Secretly Married Page 11

  His brown eyes went black for a moment. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Since when?”

  “What does it matter? The point is, it is unlikely at best that I would have conceived.”

  “Aside from your blood pressure that was too high because of the pregnancy, you were healthy as a horse before.”

  Look at all the evidence. That was a cop’s motto.

  She felt as if she’d jumped from the fat into the fire. “I had a, um, a tumor.”

  He stared at her. “Tumor,” he finally repeated, as if the word tasted vile.

  “It was benign,” she said thickly. “And I’m fine.” Physically maybe. “But I had to have a procedure, and my chances of ever becoming pregnant were considerably lessened.”

  “Procedure,” his teeth closed on the word. “When?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Last winter.”

  “When you first tried mailing me back your wedding ring. Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “What for? The only reason I’m telling you now is because you’re behaving so…so impossibly!”

  He glared at her. Paced along the narrow edge of dock left by his truck. “Before. When you were having your procedure. Or I guess you didn’t need me then, either. Probably had Do-Wright beside you, holding your hand.”

  She started. “Chad was speaking at a symposium in Canada.”

  “Then who was there with you?”

  “Nobody.”

  The edge of his jaw was white. “Of course not. God forbid that Delaney Townsend should ever rely on someone else.”

  She rounded on him. “Oh, that’s dandy, Sam. You’re a fine one to talk about sharing a burden. Maybe we should talk about your father, since we’re apparently unloading everything under the sun. Just what is it that Danté did that is so unbelievably unforgivable in your eyes? Because we both know that’s something you’ve never been willing to discuss with me. Lord knows you couldn’t possibly forgive someone for making a mistake, not when you’re so perfect—”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I won’t shut up.” Her voice kept rising. She stepped closer to him. “You started this, Samson, with your insane mandate!”

  “Thought you didn’t believe in insanity.”

  She dragged in a breath, feeling as if her nerves were on fire, and there was nothing remotely pleasant about it. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

  “Yeah, well, get over it.” His voice was cool again. “And get over the idea of leaving Turnabout.”

  People really did see red, she thought, as a haze of it seemed to settle over her vision. And there he stood. Tall. Intense. Immovable. Untouchable.

  She took a step forward, planting her hands in the center of his chest.

  And pushed.

  He fell backward, his arms flying out. She had just enough time to be utterly and absolutely shocked at her own behavior before he hit and water shot upward in a high, wide splash.

  She fell to her knees, closing her hands over the edge of the dock. He’d already come up to the surface. He gave his head a sharp shake, flicking his hair back. Treading water, he looked up at her.

  She inwardly quailed. Say something, Delaney. Use your wits.

  He swam to the ferry, grabbing onto a chain. Levered himself up until he found more substantial purchase. Heaved himself out of the water like some avenging movie hero.

  He came back down the ramp. Stood over her, water sheeting off him, dampening her hands, her skirt where she still knelt.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Feel better?”

  She felt as insubstantial as a spent balloon hanging from a string. “I—I’m sorry.”

  “I could haul you in for that.”

  “I’m sorry!” She finally unfroze and scrambled to her feet. “You provoked me.”

  The pound of footsteps heralded Diego. “You okay, Sam?”

  Sam’s spiky-wet lashes didn’t even glance away from her. “Fine, Diego. Go back to what you were doing.”

  She had an absurd desire to call the old man back when he muttered under his breath and scurried up the ramp. He returned a moment later carrying a vivid towel. He tossed it to Sam and scooted past them, heading back down the dock.

  Judging by the wary look Diego had given her, she wouldn’t have received help from that quarter even if she’d asked.

  She watched Sam wipe his face, then sling the towel around his neck. He opened the passenger door of his truck again. His khaki shirt clung to every inch of his chest. Water dripped from his arm.

  She slunk by and climbed up on the seat.

  He shut the door with infinite care. Slamming it would have been less worrisome, she decided.

