by Sheryl Lynn
Tristan and Megan edged across the rock. Between the boulder and the shelflike rock where they sat, a three-footwide crevasse angled steeply into the base of the cliff. Amy Carter was crumpled facedown, as still as the surrounding stone. Megan averted her face.
“Don’t look at her, son. Just stay where you are.” Grimacing, Tristan rubbed his left leg above the boot and slanted a look askance at Megan. “Should have warned me pegging me with a rock was part of the plan.”
She lifted her shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “Sorry about that. I throw like a girl. Do you love me, anyway?”
He grinned, and some of the strain left his beautiful eyes. “Reckon.”
Pattering sand and then a solid thunk marked William jumping from the boulder. Before either Tristan or Megan could yell at the boy for his recklessness, he had his arms wrapped around both of them. He hugged Megan so tightly she wheezed.
“It’s all right, son, it’s over.” Tristan patted William’s back. “It’s all right.”
William sat back on his haunches. He was muddy and a bruise darkened his chin, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Megan pressed a fist between her breasts. Her chest ached.
“Did you find Kara?” William asked.
“She’s fine. She’s gone back to the lodge with Cody.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You are one brave kid, Billy-boy.”
He grinned crookedly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Meggie-girl.”
TRISTAN LIFTED the ice pack off his bruised thigh and decided he had muscle soreness, but no real damage. The bathroom door opened, and William emerged in a cloud of steam. He scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. Love and lingering fear collided in Tristan’s chest.
“How you feeling, boy?”
“Okay. Hungry. What about you?”
He grinned. The FBI had shown up finally, along with local law enforcement. Other than giving Tristan, William and Megan a ride back to the resort, they’d proved about as useful as a wet dog at a tea party. FBI agents had asked a million questions, given darn few answers and kept everybody waiting around for hours. “Right as rain. As soon as you’re dressed, call your granddad. He’s worried about you.” He watched his son gather clean clothing. Despite a hairless chest and a concave belly, William was more man than boy. Four short years, he thought sadly, and his boy would be on his own. “William?”
The boy turned around. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m in love with Megan.”
William lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I figured that part out.”
“I’m not saying you have to love her. Shoot, don’t even have to like her if you don’t want to. But you’ll show her respect. I’ll be courting her. We might end up married. No more mouthing off to her or giving her a bad time.”
William surprised him with a laugh. “You know, Daddy, after seeing her in action up on that mountain today, I’d be loco to mess with her. Be like poking a bear with a stick.”
Warmth flooded Tristan’s insides. Everything would work out all right. He felt it in his bones. “Reckon.”
MEGAN HATED CRUTCHES. They hurt underneath her arms, and she had blisters on her palms. Squeaking along the wooden floor, they made her feel clumsy as a newborn calf. Considering she’d been very, very lucky in that she hadn’t crushed her kneecap or ripped any tendons loose, she refused to complain. She faced a few weeks on crutches and a year of light activity, but she’d heal.
Amy Eugenia Carter had not been so lucky. The fall had killed her. Fate had dealt the woman an unkind hand, a life of loss, grief and madness. Megan hoped the woman did better in her next life.
Nor could Daniella Falconetti claim good fortune. Her antics at the resort left her facing a prison term.
She turned into the dining room. Tristan, the Colonel, William and another man rose from the table. Her mother and sisters smiled as Tristan hurried to her side and helped her onto a chair. Megan questioned Tristan with her eyes. She thought they were supposed to have a quiet lunch, so she wondered why the entire family had gathered.
“Honey, this is my father, Bill Cayle.” Tristan indicated the newcomer. “He drove down to fetch me and the boy. Says the way my luck is running, he doesn’t trust me on an airplane. He brought good news, too. Eula Masterson is recovering. She’ll back in the post office in no time.”
Relieved and pleased the postmistress—whom she hoped someday to meet—would be okay, Megan extended a hand. Bill Cayle was a strapping six-footer with a shock of gunmetal gray hair and a huge black mustache that completely covered his mouth. He shook hands with her, his grip so tight her fingers went numb.
