Home to You

by Robyn Carr

  Sweat ran down her back as Reverend Grady began—and her fear of bad karma grew worse, especially when he reached “in sickness and in health” and then “till death do us part.”

  Still, she managed to repeat her vows. Simon did the same without sounding too panicked. As a matter of fact, he seemed...resolute.

  They exchanged rings and the minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Simon, you may kiss the bride.”

  Gail knew Simon was in acting mode. He was used to such intimate contact, didn’t think anything of it. But the warmth of his lips against hers made her knees weak. Hoping to play her part as well as he was playing his, she slipped her arms around his neck—until Simon’s tongue entered her mouth. Then she drew back.

  If she’d shocked the minister by stopping the kiss, he didn’t show it. Smiling his approval, he gave her elbow a squeeze and, when Simon turned away to speak to Ian, lowered his voice. “I hope you can bring him peace.”

  “I do, too,” she murmured.

  They posed for several pictures. Then Josh swept her into a hug. “Congratulations. You’ll be fine, you know that?”

  “Of course I do. We both understand—” she dropped her voice to a whisper so the reverend wouldn’t overhear “—what’s riding on this.” She forced a bright smile as she stepped away from him but felt dangerously close to tears.

  “Thank God for every new day you have together,” the minister said. “May you have a long and fruitful union.”

  When Gail heard Simon thank him, she was once again embarrassed and uncomfortable with the lies they were telling. But it wasn’t until Simon went to show Josh, Ian and Reverend Grady out that she allowed herself to sink into one of the leather chairs along the wall and drop her head in her hands.

  “They’re gone,” Simon said when he came back.

  She looked up. “I can’t believe we did it, that we went through with it.”

  He leaned against the door. “You were thinking of bailing on me?”

  “No, not really. But...” She finished in a whisper so that no one else in the house could hear. “I felt like an idiot taking those vows. Didn’t you?”

  He stared at her for what seemed like an interminable time. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. “Missed what?”

  “You’re completely...innocent.”

  Her mind scrambled to put his comment into some sort of context. “Because I don’t watch porn or—”

  “No.” He chuckled as if his meaning was obvious, but she couldn’t imagine what he was trying to convey. She’d never had anyone call her innocent. It wasn’t a word most people associated with a business professional, especially one over thirty.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “You’re so tough and inflexible that—”

  She held up a hand. “You’ve mentioned my lack of better qualities before.”

  Ignoring the interruption, he moved closer to her. “That I keep expecting you to be jaded and self-serving. But you’re not. You’re not that person at all.”

  Shifting in the giant but soft leather chair, she studied the polish on her nails to avoid looking up—but ended up looking at him anyway. “I’ll probably kick myself for asking, but...according to you, who am I?”

  “Someone who’s honest, sincere and too tenderhearted for her own good.” He frowned as if these things were terrible, the latest blow in the long series of blows he’d recently been dealt. “As I said, innocent.”

  “And you don’t like innocent any more than you like tough and inflexible, is that it?”

  He did what he could to loosen his tie with one hand. “That’s where you’re wrong. I crave innocent. It’s so rare in my world that I’m immediately drawn to it. Which is why I think we might have an unexpected problem.”

  “Admiring some of my positive traits is a problem?”

  “It could be, for you. So I’ll add my voice to all the others who’ve tried to warn you away. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk out of here right now and petition for an annulment.”

  He was serious. “I can see you’re feeling confident in our success. That’s encouraging.”

  “I’m feeling guilty,” he clarified.

  “For taking vows you don’t mean?”

  “For knowing I’ll probably end up destroying your innocence.”

  “And how do you think you’ll do that?”

  “You haven’t been through what I’ve been through, haven’t lost the ability to fall in love.” He jerked his head toward the door. “So get out while you can. I’ll still be your client, do whatever you need to help get your business back on solid ground.”

  And what would he do? Continue to battle his demons with alcohol? He’d certainly made a mess of his life. She wasn’t sure he deserved the second chance she’d constructed for him, but she wanted to see him take it.

  “You’re reading too much into one kiss. It was nothing. I was embarrassed to have an audience, that’s why I reacted the way I did.”

  He said nothing. But his skeptical expression goaded her on.

  “Come on, you’re not that irresistible.” She merely had to remind herself of the dangers involved in falling for him and she’d be fine. It wasn’t as if she was going into this with her eyes closed. Even he’d been up front with her about his limitations.

  His gaze lingered on her body. “I give it a week.”

  “A week for what?”

  “That’s how long I think you’ll last with your no-sex rule.”

  The awareness that had slammed into her when she was in his arms returned with a vengeance. She wanted him and he knew it. She’d wanted him ever since she’d first seen him on the silver screen.

  But most women did. She wasn’t stupid enough to act on it.

  “Quit trying to scare me off. We’ve already come this far. We’re going to see it through.” She got to her feet. “I’m heading home to pack. I suggest you pack, too. We leave for Whiskey Creek in the morning.”

