Midnight Promises

“Maybe you didn’t think our marriage was real, but I did,” Jack said.

Annie froze. “You just took off, leaving that stupid note. ‘When you come to your senses, you can join me.’ You’re supposed to be so good with women, Jack. Did you really think that was going to make me fly off to the ends of the earth to be with you?”

“You’re not like other women. You’re Annie.” Annie, his friend, who had stood beside him in a gaudy little wedding chapel and promised to be with him forever….

“I wasn’t expecting to leave the country practically the minute I got married! I wasn’t expecting to get married at all! Then you got that call. Everything happened too fast.”

“Look, Annie, we’ve got to get some things settled….”

“You want a divorce….”

“Divorce? I’m not here to ask you for a divorce. I’m here to claim the wedding night we never had.”

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! Silhouette Intimate Moments is starting the year off with a bang—not to mention six great books. Why not begin with the latest of THE PROTECTORS, Beverly Barton’s miniseries about men no woman can resist? In Murdock’s Last Stand, a well-muscled mercenary meets his match in a woman who suddenly has him thinking of forever.

Alicia Scott returns with Marrying Mike… Again, an intense reunion story featuring a couple who are both police officers with old hurts to heal before their happy ending. Try Terese Ramin’s A Drive-By Wedding when you’re in the mood for suspense, an undercover agent hero, an irresistible child and a carjacked heroine who ends up glad to go along for the ride. Already known for her compelling storytelling abilities, Eileen Wilks lives up to her reputation with Midnight Promises, a marriage-of-convenience story unlike any other you’ve ever read. Virginia Kantra brings you the next of the irresistible MacNeills in The Comeback of Con MacNeill, and Kate Stevenson returns after a long time away, with Witness…and Wife?

All six books live up to Intimate Moments’ reputation for excitement and passion mixed together in just the right proportions, so I hope you enjoy them all.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Midnight Promises

Eileen Wilks

This book is for Bill and Martin, who serve the best

Key lime pie in the world.

Thanks for sharing Denver with me—

live long and prosper!

EILEEN WILKS

is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage, raising two kids and innumerable dogs and cats along the way. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.

Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612.

Contents

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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

“Did you hear the news, dear? Jack Merriman is in town.”

Annie didn’t actually sway. Her head went light and dizzy and the attic’s dusty air got stuck in her lungs, keeping her from drawing a breath, but her body didn’t move. That was fortunate, since only half of her was in the attic. The other half was in Mrs. Perez’s garage, with her size-five work boots planted on the highest rung of the stepladder.

“Jack is back?” she managed to say as soon as her lungs started working again. “Are you sure?”

Annie couldn’t see Mrs. Perez, who had been determined to stay in the garage while Annie worked so she could steady the stepladder with all ninety-five pounds of her aging body. It was an unnecessary caution. The ladder was sturdy, and Annie had a head for heights.

At least, normally she had a head for heights.

“Oh, yes,” the older woman said. “I heard it directly from Ida Hoffman when I went to the grocery store this morning.”

Ida had been the Merrimans’ housekeeper for thirty years. “It must be true, then.”

“He showed up yesterday afternoon without a word of warning. Ida said she nearly fell over when she opened the door and there he stood, grinning at her.”

“That sounds like Jack. Unpredictable.” Annie was pleased with herself. She didn’t sound angry or upset or afraid, though she felt all of that and more. How typical of Jack to show up without a word to her! “I’ll bet Ida was surprised.”

“That’s an understatement. She was thrilled, of course. She always did have a soft spot for that rascal.”

So what else was new? Women always liked Jack—all women, all ages.

“Ida was so excited about having Jack home. She’s looking forward to cooking for him. With that big old house standing empty ever since Sybil Merriman’s death, she hasn’t had much to do.”

Annie agreed without really listening, her attention trapped between the past and the present. She frowned at the dust motes sifting lazily down the band of sunshine admitted by the attic window. Jack was a lot like those dust motes—always in motion. Even when everything was smooth and peaceful, he couldn’t be still, couldn’t stay in one place. One little puff of wind and he was gone.

He’d proved that, hadn’t he? A little over two months ago, when he left her.

She wasn’t here to contemplate past follies, she reminded herself, and trained the beam from her high-powered torch on the wiring she’d just finished redoing. It looked fine. The damned beam was trembling, though. So was Annie’s hand. She scowled and shut the torch off. “All done here,” she said, and started down the ladder.

“I appreciate you coming out to fix this so promptly.” Annie’s former teacher held the ladder for her until Annie had her feet once more on the ground. “Give me a moment to find my checkbook, and I’ll pay you for your time. Though I still don’t understand why you’re doing handyman work instead of teaching.”

“Mrs. P—”

“Never mind.” She patted Annie’s shoulder. “I promised not to nag, and I won’t.”

