In McGillivray's Bed (17 page)

You can't get there from here,
should have been the motto of both places.

That suited Syd.

She didn't want to go there. As much as she had loved it, she didn't want to be reminded. She needed a fresh start. A completely new place. And by sheer luck she had found
one. She'd wanted a place with no ocean, no palm trees, no hammocks, no balmy breezes. Montana seemed to fit the bill.

Now, after two months, she was beginning to feel, if not whole, at least as if someday she might get there. She didn't have to work 24/7 to keep her mind from going back to Hugh every time she gave it any rest. She could go for an hour or two without wondering what he was doing now. She could sleep at night without waking up three or four times and wishing she was in his arms.

But sometimes, like whenever it rained, she couldn't quite push the memories away yet. Whenever it rained, she thought about The Storm.

Just her luck that there was a spattering on the windows this morning. Hardly a tropical downpour, but even so, Syd found herself staring at the raindrops and remembering, aching, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.

She was glad when Dusty buzzed and said, “Your eleven o'clock is here.”

Syd didn't know who her eleven o'clock was. Some man wanting to talk about a merger, Dusty had said.

Dusty wasn't the world's best assistant. She tended to forget things like names and phone numbers. But she was honest and reliable. She showed up every day no matter what. She also worked cheap. Until Syd had more clients, that was important.

Maybe, she told herself, Mr. Eleven O'Clock would be a wealthy client who could provide plenty of connections. You never knew.

It was a local connection she'd just made, after all, that had allowed her to get Turk Sawyer a commission to do paperweights for an art gallery on Main.

Now Syd pasted on her best corporate smile and stood as the door opened. When it did, she felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.

It was Hugh.

Clean shaven. In a suit. Looking solemn and supremely gorgeous as she had always known he would.

Her heart leaped at the same time the pain did. So much for getting over him. One look and she knew she wasn't over him at all.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He smiled slightly. “I came to discuss a merger.” He didn't sound like his usual devil-may-care breezy self. She saw a nerve ticking in his jaw. It surprised her.

“What sort of merger?” she asked, trying to get back on a business footing. “Fly Guy and—”

“Wonder Woman.”

“What?” She stared at him confused.

Hugh swallowed, grimaced, then met her gaze squarely, but the nerve still ticked in his jaw. “You,” he said, his voice ragged. “And me.”

Syd felt her knees wobble. She reached back to find the chair and dropped into it before she landed on the floor.
You and me?
She felt dizzy. Just a little short of breath. Did he mean—?

“Are you fainting?” His voice was stronger now, almost accusatory. Quite a lot like the Hugh she remembered.

Syd almost smiled. Numbly she shook her head. “N-no. I mean, yes. Sort of. I just—You? And me? As in—”

She couldn't quite finish because she didn't dare believe it. She wasn't sure she even believed he was here. She wished she'd thought to shake his hand. If she'd touched him, she'd know if he was real.

“Marriage,” he said.

She opened her mouth. No sound came out. She felt like a grouper, mouth opening and closing.

Hugh moved closer. Close enough to touch now. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face as she stared up at him.

He
was
real.

She closed her mouth. Dazed, light-headed, she shook her head.

He crouched down. “Why are you shaking your head? Are you saying no?” He sounded urgent, intent, vulnerable.

“No,” she said faintly. Then she smiled. “I'm saying yes.”

And then he grinned. That beautiful lopsided Hugh McGillivray grin. “Well,” he said, straightening up, grabbing her hands and hauling her up against him. “That's all right then.” His grin widened. He looked about ten years younger and a whole lot happier.

She leaned against his chest, looked up into his eyes, and knew the solid strength of the man beneath the suit. She brushed a hand over the fine-worsted wool. “Very impressive.”

“I can when I have to,” he murmured. He kissed her forehead, her hair, her ears, her lips. She touched his cheek and felt only the barest hint of whisker.

“You even shaved.”

