Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  Marin didn't know what to say to comfort him. It was obvious the loss of the crop was not just a minor setback.

  Before she had a chance to think of any sympathetic words, she heard the sound of another horse approaching. A man she'd never seen reined in his horse and dismounted. For reasons she couldn't name she disliked the man on sight. He seemed to be in his mid thirties, dressed in expensive clothes that did little to hide the ample spare tire at his waistline. The color of his hair was impossible to determine from all the pomade he'd used to slick it back. At least she thought it was pomade. She would guess it to be a dirty blond. His face was so pasty white it looked as though it had never seen the light of day, and a huge, brown mole grew right in the middle of his left eyebrow. She stifled a shiver as he swaggered toward them as if he owned the place.

  "Hunter Pierce? Sorry to disturb your little picnic here, but your darkies told me where to find you."

  He sounded about as sorry as if he'd just won the lottery. Hunter looked over at Nathan before acknowledging the man.

  "Thank you, Nathan. You can go on back home." He turned back to the newcomer. "I am sorry, sir. This is not a good time - "

  "My name is Harold Cabot," he interrupted. "Delia Cabot was my cousin. And this little lady," he nodded to the sleeping Katie, "must be her daughter."

  "Yes, she is," Hunter answered. "But now is not a good time for a social call, Mr. Cabot. I - "

  "Oh, this is not a social call, Pierce. As the child's only living relative, I've come to take her off your hands."

  The way the man looked at Katie gave Marin a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. His oily smile only added to the sensation.

  "You have been misinformed, Cabot. You are not her only relative. I am her father. And no one is going to 'take her off my hands.'"

  Cabot puffed himself up with a condescending look.

  "Well now. Do you have any proof that you are her father? I cannot allow just anyone to take the child in."

  Hunter narrowed his eyes. Even in her slightly drunk state Marin knew enough not to cross him when he looked that way. Apparently, Cabot did not.

  "You have only to look at her to know Katie is mine," Hunter said in a low, menacing voice. "Do you have proof, Cabot, that you are Delia's cousin?"

  "I can name three people off the top of my head who can attest to the fact that our grandfathers were brothers. I shall present sufficient documents if need be. Can you say the same?"

  Marin knew the first words out of Cabot's mouth had placed him on Hunter's bad side. She found herself hoping Hunter would wipe the smug smile from Cabot's face.

  "You have chosen a most inopportune time to address this situation, Cabot. If you - "

  For the third time the man interrupted Hunter as if he weren't speaking. Veins bulged in Hunter's temples.

  "They tell me in town that you have no wife, Pierce. Hard to believe the courts would award custody of a little girl to a bachelor with dubious claims of parentage when a proven relative and his wife are willing to take the child in and raise her as their own."

  She would never know exactly how the words happened out of her mouth. She could only attribute them to the wine she'd consumed on an empty stomach and her concern to keep Katie away from this snake of a man.

  "You were misinformed again, Mr. Cabot." She stepped up beside Hunter and took his arm in a caressing embrace. "Of course, since we wed only yesterday I must assume that the news hasn't had a chance to spread."

  Cabot's mouth fell open momentarily as every muscle in Hunter's arm went rigid under her fingers. She cast an adoring look upward to her spurious husband's face. A slight queasiness flipped in her stomach at the sight of his clenched jaw and the almost imperceptible flexing of the muscle above it.

  A sense of apprehension crawled up her spine as Hunter slowly slid his gaze around to study her with those searing eyes the color of a summer sky. At first his face was totally void of emotion. Then the tiniest hint of a dimple appeared. The heat of his hands burned a trail through layers of muslin gown and corset as he slipped his arms possessively about her waist and pulled her intimately to him.

  "Yes, Cabot. My bride is correct. You were misinformed." He bestowed a melting gaze on Marin that turned her knees to spaghetti.

