Suzannah Davis - Gabriel's Bride

“A swell guy,” one of his friends agreed. “Big, too. Drink a keg of beer all by himself.”

“Well, we sure gave him some help.” Taking a final swallow, the leader tossed the empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket, rubbed his hands, and looked around expectantly. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”

“Mister,” Gabe growled, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Wait a minute! I been hired to do a job, and by gum, I’m gonna do it! Which one of you is the Dempsey gal? You want a justice of the peace or not?”

“Justice of the—” Horror stole Sarah Ann’s breath, clogged her throat. “You?”

Belligerent now, the man scowled. “You hired me, didn’t you? Paid good money for this part. Just ‘cause a man’s a little late…”

She swung to the man holding the Bible. “Then who’s this?”

“Why, Reverend Cullen, girlie,” Harlan said. “The new hospital chaplain.”

Sarah Ann’s knees buckled. Gabe caught her, steadying her until she found her feet again. Their eyes met. Realization dawned. An ordained clergyman. Blood tests. The judge’s license.

She saw the wrath building in Gabe’s expression, saw the house of cards she’d been trying to build for Gramps tumble and fall. Panic consumed her, made her voice a thin wail. “Oh, my God.”

“We’re churchgoing folks,” Harlan continued. “I couldn’t have my granddaughter married by a civil servant.”

“Certainly not!” Lillian snapped, recovering her authority. “And this one’s a pure disgrace to his calling! You men, out!” Like a drill sergeant, she herded the protesting intruders outside, slammed the door behind them and restored order. “Go ahead, Reverend.”

Nonplussed, Reverend Cullen fumbled with the Bible. “Uh, ahem. Where were we? Oh, yes.”

Trapped within the circle of Gabe’s arms, Sarah Ann trembled uncontrollably as the clergyman blessed them with a benign smile.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Husband.

Wife.

Gabe stared down into Sarah Ann’s pansy-colored eyes and saw hysteria blossoming. From long experience in the face of unmitigated disaster, he knew the only alternative was damage control.

So he took the preacher’s suggestion and kissed her.

To keep her quiet, he told himself, molding his mouth against hers.

To keep up appearances for the old man’s sake, he assured himself, holding her still with a hand to the back of her head.

To keep the situation from blowing wide open in front of all these witnesses, he said inwardly, deepening the kiss.

And to see if she still tasted of spice and promise.

She did.

With a groan of impatience, Gabe tightened his hold and brought them both closer to the edge of forgetfulness. She’d been quaking in his arms, but now she melted against him, her subtle curves complementing his hard angles. Growing pliant, quiescent, she warmed to the heat of his lips, opening for him. She looped her arms around his neck, and the rich perfume of her bouquet filled his head, made him dizzy with desire.

Which wasn’t his original intention at all.

Coming to his senses, Gabe broke off the kiss, pushing Sarah Ann’s face into the crook of his shoulder, his breathing gusty, his heart pounding. Holding her protectively, his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear, he whispered to her, the picture of the tender and devoted lover, but his low tone was harsh with anger directed at himself and his lack of control.

“For God’s sake, get a grip.” He felt her jerk, but easily contained her involuntary movement. “Don’t panic.”

Muffled against his shirt collar, her words were barely audible. “Let me go, you bastard.”

“Listen to me, damn you.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “Everyone’s watching. Get hold of yourself. Put on a smile and look like you’re in love, or you’ll blow everything.”

He sensed her surprise. What had she expected? he thought. That he’d call the whole thing off because of this cosmic blunder, revealing them both as liars and fools or worse? Not bloody damn likely!

He waited until the subtle tension in her limbs indicated a semblance of composure, however brittle, then gingerly released her.

Sliding her arms from around his neck, she gave him a smile that never reached her eyes and murmured, “I hate and despise you.”

His expression was equally affectionate, equally false. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”

“Oh, my goodness, I think I’m going to cry!” Lillian bustled forward to envelop Sarah Ann in a warm hug. “Every happiness, my dear.”

They were immediately surrounded by a bevy of wellwishers. Gabe did his best to accept the congratulations heaped upon him with something approaching equanimity. He was hard-pressed to know what else to do, except follow the old military tactics of falling back to regroup in the face of a total rout.

He nearly lost his poise when Judge Holt pressed a pen into his hands to sign the fancy license. Short of confessing to their false intentions on the spot, there was no alternative. With a look that dared her to do less, he passed the pen to Sarah Ann. She swallowed hard, then scratched her name on the line beside his.

It was a bizarre way to acquire a wife, and it produced a peculiar tickling in the back of his mind, as if demons or angels performed a frenzied tarantella on his synapses at his expense. Gabe shrugged to himself. Well, there had to be legal remedies to this situation, strange as it was, and since Reverend Cullen and the nurses were already taking their leave, he’d find a way to extricate himself from this little party real soon, too. Until then, his best bet was to follow his own advice and refuse to panic.

“Oh, no, Gramps, we really couldn’t.” Sarah Ann stood at the hospital bed with Judge Holt. The thin edge of alarm in her voice snagged Gabe’s attention.

“Nonsense, girlie,” the old man said. “I insist. I know you. You’ll think you have to sit here with me or some such foolishness.”

“I really shouldn’t leave you—”

“I’m tired out from the excitement. I’ll just go on to sleep, whether you’re here or not. What do I want with more company?” He gestured to Gabe. “You talk some sense into her, son.”

“Yes, sir. As soon as you tell me how it’s done.”

Harlan chuckled. “He’s got your number already, girlie.”

Distress tugged at Sarah Ann’s mouth—her well-kissed mouth, Gabe noted, then forcibly curtailed that wayward thought.

“We…we planned to spend a quiet evening,” she said, shooting Gabe a frantic glance. “At…at home.”

Harlan shook his head, emphatic. “I won’t hear of it. Besides, it’s all arranged, isn’t it, Henry?”

“Yes, indeed.” The judge beamed his pleasure. “I’m official chauffeur.”

“To where?” Gabe asked carefully.

“The honeymoon suite at the best hotel in Lostman’s Island.” Harlan smiled in satisfaction. “It’s my wedding gift to you two kids.”

“Good God, woman, stop looking at me like that—I’m not going to pounce on you!”

Heart in her throat, Sarah Ann watched Gabe prowl the perimeter of their luxurious suite like a caged tiger. Taking his assignment seriously, Judge Holt had ushered them inside moments before, wishing them a good night’s rest with a twinkle in his eye.

But considering the way Gabe had kissed her into putty earlier, and worse, the shameless way she’d responded, Sarah Ann wasn’t reassured by Gabe’s growled declaration. He was livid, and he had a right to be.

Looking away from Gabe’s intimidating scowl, she let her gaze wander the room. Gramps had really gone all out. The Victoria, a turn-of-the-century bed and breakfast establishment, was a haven of antiques, plush fabrics and fresh flowers. A four-poster bed draped with netting sat on a pastel oriental rug. A magnum of champagne cooled in a sterling ice bucket. A pair of terry cloth robes hung in the bath beside the huge claw-footed tub, and the judge had even supplied overnight kits for them both. Soft lighting and softer music added to the ambiance.