The Wedding Bargain

“Who’s there?” Drew called out.

Sweat broke out when he heard the cock of a shotgun.

With a fast reflex, Drew hooked the ankle of the intruder and they landed hard on the dirt floor. He heard the rush of air from the woman’s lungs.

And her sputtering.

He felt like laughing.

Olivia.

What the hell was she doing here?

“Drew!” Her voice registered amazement; then she laughed, relaxing under his weight. “Oh, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I won that round.”

“I don’t think so.”

Unable to resist, Drew dipped his head and kissed her, stealing her breath before she could catch it and talk back.

When her arms crept around his neck, he knew he’d won this minor skirmish, but not the entire battle!

Dear Reader,

Instead of writing your resolutions, I have the perfect way to begin the new year—read this month’s spectacular selection of Silhouette Special Edition romances! These exciting books will put a song in your heart, starting with another installment of our very popular MONTANA MAVERICKS series—In Love With Her Boss by the stellar Christie Ridgway. Christie vows this year to “appreciate the time I have with my husband and sons and appreciate them for the unique people they are.”

Lindsay McKenna brings us a thrilling story from her MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: DESTINY’S WOMEN series with Woman of Innocence, in which an adventure-seeking beauty meets up with the legendary—and breathtaking—mercenary of her dreams! The excitement continues with Victoria Pade’s next tale, On Pins and Needles, in her A RANCHING FAMILY series. Here, a skeptical sheriff falls for a lovely acupuncturist who finds the wonder cure for all his doubts—her love!

And what does a small-town schoolteacher do when she finds a baby on her doorstep? Find out in Nikki Benjamin’s heartwarming reunion romance Rookie Cop. A love story you’re sure to savor is The Older Woman by Cheryl Reavis, in which a paratrooper captain falls head over heels for the tough-talking nurse living next door. This year, Cheryl wants to “stop and smell the roses.” I also recommend Lisette Belisle’s latest marriage-of-convenience story, The Wedding Bargain, in which an inheritance—and two hearts—are at stake! Lisette believes that the new year means “a fresh start, and vows to meet each new day with renewed faith, energy and a sense of humor.”

I’m pleased to celebrate with you the beginning of a brand-new year. May you also stop to smell the roses, and find many treasures in Silhouette Special Edition the whole year through!

Enjoy!

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

The Wedding Bargain

Lisette Belisle

With heartfelt thanks to my agent, Karen Solem, for reasons too numerous to list.

LISETTE BELISLE

believes in putting everything into whatever she does, whether it’s a nursing career, motherhood or writing. While balancing a sense of practicality with a streak of adventure, she applies that dedication in creating stories of people overcoming the odds. Her message is clear—believe in yourself and believe in love. She is the founder and past president of the Saratoga chapter of Romance Writers of America. Canadian-born, she grew up in New Hampshire and currently lives in upstate New York with her engineer husband, Frank.

She’d love to hear from her readers. She can be reached at: P.O. Box 1166, Ballston Lake, NY 12019.

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 Sixteen

Chapter One

I t felt strange to be free.

Free.

Five years after an explosion ripped his world apart, Drew Pierce walked into a roadside diner. Seeking temporary shelter from the rain, and the descending night, he blended in with the rough crowd.

His clothes felt damp, they were cheap, free prison issue, no name brands. His mouth twisted, recalling a time when that had actually mattered to him. Shrugging the thought aside, he skirted the occupied tables and found a seat at the chrome-edged counter. He sat on a hard stool, aware of a certain weariness that had nothing to do with time and circumstances.

His last ride had dropped him off at the diner. After a short break he’d be on the road again, hitching a ride with one of the truck drivers going his way. He was going home, surely a time for rejoicing. But no one was cheering, least of all him.

A middle-aged waitress was flipping burgers; onions sizzled on the grill. She looked dead on her feet; nevertheless, she spared him a smile. “What’ll it be?”

Drew stared back blankly. It had been so long since anyone had offered him a choice.

Choices.

He’d made so many wrong ones. They’d brought him to this place…this moment in time. The fluorescent lights were dim with several bulbs burned out. The day’s menu—meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, along with the usual fare of burgers and deli-type selections—was posted on a chalkboard. The diner was definitely not a four-star establishment. He’d hit rock bottom.

The waitress was waiting for his order.

“Just coffee—black.” He raised his voice above the music blaring out of the jukebox. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it was pure country.

“You want anything to go with that?”

“That’s it,” Drew replied, with his thin wallet in mind. He barely had enough money to last a couple more days. His empty stomach groaned in protest. His gaze drifted hungrily to the pie sitting under glass. The crust was thin, the filling thick, purple-blue.

The waitress followed his glance. “We’re closing soon. The last piece is half-price.” Her kindness surprised Drew.

Swallowing his pride, he murmured, “Thanks.”

