Long-Lost Bride

by Day Leclaire

  She didn’t reply. Instead, the battle ended and her face smoothed into an implacable mask. She turned and marched relentlessly across the office before pausing in the doorway. “Sarita is in need of some culture, if she is to live in such an isolated place,” she announced. “We leave for San Francisco in the morning. I will return at the end of the month. And I shall be interested to see the progress your wife has made toward turning this house into a suitable home for my Sarita.”

  Shayne followed, slipping a hand beneath Isabella’s arm. “I’ll do my best.” She opened the door and offered the sweetest of smiles. “Why don’t I see you out?”

  Doña Isabella inclined her head. “If that is your wish.”

  Damn Shayne’s kindness! Chaz thrust a hand through his hair, thoroughly exasperated. Great. Just great The woman who’d haunted him for more years than he cared to remember coupled with the woman who’d plagued him nonstop for the past three months. Nothing good could come out of that combination.

  “Jumbo!” he roared.

  With more speed than grace, Jumbo lumbered into the office. He was a massive man, his skin bronzed to a coppery sheen by a heritage as diverse as it was interesting. His instant response suggested he’d been hovering nearby. No doubt he’d gotten quite an earful, all of which he’d pass on word for excruciating word to his brother, Mojo, and to Penny, as well as to anyone else who’d pause long enough to listen. Jumbo might be one of Chaz’s hardest-working employees, but he was also an inveterate gossip.

  “You bellowed?”

  “Get supper on the table. And make sure there’s plenty of liquid refreshment, if you catch my drift.”

  “Aw, boss.” Jumbo shook his head in disgust. He folded arms that could have passed as tree trunks across his chest and lifted a single, thick black eyebrow that extended, unbroken, from one side of his face to the other. “You gonna drink yourself into a stupor on your wedding night?”

  “It’s not my wedding night.” Or was it? Did their pre-wedding celebration count? Damn. Probably not. Nor did the overnight drive it took to get here. “And don’t give me that look. I’m not the one in need of stupefying, not that it’s any of your business.”

  A knowing gleam drifted into Jumbo’s odd gold eyes. “Got it. Champagne for the lady? Or wine?”

  “Not champagne.” She’d probably kill him. “Wine. A nice merlot, I think. And keep her glass full, though I doubt it’ll help.” Nothing would help except to change the events of the past. Unfortunately, if his life had taken a different course, he wouldn’t have Sarita. The knowledge unsettled him. “And keep Mojo in the kitchen. No point in scarin’ my wife off her first day here.”

  “He’ll want a peek at her.”

  “Tough.”

  “Okay, but fair warning. He might not be willing to cook for your wife, especially if she starts messin’ around in his kitchen.”

  “We’ll deal with that if it happens.” Since Shayne might not be staying long enough to mess with anything, Chaz decided to back-burner that particular problem. Hell, he had enough other, far larger worries looming over him. “Now will you take care of your brother or do I have to do it?”

  Jumbo held up his hands. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll deal with Mojo.” And with that, he returned to the kitchen. Offer her more wine,” Jumbo advised.

  Chaz shot his employee an infuriated look. Not that it did any good. The man was as immune to the finer points of authority hierarchies as Penny. He gritted his teeth. “More wine?” he asked Shayne.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You sure? It’s got quite a pleasant flav—”

  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  Right. She’d pass. Again. Just like she’d passed on the salad, and the bread. And no doubt just like she’d pass on most of her dinner and Jumbo’s eventual offer of dessert, and most frustrating of all, any and all attempts at conversation. He reached for the glass she’d refused, before slamming it to the table in sheer frustration. Purple-red wine sloshed over the rim and stained the one good tablecloth he could call his own. Good linen had never seemed important...until now.

  “Shouldn’t push her, boss,” Jumbo advised cheerfully, dropping a dinner plate in front of him. “Maybe she doesn’t like wine. If you’re still hopin’ to get her drunk, I can fetch some of that hard stuff you have hidden in your desk drawer. We could lace her coffee with it.”

  “Repeat that word.”

