Protecting His Brother's Bride

by Jan Schliesman

  “And what? He proposed to me in that cabin.” She released a huge sigh. “Josh is my husband.”

  Dalton couldn’t stop staring at her as if she’d admitted to being a topless dancer at an old folks’ home. Then a laugh burst from his chest. “You’re definitely not his type.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Josh was never married.” So this was her plan the whole time? She was sniffing around for a windfall, but not from him, from Josh. No wonder she’d turned up at his family’s cabin, but claiming to be Josh’s wife didn’t help her credibility. At least not with Dalton. And there was no way in hell he’d let his mother hear. Lie or not, she’d take Blondie’s word without a shred of evidence, just so she’d have some part of Josh again.

  “We are married,” Blondie said. “And I need to talk to him.”

  “Lady—and I use the term very loosely—there are many things you obviously need. But you’ll never talk to Josh.”

  “Oh, you can bet I’ll find him,” she yelled, shoving forward and staring Dalton in the eye. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Lucky me.” He’d give her points for appearing wounded by his comment, but she was still a fraud. “Cooking up this whole story isn’t getting you a dime. I guarantee it.”

  “It isn’t a story and I don’t want your money. Josh will help set everything straight. Do you know where he is?”

  “Yeah, I know a lot of things.” The words spit from his lips. “I know you’re definitely not Josh’s wife.” Of all the ridiculous lies she could have created, this one knocked the breath from Dalton’s lungs. He had to stop her before the situation snowballed out of control.

  “I couldn’t care less what you believe,” she snapped, giving as good as she got. “Can you help me find Josh or not?”

  “Find him? Oh, yeah, I can lead you right to him.” Dalton slammed his fist against the console and drew a deep breath before he threw the car into gear, made a U-turn and tore down the roadway. He veered right on the second gravel road, so upset that he forgot about slowing down for the ruts.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He couldn’t answer her.

  “When was the last time you saw Josh?”

  “Seven weeks ago.” He pushed the words out.

  “Did he seem all right?”

  “No.” Dalton felt nothing now that the gate was in sight. “He seemed dead.”

  * * *

  Blondie was silent for several minutes. “Tell me how.” She kept her face turned toward the window, although he couldn’t have judged her true reaction in the darkness, anyway.

  “Does it matter?” Dalton refused to go into the whole story when it was the least of his worries. He followed the ruts in the road as the pellets of rain lessened to a fine mist. After kicking on the high beams, he adjusted the wipers to a slower interval and watched for washed-out spots in their path. He hadn’t been here often, but the archway entrance to the cemetery couldn’t be missed.

  “It matters to me.” She rubbed her palms against her eyelids. “Why is this happening?”

  “You must have some idea.”

  “So far, every one of my ideas has turned to crap.” She coughed. “Leave it to Josh to get the last word, even in death.”

  “So the honeymoon was over? I can’t imagine why Josh would’ve kept your charming personality a secret from the rest of the family.”

  “Family? What are you talking about? Josh didn’t have family. Who are you?” She fired the questions while bracing a hand on the ceiling to keep herself from jostling around each time they hit a bump.

  Dalton ignored her question. He sped through the gate, gripping the leather steering wheel as he turned to the family’s corner. He eyed Josh’s wife with renewed annoyance and questioned her lack of emotion since he’d announced his brother was dead. If they really were married, shouldn’t she have some remorse over his passing? What kind of wife referred to her deceased husband as getting in the last word?

  The cemetery had been a private plot until his father sold most of the land thirty years ago. Dalton had hated the place as a kid. Hated it more now, since Lauren and Josh were buried here. Throwing the car into Park, he jumped out and opened the heavy iron gates separating their family from the rest of the cemetery.

  When he climbed back inside the car, he realized Blondie could have locked him out and driven away. Instead, she was staring out her window. What was going through her mind?

  He followed the pathway curving to the right. Towering green ash trees and a few rare bushes whose name he’d forgotten edged the lane. He parked near the large headstone serving as the grand centerpiece.

  “Let’s go.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not doing this.”

  “I don’t remember giving you a choice.” He released the door locks, remembering to pull the keys.

  The interior lights flickered when he tugged on his door handle, then exited the car. Stepping away from the closest muddy rut, he waded through the grass and flipped open the trunk. He found the emergency kit and the flashlight before circling to the front of the vehicle, where he waited for Blondie.

  She took her time, staring through the windshield at him for several moments before joining him in the halogen glare of the headlights. She dragged the afghan with her as she stalked silently beside him. The flashlight glimmered off the headstone at the center of the plot.

  “I guess size matters a lot in your family,” Blondie snickered.

  “It’s rumored to be sprinkled with real diamond dust. Probably not true, since no one has ever tried stealing it.”

  “Pretty flashy for the middle of nowhere,” she said, continuing around the far end. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Was she deliberately trying to goad him?

  “The Matthews men were a prideful bunch, with a history of grand exits from the world. This massive headstone took two years and a lot of money during the Depression to complete. Nowadays, only the caretaker sees it on a regular basis.”

