Cavanaugh Standoff

by Marie Ferrarella

  Her eyes narrowed slightly as she concentrated. “I’m sorry, is there a compliment in there somewhere?” Sierra asked.

  He laughed softly to himself. It had taken him a long time to get here. A long time to shed the shadows of the past and allow himself to move forward. Now that he had, he needed to tell her, to make her understand. “There’s a compliment everywhere you move.”

  “Just how much have you had to drink?” she asked. She glanced over to where the bride and groom were sitting. “And don’t you have to get back to the bridal party?”

  He answered her questions in order. “Not much and I’ve done my duty for my brother. Aisle-marching, guest-seating and picture-taking. The rest of the evening belongs to me—and I want to spend it with the most beautiful woman here.”

  Okay, something was definitely going on here. “Are you all right?” she asked, peering into Ronan’s face. “Seriously, you don’t seem like yourself.”

  “You mean I don’t seem grumpy?” he guessed.

  She debated rejecting the word he’d used, then decided he would probably value honesty. “Well, I would have put it a little more diplomatically, but, okay, yes. Grumpy.”

  “Maybe everything we’ve been through these last few weeks, plus the wedding, has opened my eyes and put me in a different frame of mind.” Because it had, he added silently.

  Sierra looked at him uncertainly. “What kind of frame of mind?”

  Rather than having prerecorded music, Andrew had hired a band to play at the reception. A slow tune was just beginning.

  “Do you dance?” Ronan asked, rising and putting his hand out to her.

  She regarded the hand he offered. “Do you?”

  The smile on his lips had slipped into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” she observed, getting to her feet. She put her hand in his. “Yes, I dance.”

  “Good,” he said.

  So saying, still holding her hand, he led her to the area that had been designated as a temporary dance floor.

  It was a slow number and as Ronan took her into his arms, everything felt just beautifully right—which made her nervous. It felt too perfect in her opinion. Too perfect usually meant that something was going to go wrong. Soon. She tried to steel herself off.

  For now, she resorted to small talk. “Your brother looks very happy,” she commented.

  “Not half as happy as my mother,” Ronan told her, glancing in his mother’s direction. The smile on the woman’s face could have guided ships safely to shore through an impenetrable fog. “He’s the first one of us to get married. I heard my mother commenting that she didn’t think she was ever going to live to see the day that one of her kids got married.”

  “She shouldn’t have talked like that. Your mother’s still a young woman,” Sierra protested. “Who knows, she might surprise everyone by getting married herself.”

  Ronan looked at her, mildly surprised. “You know something you’re not telling me?”

  “No.” Sierra laughed. “Just that there’s no set age for marriage. People get married at all different ages these days and your mother’s a vibrant, vital woman, that’s all.”

  It was the opening he’d been searching for. He was never going to have a better chance to broach the subject than this.

  “How do you feel about marriage?”

  “Me?” Why was he asking her that? Was he setting her up to let her know that marriage was something he wasn’t interested in now? Sierra tried her best to sound nonchalant. “I think it’s a good thing, but there’s got to be love there in order for it to work.”

  “Well, we agree on that,” he told her, holding her a little closer as they continued to dance to a timeless love song. He needed to stop circling the pool and just jump in, he told himself. “You want me to go first?” he asked, whispering the question into her ear.

  She drew her head back to look at him, completely confused. “I might, if I knew what you were talking about.”

  Again he whispered the words into her ear. “Saying I love you.”

  This time Sierra stopped dancing. It felt as if her limbs had suddenly gone numb. “Is this some kind of a game?” she asked, doing her best to steel herself for inevitable disappointment. “Or a dare?”

  “No to both,” he denied with feeling.

  Because she didn’t want to attract any undue attention and the music was still playing, Sierra forced herself to resume dancing.

  He’d started this, he needed to see it through, Ronan told himself. She obviously didn’t understand what he was saying to her. “I think I figured it out when you had that knitting needle sticking out of your shoulder. You were beautiful, you were brave and you weren’t afraid of anything. I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.”

  “I think that goes two ways,” Sierra said with a sigh. “Maybe you just have a thing about knitting needles,” she joked.