He nodded. “I'd have done anything,” he told her. “I've been going nuts ever since I came back to find you gone. I needed to talk to you, to propose to you—”

“Came back?
When?
Propose?
When?
” she echoed his words, astonished.

“The next day! And you were gone! I came to my senses during some movie in Freeport.”

A day? If she'd waited a
day?

“I really do need to learn to take things easier,” she said, kissing him, reveling in the warmth of his embrace. “Waste time. Not go off half-cocked.”

“That would be nice.” He grinned. “But hardly you.”

“I could work on it.”

“Work,” Hugh reminded her, “is highly overrated.”

“You work as hard as anyone.” She knew that now. She also knew he did have his priorities straight. “But it's sort of fitting that you would come to your senses doing something as lazy as watching a movie. What movie?”

“I don't know. It doesn't matter. You matter. Only you. God, Syd, I do love you.”

They were words she'd given up hope of ever hearing. And now, when least expected, here they were. Life was really amazing.

But she didn't have much time to reflect on it. She felt his lips, firm and demanding, eager and persuasive. And the truth was, he didn't need to do much persuading. Syd was all too happy to kiss him back.

The kiss was even longer and deeper and more intense. It left them both breathless. Eager. Hungry for more, but knowing the office was hardly the place.

“I finished the roof,” Hugh told her with his lips still on hers, “if you'd like to come and have a look at it. See if it meets with your approval.”

“No more leaks when it rains?”

“If there are, I'll fix 'em. And after we're married, I'll teach you to fish and to play chess—”

“I know how to play chess!”

He laughed. “You'll just have to prove it.”

“Over and over,” she promised, laughing, too.

Then suddenly the laughter was gone as their gazes caught, clung. Hugh's eyes were shining. “I was a little slow—” he raked a hand through his hair, mussing it, making him look more like the McGillivray she was used to “—but I got it in the end. I want to do this right. I love you more than life itself. The world isn't half so beautiful when you're not with me. Will you marry me?”

Wondering, Syd touched his cheek, trailed her hand along his jaw, then pressed her lips to his. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes. I love you, too, Hugh McGillivray,” she vowed. “And I always will.”

 

T
HEY WERE MARRIED
a month later on Pelican Cay. They did it right according to Lachlin and Fiona, who had done it there before.

The whole island turned up to share in the joy of the occasion. Erica found Syd the perfect wedding dress. Trina the weather girl promised—and delivered—beautiful
weather. Molly was the maid of honor and, to her dismay, caught the bridal bouquet.

The reception at the Moonstone featured the steel drum band from The Grouper, who were later joined by the Cash brothers on the fiddle and accordion. By the time night fell David Grantham was playing the spoons, Simon St. John was dancing barefoot with Miss Saffron, and Michael the bartender was teaching Roland Carruthers how to concoct the perfect goombay smash while they sang “The Sloop John B.” with considerable gusto. Belle was sitting next to Sparks the cat, watching the whole amazing scene in astonishment.

By the time it ended Hugh and Syd were long gone, flying to Montana where they were spending their honeymoon at a cabin in the mountains.

“No distractions,” Syd had promised him when she'd suggested it.

But she was wrong.

The roof leaked.

Hugh, laughing, set out pans under all of the dribbles and drizzles.

“I'm sorry,” Syd apologized, chagrined. She'd thought they could kayak and canoe and hike and fish. Instead they were stuck indoors.

“I'm not sorry.” Hugh was laughing. “We know how to deal with rain, don't we?”

“You want to play chess?” Syd asked, deadpan.

“What do you think?” Still laughing, he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom where, mercifully, there were no leaks. He tossed her gently onto the soft feather bed, then dove beside her and rolled her in his arms.

“Chess, Mrs. McGillivray?” Hugh's eyes were dancing.

And Syd's were, too. She knew this game. She drew him down and kissed him soundly. Then she wriggled sensuously, luxuriating in the softness of the bed and the sudden hardness of her husband.

She smiled up at him. “Your move,” she said.