While Mrs. Perez went in search of her checkbook, Annie made out her bill on the kitchen table. She was determined not to let herself start brooding over past mistakes or her current lack of direction. She’d done too much of that already. After years of working determinedly toward one goal, taking step after difficult step along the path she’d set for herself—a path she had chosen in part because of the woman whose wiring she had just fixed—it had been more than upsetting to learn she’d been wrong about her life’s work. It had shaken her world.

Which was how she’d ended up making the second big mistake of her life.

Annie shook her head. She was not going to think about Jack. She wasn’t going to speculate about why he was here, or what he intended to do. With Jack, she assured herself as she tore off the bill, speculation was pointless.

Mrs. Perez’s voice came to her from the back of the house. “Why do you suppose Jack Merriman is in town?”

Of course, it was hard to put him out of her mind when people insisted on talking about him. “Who knows? Jack’s reasons don’t always make sense to normal people.”

“He didn’t return for his aunt’s funeral.”

“He was in Borneo, for heaven’s sake. I’m sure he would have been here if he could have made it in time.” She bit her lip, annoyed at the way she’d automatically defended Jack—and that she’d given away her knowledge of his whereabouts.

“Here it is!” Mrs. Perez returned, waving her checkbook triumphantly. “Ida was hoping Jack might have decided to move home for good. He owns that house now, after all.”

“I imagine he’ll sell it. Jack doesn’t need a house here, not when his job takes him all over the world.” Which was just how he liked his life to be—in motion. Annie held out the bill. “Here you go, Mrs. P. You let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Mrs. Perez glanced at the bill, then fixed Annie with the steely look that had always made Annie confess to anything in high school. “This can’t be right.”

“Is it too high? Let me run the figures again.”

“Nonsense. You know very well you haven’t charged me enough.”

Annie also knew that Mrs. Perez’s husband had been in the hospital twice this year. She tried to look innocent. “Ah—senior citizens’ discount?”

Mrs. Perez charmed Annie by rolling her eyes. “Shall I tell all my age-disadvantaged friends that you will do their work for less than half the going rate, then?”

That might be a problem, given the current state of her bank account. “Age-disadvantaged?”

The old eyes twinkled. “Never mind. You’re a rascal, Annie, but a bighearted one.” She bent and wrote out the check. “Now, when you see that other rascal, you be sure and tell him I expect him to come visit me.” She cocked her head to one side, looking like a wrinkled sparrow. “You know, back when you and Jack were in high school I used to wonder if you two would make a match of it.”

Annie concentrated on tucking the check away neatly in a bank deposit pouch. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were such good friends and you had so much in common, in spite of your differences…I suppose I thought you might be a good balance for each other. You’re so level-headed. Jack could use a touch of your caution.”

“Except that it usually worked the other way around,” Annie said dryly. “Just ask my brothers. Jack always could talk me into…” She flushed. That came too close to home. The last escapade Jack had talked her into had been a good deal more serious than the high school high jinks she and Jack and her brother Charlie had sometimes pulled.

Mrs. Perez looked at her over her glasses. “Perhaps you could use a touch of his impulsiveness, too.”

Definitely not. She’d proved how poorly acting on impulse worked for her. She started for the door. “Don’t let Ben hear you say that.”

Mrs. Perez followed, opening the door for her. “Ben means well, but brothers aren’t always realistic about their little sisters. And you’ve always possessed a surfeit of brothers.”

She grinned, liking the phrase. Since she had three older brothers, it fit all too well. “You do have a way with words, Mrs. P. How would you say that in Spanish?”

“Una plaga testosterone,” the older woman replied promptly.

A testosterone plague? Annie laughed and took her leave. She was still grinning as she climbed into her Bronco. The first thing she did was check her to-do list and cross off Mrs. P.’s job.

Jack was back.

There was no point in writing that down. She wasn’t going to forget, and nothing Jack Merriman was likely to do would fit neatly on any list.

Though it was only September, the air had a bite to it. She shrugged into her jacket so she could leave her window down. Annie liked to feel connected to the world around her—to the quiet bustle of her hometown, and to the wild and rugged peaks surrounding it. The air streaming in her window was spiced with pine and juniper, sharpened by a hint of ozone. Breathing in the familiar mingling of scents comforted her.

Whatever mistakes she might have made, coming home to Highpoint wasn’t one of them. The big city hadn’t been right. Not for her.

It was late afternoon. Thunderheads building to the north had darkened the sky, making the air dreamy with dusk. Annie took note of the storm that was headed their way and smiled. She had a fondness for storms.

As she turned onto Main, her cell phone rang. She crossed her fingers as she thumbed the connect button, hoping it was someone calling about work.

It wasn’t.

“What the hell is Jack Merriman doing back in town?” her oldest brother’s voice growled in her ear. “And why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Gosh, Ben, I wish you’d quit beating around the bush,” she said dryly. “Just come out and say what’s on your mind.”