  He went around the other side and got behind the wheel. Without a word to her, he competently backed down the length of the dock while she battered down visions of him accidentally driving off one side or the other.

  When he’d wheeled around and was heading up the hill to the main road again, she finally spoke. “I don’t want to stay with you.”

  “Now there’s a news flash. But maybe you didn’t notice well enough yet. Turnabout’s not exactly overrun with lodging.”

  “It’s Monday. Surely that inn—Maisy’s—would have a room available by now.”

  He drove a little farther, then turned off and headed down a hill. He stopped in front of a building heavily surrounded by lush bushes and palm trees. Behind it, she could see several small cottages.

  “Maisy’s Place,” he said. “Have at it.”

  She set her jaw and grabbed her briefcase. The bottom of it was damp from the water pooling around Sam on the seat. Without a word she climbed out of the truck and headed over to the inn, walked up the porch steps and went inside.

  Ten minutes later she was trudging right back to the waiting truck. She climbed inside. The only person who’d been happy to see her had been little April Fielding, who’d given “Mrs. Sam” a big hug, while her grandmother was assuring Delaney that there was no room at the inn. “I suppose you knew Maisy’s Place wouldn’t have any vacancies.”

  “Yup.”

  She fell silent. Hating him all over again.

  Only, her life would be a whole lot easier if she really did hate him.

  She rested her elbow on the edge of the door where the window was rolled down, and covered her eyes with her hand.

  What a tangled web she’d managed to make out of her life. All because she’d once again succumbed to Samson Vega.

  “Stop sulking,” he said as he put the truck in gear and drove away from Maisy’s Place.

  “I’m not sulking.”

  Mourning the past? Yes.

  Sulking? No.

  “Sounds convincing.”

  She looked sideways at him. “I’m not pregnant and I’m not staying on this island.”

  “We’ll see.”

  When he parked in front of his house a short while later, she was the one who was shivering. She climbed out of the truck, hauling the briefcase she was seriously beginning to loathe with her, and followed him inside.

  For the first time, he’d taken the truck keys with him.

  As if she’d steal his truck?

  He left a trail of water behind him as he walked inside and turned down the hall to his bedroom. She heard the soft snick of the door closing.

  She exhaled, not entirely sure what she’d expected from him, but it wasn’t this. She headed through to the kitchen and blindly shoved her briefcase onto the counter. It knocked to the floor the ring box she’d left sitting there before they’d left.

  Muttering at herself for getting into this mess, she picked it up. Thumbed open the lid.

  The small circle shone up at her. An unusual ring. Thin strands of gold in a delicate weave. And one she hadn’t expected when he’d produced it the day of their wedding.

  Elopement, she corrected.

  Married in haste, repent even hastier.

  She pushed away the thoughts. But that didn�
��t stop her finger from prodding the ring from its position against the satin cushion.

  The strands of woven gold felt warm, which was ridiculous. She poked, and the ring slid over the tip of her finger. She’d never worn it except on the day he gave it to her.

  Had told him that it was too tight on her finger, thanks to the changes in her newly pregnant body.

  She slipped it on.

  It fit perfectly.

  Her fingers curled closed.

  What had he done with his wedding ring? When he’d produced hers at the ceremony, he’d also pushed a much larger, plain gold band into her hand to give back to him.

  He’d worn it all the while they were together.

  But he’d obviously stopped.

  She heard his door again and hastily slid off the ring, tucking it back into its satin bed and shutting the lid. She was safely fumbling through her briefcase for her date book when he entered the kitchen.

  His hair was still wet, but he wore dry jeans and a pale gray shirt open down the front. He didn’t say a word, but she still felt a guilty flush warm her cheeks.

  “You need to eat.”

  “I had lunch at Castillo House.”

  “You’re too thin.”

  “So you’ve told me.” His criticism stung. “That didn’t seem to bother you too much last night. Or this morning.”

  “How do you think I know just exactly how thin you are?” He set an apple in front of her. “Start with that.”