  “Nice history lesson, but my husband’s last name is Kincaid. This has nothing to do with me and I don’t care.”

  Dalton hadn’t been the most respectful Matthews family member to set foot in this place, but Blondie’s disrespect was ticking him off. Or was it being close to Lauren’s grave?

  Or even the fact that Josh had been buried next to Lauren, at his mother’s suggestion. And Dalton couldn’t object without voicing his suspicions about their affair and starting everything again. No, this had to end—right here, right now.

  Then a stretch of bare earth appeared, and the pile of flowers the wind and rain hadn’t managed to carry away. No one visited, but his mother insisted a fresh arrangement be placed there every Sunday.

  “Josh is over here.” Dalton took her arm and tried pulling her a few feet closer to the site.

  “Why should I believe a complete stranger who won’t tell me who he is?”

  “I’m Dalton Matthews. Josh was my half brother.” It wasn’t a term they’d ever used as kids. Their mother used to say that half of anything didn’t matter. They were brothers. Period.

  “No, you’re not. Josh didn’t have any siblings and you have no proof he’s dead. My Josh can’t be dead.” She pivoted and took off running for the car.

  Dalton was more than mad, but he couldn’t lose it, not here. For some reason this woman got under his skin faster than any paparazzi. But she wouldn’t fake that she was his brother’s widow. What if she went to his mom?

  Dalton easily caught up with her in a few steps and gripped her shoulder.

  “Get your hands off me.” She tried dodging his grasp.

  He spun her around to look at him, shining the flashlight in her eyes. “How long were you married?”

 
“Four years in January.”

  If Josh had been married, that would explain his frequent absences. Or was Dalton clutching at any straw to keep his mind from straying to the thought of Lauren and Josh together? The flashlight beam swept their graves. He tried for calmness.

  He failed.

  “You haven’t seen Josh’s headstone yet.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Chapter 3

  “More diamond dust?” Kira yanked her arm from his grasp and fell sideways into the mud. She didn’t realize what the mud was until the beam of light fell across the stone. Joshua Kincaid Matthews, loving son and brother.

  Kira immediately wanted to scream what a bastard Josh was. She recognized yet another lie to add to the long list her husband had told her. But if he hadn’t used his real name with her, had they really been married?

  “Do you still think I didn’t know Josh?” She stood, wiping her mud-covered hands down her pants. There wasn’t anything physically similar about the two men.

  “You aren’t acting like the mourning bride.”

  “How I mourn is none of your business. What motive could I possibly have to stand here if I’m not married to that man?”

  He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. She refused to show any sadness for the man who’d abandoned her. But what made her want to sink to her knees in despair was knowing that her last hope to identify Griffin and clear her name was gone.

  It was a long shot to begin with, and now she’d truly run out of options. There wasn’t anyone left to turn to for help. No family to lend support or friends to phone for advice. Now her freedom hung in the balance.

  Strong fingers latched on to the soft flesh of her shoulders.

  “You’re an imposter.” He gave her a slight shake.

  The eternity candle from the mausoleum was doing weird things with Josh’s brother’s features. It cast a glow that made everything appear more sinister.

  Cemeteries in general were creepy. And visiting one in the middle of nowhere, with an armed stranger, was more creepy than usual. The likelihood anyone would stumble upon them was minimal, but being so far out in the boondocks only magnified the otherworldly feel.

  Dalton Matthews looked angry enough to kill, and Kira’s mind jumped into overdrive. A moment of sudden clarity struck. What better place to dump a body than in a private cemetery with a fresh grave? The longer she stood next to him, the more certain she was that leaving was less likely. He’d been furious when she’d mentioned Josh’s name and then he’d immediately driven her to this isolated cemetery. Brother or stranger? BCA, Inc. could stand for Brawny Commits Assault for all she knew.

  Stay or run? If she could get the jump on him and sprint to the car, she could lock herself inside and drive away. Then Kira remembered he’d pocketed the keys.

  She wanted to punch something, and violence had never been an option in her life. Until today. She knew it was wrong, even before her fist connected with a set of rock-hard abs. Hitting him hurt her much more than she’d expected, forcing her nails into her palm with razor sharpness.

  “What was that for?” Dalton grabbed ahold of both her fists and shook her till her teeth rattled.

  Hysterical laughter escaped her lips. Was he serious? As if being chased, blown up and tied to a chair wouldn’t cause the average person to become a little cranky? Kira tugged against his grip, but he held tight, startling her into throwing up a well-placed knee, barely missing its mark. Then training from her Saturday-morning self-defense class kicked in and she released a bloodcurdling scream, hoping to attract someone’s attention.

  Dalton spun her away from him and quickly pinned her arms at her sides, drawing her back to his chest.

  “Knock it off or I’m finding a place for you in the trunk,” he threatened, tightening his grip for emphasis.

  “This is against the law,” she said, trying to fight her way out of his grasp.