  Something told her that she'd just set herself up for a situation she wouldn't be able to back out of. She'd expected to tell this man they were married, then Cabot would go away and leave them alone to get on with their separate lives. But Hunter was being terribly believable. His hands moved slowly, caressingly up and down her rib cage. His head dipped to what seemed to be an innocent peck on the lips. But a shock of heat flared throughout her body when the tip of his tongue darted out unexpectedly.

  A split second later he was again speaking to the man, while Marin fought to still her trembling knees and drumroll heartbeat.

  "So you see, Cabot, our little picnic here is part of the celebration of our nuptials. It was good of you to be concerned for Katie's welfare, but as you can see she is in the best possible hands. Her father's." Hunter stepped forward to shake Cabot's hand in dismissal, but Cabot ignored the extended hand, his face such a deep red he looked like a thermometer ready to burst off its top.

  "It seems we got off on the wrong foot here, Pierce. My only concern is for that of my dear cousin's daughter." Cabot fidgeted as the color in his face returned to its sickly hue. "My wife, bless her soul, has given me eleven children. Another child amongst that brood would hardly be noticed." He flicked another glance at the sleeping Katie that made Marin's skin crawl and gave lie to his words. He cleared his throat and hesitated before continuing. "As you can imagine, feeding and clothing a family that size can be a great financial hardship."

  Hunter's face hardened at the man's words. He slowly raked his gaze down Cabot's overfed, expensively clad frame.

  "I must commend you then. If the children's comforts come before your own, then they must be very well cared for indeed."

  Cabot's face again turned the color of ripe strawberries, but he did not challenge Hunter's statement.

  "I had imagined that my cousin left the child an inheritance that I would use to keep her in the lifestyle she is accustomed."

  "And elevate your own at the same time, no doubt."

  "Now see here, Pierce! I would be the rightful guardian to the child and her inheritance - "

  "If," Hunter interrupted, "she did not have a father, which she does. An inheritance she does not have, but that is of no concern to you. Now, Cabot, if you are here looking for money, you've come to the wrong place." Marin watched as Hunter grabbed their slimy visitor's upper arm and propelled him toward his horse. "I suggest you leave us to our wedding celebration. As far as I'm concerned this conversation is over."

  As Marin had found with most cowards, Cabot waited until he was safely on his horse and ready to bolt before he spoke again.

  "Well, I don't consider it over. I'm sure Delia left the child well-heeled. I intend to seek custody of her, regardless of your..." he eyed Marin slowly, "...fortuitously-timed marriage. You've not heard the last from me, Pierce!" With that he gave his horse a vicious kick and disappeared toward town.

  The hollow sound of the hoofbeats faded and the hum of insects grew unnaturally loud in the silence that stretched between them. Finally Hunter sucked a deep breath into his lungs and released it slowly.

  "I imagine if I fetch Reverend Mesker now, he can have us married before supper." Hunter spoke to the empty landscape in front of him. "He's so old and absent-minded I doubt if there will be a problem convincing him this is the tenth of August rather than the eleventh, since according to you we were wed last evening."

  Marin's thought processes stopped with Hunter's first words while alarm bells went off in her head like tornado sirens on a stormy night. He couldn't be serious! Yet when he turned to face her there was no hint of humor in his features.

  "You know, I didn't actually mean for us to get married!" She scrambled to stop
this insanity before she found herself married. "I only said that so the creep would - "

  "I know why you said it, Marin," Hunter said with what seemed like resignation. "But surely you knew that publicly announcing that we are married would ultimately lead to that very thing. I assure you, by the end of the day Cabot will have spread the story, or at least asked questions about the marriage. If it's known that we both stood here and declared we had married, and then later deny that we'd wed, the entire city of Memphis would think the worst and ostracize the two of us, as well as Katie. We wouldn't be received in a drawing room in Shelby County."

  As Hunter spoke, a sense of dread enveloped Marin like that dark fog she'd walked through before. She couldn't get married. She couldn't marry this man, become close to him, make love to him, and then bury him. She wouldn't.

