скачать книгу бесплатно
A Gift For The Groom
Sally Carleen
ON THE WAY TO A WEDDING…BORROWED BRIDEDark and devastating P.I. Nick Claiborne's love 'em and leave 'em policy was suddenly in jeopardy. Because his new client, Analise Brewster, not only insisted on "helping" him uncover the mystery of her fiancé's past, her irrepressible spirit tempted Nick to forget his vows to stay single–and hers to wed another….Spending time with a lively, loving woman usually made Nick want to run–but this time he found himself taking Analise with him. Yet once they'd found Analise's gift for her groom, would Nick be the one walking down the aisle?Long-lost twins discover their perfect grooms!
Analise had always known what she’d wanted (#u7caebc92-26dc-534a-95f3-15fc784895e4)Letter to Reader (#ue15ef93a-1bbe-5873-8126-0fe2a05ef9e0)Title Page (#u11600cae-61fb-56bf-b48e-63906981c3dd)Dedication (#u1d1e6874-c6c8-5960-8c6b-c45cb1de5a05)About the Author (#ue97caffd-54e3-5b13-a89f-0448bf9d3eb3)Chapter One (#u1b50c22b-25c3-538d-b16d-c210553666e5)Chapter Two (#uf2809e54-a218-5f5d-a360-dc086fb51c7f)Chapter Three (#u99ef2549-82c9-5058-b301-736388f53ec8)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Analise had always known what she’d wanted
Until this trip.
Until she met Nick.
Suddenly everything around her was confusing and complicated and her wants were contradictory. She wanted to make her parents happy, stop their worrying about her, and she could do that by marrying her fiancé, Lucas.
That would make her happy, too, of course.
All she had to do was stay away from Nick, not touch him, not look at him, not think about him, not dream about him at night.
She could do that.
She had to do that.
Dear Reader
The wonder of a Silhouette Romance is that it can touch every woman’s heart Check out this month’s offerings—and prepare to be swept away!
A woman wild about kids winds up tutoring a single dad in the art of parenthood in Babies, Rattles and Cribs... Oh, My! It’s this month’s BUNDLES OF JOY title from Leanna Wilson. When a Cinderella-esque waitress—complete with wicked stepfamily!—finds herself in danger, she hires a bodyguard whose idea of protection means making her his Glass Slipper Bride, another unforgettable tale from Arlene James. Pair one highly independent woman and one overly protective lawman and what do you have? The prelude to The Marriage Beat Doreen Roberts’s sparkling new Romance with a HE’S MY HERO cop.
WRANGLERS & LACE is a theme-based promotion highlighting classic Western stories. July’s offering, Cathleen Galitz’s Wyoming Born & Bred, features an ex-rodeo champion bent on reclaiming his family’s homestead who instead discovers that home is with the stubborn new owner...and her three charming children! A long-lost twin, a runaway bride...and A Gift for the Groom—don’t miss this conclusion to Sally Carleen’s delightful duo ON THE WAY TO A WEDDING.... And a man-shy single mom takes a chance and follows The Way to a Cowboy’s Heart in this emotional heart-tugger from rising star Teresa Southwick.
Enjoy this month’s selections, and make sure to drop me a line about why you keep coming back to Romance. We want to fulfill your dreams!
Happy reading,
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor
New York, NY 10017
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave, P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
A Gift for the Groom
Sally Carleen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Paula Stewart, my “blood sister”
and sister of the heart
SALLY CARLEEN,
the daughter of a cowboy and a mail-order bride, has romance in her genes. Factor in the grandfather in 1890s Louisiana who stole the crowd at political rallies by standing on a flatbed wagon and telling stories, and it’s no surprise she ended up writing romance novels.
Sally, a hard-core romantic who expects life and novels to have happy endings, is married to Max Steward, and they live in Missouri with their large cat, Leo, and their very small dog, Cricket. Her hobbies are drinking Coca-Cola and eating chocolate, especially Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream. Sally loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her c/o P.O. Box 6614, Lee’s Summit, MO 64064.
Chapter One
The bottom half of the scorching sun had disappeared behind the distant mountains when Nick Claiborne strode across the tarmac of the small airport in Rattlesnake Corners, Wyoming. His V-tail plane, N373GY, affectionately known as Ginny, sat waiting patiently for his return.
The June day had been long and hot. He’d left South Dakota early that morning, flown to Wyoming, spent the day looking for a woman who’d moved over twenty years ago, and now he had to fly to Nebraska tonight in search of that same woman.
Once he and Ginny got into the air, free of the earth, up there alone with the stars, he’d unwind and relax. It was always like that when he could find the time to fly. As a private investigator, he didn’t get to do a lot of flying. This case, frustrating in many ways, at least gave him the excuse to travel.
