Three Weddings and a Murder

by Milan, Courtney

  First thing he saw was Nate lying in a pool of blood. He bolted over the body and tackled Carlisle from behind. The SOB started to buck and Charlie climbed him like a bronco bull, locked onto his gun hand and yanked with all his might. When that didn’t work, he dug his nails into the underside of Carlisle’s wrist. Carlisle yelped, and his pistol spun across the floor like a hockey puck.

  Anna raced for Bobby while Charlie rode the adrenaline-fueled bull, doing his damnedest to steer him away from the women. Charlie’s arms ached from the tight chokehold he had on Carlisle, but not so much that he had any intention of letting go. He’d ride this motherfucker all night if he had to.

  Carlisle tried a spin, like you see on those wrestling shows, and Charlie started to see spots. But he didn’t mind, because he also saw Anna handing Bobby off to Simone.

  “Run!” he yelled at the women.

  Simone fled with Bobby in her arms, and an enraged Carlisle reared up. Charlie held on.

  Carlisle stuck out one foot, trying to trap Nate’s gun and drag it back to him.

  Charlie kneed his bull hard in the sides. He was a flat-out rodeo champion tonight.

  Carlisle reared again, and this time Charlie flew backward and landed on his tail. Before he could scramble to his feet, Carlisle grabbed Nate’s gun and pointed it at him. The barrel of that pistol was the deepest darkest hole he’d ever looked down.

  His heartbeat sounded like it was coming out of stereo speakers, and his breath stormed through his body like a hurricane. His life didn’t pass before his eyes like he’d always believed it would, but time did give him one last gift. It slowed down long enough for him to glance up at Anna’s sweet face.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Anna had a gun.

  She hovered beside him, facing off with Carlisle. “Drop it, asshole.”

  Carlisle snarled.

  Anna snapped her wrist, and the thunder of a gunshot braided in the air with a burst of light and the stench of burnt powder, confusing his senses.

  Carlisle fell backward, and the hole in his forehead left absolutely no doubt that he would never hurt his family again.

  Thursday Evening

  CHARLIE REACHED INSIDE the crate and picked out a choice specimen: soft—but not too soft, plump, and luscious with a gentle hint of fuzz that playfully tickled his nose when he tested its sweet, fresh aroma. Yes sir, this was one grade-A-perfect Tangleheart peach all right.

  They’d just learned that after a rocky night, Nate was expected to make a full recovery. With Simone’s mom delayed in Phoenix and not expected to arrive until tomorrow morning, he and Anna would watch over Simone and Bobby at the farm again tonight.

  “I’ve got something for you.” He offered his hand-selected peach to Anna.

  “No thanks.” Anna shook her head, and a swarm of blinking fireflies went wild, jiving around her face, and then hovering above the crown of her head like an electric tiara.

  Her gaze was distant and unfocused, and he had no idea where he stood with her. The night air hung hot and still around them as if it, too, were in a state of limbo. He snuggled the fruit back in the crate and reached for her hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have led with the peach.

  “Simone okay?”

  “She’s scared Nate will come after her again.” Even with the balmy comfort of a small-town Texas night wrapped around her, Anna shivered.

  He wished he could make it all go away—make Anna and Simone feel safe again. But there was no running from the truth. Nate Carlisle was a cold-blooded killer, and the only way to keep his wife and child safe was to make sure he went to prison for the rest of his days. “I’m sure the DA will move fast on this one—just as soon as Nate’s able to stand trial.”

  “He tracked Simone to the lake house by her phone, you know.”

  “I kinda figured.” He traced his thumb along the silken underside of Anna’s forearm. They’d talked of little else apart from Nate and Simone for the past forty-eight hours, but right now, with Anna sitting mere inches away from him, with the smell of her skin calling up a near holographic memory of her body moving beneath him, the future of a different couple was weighing heavily on his heart.

  “Nate lied to us when he said Simone left her phone behind.” Anna’s chin dropped to her chest, and the fireflies momentarily scattered.

