Sizzle All Day (39 page)

Jake.

The next, from Madagascar. A diamond as big as her thumb.

Dear Princess,

Crossed the equator. Had to put on extra socks. Won the jewel in a card game. Hate it here. Bugs are worse than Scotland's midges and Texas's mosquitoes combined. Miss you. Love you. Still cold.

Jake.

The third gift arrived from Burma. A miniature tiger carved of ivory with amber eyes.

Dear Princess,

Look at this and think of me. Grrr.... Hate it here. Too much spice in the food—even Chrissy would agree. Miss you. Love you. Colder yet.

Jake.

The fourth package arrived with an Australian postmark. Gillian frowned at the curved wooden stick and wondered just what it was.

Dear Princess,

Enclosed, please find a boomerang. Note that when you throw it, it always comes back. Hate it here. Scooter thinks crocodiles are something to play with. Miss you. Love you. My toes never thaw out.

Jake.

Seashells filled the fifth box. "Tahiti," she murmured, blinking back tears.

Dear Princess,

Here I am. Beautiful beaches, crystalline sea, women who aren't too picky about clothes. Hate it here. I mean, I really hate it. Nothing about this place appeals. Not the beaches. Not the shark infested sea. Definitely not the women. Miss you. Love you. I'm beginning to think I may freeze to death before this nonsense is done.

Jake.

As the months dragged by, Gillian waited for a sixth package to arrive. She began each day filled with anticipation. She ended each day mired in gloom. As time passed, the doubts grew. Why hadn't she heard from him? Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Did he decide he liked those half-naked Tahitian women, after all?

When finally the sixth gift did arrive from Jake, it came in a most unexpected manner. She was sitting at a table in the kitchen discussing recipes with Mrs. Ferguson when the cook looked up and gasped. The dish she was holding crashed to the floor. Gillian twisted around.

"Hello, lass."

"Nicholas?"

He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. "Gillian, right? Not Flora?"

"Nick!" Joy filled her heart as she flew into his arms.

He put off her questions until the family assembled a short time later in Uncle Angus's bedchamber. The introduction between Nick and Robyn brought a Lump to Gillian's throat. Her big braw brother looked almost frightened of the lass.

Uncle Angus, expert now in manipulating his wheeled chair, rolled up to Gillian's brother, glared into his face, and demanded answers. Nicholas poured a whisky, tossed back a swallow, then said, "A man named Delaney hired a detective to find me. I understand this Delaney fellow now owns Rowanclere?"

"Jake Delaney is my husband, but never mind about him. Where were you, Nicholas? Why did you stay gone so long?"

His lips twisted into a crooked smile. "Actually, lass, when your husband's man found me, I was at a wedding in Fort Worth."

"A wedding?"

"It is a long, ugly story and I do not wish to darken this reunion day. Let's leave it for another time, shall we? How, tell me of our sister. Young Robyn says Flora has bairns?"

With Nick home, the atmosphere around Rowanclere lightened to an extent. Still, Gillian waited for word from Jake. She soothed herself with the knowledge that posts from foreign ports were undependable. She worried herself with the fact she might never hear from him again. Boomerang or not.

Finally, more than a month following Nick's return to Rowanclere, a seventh box arrived. The packaging was plain, with no indications of origin. Her heart pounding, she opened it to find a framed canvas and a painting that literally took her breath away.

It was Rowanclere—but it wasn't. It was Rowanclere in warm, tropical shades of orange, yellow, and red. It was bright and brilliant and oh, so beautiful. "Oh, Jake," she murmured on a sigh. Then, she opened the enclosed note.

Dear Princess,

Adventure isn't external. Adventure is what lives inside a man. I love it here. Everything about this place appeals to me. The people, the pets, even the ghosts. Especially the ghosts. I want to stay forever. Can you finally accept that
⁷
Can you finally believe me? Miss you. Love you. I'm warm again, princess. But I want to sizzle. I really, really want to sizzle. Hurry.

Jake.

The note fluttered from Gillian's hand. "He's not cold anymore? He's warm? He's... here! Oh, dear God, he's finally come home!"

She knew immediately where to look for him. She dashed from the drawing room and darted through the corridors of Rowanclere to the staircase leading up to Maiden's Tower. Picking up her skirts, she ran up the stairs and burst into the chamber room.

He wore the feileadh mor with no shirt beneath. He looked tanned and a bit tired. Nervous, perhaps. "Hello, princess."

