The Wedding Bargain

by Yvonne Lindsay

  His malpractice insurance had covered some of the costs of the suit that had been brought against him. But bowed by guilt, and with his funds tied up in long-term investments that were time-consuming and expensive to convert into cash, her father had taken out a short-term loan to make a large private financial settlement on the family of his deceased patient. Using his home as security had seemed a good idea at the time, and he’d had every intention of paying the loan back out of investment income. Until the truth about his investments had been revealed.

  He’d trusted his old school friend who ran a financial-planning company. A friend who had, unfortunately, turned out to be running an intricate Ponzi scheme. Shanal’s parents had lost every last dollar. Shanal had given up her rental and moved back home immediately to help them out.

  While she earned a good salary and had some savings, she knew it wouldn’t support the three of them forever. For the time being, they were able to afford the loan payments and living expenses, but those expenses would soon rise beyond what she could handle, especially as her father’s disease took greater hold on his body and he grew more dependent upon assistance. It struck Shanal as cruelly ironic that while her father had paid dearly to buy security for his patient’s family, everyone in his own was now paying for it.

  In a weak moment she’d shared her worries with Burton, who’d immediately proposed marriage again, saying he’d planned to make her his wife all along and that the timing was perfect now, since as her husband, he’d be able to help her and her family. For starters, he’d insisted on taking over her parents’ mortgage and offering a financial settlement to relieve her and her parents’ stress when they married. She had honestly believed she could go through with it.

  The reality, however, had been an unwelcome shock. Once she’d agreed to become his wife, Burton had shown himself to be intent on taking over much more than just her parents’ mortgage. The overwhelming sense of loss of self that had struck her when she’d been standing at the altar still lingered like cold, bony fingers plucking at her heart—at her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head to try and rid herself of the sensation.

  When she opened them, Raif was looking at her again with those piercing blue eyes. She felt as if he looked right through her, but at the same time couldn’t see what twisted and tormented her inside. She wanted to break free of that gaze—to do something, anything, to keep herself busy, even if only for a couple minutes.

  “I’ll make us some coffee, shall I?” she said, her voice artificially bright.

  “Sure. Black for me.”

  Of course his coffee would be black. Deceptively simple, like the man himself, yet with hidden depths and nuances at the same time. Shanal familiarized herself with the well-appointed kitchen, finding the coffeemaker and mugs tucked neatly away.

  “How long have you known Mac?” she asked, determined to fill the silence that spread out between them.

  “About five years.”

  She waited for him to be more forthcoming, but may as well have been waiting for the polar caps to melt.

  “How did you meet?” she persisted.

  “We did some skydiving together, some canyoneering.”

  Shanal was well aware of Raif’s interest in adventure sports. For a while it had seemed he was always hurling himself off some high peak or out some airplane, or kayaking down a wild river. The activities seemed a perfect match for the man he was—physical, daring and impulsive. But Raif’s interest in such activities had waned suddenly after the death of his girlfriend, Laurel, in a canyoneering accident a few years ago.

  “Did he know Laurel?” Shanal blurted, without really thinking.

  “She was his daughter.”

  “Oh.” Her hands shook as she went to put her standard spoonful of sugar in her mug, and the white granules scattered over the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

  “It’s okay,” he replied, his voice gruff. “I don’t mind talking about her.”

  Shanal flicked him a glance, noted the way his hands had tightened on the wheel, his knuckles whitening. “That’s the hard thing about losing someone, isn’t it? People often don’t know what to say, so they say nothing at all.”

  Raif grunted a noncommittal response. Shanal finished making the coffee, thinking about what she’d said. She’d discovered the same thing applied when people suffered other tragedies—like illness. No one really wanted to face the issue, and conversation usually skirted around things. At least that’s what she’d found with her father. As the motor neuron disease ravaged his body, piece by piece, he’d lost his independence and ability. Their friends, not knowing what to do or how to help, had slowly withdrawn.

  It hadn’t helped that her dad was such a proud and private man. He’d hated being forced into retirement because of his illness—still hated every lost ability, every task that he could no longer complete on his own that forced him to depend on the care of others. He had always taken such pride in his independence, his abilities. His work as a surgeon had saved lives and allowed him to provide handsomely for his family in a way that gave him a sense of purpose and meaning. Losing all that had been devastating. He’d become reclusive, despising himself for his growing dependency on others.

  And then there was the financial situation.

  Shanal slammed the door on her thoughts before guilt could overwhelm her. She had, literally, run away from the answer to her parents’ financial problems. She didn’t want to go down that road right now. She just couldn’t. Maybe in a few days a solution would present itself to her—and maybe vines would one day grow grapes of solid gold, she thought, deriding herself.

  She handed Raif his coffee and sat down beside him as he negotiated the boat up the river.

  “How far do you plan to go today?”

