The Prodigal Groom

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Abot the Author

Dear Reader

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

Laurie Saw The Man’s Legs First—Long And Lean, Encased In Faded Blue Jeans.

As his feet hit the ground, her gaze traveled upward to take in the slim hips, flat stomach and broad shoulders, challenging the seams of a white Western-cut shirt. He was looking down as he hit the ground, and his face and hair were obscured by a pearl gray Stetson. So it was only when he focused directly on her that she saw the lean, weather-whipped face, the sensual lips, the steel blue eyes—features once as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror.

“Oh…my…God,” she murmured. Then every cubic inch of oxygen deserted her lungs.

“Hi, Laurie.”

“’Hi, Laurie’?” she repeated. “Is that all you have to say? You’re supposed to be dead!”

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe that this is the grand finale of CELEBRATION 10001 But all good things must come to an end. Not that there aren’t more wonderful things in store for you next month, too…

But as for June, first we have an absolutely sizzling MAN OF THE MONTH from Ann Major called The Accidental Bodyguard.

Are you a fan of HAWK’S WAY? If so, don’t miss the latest “Hawk’s” story, The Temporary Groom by Joan Johnston. Check out the family tree on page six and see if you recognize all the members of the Whitelaw family.

And with The Cowboy and the Cradle Cait London has begun a fabulous new western series—THE TALLCHIEFS. (P.S. The next Tallchief is all set for September!)

Many of you have written to say how much you love Elizabeth Bevarly’s books. Her latest. Father of the Brood, book #2 in the FROM HERE TO PATERNITY series, simply shouldn’t be missed

This month is completed with Karen Leabo’s The Prodigal Groom, the latest in our WEDDING NIGHT series, and don’t miss a wonderful star of tomorrow— DEBUT AUTHOR Eileen Wilks, who’s written The Loner and the Lady.

As for next month…we have a not-to-be-missed MAN OF THE MONTH by Anne McAllister, and Dixie Browning launches DADDY KNOWS LAST, a new Silhouette continuity series beginning in Desire.

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Prodigal Groom

Karen Leabo

KAREN LEABO

credits her fourth-grade teacher with initially sparking her interest in creative writing. She was determined at an early age to have her work published. When she was in the eighth grade she wrote a children’s book and convinced her school yearbook publisher to put it in print

Karen was born and raised in Dallas. She has worked as a magazine art director, a free-lance writer and a textbook editor, but now she keeps herself busy fulltime writing about romance.

Dear Reader,

They don’t put red covers on Silhouette Desires for nothing! The first time I read one—had to be a dozen years ago—I was pleasantly surprised to find that the hero and heroine didn’t close the bedroom door. Beautifully detailed love scenes were an essential part of the story, providing something I’d felt was missing from those “tamer” romances.

Desires quickly became my favorite reads, not only because I liked the love scenes, but because I could relate to the modem, fast-paced tone of these books. The blend of fantasy and real-life people appealed to me as a reader. I could cast myself as the heroine and feel right at home.

When I decided to try my hand at writing romance. Silhouette Desire was where I wanted to be. I was proud as a new mother when my first Desire, Close Quarters, was published in 1991, and even happier that Desire has been my publishing “home” for many years now.

Needless to say, it’s a great honor to have one of my books chosen for CELEBRATION 1000. The Prodigal Groom is a special book for me because I took all of those reader favorites—a bride, a ranch, a secret baby and a cowboy/cop—and put them all into one story!

I hope you’ll enjoy all of the Celebration 1000 Desires, and I hope you’ll see my name on one of those bright red covers when it comes time for CELEBRATION 2000!

Prologue

The room was abominably hot, and the smell of roses was overpowering. Laurie Branson tugged at the choking neckline of her antique satin dress, readjusted her itchy headpiece, then glanced at her watch yet again.