Moments later he bit into the generous wedge of pie. Yes, the blueberries were just as wild and sweet as he remembered, like forbidden fruit, some of northern Maine’s finest, no doubt. The coffee was strong, just the way he liked it—not that he would have complained.

He’d learned to accept small inconveniences, small indignities, even the big ones, to be honest. And he was nothing if not honest—a hard-won lesson. With everything stripped away, he’d taken a hard look at himself and didn’t like what he’d seen—a careless playboy, a user. His father had always said his second son would come to a bad end; and Drew had proved him right.

He polished off the last bite of pie.

In the corner, a television set was tuned to a football game. A few men had gathered around. Drew glanced at it idly. Someone turned up the volume a notch or two, competing with the jukebox and the sounds of laughter and conversation.

When the noise abruptly leveled off, Drew was slow to react. Lifting his cup to his mouth, he didn’t turn to gape at the new arrival as the other men did; nevertheless, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman’s reflection in the mirror behind the counter. Through a smoke-filled haze, he got an eyeful.

He’d heard the saying “Good things come in small packages.” Small and slender in a black leather jacket, with tight black jeans tucked into leather boots, she was dynamite.

For a brief charged minute, their gazes connected in the mirror. Something warm kindled in her eyes before she glanced away. With a stifled inner groan, Drew tried to deny his gut reaction. How long had it been since he’d been within touching distance of a beautiful sexy woman?

Too long.

When she drew off a cap to reveal a glorious tangle of pale golden hair, a man sitting near Drew was lighting a cigarette. The match flared, then burned down while she shook the moisture from her head, then walked slowly forward—every move as graceful as a small sinewy cat.

“Ouch!” The match burned the man’s fingers.

With a wry smile, Drew knew exactly how the man felt. She was hot. Once, he would have tried to pick her up. Now, he buried the impulse and nursed his coffee. He’d sown his wild oats, and then some. From now on, he intended to be the soul of discretion and stay out of trouble.

And she looked like his definition of trouble!

Apart from that, she looked youthful, a little unsure. Drew hoped she knew how to handle herself with this crowd because he had no intention of coming to her rescue. The tension in the room was palpable. And all because of a little piece of fluff.

She looked fragile, yet ripe.

With a frown, Drew silenced the thought.

The lights dimmed slightly.

The waitress called, “Closing in ten.”

Olivia DeAngelis heard the announcement.

Just her luck, she thought. With a sinking feeling, she took in the scene. The diner was closing. And here she was, stranded, somewhere south of Presque Isle.

She had planned to stay overnight in Bangor. But disheartened after seeing her lawyer and receiving his less-than-encouraging summary of her finances—and what she could do about it—she’d changed her mind and decided to head home despite the bad driving weather.

Now, to make matters worse, she’d stumbled into a diner filled with hard-core bikers and truckers. There wasn’t a respectable-looking man in sight, she decided, automatically rating each man according to his general appearance.

When she found her gaze tangling a second time with a pair of brooding dark eyes reflected in the mirror behind the counter, she wondered—had she sunk low enough to consider a stranger met in a seedy diner? She flushed at the thought and watched his eyes narrow. Had he read her mind?

Hastily she looked away.

At the moment, she had more pressing concerns than finding a husband to satisfy her lawyer. How to get home topped her list.

While she hesitated, one man broke from a group around the television. “Hey, doll, need some company?”

Trying to appear casual, she smiled. “No, thanks, I’m meeting someone.” She wasn’t, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Don’t rush off.”

Olivia felt a big beefy hand on her arm. “Excuse me,” she said, dismissing him more firmly.

The man chuckled through his thick pepper-gray beard, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “Forget your date. How about a drink?”

Olivia looked around for an escape. Her gaze fell again on the lone man at the far end of the counter. While all the other men were watching with avid attention, he was ignoring her—which made him appear safe.

“There’s my date.” She disguised her clamoring nerves with a light laugh. Forcing herself not to run, she crossed the room.

“Hey,” the man called after her. “Not so fast.”

Olivia didn’t slow down. Taking a deep breath, she slid onto the empty stool beside the stranger, then leaned toward him.

“Please, pretend you know me,” she whispered, momentarily shaken by the shuttered cynicism in his dark-brown eyes when he turned to look at her. “Just for a couple of minutes.”

Meeting her plea with an unwelcoming frown, he released a harsh sigh with the words, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do I.” She met his dark gaze.

He shook his head. “Look, I’m no knight in shining armor. Why don’t you find someone else?”

She looked around. “Who do you recommend?”

“Hell,” he muttered, then fell silent.

Taking that as an agreement, Olivia relaxed…a little.

The waitress glanced at both of them. “Who’s buying?”

“I am,” Olivia spoke up brightly. Thanks to a difficult childhood, she’d learned to take care of herself. Adapting to any new situation was lesson number one.

