. That would explain his dislike for the system.

  “No, she got a few crumbs here and there. But it cost.”

  “What did it cost?” Gillian knew he wasn’t referring to money.

  “Our self-respect.” Mason gave a shrug and continued to streak the condensation on his glass with the tip of his finger. “A nasty, uppity social worker snooped around the apartment and asked insulting and private questions. Just the way she walked around and inspected everything let you know what she thought. We might have been poor, but we weren’t filthy. Once, when we kids should have been in the bedroom being quiet, we snuck out into the hallway and listened. My mother was in tears, crying as if her heart would break. Do you know what this moral, respectable soul of the social system suggested?”

  “No.” But she could imagine. Lord, could she imagine.

  “She wanted my mother to place us in a foster home.” He glanced up and locked gazes with her. “Do you have any idea what that did to my mother? This woman walked into our home and practically told my mother she was an unfit parent.”

  Gillian broke eye contact first. She felt nauseated. One within her own ranks had betrayed the system. To insinuate that Nadine Blacksword was an unfit mother was preposterous. “She was wrong, Mason.” It was a sad, simple response, but it was the best she could do. There were good social workers, and there were bad. Mason’s mother got one of the bad ones.

  Her arms ached to hold the hurting boy that was still buried inside him. But she didn’t reach out. Mason, the man, wouldn’t appreciate what he would see as pity, though it was really compassion.

  Mason stared at her for a long time before shrugging. “Can we change the subject now?”

  “Sure.” Gillian stood up and started to clean off the table. “I know what we can do.”

  Mason gave her a wicked grin.

  “Not that,” Gillian said, chuckling. The man was shameless. Ego-boosting, but shameless nevertheless. Lord, they had practically killed themselves in the shower an hour ago. No matter what books said or movies showed, doing the “wild thing” in the shower was dangerous. More people had to have shown up in emergency rooms throughout the country having sex in
the shower than for bike accidents. They probably hauled their broken bodies out of the tub, pulled on some clothes and strapped on a pair of in-line skates before calling the ambulance.

  She and Mason had barely made it out of the slippery death trap in one piece. Of course they had only made it as far as the soft throw rug covering the bathroom floor.

  Gillian grinned at the memories and tugged on Mason’s hand. “We can do that later.” She pulled him out of the room and into the hall. “I want you to see our booty.”

  Mason glanced behind her at her backside. “I’d like to look at your bootie.”

  “Not that bootie.” She pulled him into the dining room, where Cullen, Raine and she had stacked the wedding presents earlier. “This booty.” The entire table and buffet were covered in shimmering presents. She picked up the nearest present, wrapped in white paper with silver bells, and placed it in his hands. “You start.”

  Mason looked at the present in his hand and the rest of the mountain of boxes piled throughout the room and groaned.

  They were back! Hundreds, possibly thousands of leeches squirmed their way across his bed to Gillian. This time, instead of trying to pull the creatures off his wife, he tried to pick up Gillian. Every time his hands reached out they encountered another bloodsucker. He couldn’t get a grip on Gillian. Her pale blue eyes were wide with terror and silently begging him to help. He tried desperately and failed miserably. With unblinking eyes, she watched him fail.

  With a roar of frustration Mason jerked awake.

  Gillian sat up and placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Mason?”

  At her touch Mason snapped his head around and stared at her. In the dimness he could make out her worried expression. There were no leeches, no judgmental looks. Only concern for him. He turned away and dragged his hand down his face. A curse tumbled from his mouth. His body trembled and he wanted to scream. What in the hell was going on?