Gabriel's Bride

Her words flabbergasted him, but it was the sight of her tongue darting over her lush mouth that made his belly tighten. Beset by the memory of her taste, he groaned silently and forced the feelings back.

No, he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and no, he was not going to let an unexpected and unwelcome flash of sexual hunger further complicate this already muddled situation. Hell, he didn’t even like this little conniver!

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he croaked.

“It wouldn’t be that hard. We just need someone to play justice of the peace. It won’t be elaborate. Five minutes is all. Perhaps one of your friends—?”

“God, no!” The thought of explaining all this to Mike and Rafe made him shudder. Talk about looking like a fool!

“Then I’ll find someone,” she said. “There are always people looking to make a few bucks. And I’ll arrange everything else—the ceremony, the rings, the deed of transfer on the land—everything. So…will you do it?”

Feeling boxed in, Gabe rubbed his pounding temple. “I must be as crazy as you are.”

She leaned forward, hopeful. “Then you will?”

Gabe grimaced. In service to his country, he’d been a weapon, and an effective one, but he drew the line at killing old men with words—even truthful ones. So he would mangle his self-respect for a few hours to humor this eccentric female and earn a chunk of land for his trouble. At least his partners would be happy.

“Thanks to you, I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Her breath left her in a little relieved puff. Reaching out, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, a peace offering that made his skin burn through the thin knit of his shirt.

“Thank you.” In the gathering darkness, her whisper was breathless with gratitude. “You won’t regret it. It won’t take much time, and after it’s all over, I’ll never bother you again.”

With a prick of foreboding, Gabe wondered if that was a promise or a threat.

Three days later Sarah Ann walked toward Gramps’s hospital room, her seldom-worn dress pumps clicking against the polished tiles like an executioner’s drumroll. Though the corridor was chilly with air-conditioning, she was perspiring beneath her off-white linen sheath, a condition that could only be attributed to a bad case of prenuptial jitters.

Not that what she was about to do with Gabriel Thornton was in any sense real, of course, she told herself sternly. But for Gramps’s sake, even going through the motions had to look genuine.

At six o’clock she would meet Gabe and they would mouth words before a man she’d hired to play the part of justice of the peace. The cousin of a friend of one of her farm hands, he’d assured her he understood her need for discretion, that he’d meet them at the hospital room primed for his role, and that the ceremony would be “a piece of cake.”

That piece of out-and-out dishonesty weighed heavily enough, but the preparations for the actual ceremony itself, deciding what to wear—the plain dress, her mother’s pearls—and how to fix her hair—a French twist to control her waves—had produced an artificial excitement that tied her into nervous knots. She prayed that for the few minutes it took, she could play the part of happy, blushing bride without throwing up.

As she turned a corner, Sarah Ann’s steps faltered at the sight of the tall figure leaning against the windowsill opposite Gramps’s doorway. Swallowing, she realized Gabe had done his breathtaking best to look the part, too. In dark suit and conservative tie, he was a solemn stranger, enigmatic and unapproachable, somewhat frightening, totally fascinating.

Who was he, really? she wondered. It was a bit disheartening to realize that it didn’t matter, for by her own choice his role in her life could be only temporary.

Gabe looked up at the sound of her steps, then straightened to his full height, his eyes piercing her, golden as an eagle’s.

“Hi.”

She tried to smile. “Hello.”

He inspected her—the simple dress, her trembling hands, the upswept hairdo—and something hungry flared in his expression, then was gone. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

She knew her words were stiff, inane, and she closed her eyes briefly, praying for lucidity and composure. She had to get through this—after all, it was her idea! It’s just business, she recited like a mantra.

Reaching into her small clutch purse, she passed him a folded document. “Your deed. Everything’s filed at the courthouse.”

He shoved the paper inside his jacket without looking at it. “Thank you.”

“And here are the rings. I had to guess at the size.” With a tremulous laugh, she passed him a small box, and he shoved it into a pants pocket. “Lord, this is awkward, isn’t it?”

“Deception always is, Sarah.”

Stricken, she didn’t know what to say. Frowning, Gabe raised his hand and touched her face, running a thumb under her jawbone, gently fingering the pearl stud in her ear.

“I forget you’re a novice at this kind of thing,” he muttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m an old hand at it. I’ll guide you through.”

