Madelaine’s face was a study in chagrin. “Of course not. She’s my daughter. This was a momentary lapse. I can control her. Especially when she’s wracked with grief over Mark’s untimely demise at the hands of his rash Yankee girlfriend.”
“Mrs. Beaufort, you won’t get away with this.”
“Silly girl, of course I will. I am completely above suspicion. Now come over here,” she ordered. Her tone was very businesslike. “In my trunk you’ll find a tarp. Wrap it around Mark so you don’t smear blood the length of the porch when you move him.”
“This has gone far enough, Mama.” Jillian stood in the opening of the hedge between the front yard and the courtyard. Annabelle looked for Ashby, but didn’t see him.
Madelaine’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Jillian, you go on back upstairs. You need to make sure our guests are taken care of. I have everything in hand down here.”
“I said that’s enough, Mama. Put the gun down.”
“Jillian Rose Beaufort, you hush. This affair is none of your business. It’s bad enough you helped cause some of this nuisance.”
“How dare you?” Jillian’s voice was firm, without the slightest hint of a quaver. “I heard what you said. You murder two people in cold blood and call it a nuisance? What happened to you?”
Madelaine’s arm twitched, as though she wasn’t sure any longer who posed the greatest threat. “Don’t push me, child. I’m in no mood to deal with your attitude tonight.”
Jillian strolled into the courtyard, her gait measured and resolute. She showed no fear whatsoever. “Funny, I’m in no mood to deal with the ravings of a lunatic. But it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
Annabelle didn’t like the look in Madelaine’s eyes. “Jillian, I think you should go back inside. Get help. We’ll be fine.”
“Don’t move!” Jillian’s mother must have let slip the thin hold she had on sanity, because her shaking arm pointed the gun at her own, beloved daughter.
Jillian didn’t even pause. “Please. You think I don’t recognize your gun? That’s the antique derringer from the library. And yes, we keep it loaded, but only with one round. It’s about as dangerous as a water pistol.” She now stood even with Annabelle.
“You sure about that?” Annabelle’s eyes flicked to Jillian, and received a wink in return.
Before she could react, Ashby became visible at the far end of the porch. All at once he rushed at Madelaine, and before she turned all the way around, he knocked her out with one solid blow to the jaw. The pistol dropped to the ground just before her body crumpled.
Annabelle picked up her skirts and ran to where Mark lay, still unmoving. With trembling fingers she felt for a pulse, and was overjoyed as it solidly pounded against her touch. She yelled over her shoulder, “He’s alive.”
Ashby crouched down beside her. “Police and an ambulance are on their way. We called before we came out.”
Jillian joined them, carefully spreading her skirt to its full extent. Then she flipped up the top layer and began to rip long strips from her layers of petticoats. “Take these and use them to staunch the blood. Press hard,” she directed Ashby. “Don’t worry about hurting him. We have to get the bleeding stopped.”
Frantic, Annabelle ran her hands over his pale face. “Mark? Mark, you have to wake up. You’re safe now, but you have to open your sexy eyes and look at me.”
“So bossy,” he mumbled. “Can’t you find something better to do with those lips than order me around?” His eyelids fluttered open.
Annabelle didn’t know if she should sob or smile, so she leaned over and kissed him. It was a kiss guaranteed to keep him awake until the paramedics arrived.
“The doctor said it was only a flesh wound.” Jonathan had been in a mood since Annabelle shattered his peaceful night with the arrival of his new roommate. “You didn’t need surgery. You didn’t even lose very much blood. A real man wouldn’t have passed out.”
“Lay off, Jonathan,” Annabelle warned. She was perched on the edge of Mark’s bed, hand clasped tightly around his. She’d held his hand in the ambulance, all through the ER exam, even while they cleaned the wound and stitched him up. “You’ll get your fair share of sympathy, but right now Mark deserves and will get all of my undivided attention.”
“Did you at least bring me a doggie bag?”
“If it makes you feel better, nobody got past the salad course,” Jillian soothed. “Once they heard the word poison, the police held all of the food as evidence.”
“It does make me feel better,” he admitted. “Now finish the story. When you left off, Mark was passed out from the pain like a total wuss.”
