Shotgun Marriage

by Day Leclaire

  “Shayne?”

  “You aren’t the only one who has seen changes in her,” he responded indirectly. “She isn’t the same girl she was five years ago. Everything she ever held dear, she has pushed away.”

  “Including you?”

  He didn’t spare himself. “To a certain extent. Yes.”

  “Because you took her from Chaz McIntyre?”

  “There could be no other reason.” He released his breath in a ragged sigh. “I have tortured myself over that decision for years, wondering if I made a mistake. I’ve analyzed it again and again and each time I come to the same conclusion. She was a child who’d only known this man for a few short hours. To have left her in his care would have been wrong.”

  “Why did she marry him? Do you know?”

  “Yes. I know.” He gave her a straight look. “She wanted the fairy tale. She wanted your life, amada. A life she’d never had.”

  “My life?” Ella repeated, taken aback. “But she lived a fairy tale existence of her own. Why would she think mine better than the one she already had?”

  He hesitated. “Her life was not a fairy tale.”

  “I realize you lost your parents, but—”

  “Our father and her mother were killed in a boating accident when I was sixteen. Shayne was three.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “I hadn’t realized you were so young. Were there relatives to help?”

  “No.”

  “But... What in the world did you do?”

  “What could I do? I tried to keep our life together, to take care of the coffee finca, to take care of my little sister, to protect all those who depended on me.” He shrugged as though it didn’t matter. But she knew better. “I failed. I lost everything—the estate, what little money I inherited from my parents. But worst of all, I lost Shayne.”

  Ella recalled the conversation she’d had with her father on Christmas night. He’d said that Rafe had once lost control of his life. That he fought an ongoing battle to ensure it never happen again. This must be what her father had been referring to. Though how he’d uncovered the story, she couldn’t begin to guess.

  “What do you mean, you lost her?” she asked gently. “What happened to Shayne?”

  “When I realized I could no longer care for her, that soon we’d be without a home or enough food to survive, I called my stepmother’s sister. Jackie lived in Florida. And though she’d been violently opposed to the marriage, I decided to take a chance, thinking that under the circumstances she might help.”

  “I assumed Shayne’s mother was Tico,” Ella said in surprise.

  “No. Ironic, is it not? I am but one quarter native, Shayne not at all.”

  “So, did Jackie come?”

  “She came. And then she left with Shayne.”

  It took a moment to absorb the significance. “Just Shayne?” Ella asked softly.

  Again came that careless shrug. “We weren’t related, Jackie and I. Therefore she was under no obligation to help ‘a filthy Tico peasant.’”

  “Oh, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”

  “Save your sympathy. It was not I who needed it.”

  “Your sister...?”

  He stared through the front windshield as though peering into the distant past, lost in dark memories. “She was gone from my life, but not a day went by that I didn’t think about her, wonder and worry about whether I’d done the right thing by giving her to Jackie.”

  “What else could you have done?”

  “That question has haunted me from the moment I placed Shayne in that woman’s arms.”

  “What did you do after they left?”

  “I worked for the next ten years rebuilding my finances. When the price of coffee bottomed out in the mid-eighties, Esperanza came on the market again and I bought it. Soon afterward, money was no longer a problem.” His mouth tightened. “So I went looking for Shayne. I had to make sure I’d done the right thing by giving her to Jackie.”

  She dreaded asking the next question. “What did you find?”

  “That I’d made a terrible mistake. I gather feeding and clothing and raising a child—even one partly her own flesh and blood—was not how Jackie wished to spend her life. She made certain that Shayne paid every day for having been ‘rescued’ from her previous existence.” He closed his eyes. “My sweet hermanita had gone from a bright extroverted child to a shy, nervous teenager starving for love and affection.”

  Tears stung Ella’s eyes. Poor Shayne. “What happened then?”

  “Jackie sold my sister to me.”

  “Sold her?”

