Stephanie and Melissa both dropped the knife, and Amber guiltily jerked her finger away from the bottom layer.
“Amber has a thing for cake.” Royce’s tone was dry next to Alec, but there was a twinkle in his eyes exclusively for Amber.
“That’s true,” Amber admitted, grinning right back at him, making a show of licking the tip of her finger.
Something about their easy intimacy tightened Stephanie’s chest. She didn’t dare look at Alec, knowing his expression would be guarded. There was no intimacy between them. They were barely acquaintances.
A few words, no matter how official, couldn’t make this a real marriage.
She knew she’d repeated the vows, and so had Alec, because the preacher had pronounced them husband and wife. But there’d been a ringing in her ears, and she’d had trouble focusing her eyes. She couldn’t honestly say she recalled any of it.
Except the kiss. She remembered the kiss all too well. And she remembered her body’s reaction to it—the arousal, the yearning, the fleeting fantasy that he’d scoop her into his arms and carry her off on a honeymoon.
“Stephanie?” Alec interrupted her thoughts.
Before she could stop herself, she glanced his way and caught his neutral expression, no twinkle, no teasing, no private message.
“The cake,” he prompted. “It’s up to the bride.”
Amber playfully elbowed her in the ribs. “Let’s do it.”
Stephanie forced a carefree laugh, turning away from Alec. “I don’t care if we cut it before dinner.”
“Not without a picture,” said Melissa.
Stephanie kept the smile determinedly pasted on her face. “Sure.”
Alec dutifully moved up next to her and the ornate cake, draping an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders.
Despite her vow to remain detached, she flinched under his touch.
“It’ll all be over soon,” he promised in a whisper.
“Maybe for you,” she snapped. “You go right back to your regular life.”
He stiffened. “You want me to stay?”
“Of course not.” But she realized it was a lie.
She desperately wanted him to stay.
Six
It had been two weeks since Alec had seen or heard from Stephanie. Back in his compact, Chicago office, he’d filled every spare second with reviews of the various Ryder International divisions and queries to the possible whereabouts of Norman Stanton. He’d called in every outstanding favor and, quite literally, had feelers out all over the globe.
But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t get Stephanie off his mind. He knew he had to stay well away from her for both their sakes, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. Was she still battling morning sickness? Was she picking out baby clothes? A crib? Thinking about a nursery? Had she been to the doctor again?
He was tempted to call, but he had to be strong. He’d seen the loneliness in her eyes and caught her fleeting glances his way after the wedding ceremony. She was vulnerable right now, and Alec couldn’t risk having her look to him for emotional support.
His instinct to care for his wife and unborn child might be strong, but if he gave in, it would be Stephanie who got hurt in the end.
A news update droned in the corner on his small television set, while the cordless phone on his desktop sharply chimed.
It was an unfamiliar area code, and he snapped up the receiver. “Creighton here.”
“Alec. It’s Damien.”
Anticipation tightened Alec’s gut. “What’ve you got?”
“We found him.”
Alec rocked forward in his chair, senses instantly alert. “Where?”
“Morocco.”
Alec closed his eyes for a brief second of thankfulness. “Good. Great. What now?”
Damien Burke was a decorated, former military man. He’d done tours in both special forces and army intelligence, and there was nobody Alec trusted more.
“The U.S. doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Morocco. Not that I’m suggesting we involve the Moroccan authorities. But Stanton will know that. You can bet that’s why he’s here. And that limits our bargaining power.”
“It’s not like we didn’t expect this,” said Alec. The man was smart enough to illegally drain millions of dollars from the Ryders then hide out in a foreign country. It stood to reason he’d done his research on extradition laws.
“I may be able to get him to Spain,” Damien offered.
Alec was cautious. “How?” Kidnapping was not something he was prepared to authorize.
Damien chuckled, obviously guessing the direction of Alec’s thoughts. “Margarita Castillo, Alec. Trust me, I’m not about to break the law and get myself thrown in a Moroccan jail.”
“Who is she?”
“An associate who, I promise you, will have Norman Stanton on an airplane within twenty-four hours.”
“And then?”
“And then a friend from Interpol will lay out the man’s options.”
Alec battled a moment’s hesitation. “You won’t do anything…You know…”
Damien scoffed. “‘You know’ won’t be even remotely necessary. I’ve watched the man all day. He’s soft as a tourist. We’re shootin’ fish in a barrel here.”
“Good.” A tentative satisfaction bloomed to life inside Alec. He might not be able to be with Stephanie in Montana, but he could do this for her.
Not that she’d ever find out.
“Touch base again tomorrow?” asked Damien.
“Thanks,” said Alec, signing off and sliding the phone back into the charger.
“—arrived at Brighton earlier this morning,” said the female, television news announcer, “and seen here heading for the barn area with her mare Rosie-Jo.”
At the sound of the familiar name, Alec’s gaze flicked to the television set.
“Anyone who follows the national circuit will remember this pair from Caldona where Stephanie Ryder and Rosie-Jo took first place.”
