The Maverick's Accidental Bride

He couldn’t bear to see her looking so dejected, so he got up and went to her. She didn’t jump away when he sat down beside her, and that gave him the courage to wrap an arm around her. “You have to look on the bright side.”

She made a doleful sound. “There’s a bright side?”

“Yes, there is. Think about it. You saved yourself for marriage—and, well, if we had sex, we have proof that we were married at the time.”

At first, she said nothing, only eased out from under his sheltering arm and faced him. Her expression was not encouraging. Finally, she demanded, “That’s the bright side?”

He knew he’d stepped in it again. He gulped. “Er, it’s not?”

Proudly, she informed him, “You don’t get it, Will. It’s not marriage I was waiting for. It’s love. Or if not love, then at least special.”

He nervously scratched the side of his neck. “Ahem. Special?”

“Yes. Special. That’s what I waited for, something really special with a special, special man. And I have to tell you that having sex with you while unconscious is not the kind of special I was going for—plus, just because we woke up with rings on doesn’t mean we’re really married. Don’t you need a license to be really married?”

He gave her a long look as he wondered if he should even go there. And then he threw caution to the wind and asked, “So if there was a license, you would believe that our marriage was real?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that a trick question?”

“Stay right there.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded crossly as he got up, turned around and crawled across the mattress. “What are you doing?”

He crawled back, swung his legs to the floor so he was sitting beside her again—and held out the marriage license. “Believe it. It’s real.”

* * *

Jordyn read the document over several times before she could let herself believe what she was seeing.

Again, she remembered the skinny little clerk and his pink Cadillac, that briefcase where he kept those official documents. He could so easily have kept a box of cheap rings in there, too...

Will said, “So you see. I think it’s real. I think we really are married.”

Married. To Will Clifton.

She looked up into his worried eyes—and knew she couldn’t bear another minute, another second of sitting there beside him trying to pin down what, exactly, had happened last night. “Here.” She shoved the license at him. “I’ve had enough.” She jumped to her feet, ran to the sofa in the sitting area and snatched up her dress and shoes from where he’d set them before they ate.

“Jordyn, come on. We need to stay calm. We need to—”

“Stop talking, Will.”

“But—”

“Stop. Please. I can’t take any more. I’ve got to get dressed. I’ve got to get out of here.” And with that, she ran into the bathroom and shut and locked the door.

* * *

“The county courthouse and offices are closed for the three-day weekend.” Will eased his quad cab to the curb in front of Strickland’s Boarding House. “They open again tomorrow. First thing in the morning, we’ll head for Kalispell and straighten this craziness out. Maybe that license isn’t even filed yet. Maybe we can make this whole thing just go away.”

Jordyn stared out the windshield. For the moment, the street was quiet. No kids out playing, no neighbors working in their yards or walking their dogs. If she moved fast, she might get up the steps and in the front door before anyone spotted her going in wearing the same blue dress and high heels she’d been wearing the night before.

Will caught her arm as she leaned on the door handle. “Jordyn. Tomorrow?”

She gulped and nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow morning. Okay.”

He stared in her eyes as though looking for a sign from her—but a sign of what? She had no clue. His cell started ringing, which was great because he let her go.

“Tomorrow,” he said again, the phone already at his ear.

She made her escape, jumping to the sidewalk, shoving the door shut and then turning to sprint along the walk and up the stairs of the ramshackle four-story Victorian. She had her key out and ready when she hit the door. All she wanted was to get in and get up the two sets of stairs to her room on the third floor without having to talk to a soul.

But no.

As she fumbled to stick the key in the lock, the door swung open. Sweet old Melba Strickland, who owned and ran the boardinghouse, stood on the other side wearing one of those floral-patterned dresses she favored and a pair of very sensible shoes. Melba was at least eighty, but spry. She had a warm heart, a willing hand—and a staunch moral code.

Melba believed in the power of love. She also believed that sex should only occur between two people married in the sight of God and man. She’d made it way clear from Jordyn’s first day at the rooming house almost two years ago now that there would be no hanky-panky on the premises. Yes, it was the twenty-first century, and Melba’s old-fashioned ideas didn’t stop her tenants from hooking up, anyway. They just did it discreetly.

Coming home in the middle of the afternoon in last night’s bridesmaid’s dress, looking like something the cat dragged in?

Not exactly discreet.

“Honey, are you all right?” Melba took Jordyn’s hand and pulled her inside. “When you didn’t come down for breakfast, I assumed you just needed a little extra sleep after the big party last night. By eleven or so, though, I began to worry. You’re not the kind to sleep half the day away.” Jordyn saw no judgment in Melba’s eyes—nothing but affection and honest concern.

Again, the image of her and Will in front of Carmen Lutello last night rose up in her mind’s eye. Had Melba been there?

No. If she had, she would have known why Jordyn didn’t come down for breakfast. Plus, it had happened pretty late in the evening, hadn’t it? Melba and her husband, Old Gene, rarely stayed up past ten.

Melba patted her hand. “Darling, what’s wrong? What’s happened? You look so pale.”

“I’m all right,” she baldly lied. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“Have you eaten?” The old woman started herding Jordyn toward the arch to the dining room.

“I had some tea and toast.” Gently, Jordyn eased free of Melba’s grip. “I’m not hungry.”

“You sure, now?”

“Yes. I’ll, um, be down later and get something then.” She headed for the stairs and took them at a near run, never once pausing or glancing back until she’d reached the third-floor landing, where she halted, breathing fast, her stomach roiling, listening for the sound of Melba’s sensible shoes coming up behind her.

But Melba stayed below. With a sigh of relief, Jordyn hurried along the third-floor hall to her room. She’d barely shut the door and sagged against it when her cell started ringing.

“What now?” She dug it out of her clutch and tossed the clutch on the dresser nearby. The display read Will. Just Will. She couldn’t remember having Will’s cell number—and if she had, she’d have programmed in his last name.

Which was now her last name.

“Oh, God.” With an unhappy moan, she answered it. “How did you get my number?”

“I have no idea. I’m guessing we probably exchanged numbers last night.”