  Jumbo’s face collapsed into lines of contemplation. “What word?”

  “The ‘b’ word.”

  “What? Boss?”

  “Yeah. That word. I want you to reflect on it and all its many connotations before opening your mouth again. That way you might keep your job past the end of the meal.”

  Jumbo’s impressive eyebrow bunched together, like a caterpillar rolling into a ball to escape a predator. “What? What did I say?”

  “First, you’re buttin’ in where you have no business buttin’.” Chaz fought to keep his voice down, with only limited success. “Second, you’re giving out far too much information. And third, I’m not trying to get my wife drunk.”

  “Oh, yeah? You give up on that plan? Didn’t much care for it, myself.”

  “Jumbo!”

  Perhaps it was the volume that finally penetrated. “You want me to shut up?”

  “Either you can do it, or I’ll do it for you.” Chaz flexed his hands, just in case.

  Jumbo’s caterpillar brow thrashed around in apparent death throes before rippling into a straight mortally wounded line. “Won’t say another word.”

  “Good.”

  He set an overloaded dinner plate in front of Shayne. “Anything else I can get you?” He shot Chaz a defensive look. “And just so we’re clear, I wasn’t buttin’ in. Asking her that is part of my job. Can’t very well fetch her something if I don’t know what needs fetching.”

  “No, thanks, Jumbo,” Shayne hastened to say.

  “But you’re gonna eat all I brung you, right?”

  Shayne blinked in surprise. “To be honest, I’m not very hungry.”

  Jumbo planted his massive fists on his equally massive hips. “Not a good idea.”

  Her eyes widened. “No?”

  “Not even a little. If you kept this up, Mojo’s gonna come charging out of the kitchen with a meat cleaver in hand, demanding retribution. He doesn’t take well to people giving his food such short shrift.”

  “Jumbo!”

  His employee spun around, his right elbow missing the top of Shayne’s head by a scant inch. “Do you want your wife chopped into itty-bitty pieces, boss? I’m just trying to protect your property.”

  “She’s not my property!” Chaz roared. What was it with people considering his wife property? First Rafe and now Jumbo. Couldn’t they tell by looking at her that she was as strong and independent as they came? Perhaps it was because she appeared so fragile and was possibly the most delightful bit of femininity to ever grace his home. No doubt it roused the protective instincts in the male species. “She’s a woman with a will of her own and the ability to make her own decisions.”

  “Now, see...” Jumbo took a seat. “There’s your first mistake. You tell a woman stuff like that and things get way out of control.”

  “Jumbo’s not the most enlightened of men,” Chaz explained to his wife. “Perhaps that explains why he’s never been married.”

  “You want my advice?” Jumbo asked. Not that it was really a question.

  Chaz sighed. Clearly, he needed to redefine the word “employee” again. This time he’d do it with his fists. “Not even a little.”

  “When you went to that fancy-pants ball you should have bought yourself an obedient sort of wife. Not that there’s anything wrong with the one you did buy. It’s just that with a different sort, you could tell her straight out that she’s to mind the house and take care of your kid and she wouldn’t get her feelings hurt.”

  “I did not buy a wife! I never said that.”

  “Not in so ma
ny words,” Jumbo concurred. “But we caught your drift.”

  To his alarm, Shayne shoved back her chair and tossed her napkin to the table. Aw, hell. “Honey, I did not tell anyone I bought you. I swear.”

  “Would ‘barter’ be a better word?” Jumbo asked pensively. “You know... You agree on a trade-off. You give her a home, she gets to take care of it. That sort of thing.”

  She shot to her feet. “Excuse me, please.”

  Damn and double damn. “Honey, wait—”

  She listened to him as well as everyone else in his household, doing precisely the opposite of what he requested. She didn’t run, but she did move at a good little clip, hastening into the hallway and toward the bedrooms at the rear of the house. He’d lay odds that she was crying.

  Chaz turned on his employee. “Have Mojo put together a light meal that’ll keep. Then you stick it on a tray outside my bedroom door. And do it quietly, or I swear, you won’t see another dawn.” He slammed his finger into Jumbo’s chest. “Tomorrow, you and I are going to conduct a little experiment.”