  “No,” he insisted, “I have a thing about you. And I have to get this out before I lose my nerve,” he told Sierra.

  The music had stopped, but she continued dancing with him, focusing only on what he was saying and not the fact that there was no actual music, only what was playing in her head.

  “Say what?” Sierra asked, trying not to sound breathless.

  “Will you marry me?” He saw her jaw drop and talked quickly. “You don’t have to give me an answer yet. You can take your time. Hell, I don’t care how long you take as long as the answer’s the right one when you finally say it.”

  Stunned, she could only stare at him. He hadn’t struck her as the kind of man who would want to get married. At least not for a very long time to come. And she was all right with that, as long as, when he finally decided to settled down, it was with her.

  “Hey, you two,” his brother Lukkas called out to them with a laugh, “the music’s stopped.”

  But Sierra held up her hand to tell the man who was going to be her future brother-in-law to back off. “Not yet,” she told Lukkas, never taking her eyes off Ronan. Mentally taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Ronan asked, not sure exactly what she was agreeing to. He wanted to be very, very sure before he allowed himself to become excited.

  “Okay, I love you and okay—” She pressed her lips together. “I’ll marry you.”

  A part of Ronan was still somewhat feeling leery. “Really?”

  “Really,” she said, everything inside her feeling as if it was singing.

  The band began to play again, but despite the fact that she and Ronan were still on the dance floor, they didn’t start dancing.

  They were too busy sealing their mutual promise with a long, everlasting kiss.

  * * * * *

  Love the Cavanaughs?

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  CAVANAUGH IN THE ROUGH

  CAVANAUGH COLD CASE

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  Don’t miss TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE!

  A 6-part psychological thriller that will have you guessing till the very end!

  “I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”

  As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...

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  Outlaw’s Honor

  by B.J. Daniels

  DARBY CAHILL ADJUSTED his Stetson as he moved toward the bandstand. The streets of Gilt Edge, Montana, were filled with revelers who’d come to celebrate the yearly chokecherry harvest on this beautiful day. The main street had been blocked off for all the events. People had come from miles around for the celebration of a cherry that was so tart it made your mouth pucker.

  As he climbed the steps, Darby figured it just proved that people would celebrate anything. Normally, his twin sister, Lillie, attended, but this year she was determined that he should do more of their promotion at these events.

  “I hate it as much as you do,” she’d assured him. “But believe me, you’ll get more attention up there on the stage than me. Just say a few words, throw T-shirts into the crowd, have some fry bread and come home. You can do this.” Clearly, she knew his weakness for fry bread as well as his dislike of being the center of attention.

  The T-shirts were from the Stagecoach Saloon, the bar and café the two of them owned and operated outside town. Since it had opened, the bar had helped sponsor the Chokecherry Festival each year.

  He heard his name being announced and sighed as he made his way up the rest of the steps to the microphone to deafening applause. He tipped his hat to the crowd, swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “It’s an honor to be here and to be part of such a wonderful celebration.”

  “Are you taking part in the pit-spitting competition?” someone yelled from the crowd, and others joined in. Along with being bitter, chokecherries were mostly pit.

  “I’m going to leave that to the professionals,” he said, reaching for the box of T-shirts, wanting this over with as quickly as possible. He didn’t like being in the spotlight any longer than he had to. Also, he hoped that once he started throwing the shirts, everyone would forget about the pit-spitting contest later.

  He was midthrow when he spotted a woman in the crowd. What had caught his eye was the brightly colored scarf around her dark hair. It fluttered in the breeze, giving him glimpses of only her face.

  He let go and the T-shirt sailed through the air as if caught on the breeze. He saw with a curse that it was headed right for the woman. Grimacing, he watched the rolled up T-shirt clip the woman’s shoulder.

  She looked up, clearly startled. He had the impression of serious, dark eyes, full lips. Their gazes locked for an instant and he felt something like lightning pierce his heart. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Rooted to the spot, all he could hear was the drumming of his heart, the roaring crowd a dull hum in the background.

  Someone behind the woman in the crowd scooped up the T-shirt and, scarf fluttering, the woman turned away, disappearing into the throng of people.