"Jake!" Tears of happiness spilled from her eyes as she flew into his arms. "Oh, Jake. You're back. You're finally back."

"Finally is right." He sighed and buried his face in her hair. "Damn, Gillian. I have ached to hold you for so long."

She closed her eyes and absorbed this long anticipated moment. Jake had come home to her, just like he'd promised. Elation warmed her heart and joy filled her soul as she smiled up at him and asked, "How were your adventures?"

"Lonely. I see you got the carpet."

"Yes. And the diamond and tiger and shells and the boomerang. They were wonderful. And Nick, he's a gift, too. And the painting today. It took my breath away."

Jake nodded. "I have another present. Well, it's not really a present. Something I picked up on one of the islands."

"Is it catching?"

He scowled. "I was faithful to our vows, Mrs. Delaney. Now, do you want to see it or not?"

She shrugged. Looking at gifts wasn't at all what she wanted at the moment, but since it seemed to matter... "That would be nice."

"Well, I was sharing a bottle of whisky with an old Scots sailor in a bar in Australia, when somebody heard his burr and made a snickering comment about what Scotsmen wear beneath their kilts. One thing sort of led to another, and we ended up in a major debate about what Texans should wear beneath a feileadh mor. So here's what we decided." He yanked up the tartan to his waist.

Gillian blinked. "Um, that's impressive, Jake, as always. But you had that when you left home. I know. I remember quite clearly."

"Not that." He frowned at her, angled his hip toward her, then pointed at a spot of color on his buttock. "This."

She blinked again. "What is that?"

"It's my tattoo. It's a castle. It's Rowanclere—or what's supposed to be Rowanclere, anyway."

"You had Rowanclere tattooed on your behouchie? Why?"

"Well, some of the 'why' of it was lost in the whisky fog, but from what I recall, the conversation centered around a man's pride and how what he most valued hung between his legs, hence beneath the kilt. What I do remember distinctly is why I chose the picture that I did. Rowanclere and the flame."

"Flame?" She stared a lithe closer. Yes there was some sort of yellow blob hovering above a tower.

"I know it looks more like an upside down turkey wattle, but it's supposed to be a flame. I remember the Brodie coat of arms and motto displayed on so many things here at Rowanclere, so I figured since the castle changed hands, it needed a new one. This is the Delaney coat of arms, Gillian. The motto is on the banner below the castle."

"Motto?"

"It's small, hard to read because it's long."

Actually, she could probably read it if she took her gaze off his "pride" long enough. But one did have one's priorities, after all, and he had been away a long time. "What does it say?"

"It's in Latin, but the translation is 'I came, I saw, I loved, I stayed forever.'"

"And the flame?"

He allowed the feileadh mor to drop back into place as he put his hands on Gillian's waist and held her. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he spoke with simple sincerity as he said, "It's the symbol of my love for you, and my burning desire to live out my life at Rowanclere. You see, princess, this is the lesson I learned in my travels. No matter where I am—the Sahara Desert, crossing the equator at sea, or traipsing through the Burmese jungle—this world is a cold, cold place whenever I'm not with you. Let me stay and never send me away again. Be my warmth, Gillian. Be my home."

Love flowed between them, warm and sweet and free of any doubt. Smiling, Gillian pulled his lips down to hers. "Welcome to Rowanclere, Texas. Welcome home."

Later, after the first impatient rush of passion and a second more leisurely loving, Jake sat up and said, "Princess, about the gifts?"

Gillian stretched sensuously. "Mmm... hmm?"

"I did bring more home."

"More?"

"More." He wore a wicked grin, and his eyes sparkled with devilment. Gesturing toward a sea chest sitting against the wall, he winked at her and said, "Wait till you see the toys I picked up in Tangier."

The End

Page Forward for more by Geralyn Dawson

Excerpt from

The Bad Luck Wedding Night

Bad Luck Abroad

Book Three

by

Geralyn Dawson

© 2001, 2011 by Geralyn Dawson Williams

It's bad luck to marry in May, on Friday, or on an odd-numbered day, especially the Thirteenth.

Chapter 1

Friday, May 13

Fort Worth, Texas 1877

In the two-room honeymoon suite at the Blackstone Hotel, Sarah Ross extended her left arm, wiggled her fingers, and smiled with delight as the lamplight glistened off the shiny gold band. "Mrs. Nicholas Ross," she murmured with a sigh. "Sarah Ross. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Ross."