Bridal Jeopardy. Rebecca York

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      Chapter Three

      Before the thug could accomplish his purpose, the door burst open, and another man charged into the shop. She had a split second to see who it was. The darkly handsome stranger from the charity reception. The other night, he’d been in a tuxedo. Today he had on jeans and a dark T-shirt.

      The man in the doorway reacted to the interruption by reaching into his coat, perhaps for a gun, but he never connected with whatever he was going to pull out. The stranger cracked him in the jaw with a large fist, then pushed him backward into the other man. They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, pulling some of the clothing from the rack with them, but it wasn’t going to be that easy to get rid of them.

      The one on the bottom threw his partner to the side and pulled an automatic from his pocket. Stephanie reacted instinctively. She kicked out with her high-heeled shoe, catching the guy in his gun hand, making him howl in pain. She followed the kick by stamping down on the back of his hand, drawing a scream and sending the gun flying.

      The bald one had scrambled up and launched himself at the stranger, who was prepared for the move. He stepped aside, letting baldy crash into the glass of the door. He made a strangled sound as he bounced back, then reached for the knob and flung the door open. He was outside and running down the block before Stephanie realized that the other man was on his feet and trying to get away as the rescuer made a grab for him. But the thug had the strength of desperation. He pushed the stranger against the wall, then leaped around him, charging out the door, following his partner down the block.

      The man who had come to Stephanie’s rescue pushed himself upright, determination in his eyes, and she was afraid he was going after the two men. She grabbed his hand to stop him, and everything changed.

      In that moment of contact, the breath whooshed from her lungs, and she stood staring at him—as she had stared when they’d been standing across the room from each other at the plantation house. Only this was different. Last time there had been twenty feet of space between them. Now her hand gripped his, and somehow the physical connection had opened a gateway between them.

      Images flooded into her mind. She saw a long-ago scene. Two little boys in a restaurant. She knew one of them was...Craig. His name was Craig. And the other one was Sam. And their minds were open to each other the way his mind was open to her at this moment.

      The other boy was his mirror image. He must be his twin brother. There was a completeness to the two of them, a bond that made her sharply aware of all the unfulfilled longings that permeated her life.

      She was just sinking into the long-ago scene when the door of the restaurant where the boys were sitting flew open, and gunmen charged in—like the men who had charged into her shop. Only these guys had assault rifles, and they started shooting.

      She felt the seconds of fear. She felt the pain as Sam was hit. She felt Craig’s utter desolation as his brother slipped away from him.

      Gasping, she tried to pull back, but his hold only tightened on her, and she knew he was pulling memories from her mind as she was from his.

      More recent memories. The talk with her father where he’d told her that he couldn’t pay off his gambling debts. And then the look in his eyes when he explained that there was a solution to all their problems. A rich man was interested in marrying her. A rich man who would take care of their debts and take care of her for the rest of her life.

      “He spoke to you first?” she asked her father.

      “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      “He thought that was more appropriate.”

      Was that the real reason, or had he known that he had an advantage with the father that he didn’t have with the daughter?

      She found out her suitor was John Reynard, a man she had met at the country club out by Lake Pontchartrain, where she’d gone for a friend’s birthday celebration. He was another guest at the party, and he’d sat at her table and talked to her. They’d danced, and she’d known he was interested in her. He’d asked her out several times, and she’d accepted because she saw no harm in it. But the idea of his wanting to marry her came as a shock.

      “I’m not ready for marriage,” she blurted.

      “You’re going to have to change your mind about that.”

      “No.”

      “I’m in financial trouble.”

      “Whose fault is that?”

      “You could say it’s my own fault, but I’m not going to go down in disgrace if someone is willing to help me. Besides, John Reynard will make a good husband. He’s rich and well connected. You’ll never want for anything.”

      She felt as though she were living in the Middle Ages. Women in the twenty-first century married for love, not for the right connections.

      Yet she’d long ago secretly given up on love, and maybe that was why she had finally agreed.

      She didn’t want to be revealing any of that СКАЧАТЬ