  “Sold her like a commodity. I took Shayne back to Costa Rica and I swore I’d protect her from that day on. I succeeded. I succeeded, that is, until one terrible night five years ago.”

  “The Cinderella Ball.”

  He nodded. “She was so susceptible to its allure. It offered all that she’d been denied as a child. Love, happiness and happily-ever-after. How could she resist such a temptation?”

  “She couldn’t,” Ella acknowledged.

  “Perhaps she’d have been better off if I’d left her with McIntyre. But she was so young. And I had failed to protect her from Jackie. I couldn’t fail again.”

  “I’m sure Chaz didn’t know her real age.”

  “To his credit, I don’t think so, either.”

  “You’ve explained about Shayne. But you still haven’t told me what that has to do with selling the finca.”

  He frowned. “As long as Esperanza is her home, she will continue to hide from life. You have seen her, have seen the changes in her. She is a woman who has lost her direction.”

  “I thought she was studying to become an accountant.”

  “She studies so she can help me. It’s as though she’s paying penitence for a sin she never committed. I once offered to finance whatever dream she cared to fulfill. But she will take nothing from me. It’s as though she’s lost her love for life.”

  “And the funds from the sale of Esperanza? Why would she accept that when she wouldn’t take the other money you offered?”

  “I never told her I’d lost the estate. All she knows is that it was left to both of us equally on the death of our parents—which is true. She’ll consider herself entitled to those funds. At least, I hope so. Even if she does not, she’ll be forced out into the world.”

  “You won’t be able to protect her in that world,” Ella felt obligated to caution.

  He rubbed the crease furrowing his brow. “A seventeen-year-old teenager needs adult protection to avoid a painful fall. I am forced to concede, however, that a twenty-three-year-old woman should be permitted to stumble once or twice. By skinning an occasional knee, she’ll be in a better position to protect her own children when the time comes.”

  “But it’s difficult to let go, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”

  “That’s why you weren’t upset when you found out I’d taken her mosaics to the art gallery.”

  “Yes.” His gaze held a warning. “She’ll be angry when she discovers what you’ve done.”

  “At least if she’s angry, she’ll be feeling something.”

  A car horn blared just then. They looked up to see Marvin’s cab skidding around the curve toward them. He honked again in greeting, then stopped in the middle of the road. “It is a good thing I have come along, yes?” he called.

  Rafe climbed from the car. “A very good thing, my friend. Are you here by luck or by design?”

  “A bit of both. Manuel left instructions. He said that if La Estrella didn’t show up by midafternoon, I was to come looking for her. Just in case.” He grinned. “It was a good plan, yes?”

  “It was an excellent plan,” Ella said dryly. “Thank you.”

  “De nada,” Marvin rubbed his hands together. “So... What is the problem?”

  “We’re out of gas,” Rafe told him succinctly.

  Marvin’s gaze switched from one to the other. H
e struggled to conceal his amusement and failed. “No problema,” he said. “ I will have you on your way muy rapido.”

  “I’d like to take Ella to see the sunset at Abrazo de Amante. Do you have enough gas to spare?”

  “Por supuesto. It would be my pleasure.” In no time, Marvin had the gas syphoned from one tank to the other. “I will warn Chelita of your late arrival,” he offered when he’d finished.

  “I’d appreciate that,” Rafe said.

  “And I have something else you might appreciate.” Marvin opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a large folded blanket, tossing it to Rafe. “Take this and enjoy your embrace.”

  Color tinted Ella’s cheekbones. “Why did he say that?” she demanded.

  “Abrazo de Amante. It means ‘lover’s embrace.’ He was just making a little joke.”

  “Oh.” She slanted another look in Rafe’s direction. “Why is it called that?”

  He smiled cryptically as he started the engine. “You’ll see.”

  Further down the road, he turned onto a small side track that dipped back down the mountainside. It was little more than two ruts slicing through the thick foliage. He drove carefully, allowing her to get a good look at the variety of birds that winged across their path.