The warmth of his skin stroking hers made her shiver. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

A slow grin curled his mouth. “It should.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“In the meantime…” Turning to the windowsill, he picked up a bundle, removed a layer of tissue and offered her a ribbon-wrapped bouquet of red roses. “Maybe you should hold on to these.”

Mystified, touched beyond words, she took the flowers, marveling at their velvety texture and inhaling their sweetness. “Oh, Gabe, they’re exquisite.”

“Just doing my part to keep up appearances.”

Like a dash of cold water, that jolted her from her haze. It’s just business. “Well, thank you. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

“Beulah cut them.”

Sarah Ann sucked in a breath. “You told her? About this?”

“What do you think I am—crazy? No, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, his brow wrinkling as if pondering a riddle. “But she left them on the table, and they looked right, so here they are. How she knew…sometimes I think she’s a witch.”

“At any rate, it’s a nice touch. You should have one, too.” She plucked a bud and stuck it in his lapel. “They’re really quite lovely.”

“Yeah.” He searched her face for a long moment, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Ready to get this over with?”

Drawing a breath for courage, she nodded. “Yes.”

Gabe pushed open the door and ushered her inside.

“There they are,” Gramps said in a hearty voice. “About time!”

Sarah Ann blinked, taken aback by the unexpected sea of smiling faces that greeted them. Gramps sat propped upright in his bed, clean-shaven and looking dapper and more cheerful than he had in weeks. Beside him stood his oldest friend, retired Judge Henry Holt, stout and graying, ing, but still vigorous at seventy-five. A fresh-faced young man wearing a rather shiny suit and holding a Bible stood before a makeshift bower of flowers and greenery, apparently the work of Lillian, the head nurse, and her staff, who waited to one side, white uniformed and dewy-eyed with expectation.

“My goodness.” Sarah Ann’s voice was faint. Beside her, Gabe breathed an expletive.

Lillian bustled up to them, all goodwill. “Now, don’t be upset with our little surprise, Sarah Ann. When Harlan told us your plans, we just couldn’t help getting into the spirit of things. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, of course not.”

“I know how busy you’ve been, and of course, all the details, the blood tests—”

“Blood tests?” Sarah Ann echoed, shooting a wide-eyed glance at Gabe.

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” Lillian asked. Reading Sarah Ann’s dismay and totally misinterpreting it, she took charge. “Well, we can take care of that right now! Charlotte, hand me that tray.”

Before they had a chance to protest, Lillian pricked their fingers, prepared slides and sent the tray off to the lab.

“There, all done. A whirlwind courtship, wasn’t it? It’s so romantic,” the nurse said with a sigh. She patted Gabe’s arm. “Congratulations, young man. You’re getting a mighty fine gal.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Come here, girlie, and give your old Gramps a hug,” Harlan ordered from the bed. Sarah Ann obliged. When she released him, Harlan offered his hand to Gabe, shook it soundly. “I want to welcome you to the family, son. You’re both making me a mighty happy man today.”

Gabe cleared his throat again. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Gramps.” Tears prickled behind Sarah Ann’s lids.

“Now, none of that,” he chided, then turned to his old friend. “Tell her, Henry. It’s a happy time.”

“Good gracious, yes!” the judge agreed. “And this is your intended?”

He pumped Gabe’s hand, beaming. “Harlan asked me to be a witness. Flat tickled me, I don’t mind telling you. Got all the necessary paperwork right here.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I knew you wouldn’t mind, so I’ve taken care of everything. I still have some pull down at the courthouse. Got you one of their gold-embossed licenses. Made it real special.”

“Ah, Sarah and I appreciate it,” Gabe said, his words strangled.

“Are we ready to get started?” the young man with the Bible asked hopefully.

“Absolutely!” Gabe took Sarah Ann’s arm and positioned them in front of the bower, evoking a titter of indulgent laughter from the witnesses at his apparent eagerness.

Only Sarah Ann knew that it was really his desperation to have this charade behind them, and it matched her own. She’d had no idea it would be so hard! At least her counterfeit justice of the peace was ready to do the job he’d been paid for. She caught his eye, trying to convey silent messages: Get on with it! Make it look good! Hurry!

