Borrowed Bride

  She knew he had moved even closer, now.

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Patricia Coughlin

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  HIRED HUSBAND

  Copyright

  She knew he had moved even closer, now.

  The raspy snap of a cigarette lighter startled her. The light of the flame was barely enough to illuminate the face of the man holding the lighter. But it was more than enough, Gabrielle thought, as she locked gazes with a man she hadn’t seen in nearly two years and would have preferred never to set eyes on again.

  “You.” The word was an accusation. “I should have known.”

  “Yeah, you probably should have,” he agreed, smiling that smile that every woman in the world except her seemed to find so damn irresistible. “I mean, how many other men do you know crazy enough to steal you from the church steps on your wedding day?”

  “Why, Connor? Why did you do it?”

  His smile slowly gave way to a bold, insolent grin she remembered all too well. “Well, because I’m as impatient as ever, I suppose. I just couldn’t stand to sit around the church waiting for the minister to get to the part about speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Dear Reader,

  It’s summertime, and the livin’ may or may not be easy—but the reading is great. Just check out Naomi Horton’s Wild Blood, the first in her new WILD HEARTS miniseries. In Jett Kendrick you’ll find a hero to take to heart and never let go, and you’ll understand why memories of their brief, long-ago loving have stayed with Kathy Patterson for sixteen years. Now she’s back in Burnt River, back in Jett’s life—and about to discover a secret that will change three lives forever.

  We feature two more great miniseries this month, too.

  Cathryn Clare’s ASSIGNMENT: ROMANCE brings you The Baby Assignment, the exciting conclusion to the Cotter brothers’ search for love, while Alicia Scott’s THE GUINESS GANG continues with The One Who Almost Got Away, featuring brother Jake Guiness. And there’s still more great reading you won’t want to miss. Patricia Coughlin’s Borrowed Bride features a bride who’s kidnapped—right out from under the groom’s nose. Of course, it’s her kidnapper who turns out to be Mr. Right.

  And by the way, both Alicia and Patricia had earlier books that were made into CBS TV movies last year. In Unbroken Vows, Frances Williams sends her hero and heroine on a search for the heroine’s ex-fiancé, a man hero David Reid is increasingly uninterested in finding. Finally, check out Kay David’s Hero in Hiding, featuring aptly named Mercy Hamilton and enigmatic Rio Barrigan, a man who is far more than he seems.

  Then join us again next month and every month, as we bring you more of the best romantic reading around—only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Yours.

  Leslie Wainger,

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  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

  BORROWED BRIDE

  PATRICIA COUGHLIN

  Books by Patricia Coughlin

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Love in the First Degree #632

  Borrowed Bride #722

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Shady Lady #438

  The Bargain #485

  Some Like It Hot #523

  The Spirit Is Willing #602

  Her Brother’s Keeper #726

  Gypsy Summer #786

  The Awakening #804

  My Sweet Baby #837

  When Stars Collide #867

  Mail Order Cowboy #919

  Joyride #982

  Silhouette Books

  Love Child

  Silhouette Summer Sizzlers 1990

  “Easy Come...”

  PATRICIA COUGHLIN is also known to romance fans as Liz Grady and lives in Rhode Island with her husband and two sons. A former schoolteacher, she says she started writing to fill her hours at home, after her second son was born. Having always read romance novels, she decided to try penning her own. Though she was duly astounded by the difficulty of her new hobby, her hard work paid off, and she accomplished the rare feat of having her very first manuscript published. For now, writing has replaced quilting, embroidery and other pastimes, and with more than a dozen published titles under her belt, the author hopes to be happily writing romance novels for a long time to come.

  To my aunt Alice Francis and her daughters, Shirley,

  Alice and Irene

  Chapter 1

  It was a perfect day for a wedding.

  Outside the church on Providence’s east side, the sun was shining, birds were singing and puffy white clouds sailed across a watercolor blue sky. Gabrielle Flanders adjusted the comb securing her headpiece and brushed back a tendril of her shoulder-length dark brown hair, which had been painstakingly arranged in an upswept cascade of curls for the occasion.

  The short veil on her headpiece matched the delicate ivory lace of her knee-length dress. The dress, according to Lena of Lena’s Bridal Shoppe, was the perfect choice for the second-time bride. The roses in her bridal bouquet had been dyed to match the pale apricot trim on her dress. So had her satin shoes and the icing on the wedding cake and even the ribbon tied around the crystal sun-catchers to be given as favors to each of the three hundred guests attending the country-club reception to follow the ceremony. Everything about the wedding was as perfect as this gorgeous June day she and Adam had been given to begin their life together.

  Everything, that is, except the odd way she was feeling.