  “What sort of experiment?” Jumbo asked warily.

  “We’re going to experiment with how many times I can punch you in the jaw before all your teeth fall out.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Chaz left the dining room and gave chase. He found his wife at the end of the hallway, looking around, clearly without a clue as to which door to try. He settled the issue by swinging her into his arms and carrying her into their bedroom. Twilight had settled in, bringing a deepening gloom. But when he reached for the light switch, she stayed his hand.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  Now he knew she’d been crying. Chaz fought for patience, fought to be the sort of man she deserved instead of the one she’d ended up marrying. “Honey, we have to talk.”

  Darkness filled her voice. “Not really.”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “Then talk. But no lights.”

  “I can’t see your reaction to what I say without lights,” he argued.

  “I know.”

  Okay, fine. They’d do this her way. All things considered, it seemed only fair. He settled her onto the bed before moving away, giving her a bit of space. He snagged a ladder-back chair from against the wall and brought it closer to the bed. Spinning it around, he straddled the seat and folded his arms along the back.

  “I’m sorry, Shayne,” he began. “First for the things Jumbo said But also... I should have told you about Sarita before we married.”

  She curled up in the center of the mattress, hugging his pillow in a way that sent white-hot desire bolting through him. She’d hugged him like that the night of the Cinderella Ball. Of course then she’d been wearing only three things—a mask that sang of her desire, her petal-soft skin and the secret scent of a woman’s passion.

  “Why didn’t you? Why keep Sarita a secret?”

  “Because I was good and pi—” His wedding band caught the final rays of fast-dying light and he broke off, rethinking his language. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Forty-eight hours ago, he’d have blistered the air with his opinion. Now he was learning the fine art of husbandly caution. Amazing. “I was good and ticked at your deception. I didn’t feel I owed you a thing at that point, sure as hell not an explanation.”

  “I see.” She lowered her head and her hair spilled forward, the deep reds and purples filling the evening sky catching in the pale gold color, like a molten sunset embracing a field of wheat.

  “Look, Shayne. I know I hurt you. Not only didn’t I tell you about Sarita. But I hurt you through the mere fact of my daughter’s existence.”

  “We weren’t married.” She wrapped herself so tightly around the pillow it was a miracle the seams didn’t burst. “You weren’t under any obligation to remain faithful to me. I understand.”

  “Do you?” The question slipped out before he could stop it. But once spoken, he had to know the answer.

  She tossed the pillow aside, as though throwing off a crutch. “I’m sure you’ll find this hard to believe, but yes. I do understand.” Even her voice had gained strength. “What you don’t want to hear is why I understand.”

  No. He didn’t. They were forbidden words, words that tied him in knots of restless anger and despair. “Her name was Madalena,” he said with forceful deliberation. “And she made life a little easier during a tough time.”

  Shayne looked at him. Not that it did any good. Without any light to gauge her expression, it remained as unreadable as if she’d been wearing her mask. Even her voice held a cool, even quality that threatened his sanity. “Did you love her?”

  “Do you really need me to answer that?”

  “You don’t think you’re capable of loving anyone, do you?”

  Her question whispered through the darkness, chilling him. Perhaps it was the lack of emotion in her voice. Or perhaps it was the quiet acceptance. He didn’t want to hear either one. Cursing beneath his breath, he came for her, following the sweetest of scents with unerring accuracy.

  He caught her in his arms, her small gasp revealing that she hadn’t anticipated his approach. “I loved you once upon a time. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “No!” She fought him, shoving at his chest and squirming in a way that sent heat scalding through his veins. “You’re afraid to live, Chaz. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but you are.”

  “Not afraid, wife,” he whispered close to her mouth. “Cautious. Suspicious. And more than a little cynical.”

  She turned away from that almost-kiss, her rigidness spurning his touch. But he refused to release her. Or perhaps he simply didn’t dare. “What happened to Madalena?” she asked when it became clear that he wouldn’t let her go.

  “It was a temporary diversion.”

  “For you or for her?”