All she got was a puzzled look in return, but then he started reading with all due solemnity and restored her confidence. “Dearly Beloved…”

It was the work of barely five minutes, the recitation of names, the exchange of rings and vows. Sarah Ann’s fingers were icy; Gabe’s replies as wooden as her own. Fraud, her guilty conscience whispered. Liar. But one look at Gramps’s face, and she knew she would do it all again, a hundred times over if necessary.

The young man closed his Bible, smiling cordially at the couple in front of him. “Now, by the power vested in me by the state of Florida—”

The door burst open, spilling bodies and boisterous commotion into the already-overcrowded room.

“Where’s the wedding?” roared a swarthy man with oiled-down hair and a polyester suit. His eyes lit up in triumph at the sight of flowers and guests, but his voice was slurred. “Oh, ho, fellows! This has gotta be the place! Had a hell of a time finding it, though, didn’t we? Why don’t they have more signs? We ain’t brain surgeons.”

His scruffy companions nodded, laughed uproariously at this apparent witticism and leered at the group of nurses. Revolted, Sarah Ann took an involuntary step backward, grateful to have Gabe’s protecting arm at her waist.

“Here now, what’s the meaning of this?” Judge Holt demanded. “Good God, man, you’re drunk!”

“I ain’t,” the intruder replied indignantly. He lifted a beer bottle and grinned. “Just celebrating the festivities ahead of time. Carrot-headed fellow down at the Whistling Pirate kept buying rounds, ain’t that right, boys?”

“A swell guy,” one of his friends agreed. “Big, too. Drink a keg of beer all by himself.”

“Well, we sure gave him some help.” Taking a final swallow, the leader tossed the empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket, rubbed his hands, and looked around expectantly. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”

“Mister,” Gabe growled, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Wait a minute! I been hired to do a job, and by gum, I’m gonna do it! Which one of you is the Dempsey gal? You want a justice of the peace or not?”

“Justice of the—” Horror stole Sarah Ann’s breath, clogged her throat. “You?”

Belligerent now, the man scowled. “You hired me, didn’t you? Paid good money for this part. Just ‘cause a man’s a little late…”

She swung to the man holding the Bible. “Then who’s this?”

“Why, Reverend Cullen, girlie,” Harlan said. “The new hospital chaplain.”

Sarah Ann’s knees buckled. Gabe caught her, steadying her until she found her feet again. Their eyes met. Realization dawned. An ordained clergyman. Blood tests. The judge’s license.

She saw the wrath building in Gabe’s expression, saw the house of cards she’d been trying to build for Gramps tumble and fall. Panic consumed her, made her voice a thin wail. “Oh, my God.”

“We’re churchgoing folks,” Harlan continued. “I couldn’t have my granddaughter married by a civil servant.”

“Certainly not!” Lillian snapped, recovering her authority. “And this one’s a pure disgrace to his calling! You men, out!” Like a drill sergeant, she herded the protesting intruders outside, slammed the door behind them and restored order. “Go ahead, Reverend.”

Nonplussed, Reverend Cullen fumbled with the Bible. “Uh, ahem. Where were we? Oh, yes.”

Trapped within the circle of Gabe’s arms, Sarah Ann trembled uncontrollably as the clergyman blessed them with a benign smile.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Three

Husband.

Wife.

Gabe stared down into Sarah Ann’s pansy-colored eyes and saw hysteria blossoming. From long experience in the face of unmitigated disaster, he knew the only alternative was damage control.

So he took the preacher’s suggestion and kissed her.

To keep her quiet, he told himself, molding his mouth against hers.

To keep up appearances for the old man’s sake, he assured himself, holding her still with a hand to the back of her head.

To keep the situation from blowing wide open in front of all these witnesses, he said inwardly, deepening the kiss.

And to see if she still tasted of spice and promise.

She did.

With a groan of impatience, Gabe tightened his hold and brought them both closer to the edge of forgetfulness. She’d been quaking in his arms, but now she melted against him, her subtle curves complementing his hard angles. Growing pliant, quiescent, she warmed to the heat of his lips, opening for him. She looped her arms around his neck, and the rich perfume of her bouquet filled his head, made him dizzy with desire.

Which wasn’t his original intention at all.

Coming to his senses, Gabe broke off the kiss, pushing Sarah Ann’s face into the crook of his shoulder, his breathing gusty, his heart pounding. Holding her protectively, his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear, he whispered to her, the picture of the tender and devoted lover, but his low tone was harsh with anger directed at himself and his lack of control.

