Secretly Married

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  He drove down the length of the island and dropped her off in front of Castillo House. Once again Annie and their charges were outside. When he drove up, they all turned to see, Alonso included.

  Delaney gathered her briefcase and reached for the door.

  “Tell Logan you want to get Diego’s last run. He’ll make sure you make it.”

  Her gaze slid back to his. An odd curve hit her lips.

  Disappointment? Unlikely.

  “Well.” She softly cleared her throat. “Okay. Um…”

  “Use a better attorney this time.” His voice was gruff. “Your mother’s if you have to.” Jessica might be many things, but she’d at least surrounded herself with a cadre of competent advisors.

  Tears welled. Spilled over. One slid down her cheek. “Sam, I…this isn’t what I intended.”

  Maybe it had been disappointment after all. “I know.”

  She bit her lip. Leaned forward suddenly and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Goodbye, Samson.” Then she ducked her head and quickly climbed out of the truck. He saw her wipe her eyes as she hurried away.

  He let out a long breath. Dredged up enough willpower to put the truck in Drive and hit the gas.

  His mood was dark when he let himself into Etta’s house several minutes later. She sat in her rocking chair, her nimble fingers working over whatever she was knitting. Probably another baby blanket that she would add to the pile she already had while bemoaning her lack of grandchildren. She didn’t turn his way. Didn’t greet him at all.

  Still unhappy about his defection from dinner the day before.

  “Where is he?”

  She sniffed and ignored him.

  He sighed and headed through to the kitchen. Spotted his father out in the backyard hunched over the old junker of a car that he’d brought home a long time ago before Sam was even old enough to drive.

  He pushed out the rear door, letting the screen slap shut behind him.

  Danté looked up. Squinted into the sunlight as he wiped the grease from his hands on a dingy red rag. “You’re late.”

  “I was busy.” He’d be damned if he’d apologize to Danté, or explain what he’d been doing. “Let’s go.”

  Danté tossed aside the rag and silently followed him through the house. Etta was silent, too, as she watched them.

  They climbed into Sam’s truck. Danté fidgeted. Sam knew his old man wanted a smoke, just as Danté knew that he couldn’t while he was in Sam’s truck.

  He drove out to the main fields where Sara and Annie grew most of their crops. Danté climbed out. He’d learned the first day there was no point in trying for conversation. There was nothing Danté had to say that Sam wanted to hear.

  It was enough that he’d agreed to the terms of Danté’s parole being served out on Turnabout rather than on the mainland. And one of the requirements was that he have a job. An honest one.

  Before he could drive away, Sara waved him down. He heard her call out instructions to Danté who nodded and headed to the small building that held the equipment.

  Then Sara jogged up to the passenger side of his truck. “Whoa. Nice shiner. I heard Winnie Haggerty was nearly on bended knee pleading you not to lock up the boys.”

  “They wouldn’t press charges against each other, and this—” he gestured “—just shows I don’t move as fast as I used to. Vern was gunning for Teddy, not me.”

  “He always did have rotten aim.” She folded her arms over the open window and leaned in a little farther. “I was starting to get worried when you and Danté didn’t show up earlier. Everything okay?”

  “Figured you’d be at your shop by now.”

  “Lily’s working today. Handy to have plenty of quasi relations around to call on in a pinch. We’re thinking about hiring her permanently. Otherwise she might have to move to the mainland. Just not enough jobs here.”

  He nodded. It was an ongoing problem. He looked beyond her for a moment, watching Danté reappear, a shovel propped up against his shoulder. He looked their way for a moment, then headed away between two tall rows. “I’ll come back and pick him up at the usual time.” It would mean a short day for Danté. But the old man’s lateness had been Sam’s fault.

  Sara’s eyes were thoughtful. “It wouldn’t be a tragedy if you let him walk home the way everyone else does. He’s not a two-year-old who has to be watched every minute.”

  “Yeah?” Seemed to Sam that whenever Danté wasn’t watched, he couldn’t keep himself from practicing his preferred profession. Con artist. Forger. Counterfeiter. They had all applied at one time or another. But even if Sam felt inclined to trust Danté, he was going to follow the parole terms to the letter. There wouldn’t be any opportunity down the line for someone to accuse Sam of bending the rules.

  Sara glanced over her shoulder at her fields. “Even you must admit it’s a fine sight to see.”

  He ought to know the names of the plants, but he didn’t. All he knew about the acres of green was that they were healthy. Growing. Some with brilliant flowers. Some without. Some days Annie and all of the kids from Castillo House were among the rows of plants. Bending, planting, plucking. But not today. Today it was Sara’s usual handful of workers, Danté included.

  “What? The sight of free labor?” Danté had accepted the job, but he categorically refused to allow Sara to pay him. Probably thinking that would put him on the good side of the law.

  “The smiles, Sam.” She gave him a sideways look. “Maybe you ought to be out there, too. See if a smile would cross your face. Working with the earth. There’s nothing like it in the world.”

  “Thought you preferred to be in your workroom mixing and stirring up your lotions and goops.”