  "And don't forget about Katie. Recanting our story now would surely give Cabot an advantage in a custody battle."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "...with the power vested in me..."

  It was later than Hunter had planned. Katie was long abed, and after Mamie's ecstatic histrionics over the woman "her baby" had chosen to marry, she and the other servants had gone off to celebrate even before the deed was done.

  Now Reverend Mesker's reedy voice concluded the ceremony that only days earlier Hunter would have sworn he would never participate in.

  He held Marin's hands in his. Her fingers felt like slivers of ice, which confirmed the anxiety mirrored in her face. He squeezed her fingers gently in an attempt to reassure her, but she merely cast him a distracted, worried half-smile.

  "I now pronounce you man and wife."

  The reverend cleared his throat in his most pompous manner and smiled benignly at the newlyweds.

  "You may osculate," he suggested.

  Hunter smiled and stifled a chuckle at the old man's formality, then turned his attention to his new bride. Gently cradling her precious face in his palms, he slowly dipped his head. She seemed terrified; reluctant. Was this the same woman who'd had the audacity to yank him to her by his shirtfront and kiss him soundly on that stormy night last month?

  He brushed his lips across hers in a whisper of a kiss once, twice, then threw propiety to the wind, melding his lips to hers, searching for her tongue, trying to convey to her his love and the joy he felt at making her his wife. Marin's body melted against him, molding all her stirring peaks and valleys to his. But to his surprise he felt the passion die in her kiss, and she almost imperceptibly moved away from him.

  He raised his head and questioned her with his eyes. After an uncomfortable glance at Reverend Mesker and his wife, she smiled a very unconvincing smile.

  Ahhh! So that was it! The minister's presence was inhibiting his fiery little bride. Well, he could resolve that problem easily enough.

  Turning to the minister he shook the old man's hand with enthusiasm.

  "I cannot thank you and Mrs. Mesker enough, Reverend, for coming this evening on such short notice. August tenth is a special day for us, and we wanted it to be our wedding day. Will you join us in a glass of champagne? Of course you'll stay for supper."

  Neither he nor his wife seemed to notice Hunter's error in the date. Plus, Joseph Mesker did not disappoint Hunter. The man of God had officiated enough weddings to know when to take his leave.

  "Appreciate the offer, Hunter, but it's past this old man's bedtime. If you won't be offended I believe the wife and I shall head on back home."

  "Well, if you insist." Hunter tried to sound like he meant it but was certain he fell short of his goal.

  In no time Joseph and Lyda Mesker had been waved down the drive, and the couple found themselves alone in the parlor, their only company their reflections in the gilt-framed pier glass.

  Marin had barely uttered a word all evening except to repeat her vows. Hunter had never expected this subdued side of his new bride and was at a bit of a loss. He had to admit that he preferred the outspoken, passionate temptress to this quiet, preoccupied mood, and he could not help being just the slightest bit disappointed.

  Perhaps it was just wedding night jitters.

  Oh course! What a dolt he had been not to expect it!

  Tenderness flooded his heart as he watched his nervous bride pace the length of the carpet. Without another thought he retrieved the bottle of champagne which had been resting in a silver bucket of ice, and popped the cork with practiced ease.

  Marin jumped as if she'd been shot.

  Ah yes. Wedding night jitters. Well, he would be the soul of gentleness. He would introduce her to the joys of the marriage bed with such patience, such gentle tenderness that he would conquer any fears she had. He would restrain his passion with every ounce of self-control.

  With a teasing flourish he filled two crystal goblets to overflowing. Handing a still-dripping glass to Marin, he twined his arm with hers and held her amber gaze.

  "My cup runneth over," he whispered, his lips against the rim of the crystal. As they sipped and then untwined their arms he marveled at the aching intensity of the love he felt for this woman. She was everything the other women in his life had never been.

  He raised his glass in toast.

  "To us," he said with a smile, "and the night to come."