Alec reflexively came to his feet, drinking in the sight of Stephanie’s smiling face. She was dressed in faded jeans and a white cotton blouse. Her auburn hair was braided tight, and her amazing clear blue eyes sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.
“She’s had an extraordinary year,” the male co-anchor put in.
“And an extraordinary career,” said the female. “If they take the blue ribbon this weekend, you have to expect the pair to be a shoe-in for the Olympic team.”
If they what?
“People are calling Rosie-Jo a cross between Big Ben and Miss Budweiser,” the announcer continued.
Alec gave his head a startled shake.
This was Brighton.
It was live.
Stephanie wasn’t allowed to jump. It was too dangerous for the baby.
“High praise, indeed,” the other answered.
Alec knew she was unhappy about the pregnancy, and he knew how desperately she wanted to compete. But she wouldn’t…She couldn’t…
She stepped past a cluster of reporters, Wesley beside her, leading Rosie-Jo.
“What would it mean to you to win at Brighton?” one reporter asked her.
“I’m sorry?” she cocked her head to better hear above the noise.
“What makes Rosie-Jo so special?” asked another, drawing Stephanie’s attention.
“Ambition.” She smiled. “She’s a powerful jumper, and she loves her job, so she’s always totally enthusiastic. But she’s still very careful.”
Stephanie took a step back, giving a friendly wave but ignoring the rest of the questions.
Alec flipped open his cell phone, dialing hers as he powered down his computer. He got her voice mail, left a terse message to call him then tried Royce.
By the time Royce’s voice mail kicked in, Alec was out the door on his way to the airport. He didn’t know what the hell she was thinking. Forget about who was vulnerable and who might get hurt, his job was to protect his unborn c
hild.
The reporter’s question had startled Stephanie, so she’d pretended not to hear it. Word that she’d scratched from the competition had obviously not yet leaked out. But it would be common knowledge by Friday at the latest, and there would be questions, although she had no idea how she was going to answer them.
Wesley turned Rosie-Jo into her appointed stall at the Brighton grounds. His shoulders were tense, and he’d barely said a word since they boarded the plane in Montana.
She’d been waiting since the wedding for his sullen mood to lift. She kept thinking another day, another week, and he’d stop acting like she’d kicked his dog.
He unclipped Rosie’s lead rope, and the horse startled.
“Wesley,” Stephanie sighed, knowing time was up. He needed to focus completely on jumping, and that meant she had to confront the situation head-on.
“Yeah?” He concentrated on coiling the lead rope in his callused hands.
“You can’t ride like this.”
He didn’t look up. “Ride like what?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He crossed to the stall gate and slipped the catch. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
He set his lips in a thin line, opening the gate.
She followed him out. “We need to talk—”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m your coach.”
He glared at her, obviously struggling to mask the hurt with anger. “And I guess that’s all you ever were.”
Guilt tightened her chest. “Wesley, I never—”
“Never what? Never said we had a future? Never said you liked me? Never rushed off to marry that—”
“Wesley,” she warned.
“Why did you lie?” The pain was naked in his eyes now. “All that stuff about us talking about it later. Why didn’t you just tell me up-front it was him?”
Wesley was in worse shape than she’d realized, and she knew she had to talk him down. Riding Rosie-Jo at Brighton was a once in a lifetime chance for him to make a splash in front of a huge, national class audience.
“I didn’t lie,” she told him sincerely. “I do like you.”
His lips thinned, and he turned to walk away.
She rushed after him, pushing her hesitation to a far corner of her mind. It was time to be completely honest. “I married Alec because I’m pregnant.”
Wesley’s head jerked back.
“We got married because of the baby.”
He stopped and blinked at her in stunned silence.
“I don’t know where it’s going, or what will happen in the long-term. But I didn’t lie to you, Wesley.”
He glanced reflexively at her stomach. “That’s why you’re not riding.”
“Yes.”
“You mean…” His brain was obviously ticking through the math, going back to Alec’s first visit to the ranch.
“Don’t even go there,” Stephanie warned, already regretting her impulse. Her behavior was none of Wesley’s business.
“Right.” He squared his shoulders. “So it’s a marriage of convenience. You’re not in love with him.”
She didn’t answer.
After a beat of silence, the pain and anger cleared from Wesley’s eyes. Then he smiled. “So, afterward…”
In an instant, Stephanie realized her error. His hopes were up all over again.
It took Alec the rest of the afternoon to get from Chicago to Lexington and take the short hop to Cedarvale and the Brighton facility.
He tried Stephanie’s cell phone again, then tracked down her hotel and had the front desk try her room. In the end, he was forced to talk his way into the restricted area of the grounds and walk methodically through the horse barns looking for her.
He finally spotted her in the distance, outside, next to a white rail fence line decorated with sponsor bulletin boards.
Even at this distance, she took his breath away. The late day sunshine glinted off her hair. She was silhouetted against a dark background, her jeans and white blouse accentuating the body that he adored. He swore he could hear her voice, her laughter, her gasps when he drew her against him and kissed her.
