Married in Haste Read online

  He and Angie held hands under the table—as corny and romantic as a couple of newlyweds. Which, come to think of it, they were. Now and then they would share a glance and she would give him that special smile….

  He was looking forward to getting her alone. Tonight would be their first real night together as husband and wife. He wasn’t going to rush her.

  But, as he’d reminded her last night on the way home from Reno, he was a guy. And she was a pretty woman who smelled good and felt even better when he held her in his arms.

  A pretty woman who just happened to be his wife.

  “Oh, man…” Across the table, Anthony was grinning and shaking his head.

  Brett frowned. “What?”

  “Nice to see, that’s all. You and Angie. Husband and wife…”

  “Love is a beautiful thing,” said Anthony’s wife, Gracie, leaning toward her husband and planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

  And that got Old Tony going again. “To love. To love. Let’s drink to love….”

  Brett wasn’t in love. And neither was Angie. But he figured that was something nobody else needed to know. He picked up his glass and raised it high. “To love…”

  The two words echoed down the table. “To love…”

  “To love…”

  “To love…”

  “To love…”

  Even the little kids at the low table in the corner raised their glasses of grape juice and echoed the toast.

  About then, Mamma Rose began to cry—from happiness, she said. And the religious one, Aunt Stella, started in about how he and Angie would need to “rectify their unfortunate choice” of not getting married in the church. “You must speak with Father Delahunty,” Stella instructed. “Find out what the waiting period will be. And, Dr. Brett, I want you to seriously consider converting to the Catholic fai—”

  “Put a sock in it, Aunt Stella.” Anthony cut her off. “It’s not the time.”

  Mamma Rose sniffed and dabbed her streaming eyes. “Anthony.” The word was freighted with reproach.

  “Sorry, Aunt Stella,” Anthony muttered. “But save it for later, okay?”

  Stella pinched up her mouth, but she did keep it shut.

  Old Tony—who was definitely on his way to getting blasted on his own homemade wine—raised his glass for yet another toast.

  But before he could get a word out, Trista put up a hand and cried, “Wait! Wait a minute. Stephanie? Where’s Steffie?” Stephanie was her youngest, just two.

  Everyone looked toward the low table in the corner where the kids too small for the main table but old enough to be out of high chairs, sat together. One small seat was empty.

  “Lulu,” Trista spoke sharply to her oldest. “I told you to watch her.”

  Lulu hitched up her small chin. “She said she had to go potty. I told her I’d help her. She stuck out her tongue at me. You know how she gets. She said she was a big girl and she could do it herself.”

  “Tris, it’s okay.” Clarice tried to soothe her sister. “She can’t have gone far.”

  Trista wasn’t listening. She’d already leaped to her feet and headed for the door. Clarice got up and followed her.

  The second the two women were out of sight, Old Tony tapped his glass with his fork. “Okay, now. Where was I?” He held his glass high. “To our Angie’s new husband. Brett, welcome to our family.”

  Brett nodded his thanks and they all drank again—by then, most of them, including Brett and Angie, were toasting with water.

  Once that toast was over, Pop Baldovino launched into a long story about how he’d courted his wife and won her away from a rich Nevada City Irishman. He was just to the part where she told him yes, when Trista came flying back into the room, face white as a fresh strip of surgical gauze, Clarice at her heels.

  “We can’t find her anywhere,” Trista cried. “She’s gone. My baby’s just…gone.”

  Everybody jumped up from the table and pitched in to look for the missing toddler. They fanned out, some scouring the lower floor, some heading upstairs to check all the bedrooms, a few racing for the basement to see if little Steffie might have stumbled down there.

  When she didn’t turn up in the house, the family poured out onto the front lawn and the terraced garden in back. Trista ran down the brick steps to the street, calling, “Steffie, where are you? Steffie, my God!” Clarice had to chase after her and calm her down.

  They checked the cottage, scouring every room.

