A Wedding in Maine

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Yes, this is Tom Bradford. I’m calling to reschedule my canceled reservation.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry, I must’ve missed your call about needing to cancel. Did you leave a message?”

  “No…you left a message for me. Or, rather, a man did. He said there was a fire, and a few burst pipes.…” The man on the other line cleared his throat. “Was he wrong? Is everything okay up there?”

  I tightened my grip on the phone. “Everything is fine, Mr. Bradford, and there must have been an error in communication from my employee. There’s no need to cancel your reservation at all. The McCullagh Inn is open for business, and your room will be available when you arrive.”

  Jeremy frowned, watching as I finished with Mr. Bradford.

  The second I hung up, he leaned across the table. “What the hell was that about?”

  “One of our guests got a call from a man saying that his reservation was canceled due to the fire and the busted pipes.”

  “Seriously?” Jeremy asked. “I didn’t call him.”

  “I know. And I have a strong feeling Henry didn’t, either. Our bellboy’s a good kid. I think you know exactly what this is.”

  Jeremy stood stock still and looked me straight in the eyes. “Sabotage,” he said.

  I stood in agitation, stalking to the kitchen. Ripping my ring off, I placed it on the counter and turned the water on. I couldn’t stop these harassments, but I could fix the dirty dishes that were overflowing the sink and spilling onto the counter…so I chose to focus on that right now, thank you very much.

  He followed me into the kitchen. “What’s—?” The ringing phone cut him off, and he stared at it. “Do you think that’ll be another person calling about a cancellation?”

  “Definitely.” I poured dish soap into the sink. “You take over. I have to wash these, and then I’m going on the wedding website to stay organized. Can you handle the calls? You’re better at this stuff anyway.”

  He nodded, kissed the top of my head, and took charge of the customer service portion of the morning. He said the same thing, over and over again, telling all our future guests that everything was fine here, that their rooms were safe and sound and just waiting for them to arrive. He was better at placating them than I was.

  As for me, all I wanted to do was focus on wedding dresses, and flowers, and the happy stuff like that. While I washed the dishes, I mentally scrolled through the A-line dresses I’d looked at. There was a ball gown dress that looked like it belonged in a fairy-tale wedding, and my heart pounded hard in my chest as I remembered the details in the skirt, the beads, and the tulle. My dream dress.

  It was so very girly. I loved it.

  In the back of my head, I could hear Paul snickering at the fancy gown, but it died away pretty quickly. After all, he’d confessed to having a dream, too. He wanted his family back together.

  Wanted us to be normal.

  Hah. The O’Kanes. Normal. That was something to snicker about.

  Jeremy hung up with the last guest, heaving a sigh. “Well, that’s done.”

  I nodded, dropping a fork into the drying rack.

  “Chels…” He came up behind me, closing his arms around me and hugging me. I closed my eyes, letting myself lean against him for a second. Just a tiny, little second. “You and me, together, right?”

  I couldn’t talk, didn’t trust myself not to break down in tears, so I did the next best thing. I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck, lifting my face to his. He kissed me without hesitation, knowing what I needed even though I hadn’t said a single word. Then again, he was good at that. At knowing what I needed. At loving me. At pretty much everything.

  Chapter 21

  Jeremy pulled her against his chest, wishing he could wipe away all the stress in her shoulders, and the fear that turned her eyes a darker shade of blue. If only a kiss could take all that away.… he knew it wouldn’t, but it might make her forget about her anxiety for a little while. And maybe forgetting for a few minutes would be enough. His lips moved over hers, and he lifted her on the counter, stepping between her legs. He dug his fingers into her soft thighs, then glided them up slowly, toward her core. Her skin was so smooth. So perfect. He slid his fingers under her pajama shorts, tracing her core through her panties.