  She didn’t take offense. “I do. But growing the stuff has its appeal, too. Where’s the missus?”

  Hot-footing it off the island as soon as she could. “She’s—” Impossible. Beautiful. Hurting. Dangerous as hell to his own peace of mind. “Getting married to her business partner.”

  Sara’s mouthed “oh” was either surprise at the announcement or surprise that he’d even shared the news at all. “I thought you and she were still married.”

  He pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. “We are.”

  “I see.”

  He doubted it. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Leo has offered to come by, you know. Escort Danté home, since that’s what you insist on.” Her tone was diffident. Unusual for her. But she didn’t seem surprised when he shook his head and she stepped back from the truck. “Sam? Seriously. Are you okay?”

  He hadn’t been okay for more than twenty-one months. “Yeah.” Then because she was too nice for her own good, he summoned up a smile from somewhere. “Thanks for asking, though.”

  Her eyes were still searching. But after a moment she nodded and turned back to her fields.

  He drove into town and unlocked the station. Took care of a handful of messages and went back out on a few calls. Wrote out a report for the town council’s next meeting and generally tried not to keep looking at the clock.

  But the day was crawling, and hanging around in his quiet office wasn’t helping. He went over to the dining room at Maisy’s Place and ordered a sandwich that he barely ate.

  Delaney would be on the mainland by nightfall at the latest. She’d probably head straight to the airport to catch the first flight out. No staying over at a hotel to give herself some breathing room. That’d be for someone who didn’t mind being still for ten minutes at a stretch.

  Even on the flight, she’d pull out those files of hers. Immerse herself in the only thing she thought she was good at.

  He finally left, assuring Maisy there was nothing wrong with the sandwich when she asked. He picked up Danté and returned him to Etta’s. The moment Danté walked through the door, Sam knew the receiver would note his old man’s return, adding it to the log of his activities. Danté was allowed to leave the house only for work. The monitor kept track of every one of his
father’s comings and goings.

  Once home again, Sam headed through his quiet house. When he’d done the refurbishing, he’d found some measure of peace in the fact that nothing there reminded him of his time with Delaney. The house was as different from her apartment as it could get. There was no hint of her perfume that lingered in the air. None of her clothes momentarily forgotten on the floor.

  As he went out to the deck and threw himself down on the chair, he didn’t look at the ring box she’d left sitting on the kitchen counter. He propped one foot on the rail across from him and stared out at the gleam of water on the horizon.

  Almost directly below the deck rail, the water beat against the rocky shoreline. The noise of wind meeting ocean, ocean meeting rocks was constant. He was so used to hearing it again, since he’d returned to Turnabout, that he hardly noticed it unless he deliberately made himself hear.

  Same way the sounds of the city had nearly disappeared into nothing when he’d lived there.

  What had been vivid in his life then had been the job. And then the woman.

  His wife.

  His gaze slid to the pile of clothing they’d discarded the day before. A heap of damp denim. Of thin black silk.

  What they’d done was crazy and—once again—there was no one to blame but himself. Just like the first time—the night of her father’s retirement party—the only thing driving him had been that unending need to be with her.

  He leaned over and snatched up the white shirt he’d taken from her body. It was dry. No evidence remaining of the treatment it had received, except for the wrinkles.

  The vision of what they’d done was too fresh. How long would it be before he could pass through the glass door from his bedroom without thinking of her? Without remembering how it had felt to sink into—

  Hell.

  He yanked his foot off the rail and threw aside the shirt. He didn’t bother with the door as he charged out to his truck and drove down to Diego’s. The ferry was still docked, but he could see the water churning around it. He hit the gas and drove down the center of the long dock, stopping next to the mooring.

  He ignored Diego’s yelling as he strode up the ramp and boarded the decrepit boat.

  Delaney was already seated on one of the long benches, her hands folded over the top of the briefcase lying across her legs. As if she didn’t want to touch any more of Diego’s boat than necessary.

  She stared at him as if he belonged in a padded cell. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

  “No birth control pills.”

  “What?”

  He approached her, not sure who he wanted to throttle more. Her. Or himself. “You came to the island with nothing but your briefcase.”

  The fine line of her jaw tightened. Her eyes were suddenly nervous. “So?”

  “So, unless they got lost out on the road when you fell and the contents of your briefcase flew everywhere, you’re not taking the pill.”

  “What’d you do? Look through every item I carry?” She rose, setting the briefcase behind her as if she were afraid he’d try to look through it again. “How dare you!”

  “Pick up all the crap you were so bloody worried about when I thought you’d hurt your damned heel?”

  She tilted her chin. “Maybe I did lose them that night.”

  “Delaney—”

  “And maybe I didn’t,” she relented. “What does it matter? My birth control methods hardly concern you.”

  “After last night they damn well do concern me. We didn’t use squat.”

  He saw realization slide into her eyes. She started to shake her head.

  “You could be pregnant with my child.”

  Chapter 9

  Delaney sat down. It was either that or fall down. Pregnant? “No,” she countered harshly. “I’m not.”

  “Are you on the pill, then? Using some other invisible, undetectable means?”