  No sign of the little girl.

  By then, poor Trista was nothing short of a wreck. She clung to Clarice, sobbing, “Oh, I should have watched her closer. Oh, I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  Most of the women gathered in the living room to comfort Trista and to reassure her that her baby would be found. The men continued looking, in the house and outside. Brett wandered out to the front hallway and tried to come up with any places they might have forgotten to check.

  He treated a lot of toddlers at the clinic, Stephanie included. Kids that age seemed to like cozy spaces where bigger folks couldn’t go—cozy places like maybe that door under the stairs.

  The door was three feet high, max, at its tallest point, tucked back in the shadows and slanted to follow the rise of the stairs. Brett had to crouch and scoot under there to get to it. He grabbed the porcelain knob and pulled it open.

  Sure enough, there she was, sound asleep, her small head resting on a dog-eared stuffed bunny, sucking her thumb. As the light from the hallway touched her round, pink cheek, she opened her eyes.

  The thumb popped free of her mouth and she frowned at him, befuddled in the cutest, little-kid way. “Docca Bwett?”

  He gave her a slow smile. “Steffie. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  She sat up, grabbed her stuffed bunny and held out her soft little arms. “I go potty. All by myself. Then I get vewwy tired…”

  He scooped her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the bunny dangling from her small hand. He felt the ragged stuffed toy plop against his back and he thought how great it was going to be when he and Angie had some kids. He wanted a little girl first. Hell. On second thought, he didn’t care.

  A boy or a girl. Either. Both….

  He ducked out from under the stairs, Steffie clinging to his neck. Rising to his height, he turned toward the door to the living room.

  Rose spotted him first. She let out a joyful cry. “Here she is! Brett’s found her!”

  And everybody jumped up and rushed over to surround him and Stephanie. They all pressed in, jostling each other, yet still somehow managing to clear a path so Trista could get through.

  “Mommy, Mommy, I was sweeping…” Steffie swayed toward her mother.

  Trista caught her and cuddled her close. “Oh, my baby, my baby, you’re all right….” Trista stroked her daughter’s silky hair and gazed up at him gratefully, brown eyes brimming. “Thank you, Brett. Oh, thank you, thank you…”

  Cool, soft fingers sought his. Angie. He turned and she was grinning at him. “Our hero,” she said in a tone both teasing and tender, as everyone clapped his shoulders and patted him on the back.

  It wasn’t a bad moment, Brett thought as he bent his head to press a quick kiss on the sweet, upturned lips of his bride. Not a bad moment at all.

  He had what he wanted now—what he needed. A good woman with a level head and a ready smile. They would share a sane life, serving their community, raising children who would grow up safe and loved and confident in the reasonable, settled normalness of their parents and their world.

  Chapter Five

  They didn’t get away from the party until after three. The family followed them outside, some of them trailing down the brick steps, others remaining up on the lawn, everybody waving and calling out good wishes as Angie and Brett headed off down the street on foot.

  It was a warm, clear day, perfect for a stroll, so earlier they’d left Brett’s fancy pickup at home and caught a ride back with Anthony.
/>   Home…

  Angie smiled to herself. Her own home at last. With Brett.

  Hard to believe that a few short weeks ago she’d been in despair, wondering how she could have chosen so badly, how her life could have gone so very wrong. Now, everything was changed. She was married to a wonderful guy and things had never seemed so right.

  She tipped her head to the clear sky above, thankful for the warmth of the sun on her face—not to mention to be settled at last in her hometown, with a man she trusted and respected by her side.

  The Sierra Star Bed-and-Breakfast loomed ahead as they reached the intersection where Jewel Street dead-ended into Commerce Lane. A rambling clapboard building painted a cheery yellow, the B and B had a white picket fence in front and a slate walk leading up to the front porch.

  “We should stop and say hi,” Angie suggested, “and we need to tell your mom the news.”

  Brett made a low sound. “As if she doesn’t already know by now.”