  She gasped and strained to get closer, her still-soapy hands closing on his shoulders and her nails piercing through the fabric of his T-shirt. She tugged, yanking it over his head, only breaking off the kiss long enough to do so. The second it was off, he dropped so his head was between her thighs, and shoved her shorts and panties to the side with two fingers.

  Chelsea planted her palms on the counter, arched her back, and leaned against the cabinet, a short breath escaping her. He ran his tongue over her, closing his eyes as he breathed in her sweet scent. Her hips lifted, silently asking for more, so he did what he always did when she asked him for something.…

  He damn well gave it to her.

  Her hips thrashed with a wild abandon as he rolled his tongue with slow, steady strokes, making them move faster and harder with each soft cry that escaped her lips. She froze, her whole body tensing, and then threw back her head, her hair draped down her arched back, like it would be in an erotic painting. She was a work of art, his Chelsea.

  And he’d do anything to preserve her.

  He stood, buried his fingers in her long brown hair, and melded his mouth to hers as he stepped closer, back between her thighs again. He shoved his pajama pants down, used two fingers to pull her clothes out of the way again, and thrust inside her with one long stroke. They moaned simultaneously, lips still pressed together, bodies joined, skin on skin.

  These moments, the times when they were joined together in the most intimate way possible, still amazed him even after all this time. He hoped that never changed. Wildly, madly, he moved inside her, strumming her body in all the right places guaranteed to send her flying over the edge again. He squeezed her nipples between his fingers, twisting slightly as his hips moved faster and harder and smoother.…

  She cried out, her body tensing around his, and he let himself go, seeking that same bliss she’d found. And when he found it, he groaned and dropped his forehead on hers, breathing heavily. His hands flexed on her hips as he came back down from the high the orgasm had sent through him.

  She let out a soft laugh, wiggling a little bit, and then groaning when it was too much. He thrust inside her one last time, laughing when she protested and moaned, “You’re killing me.”

  “Never. I love you too much to do that,” he whispered, kissing her swollen lips as he slowly pulled out of her. “And I’ll stop at nothing to make you feel safe in our home again.”

  She smiled and framed his face with her hands. “I know. But you see, that’s what scares me. What if you do something stupid to save me, and I’m not there to save you?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “So can I,” she shot back.

  He frowned. “I know, but—” His cell rang from the counter a few feet to the left. He grabbed it, scanning the number. “It’s the DEA.”

  “Why would they be calling you? You’re not an agent anymore.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of my buddies got a lead on the Sullivans, and they’re calling to give me an update.” He swiped his finger across the screen. “Hello?”

  “Someone is trying to buy the land next to you, and we think it’s someone with ties to the Sullivans,” Agent Miller, another friend from the force, said without preamble. “Agent Thomas wants you to come in. I think he’s going to ask you to join in the task force as a civilian consultant. I don’t know for sure. But he wants you here at ten o’clock.”

  Jeremy tightened his grip on the phone, his mind going a million miles a minute. Getting in on the task force would be pretty ideal for their current situation. He wouldn’t be in the dark anymore, and he’d be able to protect them better from the inside. But that wasn’t his life anymore, and he didn’t want it to be.
It was too dangerous. Too unpredictable.

  Besides, Chelsea wouldn’t like it.

  He glanced at her, and she lifted her brows in question.

  Covering the phone, he whispered. “DEA wants me back to work on the Sullivan case.”

  “Hell, no,” she whispered.

  “I knew you’d say that,” he whispered. Smiling at her reassuringly, he walked a few feet away, leaned against the counter, and took his hand off the speaker. “Thanks, but no thanks, Miller. I’m not DEA anymore. I run an inn, and I’m perfectly content with that. This is a case you’re going to have to solve without me.”

  Chapter 22

  Three hours later, I was frantically tearing everything out of the last drawer in the kitchen, tossing all the dishcloths over my shoulder. They landed on the floor next to the pots and pans. I reached the bottom of the drawer and mumbled, “No, no, no. It has to be here.”