  She flushed, painfully aware of Diego Montoya stomping around Sam’s truck on the dock, an outraged witness. “I told you, it’s none of your business!”

  “You’re my wife.” His voice lowered, but seemed all the more fierce because of it. “Are you using something or not?”

  “Stop interrogating me!”

  He started toward her, and she quickly rose, putting another row of benches between them.

  “Not,” she admitted tightly. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone.”

  He stopped cold. “You think I was?”

  “Come on, Sam. You expect me to believe that you weren’t?”

  “You expect me to believe that you weren’t and you’re planning to marry the guy.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Different?” His voice was smooth. Silky. “How, exactly is it different, Dr. Vega? Oh, that’s right. You went right back to using your maiden name as soon as I hit the door. You think because I’m a man it’s different? Aren’t you being judgmental?”

  She exhaled slowly. Losing her temper would accomplish nothing. What would be the point of telling him that she hadn’t gone back to using Townsend until she’d been in contact with Logan and Annie Drake regarding Alonso? “You’re a very sexual man.” She kept her voice factual and low, in deference to their audience of Diego.

  “Spoken with all the dispassionate reasoning you’re so fond of.”

  “You wanted to know what the basis of my opinion—”

  “Save it.” He shook his head and glared at her. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Until I know for certain that you’re not going to pass off my child as someone else’s, you’re damn sure not leaving this island.”

  Shock turned her blood cold, and she forgot all about whether or not Diego could overhear them. “How can you think I’d do that?”

  “How can you think I’d sleep with someone else when you and I are married?”

  His voice seemed to echo in her head.

  An impasse.

  They were always at an impasse.

  She opened her mouth, wishing for some inspiration, some words to bring reason to an unreasonable situation. But Sam was already walking away, the narrow ramp leading from the ferry to the dock vibrating under his boots. Her legs were unsteady and she sat down again, her gaze falling on the briefcase.

  Her own fault. This was all her own fault. She could have lied to Sam. Told him she was using some other form of birth control. Or she could have just told him the truth. That her likelihood of ever conceiving again hovered somewhere between slim and none.

  Either way, he couldn’t make her stay on this island.

  “Mrs. Sam?”

  She looked up to see Diego standing nearby. He’d pulled off his grease-stained cap and was twisting it between his hands. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff, he doesn’t want me to cross this afternoon.”

  “And you do what the sheriff asks, I suppose.”

  He shrugged apologetically and handed back the cash she’d used to pay the fare.

  She took the money and slung the briefcase strap over her shoulder, disbelief joining her rioting emotions. She went down the ramp, her ridiculous shoes flip-flopping along the way. Sam waited on the precariously narrow space left by his truck, the passenger door open.

  “I’m not pregnant,” she snapped under her breath to him, “and you can’t keep me a prisoner on this island. It’s…it’s kidnapping or something.”

  “Honey, I can do just about anything I want on this island.”

  “I’ll file a complaint, then.”

  “Be my guest.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming at him. From somewhere deep inside she found a reasonable tone. “Surely you can understand that I need to return to my practice. I have patients. I never intended to be here this long.”

  “Consider this a spontaneous vacation. Something you’ve never done in your entire life. When I know you’re not pregnant, believe me, you can go with my blessing.”

  It was ridiculous that
his words could still sting. “I’ll take an early pregnancy test.”

  “You still need to wait a while before it’s accurate.”

  “Dr. Hugo—that’s his name, yes? He can do a blood test.”

  “Saves only a few days.”

  She pushed her briefcase into the truck and slammed the door shut. “Well, that’s just dandy, Sam. When have you been doing all this research into the efficacy of pregnancy tests?”

  His face hardened at her insinuation. “Dammit to hell, Delaney! I’m married to you. There hasn’t been anyone but you since the first day I met you.”

  She pressed her shoulder against the side of the truck at that. “Oh, please. We knew each other for two years before we—”

  His gaze didn’t waver.

  She swallowed a knot of uncertainty. Moistened her lips. Would she never understand him? “And—just for the sake of argument, mind you—what if I am pregnant?”

  “You won’t be filing those divorce papers again unless you want a custody fight on your hands.”

  Her stomach dropped out. “It wouldn’t solve anything. We’re still not—” she waved her hand after a moment, and heat rose in her neck “—compatible. For lack of a better word.”

  “Seemed pretty compatible out on my deck. And in my bed.”

  “I don’t need you listing off each and every time we—”

  “Made love?”

  “—had sex.” Her face heated when she realized Diego had come down the ramp and was listening avidly. She eyed him, and he hurried on, moving down the dock toward the weathered shack that housed what passed for an office.

  Sam’s lips twisted. “Call it whatever you want, Delaney. Doesn’t change the facts. You can leave when we know one way or another.”

  Eons seemed to tick by, marked off by the rhythmic splash of water against the dock’s pilings. Could she subject herself to a week or two in the same vicinity as Sam? Or should she just tell him the truth? “I have only one functioning ovary,” she said baldly, going for the safety in truth no matter how private it was.