Marry Me

by Cheryl Holt

Ken couldn't bear to hurt her, but on the spur of the moment, he couldn't devise a suitable lie. Matt answered for him.

  "I didn't want him upset, and I still don't. I've known a few of your kind—"

  "My kind?" Brittney snorted.

  "—and Ken will never come out the winner in this. He has this fantasy built up in his mind about what you're like and how it will be between you, but that's all it is: a fantasy."

  She narrowed her focus, scowling with fury and regret.

  "Why are you always so mean to me? What did I ever do to you?"

  "You didn't do anything to me. It's what you might do to Ken that has me gnashing my teeth."

  "Why would I do anything to Ken? Why are you worrying?"

  "You really have to ask?"

  "Yes. What is it with you?"

  "Well now, let's see. Will you move in with us? Will you live with us in our crappy little house, caring for him as his health deteriorates? Will you throw away your other life—your rich, comfortable, real life—so you can doodle around and pretend he's your dad?"

  "I don't know what I'm going to do."

  "Do you even believe him?"

  "I don't know that either." She clutched at her purse, opened it, and dug out her phone. "I need to call that cab."

  "Coward," Matt hissed.

  "I am not," she fumed.

  "At the first hint of a conflict, you're running away. Why am I not surprised?"

  "Listen you! I've just had an enormous shock, and I don't have to—"

  But her tirade was cut off as Jeremy dashed in.

  "Brittney," he said, "I think you're on TV."

  "What?"

  "Come here."

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the living room. Ken and Matt followed.

  "Isn't that you?" Jeremy asked, pointing at the television set.

  The news was on, and there was a picture of Brittney on the screen, the word, MISSING, stamped under it. A female reporter was speaking into the camera.

  "Turn it up, Jeremy," Ken said.

  "…last seen five days ago, having vanished without a trace from a downtown restaurant," the woman announced. "Authorities have no leads in the disappearance and have not ruled out foul play. The Merriweather family is offering a substantial reward for her safe return. Anyone with any information is asked to—"

  Brittney yanked the remote out of Jeremy's hand and hit the mute button.

  "For heaven's sake," she muttered. "Who would have realized I was gone?"

  "Are you missing?" Jeremy inquired.

  "No, silly. It's all a big mistake." She shook her head with disgust. "Excuse me. I have to call my mother and let her know I'm okay."

  She went to the kitchen, and Ken tagged after her, lurking as she powered up her phone and punched in Jacquelyn's number.

  It rang several times, then Brittney said, "Mother?" There was a pause, and she continued. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just watched the news. Why would you stir up all this trouble?" She spun away from Ken and lowered her voice. "I'm so embarrassed. You have everyone searching for me for no reason."

  She listened and listened and finally said, "Dustin? Why is he in Denver? He's supposed to be on his honeymoon." Another pause. "Well, he shouldn't have come home early, because there's nothing wrong. And no, I don't want to talk to him. Don't put him on the—"

  From across the room, Ken heard her brother shout, "Where the hell are you? Are you all right?"

  "Of course, I'm all right. I've been staying with some friends."

  "Where?" he shouted even louder.

  "Calm down. I'm in Denver."

  "What's the address?"

  "Why would you need the address?"

  "Never mind, we have it on this end. Don't move! Don't you dare move! We'll be there in a minute."

  "You don't have to pick me up," Brittney insisted, but her brother had hung up. She grumbled to Ken, "My entire family is insane."

  "They're worried about you."

  "It would be the first and only time. They act like I've been kidnapped. If they're concerned about me, it would be over the fact that they might have to pay out a ransom to get me back. They're testy when they have to part with any of their money for frivolous purposes."

  He sighed. "I'm sorry about all of this."

  "It's not your fault."

  She opened a drawer and pulled out the phone book. She was leafing through it, checking for the listings for cab companies, when suddenly she halted. She frowned.

  The sound reached them at the same moment. Sirens. On many, many police cars. Rushing to Ken's house.

  "Oh, no," she groaned. "Tell me they didn't call the police."