  Dropping to my knees, I dug through the mess, looking for the glint of reflection off the lights overhead that would end this torment. My heart was beating faster, but it didn’t get me any closer to success. “Come on.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Jeremy stood there, staring at me with wide eyes. He’d been getting fitted for a tuxedo in Bangor. “What. The. Hell?”

  “I can’t find it,” I said in a rush, shoving a big stock pan to the side and crawling on my hands and knees to the next one. “It has to be here somewhere. Not even he would stoop that low.”

  “Who?” He fell to his knees at my side. “And what?”

  “My ring.” I pushed a pink dishcloth to the side. “I looked at the security footage, and someone bypassed the alarm. He was wearing a hoodie, but the jawline…it looked like Dad.”

  “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about your dad? And your ring?”

  “It’s missing, but Dad wouldn’t do that. Not even he is that horrible. Right?”

  Jeremy stared at me, his jaw tight. “Your engagement ring is missing?”

  “Yes. I took it off to wash the dishes, and after you left, I saw it on the counter, but left it there because I wanted to shower before putting it back on. I went upstairs, and then when I came down to put it back on, it was gone.” I crawled toward the sink, my heart pounding harder. “It was there. It wasn’t missing. It was there.”

  Jeremy rested a hand on my shoulder. “Chels? It’s gone.”

  “No.” As the horror sunk in, tears filled my eyes. “It can’t be gone. He wouldn’t do that. He’s an ass, but not that much of an ass. Right?”

  He said nothing. There was nothing to say because we both knew he would…and he probably did. The footage didn’t lie. That jawline was all too familiar to be ignored.

  “Why did he do it?” I demanded.

  Jeremy frowned and cupped my face, leaning in and kissing my forehead. “Maybe we need to ask him. Maybe we were wrong about the Sullivans, and it’s been your dad all along. I don’t know, but we need to ask him point-blank what he’s up to.”

  I nodded, knowing he was right.

  Maybe we were too quick to take him off the suspect list. It was time to track down the monster hiding under my bed, and confront it head-on with a sword. “It has to be me. Not you. If a fed is involved in the questioning, he’ll clam up out of principle, just like last time.”

  He nodded after way too much hesitation. “Fine. But I’ll be down the road on standby, in case he tries anything dangerous.”

  I wanted to tell him that my dad wouldn’t hurt me, that he wouldn’t go that far, but I wasn’t sure if that was true, and since I’d sworn to be honest to him at all costs…

  I said nothing at all.

  Chapter 23

  The next day, I stared across the coffee table at my father.

  It was the only thing separating us. He sat next to Paul and was lounging on the couch with an ankle thrown over his thigh, looking like he didn’t have a single worry coloring his life. I had one giant one—and he was on my couch right now, with his cocky smirk and all.

  My problem was wearing a gray sweatshirt, an old pair of jeans, and stained sneakers. Paul mirrored his look with a hoodie, Chucks, and ripped jeans. I couldn’t handle how similar they looked right now. They wore identical frowns and furrowed brows, and had the same hard jaw and cocky attitude. Like father, like son, I guess.

  Jeremy was at the local caterer’s, finalizing the payment for our wedding menu, and he had no clue that I had invited my dad and Paul over. I’d pretended to have a headache and stayed behind.

  “This needs to stop.” I leaned back in the loveseat, tapping my fingers on my thigh.

  Dad frowned, glanced at Paul, and said, “What needs to stop? Can you please be a little more specific?”

  “Stop ruining my business. I don’t know what your endgame is here, but it’s a game you’re going to lose.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my father said. He seemed sincere but sincerity was something he’d been able to fake before he learned to walk.

  “You stole something from the Sullivans. They want it back. And as a result, they’ve been sabotaging the inn. That’s bad enough.” I held my bare ring finger up. “But stealing from your own daughter? That is incredibly low, even for you.”

  “Your ring is missing,” he said flatly.

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

  “Shit,” he growled.

