by Diana Palmer
The smile faded. He touched her soft mouth with his fingertip. “Pregnant.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “Gracie, you really could be pregnant. With my baby.” His black eyes glittered with pure possession.
A noticeable shiver ran through her body. She looked radiant. “I would love that!” she whispered huskily.
He nodded solemnly. “So would I.” He pulled away from her and got to his feet, pulling her up beside him. He smiled at her shy glances as he went to turn the shower on. “Which is why we’re wasting no time. No modern arrangements for us. We’re going the traditional route.”
She followed him under the warm spray and hugged him with a long, soulful sigh. “This isn’t traditional.”
“Actually it is, if you remember your history,” he teased as he reached for washcloths and soap. “The intent to marry was all that was required for couples to indulge each other like this, even during the sixteenth century. It was called handfasting, I believe.”
She laughed, because he was right. “I believe I have the history degree in this family,” she pointed out.
He bent and kissed her nose. “I believe you do.” He touched her cheek lightly. His eyes were full of dreams. “I should have asked, instead of telling. Will you marry me, Gracie?”
“Of course,” she replied softly.
Smiling, he moved closer and began soaping her soft skin with the cloth.
SHE’D HAD SOME IDEA that they might sleep separately, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He tucked her up into his arms in her bed and held her close all night. He couldn’t bear to be separated from her even by a wall, he said with such sincerity that her heart raced.
The next morning, he came to wake her up with a steaming cup of fresh coffee. He was already dressed. He sat down beside her and kissed her tenderly.
“Wake up and get dressed. I’ve got breakfast ready. We’ll leave as soon as we eat.”
“I have to do something about the mess in the bathroom,” she said and then flushed as she recalled what had happened in there.
“I put the lot in the washing machine,” he said quietly. He touched her tousled hair gently. “Gracie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he said apologetically.
He looked torn. She reached up and traced his high cheekbone. “I know. Neither did I.” She smiled shyly. “I didn’t realize how…intense…things could get.”
He laughed shortly. “Especially for a man who’s abstained for the better part of two years.”
She caught her breath at what he was admitting.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t able to want anyone else.”
For all that time, she was thinking. And while he was standing back, hoping for her to see him as a man, she’d been pretending everything was normal and trying not to translate her love for him into something physical out of fear.
“I kept backing away,” she said slowly, “because I didn’t think I was capable of giving you what you would have wanted. I was tied up in the past, scared to death of anything physical. I was afraid to even experiment. My poor mother,” she added sadly. “I don’t think she had any idea what she was supposed to feel.”
“No wonder,” he replied. “I’m sorry about that.”
“So am I.” She searched his black eyes. “I never dreamed it would feel like that,” she murmured.
“It would never feel like that with any other man,” he assured her quickly. “You’d break out in purple spots if you even let another man kiss you. And God forbid, if you did anything more, you’d grow an extra arm in the middle of your forehead.” He put his hand over his heart. “I swear,” he added, all with a straight face.
She burst out laughing and reached up to draw him down into her arms, hugging him with fierce delight.
He laughed, too. “You just remember that,” he told her.
“I will.” She searched his eyes. “As if I could ever let another man touch me!”
He drew away, winked at her and got to his feet. “Come on. Get a move on. I want to rush you to the altar before any competition shows up.”
“There isn’t any competition,” she told him firmly. “There never has been. Not since the day I first saw you.”
His high cheekbones went a little dusky, and he laughed.
She looked at him adoringly. “I’ll never leave you, Jason.”
His jaw tautened. “And I’ll never leave you. The light went out of the world when I knew you’d been kidnapped. If I’d lost you…” His lips made a thin line. He turned away, still reluctant to admit to the feelings that were racking him. “We’d better get going.”
“Okay.” She smiled, but he didn’t turn around again. She watched him walk away. He wanted her. But it was more than physical. She knew that with her whole heart, even though he hadn’t put it into words. He would. She was certain of it. And she was going to marry him. For the first time in her life, she felt like a whole woman.