  Gabrielle sighed, grateful for this unexpected moment alone. Her five-year-old son, Toby, who had been thrilled at the prospect of being her ring bearer, had suddenly turned shy at the last second and decided he would prefer not to walk down the aisle in front of all those people. Fortunately her younger sister, Lisa, her only attendant, had been on hand to hustle him inside to sit with his grandmother, leaving Gabrielle alone on the church steps.

  Maybe, she told herself, she had simply been too preoccupied with last-minute details these past few days to know what she was feeling, never mind what she ought to be feeling. Perhaps this private moment was all she needed to gather her thoughts and let the proper mood of anticipation kick in.

  Gabrielle closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and waited for it to happen. A buzzing sound broke her concentration, drawing her attention to her bouquet and the bee that was circling it menacingly. She jerked the flowers aside and swatted at the plump yellow jacket with her free hand until it flew away. Keeping her eyes open this time, she tried taking another deep breath and willed her emotions to take over. Nothing. Strange. It would seem she definitely ought to be feeling something about now. Jittery or excited, perhaps even with an old-fashioned qualm or two thrown in for good measure.

  Anything would be an improvement over the way she was feeling, which could only be described as resolved. In fact, she felt pretty much as she had the day she’d gone to the bank to refinance her mortgage at a lower interest rate, confident that she had made the right decision and braced to get through the tedious paperwork required to complete the process. The trouble was that she wasn’t embarking on a banking transaction now, but her own wedding.

&nbs
p; The bee returned just as the organist started playing what sounded alarmingly like the processional hymn, her signal to start down the aisle. What on earth was taking her sister so long? Sidestepping the persistent bee, Gabrielle strained to identify the music coming from inside the church, but what sounded like the loud roar of a motorcycle drowned out the notes.

  Frowning, she instinctively turned her head to look in the direction of the noise coming from the street behind her. It was a motorcycle, all right, and her eyes opened wide with shock as she saw it jump the curb, cross the sidewalk and head straight for the church steps. For a fraction of a second it seemed to hesitate at the bottom step, its powerful engine throbbing. Then the motor revved even louder, and Gabrielle reeled backward as the bike shot forward, bouncing up three broad, low steps to reach the platform where she now stood with her back pressed against the church door.

  She froze, not sure in which direction she ought to run ... if she even could run wearing these dam high heels. A second later it became a moot issue. The rider edged the massive bike closer until there was no way for her to move, much less escape. She was trapped between the motorcycle and the solid wooden door at her back. Her heart pounded as she felt a sudden rush of all those emotions she’d been willing herself to feel only a moment ago...jittery, anxious, excited. She felt them now, all right, but for the wrong reasons.

  Clutching her bouquet as if it were a lifeline, she sensed more than saw the biker’s gaze through the tinted windshield covering his face. His helmet—tike his boots, jeans, leather jacket and gloves—was solid black. Aside from projecting a certain lack of imagination, the outfit lent the man a decidedly sinister air. Gabrielle couldn’t imagine what kind of stupid game he was playing and she wasn’t in any mood to find out.

  Keeping her eyes on him, she fumbled behind her for the door handle. Her only chance for escape was to maneuver the church door open enough to slip inside. She leaned forward, straining to give herself a few inches more room. A big mistake. The movement put her off balance at the same time it brought her within arm’s reach of the biker, and before she knew what he intended he had snared her around the waist and hauled her onto the motorcycle in front of him.

  Once again the engine revved and the bike lurched forward, causing him to tighten his grip on her midsection so suddenly it knocked the wind from her. They were back down the church steps and crossing the sidewalk before Gabrielle recovered enough to scream. A violent jolt as the bike took the curb turned her cry for help into a pitiful, fractured yelp that was carried away by the wind hitting her full force in the face.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she moaned, hanging on to the biker’s leather sleeve as the motorcycle continued to pick up speed, taking sharp corners and weaving a path through the slow-moving Saturday-afternoon traffic.

  She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut so she couldn’t see how close they came to the cars they streaked past, but unfortunately panic seemed to have frozen them in a wide-open position. Never before in her life had she been so frightened. Not when Joel was killed, not when Toby was sick. The fear at those times had been strong, but different, more personal and contained. This was like something coming at her from outside, a frantic, gut-twisting, in-your-face terror like she had never before experienced.

  Who was the madman seated behind her? Where was he taking her? And why? And how long before anyone back at the church realized she was missing and figured out what had happened? Dozens of questions flashed through Gabrielle’s mind without focus, much less answers. Only one thought took hold. Toby. Her little boy. What on earth would he think when he realized his mommy was gone?

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”

  They were on Smith Street, headed north across the city and drawing startled smiles and impromptu cheers from people they passed. The smiles and cheers confused her until she remembered that she was wearing a wedding dress and a veil and carrying a damn bouquet of roses. Of course, she thought with dismay, anyone seeing the two of them might easily assume this was some sort of wildly romantic honeymoon escape.