  Gently, he tucked his index finger between her chin and her chest and nudged her face up until her eyes met his. “Nate lied about a lot of things, but I don’t want to talk about him anymore tonight if that’s okay. I don’t want to allow him to steal one more moment of happiness away from us.”

  She didn’t look away. “Agreed. Let’s talk about something else—anything else. I could use a break and a little distraction right about now.” Anna inclined her head toward the door of the Carlisle farmhouse. “Simone’s finally sleeping, and so is the baby, so we need to be extra quiet.”

  “That’s no problem.” He could think of lots of distracting ways to occupy their lips that wouldn’t be noisy. “We’ll just sit out here on the front porch steps and enjoy this beautiful summer night.” He turned her hand over and pressed a little kiss into her palm. “Like the old days. Remember?”

  Pulling her hand away, she brushed a hank of hair off her forehead, and the fireflies went nuts again.

  “How about a bite of that peach?” he coaxed.

  Her nose scrunched up in distaste. “You forget I hate peaches.”

  “No,” he countered. “You forget you love peaches.”

  Seconds ticked by. Seconds during which a thousand warring emotions flitted across her face too quickly for him to discern.

  “It’s true I used to love peaches, but now I don’t,” she said at last.

  His heart sped up, and his chest expanded with fresh hope. He could work with an opening like that. In fact, Anna was headed right where he’d wanted to lead. Stopping by the farmer’s market on the way over had been a stroke of pure genius. “It’s because of that worm, isn’t it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  He pulled out his perfect peach once more and pressed it into her hands.

  “No thank you.” She set it back in the crate.

  “Just hear me out.” Leaning toward her, he mentally prepared his case. He intended to get her to bite into that peach even if it took all night. “You love peaches. You always have. I’m not making this up on my own. I’ve watched you dance a jig when the season turns, and they first hit the farmers’ stands. I’ve seen you give your dinner plate to the dog, just to get to the peach pie at the end quicker. I’ve seen you lick peach juice off your chin at a church social and not give a damn that the preacher’s wife is watching.”

  “Okay, I admit it. I used to love peaches. That’s exactly what I just said. But ever since I bit into that bad one and found half a grody worm hanging out of it, I stopped loving peaches. I haven’t touched them since.”

  “Exactly.” He smiled.

  And then her mouth twisted into a defiant pink pucker.

  She was putty in his hands.

  “There’s no worm in these peaches, Anna. I checked every single one in the box. You’re making a decision based on a wrong assumption. You love peaches. You always have. It’s worms you hate.”

  That beautiful smile of Anna’s, the one that lit his world like nothing else could, replaced her pucker. “My stars, Charlie, do you have some sort of point to this whole peach de résistance campaign?”

  Trailing the edge of his hand down her cheek, he captured her gaze. His heart was pounding against his ribs, and he took her hand and placed it on his chest, so she could feel the truth of his words. “I love you, Anna. I always have, and I want a chance to earn back your trust. I want a chance to prove that no matter how sad and terrible the world around us becomes, I won’t walk away from you again. You love me, Anna. You told me so yourself. All you have to do is remember.”

  She pulled her hand away, and her lower lip trembled. Moonlight was glinting off the moisture in her eyes. His throat tight
ened. He was beginning to lose hope again…but then, thank God, she pulled his hand to her racing heart and tilted her face up invitingly. He brushed his lips over hers, and she opened eagerly for him. The kiss was long and sweet and tender—everything a kiss should be when you’re with the woman you love.

  He could’ve kissed her like that forever, and he pulled her back for more when she tried to break away, but in the end she gave him a little shove and had her way. Apparently, she wanted to be heard too.

  “I do remember, Charlie,” she said and reached inside the crate. “I love you—so if it’s another chance you want, I’m all for it.”

  And then Anna Kincaid, the girl of Charlie Drexler’s dreams, laughed out loud and took a great big fearless bite of a grade-A-perfect Tangleheart peach.

  FOR READERS CURIOUS about the title, Solomon’s Wisdom, it has to do with the parable, The Wisdom of Solomon, King James Bible, 1 Kings 3:16-27.