  I glanced at Paul, not buying his surprised act. Maybe now he’d see why his dream was never going to come true. “Are you in on this? Are you helping him ruin everything I built?”

  “No.” He locked eyes with me. “I’d never do that to you, Chelsea.”

  I stared at him for another second, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t take your ring. It had to be the Sullivans,” Dad said.

  I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. “Sure.”

  “Look.” Dad leaned forward. “I’ll be completely honest, if that’s what you want. I’ll tell you everything I can, but I’m not the villain you’ve made me out to be. I’ve changed. I want to be a better father to you, to Paul, and later on, a good grandfather to your future kids.”

  I stared for a while, not sure where he was going with this, and then laughed. “Yeah. Sure you do.”

  “How come you believe him, but not me?” he snapped, looking like the old dad I knew…and didn’t love…again.

  “Because I love him,” I said simply. “Drop the bullshit, and tell me what’s really going on. Why are you sabotaging the inn and where’s my ring? Just tell me why you took it, and why you tried to play me. Then leave me alone for good. I will always be an O’Kane, but the O’Kane lifestyle isn’t what I want. I’ve told you this a million times—I want to run my inn, marry Jeremy, and be normal. Can you just let me be normal?”

  Dad’s frown lines deepened. “I’d never hurt you, or your inn. I was only trying to protect you.”

  I met Paul’s hopeful gaze and for a second, I felt it, too. I hoped that maybe Dad did care and that we could be a real family. But then I remembered the last time I felt like this. I’d been fourteen, and Dad had let me and Paul work a job with him. When we were working together, in the family business, it had finally felt like we were a real unit. Then, once the job got done, Dad handed me all the cash and sent me off by myself to make my way back to the extraction point.

  That’s when I realized that I only had real value to my father because I had been a minor.

  I could take the blame if we were caught and my father could stay out of jail. I’d vowed then that I’d never let Dad use me again.

  Snapping into the present, I kept my voice level and said: “Tell me why you took the ring. If you don’t, I’m calling the cops. Last chance.”

  He was silent for so long that I began to think of other contingency plans.

  And all I wanted to do in that moment was turn him over to the Sullivans.

  “You’re right. The Sullivans are after something.”
His leg was completely relaxed, draped across his knee, so my father maintained his air of casual calm. “I hid something in the wall in your old bedroom and it’s something very important to them. I was trying to keep you out of it, but since you renovated everything, I needed access.”

  I blinked at him. “So the fire, broken pipes, the cancellations, those were all you? You’ve got to be kidding me. If you’re willing to go through all that for the Sullivans, I know you took my ring. And I want it back.”

  Dad dropped the “casual,” leaning forward and staring at me directly. “I had nothing to do with your ring. The Sullivans probably took it when I didn’t move fast enough. They’re showing me that they can get close enough to steal your ring, so they can get close enough to kill you. This is serious. That’s how badly they want what I stole.”

  There was a quiet groan from Paul and I knew the blinders had finally come off.

  Dad continued, “We can try to get that ring back, but really, what’s the most important thing here? The ring…or your life? Jeremy’s life? You decide, Chelsea.”

  Chapter 24

  I shook my head. “You want me to believe you didn’t take my ring? For God’s sake, I saw you on the security footage!”

  “I don’t know how many times I can say the same thing. I didn’t take your ring. You must have seen someone else.” There was the faintest hint of temper shining through the words and, oddly enough, that convinced me he was telling the truth.

  “I’d know your jaw anywhere. And the man in the hoodie on the footage…”

  “The man in the hoodie on the footage? As in, you couldn’t even see his face?”

  “I didn’t need to. I know it was you.”

  He flexed his jaw, but remained silent.

  “When I think of how much time you wasted, how much stress you put on me, how you very nearly ruined my wedding day…For God’s sake, Dad, you chloroformed me!”

  Paul shook his head. “He didn’t knock you out, Chelsea. He was with me that night, remember?”