  Matt peeked in. "Looks like you'll have a royal escort for the ride home." As if she really was the princess he always accused her of being, he made a sweeping gesture toward the front door. "Why don't you head out to meet your entourage?"

  She gazed up at the ceiling. "Please Lord, strike me dead."

  But no lightning bolt arrived to slay her.

  She walked outside just as a police car screeched to a stop by the curb.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brittney walked into the mansion and shut the door. There was no one to greet her, and she stood, gazing at the beautiful antique furniture and rugs.

  Though she'd never lived in the house, she'd always loved it. Lucas was determined to let the historical society turn it into a museum, and she couldn't bear the notion. If she accomplished nothing else in the next few months, she would find a way to keep the place for herself.

  If he and Dustin didn't want to own it anymore, they didn't have to. They could sell it to her, and she didn't care how high they set the asking price.

  Then again, maybe she wouldn't be able to buy it. If Ken's story was true, if David Merriweather wasn't her father, where did she stand with regard to her inheritance?

  She didn't know her brothers all that well, and what she did know of them wasn't all that great. They could be ruthless—especially when it involved the Merriweather money.

  Would they disown and disavow her? Would they sue her, have her declared illegitimate, take her share?

  She didn't think so, but she felt as if she was on a small boat that was swiftly sinking. Was she about to be drowned or saved?

  "Hello?" she called, but her voice echoed off the ceiling. It was a forlorn sound, reminding her that she was all alone and always had been.

  After the uproar at Ken's, she'd assumed there would be somebody waiting to welcome her. They'd made such a preposterous issue of having her rescued.

  Cops had swarmed the yard with guns drawn, and Brittney had been whisked away in a police car. She'd loudly insisted she was okay, that she hadn't been kidnapped, but no one would listen to her.

  She'd tried to phone Matt, to phone Ken, but there was no answer at either number. Her last view of Ken's house had been of Matt on the porch, a barrage of guns pointed at him. He'd been forced to put his hands on his head in a way that would have killed his bad arm.

  Had they arrested him? Had they arrested Ken? And what about Jeremy? Where was he? Ken's status as a retired officer should have calmed the situation, but it had been too chaotic. There was no predicting what had happened.

  She'd been driven to a police station and deposited at a desk by an officer who'd already heard—and ignored—her explanation a dozen times. He'd expected her to hang around so she could repeat it for a detective, but the moment he was distracted, she'd simply gotten up and walked out. She'd wandered several blocks until she stumbled on a hotel with cabs parked out front. She'd jumped in one and hurried home.

  Her plan was to bathe, change clothes, then return to Ken's to check on him. But first, she had to locate her mother and have a heart to heart chat.

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and she peered up, surprised to see Dustin's wife, Amy, skipping down.

  "Brittney! I thought you were still at the police station."

  "I left—when they weren't looking. It was all
so stupid."

  "We were worried."

  "There was no reason to be." She glanced up behind Amy, but Amy was alone. "Where is everybody?"

  "Dustin and Lucas raced off to help the police rescue you."

  Brittney winced. "Tell me they didn't."

  "I stayed here in case you contacted us again." As she reached the bottom step, she was grinning. "If I received a ransom demand, I was prepared to leap into action."

  "I am so embarrassed."

  "I would be too. Once you said you were fine, I told Dustin he was being silly, but what do I know?"

  "My brothers are the most stubborn men on earth."

  "Yes, they are, so they're extremely fortunate to have married Faith and me. We're working to rein in their worst tendencies."

  "A lifetime chore undertaken by saints."

  "Your mother claimed you were with some friends?"

  "With Matt Monroe."

  "Ooh, lucky you!"

  "You remember him?"

  "How could I forget?" Her grin widened. "After things quiet down, let's sneak off so you can tell me all about it. I want details I can drop now and then to make Dustin jealous."

  "I'm sorry you had to come home early from your honeymoon."

  She waved away Brittney's concern. "He feels bad for me that it was cut short, so it's an excuse I can use to guilt him into taking me again really soon."

