By Hook or By Crook

by Linda Morris

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Linda Morris

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  By Hook or

  By Crook

  by

  Linda Morris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  By Hook or By Crook

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Linda Morris

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2013

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-734-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-735-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Linda Morris

  “An on-again, off-again budding romance partners with some nail-biting suspense...fresh on every page.”

  ~Dee Dailey, The Romance Studio (5 Stars)

  “I never left the edge of my seat from the moment I picked up this wildly intense romantic suspense. Sweet one moment, gritty and thrilling the next, I was ducking for cover as the sparks, tension, and bullets were flying. Romantic suspense lovers definitely need to check this one out.”

  ~Michelle R, The Romance Reviews

  “FORGET-ME-NOT is a fast-paced mystery, with lots of tension, both sexual and life threatening, from the first page to the last. I couldn’t put it down and you won’t be able to either.”

  ~Patrizia Murry, Manic Readers

  “The chemistry between the main characters sizzles right off the pages.”

  ~Isis, Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

  “Linda Morris packed a lot of emotion and WOW factor in this short story. A must read.”

  ~Happily Ever After Reviews (5 Teacups)

  “A satisfying tale about two people who reacquaint after many years apart only to discover that their connection to each other is as strong as ever. MONTANA BELLE is a true quick delight.”

  ~Susan Renee Page,

  Arlington Romance Novel Examiner

  “Poignant…. This was not a cookie-cutter book.”

  ~Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio

  Dedication

  To my husband,

  for putting up with way more writing-induced

  neurosis than anyone should have to tolerate.

  To my father,

  for being willing to talk about my writing

  even though he doesn't read romance.

  To my mother,

  for buying me that first romance

  that started it all, many years ago.

  Chapter 1

  Ivy Smithson drew on a pair of white cotton gloves and removed the ancient volume from its acid-free cardboard box. The tangy scent of old leather and mildew rose from the book’s pages. In the corner of the library’s reading room, a security guard coughed and eyed her restively. The medieval Bible was worth a fortune. She had gone through security clearance, background checks, and metal detectors to get approval to view it.

  She didn’t care about the book’s monetary value, however. Expensive things didn’t impress her. She had been around them her whole life. Over the years, her father had given her a few of the medieval artworks she loved so much, including a Dürer engraving of a rhinoceros executed with more imagination than accuracy, but this Bible belonged in a class by itself.

  From the depths of her bag, her cell phone rang. Ivy checked the display. It was her sister, Daisy.

  Should she answer? She had only limited time at the museum. She decided against it. After a few rings, the phone went blessedly silent. She returned her attention to the engraving, but she couldn’t focus. What had her sister wanted? She and Daisy had been fighting again, but that wasn’t unusual. This time, they’d argued about Daisy’s latest boyfriend, a bouncer and aspiring martial-arts fighter named Pock. Ivy had no idea whether that was his first or last name, and had no intention of finding out. She stayed as far away from her sister’s boyfriends as possible. They never stuck around for very long anyway. Daisy tended to be fickle.

  Ivy shook her head to clear it. The volume in front of her—a Latin Bible illustrated by the noted German wood engraver and painter, Albrecht Dürer—was dated from the late 1400s. She gently placed the enormous Bible on the table atop the soft velour cloth she had already spread to protect the aged leather cover.

  Ivy carefully opened the Bible, holding her breath as the ancient binding creaked. The book had a value to her that went far beyond money. It had become priceless by enduring the vagaries of history against all odds. No matter how many times she worked with an ancient text, she always marveled a little at her good fortune in being able to touch it, turn its pages, and to smell the must of centuries that clung to it.

  She retrieved a set of tweezers from her work bag and turned the first page, stopping to examine the frontispiece illustration. Although she’d spent years studying his work, the incredible intricacy of Dürer’s illustration still held her rapt. “Adam and Eve,” she whispered, naming the engraving’s subject. The legendary couple stood amid the garden of Eden, with exotic birds and wildlife clustered around them. Both were nude except for a few strategically placed fig leaves designed to protect fifteenth-century sensibilities. Between them, an apple-wielding snake hung from a nearby branch, tempting a fair-haired Eve to accept the fruit from his mouth.

  “Don’t do it, Eve, it’s not going to be worth it,” Ivy murmured, earning another portentous cough from the security guard. She smiled at her own whimsy, adjusting the small pair of reading glasses she wore for work. The fruit of sexual knowledge was overrated, especially when you considered all the problems it caused.

  The voluptuous Eve reminded Ivy of another troubled temptress—her sister, Daisy. No matter how often Ivy explained it to her, Daisy couldn’t understand that the Smithson family’s wealth sucked in fortune hunters. Drifters and vagabonds flocked to Daisy in particular, often wanting her to bankroll some crazy enterprise for them while they warmed her bed, as well. Although their father, Richard Smithson, controlled the vast bulk of the family’s fortune, Daisy’s generous allowance and the promise of a future inheritance attracted plenty of scoundrels.

