by Mollie Molay
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Mollie Molay
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Copyright
“I’ll keep you warm until your husband arrives.”
His dark eyes seemed to see right through her. “That is, if you have a husband.”
“I do,” Arden answered, hiding her ringless hand in the folds of her wedding gown. “He’s…he’s out looking for a cab.”
He opened his overcoat and tucked the briefcase behind him. “Come on in,” he coaxed. “I don’t bite.”
Luke McCauley appeared to be everything Arden had dreamed about since she’d been old enough to dream. Incredibly sexy, confident, with an air of mystery about him. The exact opposite of everything she’d been taught to want—and exactly what made her pulse pound. Her father’s warnings were no match for this man’s steady gaze and his open hands that seemed to dare her to take the chance.
In one swift motion Arden tossed her bridal bouquet into the trash can beside her and stepped into his arms. If she was on the road to ruin, she intended to enjoy the ride!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For Mollie Molay, writing this story was like reliving a memory. In March of 1993, during one of the biggest storms of the century, Mollie spent a night at New York’s Kennedy Airport—and lived to tell the tale! Most of the incidents mentioned here actually took place, including a contingent of Frenchmen leaping over the ticket counter to attack the agents! Though Mollie can still feel the cold floor she spent the night on, she didn’t find a man like Luke McCauley.
Books by Mollie Molay
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
560—FROM DRIFTER TO DADDY
597—HER TWO HUSBANDS
616—MARRIAGE BY MISTAKE
638—LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
682-NANNY & THE BODYGUARD
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Overnight Wife
Mollie Molay
For Karen Pershing, my first writing instructor, for putting up with me.
And for Harriet Heaton Ammons, a dear friend who tells me she always knew I could get here from there.
Prologue
“Margo,” Arden Crandall whispered as the church organist began to play. “I don’t think I can go through with this!”
“Sure you can, honey,” Margo soothed. “You’re just having premarital jitters. I’ve heard every bride feels this way. All you have to remember is that your John’s a great guy. A little older than you, but then…” She paused, winked and grinned.
“Then, what?”
“Now, Arden, you know your father wouldn’t like me talking like this. And certainly not in church. But not to worry, I’m sure everything’s going to work out fine. You’ll see.” She handed Arden the bouquet of red and white roses and maidenhair ferns, just perfect for her Christmas Eve wedding.
Margo Cummings, Arden’s best friend and maid of honor, made a last-minute adjustment to the head wreath of white winter roses that encircled Arden’s nest of blond curls. An attached veil flowed down the bride’s back to her waist.
Arden’s hands trembled as she took a deep breath to steady herself. This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Outside the vestry door, she could hear the arrival of last-minute wedding guests. The organist segued into a popular love song. A song she’d insisted upon after her father’s initial objections. Not that she normally disagreed with him, but she’d been adamant. She might be marrying a man her father had chosen for her, but it was her wedding, after all.
Suddenly Arden became acutely aware of the scent of Christmas wreaths and pinecones and the fragrance of candles in the church that had been decorated for the holiday. Outside, snow lingered on the stainedglass windows before sliding out of sight. She could hear the shuffling feet of the choir as it assembled to help celebrate her wedding.
They were sounds and scents she’d experienced all her life. But she’d never sensed them so acutely before. And never had she felt so intimidated by them.
She heard her parents’ voices as they opened the door to join her.
“Well, daughter, you certainly look beautiful to-day!” Hiram Crandall, resplendent in his ministerial robes, beamed at her as they entered. “Your mother and I are proud of you. And John, too, of course,” he added as an afterthought
“Oh, Hiram, do you remember when I wore that wedding dress the day you and I were married?” Tears of happiness formed in Louise Crandall’s eyes as she gingerly embraced her daughter. “Take good care of the dress, honey. I know you’ll want your own daughter to wear it someday.”
Arden gritted her teeth and tried to smile. The white velvet sheath with its lace inserts was lovely. But it wasn’t the dress she would have chosen for herself. The silk taffeta bridal creation with flowing detachable train that she’d originally chosen still hung in the bridal salon.
“Now, Louise. You’re being a bit premature, aren’t you?” Arden’s father chided gently. “Arden has to learn to be a good wife before she can be a good mother.”
He turned to Arden and took her hand. “We’ve come to give you our blessings and our advice, daughter. Cleave to your husband. Trust him to lead you to a full and rewarding life. And don’t forget all that your mother and I have taught you.”
With these admonitions, he kissed Arden’s brow, took his teary wife’s arm and turned to leave. “John is waiting to join us at the altar. I shall be back to walk you down the aisle as soon as I’ve seated your mother.” He glanced at his watch. “I expect I’ll be ready to perform the ceremony in about ten minutes.”
