Texas Wedding

Texas Wedding
Kathleen O'Brien

The days of Susannah Everly dreaming about white dresses, churches and Trent Maxwell are long gone.So it's more than a little funny that she finds herself actually married to the guy. But she's determined to save the family ranch by any means possible, and if Trent is those means… Still, they both know the deal. This is a business arrangement and there are rules.Rules that do not include rekindling those old feelings or surprise midnight seductions. So what's Susannah to do when Trent seems determined to break their agreement? Especially when what he offers is way too tempting.

“Your offer is generous as hell, Susannah.”

Trent shook his head. “But money isn’t what I want.” He angled her even closer, close enough to feel the heat that throbbed through him. “You know what I want.”

“But what you want—you can’t…What about the paper?” She seemed to be struggling to catch a breath. “You won’t…sign it?”

“No, I won’t sign it, Sue, but there are other ways.”

“Other ways to…what?”

Her lips were half-open, peach-pink, wet and glimmering in the sunlight. And he remembered exactly how they had tasted. How they had felt, on him, around him. For eleven long years, even in dreams, he had been haunted by the memory of their warmth, their hidden strength….

She might hate him, but he had to have this. He refused to go on burning and wanting, and being forever denied. Though she wouldn’t admit it, she burned, too.

“Trent. Tell me what you mean.”

He let his body answer her.

Dear Reader,

For those of you who read Texas Baby and saw the sparks between Trent Maxwell and Susannah Everly, it won’t be a surprise to learn that I struggled to find a happy ending for this star-crossed couple.

They have such an emotional history…years of love, followed by years of bitterness. They’ve spent a decade denying their deepest feelings. How on earth could I move them toward truce, forgiveness and, finally, back to love?

Sometimes it seemed impossible. One thing kept me searching: the letters and e-mails I got from readers, asking for Trent and Susannah’s story. Those eager notes reminded me that we all want to see love triumph over anger and pain.

We don’t just want it. We need it.

All our relationships face challenges. Somehow we must have faith that we can rise above our failures. We must hang on to the hope that we can forgive, and be forgiven.

So to all my wonderful readers, thanks for the inspiration—and for waiting. I hope you enjoy watching these two find love again. And please stay in touch. Visit me at KOBrienonline.com, or write me at KOBrien@aol.com. Your messages mean more than you’ll ever know!

Warmly,

Kathleen O’Brien

Texas Wedding

Kathleen O’Brien

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathleen O’Brien was a feature writer and TV critic before marrying a fellow journalist. Motherhood, which followed soon after, was so marvelous she turned to writing novels, which could be done at home. She’s an unapologetic sentimentalist, with an iPod full of corny music, a den full of three-hanky romances and an address book full of lifelong friends. She loves reading in her backyard bower, though she struggles to keep even the ferns alive, and could never, ever manage a thousand acres of peaches!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

SUSANNAH EVERLY MAXWELL had been hiding in the bathroom for half an hour. For a bride on her wedding night, that was at least twenty-nine minutes too long.

She’d left the shower on, hoping Trent would assume she was still bathing, and the cascade of warm water had turned the room into a sauna. The towel knotted at her breasts hung heavily, saturated with moisture. Steam smothered the mirror, forming a blank screen of mist.

She knew she should go out into the bedroom, where her new husband was waiting, but she couldn’t force herself to do it.

Her new husband…

None of this seemed real. Reaching out one fingertip, she began to write on the glass.

Mrs…. Trent…Maxwell…

She’d penned the name a thousand times, in the turquoise ink she’d loved back in high school. But before she could finish the last syllable, the condensation pooled and began to run. It was like trying to write with tears.

Her reflection appeared in the open spaces, fractured into a collection of mismatched parts. Ironically, this stranger draped in the white towel, wreathed in clouds of steam, looked more like a bride than she had this afternoon at the courthouse.

But not a happy bride. A broken Picasso bride, or maybe a ghost bride from some terrifying urban legend—a confused wraith who would never find her way out of the mist.