“He’s a half hour late,” Laurie’s sister, Katie, said needlessly. Everyone in the room was excruciatingly aware of the time, and of the groom’s continued absence. Hell, the way gossip flew in Winnefred, Texas, probably everyone in town knew by now that Jake Mercer was late for his own wedding.

Five more minutes crawled by.

“Well, we might as well face it,” said Throckmore Branson, Laurie’s father. “He’s not coming. Once again, Jake Mercer has made his work more important than you, Laurie. Only this time he’s blown a twentythousand-dollar wedding. I hope you’re satisfied, because this is the only wedding you’ll get!”

“Throck…” Laurie’s mother, Louise, laid a gentling hand on her husband’s arm.

“No, let me finish,” he said. “This has needed to be said for a long time. Mercer is a dedicated lawman, I’ll give him that, but he’s more married to his career than he’ll ever be to any woman. He’s been inconsiderate toward you from the start, Laurie, always putting himself before you, always thinking his needs were more important than yours.

“I warned you he was too old for you, too set in his ways to take on a young wife, possibly children, as well. He’s simply not the type of man to put his family first. Now, can you see I was right? Any man who would run off to chase down some scumbag, drug dealer instead of marrying the girl he supposedly loves—”

“Yes, I get the point, Daddy,” Laurie interrupted. “He’s undependable and a rotten prospect for a husband.” And she loved him with every cell in her body. Hadn’t she told him that last night, for the hundredth time? And hadn’t he shown her, in his own feverish way, how much he cared?

Old-fashioned as it was, she had wanted to wait until their wedding night to physically consummate that love. The emotion that raged between them had felt so pure to her, so sacred, that it hadn’t seemed right to bring premarital sex into the picture. She’d wanted their first time together to be sanctioned by the church and God, so there would be no guilt or shame or fear of pregnancy to mar the experience, and Jake had agreed.

Last night, however, all their good intentions had gone straight out the window. Feeling a little giddy from the wine at the rehearsal dinner, and so full of love for the man she was about to marry that she thought she would burst, Laurie had succumbed to the fulminating desires that had plagued her for months. Jake had been .the cautious one, insisting that she be very sure in her own mind they were doing the right thing.

She’d been positive. After all, she was so committed to him that she already felt married. What difference did a few hours make?

Their lovemaking had been everything she’d fantasized about and more. Her face grew warm even thinking about it. Jake had demonstrated his love for her in a dozen different ways. And she’d believed in it. How could she ever regret something so beautiful?

She still believed in that love. Jake had promised he would be here, despite the fact that his Special Operations Group had been called in early this morning to apprehend fugitive drug lord Juan LaBarba.

Jake had explained over the phone that the operation would be swift and clean. He and the other men would be in and out before LaBarba and his gang even knew anyone was within spitting distance. And he would make it to the church with plenty of time to spare.

But if that had been the case, where was Jake?

“Something must have gone wrong,” she murmured.

“I’ll tell you what went wrong,” her father said. “Cold feet.”

Laurie stood, her bouquet of white roses falling unheeded to the wine-colored carpet. “I hope you’re right. I hope that’s all it is—cold feet. But did it ever occur to you—to any of you,” she added, taking in her mother and the four bridesmaids, who had remained silently disapproving throughout this ordeal, “that something might have happened to Jake? That he might be injured? The LaBarbas have guns, and they’re not afraid to use them.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” Louise said. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions until we hear from Jake. Meanwhile…” She looked at her watch. “Perhaps we should make a decision?”

“Fine. I’ll go tell everyone the wedding’s off,” Laurie said curtly. She ought to be crying or something, she thought. But she couldn’t. She was a tensed-up ball of nerves, and she wouldn’t be able to release anything until she found out what had happened.

She straightened her spine and walked toward the door, curiously unconcerned about the embarrassment of letting the whole town know she’d been jilted. But the door opened before she could reach it and her older brother, Danny, entered, his face as white as the rosebud he wore in his lapel.

“Laurie, I think you’d better sit down,” he said.