  Brittney chuckled. "I like your style."

  "Thank you. I like your brother."

  "Which never ceases to amaze me." Brittney glanced up the stairs again. "Where is my mother? She didn't run off to chase after me with Dustin and Lucas, did she?"

  "No. She's up in the attic, painting."

  Jacquelyn had always fancied herself to be a frustrated artist, and she had a studio in the attic where she was able to hide out and avoid socializing with her children whenever they gathered in Denver.

  "Isn't this the first time you met her?" Brittney asked. "How did that go?"

  "My mother was at my wedding reception, but I had ordered her to be on her best behavior, so you didn't get any hint of what she's like. But Jacquelyn doesn't have anything on my mom. You want to see crazy, visit my house. Your mom isn't even in my mom's league."

  "Interesting…" Brittney mused. "She wasn't bitchy and condescending?"

  "Of course she was, but I told her I hate obnoxious people. That shut her up pretty fast. Once she realized her insults weren't having any effect, she decided to ignore me, which I actually prefer."

  "Amy Dane Merriweather"—Brittney grinned too—"I'm so glad you joined the family."

  "So am I." She pointed up the stairs. "Why don't you tell her you're back? I'll call your brothers and let them know where you are."

  "Would you ask them to be sure Matt and Ken are all right? There was quite a bit of commotion when I was dragged out of there."

  "Will do."

  Brittney skirted Amy and started to climb. It was three flights to the top floor, then another scramble up into the attic. By the time she arrived, she was out of breath.

  She stood for a moment, calming herself, figuring out what she should say to Jacquelyn. She didn't want to fight with her; she simply wanted some straight answers. But with Jacquelyn, a rational discussion was probably impossible.

  Her mother wasn't painting as Amy had supposed, but over by the window and staring out at the Rockies. She was lost in contemplation, and Brittney wondered at the scenes that might play through her mind. What images would haunt such a bitter, unhappy person?

  Finally, Jacquelyn sighed—with what sounded like regret—and spun around.

  "Oh, hello Brittney," she said.

  She flashed no smile of welcome, didn't rush over to clasp Brittney's hands or hug her with relief. She'd believed Brittney to have been kidnapped, yet her reaction was so tepid that Brittney might have just returned from a trip to the grocery store.

  "Hello," Brittney replied.

  "I didn't hear you on the stairs. When did you get back?"

  "Just now."

  "I take it you're fine?"

  "Yes."

  "It was extremely rude of you to abandon me at that restaurant. I was very concerned. And that man from Talbot Security had a fit."

  "Sorry."

  "You might have told me you were leaving and saved us all this trouble. Andrew was frantic with worry."

  Brittney's life had moved so far beyond Andrew and her engagement that it took her a second to remember who he was.

  Brittney groaned with dismay. "I hope he didn't fly to Colorado over this."

  "No, he couldn't get away, but we've provided him with regular updates. Where were you anyway? I didn't have any idea what to tell him."

  "I was with Matt Monroe."

  "Who?"

  "That security guard who was here."

  Jacquelyn gasped. "You went off with a security guard?"

  "Yes."

  "For five days? Honestly, Brittney, I don't understand you. The details will all come out. What do you suppose Andrew will say? You'll be lucky if he doesn't end your engagement. Then where will you be?"

  "I don't care about Andrew. I'm in love with Matt."

  Brittney startled herself into an amazed silence. She hadn't realized she had such strong feelings, hadn't realized she was going to blurt it out. And to her mother! What was she thinking?

  "You're in love," Jacquelyn scoffed, "with a security guard? Don't be ridiculous."

  "I'm not being ridiculous. I'm very, very serious. Although I don't know if he'll have me."

  "Have you for what? You're not considering some sort of extended…bond."

  "Maybe—if I can convince him to agree. I'm not sure I can be that persuasive."

  "I swear you're suffering from some type of mental breakdown. Perhaps we should call a doctor and have him prescribe a sedative."