THEY DROVE TO SAN ANTONIO, to the mansion. Mrs. Harcourt met them at the door. She was so thrilled with their news that she burst into tears and hugged them both, murmuring inaudibly the whole time.
Jason left them in the hall and went off to his study to get something out of the safe, he said.
Mrs. Harcourt dried her eyes and smiled, but she was worried. She drew Gracie into the kitchen and closed the door.
“I have to tell you before he comes back,” she said quickly. “Kittie called here. She said she’s going to give the story to the tabloids because Jason won’t go back to her. She said she’d make him a laughingstock.”
“It’s all right,” Gracie assured her. “Jason knows about my past. She’ll never be able to—”
“Not yours,” Mrs. Harcourt interrupted, anguished. “Mine!”
“Yours?” Gracie hesitated, frowning. “But you don’t have a past.”
The older woman closed her eyes. “If you only knew. I’ve never spoken of it to a soul. We signed papers. I swore I’d carry the secret to my grave.”
“What secret?”
The older woman drew in a deep breath. “Mrs. Pendleton was barren. She couldn’t have a child. My husband was a good man, but I married him because my parents wanted me to, not because I loved him. I did love Myron, with all my heart. He hired me to work for him after my husband died, and we had an affair while his wife was in Bermuda one summer. I hated sneaking around. I felt so guilty. I was sure she knew…”
Gracie felt the blood drain out of her face. Mrs. Harcourt had jet-black eyes. Just like Jason…
Mrs. Harcourt wiped her eyes. “I got pregnant and Myron had to tell her. She wasn’t even upset. She said the baby would still be a Pendleton. She arranged for us to go to Europe together, just me and her. She told everyone she was pregnant, and I was going to take care of her because she had to rest on account of her delicate health. When Jason was born, we came back home and they announced his birth in all the papers. Nobody knew. When she died, I thought maybe Myron would marry me.”
She shook her head, continuing her sad tale. “He said he couldn’t marry someone like me. I wasn’t his social equal. From that day, I never slept with him again, although he kept trying to lure me back. He married your mother and when she died, he married Glory’s mother. But he warned me that if I ever spoke of Jason’s real parentage, he’d have me put in prison on some trumped up charge. I believed him,” she added grimly. “He wasn’t above it.”
“Jason never knew?” Gracie exclaimed.
“No. But he’ll find out now,” she said miserably. “It will hurt him. And not only that his father hid it from him. The tabloids will love it. Millionaire makes his mother pretend to be his housekeeper because he’s ashamed of her.” She smiled wanly. “What a headline.”
Gracie was astonished. Her mind went blank. She heard Jason’s footsteps in the hall. “Don’t tell him,” she told Mrs. Harcourt firmly. “We’ll think of something.”
“What?” she asked, distraught.
“We’ll talk later,” Gracie said quickly.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” Jason asked the women. “We have to get to Neiman Marcus to buy wedding clothes. I forgot to drive by and get Dilly on the way,” he added with a rueful grin at Gracie. “I must have had my mind on something else at the time. Anyway, I phoned Grange. He’s going to bring Dilly up to meet us at the department store, then I’ll drive us all home.”
“Wedding clothes?” Mrs. Harcourt stammered.
“Yes,” he said. “You and Dilly and Grange are our witnesses. I wish we could find John,” he added sadly. “He’s as much a part of the family as we are.”
Mrs. Harcourt looked torn. She hesitated. “I know where he is,” she confessed. “But he made me promise not to say.”
“Why?” he burst out.
She grimaced. “John was in prison for being the wheel man in a bank robbery up in Dallas about thirty years ago,” she said. “Your father didn’t do a background check on him, so nobody knew. Miss Kittie found out and swore she’d tell if he didn’t leave. She had something on all of us,” she added darkly. “God knows how she found out.”
“One of her friends has a detective agency,” he replied coolly. “So that’s why he left. Did he really think it would matter to me? John is family!”
Mrs. Harcourt watched him quietly. There was a deep pride in her expression that she fought to conceal. Gracie had seen it before and not understood it. Now she did.