With a trail of unhappy children and broken marriages left behind, Olivia’s mother had spent her life trying to find herself—usually through some man.

Sadly she never had.

For the most part, Olivia avoided the male half of the species. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men; she simply didn’t want one of her own.

However, she’d learned to rely on her intuition when all else failed her. Some basic instinct told her that her rescuer—no matter how reluctant, aloof and unsociable—would do her no harm.

Under the dim lights, his face appeared shadowed; his hair was dark, clipped short. His clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else—someone stockier. He looked down on his luck. Olivia could identify with that. In less than six months, she’d be homeless.

Putting the dismal reality aside, she glanced at his drink, surprised to see it was nonalcoholic.

“I’ll have a Coke,” she said to the waitress, while ignoring the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm about her company. “I’m starved. Can I have some chips with that? I’ve been on the road all day. The weather’s awful! Then, to top it off, my car’s been acting funny since I left Bangor.” Olivia stopped just long enough to take a much-needed breath. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who can fix it?”

“Not until morning, I’m afraid.” The waitress took a swipe at the counter with a damp sponge. “A mechanic usually comes on duty at the garage next door at eight. There’s a motel out back. It’s nothing special,” she added.

Olivia could just imagine a seedy motel. They probably charged by the hour. “I was hoping to get home tonight.”

She jumped when the stranger at her side spoke up.

“Where’s home?” he asked.

“Henderson. It’s not far, less than two hours away.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I know where it is.”

“Oh?” When he said nothing more, she spoke again, “By the way, my name’s Olivia DeAngelis. And you are?”

“Drew Pierce.” He seemed to wait for a reaction—obviously assuming she recognized the name.

Returning with Olivia’s order, the waitress provided a distraction. She looked at Drew with interest.

“My husband used to do some logging. You related to them Pierces?”

“Yes,” he responded.

Amused by the terse reply, Olivia raised her glass to her lips, hiding her surprise at his identity. So this was the infamous Drew Pierce. Of course, she’d heard of him.

The Pierce family had once controlled Henderson’s logging and farming economy, before an explosion destroyed the migrant camp. Olivia frowned, trying to recall the details of the trial that followed—something about safety violations. There were also charges of mismanagement. Despite some high-powered lawyers, Drew Pierce was found guilty and sentenced, after which his family had cut their losses and left Henderson. The town hadn’t been the same since.

Olivia glanced at him, taking in the square chin, the full sensuous mouth, the dark hair and eyes. Funny, he didn’t look like pond scum, or any other of the unflattering terms she’d heard used around town to describe him. In fact, he looked disturbingly handsome in a reckless, edgy sort of way.

Then she remembered something else.

His family might have left town, but their house, Oakridge, was still standing. They were practically neighbors! She almost said as much, but his closed expression suggested he wouldn’t welcome that piece of information.

Olivia opened the bag of chips and offered him some.

“No thanks.” Drew tried to ignore her.

He really did try.

Might as well try to ignore a fly buzzing around his ear, he decided. But with her laughter and lightness, she seemed so feminine, so new, reminding him of all the female company he’d missed. If he stayed here one moment longer, he’d be demanding a key to that motel room and trying to lure her out there. But he didn’t do that sort of thing anymore! He was reformed, determined to go straight and avoid any entanglements, even if it killed him. Which meant he needed to rescue her—if only from himself.

With that thought uppermost, he said, “I know something about cars. Let me take a look.”

“Thanks.” She sounded breathless, as if he’d surprised her.

He probably had—he’d shocked himself. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to help her. Maybe it was that vulnerable mouth or the determined cheerfulness…or the way she filled out her jeans. In any case, the sooner he fixed her car and sent her on her way, the better he would feel.

He held out his hand. “Can I have the keys?”

She started to hand them to him, then stopped. “I think I’ll come with you.”

So she wasn’t all that trusting.

Smart woman.

With a tight smile, Drew took the keys from her, got up, then walked out, not surprised when she hastened after him. He didn’t slow down until he reached the parking lot.

The truck stop was all lit up with glittering red and blue neon lights. Rain bounced off the pavement. Within seconds, he was drenched.

Great.

With a grimace of discomfort, Drew turned up the collar of his denim jacket. It wasn’t waterproof.

Through the downpour, he looked around the parking lot. “Which car is yours?”

She pointed to a sedan sandwiched between two eighteen-wheel trucks. “That one.” Her car was small, like her, and a pale powder-blue.

With Olivia looking on, Drew climbed into the driver’s seat, then turned the ignition. Nothing happened.

“When did you first notice something was wrong?” he asked.

In response, she spared him none of the details. “It was running fine when I left Bangor after dropping off my brother and his family at the airport. Then I had lunch and did a couple of errands. It all took longer than I hoped. The car was still fine when I started driving home. Then it got dark.”