  “That’s a motmot,” he said, pointing to a bird whose long electric-blue tail flicked back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. “And a pair of toucans are hiding in that tree there.”

  At the next turn, he pulled to a stop so she could watch the noisy antics of several howler monkeys shaking the branches overhead. But the most breathtaking sight of all was the brief glimpse she caught of the spectacular Morpho butterfly, its cobalt wings flashing like iridescent jewels against the vivid green canopy.

  They rounded a final curve and she stared in astonishment. A huge rock pool spread out before them, fed by a spring. Steam rose from the glassy surface, wafting off the water to fog the surrounding forest. It was primeval, stirring a response that felt as ancient and elemental as the jungle itself.

  “Abrazo de Amante,” Rafe said softly, turning off the engine.

  “Now I understand why Marvin gave you the blanket.”

  He left the car and she followed, unable to drag her eyes from temptation. She itched to shed her sticky clothes and climb into the hot tub nature had so kindly provided.

  Drifting closer to the pool, she asked, “Can we... Can we go in?”

  He came to stand behind her, so close his breath stirred her hair. “Take off your blouse,” he directed, the warmth of his body radiating along the length of her spine.

  She didn’t hesitate. Continuing to stare at the steaming water, she lifted a hand to work the buttons. One by one they slipped through the holes. When she’d finished, she shrugged the lightweight cotton off her shoulders. It never hit the ground. Rafe snagged it as it fluttered earthward.

  “Your skirt.”

  He didn’t move any closer, but simply waited. Keeping her back to him, she obediently lowered the side zip. Still without actually touching her, he bunched her skirt and slip in his fists and pulled them both to her waist. Then he swept them over her head before stepping back once more.

  It was the strangest striptease she’d ever done—the only striptease she’d ever done. Erotic and yet innocent. Touching without. touching. It made her keenly aware of her own sexuality, that she was removing her clothing for the pleasure of a man. The fact that that man happened to be her husband made it all the more tantalizing. The fact that they’d never made love before, made the tension almost unbearable.

  “What next?” she whispered.

  “Your bra.”

  She unhooked the scrap of white lace. Lowering her arms to her sides, she crooked her elbows slightly so the straps caught there. He reached around her, his hand so close to her skin, she could feel the heat he generated. He leaned in, his warm breath teasing across her shoulder and down the slopes of her breasts, furling the peaks into tight little rosebuds. He hooked his finger around one silky strap and waited until she dropped her arms. The lace fell into his grasp.

  “And now?” she asked.

  “There’s only one thing left.”

  “Do I take it off or leave it on?”

  His voice grated. “Take it off.”

  This would be the most difficult part of all. She closed her eyes, debating whether or not she should end the game now. Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable. But her decision boiled down to two simple words. Trust. And love. It was Rafe standing behind her. The man she loved with all her heart and trusted with her very soul. He’d never hurt her, despite what he’d threatened. And she wanted him, wanted to be his wife in fact as well as name.

  Without further hesitation, she kicked off her sandals and slipped her thumbs into the elastic waistband, inching the lightweight silk down her hips. She could hear the sharp intake of his breath followed by the ragged release, sensed he was teetering on the knife’s edge between restraint and raw instinct. Once her underpants had slid past her thighs, they floated to the ground. She took a step forward, leaving them behind.

  She smiled, knowing he couldn’t see her expression, and lifted her hands to her hair, removing the clip that restrained it. With a quick shake, the strands tumbled free, veiling her neck and shoulders in a thick dark curtain.

  She glanced behind her then, allowing him to witness her smile. Before he could act on the savage need burning in his eyes, she darted toward the pool. She hesitated for an instant at the rocky rim, testing the temperature with her toe. It was perfect. She slipped in, the warmth of the water sheathing her like a velvet glove. Abrazo de Amante. The name made perfect sense to her now.

