Barbara Dunlop - His Stolen Bride

“A sure sign that you’re not.”

He gave a chopped laugh and seemed to drop his guard.

She tried to take advantage. “Will you let me go? Please, just pull over and drop me off. I’ll find my own way back to the church.”

It had to be at least fifteen minutes now. Vern would be frantic. Delores would be incensed. Unless someone saw Jackson grab her, they probably thought she ran away.

Now she wondered what Hadley was thinking. He might guess she’d taken his advice, changed her mind, that she didn’t want to marry Vern after all. She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. How had things gotten so mixed up?

“He’s cheating on you, Crista. Why would you want to marry a man who’s cheating on you?”

“First of all, he’s not. And...” She paused, experienced a moment of clarity. “Wait a minute. If I say I don’t care if he’s cheating, will you let me go?”

“If you honestly don’t care and you want to marry him anyway, yeah, I’ll let you go.”

“Then I don’t care.” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “It’s fine. No problem.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He can cheat away. I still want to marry him.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She was.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve never met me. You don’t know a thing about me.”

He shook his head. “I can tell you have pride.”

“I have no pride. Maybe I like to share. Maybe I’m into polygamy. After this wedding, Vern might find another wife. We’ll all live happily ever after.”

“As if.”

“Let me go!”

“I’m here because somebody out there cares about you, Crista.”

“I know somebody cares about me. His name is Vern Gerhard. Do you have any idea how upset he is right now?”

Jackson’s tone went dry. “Maybe Gracie could console him.”

The name set a shiver through Crista’s chest. “What did you say?”

“Gracie,” Jackson repeated, doing a double take at Crista’s face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. No, I’m not. I’ve been kidnapped!”

“Do you know someone named Gracie?”

Crista did know Gracie Stolt. Or at least she knew of a Gracie Stolt. Vern had once used that name during a phone call. He’d said it was business. It had been business, making the name irrelevant to this conversation.

“I don’t know any Gracie,” she said to Jackson, her tone tart.

“He’s sleeping with Gracie.”

“Stop saying that.”

The vehicle bounced, and she grabbed the armrest to steady herself. She realized they’d turned off the main roads and onto a tree-lined lane.

A new and horrible thought crossed her mind, and her throat went dry. Was Jackson some sicko with a thing for brides?

“Are you going to hurt me?” she rasped.

“What?” He did another double take. “No. I told you. I’m not going to harm you at all.”

“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, but then quickly disappeared. “We have a mutual acquaintance. The person who sent me is someone who cares about you.”

“Who?”

“I can’t reveal my client.”

“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that, too.”

She was vacillating between genuine fear and disbelief that any of this could be real.

“I’m sorry you’re frightened right now, but I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, I promise.”

They rounded a corner, and a lake fanned out before them, the gravel beach dotted with weathered docks. He pulled to the side of a small, deserted parking lot.

“Are we there?” she asked.

“Almost.” He nodded toward one of the docks.

A tall white cabin cruiser bobbed against its moor lines.

Crista shrank back against the seat, her voice going up an octave. “You’re going to dump my body in the lake?”

He extracted a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. “I’m going to call my staff.”

“You have a phone?”

“Of course I have a phone.”

“You should make a ransom call. My fiancé is from a rich family. They’ll pay you.”

At least she hoped the Gerhards would pay to get her back. She was certain Vern would be willing. His father, maybe not so much.

* * *

Jackson hated that he was frightening Crista. But he was operating on the fly here. Taking her a quarter mile offshore on Lake Michigan was the best he could come up with to keep her safe but under wraps. He wasn’t about to tie her up in a basement while Mac and some of his other guys looked into Vern Gerhard’s love life.

“You’re going to jail, you know,” she said for about the twenty-fifth time.

She stood on the deck of the boat, gazing back at the mansions along the coastline, their lights coming up as the sun sank away. Her extravagant white wedding gown rustled in the breeze. The intricate lace-and bead-covered skirt was bell shaped, billowing out from a tight waist, while the strapless top accentuated her gorgeous figure.

She was right. He was taking a very stupid risk. But the alternative had been to let the wedding go ahead. Which he could have done. In fact, he should have done. He owed nothing to her father and nothing to his own father. And Crista was all but a stranger to him. She was an intelligent adult, and she’d made her choice in Vern. He should have walked away.

“I’m hoping you won’t press charges,” he said, moving to stand beside her.

“In what universe would I not press charges?”

Though he knew she was frightened, her expression was defiant. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her spirit.

“In the universe where I did you a favor.”

“You destroyed my wedding. Do you have any idea how important this was to my mother-in-law? How much she planned and spent?”

“To your mother-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“Not to you?”

Her expression faltered. “Well, me, too, of course. It was my wedding.”

“It was an odd way to put it, worrying about your mother-in-law first.”

“What I meant was, from my own perspective, I can get married any old time, in the courthouse, in Vegas, whatever. But she has certain expectations, a certain standing in the community. She wants to impress her friends and the rest of the family.”

“She sounds charming.”

“It comes with the Gerhard territory.” There was a resignation to her tone.

“What about Vern? How did he feel about the opulent wedding?”

“He was all for it. He’s close to his family. He wants them to be happy.”

“Does he want you to be happy?”

Crista glanced sharply up at Jackson. “Yes, he wants me to be happy. But he knows I don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Jackson lifted a brow. “The small stuff being your own wedding?”

She shrugged her bare shoulders, and he was suddenly seized by an urge to run his palms over them, to test the smoothness of her skin. Was she cold out here on the lake?

“It’ll work just as well with three hundred people in the room as it would with two witnesses and a judge.”

Jackson stifled a chuckle. “You sure don’t sound like the average bride.”

Her tone turned dry. “The average bride doesn’t have a five-hundred-dollar wedding bouquet.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s in the ballpark.”

Jackson drew back to take in the length of her. “And the dress?”

She spread her arms. “Custom-made in Paris.”

“You flew to Paris for a wedding dress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The designer flew to Chicago.”

This time Jackson did laugh. “You have got to be kidding.”

“And that was only the start. I’m wearing antique diamonds.” She tilted her head to show him her ears.