He completed his preflight walk-around check, unfastened Ginny’s tiedowns and climbed up the wing to the door...which stood slightly open. That was odd. He was always so careful to lock it.
He swung the door wide open, preparing to climb in, to settle in the seat that, after so many hours of use, molded to his body perfectly. Already he could feel the tension unknotting in his neck and shoulders as he caught the familiar scent of...no, something was wrong. His plane wasn’t supposed to smell like honeysuckle.
“Hi! I’m Analise Brewster! You must be Nick Claiborne.”
Nick blinked and dropped his foot back to the wing. He wasn’t given to hallucinations, hadn’t drunk anything all day except water and iced tea and he was pretty sure he wasn’t asleep and dreaming. Therefore, the redhead in his cockpit must be real.
“Analise Brewster?” he repeated. “My client Analise Brewster?” As if there could be more than one.
“That’s right! Am I glad to see you! It’s getting so late, I was starting to worry, afraid I’d been waiting in the wrong plane, except this is the only plane parked here.”
She swung out slender feet in turquoise sandals followed by long, golden legs stretching at least a mile from khaki shorts that should have been mundane and ordinary but somehow on this woman were incredibly sexy. She wore some kind of silky, turquoise blouse that draped oh so nicely over her rounded breasts.
He made himself lift his gaze to her face.
Standing in front of him, almost even with his height of six feet, due to the upward slope of the wing where she stood, she smiled tentatively, her lush, generous lips outlining white, perfect teeth.
Lush, generous lips? Where the hell had that come from?
Okay, maybe they were lush and generous, but he didn’t need to be thinking that about some woman who’d ambushed him from his own plane...some engaged woman.
She extended a slim hand, and he accepted automatically, too stunned to do otherwise, his fingers closing over the smooth skin.
“In your fax,” she said, “you mentioned that you thought you had a solid lead on Abbie Prather. Did you find her today? Is she in jail already?”
Maybe one of those ranchers had slipped something into that iced tea after all. This whole scene didn’t bear much resemblance to reality. He rubbed the back of his neck where those tension knots were gathering again. “What are you doing here? How did you get into my plane?”
“I got your fax last night,” she explained, speaking more slowly, as if she thought he might have difficulty comprehending. She was right about that! “Then I called your office this morning and told your secretary that I planned to meet you here, but I guess you didn’t get my message.”
“No, I didn’t get your message. I haven’t talked to my office today.” Nick looked around the deserted airport. “How did you get here?”
“I drove to Tyler this morning and rented a plane—we don’t have an airport in Briar Creek—and when I got here, you weren’t here, but that man inside told me this was your plane and you’d be back since you’d borrowed his truck because there weren’t any rental cars, so I, um, sort of waited. In your plane. So I wouldn’t miss you.”
She was once again talking even faster than he remembered from their phone conversations. But the wires and circuits of the phone lines hadn’t done justice to that voice. Even in fast forward it called up images of cool lemonade sipped under the shade of a big cottonwood tree in the heat of a Texas summer, of warm breezes sifting through the smooth leaves of a magnolia tree.
He cleared his throat and tried to do the same with his mind. “I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.”
For a brief moment confusion creased her smooth forehead. She looked around as if a little surprised to find herself in the middle of nowhere. Then her gaze returned to him and her smile re-formed. “Why, to be there when you find the woman who framed my fiancé’s father, of course.”
He folded his arms across his chest “Why?”
“Why?” Again she looked a little uncertain. “Well, I should think that would be obvious.”
“It’s not, so why don’t you enlighten me? What possible reason could you have for traveling a thousand miles just to see some woman arrested?”
She bit her lower lip, and Nick found himself unconsciously imitating her action, chewing on his own lip as if he could taste hers by proxy. This woman was dangerous.
She twisted around, bent over and reached into the plane. He tried not to look at her rounded rear in those mundane khaki shorts. Tried and failed.
She straightened and hauled out a satchel that was either a very large purse or a small suitcase. From the bag, after some searching, she produced a camera. “I could take a picture,” she said. “As I already explained, hiring you to find that woman is a wedding present for Lucas. That’s my fiancé. But I haven’t told him yet since it’s a surprise, so I could take a picture as sort of physical evidence. Something to put under the tree, so to speak. Not that we’re having a tree at our wedding. But you know what I mean.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean. You just now made that up about taking the picture. You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
She plunked the camera back into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, lifted her chin defiantly and met his gaze head-on. “I need to be here.”
Her eyes were decidedly green, even in the deepening dusk. Not blue-green like the ocean or gray-green like moss, but green like the treetops in full summer when he flew above them. An urge swept over him to dive into their depths, to assure her it didn’t matter why she’d come to him, that he was glad she was there.
