The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6)

by Joan Johnston

  The moment of no return had come. If she wanted her seven days of grace—only six of which remained—she had to act now. This instant.

  She found herself unwilling to let go. Unwilling to cry off. There was no turning back. She wanted him. Desperately.

  Both of his hands were on her bottom, lifting her, and then she felt the head of his shaft against her, seeking entrance, pushing, and the feeling was exquisite. She shoved against him, and felt him grunt and tighten his hold until he realized she was reaching down to position him, to help him accomplish his goal.

  Their eyes met, as his body slid into hers. She was aroused enough to ease his entrance, but he was big, and she winced as he broke through the proof of her virginity. Once he was fully seated inside her, she hid her face against his neck, unwilling to let him see the surprising tears that had appeared in her eyes.

  “You okay?” he asked gruffly.

  She nodded, because she couldn’t speak. She felt his hand on the back of her head, soothing her. His lips were warm and gentle against her neck. And reawakened her desire.

  She moved her hips and heard him make a sound in his throat. Then his hands were on her hips again, pulling her up so her legs clasped his hips. Her hands circled his neck as they moved together, seeking the pleasure that came from being joined, man and woman together, as nature had meant them to be.

  Jocelyn had a fleeting thought that she wasn’t protected, but it came and went, obscured by the enormous pleasure of what he was doing to her. His mouth had captured hers, and his tongue was mimicking the action of their bodies below, while one of his hands was stimulating a spot between them that made her moan and writhe in his arms.

  She could feel herself moving toward a precipice, and North’s throaty voice urging her toward it, asking her to embrace the danger, to take the risk. And then she was over the edge, crying out and clinging to him, as he thrust one last time inside her and made a guttural sound of triumph and exultation.

  Jocelyn felt completely limp afterward, and her cheek fell on North’s shoulder as she clung to him, their bodies heaving as they gasped air to keep them alive. Her hips were cramping, and as she moved to ease them, he helped her straighten her legs and walked closer to the bank until she could stand.

  Even then, she clung to him, since her knees threatened to buckle. “I had no—” She had to clear her throat to finish her sentence. “I had no idea…”

  She heard him chuckle.

  It was amusing, she supposed, that she could have stayed so ignorant for so many years. And he surely must feel proud of himself for having seduced her so quickly after she’d demanded time to get to know him. It was embarrassing to realize what an easy target she’d been. A little skinny-dipping. A little playfulness. And she’d allowed North Grayhawk to take what she’d given to no other man. And now could never offer to the man she loved.

  Jocelyn realized the enormity of what she’d done. And felt ashamed. And humiliated. And furious.

  She covered her breasts as she stepped back, unwilling to expose herself to the villain who’d seduced her. She looked him in the eye as she said, “You’ve gotten what you wanted. The sooner you transfer the stock to Clay the better.”

  His eyes, which had been warm a moment ago, were suddenly frigid again. “You’re one cold-blooded bitch. I’ll say that for you.”

  She was stung by the insult but still wounded enough to want to hurt him back. “You get what you pay for.”

  “That’s the truth!” he shot back. “The deal was September first. I’ll transfer the stock then, not one day sooner. At least that way I can be sure you’ll hang around to service me until then.”

  Jocelyn was mortified. And terribly hurt. But why should he trust her? They were strangers, who happened to be lovers, because of the devil’s bargain they’d made.

  North turned his back on her and stalked from the water. He was obviously agitated, muttering to himself.

  Jocelyn had the sinking feeling that he’d been disappointed by the sex. What did he expect, when she’d been a virgin? She wiped the unwanted tears from her eyes and realized she’d only made it easier to see his nakedness. He was a magnificent male animal, with long, strong legs, lean buttocks, and a broad, powerful back. And no more compassion in his soul than the most merciless of beasts.

  He grabbed his clothes from the ground, glanced at her over his shoulder, and said, “We’re done here. Get dressed.” Then he turned his back on her and headed for a secluded area of the pond.

  Jocelyn was too hurt and angry to retort. She was glad North wasn’t there when she reached the bank, because she wasn’t sure what she would have said—or done. She picked up her bra, but it was sopping wet, and her underwear was nowhere to be found. She yanked on her socks and jeans and snapped on her shirt, then stuffed her bra into her pocket before pulling on her boots.

  Just as she finished, North showed up at her side. “Let’s go,” he said. “Day’s wasting.”

  She laid a hand on his arm to stop him, but he jerked free and turned to face her, his jaw set, his eyes like icebergs ready to crack and splash in the cold Arctic sea.

  “What the hell do you want now?” he snarled.

  She wanted to apologize. To go back and act like a sophisticated adult, instead of a spoiled, antagonistic child. She wanted to take back the unkind things she’d said and explain how wonderful he’d made her first experience with sex. She wanted to tell him she was confused by her feelings—feelings she hadn’t expected to have when they scarcely knew each other.

  And she wanted to make peace with him because, whether he believed it or not, she intended to keep her part of the bargain. It was terrifying to imagine those cold, disdainful eyes impaling her every time he looked in her direction.

  “I asked you a question,” he said. “What the hell do you want?”

