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The Midnight Rider Takes A Bride
Christine Rimmer
DO YOU… HAVE TO GET MARRIED, ADORA BEAUDINE?That's what all the town gossips were asking - and what else could she expect? Ladylike Adora was supposed to settle down to a life of solid respectability, and instead she was about to say "I do" to a motorcycle-riding outlaw named Jed Ryder. What, everyone wondered, had gotten into her? What indeed?She told herself she was marrying Jed so he could get custody of his little sister. For the child's sake, she insisted, she was about to give up every shred of her respectable reputation. It had nothing to do with the un respectable way she felt when he swept her into his arms… .
This Is Insane...I Can’t Marry Wild Jed Ryder, (#u0585570a-7f22-535f-b68b-4173371f43a3)Letter to Reader (#uc66e8a0b-2581-5f2c-b8e7-866b9bd6df09)Title Page (#ucfe24364-1d1c-523c-9e95-f3c250328e4e)About the Author (#ue735694c-f607-528c-acee-0a922bcedbbb)Dedication (#ue356d554-0c4c-5e72-8680-c1e022f33354)Chapter One (#uc922320f-a045-583a-a33b-35fe1bf25145)Chapter Two (#u6ebf1416-210a-51c7-9982-a9901c475acc)Chapter Three (#u06b6c826-cab2-5a10-b405-67d57f0e6059)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)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
This Is Insane...I Can’t Marry Wild Jed Ryder,
Adora Beaudine thought. Until forty-eight hours ago, I hardly knew the man. And he’s nothing like my dreams of who I’d marry....
But if she didn’t marry him, he’d lose custody of his little sister. And Adora really did believe that would be wrong. So very wrong.
Jed seemed to read her indecision in her eyes. “Never mind. It’s a bad idea. Forget it.”
“No.” She went to him, in the shadows, lifting a hand and clasping his shoulder. She felt like a child on a dare, holding her palm over a flame. She would be burned—and yet nothing seemed so urgent as that she not let go....
Dear Reader,
LET’S CELEBRATE FIFTEEN YEARS
OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE...
with some of your favorite authors and new stars of tomorrow.
For the next three months, we present a spectacular lineup
of unforgettably romantic love stories—led by three
MAN OF THE MONTH titles.
In October, Diana Palmer returns to Desire with
The Patient Nurse, which features an unforgettable hero.
Next month, Ann Major continues her bestselling CHILDREN
OF DESTINY series with Nobody’s Child. And in December,
Dixie Browning brings us her special brand of romantic
charm in Look What the Stork Brought.
But Desire is not only MAN OF THE MONTH! It’s new
love stories from talented authors Christine Rimmer,
Helen R. Myers, Raye Morgan, Metsy Hingle and new star
Katherine Garbera in October.
In November, don’t miss sensuous surprises from BJ James,
Lass Small, Susan Crosby, Eileen Wilks and Shawna Delacorte.
And December will be filled with Christmas cheer from
Maureen Child, Kathryn Jensen, Christine Pacheco,
Anne Eames and Barbara McMahon.
Remember, here at Desire we’ve been committed to bringing
you the very best in unforgettable romance and sizzling
sensuality. And to add to the excitement of fifteen wonderful
years, we offer the chance for you to win some wonderful
prizes. Look in the pages at the end of the book for details.
And may we have many more years of happy reading together!
Senior Editor
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
The Midnight Rider Takes A Bride
Christine Rimmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHRISTINE RIMMER
is a third-generation Californian who came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a salesclerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Those who know her best withhold comment when she makes such claims; they are grateful that she’s at last found steady work. Christine is grateful, too—not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day.
THANKS...
To everyone at the Child Protective Services offices in
both Sierra and Plumas Counties, as well as to
Dan Geffner, Deputy Public Defender in Nevada County.
You all have answered my endless questions so patiently
and I sincerely appreciate your helpfulness.
One
“Honey, all I’m saying is I hope you’re not just sitting alone feeling sorry for yourself.”
Adora Beaudine tucked the phone beneath her chin and then carefully, quietly, blotted her streaming eyes and swiped at her running nose. Yes, she was feeling sorry for herself. But that didn’t mean her mother had to know.
“Honey, are you there?”
Adora brought the receiver near her mouth again. “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”
“Are you all right? You sound so strange, dear.”
Adora felt a sob bubbling up. Quickly, she turned to the base of the phone that hung on the wall right behind her and punched the mute button. Then she blew her nose. Then, ignoring the champagne flute in front of her, she reached for the bottle that waited at her elbow and took a long swig.
It tasted lovely, all popping and sparkly, going down. And it should. It was good champagne: M?et & Chandon. Adora had bought it last fall, along with a pair of crystal champagne flutes, right after she’d met Farley Underwood—the rotten, dirty creep. She’d bought it because she’d been utterly certain that one day soon Farley would pop the question. She had pictured them celebrating their engagement with champagne.
But Farley had never popped the question. And now the rat was long gone. And as a birthday present to herself, Adora intended to drink up the evidence of her own folly. Moreover, once she’d emptied the bottle, she meant to smash it—along with both of the crystal flutes.
“Adora? Adora...” The voice on the other end of the line had acquired a frantic edge.
Adora turned and gave the mute button a second poke. “I think the connection was bad there for a minute, don’t you, Mom?”