  “Guess it depends which side you’re on, right, Blondie?”

  “Blondie?”

  “I’ve got to call you something, unless you’d rather tell me your real name?”

  “I’m so not amused by you, Brawny Boy.”

  The afghan fell to the ground, leaving her arms bare against the coolness of the night. His forearms crossed beneath her breasts, shoving her assets even closer to overflowing from her worn and torn shirt. His breath fanned against her neck, causing a chill to run down her spine.

  “Let me go.” Kira resisted the overwhelming desire to struggle, for what seemed like an eternity plus a day. In the span of fifteen or so seconds she knew exactly when her traitorous body shifted to the dark side, recognized that she would have been better off avoiding the heat he radiated and finally identified what a tactical mistake she’d made.

  “You sure do love a good fight, don’t you?”

  “I wasn’t fighting,” she mumbled, “just expressing a difference of opinion.”

  Kira relaxed a tad, hating the fact she enjoyed the security of feeling his arms wrapped tightly around her ribs. Very bad. Or maybe she should consider the possibility that she’d suffered a concussion when she’d whacked her head. Whatever the reason, being pressed against Dalton forced her to catalog his attributes, which were many.

  First there was the heat he radiated, and not gosh-he-feels-warm heat, but the honest-to-goodness hey-it’s-hot-in-here-so-turn-the-furnace-down kind. Big difference.

  And muscles. The man had muscles upon muscles. Kira flattened her palms against his thighs for balance. She should admit that she was cold and shoeless, and he might allow her to return to the car.

  “Are you finished?” His rich baritone shot warm air across her ear.

  Had she really allowed herself to relax against this superbly built man? He could be lying. Remember the fresh grave? What if he was another of Griffin’s assassins? She jerked against his grasp once more.

  “You can’t haul someone out to a cemetery after dark and think they’ll willingly go along with their own murder. Unless you’ve done this before?”

  * * *

  “Murder?” Great. He’d scared her more than the assassin at his house had.

  Evidently Dalton’s lack of human contact over the past few months had turned him into one of the bottom-feeders he claimed to detest. Was he really standing in a cemetery, attempting to exert some kind of control over a woman he hardly knew? He should say something reassuring, right? But her disposition made him edgy and off balance.

  Before he could form a suitable explanation, he released her and she stumbled forward. One hand covered her mouth as she coughed, while the other signaled for him to give her space.

  The flashlight beam silhouetted her figure and he caught himself staring at the damp T-shirt clinging to her heaving chest, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. All her struggling against him had caused the fabric to bunch below her breasts, exposing her midriff. Her pants had also shifted, revealing name-brand underwear.

  Then his disbelieving gaze slid down her slim legs to her bare feet, planted in ankle-deep mud. He should have taken her to the hospital, not a cemetery.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Each word she spoke was emphasized by a cough.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten out of the car without shoes.” He glared down at her, feeling like a Sunday school teacher trying to persuade an unruly child to see the light.

  After one final cough, she jabbed a finger in the center of his chest. “You didn’t get my shoes, remember?”

  Yeah, he remembered. The first one she’d thrown at his head, and the other fell off as he’d carried her from his house. “Get in the car.”

  He shoved his hand into his pocket for the keys, clicked the remote and popped open the trunk. It was loaded with T-shirts, sweatshirts, c
offee samples and water bottles. He carried several items to the passenger door.

  “You sell T-shirts?” she rasped.

  “No, they’re freebies.” He dropped most of the clothing into her lap, holding on to a camouflage shirt. He mopped some moisture from the roof of the car with it, then knelt down and used the shirt to clean the mud from her feet.

  “I can do that,” she said.

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “Buckshot’s?” She eyed the purple shirt in her lap. “Like hunting supplies or something?”

  “Or something.” It might have been a reasonable conclusion for somebody living on the moon, but how could anyone with a television, a smartphone or even one dollar to her name not know about Buckshot’s? They were “world famous.” Dalton had personally opened a dozen new stores in Europe before Lauren had died.

  If Blondie had never heard of Buckshot’s, she probably didn’t know who he was or what he was worth. The idea that she’d shown up looking for some fast cash, from either him or Josh, was quickly losing merit. What if Dalton was wrong? After all, he’d bailed Josh out of more than one unpleasant situation. In school. In his choice of careers. His brother could weave a story and paint himself as the victim in less time than it took to microwave a bag of popcorn.

  Dalton swallowed a sigh before it crossed his lips. Blood would always be thicker than water. Was he really going to let this woman disparage his brother’s memory? God forbid his mother got wind of the latest attempt to tarnish the family name. She’d been through more than enough.

  “Put on a dry shirt while I get a couple more things from the trunk.” He slammed the door before he could blurt any of his thoughts aloud. It was probably safer to let her assume he dealt in hunting supplies.

  How warped was it that Dalton knew his brother was capable of deception, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it to anyone else? Fat raindrops fell on the back of his neck as he returned to the trunk. The light mist segued into rain, and he was about to be soaked.