Long-Lost Bride

by Day Leclaire

  “I’ll go introduce myself to Doña Isabella.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  They went in opposite directions, an irony not lost on Shayne. Opening the door to Chaz’s office, she braced herself to face the Doña and whatever secret Chaz was protecting. It only took a single glance to recognize the woman as a formidable presence.

  She sat perfectly erect in the chair opposite Chaz’s desk, her spine so rigidly straight, Shayne suspected it could be used as a measuring stick. She didn’t turn, but kept her attention focused on a point square in the center of the wall across from her, her hands folded in her lap, her chin set at a imperious angle. It wasn’t until Shayne came into her line of sight that the woman cast a black-eyed glance in her direction, her magnificent gaze filled with a rebellious life at direct odds with her inflexible frame. How curious.

  “Doña Isabella, I’m Shayne McIntyre. Chaz’s wife. I apologize for keeping you. We’ve only just arrived.”

  “Wife?” That captured the woman’s full attention and a hint of emotion moved across sharply proud features. “So he has done as I requested. I confess I’m surprised.”

  Instead of taking the chair behind Chaz’s desk, Shayne chose the adjoining one. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped the Doña would take as a conciliatory sign. “Why does our marriage surprise you?”

  Her ravenlike eyes fastened on Shayne, quick and clever and glistening with a shrewd intelligence. “I did not think he would find a woman willing to join with him.”

  “I was more than willing.”

  Her hooked nose was perfectly shaped to emphasize her sniff of disdain. “That does not endear you to me.”

  Shayne regarded her in amusement. “Do I need to endear myself to you?”

  “If you wish my cooperation, you will do everything within your powers to make me happy.”

  Curiouser and curiouser. “I’ve ordered coffee. Would that be a good start?”

  “No. I drink tea.”

  “A shame,” Shayne said calmly, seeing through the woman’s game and playing along. “I suspect Penny would consider it an offense to the cowboy way of life if I were to ask him to fix you some.”

  A spark of laughter flickered briefly before dying an icy death. “He is a rude old man.”

  “I quite like him. He struck me as someone who offers an honest opinion.”

  “Offers it freely and often. Hardly an appropriate attitude for an employee.”

  Shayne lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want me to speak to him about his attitude?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “None.”

  “Then what would be the point?”

  Shayne leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Sheer wicked enjoyment.”

  Doña Isabella released a snort of laughter just as the door opened behind them. Penny entered, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. “The coffee’s black. Don’t believe in ruining a good cup o’ joe with anything but whiskey.” He thumped the heavy porcelain mugs onto the desk between the two, eyeing the women suspiciously. His grizzled brows drew together. “What? Whatcha lookin’ at me that way fer?”

  The two women shared a moment of pure feminine understanding. “Thank you for the coffee, Penny,” Shayne said as demurely as she could manage. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Yeah, it was. Not that you two give a hot da—” One glance from the Dona had him backpedaling toward the door. “Dang. A hot dang. If the boss wants me, I’ll be out in the barn where the critters don’t look at ya funny.”

  The instant the door had slammed behind the foreman, Dona Isabella gave a sharp nod. “I’ve reached a decision,” she announced. “I’ve decided that you’ll do.”

  Shayne’s brows drew together. “Thank you, seems the appropriate response. Though I’m not quite sure why.”

  “McIntyre hasn’t told you about me, has he?”

  “Not yet.”

  She gave another snort of displeasure, which impressed the heck out of Shayne since the Doña somehow managed to retain her regal air while making the sort of noise capable of cracking glass. It was quite a feat. “Then I’ll wait until he does before rendering my verdict.”

  “And you’ll wait because...?”

  “Because I want to be certain that you’ll remain his wife once you know why I’m here.”

  “I see,” Shayne murmured.

  It was a lie and they both knew it, but apparently the Dona intended to let it pass. Clearly this had to do with the secret Chaz had mentioned on the balcony the night they’d made love. When she’d asked him if it was anything illegal, he’d replied, “Nothing I can be jailed for.” Somehow it involved this woman. But... how?

  “... and do what I pay you to!” Chaz’s voice roared through the thick oak door. A loud thwack punctuated his shout. “Is that the best you can do? Hell, you can’t even throw straight, you ham-fisted excuse for a cook!”

  Shayne started in alarm. Now what? “Excuse me, please.”

  Hurrying to the door, she yanked it open. Chaz stood with his back to her, shaking his fist at a huge, muscle-bound giant of a man who was rapidly disappearing down the hallway. From the way her husband’s muscles were knotted beneath his shirt, he’d soon give physical expression to his anger. She hastened to close the door. It didn’t take any great mental acuity to realize Chaz and the Doña were at odds. No point in giving her more ammunition to use against her husband. Now she just had to figure out why he was also at odds with Mojo.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Just explaining the facts of life to my mule-headed idiot of a cook.” He raised his voice. “My mule-headed, idiot, soon-to-be-unemployed cook.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is he so upset over our marriage?”