  "A sedative won't cure what ails me."

  "It can't hurt. Not when you're acting like a lunatic."

  Brittney sighed with annoyance, which was her usual response whenever she tried to talk to Jacquelyn. She and her mother had never been able to communicate.

  The situation used to bother Brittney enormously, and the great thing about the past week was that it didn't matter anymore. She felt as if she'd been in prison and finally released. She felt as if she'd been blind and her sight magically restored.

  She braced herself. Perched on a cliff and about to jump off, she raced to the edge and leapt into freefall.

  "Matt lives with his father-in-law," she said.

  "How nice," Jacquelyn sarcastically replied.

  "He claims he's an old friend of yours."

  "Really, Brittney, as if I'd be friends with such common people. You know me better than that."

  "I thought I did, but now, I'm not so sure." She stared at Jacquelyn, watching her closely. "His name is Ken Scott."

  Jacquelyn's face was completely void of expression. Not the merest ripple of recognition slithered by. A moment passed, then another, and another.

  "And…?" her mother ultimately asked.

  "Do you remember Ken, Mother? Because he certainly remembers you."

  "I have no idea who he is."

  "Don't you? He's retired, but he was a cop, and he occasionally worked security for Father when he hosted important guests here at the mansion."

  "As I said, I have no idea who you mean."

  Brittney continued to study her, but Jacquelyn was impossible to read. She was so unaffected by the mention of Ken that they might have been discussing the weather.

  Brittney pushed on. "He told me a curious story about you."

  "I'll just bet he did. Don't you have better things to do than gossip with the hired help?"

  "He said you two had an affair. Twenty-six years ago as a matter of fact."

  "I assume there is a reason you feel it appropriate to raise such a topic with me, but I find it to be incredibly distasteful."

  "Trust me: I don't much like it either."

>   "You are totally out of line, and should you have the misfortune to ever again speak with this Mr. Scott, you may tell him for me that he is a bald-faced liar. If he would like to persist with this humiliating slander, I'll have my attorneys contact him."

  She whipped away and went to her table in the center of the room, where she'd previously arranged some art supplies. She started furiously jamming items into drawers, slamming them closed.

  Why the display of temper? Brittney wondered. Was Jacquelyn angry at being accused? Or angry at being found out?

  "Is Ken my father?" Brittney bluntly inquired.

  "What did you say?" Jacquelyn hissed.

  "Is Ken Scott my father?"

  "How dare you insult me with such a question!"

  Jacquelyn grabbed a large tote, threw some things into it, then marched around the table as if to storm out. Brittney's own temper sizzled to a boil, and she stepped in her mother's path.

  "Is he my father?" she demanded.

  "Your father was David Merriweather, my husband of forty years. You will not ever offend me in such a way again. Do you understand?"

  "Why is my hair blond? Why are my eyes green?"

  "How would I know?"

  "Why have you always hated me? Is it because I remind you of Ken?"

  Jacquelyn leered with what could only be malice. "This conversation is over."

  "I'm having a DNA test," Brittney announced.

  "You're what?"

  A wave of panic flashed in Jacquelyn's eyes. It was there and gone in an instant, but Brittney had seen it. Her heart sank. While she would have the scientific analysis in order to be certain, Jacquelyn had confirmed what she was trying so hard to deny.

  "I'm scheduling a paternity test," Brittney said, "to learn for sure."

  "Are you insane?"

  "No, for once I'm very, very clear on where I'm headed."

  "You would disgrace me? You would disgrace the family? And for what? Because some burned-out, retired cop told you a pack of lies?"

  "But he wasn't lying, was he, Mother? Save me a lot of trouble, and tell me the truth."

  "You absolutely will not embarrass me like this," her mother shouted. "You will not spread this venom! You will not get any humiliating tests! I forbid it!"

  "You forbid it? I'm twenty-six years old. It's a little late for any forbidding."

  Jacquelyn seized Brittney by the neck, her sharp nails digging into Brittney's nape, pressing deeply enough to leave marks.