“Oh, was that it?”
“Seemed like it to me.”
“Well, all I’m telling you is I just don’t want you to get bitter. Thirty-five isn’t that old. I just know this will be the year that you find the right man for you.”
Adora had to gulp down another self-pitying sob. Every August eighth for about a decade now, her mother had been telling her that this year she would find “the right man for her.”
Her mother went on. “And you know that your family loves you and that we’d all be there for your special day if we could. But your sisters do have their own families to think of now. And Bob and I, well, we’ve been so terribly busy lately.” Bob Shanahan was Lottie Beaudine Shanahan’s second husband. Bob had met the widow Beaudine at a Bingo game three and a half years ago. They’d married a few months after that. “We’re redoing the house, did I tell you?”
At her mother’s mention of redecorating, Adora cast a melancholy glance around the small, bright kitchen where she sat. Farley had taken a hike seven months ago. Since then, to keep depression at bay, Adora had done some redecorating of her own. The old-fashioned cabinets were now a soft white and there were cheery fruits and vegetables stenciled along the ceiling line. It was charming. But it didn’t help much. Charming kitchens were supposed to have kids in them. And husbands asking “What’s for dinner, hon?”
“Adora. Are you there?”
“Yes, Mom. Of course I’m here. And you did tell me you’d been redoing the house.”
“The living area is finished. I wish you could see it. All blues and mauves. So soft and inviting. Stylish, yet livable. Bob just loves it....”
Lottie prattled on, about Bob and their four-bedroom, passive-solar house in Tucson and the wonderful, creative things they’d done with the interior. Shamelessly Adora tuned her out. She poured herself a little more champagne, drank it between the “Ums?” and “Ummhmms” that her mother’s monologue required of her, and carefully continued blotting away the stubborn tears that kept leaking from the corners of her eyes.
“And I wish you could see the master bath. Shell pink and pale green. Gold tone fixtures. It’s a treat to take a shower....”
From outside on Bridge Street, Adora heard the hard, heavy drone of a big engine—a motorcycle or a souped-up sports car, probably. She listened as it turned into the driveway beside her building, rolled under her kitchen window and stopped in the parking lot out back. Adora shrugged. Her hairdressing salon downstairs, the Shear Elegance, was closed for the rest of the day. If someone wanted to use one of her parking spaces for a few hours, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt anything.
“And I sent you a little something special. Did you get it yet?”
That required actual words for an answer. Adora mustered them. “No, Mom. Not yet.”
“Do you have a summer cold or something, Adora? Your nose sounds stuffed up.”
Adora went ahead and honked good and loud into her soggy tissue. “Yes, Mom. Now you mention it, I have been fighting a cold.”
“Oh, honey. Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
Right then, someone knocked at the door on the other side of the room. The door led out to a tiny landing and down a narrow set of stairs to the parking lot and also to the back entrance of the Shear Elegance.
“Get some of that nighttime cold medicine,” Lottie was suggesting. “The lemony kind you add to hot water. I think it works just great. Bob had a cold last week and I—”
“Listen, Mom. There’s someone at the door. I have to go.”
“But, Adora—”
“Really. Gotta go.”
“Now you call me, when you get that package....”
“I will. Love you.” Adora twisted in her chair to hook the phone back in its cradle. Then she faced front with a sigh and picked up her glass of champagne.
There was a second knock at the door.
Adora sipped slowly, looking at the door, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t bother to answer it, after all. She knew who it would be: Lizzie Spooner, her best pal. Lizzie had said she’d be over as soon as she finished her shift at the Superserve Mart. Adora thought the world of Lizzie, but right now she didn’t feel like dealing with anyone. She set down her glass. And then, to take her mind off answering the door, she picked up the champagne bottle and began reading the back label.
But then the knock came for a third time, louder and more insistent than before. With another mournful little sigh, Adora rose and went to the door.
She started talking before she even had it all the way open. “Listen, Lizzie, I don’t really feel like—” The sentence died in her throat, because it wasn’t Lizzie after all.
It was Jed Ryder, whose mother, Lola Pierce, was Adora’s single employee at the Shear Elegance downstairs. Adora remembered the loud, pounding sound of that engine she’d heard moments ago and realized it must have been Jed’s Harley.
“Oh. Hi.” Adora swiped a tear from her cheek and tried a friendly smile.
Jed didn’t smile back. And she couldn’t see his eyes, because he was wearing a pair of wraparound, black-lensed sunglasses. As always, he looked like the basic definition of the word dangerous, dressed in denim and leather, with all that black hair streaming around his massive shoulders and that single diamond stud he always wore glittering in his right ear.
He spoke at last, in that low, eerily gentle voice of his. “Sorry to bother you. But I called the shop downstairs and got no answer.”
“I closed up early.”
Though she couldn’t be sure with those dark shades hiding his eyes, he seemed to be looking at her strangely. Maybe he was wondering about the tear streaks on her cheeks, her runny nose—and the champagne bottle she still clutched in her hand.
He asked in that careful, quiet way of his, “Listen, are you all right?”
“Sure. I’m great. Just terrific.” She stuck the bottle under her arm and dug a rumpled tissue from the front pocket of her shorts. Then she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, bending to the side a little, to keep from dropping the champagne.