“Where is he?” Jason demanded.
“He’s living at the men’s mission downtown,” she said.
“Let’s go.”
He was out the door in a flash, leaving them to follow.
AT THE MISSION, he left the women in the car and went in alone to find John. He was directed to a second-floor bedroom. The old man was sitting up on his bed, reading his Bible. He started when Jason walked in and stumbled to his feet.
“Mr. Jason, you shouldn’t be here!” he exclaimed.
Jason looked around. “Neither should you,” he shot back.
The old man looked wounded, tired, absolutely devoid of hope. “Mrs. Harcourt swore she wouldn’t tell you,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Jason put a firm hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Getting my family back,” he said quietly. “Your past doesn’t matter to me. You belong with us. Come home.”
John fought the moisture in his eyes. Jason had been like the son he’d never had. It had almost killed him, having to leave. He’d been so afraid of Kittie’s threats.
“Oh, stop that,” Jason muttered when he saw the glitter in John’s eyes. “You’ll have me doing it, too. What will people think?”
John swallowed hard.
“I don’t care what you’ve done in the past,” he said shortly. “You’ve done your time. I can’t do without you. You’re the best chauffeur in Texas.”
“Thanks,” he bit off, still choked up.
“Pack your bag,” he said, smiling. “We’re on our way to get married.”
“You and me?” John exclaimed with a faint attempt at humor.
Jason glared at him. “Gracie and me,” he corrected.
The old man’s face lit up. “You’re marrying Miss Gracie?”
“Yes. When I get the family together,” he added. “Will you pack? We’re in a hurry.”
“Pack. Yes, sir. Yes, sir!” It was the best news he’d had in weeks!
Jason stood by the door, swallowing a lump in his own throat as he watched the old fellow put his pitiful few belongings into a rickety old suitcase. He was ashamed of so many things Kittie had done behind his back, things he’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice. At least he was finally getting things back to normal.
John was enthusiastically welcomed by the two women, who were oddly quiet when Jason got in behind the wheel and started out into the street.
“Why the solemn faces?” Jason teased Gracie. “Weddings are happy occasions.”
“The happiest of my life,” Gracie agreed and her eyes warmed as they met Jason’s. She was carrying another secret now, one much more dangerous than her own that she’d hidden for so long. This one had the power to destroy her fragile relationship with Jason. The question was, did she dare keep Mrs. Harcourt’s secret in light of Kittie’s threat?
14
THE SHOPPING SPREE was so enjoyable that Gracie was able to put aside her worries for the time it took to find a suitable dress for herself and outfits for Mrs. Harcourt and Dilly, as well as a suit for old John.
“I don’t know about us standing up with you, Mr. Jason,” Dilly worried as she was handed several garments to try on. “Miss Kittie said I was dumpy…”
“I’m not marrying Miss Kittie,” Jason told her firmly. “You and Mrs. Harcourt and John are part of our family. We’re not getting married without you.”
“Exactly,” Gracie said, arms folded stubbornly.
Dilly bit back tears. “Okay, then.”
She went off to try on her dresses. Mrs. Harcourt came out wearing a nice navy suit with a soft pink blouse. “What do you think?” she asked worriedly.
Jason put his arms around her. “I think you look like a wonderful substitute mother-of-the-groom,” he said tenderly and bent to kiss her cheek.
Mrs. Harcourt bawled. Gracie drew out a tissue and handed it to her.
“You have to wait and cry at the wedding,” she said firmly.
The older woman laughed. “I know. Sorry. Just rehearsing.”
She went back into the fitting room.
Jason drew Gracie off to an unoccupied corner of the women’s clothing department and handed her a gray jewelry box.
She opened it and caught her breath. When she’d taken art classes in college, she’d drawn a set of wedding bands that she dreamed of using one day if she was ever able to work up the courage to get married. There was a square emerald solitaire and a matching band. There was a man’s band, plain but with the same engraved motif as the woman’s wedding band.
“I drew these,” Gracie faltered.