  The ringing of her cell phone jarred the room’s silent interior again. The guard sent her a censorious look. Ivy bit off a sigh. Worried about her sister, she wasn’t getting any work done anyway. She might as well take the call. She slipped off her gloves and pressed the Talk button. “Ivy speaking.”

  “I would hope this is Ivy speaking, considering I’m calling your cell phone,” a sardonic
voice on the line said.

  The familiar tension she always felt when she talked to her sister tightened Ivy’s throat. “Yes, Daisy. What can I do for you?”

  “You’re always so formal! It’s like I’m calling somebody’s customer service department or something. Annnnyway,” she said, stretching the word out, “I actually didn’t call to give you a hard time.”

  “You didn’t?” Ivy said, a touch too sweetly to be sincere.

  “No, I didn’t, smarty. I called to give you some good news.” When Ivy didn’t respond, Daisy rushed ahead. “Pock and I are getting married!” Daisy paused, clearly waiting for some reaction, but only silence greeted her announcement. “Well?” she prodded. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

  Seconds of tense silence ticked off before Ivy could formulate a response. “Congratulations.” She forced the word past her lips in a tone that couldn’t possibly be convincing. What on earth was her sister thinking? Daisy had dated a lot of losers in the past, but she’d never wanted to marry one. This was a new low in judgment, even for Daisy.

  “Have you set a date yet?” Ivy asked, stalling as her mind raced. How long would she have to convince her sister to come to her senses? It took at least a year to plan a wedding of the size and scope that the upper echelon of Chicago society would expect for a Smithson wedding. That would be plenty of time to talk her out of this, thank God.

  “Yep. The wedding’s the day after tomorrow.”

  “What?” Ivy practically squawked.

  Daisy giggled. “Or maybe tomorrow. Pock is verrrry eager,” she almost purred. Fortunately Daisy couldn’t see her eye-roll over the phone. I’ll bet he is eager. Eager to get his hands on Dad’s money.

  “We’re eloping,” Daisy explained. “We don’t want to wait. We’re not having any guests or anything, because we don’t want to deal with all that wedding planning and stuff.”

  Ivy weighed her words carefully, not wanting to set Daisy off, which she seemed to be an expert at. No matter how she tried to avoid fighting with her sister, she always seemed to trigger a bad reaction without even trying. “I don’t understand. What’s the rush?”

  “Hmm, it’s going to be wonderful to be married to him. I can’t wait.” A decidedly sexual undertone to her words made Ivy wince. She didn’t feel at ease discussing sex, even with her own sister. Still, she took her responsibility for her younger sibling very seriously.

  After a long pause, she summoned up the nerve to broach the subject. “Is this about sex?”

  “Ivy, welcome to the twenty-first century. You don’t have to get married to have sex, you know. I would have thought even you realized that.”

  Great. This was getting off to a wonderful start. Ivy took a deep breath and plowed on, determined not to be swayed from the subject at hand. “I know that. I’m simply asking if this might be a part of your...eagerness to get married. You’ve only dated him, what, a few months?”

  “Six months,” Daisy stressed, as if that made all the difference in the world. “And sex has nothing to do with why we want to get married.” At Ivy’s involuntary snort, Daisy admitted, “Well, it’s got something to do with it, but of course it’s not the main reason. It’s not like we needed to wait or anything. We had sex on our first date.”

  “Nice!” she said, wrinkling her nose at this un-asked-for revelation. Sex on the first date? Ivy took sex—and relationships—seriously. No guy could tempt her to toss aside her inhibitions that fast.

  “Ivy, when you meet the right man some day, you’ll understand,” her sister continued. Daisy’s condescending tone made Ivy grind her teeth. “When you meet the man who is right for you, you want to belong to him as soon as possible.”

  God, her sister sounded like a character from one of those sappy TV movies the networks always showed around Valentine’s Day as part of society’s apparent grand plan to make single women feel as bad about themselves as possible. Ivy pressed her lips together, determined to keep from responding to such nonsense. Another thought occurred to her, but she hesitated, unsure how to bring up a contentious topic.

  “Have you considered meeting with Dad’s lawyer?” she ventured after a beat.

  “Mr. Anderson?” Daisy snorted. “Why would I need to talk to him? We’re not interested in a civil ceremony. We’re getting married by a shaman. But don’t worry. He’s legally licensed to perform weddings in the state of Nevada.”

  “Shaman? Nevada?” Ivy repeated blankly, and then shook her head to clear it. “I’m not talking about the officiant. Wendell Anderson is a lawyer, not a judge.”

  “Oh.” Her sister paused a moment to take this in. “So he can’t perform wedding ceremonies? Why would I want to talk to him, then?”

  Honestly, Daisy could be so dense sometimes, especially where men were concerned. No wonder she’d been taken in by this Pock person. How could Ivy explain this delicately to her firebrand sister, who took any friendly advice as criticism? “I’m asking if you’ve considered a prenuptial agreement.”