  He lowered his glass to clink against Marin's. She hesitated before taking a tiny sip. She seemed to be having trouble making eye contact with him. Finally she clasped the glass with both hands and resumed pacing.

  "Hunter," she said as she paced away from him. "I've been thinking. Perhaps it's best if we are married in name only. After all, this marriage was to avoid a scandal and save Katie from a custody battle."

  Hunter sat his glass on the table and closed the gap between them. He stopped her pacing and turned her to face him.

  "Marin, look at me." He guided her chin with the tip of his finger until she finally looked up at him, worry evident in her eyes.

  "Sweetheart, there is no scandal threatening enough to induce me to marry a woman I do not wish to marry. My sainted mother has made our family grist for the gossip mills enough times that I am immune to any censure I might encounter. As for custody of Katie, that will be an added bonus to the pleasure of having you for my wife." He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "Had you been any other woman, I would have preferred to remain a bachelor and fight for Katie's custody all the way to the highest court in the land. I did not marry you out of convenience."

  Instead of the expected relief, Marin seemed more disturbed than ever. He could tell that her mind was racing with his words. Her eyes cast about the room, landing on nothing, focusing on some internal fear. He slid his hands to her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  "Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'll be gentle. We shall take our time. We will take things as slowly as we need to."

  Dear God, he thought she was a virgin!

  No sooner had she completed the thought than another occurred that sent shock waves exploding through her, nearly jolting the glass of champagne from her hands. There was a very good chance that she was a virgin. Mari Sander had never been married.

  Marin shivered as realization struck her. Would she be the only woman in history to lose her virginity twice?

  She would have found the whole thing hilarious if she hadn't been so worried about falling head over heels in love. A condition, she feared, that she was already doomed to experience.

  "...nothing to be nervous about. Every young bride goes through this." She snapped her attention back to Hunter. He pulled her to him until her thighs pressed against his. She could feel the effect his conversation was having on him even through all the layers of clothing that separated them. "I promise you will not regret it."

  That's the one thing she worried about. Living to regret it while she watched one more coffin lowered into the ground.

  But oh, his touch tempted her so. The very scent of him intoxicated her, stirred the long-buried tingles that a man's smell could conjure. It had been over three years si
nce she'd allowed a man to touch her with passion. Ryan had been the last. And now the simple act of Hunter sliding his hands down her bare arms made her skin feel like a match being dragged across its cover, ready to ignite.

  As she looked up at her new husband he seared her with a melting gaze. The crescent-shaped dimples caused butterflies in her stomach. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat through her skin. He looked exactly as he had when his spirit so exquisitely melted into hers that last night in her own time.

  She jumped away from him, away from his heady touch that clouded her judgement.

  "Hunter, I'm not a vi...afraid of the wedding night. I'm not afraid of making love. That isn't why I think we should be married in name only."

  "Then what has you so concerned?"

  He held out his arms and took a step toward her, but she backed away several feet. He could not have looked more stricken if she had balled up her fist and slammed it into his jaw.

  "Marin - "

  "Please, Hunter. I have my reasons. Don't ask me to make love to you. I don't think I could bare it."

  The gentle confusion in his eyes turned to hard, icy shards. His hands fell to his sides, his back stiffened ramrod straight.

  "So, I've repulsed yet another woman, and you haven't even seen the scars yet. Delia must have painted a very ugly picture indeed to sicken you so."

  Marin shook her head to clear it.

  "Delia? What are you talking about? Delia didn't tell me anything about you."

  Hunter started to take a step toward her, then stopped himself.

  "My mother then," he sneered. "It would have pleased her immensely to describe my scars in vivid detail."

  Marin shook her head again and started to deny his words. Before she could speak he was on his way out the front door.

  It was clear she had somehow hurt him terribly, had touched a nerve that was a source of great pain. By the time she ran to the door he was halfway to the bluffs, his long strides putting more and more distance between them.

  "Hunter, wait!" She ran after him, wanting only to heal his pain, her only concern the tormented hurt in his eyes.