  “Feel good?” he called to her, his voice stark with desire.

  “It’s unbelievable.”

  “Have you ever gone swimming in the rough before?”

  “Never. It’s—it’s...”

  A hard grin slashed across his face. “Yes, it is.” The pool was deep, well over her head, and full of large black rocks. The heated water felt like a lover’s hand, swirled over her breasts and between her legs in the most sensuous caress she’d ever experienced. She drifted toward the center, watching Rafe.

  He hadn’t taken his gaze from her. At a distance his eyes appeared black instead of gray, but there was no mistaking the intent registering in that scorching look. He wanted her. Badly. Every line of his body, every ripple of compact muscle underscored that desire. He swiftly shed his shirt and shoes, and in one easy move, ripped his belt from the loops. Then he reached for his zipper.

  A light breeze stirred the steam so that warm spray kissed her skin and caught in her hair, sparkling like stardust. Kicking lightly to one side of the pool, she dove deep into the heated heart. It was sheer bliss. She glided underwater toward the edge closest to Rafe, hoping to surface and surprise him. But as she started up, her hair snagged in a narrow crevice between the pile of rocks.

  She tugged, expecting the strands to pull loose. Instead, they held fast. She tugged again, harder this time, the first glimmer of panic radiating through her subconscious. But no matter what she tried, she couldn’t work her way free. She couldn’t even get enough leverage to plant her feet against the slippery rocks and use her leg muscles to rip the hair from its anchor. Her chest burned, lending urgency to her actions. In sheer desperation, she kicked toward the surface as hard as she could, stretching out her hand in an effort to break the plane of the water and alert Rafe. Her trapped hair yanked her backward.

  She was going to die. She knew it. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and water poured in.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RAFE placed his clothing on the front seat of the car and turned, staring across the pool with a frown. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it. And then it hit him.

  He couldn’t see Ella.

  Driven by pure instinct, he reached back into the car. Snatching his switchblade free of his trouser’s pocket, he pivoted, sprinting flat-out for the pool. W
hat he found there turned his blood to ice. Ella’s hair had become caught in the underwater rocks and she was trying frantically to pull the strands loose.

  Flicking open his knife, he dove to her side. Her hands were in his way and he yanked them clear. Panicking, she fought back, too desperate for air to understand his intent. Finally he wrapped an arm around her, locking her flailing limbs tight against his body. Dragging her as far from the deadly rocks as possible, he slashed his knife through her trapped hair. Not wasting another second, he kicked toward salvation.

  She tried to inhale the minute they broke the surface. Instead she choked, the water filling her lungs making breathing an impossibility. Rafe tossed his knife onto the rocks and heaved himself from the pool, hanging on to her with one hand. Reaching down, he hauled her up and into his arms. She collapsed against him and he bent her at the waist, squeezing her ribs until she’d dispelled enough water to breathe.

  Weak tears spilled from her eyes. “Rafe,” she whispered hoarsely. “Oh, Rafe. Hold me.”

  “I’m here, amada. I have you.” He cradled her more tightly in his arms, sweeping her hair from her face. “Easy, pobrecita. Take it easy.”

  She fought to speak. “I thought I was going to die.” “I would not let that happen,” he said simply.

  “I didn’t think you saw.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t let you know that I needed you.”

  His mouth caressed her temple. “I knew. Somehow I knew.” She shivered again and he started to stand. “You’re cold. Let me get the blanket.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes again. “No! Don’t leave me.”

  “Just for a moment,” he soothed. “I’ll be right back.” Even the few seconds it took to reach the car and grab the blanket seemed an eternity. As soon as he returned, he wrapped the heavy cotton around them both and sat with her on the edge of the rocks. In time her shivers eased and her breathing grew more relaxed.

  “Come,” he said at last. “Let’s get dressed and go home.”

  “No, not home. I’d rather go back in the water.”

  Her request caught him off guard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”