  “All the more reason to drop in—because she’s family and she should have heard it from us….”

  He lifted their clasped hands and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, causing a lovely warmth to flare down low inside her. “Are you talking about my mom—or yours?”

  “Oh, Brett…” She swayed toward him. He gathered her close, right there in the street. So what if folks saw them and talked? They were newlyweds, after all. And newlyweds were allowed the occasional public display of affection. She tipped her face up to him. “You amaze me. How do you understand me so well?”

  He touched her—a breath of a touch, warm fingers skimming under her chin, down her cheek. “You did have that look.”

  “What look?”

  “Kind of guilty, maybe?” His body felt good—warm and strong, hard where hers was soft.

  Funny, but every time he touched her, it was better than the time before—and what were they talking about? Oh, yeah. Guilt. “I’m not feeling guilty…”

  He grinned. “The hell you’re not.”

  ‘Well. Not too guilty, anyway.”

  “It was rough, telling your mom?”

  “What can I say? There was crying and yelling. Nothing new about that. And then, in the end, she came around.”

  “Whew.”

  “You have her full approval. She likes you. She always has. My dad likes you, too. Plus, you’re a doctor with a brand-new pickup and a nice house. I’d have to say, you’re about the perfect man in every way. Well, I mean, other than not being Catholic.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Oh, and you will be much sorrier, believe me. Once my aunt Stella gets through with you—though I swear I’ll do all I can to protect you.”

  “That’s something, at least…” His gaze tracked to her mouth.

  And then he lowered those tempting lips and he kissed her. Right there, in the middle of Jewel Street, with the sun pouring down on them, out in the open where anyone could see.

  She kissed him back. It was a great kiss and she never wanted it to end.

  But eventually he lifted his head and she looked in those dark eyes and…

  Oh, for the night to come. By then, Angie had no doubts at all. It was going to be great, making love with her husband. As a matter of fact, she could hardly wait.

  With a happy laugh, she danced back, out of the cherishing circle of his arms, catching his hand and giving it a tug. “Now come on. Let’s go see your mom.”

  Tall and slim with a tidy cap of short, gray-streaked brown hair, Chastity emerged from the house as they let themselves in the gate.

  “Well. It’s about time you two got over here and let me congratulate you.” She reached for Angie first. “Come on. I want to hug my new daughter-in-law.” Angie moved forward into Chastity’s embrace. “I’m so happy.” Chastity squeezed Angie tight, then took her by the shoulders and held her away. “I confess, I’ve always hoped that someday you two might get together, ever since those long-ago days when you and Brett were constantly trooping in and out of here, getting mud all over my hardwood floors….”

  Chastity turned to her son, who swept her up into his big, strong arms for a hug of his own.

  When he finally let her go, she commanded, “Come on inside, you two. I baked a chocolate cake this morning and I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”

  In Chastity’s kitchen at the back of the B and B, Brett and Angie filled her in on all the details of their Reno wedding and got the latest on how Buck and his wife were doing in New York. Chastity also said that Glory would be moving back to the Sierra Star next week.

  “I’ll help her out with the baby.” The lines around Chastity’s mouth deepened with her pleased smile. “I’m looking forward to getting to know my new grandson a little.” She didn’t say that Glory couldn’t wait to get out from under the disapproving eyes of the family, but Angie knew that must be the case. Pretty much everyone—from Mamma to Aunt Stella, to Great-Grandpa Tony—thought that Glory should go ahead and marry Bowie for the sake of little Johnny. They all felt Bowie would settle down once Glory finally became his wife. And none of them ever kept their feelings to themselves. By now, Glory had to be getting pretty sick of being stuck at Mamma’s house, where everyone was only to happy to tell her how to live her life.

  Angie was the only one in the family who saw things from Glory’s perspective: a guy with problems was a guy with problems, whether he was married or not. Glory counted on Angie’s support. In the past week, since Angie had started spending all her free time with Brett, she knew she’d neglected Glory.