“You’re even prettier than he said, Megan. It’s a pure pleasure meeting you.”
Megan’s cheeks warmed. “It’s very nice meeting you, too, Mr. Cayle.”
He clapped her on the shoulder, nearly knocking her off the chair. “Call me Dad, sweetheart. All my kids do.”
Lifting her brows, Megan turned to Tristan. It tickled her to see him blush.
“I haven’t asked her yet, Dad,” he muttered.
“Why not? Thought that’s what you came down here for.” He looked to the Colonel, who harrumphed and locked his hands behind his back. “You’re about the piddlingest boy, Tristan. Shoot, you keep on dawdling and some other fellow’s gonna rope her. She’s too darned pretty to run wild for long.” He shoved Tristan’s shoulder. “Go on. Ms. Elise says we can’t eat her grub until you all are engaged.”
William, Kara and Janine doubled over with laughter.
If this was a marriage proposal, Megan thought, then it was the strangest one she’d ever heard of.
Tristan slicked a hand over his hair. He’d turned red to his earlobes. “Uh, Megan—”
Bill Cayle shoved Tristan’s shoulder again.. “Do it right, son. Sheesh, down on one knee, like you’re supposed to.” He rolled his eyes and looked to the Colonel. “Old man, do your young’uns give you this much trouble?”
“Without fail,” the Colonel replied.
Megan decided she liked the old rancher very much.
Tristan lowered himself to one knee. He took her hands and rested them on her lap. “Megan, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She sighed. “You bet, cowboy.” She pressed a kiss of promise to his mouth.
“Hello! Anybody home? Hey, you didn’t have to throw a party for little ol’ me!”
Every head turned to face the doorway. “Ross!” Megan, Elise, Kara and Janine yelled in unison.
With his arm around his wife’s slim waist, Megan’s brother strolled into the dining room. Dawn tore away from him to accept joyous hugs and kisses from the family. Frustrated by her inability to join the mob, Megan held Tristan’s hand and fairly bubbled with the news of her engagement. Ross and Dawn would be delighted.
What’s more, Megan could get even for the fluffy, marshmallow-sundae dress she’d had to wear to Dawn and Ross’s wedding.
Dawn held out her arms to Megan. She gazed in dismay at the soft cast enclosing Megan’s leg. “Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself again….” Her voice trailed as she met Tristan’s face. Her eyes widened and color drained from her cheeks. “Quentin?”
Ross’s eyeballs fairly bugged from his head. “Bayliss?”
A collective groan curled through the dining room.
Tristan sighed and rose to his full height. Grinning at Megan, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “How do, ma’am. You must be Dawn. I’m Tristan Cayle from Powder, Wyoming, and I’m fixing to marry your sister-in-law here. But first I reckon I ought to explain….”
Here’s a sneak peek at Colleen Collins’s RIGHT CHEST, WRONG NAME Available August 1997…
“DARLING, YOU SOUND like a broken cappuccino machine,” murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.
Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn’t. If he sounded like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.
“What mischief did you and your friend
s get into at your bachelor’s party last night?” she continued.
She always had a way of saying “your friends” as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn’t swollen to twice its size.
“You didn’t do anything…bad…did you, Russell?”
“Bad.” His laugh came out like a bark.
“Bad as in naughty.”
He heard her piqued tone but knew she’d never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.
After agreeing to be at her parents’ pool party by noon, he untangled himself from the bedsheets and stumbled to the bathroom.
“Pool party,” he reminded himself. He’d put on his best front and accommodate Char’s request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he’d slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.
He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.
Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. “Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel.”
His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he’d been struck by lightning. “Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?” he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.
Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell’s gaze dropped.
“What in the—”
Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.
Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.
“A red heart?” His voice cracked on the word heart. Something—a word?—was scrawled across it.
“Good Lord,” he croaked. “I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it.”
Not Charlotte. Liz!
eISBN 978-14592-6844-9
THE CASE OF THE BAD LUCK FIANCE
Copyright © 1997 by Jaye W. Menus
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any Information storage or retrieval system, Is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly Inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure Invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks Indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Printed In U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Preview
Copyright