  “Help!” she shouted as they ran a red light and missed the back of a minivan by inches. “Help, please, I’m being kidnapped.”

  She had a feeling that her effort was in vain and her words were being swallowed by the wind even before the arm around her waist silenced her with a tight warning squeeze. Frustration flared inside her. She couldn’t scream for help and she couldn’t give in to the impulse to struggle to get free because she was afraid any rash movement would upset their precarious balance and send them crashing. Hitting the ground at this speed was not something she would want to experience even if she’d been the one wearing the helmet.

  They continued north on Route 44, approaching the small town of Centredale, where, she recalled, the road they were on would soon become one way in the opposite direction. He would have to slow down for the turnoff, Gabrielle told herself with satisfaction, and when he did she would make her move. At the very least she would be able to signal or shout for help. There were lots of people around. Perhaps she could even toss her bouquet to a passerby. It wasn’t quite as time-honored as dropping bread crumbs to mark her path, but it would help point in the right direction anyone who came looking for her.

  To her amazement and disgust, however, he sped past the turnoff and continued straight into the oncoming traffic, hugging the side of the road so tightly Gabrielle swore her toes brushed against the cars parked along the curb. At one point he avoided a head-on collision with a garbage truck by swerving onto the sidewalk and sending pedestrians scattering for the next block or so.

  He really was a maniac, she decided, a madman with no regard for his own safety, much less hers. Her anger grew along with her panic. She no longer wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to pay attention to every detail so that she could give a full accounting of every law he had broken when she was called on to testify against him at his trial for kidnapping and driving to endanger and...and...

  She gulped and stopped. She didn’t want to think about what other crimes he might be guilty of committing before this was over. Instead, she concentrated on her surroundings. Even more than she wanted details for her testimony, she wanted to know exactly where she was at all times. Sooner or later she would have a chance to escape and she planned to make the most of it. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could get back in time to salvage her wedding and spare Toby from having to wonder if his mother was going to go away forever the same way his daddy had.

  Her hopes dimmed as they left Centredale and headed into the rural part of Rhode Island. This was farm and apple-orchard country, where cars and witnesses, as she had already begun to think of the people they passed, were scarce. Her captor was still driving at a speed that felt about eighty miles per hour, but either she was getting accustomed to flirting with death or the wide-open road fooled her senses into thinking it was less dangerous.

  She was just beginning to relax her shoulder muscles, which ached from the tension, when the bike veered sharply to the right, putting them directly on course to hit a moving van stopped up ahead.

  He was purposely trying to scare her, Gabrielle thought, furious that kidnapping her, ruining her wedding day and traumatizing her son weren’t enough to satisfy him. He also had to go out of his way to scare her. There was no other explanation for this little game of chicken he seemed to be playing as he continued to accelerate even as they drew within a block of the parked van.

  Gabrielle tightened her grip on his sleeve and bit down on her lip. She was on to him now, and she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of screaming.

  Not until they were only half a block away did she notice the ramp extending from the open rear of the van to the street—and it dawned on her that his reason for heading straight for the van wasn’t anything as innocuous as scaring her.

  The front tire of the bike hit the edge of the metal ramp with a small bounce, and for an instant she had the sensation of walking a tightrope...at a v
ery fast pace. A whimper later they were inside the van. She might have shut her eyes, or it might just have been that there were no lights in there, but mercifully she didn’t see the front wall of the van coming at her until the motorcycle’s tire hit it and sent them bouncing backward.

  At last they had stopped moving, but before Gabrielle could relish the thought she sensed the bike tipping onto its side and knew she was going with it. She flailed to break her fall and felt herself being turned by strong arms as she went down so that she landed on her side on top of the biker.

  “You okay?” he asked, his deep voice sounding distant as it came from inside his helmet.

  Gabrielle cut short her relieved sigh and levered away from him as best she could. Something, her veil maybe, seemed to be caught on the strap of his helmet.

  “No,” she said. “No, I most certainly am not okay. I am dizzy and nauseous and my head aches, not to mention—”

  “Yeah, you’re okay,” he muttered, not waiting for her to finish her litany of righteous complaints as he slid her body away from him.

  He got up quickly, jerking free of her veil, which in turn yanked the comb that anchored it to her head, pulling her hair so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Ouch,” she cried.

  It wasn’t fair, she thought. After all she’d been through in the past half hour or so—being abducted and carried off on a terrifying ride through the streets of Rhode Island and crashing into the back of a dark van—she had managed fairly well not to succumb to the hysteria that was crouched inside her, waiting to pounce. After all that, it wasn’t fair that all it should take was having her hair pulled to push her to the very edge of her control.