She knew what was coming even before he related the facts in an emotionless voice. The bust had gone bad. LaBarba’s brother, Ernesto, had been shot and captured, but Juan had gotten away. And somehow, in the process, Jake had been killed.

Again, Laurie thought she should cry or scream or faint or something. But a cold lump of numbness grew inside her until it encompassed her whole being. “Where is he?” she asked in a voice that sounded like a worn-out tape recording.

“No one knows,” Danny said. “The LaBarbas took his…his body when they fled.”

Laurie was vaguely aware of her mother’s arm around her shoulders, her father’s gruff words of condolence, the pain in her brother’s eyes. She wanted to respond, but she couldn’t. Her limbs were like lead, and her mouth wouldn’t cooperate when she tried to speak.

She could have forgiven Jake for missing their wedding. She could have forgiven him for his dedication in pursuing an evil man like Juan LaBarba. But she would never, ever, forgive him for dying.

One

It was time, Jake Mercer thought. He stopped his pickup truck at the end of a long, red-dirt driveway and contemplated the sign that marked the entrance to Birkett’s Folly. Yeah, Charlie Birkett had done all right for himself with this place. Jake had gotten to where he could identify Birkett horseflesh at every rodeo he went to in these parts.

But all was not as prosperous at the Folly as appearances would indicate. If he looked close, Jake could see that the fence needed painting. And there weren’t quite as many sleek quarter horses grazing in the pasture as there used to be.

But even before he’d seen those clues, Jake had known something wasn’t right here. He’d sensed deep trouble the moment he’d seen the classified ad placed by Laurie Branson Birkett:

WANTED: Manager for established quarter-horse ranch. Must have experience in financial management and know the specifics of equine breeding. Living quarters provided. Salary negotiable. Apply in person, Birkett’s Folly, Winnefred, Texas, or call…

Jake had heard through the grapevine that Laurie was having a hard time of it after her husband’s fatal stroke, but he’d assumed that meant she was grieving. He’d never dreamed that Charlie Birkett hadn’t adequately provided for his wife in the event of his death. Surely he’d made provisions for someone to take over management of the Folly.

Then again, knowing Laurie, she’d probably insisted she could manage things herself—never mind that when she’d married Charlie, a scant two months after Jake’s disappearance, she hadn’t known one end of a horse from the other. In fact, as he recalled, she’d been scared of horses.

Well, whatever, she obviously was in need of a manager now. Jake had grown up on a cattle ranch. Although his family hadn’t bred quarter horses, they’d bought and sold a fair number of them over the yearsmany from the Birketts—and Jake could recognize championship qualities when he saw them. In fact, he currently owned a Birkett horse, a stallion he’d picked up for a song because the horse had been lame.

He could help Laurie. And if she was in financial straits, as it appeared she was, he could help her for a lot less salary than any other applicants who might wander to her door.

Maybe it was a crazy thing to do, showing up in her life after four years. But for most of that time he’d been keeping track of her, reading about her in the Winnefred weekly newspaper and savoring bits of information reluctantly dragged from her brother, Danny. Those scraps weren’t enough anymore.

He had to see her. He wanted to help her, and, hell, he owed her that much at least.

Yeah, it was time. He put his truck into gear and turned into the driveway.

Laurie stretched on tiptoes to fasten the corner of the last damp sheet to the clothesline. There, that task was done. But it had taken thirty minutes out of her day, thirty minutes she hadn’t planned on.

Honestly, if it wasn’t one thing it was another. This morning the clothes dryer had quit abruptly. Replacing it was out of the question, given the state of her household budget. At least the spring weather was pleasant. She wondered how people without clothes dryers took care of their laundry in the middle of winter.

“All done?” asked three-year-old Wendy. She was sitting in the empty laundry basket with two striped kittens in her lap, making Laurie wish she could run and get her camera. But there just wasn’t time.

“All done,” she answered, plucking up one of the kittens and cuddling it under her chin. They were supposed to be barn cats, not house pets, kept solely to take care of the rodent population, but Wendy had relentlessly tamed them. “Want to help me weed the garden?”