That low, rumbling noise was his chuckle. “So, how was your day, Annie? Nice weather we’re having. What do you think of those Bulls? And why didn’t you tell me Jack was coming home?”

“Because I didn’t know. I just heard about it from Mrs. Perez.”

There was a moment of silence. “I guess you think I’m overreacting. But after all the trouble Jack dragged you and Charlie into, can you blame me for being edgy?”

“That depends on whether you called Charlie to lay down the law, too.”

“I don’t lay down the law. A little advice from your big brother—”

“Which tends to sound a whole lot like orders. I think I’ve mentioned this habit you have of thinking I’m still fifteen and in need of a curfew.” Annie had been ten when their parents were killed. Ben had been twenty-two. He’d quietly put his own life on hold in order to keep the family together, a sacrifice she was only beginning to understand. But he drove her crazy sometimes.

Which was why she hadn’t told him about Jack. Her conscience twinged. She changed the subject. “I’m going to swing by the grocery store on my way home. Is there anything you need? You do remember that it’s your turn to cook tonight, don’t you?”

Ben made his usual grumbling protest, and the familiar debate over who was cooking, who was cleaning up and who had the night off soothed her. It was almost like old times. Her second-oldest brother, Duncan, was in the Special Forces, so she rarely saw him. But her next-oldest brother, Charlie, was a long-haul truck driver, and when he was in town he lived with her and Ben in the old house where they’d all grown up.

“All right,” Ben conceded finally. “I’ll fix chili if you’ll pick up some jalapeño peppers. Get a half dozen.”

“Two.” Even without the fresh peppers, Ben’s chili could dissolve a spoon if you didn’t eat fast.

“All right, all right. Look, I’m sorry I jumped all over you earlier, half pint. I guess I did act as though you were still in school and trying to hide whatever you and Jack were up to.”

A sick lump formed in the pit of her stomach. “I’m used to it,” she said lightly. “Listen, I’d better go before this call eats up my entire earnings for the day.”

As soon as her brother said goodbye she disconnected, swallowing hard, but the sour taste of guilt didn’t go away. She’d lied to her brother. Of course, that was nothing new—she’d been lying to him, by omission if not out loud, for months now. But she’d also lied to Mrs. Perez. Shoot, she’d been trying to lie to herself.

Annie had a pretty good idea why Jack was in town. Much as she might try to deny it, she thought she knew what he wanted.

A divorce.

Day was sliding into dusk as the bruised-looking storm-clouds rolled in. On the McClains’ front porch, a man paced. He had an easy way of moving in spite of a slight limp, and the kind of smooth, rangy body that draws women’s eyes. His hair was short and mink brown, as dark as the clouds overhead.

As dark as the scowl on his face.

Pacing made Jack’s knee ache. He’d been on one plane or another for fourteen hours yesterday, followed by the drive here from Denver, and his stupid knee had stiffened up. He didn’t consider sitting down to wait for Annie to get home, though. After only one day in this blasted town, his feet were already itching to leave.

Highpoint wasn’t the only reason for his restlessness. He’d left a lot unresolved back in Borneo, and the need to find out who was responsible for that mess burned in him. He’d have to make a trip to Denver soon to see what he could do to track down the thief.

But he didn’t intend to leave without Annie. Not this time.

Fortunately he had plenty of room for pacing. The McClains’ front porch ran the entire length of the house. It was the sort of porch people used to sit on during long summer evenings, a place where a young boy might steal a kiss from his first girlfriend. Not that Jack had stolen any kisses here. Annie McClain had been the little sister he’d never had, a freckle-faced tagalong who had turned into a good friend.

Somewhere along the line, she had changed. Or he had.

There was a wooden porch swing at one end of the porch. It was painted a bright, incongruous turquoise. Annie’s doing, Jack thought, pausing. The hard line of his mouth softened. Annie loved bright colors. Not in any big, splashy way, of course. Annie didn’t do anything in a big, splashy way. Her love for vivid color had to sneak in under those cautious fences she’d built around her life, popping up as a turquoise porch swing or a pair of screaming red sneakers.

A marmalade-colored cat the size of a bear cub lazed on that porch swing. In the half hour Jack had been waiting, the sum total of the animal’s movement had consisted of an occasional twitch at the tip of its tail. The cat watched him pace with a certain lazy interest, much as an adult might keep an indulgent eye on a child’s energetic antics.

“So,” Jack said, sticking his hands in his back pockets, “you seem to belong here, big fellow. What time does Annie usually get home?”

“About now.”

The voice came from behind him. Jack turned around slowly. “Annie.”

She stood at the foot of the steps that led onto the porch, her arms wrapped tightly around two brown grocery bags as if their weight could keep her earthbound in the gusting wind. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, he didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to look at his old friend without words, without letting the needs of the present and hurts of the past crowd in.