  Chaz glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression reflecting a wariness that cut to the quick. At a guess, he didn’t know how she’d respond to the situation and if there’d been time, she’d have blistered him for it. “I guess I should have spoken to him before I left and warned that I might be bringing home a wife. But since I didn’t know for sure I was going to find someone, I—”

  “Chickened out?” she interrupted without giving due thought to the ramifications of her comment. “Considering the size of him, I don’t blame you.”

  Chaz’s eyes narrowed, irritation vying with amusement. To her relief, his sense of humor got the better of him. “You think that’s intimidating, you oughta see him with a meat cleaver in his hand.” He nodded to the front door off to her right.

  Shayne’s breath stopped in her throat. A meat cleaver was imbedded deep in the wood. Her knees wobbled. “He...” She gulped. “He threw that at you?”

  “Aw, hell, honey. He wasn’t serious or I wouldn’t be standing here. He was just punctuating some of his choicer remarks.”

  Shayne closed her eyes and whispered a Spanish prayer her Costa Rican nanny used to repeat each night to chase away the demons hiding under the bed. Of course, once she’d been taken to Florida, she’d had to say those prayers all on her own. Not that they’d worked. “Why is he upset that you married me?” she asked again.

  “He’s afraid you’ll try and change things. He’s sort of possessive about his kitchen.”

  Was that all? She felt instantly better, though she had trouble communicating that fact to her knees.

  “Hey, you okay?” Chaz gathered her into his arms. “He won’t hurt you. Honest.”

  If only she could believe that. And yet, with the heat from her husband’s body stealing through her, tasting the taut length of his neck that she’d somehow found beneath her lips, inhaling his spicy cedar scent, she did feel safe. His hands snagged in her hair, tipping her head back. Fierce blue eyes focused on her with explosive need. He murmured something, something that sounded remarkably like “my love.” But that couldn’t be.

  And then she couldn’t think. His hands tangled deeper in her hair, forcing her up into a scalding meld of lips and tongues and heated br
eath. She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, reacquainting herself with the flesh embodiment of strength and power.

  “Everything will work out,” Chaz muttered against her mouth. He drank deeply once more, drugging her with his taste. “You’ll see. I’ll take care of it.”

  How typically male. He had a lot to learn about the woman he married, if he thought he could cut her out of the loop. “Is Mojo one of your secrets?”

  “No.”

  No? “Now I’m really worried. I think we’re overdo for a talk, don’t you?”

  The door to Chaz’s office opened on her words and Doña Isabella appeared in the doorway. “I agree. We are long overdo for a talk,” she announced, her raven-black gaze raking them both with sharp reprimand. “Do you intend to stand there all day cooing like lovesick turtledoves or do you plan to grace me with your presence sometime in the near future?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Shayne said. How could she have forgotten the Doña? Not that it took much thought. First Mojo and his meat cleaver and then Chaz’s embrace. It was enough to make her forget everything else—even a woman as formidable as this. “We’re coming right now.”

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Chaz said as they took their seats. “I see Penny brought you coffee.”

  “It is cold.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t drink it when it’s hot.”

  “Doña Isabella prefers tea,” Shayne hastened to interrupt.

  “Funny. Last time she said she detested tea.”

  The Dona dismissed his comment with a sweep of her hand. “An old woman is permitted to change her mind. It is one of the few pleasures left her.”

  “Yeah, and you take to it like a duck to water, don’t you?”

  Laughter gleamed. “If you are asking whether I enjoy being difficult, the answer is yes. I enjoy it quite thoroughly.”

  “I can tell.” He planted his hands on top of his desk. “Let’s get down to it, shall we? You’ve met my wife. I’ve given you what you requested. Now give me what I want.”

  The Dona’s mouth compressed, her thoughtful gaze settling on Shayne. “She is a lovely choice. I didn’t expect you to show such wisdom.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She sighed. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

  “I planned to tonight.” His voice hardened. “You’ve jumped the gun a bit by showing up today.”

  “Tell her now.”

  His eyes flashed in warning. “Don’t push me, old woman.”

  “Tell her now so I can be certain she won’t leave you once she knows the truth.”

  “You have no right—”

  Doña Isabella slammed her cane against the floor. “I have every right.”

  “Go ahead, Chaz,” Shayne prompted. “If it will satisfy the Dona, get it out in the open.”

  “Honey, I really did plan to tell you,” he explained regretfully. “Just not like this.”

  That meant it was bad. She took a deep breath and fought for calm. She’d spent most of her life practicing self-control, learning to hide her thoughts behind an impassive mask. The years she’d spent with her aunt had honed that skill. And after her aborted marriage to Chaz, when her brother’s guilt had threatened to overwhelm them both, she’d worked hard to maintain a cheerful facade so he’d have peace. Whatever Chaz’s secret, she’d greet it with calm acceptance.

  “It’s all right,” she assured. “I told you before we married that I’d accept your secret. I meant what I said.”

  “Very well.” He seemed to gather inward, as though drawing his emotions under tight control. “Doña Isabella has something I want.”

  “I gathered as much.”

  “In order to get it, I had to meet her demands. The first was that I acquire a house.”

  “And the other was a wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “And in return, she’d give you...what?”