“Mmm, okay, but my tummy’s growling.”

Laurie looked at her watch. Darn, it was almost noon. How had the morning gotten away from her? She still had to call the vet and find out if there was any news about Flash’s lab tests. And she had to check the answering machine to see if anyone had responded to the ad she’d placed in the Tyler paper.

She half hoped no one would apply for the job. Although she was perilously close to financial disaster, she hated the thought of some stranger moving in and running things.

After Charlie’s unexpected death, she had arrogantly assumed she could take over running the Folly. After all, she was a college graduate with retail management experience, and she’d lived and helped out at the Folly for four years. There was also Maurice, who’d been working the Folly for more than a decade, to help her.

But she’d quickly discovered that managing a ranch wasn’t quite like managing a gift shop, which was what she’d done until she’d married Charlie. She’d had no clue as to which mares should be bred to which stud, or how much to pay for the service of this stud or that one, or when and how much to sell the horses for. While Charlie had kept meticulous records, Laurie had found them less intelligible than a physics textbook. There just didn’t seem to be a pattern.

And Maurice, for all his expertise in handling the horses, knew very little about the money end of things.

Still, Laurie had persevered, plunging into one foolish choice after another. Charlie’s illness, brief though it was, had depleted their cash, and everything she’d done had made the situation worse. She’d waited far too long to admit she needed help. Now, she was afraid it was too late. If she lost the Folly, she didn’t know what she would do. Oh, they could survive, but the ranch was her daughter’s legacy.

“Maurice!” Wendy cried out as the Folly’s truck rumbled down the driveway. She scrambled out of the basket and ran to the edge of the yard, ready to greet Maurice Bryson, the Folly’s only remaining employee.

“Hello, Sunshine,” Maurice said as he unfolded his long frame and climbed out of the truck. “And good morning to you, Miz Laurie. I brought your mail.”

“Thanks, Maurice. I’m afraid to ask, but what was wrong with the truck, and how much did it cost to fix it?”

“Water pump. Not too much.” He handed a receipt to Laurie along with the stack of letters. She winced. Could have been worse, she supposed.

Wendy tugged at Maurice’s pants leg. “Are you my daddy?” she asked earnestly.

Maurice let loose with a roar of laughter, then picked Wendy up and swung her into the air. “No, Sunshine, I’m afraid my skin’s just a tad too dark for me to be your daddy. But I can be your honorary uncle, how ‘bout that?” He set her down and patted her on the head.

“Wendy!” Laurie was mortified. “I’m sorry, Maurice. Ever since she figured out that all the other kids at her preschool have daddies, she’s been obsessed with the concept. Wendy,” she said sternly, “I’ve told you before, your daddy’s in heaven. I’ve shown you his picture.”

“But that’s not fair,” she said, stamping her little foot. “When’s he coming back?”

“Sweetheart, he can’t come back. He’s with the angels.”

“Then I want a new daddy. Cindy has two. Why can’t I have one of hers?”

Ah, the logic of three-year-olds. Thankfully, Laurie was saved from answering by the timely arrival of a visitor. A shiny blue pickup truck was barreling down the long driveway, raising a cloud of red dust. Laurie’s immediate reaction was to covet the truck, which was so much newer and nicer than hers, but she chastised herself. She had to stop wishing for the impossible and play the hand she’d been dealt.

Hadn’t that always been the way of it?

“Mommy, I have to go tinkle,” Wendy said, forgetting her daddy obsession for the moment.

“Run inside if you have to use the bathroom,” Laurie said. She abhorred the term tinkle, another lovely concept her daughter had picked up at her weekly preschool. “I’ll be in in a minute to start lunch.”

“Okay.” Wendy picked up one of the kittens, draped the compliant beast over her shoulder and headed for the front porch of the sprawling white frame house, which had been in the Birkett family for four generations.