  “Both,” he replied evenly. “She was the youngest in her family and a natural-born rebel. They tried to box her in and she fought back in the one way they couldn’t forgive.”

  “Did her family find out about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they took her from you, too?” She relaxed ever so slightly, turning into his warmth. “Oh, Chaz!”

  He’d have laughed if it wasn’t so tragic. “No, Shayne. They didn’t react the way Rafe did. Their response wasn’t loving outrage. They cut her off without a penny.”

  “They disowned her?” He could hear the shock ripple through her voice. “How could they?”

  “Misplaced pride. Inflexibility. Who knows? The only one to stand by her was her grandmother, Doña Isabella.”

  “Couldn’t you have done something to help? Couldn’t you have married her?”

  “I didn’t know she’d been thrown out. Even if I had, Madalena didn’t want marriage any more than she wanted me.” He rested his chin on top of Shayne’s head. “I told you. It was a temporary relationship. When it became apparent that our feelings for each other had changed, Madalena packed her bags and wished me well. Doña Isabella showed up the next day and they left. A week later, I moved on to my next job.”

  “They didn’t tell you about Sarita?”

  “Not then. Not until a few months ago. Doña Isabella dropped in to inform me that Madalena had died in a car accident. She brought Sarita with her.”

  “Quite a surprise. Or is that too mild a word?”

  His mouth curved into a faint smile. “I think ‘shock’ might be closer to it.”

  “Isabella must have felt you should be told about your daughter. Why else would she have brought her?”

  Shayne had keyed in on the one issue that didn’t make any sense. “I’m still trying to figure that out. If Doña Isabella doesn’t want me to have Sarita, why tell me about her? Why all the games?”

  “I gather she offered to let you raise your daughter?”

  “To adopt her. But only if I could provide a home for her.”

  “And a wife?” The hurt stormed back into Shayne’s voice.

  He released his brea
th in a sigh. “That, too.”

  She fell silent for a long moment and he felt the tension building in her, thrusting against his chest and arms, rejecting him with unspoken, yet clear determination. “Perhaps this would be a good time to discuss what you require from me,” she said.

  What the hell did that mean? “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Jumbo wasn’t far off, was he? We did make a bargain. You told me you wanted a wife who could create a home.” She slipped from his grasp before he could stop her. “You just neglected to mention the home was for your daughter, rather than for us.”

  She was killing him by inches. “And?”

  “And I’d like to know precisely what that involves. What do you want from me?” she repeated.

  He didn’t have a clue how to answer that one. Rolling off the bed, he crossed to his dresser and removed a T-shirt. “Here.” He tossed her the improvised nightgown. “We’re both exhausted and I don’t know what Jumbo did with our suitcases. Wear this tonight and we can unpack tomorrow.”

  “I’m not sleeping here.”

  “Then pick another room. Doesn’t matter much to me where we bed down.”

  “I mean... I’m not sleeping with you.”

  He’d already figured that out. Not that it altered his decision any. “We sleep together.” He said it in a tone he rarely used, but one that made even the most ornery cowpoke scramble to obey. “Now get changed.”

  He thought he heard a word he’d have sworn his precious wife didn’t know. Between that and the rustle of clothing being shed, he knew he’d won this particular battle. Trying to ignore the surge of relief that one argument had finally gone his way, Chaz opened the door and recovered the tray Jumbo had left. A shaft of light slipped into the room and as he turned, he saw Shayne.

  She knelt in the center of his bed, her legs curled beneath her and her arms lifted as she prepared to drop his T-shirt over her head. She’d removed her clothes and the light licked across her profile. Time paused for a breath, gifting him with a second that seemed to last an eternity, enabling him to look his fill. Golden hair streamed down her back, the ends stopping just shy of the full, lush curves of her buttocks. Creamy thighs joined with narrow hips, shadows taunting him by throwing a modest hand across the golden delta beneath her flat belly. Her breasts were high and round, the rosy tips pearling in reaction to the cold kiss of the surrounding air. Her face was turned toward him, the vulnerability revealed in her wide, dark eyes burning a permanent path to his very soul.