“I’d like to see how you handle getting shot,” Mark tossed back.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have left my sister alone with a crazy lady and a gun. No offense, Jillian.”
“None taken.” She sighed. “Crazy is the kindest word you can use to describe Mama.”
“But you stood up to her,” Annabelle marveled.
“Yeah, what was that about? I mean really, you might as well poke a tiger with a stick. Not the smartest move of all time,” said Mark.
“You did the same thing,” Jillian retorted.
“When I went out on the porch, I couldn’t see the gun. It was hidden by her body. Otherwise I would have put more thought into my plan of attack beyond opening the door and walking out. And besides, Annabelle was out there. Where else would I be?”
“Well, I could see the gun, and I don’t mind admitting I was scared stiff.” Jillian shuddered at the memory. “But I knew we couldn’t just sit and wait for the police to arrive. All I had to do was distract her long enough for Ashby to get the jump on her. I knew he’d come through.”
Ashby shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He looked uncomfortable being cast as the hero of the piece. “It was a team effort. We all played a part. Mark would’ve done the same thing if I’d been the one bleeding on the ground.”
Annabelle bit her lip. “Yes, but I want to know about the pistol. Is it true what you said? That it only had one round?”
Jillian bit her lip. “Not a speck of truth to it. I spotted Ashby making his move, and started babbling to keep Mama focused on me. Actually, I’m quite certain it was fully loaded. But by then it was aimed at me. You were perfectly safe, Annabelle.”
“Hardly. And you were most definitely not safe. I can’t believe you all risked your lives for me.”
“Stop it right now.” Jillian punctuated the command with a stomp of her foot. “I will not let you begin to wallow in self-righteous guilt. It was our choice. And besides, if anyone is to blame, it’s me. She’s my mother. She hurt people, killed people pretty much on my behalf. No, what we focus on now is the positive. We were all there for each other when it counted.”
“Well said,” Ashby murmured.
A nurse came in, pushing a wheelchair. “Time to go, Mr. Carlyle.”
Jonathan pushed himself up in alarm. “Go where? You people spent all day sticking me with needles, running tests. What could you possibly have left to do to me?”
The nurse looked confused. “Nothing. Your friends requested the wheelchair.”
Ashby raised a hand. “That was me.”
Less apprehensive, Jonathan shrugged on his robe and climbed into the wheelchair. “Where are we going?”
Jillian pushed him out the door as Ashby threw Mark a salute. “You can thank me later.”
“Subtle,” Annabelle laughed. Finally alone, she lay down alongside Mark and burrowed her face into his chest. His arm was warm and strong across her back. “You gave me quite a scare, Mr. Dering.”
“Right back at you, Miss Carlyle. When I realized you were missing, I snapped. I can’t explain it, but I knew you were in danger. Looked through the curtains and saw you and Mrs. Beaufort. I didn’t wait, didn’t think, didn’t plan. I just ran out the door, so glad I’d found you. And for the record, I hit my head on the door when I fell, after she shot me, which is why I passed out. Docto
rs tell me I’ve got a concussion to prove it.”
“You brave, stupid man.” Annabelle propped her head on her hands so she could look at him. “You took an awful risk. You all did.”
“You’re worth it,” he said simply.
“I’m glad to hear you say it.”
“I would prefer not to have to prove it in any more violent situations in the near future, however.”
“I agree. You have no idea how wholeheartedly I agree.” The final, missing piece clicked into place in her head, and in her heart. “Tonight, when I saw you lying there, bleeding, possibly dying, you know what upset me the most?”
“Uh, the dying part wasn’t so great.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Nope, that wasn’t it. I was most upset with myself. Pissed off because I’d been too cautious, too hard-headed, no, hard-hearted to admit the truth. And it meant you might die without knowing how much I love you.” She sucked in a breath. “Whew. That was easier than I thought. I love you, Mark Dering. And I don’t want to risk my life, your life, anyone’s life anymore in pursuit of a story. I’m not entirely sure what I want to do. My agent’s been fielding offers for years from different media outlets. But I may not decide for a month, six months, a year. I need time just to live. I don’t care where. All I care about is that I want to do it with you.”