Her hair was slightly longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her—long enough for her to pull into a ponytail that the wind was whipping around. It was the same soft, reddish brown as always, though. He liked it pulled back that way, liked the way it left her face bare to the world. Annie had a pretty face, with a soft curve to her cheeks and forehead, a stubborn chin and eyes as green as the Irish hills she’d never seen. At the moment, those eyes were bright with suspicion.

He stepped closer, looking down at her. She was such a little thing. He tended to forget that. Physically there wasn’t that much of Annie, yet she vibrated with so much energy it was easy to forget her actual size, as if she’d been given more life than such a slight body could contain without it spilling over onto those around her. “You’re looking good,” he said softly.

“Oh, sure. I always look my best in work clothes, with no makeup and my hair all over the place.”

He shook his head. “The proper response to a compliment is ‘thank you.”’

Suspicion vanished in a flash of humor. She chuckled. “Imagine you worrying about the proper response to anything.”

His eyebrows went up. “Believe it or not, I do have a few ideas about what’s proper. For one thing, I think a married woman ought to wear a wedding ring. Where’s yours?”

She bit her lip. “Have you told anyone about—about Vegas?”

“No. Once I realized you preferred to keep our marriage a deep, dark secret, I covered for you. Haven’t I always?”

“It usually worked the other way around,” she said dryly. “Look, we have to talk. I know that. But could we do it inside, out of the wind?”

Jack stepped aside, letting her come up on the porch. He didn’t offer to take her bags, though it was obviously awkward for her to juggle them long enough to get her key out and get the door opened. He didn’t offer because he was too damned angry. Still. Again. Jack was used to temper hitting fast, like a flash flood, then draining away completely. The sullen core of anger that had refused to leave him the past couple of months was new to him.

He didn’t like it. He followed her, limping slightly, through the living room and dining room and into the big, old-fashioned kitchen, lecturing himself silently. He’d get a lot farther by charming Annie than by fighting with her.

The kitchen distracted him. For the first time since he’d driven into town yesterday, he had a sense of homecoming. He’d spent a lot of hours in this room. “This hasn’t changed much. The floor is new, but it’s almost the same shade of green as the old one.”

Annie set the bags down on the scarred oak table. “The floor was new five years ago. You haven’t been here in a long time, Jack.”

“Has it been that long?” Strange, he thought, it didn’t seem like it, not with memories crowding up as close and friendly as puppies. He moved over to the table and automatically began helping her unload the groceries, just as he’d done a thousand times before at this house.

Annie stood on the other side of the grocery sack. Close enough for him to touch…if he’d thought his touch would be welcome. She was frowning. “You’re limping.”

“I had an accident a couple weeks ago, banged up my knee. Nothing serious.”

The quick flash of concern in her eyes pleased him. “What happened? You’re a good driver.”

Yes, he was—which was why the accident had been minor. It could have been a lot worse. He was going to have to tell her about that and a lot more, but not yet. Not yet. “Hey! Jalapeños.” He grinned as he took out the plastic bag holding two of the small, potent peppers. “Is Ben planning to fix some of his chili?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the milk and butter that he’d unloaded and carried them to the refrigerator.

“What are the chances of me getting an invitation to supper?” He hadn’t had any of Ben’s stomach-burning chili in a long time.

She glanced at him quickly over his shoulder. “Good grief, Jack, don’t you think that might be a little awkward under the circumstances?”

His brief fling with nostalgia thudded to an end. “I guess he doesn’t know we’re married.”

“No.”

“So why haven’t you told anyone about Vegas?” Was she ashamed of him? The idea added another layer to the anger he was trying to ignore.

“I—I didn’t know what to say. It’s not like we had a real marriage. I was here and you were thousands of miles away, in Timbuktu—”

“Borneo,” he said, temper lending a lash to the word.

“Whatever. You were off building things, and I was here. I didn’t know what to tell people. You never answered my letter.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Jack.” She sounded exasperated. “I’m not talking about that note I scribbled two weeks ago. I’m talking about the four-page letter I wrote after you left.”

“I answered that, too.” She’d written him four pages, all right—four pages about how confused she was, how she cared about him, but she didn’t want to leave everything she knew unless he could make a real commitment to her. Which had made about as much sense as skinny-dipping in January. He’d married her. How much more committed could a man get?

“A one-way plane ticket is not what I’d call an honest effort at communication,” she said dryly.

“You knew what that ticket meant. I wanted you to join me. But you were too busy hiding here in Highpoint, fixing people’s roofs and plumbing, to live up to your promises.” He moved closer. “Did you keep our marriage a secret because the marriage wasn’t real to you? So you would be free to date? I hear Toby Randall has been sniffing around lately.” Ida had mentioned that last night.