  What had that been about? His heart was still pounding. What had he seen in those bottomless dark eyes that left him...breathless? He knew what Lillie would have said. Love at first sight. Something he would have scoffed at—just moments ago.

  “Do you want me to help you?” a voice asked at his side.

  Darby nodded to the festival volunteer. He threw another T-shirt, looking in the crowd for the woman. She was gone.

  Once the box of T-shirts was empty, he hurriedly stepped off the stage into the moving mass. His job was done. His plan was to have some fry bread and then head back to the saloon. He was happiest behind the bar. Or on the back of a horse. Being Montana born and raised in open country, crowds made him nervous.

  The main street had been blocked off and now booths lined both sides of the street all the way up the hill that led out of town. Everywhere he looked there were chokecherry T-shirts and hats, dish towels and coffee mugs. Most chokecherries found their way into wine or syrup or jelly, but today he could have purchased the berries in lemonade or pastries or even barbecue sauce. He passed stands of fresh fruit and vegetables, crafts of all kinds and every kind of food.

  As he moved through the swarm of bodies now filling the downtown street, the scent of fry bread in the air, he couldn’t help searching for the woman. That had been the strangest experience he’d ever had. He told himself it could have been heatstroke had the day been hotter. Also, he felt perfectly fine now.

  He didn’t want to make more of it than it was, and yet, he’d give anything to see her again. As crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t throw off the memory of that sharp hard shot to his heart when their gazes had met.

  As he worked his way through the crowd, following the smell of fry bread, he watched for the colorful scarf the woman had been wearing. He needed to know what that was about earlier. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but if he got a chance to see her again...

  Someone in the crowd stumbled against his back. He caught what smelled like lemons in the air as a figure started to brush by him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorful scarf wrapped around her head of dark hair.

  Like a man sleepwalking, he grabbed for the end of the scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. His fingers closed on the silken fabric, but only for a second. She was moving fast enough that his fingers lost purchase and dropped to her arm.

  In midstep, she half turned toward him, his sudden touch slowing her. In those few seconds, he saw her face, saw her startled expression. He had the bizarre thought that this woman was in trouble. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her arm.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. It all happened in a manner of seconds. As she tried to pull away, his hand slid down the silky smooth skin of her forearm until it caught on the wide bracelet she was wearing on her right wrist.

  Something dropped from her hand as she jerked free of his hold. He heard a snap and her bracelet came off in his hand. His gaze went to the thump of whatever she’d dropped as it hit the ground. Looking down, h
e saw what she’d dropped. His wallet?

  Astonishment rocketed through him as he realized that when she’d bumped into him from behind, she’d picked his pocket! Feeling like a fool, he bent to retrieve his wallet. Jostled by the meandering throng, he quickly rose and tried to find her, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he planned to do when he did. Music blared from a Western band over the roar of voices.

  He stood holding the woman’s bracelet in one hand and his wallet in the other, looking for the bright scarf in the mass of gyrating festivalgoers.

  She was gone.

  Darby stared down at his wallet, then at the strange, large, gold-tinted cuff bracelet and laughed at his own foolishness. His moment of “love at first sight” had been with a thief? A two-bit pickpocket? Wouldn’t his family love this!

  Just his luck, he thought as he pocketed his wallet and considered what to do with what appeared to be heavy, cheap, costume jewelry. He’d been lucky. He’d gotten off easy in more ways than one. His first thought was to chuck the bracelet into the nearest trash can and put the whole episode behind him.

  But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling he’d gotten when he’d looked into her eyes—or when he’d realized the woman was a thief. Telling himself it wouldn’t hurt to keep a reminder of his close call, he slipped the bracelet into his jacket pocket.

  * * *

  MARIAH AYERS GRABBED her bare wrist, the heat of the man’s touch still tingling there. What wasn’t there was her prized bracelet, she realized with a start. Her heart dropped. She hadn’t taken the bracelet off since her grandmother had put it on her, making her promise never to part with it.

  This will keep you safe and bring you luck, Grandmother Loveridge had promised on her deathbed. Be true to who you are.