Jason took out the engagement ring and slid it solemnly onto her finger. He kissed it with breathless tenderness. “I had them made up years ago,” he said huskily as he met her eyes. “I knew that it would be you or nobody.”
If she hadn’t run from him that rainy night, she was thinking, all the anguish in between would have been spared. The thought lay in her expression.
“Don’t,” he whispered softly, and bent to kiss her. “We can’t look back. Only ahead.”
She drew in a soft breath. “Only ahead,” she agreed. She smiled up at him. “You’re going to wear a ring?”
He chuckled. “Oh, yes.”
She grinned. “Okay.”
Grange appeared from an adjoining department with a bag over his shoulder. He glared at Jason. “I’d just got around to buying some new jeans and shirts, and I’d got tickets to the ballet. I hate ballet,” he added, “but I would have gone for her.” He pointed at Gracie. “Then you have to go and get engaged to her and mess up all my plans,” he muttered. “I even washed my truck!”
They both burst out laughing. So did Grange, who was fond of Gracie, but not anywhere near in love with her. She knew it, even if Jason hadn’t seemed to.
“Hard luck,” Jason said smugly. “You’re too late now.”
Grange shook his head. “At least I get to come to the wedding,” he said. He jiggled the bag over his shoulder. “I bought a suit, too.”
“Good idea. If you ever get married, you won’t even have to go shopping.”
Grange just grinned.
THERE WAS A BRIEF but poignant ceremony in the probate judge’s office, in the thick of a library of law books and county records. The judge herself, Alexandra Mills, was the sister of one of Jason’s cowboys.
“I’d like to say I’m surprised to see you two here, but I won’t lie,” she confessed. “The gossips have gone wild around here lately.” She glanced from Gracie in her pretty white suit with its accompanying veiled pillbox hat, to the witnesses a
nd then to Jason in his neat blue pin-striped suit. “Nice of you to bring witnesses.”
“I didn’t,” Jason said complacently. “I brought our family.”
Alexandra looked from one of his companions to the other, noting tears in several eyes. “Of course,” she agreed warmly. Jason Pendleton might be a millionaire, but nobody could call him a snob.
She read the marriage ceremony from the Bible, and watched them exchange rings and vows, after which Jason was allowed to kiss his tearful bride. He lifted the brief veil and smiled at Gracie with his whole heart. He kissed her very softly and then hugged her warmly.
Congratulations were offered and accepted, after which relevant papers were signed, and they all walked out of the office into flashing cameras.
“It’s okay,” Jason comforted his companions, who were looking for places to hide. “It’s just Billy Thornton from the local paper and Jack Harrison, our resident photographer. I asked them to come. Get back here and smile,” he added firmly, getting everybody into a group. He put his arm around Gracie, holding a bouquet of bronzed chrysanthemums. “Shoot away,” he told the photographers, and he smiled.
JASON HIRED A LEARJET to take them down to Cancún for a three-day honeymoon, complete with bodyguards just in case General Machado tried to nab one of them again. He checked them into an expensive hotel on the strand of beach that was home to some of the ritziest accommodations south of the border.
The room overlooked the Gulf of Mexico. It was late evening and a full moon hung overhead, silvering the waves as they crashed in white foam onto the sugar-white beach.
“Tired?” Jason asked as he drew her into his arms.
She shook her head. “Happy.”
“Me, too.”
He bent and kissed her very softly. “Sore?” he whispered meaningfully.
She met his eyes and shook her head again, very slowly.
“In that case,” he said, smiling as he met her lips with his own.
IT WAS THE WAY HE’D wanted it to be during their first exploration of each other. He treated her as the virgin she’d been, drawing out each soft caress until he made her moan and plead for more. He kissed her from the tip of her head to the tip of her toes, his lips finding her in exquisite ways with skill and mastery that took her breath away. She jumped from plateau to plateau, shivering with the newness of pleasure, delighting in the feel of his skin against hers and the warmth of his mouth on her breasts as he made their tips hard and sensitive before his tongue sensitized them even more.
