The Pregnant Bride

Epilogue

Prologue

August, sixteen years earlier

“D o you love me, Nick?” Meg Thornton asked, batting her eyelashes up at him as she leaned against his chest.

Fourteen-year-old Nick Cassidy felt his throat close up. They were hiding from the vile Chad Spencer behind a bank of rocks, wedged into the cool crevices, shaded from the Kentucky summer sun. In the distance, a riot of adolescent voices cut the air.

There he was. Chad, the pretty boy.

They were both breathing hard, and Nick could feel Meggie’s twelve-year-old heart tripping against his arm. He moved his face away from the strawberry-tart scent of her hair. This felt weird, shielded from everyone else, huddled alone with Meggie.

As the voices drew nearer, she looked up at him with those big green eyes. Eyes like the center of a marble, clear and cool. Something to keep from the other kids after you tucked it into your pocket.

Nick had no idea what to say to Meggie. He didn’t want to hurt the only kid in Kane’s Crossing who treated him like a human being. And as if the youngsters weren’t bad enough, the adults here—except for his new foster family and Meggie’s aunt—also treated him like yesterday’s trash. As if they could judge him after he’d lived here for only a year. Bunch of jerks.

Meggie sighed as she sat up, brushing at her fairy-wing-colored skirt, probably so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

Man, he hoped he hadn’t made Meggie mad. With the way her eyes had gone all puppy-dog sad, Nick knew he’d said something wrong.

He tore a piece of grass from the ground and stuck it between his teeth. “Don’t get all mushy on me, okay?”

“It’s all right.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Meggie tilt her red head into the waning sunlight, the fading colors warming her face under a caramel-hued mask.

Town legend had it that when she visited her aunt in Kane’s Crossing every summer, she looked more and more like a Gypsy, with her flared skirts and corkscrew-wild hair. No wonder some kids called Meggie a “witch.” Not that she cared. She and her aunt Valentine, living in that creepy house on the hill, just laughed at the townsfolk.

“I hope Chad Spencer doesn’t find us. I’m sick of his nasty talk,” Meggie said.

Nick’s hands fisted against his secondhand jeans. “No worries, Meggie,” he said. Footsteps stampeded on the bank above their heads, making his body tense.

A sharp laugh cut the air. Nick peered up, seeing a shadow crouched on the ridge above their rocks.

Chad Spencer’s words flew at them like stinging stones. “Aren’t you guys gonna French or something? Or doesn’t the foster-trash kid even know how to open his mouth?” A chorus of mean-spirited giggles followed.

Meggie narrowed her eyes, dying to burn Chad with a comeback, no doubt. But Nick shot her a silencing glance. Spencer’s beef was with him; the bully just wanted to make himself look good in front of her.

“Bug off,” he said, using a glare he’d been practicing just for a moment like this.

“Oo-oh, so he can manage to form a word or two.” Chad moved slightly, granting a slice of sunlight access to his golden hair. His royal-blue eyes glowed from the shade of his gelled bangs, and his turned-up alligator shirt collar lent him the plastic air of a Pez dispenser. “Are you tough enough to play Double Dare?”

Nick rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help up Meggie. She accepted the gesture, and the two of them stood, united, against their common nemesis. He hoped his silence was answer enough for King of the Creeps.

Chad stood, too. “If you want to prove how tough you are, meet me at Chaney’s Drugstore tonight at nine o’clock. We’ll see if your attitude matches my left hook.”

He turned and tossed a smug smile over his shoulder at Meggie.

After the group left, Meggie touched his arm, her eyes holding all the concern in the world. “You’re not going tonight. Come over to watch videos with me.”

Nick appreciated her easy-way-out alternative. Not many girls her age would understand a guy’s need to save face.

But deep in Nick’s heart, he knew where he’d have to be tonight. Facing Chad Spencer. Proving he wasn’t just some poor little foster kid who had no business in Kane’s Crossing.

Chapter One

October, present day

M eg Thornton stared at the man who’d just sauntered into her bakery. Six-feet-plus of leather jacket, cowboy boots and a frown.

“You chased off all my customers,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched the counter, wishing that the families who’d been snacking on coffee, lemonade and pie merely moments ago hadn’t deserted her.

The stranger just watched Meg from behind a pair of sunglasses. She could almost feel his gaze running over her body—at least the part that wasn’t covered by the counter. The sweet little secret growing within her belly was hidden by the Formica countertop and tiled wood, safe for now.

Meg shifted, wondering if her gray sweater had grown too tight during the last month, if he was looking at her slightly swollen chest, judging her as harshly as the rest of Kane’s Crossing did.

When the stranger didn’t answer, Meg narrowed her eyes at him. “May I help you with something?”

She eyed his worn jeans, the hole in one pant leg revealing a glimpse of knee. Her heart stuttered.

What if he wanted to rob her? Not that the cash register was full enough to even buy a new pair of pants, but she had house payments, a baby on the way. Any loss of money would hurt.

A faint smile lingered at the tips of his mouth, probably in reaction to her obvious confusion, but she couldn’t be sure. At any rate, the specter of a grin disappeared, the tension in the room increasing tenfold.

Bitter aroma from a burned cake hung in the air, heavy as gunsmoke. Meg forced her chin up a notch, unwilling to be a victim of his intimidation.

Her voice was louder this time. “I’m not sure if it was you or the burned chocolate that killed the festive atmosphere.”

The stranger took a step forward, scanning the room while his boots scraped against her floor. “Maybe it was your good mood that did the chasing.”

His voice was low and gravely, the kind of voice that scratched down her skin in all the right places.

What was with this guy? In any other town but Kane’s Crossing, she’d be afraid. Here, against the scape of her already tumultuous life, he was nothing more than a dark storm cloud. Her bravery increased in proportion to her anger. “Jeez, you cleared the place. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He took another step, so close that Meg could see the cleft in his chin, buried beneath a light dusting of stubble. A feeling of familiarity assailed her. Slowly, he took off his glasses, stealing Meg’s breath away.

Eyes as hot as the blue tip of a lightening bolt. Pale, fathomless in their clarity. But why did she feel as if he hadn’t doffed those shutter-like shades at all? He was no easier to read.

He just stood there, as if anticipating a reaction of some sort. Well, what did he expect? Maybe women all over the country sighed and collapsed at his feet when he ta-dahed and removed his glasses, but she’d never been one of the crowd anyway.

She used her words like a balled fist. “May. I. Help. You?”

This time there was a smile—a pensive tilt that lowered his gaze to his hands. Hands strong enough to break her heart in two if she was fool enough to allow him access. And that would never happen again, she promised herself. Not with any man, no matter how swoon-worthy the subject.

From a black-vinyl booth tucked into the bakery’s corner, Deacon Chaney, the so-called town “loser,” popped out his head. Great. At least some entertainment was being provided for her remaining customer.

The old man looked ready to shuffle through the stranger’s ID and wallet. “Well, kiss my pink places,” he bellowed. “You’d think this was the O.K. Corral here.”

The thought of this stranger just strolling into her place of business and emptying the room with his gunfighter stance irked Meg. “Listen. Maybe you’re that heavy breather who takes great pride in giving me prank phone calls twice a week. Maybe you’re just in here for a titillating little scare. Either way, you’re setting me on edge, and I’m about to call the sheriff.”