  All she could get past the lump in her throat was, “Nothing.”

  5

  “Uncle Owen!” Kate called, waving vigorously. “Over here!”

  Kate watched as her father’s twin made his way around the sawhorses that had been set up to make a police barricade to traffic on Eighth Street in front of the federal courthouse in downtown Austin. Kate recognized a reporter from KVUE, the local NBC affiliate, one of many TV reporters standing within the barrier holding a microphone and talking, with a cameraman facing her. Satellite vans from every TV station in Texas—and many from out of state, Kate was sure—crowded the adjoining streets around the courthouse, where someone had to constantly feed parking meters.

  U.S. marshals and deputy marshals were thick on the ground, along with local police and some FBI, whom Kate recognized only because she’d seen enough movies to know they were the ones in the dark suits. And of course, at least one Texas Ranger was on hand, her uncle Owen. He was wearing the only “uniform” the Rangers had, a white shirt and dark trousers, with a Stetson and cowboy boots. He wore his SIG P226 on his hip and his silver Texas Ranger badge on his shirt pocket.

  What surprised—and worried—Kate were the sharpshooters clearly visible on the nearby roofs. When her uncle reached her, the first question she asked was, “Are those sharpshooters really necessary?”

  “Just a precaution,” Owen said. “Harold Hastings Brown—Bomber Brown—is a guy with friends, and without a conscience. These days, judges are fair game. You want your dad to be safe, don’t you?”

  Kate searched the crowds worriedly. “You really think there might be someone out there who wants to hurt Daddy?”

  “Better safe than sorry, Kitten,” her uncle said, using the endearment her father favored.

  “Will Daddy be safe?” Kate persisted.

  “As safe as a personal bodyguard—provided by the marshal’s office, a cordon of policemen and FBI, sharpshooters, a magnetometer at the door, personal security searches, visible and concealed cameras—also monitored by the marshal’s office, bomb-sniffing dogs and a concerned brother, who’s also a Texas Ranger, can make him.”

 
Kate laughed. “No one’s getting through security like that.” But she felt an inward quiver of foreboding at the thought of how dangerous the threat must be, to have so much manpower there to guard her father and the courthouse building.

  “I thought you had classes this morning,” her uncle said.

  “Not until this afternoon,” Kate said. “But I wouldn’t have missed Daddy’s first day in court for anything. Are you going to watch, too?”

  “Sorry, Kitten. I’m working.”

  “There are plenty of cops here to—”

  “I’m still looking for whoever might have helped Harold Hastings Brown blow up the federal courthouse in downtown Houston,” he said.

  “I thought he acted alone. That’s what the newspapers said.”

  “Maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t,” Owen said. “I’m not taking any chances with your dad’s life.”

  Blackthornes stick together, Kate thought.

  Of course, Uncle Owen had a special reason to watch out for her father. They were identical twins. Even though they hadn’t spent much time together over the past twenty-five years, Kate had often seen them communicate without words. Now, at the age of forty-six, they no longer resembled each other as closely as they once had. They might still be mistaken for one another at a distance, but up close, it was easy to see the harsh lines that the brutal Texas sun and wind had etched on Uncle Owen’s face as he went about his duties as a Texas Ranger.

  “You be careful, too,” Kate said, putting a hand over her uncle’s heart.

  “I’m always careful,” he said with a grin.

  Kate looked at the noisy mass of humanity waiting to get through the brass-lined glass doors of the courthouse and past security. “Will I have trouble getting inside?”

  “The trial’s open to the public,” Owen said, “so long as they’re willing to go through all the security checkpoints. It’s first come, first served on the seating, though, and the courtroom’s not large enough for everyone who wants inside.”

  “I’d better get moving, then.”

  Before Kate could head up the stairs, a gray-haired reporter stuck a microphone in her face and said, “Aren’t you Judge Blackthorne’s daughter?”

  Kate was astonished to be recognized by the media, even though her relationship to her father was no longer a secret.

  “Move along,” Owen said in a voice that expected to be obeyed.

  But the reporter was used to brushing past obstacles. “Can you tell us why your father postponed his wedding?” he asked, following Kate. “Does it have anything to do with his presiding at such a high-profile trial?”

  “Back off,” Owen said, stepping between the reporter and Kate.

  There was no getting past her uncle this time, and Kate shot him a grin and a wave as she headed up the courthouse steps. “Thanks, Uncle Owen.”

  As she stood in the long line waiting for security, Kate mused that she had no idea why her father had “postponed” his wedding. She’d been stunned—and elated—when she’d gotten her father’s call telling her that his wedding had been delayed until he and Jocelyn could “work a few things out.” When she’d hung up the phone, her mind was already racing with thoughts about how to get her parents together during her father’s wedding hiatus.

  The first, and biggest, problem was how to get her mother down here to Texas from Wyoming when she was busy getting things ready for her summer guide season in Jackson Hole. Maybe something would come to her while she was standing in this interminable line.

  At last, Kate was through security. But, as with late-comers at church, the only seats left in the bench gallery of the Austin courtroom were all down in front. That wasn’t a bad thing, because that way she’d have a good seat to observe the Honorable Clayton Blackthorne presiding at his first criminal trial. She felt anxious and excited and proud, as she settled herself between a young man and an older woman in the second row to wait for her father to appear.