  He hesitated for a split second, then said gently, “In return, she’d give me my daughter.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  To My Long-Lost Bride,

  Another year has passed without you in my arms. How many has it been? Four? Four long, impossible years. How I miss you, my Forever Love. Are you still waiting for me? Or have you found another? That thought haunts me, twists me into knots so I can’t think straight.

  Was it only my imagination that made me believe we were joined that night, that we’re two parts of one whole? Can you still picture me, see my face in misty dreams, as I see yours? Do you hear me, Shayne, as clearly as I hear you—your voice whispering on the night wind, calling with every birdsong at day’s break, murmuring in the streams as spring breaks through winter’s icy hold? Or am I nothing but a faded memory?

  I’m losing you, my sweet I can feel it. And I know if that happens, I’D also lose the part of me that you kept alive.

  Come back to me! I need you.

  IT TOOK took every ounce of self-possession for Chaz to remain in his seat. He wanted to leap across the desk, gather Shayne in his arms and carry her off to his bedroom. To explain about his daughter in private, with a gentleness that might have helped ease the hurt somewhat. But Dona Isabella had forced the issue, had taken the timing out of his hands. And instead his newlywed wife sat as rigidly as the Dona, her chin set at a desperately proud angle, her eyes two huge, dark pools of anguish, her wide, lush mouth compressed to hide the slightest of quivers.

  “What’s her name?” she finally asked, her voice ripe with pain. “Your daughter, I mean.”

  “Sarita.”

  “It’s a lovely name.” She said it with a generous sincerity that left him helpless to respond. “How... how old is she?”

  “Three last August.”

  “The same age as my nephew, Donato. And...and Sarita’s mother?”

  If this didn’t end soon, Shayne would end up in tears. He refused to let that happen, refused to give the old woman the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’d hurt his wife with his silence. He stood and came around the desk. “We’ll discuss that later. Well, Doña? Are you satisfied now?”

  The woman recognized the double-edged question and inclined her head. “Lo siento, Señor McIntyre. My timing was unfortunate. I should have allowed you the opportunity to explain in your own way.”

  “Yes, you should have.” He offered his hand. “I’ll see you out.”

  “What about Sarita?” Shayne asked.

  The Doña rose to her feet with Chaz’s assistance, leaning heavily on her cane. “I’ll bring her by at the end of the month for a visit.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “You said—”

  “You have done all I’ve asked, so far,” the Doña interrupted tartly. “I do not expect the rest of my requests to cause you any great hardship.”

  “Requests...or demands?”

  She shrugged. “I try always to be polite.” Her cane shot out and she used it to maneuver him clear of her path, showing remarkable agility for someone so crippled up with arthritis. “You often make common courtesy a most difficult task.”

  “I aim to please,” he sniped right back, though for Shayne’s sake, he probably should attempt to curb his annoyance. “I don’t suppose you’d care to list the rest of your demands so I know there’s an actual end in sight. Or do you make them up as you go along?”

  She didn’t like that. Her remarkable eyes flashed with dark warning. “Use care, McIntyre. Sarita is not yet in your possession.”

  “She will be.”

  Dona Isabella paused in front of Shayne. “And what about you, Señora? Are you willing to accept Sarita as your own?”

  Shayne didn’t hesitate. “She will be my own.”

  Her words shook Chaz to the core. They implied a permanence he couldn’t handle if he hoped to maintain a safe distance. It was his daughter he wanted, not a wife. Especially not a wife with a heart as soft as Shayne’s. Only Sarita mattered. But even as he made the silent assertion, it echoed through his mind,
sounding rife with desperation rather than ripe with certainty, mocking his conviction.

  He fought to remind himself of the man he’d become. Once upon a time he might have had something to offer a woman like Shayne, when he was young and foolish and believed that love was a solution instead of a tribulation. But he no longer believed in such an emotion. Not in its purity, not in its goodness, and sure as hell not in its durability. Nine long, lonely years had cured him of that particular fantasy. What he knew of love was dark and painful, the emotion nothing more than a shadow that stole across a man’s heart and snuffed his soul. If he kept Shayne for his wife, she’d discover that darkness, too, and he’d end up hurting her again—just as Rafe had warned.

  “I want my daughter, Doña,” Chaz interrupted. “I’ve been patient long enough. I’ve given you everything you’ve requested. You wanted me to provide a home for her. I have. You wanted a mother for her. Here she is.”

  “And now I wish to assure myself that this home you have purchased and this woman you have taken for a wife will be suitable for my Sarita.”

  “Don’t push me, Isabella.”

  For a split second, her regal facade cracked, revealing an old woman’s vulnerability. All pretense had been forcibly ripped away and her internal battle to do what was best for Sarita waged across a network of lines cut deep into a once handsome face. “She is my only female great-grandchild,” she offered in a pained voice. “She is not a stray cat or a dog in need of a good home. If I decide you are unsuitable, I will return with her to Mexico. I can provide her with everything she requires there.”

  “Can you?” Something didn’t ring true about the Doña’s statement. “Then why did you come to me? Why tell me of her existence when your granddaughter went to such pains to keep me in the dark? You could have returned to Mexico with no one the wiser. So why ask me to take Sarita if you’re capable of providing for her so well?”