At their exit, Arden felt the door to her freedom close behind them. Her father’s words had sounded like a jail sentence instead of a blessing. A benevolent jail, but a jail nevertheless.
She tried to picture married life with John Travers. John was a good man, but he was a younger version of her father: staid and conservative. The knowledge that she was marrying him because her father had urged the marriage on her didn’t help settle the queasy feeling deep in her middle. Or the uneasy feeling that she was going from one set of paternal hands to another.
She’d been living at home at her father’s request. After all, he’d reminded her, she had to be an example for the other young women in her father’s congregation. But she was twenty-two years old and financially independent because of the wise investments she’d made. She had a mind of her own and dreams, as well, although she had too much respect for her father to voice them. Now she was being told to let her future husband think for her and guide her! Knowing John as well as she did, she wasn’t sure he was the one to lead her into a full and exciting life.
Just the thought of the predictable, structured future awaiting her under John’s guidance was terrifying. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the honeymoon ahead of her: the clear, blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico; the white sandy beaches of Cancún she’d seen in travel brochures. And John Travers as her husband.
That didn’t help much, either. As John’s wife she would
never be allowed to be her own woman.
She shivered.
“My goodness! Your hands are ice-cold! John isn’t going to like that one bit” Margo’s smile faded as she noted her friend’s pale complexion and heard her faint moan.
Arden scarcely listened. She was remembering her father’s parting comments.
“Come on, Arden,” Margo said as she added a touch of rouge to Arden’s cheeks. “John’s really a great guy. A bit stuffy, but all he needs is to be shown how to loosen up. I envy you, I really do.”
Arden didn’t feel any better after Margo’s comments. If anyone could get John to loosen up, it would be someone like Margo, not her.
The organ music coming through the door paused and slowly changed to the wedding march. A discreet knock sounded at the door. Her father!
She froze.
Chapter One
“Attention. Your attention please.” Loudspeakers blared over the tumult in the terminal. “All flights in and out of JFK continue to be on hold. The State of New York regrets any inconvenience this delay may have caused.”
On hold. Luke McCauley grimaced as he shook off the layer of snow that clung to the shoulders of his heavy woolen overcoat. He followed a group being led by a tour leader carrying a sign that said: Majestic Honeymoon Express. Although the Majestic charter plane was his destination, he wasn’t on a honeymoon, thank God. Still, it was a good cover. Alone, he would have stood out like a sore thumb. Ambling along with the honeymooners, he merely felt like a fool, under the shower of rice and confetti being thrown by wellwishers.
The three-day storm that had closed the JFK airport was tapering off, but the ice and snow falling from the terminal overhang was a pretty good indication that planes wouldn’t be departing anytime soon. A delay in his departure was the last thing he needed or wanted.
His no-nonsense reputation as a top secret service agent had kept him constantly in demand and on the move. Now that he had resigned to work freelance, he still wasn’t free of the scent of danger that followed him.
He’d taken this last job and wanted to get it over as quickly as possible so he could get on with his life. The holster, now empty, that hung from his shoulder had become as much a part of him as his left arm. Security would return his gun to him in Cancún. The license that gave him the right to carry it had been heavily scrutinized. An old story.
Even so, he knew without being told there were watchful eyes on him. Nowadays, men who carried guns were suspect.
“Merry Christmas!” someone shouted, throwing mistletoe in the air.
“You, too,” Luke muttered. Though it was tomorrow, Christmas was just another day on the calendar for’ him. A guy in his line of business didn’t have much time for sentiment.
He glanced at the shops gaily decorated for the holiday. “White Christmas” was playing on someone’s boom box. It sure was a white Christmas, he thought, remembering the six-foot-deep ice- and snowbank he’d fought his way through to get into the terminal. With luck, this snowstorm would be the last one he would have to experience.
The pressure of a handcuff reminded him of the briefcase chained to his wrist. He’d been roped into delivering it to the owners of the Majestic Hotel in Cancún as soon as possible. An awkward arrangement, it made him feel and look like a criminal. It was the last thing he needed, but maybe it would accomplish the purpose he had in mind.
He’d tried to avoid the antiquated arrangement, arguing that a briefcase chained to his wrist was outdated, outmoded and sure as hell asking for trouble. But the new foreign owners of the hotel had refused to consider electronic mail or wire transfers, firm in their belief that the contents of the briefcase could somehow be stolen or go astray. No amount of pleading had cut it.
In his breast pocket was a round-trip ticket on the honeymoon charter flight of the Majestic-owned airlines. He was the only one who knew he might not be on its return flight.
As he moved through the crowd, he could see that the waiting area was full of additional honeymoon couples headed for the warm sands and turquoise waters of the Mexican Caribbean. As for himself, he figured he’d probably be single for the rest of his life. No woman in her right mind would put up with his spur-of-the-moment schedule. Not that he was interested in settling down, anyway.