  Tomorrow, Angie promised herself, she’d get over to the house and spend some quality time with her little sister.

  But for today—and the night to come…

  Well, she was a newlywed. She wanted to be with her groom.

  At the house by the river, just the two of them, at last, they sat out on the deck together. The trees rustled in the wind overhead and the river made that soft, constant sigh of sound as it tumbled through the canyon a hundred yards away. They laughed over the antics of her crazy family and marveled some more about all the things they had in common. They both read The Week magazine. They had the same favorite color, turquoise. He liked action movies—so did she.

  “As long there’s a love story,” she qualified.

  He groaned, but then he nodded. “Okay. I can live with the mushy stuff, in moderation.”

  They even talked about children.

  “I’m up for two,” she told him, thinking of her family. She loved them all, couldn’t imagine a world without each and every one of them in it. But growing up, she’d often felt just a little bit ignored, a quiet middle child in a rambunctious crowd of nine. “I mean, if more come along, of course, I’ll adore them. But with two, we can be sure each one gets lots of attention.”

  Brett agreed. “Two it is—and you’re grinning. Why?”

  “Just remembering what it was like growing up in a big family. Looking back, I’d have to say that today was the most attention I’ve gotten from all of them since my first communion.” She laughed. “And no. I’m not complaining. As a rule, my family’s undivided attention is the last thing any smart girl would ever want. I mean, look at poor Glory. They all want her to marry Bowie and they’ll never leave her alone until she does.”

  Brett was shaking his head. “But it’s her decision.”

  “Tell that to my great-grandpa Tony.”

  He suggested, “What do you say to holding off on the kids for a while? I want you to myself for a year or two. And then, there’s the clinic. We’re just getting started there. I’d like us to have some time to get more established.”

  “I think you’re right. We need some time for just the two of us.” Babies were a blessing, but they were also a challenge. They put any number of stresses on a marriage.

  “A full year,” he bargained. “Before we start trying for kids. Will that work for you?”

  She was in total agreement. “That’s perfect for me.” S
ince she was wary of the pill and its side effects, she made a mental note to get a new diaphragm—and ignored the familiar twinge of guilt that accompanied the thought. No, Aunt Stella would not approve. Neither would Father Delahunty.

  But this was Angie’s life—hers and Brett’s. And they both agreed they needed a little time to themselves before the kids came along.

  Back inside, they spent an hour or so unpacking and putting away the things Angie was sure she would need. The rest, they left down in one of the spare rooms to deal with later. She did get out a few treasures—a shepherd-boy Hummel figurine left to her by her granny Dellazola, a sleek green cloisonné vase and a pink-hearted conch shell she’d bought on a trip to Malibu. She asked Brett if she could set them around.

  “Your house, too,” he reminded her.

  “I knew you’d say that.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “Because I wanted to hear it. My house, too. Oh, yeah. I like the way that sounds.” She stepped up close and kissed him, quick and hard. “I think the shell would look beautiful on that glass table by the French doors….” She started to turn.

  He caught her arm. “Do that again.” He pulled her closer—so close she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, flecks so small, they were invisible from any distance, flecks like the tiny specks of gold dust that could be found, now and then, sparkling bright in a handful of river sand.

  Oh, and she did like the scent of him. He smelled of fresh air and clean skin, with just a hint of some nice, mellow aftershave—and something else, too. Something indefinable, but definitely male.

  She marveled how everything about him, each little detail, pleased her so thoroughly. How could it have taken her so long—all her life, until today—to realize she desired him?

  “Do what again?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.

  “Kiss me.”

  She lifted her mouth to him. His lips touched hers and his arms closed around her.

  Oh, he did feel good: the softness of his mouth, the strength in his arms, the hardness of his lean body, and its warmth. She put her hands on his big shoulders, just to felt the muscular shape of them.