Hook, Line and Shotgun Bride

by Cassie Miles

  One of them he recognized as Dr. Edgar Prentice. Prentice was the doctor Tom had used for the frozen embryo procedure, and Shane vaguely recalled some kind of recent scandal involving Prentice’s fertility clinic in Aspen.

  Slowly, Prentice unfolded himself from the chair. He moved with hesitation as though he suffered from arthritis. Even stooped, he was nearly as tall as Shane—taller if Shane counted the thatch of thick white hair.

  “We’ve met before,” he said.

  “Tom Hawthorne was my cousin. I came to your office with him.”

  “And you’ve remained in contact with his wife for all these years. An admirable display of loyalty.”

  His comment made Shane’s relationship with Angela sound like an obligation. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I’m privileged to call Angela my friend.”

  The old man’s eyes lit up behind his glasses as he focused on Benjy. “This must be the young man I’ve heard so much about.”

  “I’m not a man,” Benjy said. “I’m a kid.”

  “Of course. And what’s in your backpack?”

  “Stegosaurus, T-Rex, Triceratops. Want to see?”

  The boy plopped down on the carpet. With much straining, Prentice bent lower, listening intently as Benjy unpacked his plastic dinosaurs and talked about the Mesozoic era.

  Neil introduced him. “Shane Gibson, I’d like you to meet my father, Roger Revere.”

  In contrast to Prentice, the stocky, red-faced man sprang from his chair with impressive vigor. Shane braced himself for a power handshake; he wasn’t surprised when Roger glared into his eyes and squeezed hard.

  Though Shane wasn’t a fan of macho games, he matched the older man’s grip. It went without saying that Shane was stronger; he was probably thirty years younger than Neil’s father. If he’d been feeling gracious, he would have let Roger win this little battle. But he sensed the importance of establishing dominance.

  Smiling through gritted teeth, Roger continued to apply pressure. “I hear you’re a sheriff in the mountains.”

  “I was,” Shane drawled. “A deputy sheriff in Clear Creek County. But I’ll be moving to Denver soon.”

  Neil arrowed a sharp glance at him. “Angela never mentioned anything about your move.”

  “Because I just told her this morning.” With a flick of his wrist, Shane broke free from the prolonged handshake. “I’m taking a job with Premiere Executive Security Systems.”

  “Impressive,” Neil said. “They’re one of the best in town.”

  “I met the owner last year during a mountain rescue situation.” The search for a missing client had been a harrowing few days, fortunately with a happy ending. “We have a lot in common.”

  Roger stuck out his square jaw. “I suppose that means you’ll be seeing more of Angela.”

  “And Benjy,” Shane said. “I sure hope so.”

  “Maybe you can convince her to cut down on her hours at the pancake house,” Roger said gruffly. “The only person she needs to be cooking for is my son.”

  Though he didn’t agree that Angela should quit her job and become a full-time wife unless that was what she wanted, Shane sidestepped the issue. “She works hard.”

  “Nothing wrong with dedication,” Roger said, “as long as you’ve dedicated yourself to a worthy goal. As you know, my son has an acclaimed reputation as a virologist. He cures illness. He’s saving the world, dammit. His wife should be something more than a cook.”

  Shane couldn’t let Roger’s idiotic statement go unchallenged. “She’s a chef. Not a cook.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Roger had stuffed his right hand into his jacket pocket, and Shane hoped that his muscular handshake had cracked a couple of bones. “It’s hard to explain unless you’ve tasted her food. There’s a damn good reason why her restaurant always has a line. She’s an artist.” He remembered a description Yvonne had once given. “A culinary artist.”

  “It’s true,” Prentice said as he straightened his posture. “Angela concocts recipes with the skill of a chemist. She trained at Cordon Bleu in London.”

  A tall woman with thinning black hair stepped into the room. Her long, skinny fingers twisted in a knot. “Gentlemen, it’s time for lunch. Please come to the table before the soup gets cold.”

  Shane was hungry but didn’t really want to sit down to a meal with these guys. He reconsidered his plan to stay in one of the guestrooms at Neil’s house. Though he wanted to be close to Angela in case she needed protecting, he didn’t like the Revere family—father or son.

  “Before I sit down,” Shane said, “I should see what’s keeping Angela.”

  “You go ahead and relax,” said Dr. Prentice. “I’ll check on her.”

  As Prentice left the room and crossed the entryway to the staircase, Shane noticed that his arthritic shuffle changed into a confident stride. He was much stronger than he had appeared when he rose hesitantly from his chair.

  Why had Prentice tried to create the impression of being a tired, elderly man? As a lawman, Shane knew that a man who lied about one thing will lie about another. He needed to check out Dr. Edgar Prentice and find out what else he was hiding.

  SINCE SHE’D ALREADY moved many of her clothes to Neil’s house, Angela had a lot of options. She’d chosen a cotton dress in conservative navy blue with white trim because it seemed least likely to provoke a response from Neil’s father. As she finished brushing her hair, she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

  Her first instinct was to lock the door until the little blue pill worked its magic and numbed her nerves, but she wasn’t a coward. Slipping into a pair of navy flats, she marched to the door and opened it. “Dr. Prentice?”