  Carey Baldwin is a mild-mannered physician (still practicing full time) who happens to write edgy romantic thrillers. What’s a nice girl like Carey doing writing scare-you-silly thrillers? When you’re a former clinical psychologist, writing about psychopaths comes naturally, and when you’re a hopeless romantic… Well, you do the math!

  Follow Carey Baldwin on twitter at @CareyBaldwin, like her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/CareyBaldwinAuthor, or visit her website at http://www.CareyBaldwin.com.

  More about Carey’s other works, and an excerpt from her upcoming debut novel, First Do No Evil, can be found at the back of this book. Click here for a shortcut.

  We hope that you’ve enjoyed the stories in Three Weddings and a Murder. This is a very special project for us. We put together this anthology to honor women who have been important in our lives, who have suffered from breast cancer. All of the authors have had friends, mothers, or aunts diagnosed with this deadly disease.

  We will be donating 100% of the profits from this anthology to breast cancer research and treatment, and on September 22 and 23 of 2012, we will be participating in the Avon Walk in Santa Barbara, California (three as walkers, and one as support staff).

  If you want to follow our progress or make a donation to the Avon Walk directly, please visit the page for our team at http://bit.ly/3weddings/.

  A Lady by Midnight

  Spindle Cove Book 3

  Available August 28, 2012, from Avon Books

  A temporary engagement, a lifetime in the making…

  After years of fending for herself, Kate Taylor found friendship and acceptance in Spindle Cove—but she never stopped yearning for love. The very last place she’d look for it is in the arms of Corporal Thorne. The militia commander is as stone cold as he is brutally handsome. But when mysterious strangers come searching for Kate, Thorne steps forward as her fiancé. He claims to have only Kate’s safety in mind. So why is there smoldering passion in his kiss?

  Long ago, Samuel Thorne devoted his life to guarding Kate’s happiness. He wants what’s best for her, and he knows it’s not marriage to a man like him. To outlast their temporary engagement, he must keep his hands off her tempting body and lock her warm smiles out of his withered heart. It’s the toughest battle of this hardened warrior’s life…and the first he seems destined to lose.

  From Chapter Two:

  KATE PLUCKED A LONG BLADE of grass and dangled it for the puppy to nip and bat. His long, thin tail whipped back and forth with joy.

  “What do you mean to call him?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Patch, I suppose.”

  “But that’s horrible. You can’t call him Patch.”

  “Why not? He has a patch, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, and that’s exactly why you can’t call him that.” Kate lowered her voice, gathering the pup close and smoothing the splash of rust-colored fur around his right eye. “He’ll be self-conscious. I have a patch, but I shouldn’t like to be named for it. It’s not as though I need a reminder it’s there.”

  “This is different. He’s a dog.”

  “That doesn’t mean he has no feelings.”

  Corporal Thorne made a derisive noise. “He’s a dog.”

  “You should call him Rex,” she said, tilting her head. “Or Duke. Or Prince, perhaps.”

  His gaze slid sideways. “What about that dog says ‘royalty’ to you?”

  “Well, nothing.” Kate set the pup down and watched him scamper through the heather. “But that’s the point. You’ll balance his humble origins by giving him a grand-sounding name. It’s called irony, Corporal Thorne. As if I were to call you ‘Cuddles.’ Or if you were to call me Helen of Troy.”

  He paused and frowned. “Who’s Helen of Troy?”

  Kate almost betrayed her surprise at his question. Fortunately, she caught herself just in time. She had to remind herself that “corporal” was an enlisted officer’s rank, and most of the Army’s enlisted men had only a basic education.

  She explained, “Helen of Troy was a queen in Ancient Greece. They called hers the face that could launch a thousand ships. She was so beautiful, every man wanted her. They fought whole wars.”

  He was quiet for several moments. “So calling you Helen of…”

  “Helen of Troy.”

  “Right. Helen of Troy.” A small furrow formed between his dark eyebrows. “How would that be ironic?”