  “You’re staying somewhere else tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed softly. “See?”

  That proved nothing. “See what?”

  “You felt it.”

  “I felt nothing. I just have a lot to do,” she said, but she had to sleep sometime, and the fact that she’d decided to stay in her own bed said something, even to her.

  He stiffened as she brushed past him but didn’t stop her. Neither did he try to talk her into coming back.

  “We’ll be taking my Lexus to Whiskey Creek, so be ready when I come by in the morning,” she said, and left.

  Fifteen

  Simon’s introduction to Gail’s hometown started with a sign posted on the meandering highway they’d been traveling since leaving Interstate 5: Welcome to Whiskey Creek, the Heart of the Gold Country. They’d passed through other places, similar in size and architecture. Jackson and Sutter Creek also dated from the Gold Rush–era of the 1800s and looked it. But there was something different about Whiskey Creek. Subtle though it was, Simon noticed it right off. There was a definable unity here, a certain pride evident in the way the buildings were maintained and cared for that made him believe it should’ve been named Happy Valley.

  “What do you think?” Gail adjusted her seat belt so she could turn toward him.

  “It’s...interesting.” He’d insisted on driving, even though he wasn’t familiar with the route. He had to retain some semblance of control, and she hadn’t fought him on that. She seemed happy enough to play the role of navigator.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Resting his left hand over the steering wheel, he used his injured right to slide his sunglasses down and take a better look. “The
surrounding countryside is gorgeous. I’ve just never lived in a small town. I’m not sure how I’ll adapt.”

  She lowered the passenger window and stuck her head out as if she couldn’t wait to smell the air. “There’s nowhere like the foothills, especially in the fall.”

  That she loved the area so much surprised him. Although they’d never really socialized when he was her client, they had spent significant time together. Other than an occasional mention of where she came from she’d never talked about Whiskey Creek. But then...she’d always been straight-up business. This was the first glimpse he’d had into her past. He’d never had any reason to take an interest before.

  “Why’d you leave here?” he asked.

  She lowered the volume on the radio. “For the same reasons I keep coming back. My family lives here. And I know everyone.”

  “Those are bad things?”

  “My father can be...a bit overbearing and opinionated.”

  He’d already gotten that impression.

  “And when you know everyone, there’s no chance to break out and be anything other than what people expect,” she added. “It can be...confining.” She rolled her eyes. “Then there’s the inevitable gossip.”

  “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been gossiped about. You always play by the rules.” He glanced over to see if she’d refute that statement.

  “I’ve had my less-than-stellar moments.”

  “Name one.”

  “No, thanks. Those incidents were painful enough when they happened. No need to relive them.” She rummaged through her purse and came up with a pack of gum. “Now that we’re married, there will, of course, be more gossip.”

  “Unlike you, I’m used to being gossiped about.” He shook his head when she offered him a piece. “I don’t think I could feel at home anywhere I wasn’t the center of attention,” he teased.

  “Then you’ll feel right at home here.” She tossed him a grin. “Anyway, I had to leave. There’s not much opportunity in Whiskey Creek for a PR firm.”

  “What about in Sacramento? According to the signs I’ve seen, it isn’t far.”

  “It’s still an hour, which makes for a long commute. Unless you want to run one of the stores around here, or maybe a B and B, and we already have two, you’re pretty much out of luck in the business world.”

  He nodded toward A Room with a View Bed and Breakfast, a quaint Victorian perched prominently on Main Street, where the road made a ninety-degree turn. “Tell me we can stay there,” he said, but he knew it wasn’t likely that she’d change her mind. She’d told him they’d be staying with her father until they could find a rental. He’d heard her confirm it on the phone earlier. He was going to be Martin DeMarco’s guest even though he wasn’t particularly welcome.

  “We have to stay at my dad’s, at least for a day or two, or he’ll never forgive us,” she explained.

  “Us? He doesn’t want me there.”

  “I can’t let him reject you. We’re married. We’re a package.”

  “I’m being rescued by a girl.” He sighed. “I can’t believe my life has come down to this.”

  If he thought she’d give him a bit of sympathy, he was mistaken. “I hope it’s as humbling as it should be,” she said.

  “Good thing my ego is all but indestructible.” He let his gaze stray to the V of her tan dress, which had distracted him all day. As much as he didn’t want to find his new “wife” too appealing—they both knew their relationship would best be handled as simply a business transaction—he was intrigued on a number of levels. Mostly, he liked her mind. He’d always admired her quick thinking and no-nonsense, honest approach to life, or he wouldn’t have hired her as his PR agent. But there was something more, something about her that just felt...right. She inspired him.

  If that was the extent of it, the next two years should progress uneventfully. But in the past few days he’d actually been wondering why he’d never noticed how flawless her skin was. Or how her lips quirked endearingly to one side when she was trying to tell him he was full of bullshit.