He cradled her face in his hands. “If it took a bullet in the leg to make you say those words, it was worth it.”
She ducked her head, grinned. “It won’t take a bullet every time. I promise.”
“I love you, Annabelle Carlyle. Every beautiful, feisty, sassy inch of you. And I don’t care where we go or what we do either, as long as we’re together.”
“You are everything I never knew was missing in my life.”
Mark pulled her to his lips for another kiss. “Well, you can relax now, darlin’. You found me.”
LOVE AT HIGH TIDE
Christi Barth
“Thanks for the rescue. If you hadn’t grabbed me, I’d still be doing somersaults underwater. In my book, that qualifies you for hero status.”
An unreadable emotion flickered across his eyes so fast she almost missed it. In a low mutter, he said, “Don’t call me a hero.” He hit the hard-packed sand at the edge of the water and stopped walking.
Modest, heroic and gorgeous. And it didn’t take even a fraction of her eight years of training in cultural anthropology to figure out he was attracted to her. They’d long since hit land, and yet he made no move to put her down. Not that she was complaining. She’d happily continue to sit cradled in his arms. It gave her an up-close view of his chiseled cheekbones, sharp enough to etch glass. Her fingers brushed through the salt-spiked tips of his blond hair. No doubt about it: she’d found the man candy Trina had promised. One bite of him would be as sinful and addictive as a chocolate honey truffle.
“Well, I can’t call you Mr. In-The-Right-Place-At-The-Right-Time.” When his lips curled up showing off his dimple, Darcy’s interest kicked up a notch.
“Good point. I’m Cooper Hudson. Coop, to my friends.”
“Darcy Trent.”
“It’s been a long time since I met an ocean virgin.”
“Oh, but only in the aquatic sense, I assure you.” What? Why wave her long-vanished virginity under his nose? Now he probably thought she had the morals of an alley cat. But hearing the hottest man she’d ever seen use the word virgin threw her for a loop. Not the standard nice-to-meet-you conversation, by a long shot.
He flashed an easy smile. “Don’t worry. I hadn’t planned on delivering you as a virgin sacrifice to appease the volcano gods over at the mini-golf course.”
Okay, now Darcy could add funny to the list of his overwhelming awesomeness. Maybe she really had blacked out and was hallucinating her ideal man while unconscious, underwater. What else could explain such perfection?
“Darcy, what happened?” Trina’s yell preceded her appearance in front of them. After a quick yank upward to her scrap of a top, she rested her hand on Darcy’s leg. “Why’s he carrying you? Did you get stung in the foot by a jellyfish? ’Cause if you did, I’ll pee on it. That’ll take the sting away.”
That certainly settled the whole am-I-hallucinating question. Never, ever would Darcy fantasize about her best friend peeing on her. The situation had to be real. And if Trina in all her adorable annoyingness was real, then her hot hero hunk had to be real, too.
To her dismay, Cooper lowered her to the ground.
“Your friend’s fine,” Cooper announced. “A wave almost rolled her, so she’s a little shaken up, but uninjured.”
“You keep your distance,” Darcy warned with a hand raised to keep Trina at arm’s length. “Don’t even think about peeing on me. Not even if I get attacked by an entire school of jellyfish.”
Trina wrinkled her nose. “Okay, but if the situation arises, just remember that I would be willing to make that sacrifice.”
“Friendship is a beautiful thing.” Cooper’s sardonic tone belied the sincerity of his expression.
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Christi Barth earned a Masters degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage.
A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes contemporary romance.
Christi is President of the Maryland Romance Writers and lives in Maryland with her husband.
The Aisle Bound Series
Planning For Love
A Fine Romance
Friends To Lovers
A Matchless Romance
The Shore Secrets Trilogy
Up To Me
All For You
Back To Us
Act Like We’re In Love
Cruising Toward Love
Love At High Tide
Love On The Boardwalk
Never Too Late
Christmas novellas
Ask Her At Christmas
Tinsel My Heart
Carolina Heat
© 2015 Christi Barth
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Kindle Edition
Love At High Tide
Text © 2013 by Christi Barth
Cover Art and Cover Copy © 2013 by Harlequin Enterprises
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover Art and Cover Copy used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. ® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.
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