  “Not far,” he replied, before taking a sip. “The sun will be setting in a couple of hours. We can pick a spot along the river, tie off for the night and then make an early start tomorrow if you feel like it.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Here,” he said. “Do you want to have a turn at the wheel?”

  “Is that safe? I’ve never done this before.”

  “Gotta start somewhere,” he replied. “Besides, we’re not doing more than seven kilometers an hour. I don’t think even you could get us into trouble at this speed.”

  “You’re referring to the time I crashed one of the vineyard tractors into the side of a shed, aren’t you?”

  His lips quirked.

  “In my defense, no one told me where the brake was on that thing.”

  “Point taken. Which brings us to your first lesson today.”

  He briefly explained the controls in front of them and then let her take the wheel. Once she got the hang of it, Shanal found it surprisingly relaxing as she gently guided the boat along the river.

  The sun was getting low in the sky, sending the last of its watery golden rays through the trees silhouetted on the riverbank, when Raif suggested they pull in at a tiny beach on the river’s edge. After they’d nosed in, and he’d set up the small gangplank, he went ashore to tie ropes to a couple of large tree stumps. Shanal shut down the motor, as instructed, and walked out onto the front deck.

  “I know this is crazy,” she said. “But I feel as if we’re the only people on the river right now.”

  “I know what you mean. You get a sense of isolation very quickly out here. It’s good in its way.”

  “Thank you. I really did need this.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment and went inside. After a few minutes she followed. Raif was opening a bottle of wine at the kitchen counter.

  “Want some?” he asked, holding up an empty glass.

  “Yes, please.”

  She watched as he poured the white wine, and accepted th
e glass when he handed it to her.

  “Yours?” she asked.

  “Of course. My grapes, Ethan’s brilliance.”

  She smiled. “You make a good pair.”

  “Just like our dads did before us.”

  “Is your dad still hands-on in the vineyard?”

  Raif took a sip of the wine and made a sound of appreciation. “Yeah, although he’s pulling back more these days. He and Mum are planning a tour of Alsace and Bordeaux next year. He’s been tied to the vineyard for most of his adult life. It’ll be good for them to explore a bit more, and I know they’ll love France.”

  Shanal took a sip of her wine, savoring the flavor as it burst over her tongue. “This is from the vineyard by your house, isn’t it? The one that partially survived the big fire?”

  The Masters family had been devastated just over thirty years ago, when bush fires had destroyed the family residence, Masters Rise, and almost all their vineyards. It had taken years for them to recover. Years and many hours of hard work and determination from a family that had pulled together, growing closer and more unified in the face of the tragedy. Now, they were successful and strong again, but the ruins of the old house still stood sentinel over the family property—a solemn reminder that everything could be snatched away in the blink of an eye.

  “Certainly is,” Raif confirmed.

  “Ethan was telling me that you’ve become a keen proponent of organic vineyard practices.”

  He smiled at that—the first real smile she’d seen from him all day—and seemed to relax a bit. “It’s hard to break with the old ways, but I think in this case it’s worthwhile. It’s always been my aim to work toward making the vineyards as efficient as possible using sustainable processes.”

  “Well, if this vintage is any example, you’re definitely on the right track.”

  He held his glass up in a silent acknowledgment of her compliment. “Shall we take these outside? You’ll be warm enough if you put my jacket back on.”

  Shanal followed his suggestion, and after putting on the jacket she’d discarded on the couch earlier, walked out onto the front deck and sat in one of the wicker easy chairs positioned there. The sun gave a final burst of golden color before disappearing. Darkness spread, heightening the sense of isolation she’d mentioned earlier. And yet even with the night’s noises beginning around them, she didn’t feel anxious or afraid. Raif’s solid presence beside her put paid to that, she realized. And no wonder she felt safe with him, given the way he’d helped and protected her today. She owed him, big time. Not many men would have done what he did.

  She sighed and sipped her wine. The silence between them was companionable, but she felt compelled to say something about the way she’d absconded from her own wedding.

  “I guess I owe you an explanation,” she started, turning to face Raif, who stared out into the darkness beside her.

  * * *

  “Nope.”

  Raif had no need to know what had finally brought Shanal to her senses and sent her flying from the cathedral this morning. And frankly, the less time they spent talking about her would-be groom, the better Raif would feel.

  “But I—”

  “Look,” he interrupted. “Burton Rogers and I might have been at school together. We might even have resembled friends once upon a time, but we’re not now. To be honest, I’ve wondered more about your reasons for agreeing to marry him than I have about your reasons for running away. You don’t need to explain a thing.”

  Shanal sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

  “Don’t like him, don’t trust him.”

  “That’s what you tried to talk to me about, back when we announced our engagement, wasn’t it?”

  He drained his glass. “Another?” he asked, standing up and putting out his empty hand.