  “Stop it,” she said, nudging his shoulder.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “Just because you’re wearing sunglasses, don’t think I can’t tell what you’re looking at.”

  It was their wedding kiss, he decided. Ever since she’d drawn back almost as soon as their lips touched, he’d been preoccupied with kissing her again. But that wasn’t a welcome realization. If he wasn’t careful, he’d drag her down before she could pull him up.

  “I’m happy to hang out on my own at the B and B, if I’m bothering you,” he said.

  “Nice try, but I’m not going to my father’s without you.”

  The reminder of what they would soon face quashed his libido. “How difficult is Mr. DeMarco?” he asked, slowing for a traffic signal.

  “What do you mean?”

  The light turned green before he had to stop. “He’s never been abusive with you....”

  “No. I hope I didn’t give you that impression. He’s a good man, a really good man. It’s just that he expects so much of me, and is so easily disappointed. The...force of his personality can be hard to take.”

  Simon considered that and grimaced. “I don’t do well with authority figures.”

  She didn’t attempt to convince him otherwise. That was another thing that made her different. If she said something he could believe it. “No kidding.”

  He adjusted his seat to give himself more legroom. “So...how do you think this is going to work?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said. “At the very least it’ll be interesting.”

  Besides the B and B, they passed an antiques store called Eureka Treasures, Black Gold Coffee, Whiskey Creek Five and Dime, 49er Sweets and a smattering of mom-and-pop-style restaurants, including a diner called Just Like Mom’s that could’ve come right out of the 1960s. There wasn’t one fast-food joint or chain grocery store that Simon could see, which made this town and others in the area different from most.

  Farther down the street there was a post office, a bike store named Crank It Up and a barbershop, complete with the traditional pole.

  “When do we get our own house?” He came to the second stoplight and glanced over to see some flyers taped in the window of Harvey’s Hardware. One advertised a tour of a nearby gold mine. Another enticed visitors to go spelunking at a place called Moaning Caverns. The display behind these flyers featured Halloween decorations.

  “As soon as Kathy Carmichael, down at KC’s Gold Country Realty, is able to find us something suitable.”

  The hill to the right sported several century-old homes. Others—those along Sutter Street—had been turned into gift shops or art galleries. “Doesn’t look like there’s a big housing market around here. Will there be anything to choose from?”

  “Not much but—” she gave him a pirate’s smile “—thanks to you, money’s no object, so we’ll just take the best one we can get. Picking our lot and getting started on the house you’ll build will take more time.”

  Not if he could help it. He needed to stay busy or he’d revert to his old ways before she could raise a disapproving eyebrow. She’d removed all his coping mechanisms. They hadn’t been working particularly well, but they had always provided an escape. “You realize I can’t build a house by myself. I’ve never taken on a project quite that big.”

  “I have a good friend who’s a general contractor. I’m sure he’ll be happy to provide any support and guidance you need—for a fee.”

  “And you think we can build a house in the time we plan to stay here?”

  “Probably not, but you can always have Riley take over when we go back to L.A. Then we’ll have somewhere to stay when we visit.” She conjured up an expression of mock innocence. “Unless you’d like to
stay with my father whenever we return.”

  “Point taken,” he grumbled.

  Her attention shifted back to her hometown as if she was making note of any subtle changes, but he broke the silence again. “So...you were serious about three months, right? I have to last here for three months and then our Whiskey Creek days are over, except for an occasional visit?”

  She touched his arm. “Give it a chance, okay?” She gestured at a small side street jutting off to the right. “Turn here.”

  * * *

  Somewhere in his late fifties, Martin DeMarco was a tall, grizzled redhead with erect posture, big shoulders and hands large enough to palm a basketball. He treated Simon with cool reserve, wouldn’t address him directly, but said nothing overtly unwelcoming. He didn’t say much at all. He greeted his daughter with a stiff nod and suffered through a brief introduction. Then he helped carry their luggage from the car to Gail’s old bedroom in his home, which resembled a large cabin. After putting down her suitcase, he gave Simon one long, assessing look, frowned as though he wasn’t happy with what he saw and turned back to his daughter.

  “Dinner’s in the fridge. Go ahead and heat it up if you’re hungry.” He didn’t say it, but the intimation was there: And feed him if you have to. “I’ve got a problem at the station, but it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Anything serious?” she asked.

  “No, just Robbie. He can’t figure out how to open the till to give change—the little idiot.”

  “Where’s his mother? I thought she was training him.”

  “She’s been trying, but she’s not feeling well. This is his first night on his own.”

  “He’ll learn,” she said.

  With a skeptical grunt, Mr. DeMarco left, but as far as Simon was concerned his absence did little to improve the situation. Joe, Gail’s older brother, was still at home, and he was just as tall, just as imposing and just as unhappy with Gail’s choice of husband. He’d spent the whole time they were coming in leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and sizing Simon up.