  “Angela, you look lovely—glowing like a new bride. I hope you don’t mind if I take a few minutes alone with you.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he entered the huge bedroom and closed the door behind himself. Though he didn’t flip the lock, she felt trapped. “What did you want to talk about?”

  In spite of his smile, his expression was serious, reminding her of the way a doctor looked before he delivered bad news. “Perhaps you should sit down,” he said. “It’s a medical issue.”

  Taking her arm, he guided her across the huge bedroom to a black chaise near the window. She really didn’t know Prentice well at all. The process of creating the embryos took a couple of months, but she had only a half a dozen appointments at his office in Aspen. For the in vitro procedure, she had used a doctor in Denver.

  She perched on the edge of the chaise. Her mind raced with dire possibilities. Was there something he’d discovered in her DNA? Some horrible genetic disease? Something that might affect her son? “This isn’t about Benjy, is it?”

  “Your son appears to be a remarkable child. Very bright. And healthy.” He paced away from her. “It’s best if I start at the beginning.”

  Suspiciously, she said, “All right.”

  “Twenty-six years ago, in the early days of in vitro fertilization, I was involved in a study on a military base in New Mexico. The Prentice-Jantzen study was designed to monitor children born in vitro throughout their lives.”

  She was the right age and born in New Mexico. “Was I one of those children?”

  “Your parents were having difficulty conceiving. I was happy to help. I performed the IVF procedure.”

  She had never known. Her mother never told her. It was a decidedly odd coincidence. Both she and her mother had in vitro babies. Both times, Prentice was involved.

  He continued, “Unfortunately for our study, your father received an overseas assignment, and I lost track of you. When you and Tom showed up in my offices and I ran your DNA, I identified you.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

  “It didn’t seem necessary. You had your life in order, and it wasn’t my place to complicate it.”

  She was beginning to have a creepy feeling about this conversation. “Why are you telling me this now?�
��

  “Two reasons,” he said. “The first is that you’re getting married and should know the truth. And the second…” He paused. “Certain individuals have made allegations about the Prentice-Jantzen study. I want you to understand the situation from my perspective.”

  “Allegations?”

  “I’ve always done what I thought was best for both the parents and the children. There are those who have accused me of withholding vital information.”

  Though he looked like an eccentric grandfather with his shock of white hair and thick glasses, he had the intensity of a much younger man. She shouldn’t underestimate him. “What kind of vital information?”

  “There were medical reasons why your parents couldn’t conceive. There’s no need for me to go into detail. The bottom line was that they would never have a child. The embryo I implanted in your mother was not her own. And not your father’s, either.”

  It took a moment for Angela to fully comprehend. “The embryo,” she said. “That was me. Right?”

  “Correct.”

  “Are you saying that my parents weren’t my biological mother and father?”

  “Correct again. Using what was cutting-edge technology twenty-six years ago, I successfully created and implanted twenty-four embryos using the sperm and egg from highly intelligent, physically outstanding individuals.”

  She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around what he had just told her. Her upbringing hadn’t been ideal, but she had loved her mom and dad. They weren’t her parents? “I can’t believe it. This is impossible.”

  “It’s merely science,” he said.

  “Why didn’t Mom tell me?”

  “She never knew.”

  Angela was shocked. Though Prentice had admitted that he’d withheld vital information, this was fraud. “How could you do this to them? To me?”

  “I never set out to hurt anyone,” he said. “When your parents signed on for the study, they desperately wanted a baby, You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Her desire to have a baby had been a visceral need. In the days following the IVF procedure, every waking moment centered on her ability to conceive. When she knew she was pregnant, her heart nearly exploded with joy. Had her mom felt the same way? Were they alike in spite of genetics?

  “I gave your parents a precious gift,” Prentice said. “I gave them you—a bright, beautiful, healthy infant. Do you think they would have loved you less because you didn’t share DNA?”

  “If they had known—”

  “But they didn’t. As far as they were concerned, you were their child.”

  And they had loved her and cared for her to the best of their ability. “I must be crazy because this is beginning to make sense to me.”

  “I expected as much. You’re a practical woman.”

  “My biological parents,” she said. “Who are they?”

  “I can give you their DNA profiles, but not their names. The participants in the study—sperm and egg donors—were anonymous.”

  Prentice had offered a glimpse of a family she never knew, and she wanted a wider view. “What about the other subjects in the study? I’d like to meet them.”

  “I advise against such a meeting. None of the others are your biological brothers or sisters. You, Angela, are the unique product of genetic engineering.”

  Was that good news? Or another reason for concern?

  Chapter Six

  The bedroom door swung open, and Benjy dashed across the snowy-white carpet with his little arms and legs churning. He jumped onto her lap. “It’s time to eat, Mommy. Wilma said so.”

  Snuggling him close, she kissed his forehead. If it weren’t for Prentice and for Tom’s foresight, she never would have conceived her wonderful son. Life without Benjy would have been dark and grim. Unimaginable.