“Then what?”

“When I turned on the lights, they were dim. And they got dimmer. I’m lucky I got this far.”

Lucky for whom?

Sorting through all the information, Drew said, “Sounds like the battery might be going. How old is it?”

She looked at the car. “I bought it secondhand.”

“When was that?”

“About four years ago. They said all the equipment was original.” She beamed—as if that was a good thing.

Drew grunted some response. Her optimism was beginning to wear thin. “Let’s have a look.” He propped the hood open, then bent over the engine. “The battery terminals look corroded.”

“Hmm.” She got out an umbrella—a yellow flowered one, then tried to hold it steady over his head while he cleaned the terminals. The wind blew, rain lashed in four directions.

Before long, they were both soaked. She sneezed.

Drew glanced at her. “Why don’t you go back inside?”

“You might need my help.” She smiled at him, her eyes wide and gray, as crystal clear and guileless as a mountain stream.

He stared for a long moment. Something about her seemed familiar. “What did you say your name was?”

“Olivia DeAngelis.”

His gaze skimmed over her delicate flower-face, her pale hair. Irrepressible as her, it curled like a gold halo around her head. “You don’t look Italian.”

In her black leather jacket and jeans, she was an intriguing blend of worldliness and innocence. A wayward angel.

“I’m not. I was adopted.” She didn’t add any details.

“You’re not from around here originally.”

She tilted her head. “How did you guess?”

“The accent gave you away.” He’d gone to college and met people from the West Coast. “California breeze.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

When he remained silent, her smile faded.

So he’d finally burst her bubble of cheer. In a way, Drew regretted it, but perhaps it was just as well. He didn’t need a woman like her cluttering his life. He had no connections; his family had disowned him. Under the circumstances, he didn’t really blame them. His list of transgressions was long.

He’d hurt some innocent people and served time in an out-of-state minimum-security prison—not his idea of a country club by any stretch of the imagination. Society had exacted a price, and he’d paid. Would that satisfy his detractors and earn forgiveness? He was going home to face the same people who judged him guilty and sent him to prison. Beyond that, he had no plans—except to pick up his few belongings, then head out somewhere.

He had no clear destination in mind—as long as it was as far from his past as he could get.

Only one thing was certain—no one would miss him.

Not a soul.

Did he care?

He wasn’t sure. The admission left him empty.

At his deliberate attempt to distance himself, Olivia shivered in the cold autumn night. She tried to shake off Drew’s easy dismissal. People usually liked her; she worked hard to make sure they did.

Unexpectedly hurt and not willing to examine the reason too closely since all six-foot-two of him was standing less than a yard away, she decided to treat his rudeness with silence. That lasted about a minute.

Now he was glowering at the engine!

Alarmed, she leaned over for a closer look—brushing his hard elbow with her own.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, confused by the mess of greasy gears and wires.

“Nothing.” He inched his arm away, leaving her feeling colder than before. “I just cleaned and reset the wires. With a jump-start, you can be on your way.”

“Oh.” What had she expected?

Surprisingly he gave her a direct glance. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.”

His mouth was set in a rigid line, his brow was furrowed. He didn’t look sorry. His chiseled features looked hard, with deep-set eyes that looked older than the rest of him. Despite that bit of insight, Olivia hardened her sympathetic heart.

She didn’t flinch from the truth. “You think I’m an airhead.” Why did that hurt? Why should she care what this man thought? She’d survived worse.

Drew heard the defensive note in her voice. “I didn’t say that.” All right, so maybe he did think she was a mental lightweight. He couldn’t deny that. But he also thought she was very young—far too young and vulnerable to be out alone, forced to rely on strangers for help.

If she belonged to him, he’d—

He stopped the thought before it went anywhere.

She wasn’t his. There had been many women in his life, but only one had touched his heart and left it permanently scarred. There was no room for another, which was exactly the way he wanted it.

Wasn’t it?

Before they got mired any deeper in this conversation, Drew decided to put an end to it. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She lifted her dainty chin. “You didn’t.”

He tried to keep a note of impatience from creeping into his voice. “I don’t know you. I offered to fix your car. That’s it. We’re never going to see each other again, so my opinion hardly matters. Does it?”

Her heart-shaped face, with delicate brows and mouth, remained soft—even though she was visibly annoyed. “No, it doesn’t.”

At her aggrieved tone, he hid a smile.

“Then how about handing me that wrench?” He held out his hand.

“This one?” She slapped the hard metal into his outstretched palm.

The impact stung.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. Despite her diminutive size, Olivia DeAngelis packed a wallop.

“I think I’ll wait in the car.” She coolly folded her umbrella, then turned away.

In silence Drew watched her climb into the car, firmly resisting the urge to call her back, to apologize. He winced when she slammed the door.