  She considered throwing it at his head. Evidently part of the new not-so-nonviolent Delaney. “Yes, well, it’s not going to happen again, that’s for sure.”

  He’d pulled open the refrigerator and was rummaging inside. “You so sure about that?”

  She made a face at his back. “Quite.”

  He closed the fridge and set a container on the counter, the corner of his mouth kicking up. As if he knew something she did not.

  It annoyed her no end.

  “Sex with you is not the end-all, be-all of existence, Samson.”

  He angled a look her way and his smile widened. Just a hair. One dangerous hair that wasn’t mitigated at all by the very pedestrian way he was heating up a mug in the microwave. “Sounds like avoidance to me, Delaney.” Above the bruise on his cheek, his eyes gleamed with biting amusement. “Wonder if Do-Wright would agree in this instance?”

  “This has nothing to do with him.”

  “Kind of convoluted, aren’t we? My wife is engaged to marry another man. So who should feel betrayed? Me for your engagement? Or him for you sleeping with your husband? Think we could make the rounds of the television talk shows with this scenario.”

  “I’m not engaged to him! How many times do I have to tell you that? I told him I couldn’t marry him, okay? God, Sam. What will it take to satisfy you?” She snatched up the phone and brandished it. “Do you want to call him and check for yourself since you clearly don’t trust me?”

  His amusement dried, leaving him just looking dangerous.

  The chime on the microwave pinged and he pulled out the mug, setting it, along with a spoon, in front of her next to the apple. “Trust wasn’t my problem, Delaney. It was yours.”

  She winced. “Right. That’s why you think you’re going to keep me on this island until I prove there is no pregnancy.”

  He wasn’t moved. “You’ll stay of your own accord, Delaney. I know that much about you.”

  “I will not!”

  “Yes, you will. Because some part of you has to wonder if the unlikely has happened. If you didn’t, you’d already be gone. Do you want crackers with that?”

  “You’re as pigheaded as you ever were,” she muttered.

  He slammed a box of crackers on the counter, making her jump. “Yeah, well, baby, I love you, too,” he said, teeth gritted, and strode out of the room.

  Chapter 10

  “Aren’t you going to stop?”

  Sam’s foot eased off the gas as he watched Delaney walking farther ahead along the side of the road. A large plastic bag hung over her arm, bumping against her slender hip with each step.

  “That is your wife I’ve been hearing about, isn’t it?”

  He slid a look Danté’s way. “Hearing what?”

  Danté’s faint smile was wry. “This is Turnabout. One of the main occupations of the residents is gossip. Most folks are wondering if you’re getting back together again.”

  “Then they can keep wondering.”

  “Even your grandma?”

  Delaney had stopped walking for a moment. She bent and shook something from her shoe, then resumed walking. If she was aware of his truck at this distance, she didn’t show it. “If there’s something to tell Etta, I will.”

  “You’re not going to let her walk all the way out to your place. Hell, son, I raised you better than that.”

  Nothing could have set Sam’s teeth on edge more. “You didn’t raise me. Etta did.” And because she had, he drove up beside Delaney.

  She’d stopped and turned, lifting her arm to shade her eyes. She’d obviously been shopping. Sophie had a reasonable selection of clothes, but she didn’t get too far into the designer stuff. Which accounted for the inexpensively simple sundress that was blowing against Delaney, outlining her long legs.

  “Get in.”

  Her gaze went past Sam to his father sitting on the seat beside him, then back to Sam. “And if I don’t want to?”

  “Then walk.” He heard Danté mutter under his breath at that.

  She was considering it. Not that he blamed her, particularly. They hadn’t spoken since the previous day. When he’d left the house early that morning, he’d left a note with his office number, just in case she wanted it. But he hadn’t been surprised when she didn’t use it. Too independent to need him for anything, and too angry to accept anything he might offer.

  But she was also too polite to continue their war of wills in front of someone, and she finally walked around the truck.