  She stood, holding Benjy on her hip. He was getting too heavy to carry, but she was willing to strain her muscles to maintain the physical connection between them.

  Looking beyond her son’s angelic face, she caught Prentice’s eye. “I have absolutely no problem with anything you’ve done, Doctor. I’m grateful.”

  With a kind smile, he reached toward her, linking himself with her and with Benjy. “So glad we had this little talk.”

  Neil had followed Benjy into the bedroom. He stepped up beside her. “That’s a lovely dress, Angela.”

  “Thank you.”

  In spite of his compliment, she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Neil’s gaze. Her talk with Prentice brought Tom to the forefront of her mind. Tom had been so insistent about the frozen embryos. She missed her darling husband who had died too young.

  But she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tom would want her to move on. He’d told her so. Because he was a soldier in harm’s way, he’d insisted on discussing what would happen if he were killed in battle. Time and again, he’d said that he didn’t want her to crawl into the grave beside him. If he died, he wished for her to honor his memory by living her life to the fullest. That wish was one of the main reasons she’d decided to have Benjy.

  Moving on, dammit. She would be married, again. She would open a new chapter in her life. As they left the bedroom, she looked up at her husband-to-be. Even though she didn’t always feel a zing when he touched her, Neil was a good man, dedicated to curing disease. “Dr. Prentice has been telling me some very interesting things.”

  “I know all about it,” he said. “As a doctor and a scientist, I’m intrigued by your unusual conception.”

  “You knew?”

  “You’re a very special woman, Angela.”

  Genetically engineered, whatever that means.

  At the top of the staircase, she paused. When she looked down, the angle of descent appeared to be as steep as a precipice. Her feet rooted to the landing. Though the sedative had surely taken effect, a wave of heat washed through her.

  “Are you all right?” Neil asked.

  She wanted to tell him but sensed that this was the wrong time to show signs of weakness. His father and his housekeeper would look upon her with scorn. Neil shouldn’t have to make excuses for her; he should be proud of her.

  Carefully, she lowered Benjy to the floor. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry this big boy.”

  “It’s okay, Mommy. I can go down all by myself.”

  While Benjy and Prentice went down the staircase, she clamped her hand onto the banister and took the first step. If she didn’t look down, this wasn’t so bad. Fighting vertigo, she took the next step.

  When Neil touched her shoulder, it felt as if he was shoving her down the stairs. “You go on ahead,” he said. “There’s something I need in the bedroom.”

  Before she could object, he deserted her. She stood alone on the second stair from the top. It felt as if she was onboard a ship in the midst of a storm, and the deck was rolling wildly. It was all she could do not to grab onto the banister with both hands and weep.

  Benjy had already reached the bottom. “See? I made it.”

  “That’s good, honey.”

  At the bottom of the staircase, Shane appeared. Without hesitation, he climbed the stairs and took her hand. “You look good.”

  Her fingers latched on to his hand. Please don’t let go.

  He tucked her arm into his. “Here’s a chance for us to practice for the wedding ceremony when I give you away.”

  Humming the “Here Comes the Bride” tune, he anchored her as she descended. His support reassured her. Without asking, he’d seen her distress and come to her rescue. He was the best friend she’d ever had.

  At the dining-room table, she was seated between Neil, who sat at the head, and his father, Roger. Directly across from her was Shane. Beside him, Benjy and Dr. Prentice carried on a conversation about presidents and dinosaurs.

  While she sipped the bland cream of tomato soup that Wilma had prepared, Angela had the sense that she was outside her body, floating over the polished oak table and look
ing down. She saw hostility between Shane and Roger as a streak of fiery red. In contrast, Prentice and Benjy had a mellow glow; they seemed to be bonding. Neil—the conductor of this weird color symphony—skillfully blended conversations and comments.

  The meal progressed through salad and a particularly heavy casserole with predominant flavors of cheese and salt. If Wilma had been the least bit open, Angela could have improved her cooking skills a hundred fold. But that wasn’t going to happen. The housekeeper had her own way, and she wasn’t going to change. The running of the kitchen would have to be decided after the wedding.

  After the store-bought cherry pie dessert, Neil turned to her and asked, “What else needs to be done for the wedding?”

  “I have a list,” Angela said. “At this point, it’s just a matter of double-checking the details.”

  Neil touched her hand and smiled. “I suppose you have your gown all fitted.”

  Her heart sank as she remembered the tattered white fabric. “It’s taken care of.”

  “And the reception?”

  “Since we changed the venue for the reception dinner to the country club, there’s no need to worry about the food. I know the chef, and she’s good.”

  “Mommy is a chef,” Benjy announced.

  “And a very good one,” Shane was quick to add.

  Neil lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. “Is there anything I can do to help? You’ve been so busy, and I think the stress is wearing you down.”

  “That’s true,” Wilma said as she cleared plates. “She’s losing weight.”

  “I’m fine,” Angela said. And she meant it. The colors had receded. The vertigo had passed. Actually, she felt pretty good. “It’s all under control.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Roger pushed back from the table. “This might be a good time to deal with the business aspect of the marriage.”