  “No! And I’m not going to, either!” Daisy’s eruption was predictable, but still unpleasant. “You think everyone is after my money. You don’t think anyone might want me for myself, do you?”

  “Now, that’s not true,” she began in a soothing tone. “I just wonder about this guy—”

  “Pock! His name is Pock. He’s not ‘this guy,’ you know.”

  Privately, Ivy didn’t think “Pock” counted as much of a name, but she didn’t point that out to her sister. “Now, don’t get upset—”

  “You think that because of what happened to you, that it’s going to happen to me, too!” Daisy charged. “Well, it won’t! Pock loves me, and I love him! Nothing is going to keep us from being together.”

  The reference to Daniel still hurt, after all these years. Leave it to her sister to throw that back in her face. “Daisy, I didn’t say—”

  “God!” her sister interjected, as if she had never spoken. “I would have expected this from Dad. That’s why I haven’t told him, but I would have thought you would be more understanding.”

  “You haven’t told Dad?” Ivy echoed. She rubbed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Could this get any worse?

  “No, because I know exactly what kind of reaction I’ll get from him. He’s even worse than you are. No wonder you two get along. You’re just alike.”

  “Now, wait a minute.” Daisy loved their father, but she obviously didn’t intend the remark as a compliment. Both sisters’ relationships with him were too strained for that.

  But her sister barreled on like a runaway train on a downhill track. Nothing could stop her. “Pock and I are getting married this weekend. We’re in Vegas. He’s been flying out here a lot, trying to get a break on the mixed martial arts circuit here. He’s got a fight in Vegas at the Bellisimo tomorrow night, so we’ll be here anyway. It’s the big break in MMA he’s been waiting for. It’s a huge opportunity!”

  “Why Vegas? Can’t Pock fight in Chicago?” Ivy asked, alarmed by the thought of her sister on the loose in Vegas, land of twenty-four-hour wedding chapels, with her thug boyfriend in tow. If ever she’d heard a recipe for disaster...

  “He’s been fighting a lot on the Midwest circuit, but Vegas is the big-time. If he ever wants to get anywhere, he has to fight here. And since we’re here, we thought we’d get married, since Vegas is so romantic.”

  Ivy could think of a dozen cities more romantic than Vegas—Akron, Ohio came to mind—but she didn’t argue.

  “We’re getting married whether you like it or not. I’m sorry you can’t be here, but knowing how you feel, I guess it’s better that you not attend. You’ve never supported me anyway,” Daisy said with a sniff. “You always take Dad’s side in everything!”

  God, but her sister had a flair for the dramatic. “Daisy, listen for a minute! I only want you to think this through. You’ve barely known the guy any time at all. None of us have even met him. What’s the rush? At least let Mr. Anderson draw so
mething up, something that will protect you financially should something happen.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Daisy said flatly, and Ivy could hear the finality in her sister’s voice. “We’re going to get married, and that’s final. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

  Ivy seized on this revelation. “Weeks? But doesn’t Pock have a job as a bouncer or something?”

  Daisy sighed. “He’s a security guard at a bar.”

  Ivy silently wondered what the difference was, but she didn’t ask and Daisy didn’t volunteer the information. She leaned back, causing her chair to creak noisily in the silent library. “Still, doesn’t he have to get back to work?”

  “He quit that job. I’ve explained to him that if he really wants to make it in MMA, he’s got to give it his all, while he’s still young. He’s not going to get anywhere working at a Chicago bar. We’re staying in Vegas. We’ll get an apartment soon.”

  Suspicions rising, she pounced. “And how are you two going to live while he pursues his dreams?” Ivy asked, acid etching her tone. Silence buzzed for a few seconds. Like a bloodhound on the scent, she could sense her sister’s reluctance to answer the question.

  “He makes some money fighting. I’ll be able to support him on my allowance from Dad, of course, until his fighting career takes off. But that’s not why he’s marrying me,” Daisy insisted.

  Hearing her sister’s heartbreaking, willful assurance made Ivy’s heart sink. She closed her eyes briefly. A part of her sympathized. Her little sister might act tough, but she reminded Ivy of herself a few years ago—in love, maybe for the first time, and eager to get started on adulthood sooner rather than later. Eager to disprove a cold, distant father who always looked on the bleak side and warned about the dangers of a world out to take your money. Lacking the life experience to realize that he was, more often than not, right.

  Daisy was only twenty-three years old. At twenty-eight, Ivy felt immeasurably older and wiser.

  “Oh, Daisy,” Ivy said, unable to keep the pity from her voice.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” Daisy warned. “If anything, I should feel sorry for you. You’re all alone, and you probably always will be!” In the background, Ivy heard a horn honking. “Oh, that’s him! I’ve gotta go! Tell Dad I’ll see him in a couple of weeks, okay? Bye!”