He gave himself a mental shake. It wasn’t like him to let his hormones take over so completely. He was upset she was there, not glad.
“Abbie Prather’s not here,” he growled, irritated with himself as much as with her. “She moved in 1976.”
“Oh, no! You mean we’ve lost her? What are we going to do now?”
She looked so forlorn, he had to fight a totally irrational desire to reassure her, to try to make things right...to take care of her.
Been there, done that, he reminded himself grimly.
He was a private investigator, his services for hire. Gather information, get the facts. That was what he did, and all he did. No involvement with anybody’s problems.
“We—I haven’t lost her. I’ve got a new address for her in Nebraska. I’m flying there tonight just as soon as you get back in your chartered plane and return to Briar Creek.”
“Ah, well, you see,” she began, looking over his left shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze, “that’s not exactly possible. My pilot had to turn around and fly back because today’s his son’s sixth birthday, and they’re having a party for him right about now, so I’ll just go on to Nebraska with you and then maybe I’ll be there when you find Abbie after all.”
“You can’t do that!” Nick protested, a jumbled panic prickling him from all sides. He needed his downtime, his time alone. He did not need a ditzy client hanging around...especially not a ditzy client with golden legs nine miles long and lush lips.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Look, Ms. Brewster—”
“Analise. We should certainly be on a first name basis if we’re going to Nebraska together in that itty-bitty plane.”
“We’re not going to Nebraska together in that itty-bitty... in my plane. Or anybody’s plane.” Nick plowed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Abbie Prather is no amateur. She stole twenty-five thousand dollars from the bank where she worked, manipulated bank records to frame your fiancé’s father then obtained documentation to change her identity to June Martin. These are the actions of somebody who knows how to play the game. Now you figure she ran to South Dakota, lived there a couple of years and moved to Wyoming, lived here a couple of years and moved to Nebraska. What makes you think she stayed in Nebraska more than a couple of years? She probably moved another six or seven times. I told you when I took this case that it was going to be tough because it’s so old.”
Analise folded her arms, right under her rounded breasts, pushing them up, thrusting them forward, pulling the smooth turquoise silk taut over them, emphasizing every curve. He’d thought the summer evening was cooling off, but that was before Analise folded her arms under her breasts.
“There’s no motel or car-rental place closer than Casper,” she said firmly. “The man inside told me that. There used to be a motel in Thunder Bluffs, but it burned to the ground when lightning struck it four years ago, or maybe it was five, depending on whether you believe him or the cowboy who came in while I was there. So unless you plan to make me spend the night out here on this hard, cold ground where there are probably rattlesnakes—why else would they call this place Rattlesnake Corners?—you’ll have to take me to Nebraska.”
With a sinking feeling, Nick realized she was right His plans for a peaceful, restorative, solitary trip fluttered away into the night. At the moment he had no choice. He lifted his hands in resignation. “All right, all right! I’ll take you to Nebraska and tomorrow morning you’ll make arrangements to get home.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not going with me traipsing around the countryside looking for Abbie Prather.”
“I said okay. What’s your problem?”
He wasn’t sure he believed her. He was both dreading and looking forward to flying to Nebraska with her in that itty-bitty plane. Those were his problems.
“As long as we understand that you’re not going to be present when I find Abbie Prather.”
She didn’t say anything.
“That’s the job you hired me to do. If you hire somebody to paint your house, do you insist on taking up a brush and helping him?”
“I live with my parents. They’re the ones who hired that painter. He had a fear of heights and our house has three stories and sits on top of a hill besides. So of course I helped him.”
Somehow her answer didn’t surprise him.
“Well, you’re not going with me tomorrow, and that’s that.” He climbed into the cockpit and slid into his familiar seat. But it seemed to have developed new contours and no longer fit him so well, as if Analise’s intrusion into his haven had altered it physically.
She got in beside him and closed the door. Odd that he’d never before noticed how small this cabin was, how close his seat was to the passenger’s.
He fastened his seat belt and focused on his starting checklist, making a concerted effort to ignore his passenger.
Just as the engine growled to life, Analise pulled a bag of chips out of that huge purse of hers, ripped them open and began to crunch.
“Could you keep it down? You’re making more noise than the engine.”
“Sorry. Flying makes me nervous, so I eat to distract myself.”
Oh, great! “Do you have a candy bar in there or something a little quieter?”
She stuffed the chips back into her purse. “I hope you’re not going to be this cranky the whole way to Nebraska.”
“I am,” he assured her. “In fact, it’s probably going to get worse. By the way, you never did tell me how you got into my plane. I know I left the door locked.”