“For God’s sake, get a grip.” He felt her jerk, but easily contained her involuntary movement. “Don’t panic.”

Muffled against his shirt collar, her words were barely audible. “Let me go, you bastard.”

“Listen to me, damn you.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “Everyone’s watching. Get hold of yourself. Put on a smile and look like you’re in love, or you’ll blow everything.”

He sensed her surprise. What had she expected? he thought. That he’d call the whole thing off because of this cosmic blunder, revealing them both as liars and fools or worse? Not bloody damn likely!

He waited until the subtle tension in her limbs indicated a semblance of composure, however brittle, then gingerly released her.

Sliding her arms from around his neck, she gave him a smile that never reached her eyes and murmured, “I hate and despise you.”

His expression was equally affectionate, equally false. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”

“Oh, my goodness, I think I’m going to cry!” Lillian bustled forward to envelop Sarah Ann in a warm hug. “Every happiness, my dear.”

They were immediately surrounded by a bevy of wellwishers. Gabe did his best to accept the congratulations heaped upon him with something approaching equanimity. He was hard-pressed to know what else to do, except follow the old military tactics of falling back to regroup in the face of a total rout.

He nearly lost his poise when Judge Holt pressed a pen into his hands to sign the fancy license. Short of confessing to their false intentions on the spot, there was no alternative. With a look that dared her to do less, he passed the pen to Sarah Ann. She swallowed hard, then scratched her name on the line beside his.

It was a bizarre way to acquire a wife, and it produced a peculiar tickling in the back of his mind, as if demons or angels performed a frenzied tarantella on his synapses at his expense. Gabe shrugged to himself. Well, there had to be legal remedies to this situation, strange as it was, and since Reverend Cullen and the nurses were already taking their leave, he’d find a way to extricate himself from this little party real soon, too. Until then, his best bet was to follow his own advice and refuse to panic.

“Oh, no, Gramps, we really couldn’t.” Sarah Ann stood at the hospital bed with Judge Holt. The thin edge of alarm in her voice snagged Gabe’s attention.

“Nonsense, girlie,” the old man said. “I insist. I know you. You’ll think you have to sit here with me or some such foolishness.”

“I really shouldn’t leave you—”

“I’m tired out from the excitement. I’ll just go on to sleep, whether you’re here or not. What do I want with more company?” He gestured to Gabe. “You talk some sense into her, son.”

“Yes, sir. As soon as you tell me how it’s done.”

Harlan chuckled. “He’s got your number already, girlie.”

Distress tugged at Sarah Ann’s mouth—her well-kissed mouth, Gabe noted, then forcibly curtailed that wayward thought.

“We…we planned to spend a quiet evening,” she said, shooting Gabe a frantic glance. “At…at home.”

Harlan shook his head, emphatic. “I won’t hear of it. Besides, it’s all arranged, isn’t it, Henry?”

“Yes, indeed.” The judge beamed his pleasure. “I’m official chauffeur.”

“To where?” Gabe asked carefully.

“The honeymoon suite at the best hotel in Lostman’s Island.” Harlan smiled in satisfaction. “It’s my wedding gift to you two kids.”

“Good God, woman, stop looking at me like that—I’m not going to pounce on you!”

Heart in her throat, Sarah Ann watched Gabe prowl the perimeter of their luxurious suite like a caged tiger. Taking his assignment seriously, Judge Holt had ushered them inside moments before, wishing them a good night’s rest with a twinkle in his eye.

But considering the way Gabe had kissed her into putty earlier, and worse, the shameless way she’d responded, Sarah Ann wasn’t reassured by Gabe’s growled declaration. He was livid, and he had a right to be.

Looking away from Gabe’s intimidating scowl, she let her gaze wander the room. Gramps had really gone all out. The Victoria, a turn-of-the-century bed and breakfast establishment, was a haven of antiques, plush fabrics and fresh flowers. A four-poster bed draped with netting sat on a pastel oriental rug. A magnum of champagne cooled in a sterling ice bucket. A pair of terry cloth robes hung in the bath beside the huge claw-footed tub, and the judge had even supplied overnight kits for them both. Soft lighting and softer music added to the ambiance.