  Danté’s smile was wide as he climbed out and held the door. “Since my son isn’t opening his mouth, I’ll introduce myself. Danté Vega. And you’re Delaney.”

  Sam caught the quick look Delaney shot him, then she was smiling herself, putting out her hand. But Danté, being Danté, couldn’t just be satisfied with a handshake. Hell, no. He had to lift Delaney’s hand in a courtly gesture, pressing his lips to the back of it.

  “A lovely name for a lovely lady,” he said. Then he helped her up in the front of the truck, and slid into the back despite her protests that she could sit there.

  Danté had barely tugged the door closed when Sam put the truck in gear. His mood darkened as he listened to his father ask Delaney how she was enjoying her visit. What she thought of Turnabout. Had she been out to Luis’s Point yet, where the views were particularly spectacular.

  Putting an end to their chitchat took the upper hand, and he sped to Etta’s. When he got there, he parked, wheels half on the grass. Then he climbed out himself, ensuring that Danté would get out on his side of the truck. He didn’t want Delaney noticing the device that occasionally stuck out from beneath the leg of Danté’s pants any sooner than necessary.

  Preferably never.

  But then Danté didn’t head to the house. He stood there next to the truck, as if he had all the time in the world instead of only a few minutes before his absence from the house beyond the approved hour would be noted by the monitoring equipment. “You should come on in. Have some of Etta’s lemonade. We’ll talk.”

  “No,” Sam answered flatly.

  Delaney looked from him to his father, her eyes measuring. But she just directed a smile past Sam to Danté. “Another day, perhaps,” she said. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Vega.”

  “Danté, girl. You’re my daughter now, aren’t you?”

  Delaney seemed to pale a little, but she kept hold of her smile. “Danté.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat toward Delaney, then strode up the walk and through Etta’s front door.
Only when Sam was sure the man was inside the house did he drive away.

  Staying well to her side of the bench seat, Delaney smoothed her hair back and held it in her hand to keep it from blowing. “Guess I know now what you would look like in twenty years.”

  He didn’t reply. Whether she was pregnant or not, she’d be long gone before twenty years were up, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. “What’d you do out at Castillo House all afternoon?”

  She angled a look his way. Whitecaps. Big ones. “Keeping track of my whereabouts? It’s a wonder you even left me alone at all. Maybe you’d rather have handcuffed me to the bedpost to make sure I didn’t escape when you’re not looking.”

  “Handcuffs?” His lip kicked up. “Hmm.”

  She huffed. “Get over yourself.”

  “It’s an island, Delaney. I got regular reports throughout the day from people who’d spotted my wife.”

  “From Mr. Montoya, too, I suppose. You’ve told him not to give me a ride to the mainland at all.”

  “No.” Diego owned his own business; it was up to him who he catered to and didn’t. It was merely convenient as far as Sam was concerned, that Diego—whose wife lived in San Diego because she loathed the inconvenience of living on the island—had his own well-earned feelings about where a wife belonged.

  Old-fashioned, yes. Convenient for Sam? Definitely.

  Delaney’s lips were curved with disbelief. “Then why did he refuse to take me again when I went down there this morning? I was on time for the ferry run. Early, even. Of course, I had to walk the entire way considering that there was neither hide nor hair of you around your house this morning.”

  “Miss me?”

  She sent him a withering look and settled her plastic bag on the seat more firmly. As if she needed that much more of a barrier between them than the stretch of seat. “I can try contacting a charter again.”

  “You could. But you haven’t yet. Means you won’t.” He turned off the main road and headed up his crooked drive. “Did you eat?”

  Her lips compressed. “I had a late lunch at Castillo House.”

  “Tutting over Alonso like a mother hen. Hasn’t he worn out his welcome yet?”

  “No,” she said with exaggerated patience. “He’s fitting in admirably. He spent nearly an hour talking my ear off. Of course he also slid in a warning or two about you.”