  She laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? Just look at me.”

  “I am looking at you.”

  Good heavens. Yes, he was. He was looking at her in the same way he did everything. Intensely, and with quiet force. She could all but feel the muscle in his gaze. It unnerved her.

  Out of habit, she raised her fingers to her birthmark, but at the last moment she used them to sweep locks of hair behind her ear.

  “You can see for yourself, can’t you? It’s ironic because I’m no legendary beauty. No men are fighting battles over me.” She gave a self-effacing smile. “That would require at least two men to be interested. I’m three-and-twenty years old, and so far there hasn’t even been one.”

  “You live in a village of women.”

  “Spindle Cove’s not entirely women. There are some men. There’s the blacksmith. And the vicar.”

  He dismissed these examples with a gruff sound.

  “Well…there’s you,” she said.

  He went stone still.

  So. Now they came to it. She probably shouldn’t have put him on the spot, but then again—he was the one pressing the topic.

  “There’s you,” she repeated. “And you can scarcely bear to share the same air I breathe. I tried to be friendly, when you first arrived in Spindle Cove. That didn’t go over well.”

  “Miss Taylor—”

  “And it’s not that you’re uninterested in women. I know you’ve had others.”

  He blinked, and the small motion made her uneasy in her skin. Amazing. His blink had the same effect as another man pounding his palm with his fist.

  “Well, it’s common knowledge,” she said, quietly grinding her toe in the dirt. Digging for courage. “In the village, your…arrangements…are the subject of far too much speculation. Even if I don’t want to hear about them, I do.”

  He rose to his feet and began walking toward the road. His massive shoulders were squared, his heavy paces measured. There he went again, walking away. She’d had enough of this. She was tired of shrugging off his rejections, dismissing the wounded feelings with a good-natured laugh.

  “Don’t you see?” She rose and waded through the heather, hurrying to catch the border of his long, monumental shadow. “This is exactly what I mean. If I smile in your direction, you turn the other way. If I find a seat toward your end of the room, you decide you’d rather stand. Do I make you itch, Corporal Thorne? Does the scent of my dusting powder make you sneeze? Or is there something in my demeanor that you find loathsome or terrifying?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Then admit it. You avoid me.”

  “Very well.�
� He drew to a stop. “I avoid you.”

  “Now tell me why.”

  He turned to face her, and his ice-blue eyes burned into hers. But he didn’t say a word.

  Kate’s breath left her lungs in a sigh, and her shoulders fell. “Come along,” she coaxed. “Say it. It’s all right. After all these years, I think it would be a mercy to hear someone speak the truth. Just be honest.”

  In an impulsive move, she reached for his hand and brought it to her face, touching his fingertips to her birthmark. He tried to pull back, but she wouldn’t let him escape. If she had to live with this mark every day, he could bear to touch it just this once.

  She stepped closer, pressing her pigment-stained temple to his palm. His hand was cool.

  She said, “This is the reason. Isn’t it? The reason you don’t take an interest. The reason no men take an interest.”

  “Miss Taylor, I—” His jaw tensed. “No. It isn’t like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  No reply.

  Her face burned. She wanted to beat at his chest, crack him open. “What is it? For God’s sake, what is it about me you find so intolerable? So wretchedly unbearable you can’t even stand to be in the same room?”

  He muttered an oath. “Stop provoking me. You won’t like the answer.”

  “I want to hear it anyhow.”

  He plunged one hand into her hair, startling a gasp from her lips. Strong fingers curled to cup the back of her head. His eyes searched her face, and every nerve ending in her body crackled with tension. The sinking sun threw a last flare of red-orange light between them, setting the moment ablaze.

  “It’s this.”

  With a flex of his arm, he pulled her into a kiss.

  Want more? Click here to preorder A Lady by Midnight.

  The Spindle Cove Series

  A Night to Surrender

  Once Upon a Winter’s Eve

  A Week to be Wicked

  A Lady by Midnight (August 28, 2012)

  Any Duchess Will Do (2013)