The pressure of the handcuff that reminded him of the briefcase’s valuable contents was beginning to rile him. For a while now he’d been thinking he was plain nuts for helping other people get rich. Wasn’t it long past time for him to think about feathering his own nest?
A lone woman in the group caught his eye. He’d heard all brides were beautiful and looked radiant on their wedding day. The bride that caught his eye, as he made his way through the milling crowd, was beautiful, but definitely not radiant. She looked as dejected and wilted as the bedraggled bouquet of white and red roses she held in one hand. A Majestic Honeymoon Tour bag hung from her wrist. In her other hand, she clutched the handle to her suitcase. The wedding dress he glimpsed under her long black raincoat was wet and muddy. Her white satin shoes looked as though she’d tramped through every puddle in New York City.
On closer scrutiny, her blond hair was damp. Tendrils had curled around a pale, cream-colored complexion. Her expressive blue eyes were clouded as she gazed unhappily around her. She had full, curved lips that begged to be kissed. A pity, he thought fleetingly. Even in her disarray, she looked charming. A tiny flame of desire kindled within him. Foolish, he knew, since it was obvious she’d just been married, and he had something more important on his mind.
But any woman who was as eye-catching as this one surely deserved a better beginning to her wedded life than this.
He paused only momentarily as he strode to the gate to check in for his flight. His first priorities were minding his own business and taking care not to draw attention to himself. Unhappy females were not. Whatever the bride’s problems, he figured they were her husband’s responsibility, not his.
Except that she looked particularly miserable, and too beautiful to be alone on her wedding day.
His thoughts turned to a more pleasurable subject. His future. This was his chance to get out of the trying and sometimes dark world he moved in. A chance to kick back and indulge in a fantasy or two. To do the things he’d never had the time or money to do—before tonight.
The bride caught up with him at the Majestic Airlines gate. As Luke took his place in the line of impatient travelers, he noticed her wiping away drops that were sliding down her cheeks. Tears at a time like this?
He glanced around the waiting area but didn’t see an unattached male anywhere. Idly he wondered if there was more to the bride’s problem than he thought. For instance, just where was her groom?
ARDEN CRANDALL SNIFFED as she reached into the pocket of her damp raincoat and extracted a limp tissue. She gazed around the waiting area where newly wedded couples were passing the time cuddling. The enormity of what she’d done finally hit her. She was not only heading into the unknown, she was headed there alone.
She’d expected to feel happy with her decision to start a new life without a husband’s guiding hand. To be independent, to make her own decisions and to search for excitement. Especially without a husband whose idea of adventure was a potluck supper.
She’d looked forward to traveling to Mexico. The pictures in magazines and colorful brochures depicting clear water and pristine sands had promised so much. Instead, she was stuck in a cold airport and becoming colder and more miserable by the minute.
The public address system came alive again.
“Attention. Your attention please,” the disembodied voice announced. “We regret to inform you that all incoming and outgoing flights continue to be on hold. We will keep you posted for further developments.”
Arden groaned. The “storm of the century” that blanketed the entire northeast coast had created an unexpected ending to an escape that had begun with promise. She’d hoped to be in the air winging her way to a new life by now. Every min
ute she remained in the airport was another opportunity for her fiancé or her father to catch up with her.
She worried her lips and pulled her wet raincoat closer. The velvet wedding dress should have kept her warm, but tonight it wasn’t enough. Not that the rest of her clothing in her suitcase could afford her any comfort. The sundresses, skimpy cotton shorts, tops and bikini bathing suits were meant for the warm beaches of Cancún, not the cold departure gates of JFK. She was stuck wearing her wedding dress and a raincoat whose dampness reminded her of how miserable she felt. If there was any warmth in the terminal, she couldn’t feel it.
“Attention, everyone. May I have your attention, please. I have the latest departure information for you,” the Majestic counter agent announced over the loud speaker. Voices stilled. Arden’s heart sank even lower as she listened.
“Sorry, folks,” the agent went on. “It looks as if you’re not going to be able to go anywhere for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re cleared for departure, but with the runways covered with snow and ice, I doubt it will be anytime soon.”
“But it’s my wedding night!” a dismayed bride cried.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” her husband said soothingly. “We’ll spend the night in a local hotel.”
“How about putting all of us up in a hotel?” a strident male voice called.
The harried agent shook her head. “According to our latest information, all the hotels in New York City and surrounding areas are full to capacity. As a matter of fact, I hear people are even sleeping in hotel lobbies. I’m afraid you’ll have to make yourselves as comfortable as you can right here in the airport.”
“How about some pillows and blankets?”
“We’ll see what we can do, but no promises,” the attendant answered frankly. “None of us anticipated this emergency.”