It was all in his mind, of course. He was deluding himself if he thought she’d ever laugh with him again after this.
He wished he didn’t have to be mad at her. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to hold her in his arms, caress her and kiss her, tell her everything was going to be okay. Then he wanted to figure out a way to make it okay.
For a moment he wondered if he’d played it wrong at their wedding. She’d asked him to leave, but if he’d stuck around, maybe she wouldn’t be here. Their baby would be safe. And he wouldn’t be headed for a confrontation that was sure to hurt them both.
As he drew closer still, he saw she was talking to a couple of reporters. Despite his simmering anger, he had to give her kudos for that.
But then he saw who was standing beside her. Wesley again. And the kid was way too close. They were practically touching. While Alec marched forward, Wesley reached up and cupped his hand over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
Alec quickened his pace.
The sun was setting, but the barn area was still alive with activity. Grooms walked horses, stable hands moved feed and manure, while technicians worked in the broadcast tents, setting up sound and video equipment for the weekend.
Alec halted beside Stephanie, and in one swift motion wrapped his arm around her shoulder, dislodging Wesley’s hand.
Stephanie turned to stare at him. While Wesley’s head whipped around. Both reporters immediately stopped talking. And the television camera swung to Alec.
“Alec Creighton,” he introduced himself with a nod. “Stephanie’s husband.”
Stephanie froze beneath his embrace, while the two female reporters’ jaws dropped open.
“Sorry to interrupt, darling,” he put in easily.
One reporter recovered more quickly and stuffed her microphone in Alec’s face. “You’re married to Stephanie Ryder.”
“Stephanie Creighton,” Alec corrected, though they’d never actually discussed her changing her name.
“When did you get married?”
“Tell us about the wedding.”
“We were married in Montana. At the Ryder Ranch.” Alec made a show of smiling down at Stephanie. “It was a simple ceremony, just the family.”
The reporters switched their attention to Stephanie.
“This is big news. Were you planning a formal announcement?”
Alec didn’t give Stephanie a chance to speak. Not that she seemed particularly capable of joining the conversation.
“You can take this as a formal announcement,” he told them. “You can also take this as notification that Stephanie won’t be competing this weekend.”
Both microphones went to Stephanie. “You’re not competing?”
“Thank you,” said Alec. “That’s all we have to say for the moment.” He swiftly turned her away and started back across the yard. “You did not just do that,” Stephanie rasped as they angled across the lawn to the nearest building.
Wesley seemed to have found his feet and was struggling to catch up with them.
“What are you doing here?” Alec demanded of Stephanie.
“What do you mean?”
Wesley caught them at a trot, and Alec pasted him with a warning glare.
Was the kid suicidal?
Stephanie was Alec’s wife. Wesley had absolutely no right to be touching her.
“This is a private conversation,” Alec announced.
Wesley looked to Stephanie for confirmation, and it was all Alec could do not to send the man sprawling.
“It’s okay, Wesley,” said Stephanie. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but—”
“Goodbye, Wesley,” Alec interrupted.
Wesley hesitated a second longer in a transparent and hopeless attempt to pretend he had a choice. Then he s
hot Alec a hostile look and peeled off to one side, tracking for one of the technical tents.
Stephanie stopped dead. “What is the matter with you?”
“Not here,” Alec growled, scanning the grounds, looking for a place that offered privacy. It didn’t seem promising.
“We’ll go back to the hotel.” He switched their direction.
“Those were reporters,” she hissed under her breath.
“No kidding.”
“An hour from now, everybody’s going to know we’re married.”
“Were you planning to keep it a secret?”
“No. I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“What about the baby? Were you planning to keep that a secret, too?”
“Yes. For now anyway.”
He grunted, struggling to hold his temper.
She didn’t seem to feel guilty. She didn’t seem contrite. Had she somehow convinced herself it was okay to fly eight feet in the air and come crashing down on the back of a eighteen-hundred-pound animal? He’d seen her last bruise. The sport was bloody dangerous.
They took a stone pathway to the main hotel tower, crossed the lobby and entered an elevator.
As the elevator filled up, Alec nabbed her hand and tugged her close beside him. She pressed the button for the twenty-sixth floor.
It was a short walk down the hallway to her room. She inserted the key. He opened the door. Then he shut it behind them.
She immediately turned on him, back to the picture window that looked over the arena. “Are you out of your mind?”
He ignored the question. “Do your brothers know you’re here?”
“Of course they know I’m here. Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”
He advanced on her. “Because you’re pregnant.”
“I know I’m pregnant. That doesn’t mean my life stops.”
“This part of your life stops.”
She paused. Her eyes darkened. Then she waggled her finger at him, stepping three paces backward as she shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to sit home in Montana twiddling my thumbs for the next seven months.”
He stepped forward once again. “Well you’re sure as hell not sitting on the back of a horse jumping six-foot oxers.”
She blinked. “What?”
His Convenient Virgin Bride Page 8