Maurice cast a curious glance over his shoulder as the truck drew closer. “I’ll set that mail on the front porch for you.”

Laurie handed him the packet of letters and catalogs, which she’d scarcely glanced at. “Thanks. Don’t stray too far. I have no idea who’s driving that truck.” Winnefred was a friendly little town, certainly no hotbed of crime, but as a woman living alone in the country, Laurie was aware of how vulnerable she was.

The blue truck pulled up behind the Folly’s truck and stopped. Someone applying for the job, perhaps? His vehicle certainly qualified, she thought guiltily, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She wished she’d put on a nicer blouse this morning, instead of one that was faded and frayed at the cuffs.

The truck’s door opened, and Laurie saw the man’s alligator boots first, then his legs—long and lean, encased in faded blue jeans. As his feet hit the ground, her gaze traveled upward to take in the slim hips, flat stomach and broad shoulders challenging the seams of a white western-cut shirt. He was looking down as he hit the ground, and his face and hair were obscured by a pearl gray Stetson. So it was only when he focused directly on her that she saw the lean, weather-whipped face, the sensual lips, the steel blue eyes, features once as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror.

“Oh…my…God,” she murmured. Then every cubic inch of oxygen deserted her lungs.

“Hi, Laurie.” He removed his hat, revealing his black hair, long and wavy on top but shorter on the sides than she remembered. It gleamed in the sun like a crow’s wing.

“Hi, Laurie?” she repeated, the words choked. “Is that all you have to say? You’re supposed to be dead!” With that the world imploded to a pinpoint of light and the ground tipped sideways. The last thing she remembered was a strong pair of arms breaking her fall.

Jake lowered her gently to the grass. “Laurie? Laurie, honey, wake up,” he said, patting her cheek.

Ah, hell, he supposed he shouldn’t have taken her by surprise like this. But she’d never been the fainting type.

“Here, now, what’s going on?” A tall, wiry black man came barreling around the side of the house with a shotgun pointed at Jake’s heart.

Jake jumped away from Laurie. “Whoa, there. Easy with that gun. She just fainted, that’s all.”

Maurice lowered the gun and stared with shootermarble eyes. “Jake? Jake Mercer? But you can’t be him, ‘cause he’s dead.”

“It’s me, all right, Maurice,” Jake said, recalling the ranch hand’s name.

Laurie stirred and moaned. Jake immediately hunkered down and touched her face, smoothing a strand of sun-bright hair off her cheek.

“Laurie? You okay?”

Her bleary eyes tried their best to focus on him. She blinked several times. “Oh, God, it is you, Jake. Are you a ghost? Or am I dead, too?”

He smiled gently. “No, you’re very much alive.” And her nearness affected him in ways he’d forgotten. His heart pounded and his gut tightened, and he wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms and cling to her vitality. Her memory had kept him alive during those long, hard months of captivity. Now he was finding out that his memory hadn’t done her justice.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

Laurie pushed herself into a sitting position. “I hardly think that’s relevant! What are you doing here? How did you…? What on earth…? I don’t know whether to be happy to see you or furious!”

He offered his hand. “Let’s go inside where it’s cool and get you something to drink, and I promise I’ll answer every one of your questions.”

She allowed him to help her to her feet, though she released his hand the moment she was steady. “All right,” she said uncertainly, glancing nervously toward the front porch. “But I’ve got to get lunch on the table, so we’ll have to talk in the kitchen.”

Jake’s gaze followed hers, and he immediately saw what was troubling her. A blond-haired toddler in a gingham dress stood on the porch, clinging to a rocking chair, her angelic little face filled with suspicion as she stared at Jake.

“Oh, Lord, Laurie, she’s beautiful.” He barely breathed the words. “Looks just like you did at that age.”

Laurie’s gaze darted back and forth between Jake and the child. “She’s—that’s Wendy, my daughter.”

“Mommy? Are you sick?”

Laurie went to her. “No, sweetheart, I’m just fine. Are you ready for some lunch?”