  Just as the bailiff opened his mouth to call the courtroom to order, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into her aisle and wedged himself between her and the older woman. She pulled her book bag from the bench between them and set it on the floor, to make more room, then offered him a tentative smile. He didn’t smile back.

  By then the bailiff was saying “All rise,” and her attention moved to the door from which her father would be making his entrance. When he stepped onto the dais in his black robe and took his place behind the bench, a radiant smile broke out on her face. She was so happy for him. And relieved.

  She’d felt terribly guilty for her part in the events of the previous year that had led to her father’s resignation as U.S. attorney general. She’d wondered what he would find to do with his life, since his dream of becoming president of the United States had come to an end. Then, something wonderful had happened. The president had nominated him to fill this vacancy as a federal judge in the Western District of Texas.

  Federal judges were appointed for life, and it was only the tragedy of the previous judge’s death in a small plane accident a month ago that had made all this possible. What was all the more incredible was the notoriety of her father’s first case. The defendant, Harold Hastings Brown, dubbed by the newspapers “Bomber Brown,” was accused of blowing up the federal courthouse in downtown Houston eight months ago, killing seventy-two innocent people.

  The Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals had decided, despite defense counsel’s pleas to move it elsewhere, that the trial should stay in Texas. The urgency of selecting a judge to take over the case had meant her father’s quick approval by the Senate. Everything had happened so fast, it was hard to believe it was real.

  Kate felt a thrill when her father’s gray eyes met hers and he gave the slightest of nods. She was delighted that he’d been assigned to an Austin courtroom, not far from the UT campus. For a girl who’d been deprived of seeing her father most of her life, this was her dream come true. She planned to come here often to observe him at work, and she hoped to fit in a few lunches and dinners along the way.

  As everyone sat down again, she leaned over to the young man at her left and whispered, “That’s my dad up there.”

  The young man gave her an odd look and said, “That’s my dad over there.”

  Kate frowned and looked where he’d gestured with his chin, toward the defendant’s table. “He’s one of the lawyers?”

  “He’s the defendant. My name’s Donnie Brown.”

  “Oh.” Kate didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t see any way out of the introduction without being rude, so she said, “I’m Kate.” She didn’t tell him her name was Grayhawk, not Blackthorne. The fact her parents had never been married was none of his business.

  Her father held the power of life and death over this young man’s father. He would be making the decisions, like whether incriminating evidence could be admitted, that might mean the difference between conviction or the charges being dismissed.

  Then she realized how lucky this young man was, because her father was as honest as the day was long. Harold Hastings Brown would get the fairest trial any man could get. And since he’d blown up a federal courthouse, killing judges who’d been the friends of every other federal judge in Texas, her newly appointed father was the perfect man to preside over his trial.

  Then she had another thought. “Why aren’t you sitting over there, behind your dad?”

  “Because my mom’s over there, and my older brother Bobby John.”

  “You don’t get along with them?” Kate asked.

  “We have our differences,” Donnie said.

  Donnie must not agree with, or support, what his father had done, Kate decided. It must be hard not to side with your father, even though, in this case, his father was the one in the wrong.

  She glanced up at her father, chagrined that she still hadn’t figured out a way to get her mother to Texas, so her parents could realize they belonged together. Uncle North had been no help at all. As far as she could tell,
he’d stuck pretty close to his hill country ranch for the past couple of weeks.

  Kate chewed on her thumbnail, or what was left of it, completely forgetting the courtroom, totally focused on figuring out a way to get her mother to Texas in a hurry, to take advantage of the postponement of her father’s wedding.

  Donnie bumped her elbow and whispered, “I do that, too. It doesn’t help.” He held out a masculine hand where the fingernails were chewed to the quick.

  “You must be very worried,” she said.

  “Shh!” the man to her right said.

  Kate shot him a dirty look. It was her father’s courtroom, after all, and she was the last person who was going to interrupt the proceedings. And honestly, Donnie Brown needed all the sympathy he could get. Everything Kate had read indicated that the government’s case was airtight. Harold Hastings Brown was very likely going to be convicted and sentenced to death.

  She pointedly turned to Donnie and said, a little louder than necessary, “Are you a student at UT, too?”

  “Yeah, but I dropped out when all this happened,” he said.

  Kate put a comforting hand over Donnie’s poor, chewed fingers, which were resting on his thigh. “Must be tough.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  A shoulder bumped hers rather hard from the other side, and she turned to confront the obnoxious man on her right. When she tried to get his attention, he ignored her. She turned to follow his gaze and realized his eyes were focused on her father, who was refusing to delay Brown’s trial and ordering jury selection to begin the next day at 9:01.

  She smiled as she recognized this tactic of her father’s for making sure things happened on time. Setting a specific minute meant courtroom proceedings would start exactly at 9:01, and not one minute later. It had always kept her father’s meetings on time, and it was sure to keep this case on schedule.

  A moment later they were all rising again, so the judge could leave the courtroom. Kate reached down to grab her backpack, intent on getting to her father’s chambers to talk with him.