  “No, thanks, I’m okay. In fact, I think that glass has completely gone to my head. I was too nervous to eat this morning and—”

  “I’ll go warm up dinner. Mac left us a chicken casserole in the refrigerator. We’ll have to cook our own meals from tomorrow.”

  He went inside before Shanal could realize he’d completely avoided answering her question. But he hadn’t counted on her dogged determination to see things to an end. He should have known better. It was what made her a good research scientist, but not necessarily good company right now.

  “What was it that you didn’t say to me at the time, Raif? Why do you dislike him so much?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “I’d like to know.”

  He set the microwave to reheat and popped the covered casserole dish inside before straightening to face her.

  “He killed Laurel,” he said simply.

  Four

  “Raif, that’s not true! You know he was cleared of any responsibility in that accident,” Shanal cried in response, her smooth brow creasing in disbelief.

  “I figured you’d say that. That’s why I didn’t want to say it to you then, or now.”

  He turned away and hunted out cutlery and place mats for their meal, then walked past her to set the table.

  “You still cold?” he asked, reaching for the switch to turn on the gas heater.

  “I’m fine. What do you mean, you figured I’d say that?”

  She had a bit more color in her cheeks right now than she’d had all day. Obviously she thrived on conflict and argument more than he’d realized.

  “You were engaged to the man. Obviously you’d take his side. And let’s face it—we’ve always been at loggerheads with one another, haven’t we? You’re hardly likely to believe what I say.”

  Raif crossed his arms in front of him and stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, daring her to contradict his last statement. As he watched her, she lost that air of bravado that had driven her to confront him just now. Her shoulders sagged and she seemed to shrink inside herself.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said softly, before lifting her eyes to meet his again. “And yet, despite your opinion of me and my choices, you were the only one who came to help me today.”

  How did he tell her that he hadn’t done it for her as much as he’d done it to defy Burton? Hell, hadn’t Raif vowed after Laurel’s death that he’d do whatever it took to prevent Burton from hurting another woman, especially one he—?

  Raif slammed the door on that thought before it could take wing, and busied himself with finding condiments to put on the table, and throwing the packaged salad he found in the refrigerator into a bowl.

  Without actually saying in so many words that he believed the other man was a murderer, he’d tried his hardest to convince Shanal to question her reasons for marrying him. But she’d been adamant. Right up until that crucial moment this morning.

  “Raif?” Shanal’s voice gently prodded him to respond.

  “You were upset and wanted to get away. I was there and I had the means to help you—what else could I have done? I wasn’t going to just stand aside and let you be turned into a freak show.”

  “No, I guess that’s bound to come when I return home again.”

  “It doesn’t have to. You can make a statement to the media and request privacy.” He issued a bitter laugh. “Or you could not go home at all.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not quite that simple.”

  “It can be, if you want it to be.”

  She averted her gaze, but not before he saw raw grief reflected in her eyes. There was more to this than she was letting on, he just knew it. But how to get it out of her? That was the question.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I’m not in a hurry to head back, are you?”

  A shudder racked her body. “No.”

  “Then let’s not borrow trouble.”
<
br />   The microwave pinged and Raif retrieved the casserole and put it on the table.

  “Come on. Take a seat and have some food.”

  He lifted the lid of the dish and the delicate aroma of apricot chicken filled the air. Raif ladled a generous portion onto a plate and put it in front of her.

  “Help yourself to salad,” he instructed, before serving himself.

  They ate in silence, Shanal putting away more food than he thought she would, given the circumstances and how tightly she was wound. Halfway through the meal he retrieved their wineglasses and poured them each another serving.

  “Trying to help me drown my sorrows?” she asked with a humorless smile.

  “Are you sad?” he returned pointedly.

  She held his gaze, her determined chin lifting a little, as if in defiance. “Not sad, exactly.”

  And then her eyes grew shuttered again. She gathered up her plate and cutlery.

  “Leave that,” Raif instructed. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m not a fragile ornament about to shatter apart,” Shanal protested as he took the things from her and stacked them in the dishwasher.

  “Go, get an early night, and then maybe you’ll look less like one,” he said firmly, even a little harshly.

  There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, which made him realize he’d gone too far. But then he saw her spine stiffen, and a bit of the fire she’d shown earlier returned.

  “Fine, then. Since you put it so nicely. I’ll go to bed. Did you have a preference as to which room you want to use?”

  “I put the bag of clothes in the end room for you. It’s the biggest.”

  “But won’t you need clothes now, too?”

  “We can stop somewhere along the river and I’ll get a few extra things. But I don’t need anything else for tonight.”

  He slept in the nude, always, no matter the weather. Just because he’d rescued a runaway bride wouldn’t change that, no matter how her cheeks suddenly flamed with color as she also came to the realization he’d be sleeping naked.