Mystery in the Moonlight (31 page)

“And I love you.” She didn’t object when he drew her into his arms. He gazed deeply into her eyes, as if searching for something. “That’s what’s most important. Otherwise I know we can work things out. I admit I’m gruff at times, and I was in one hell of a mood when I was out to revenge Ned’s death. Usually I’m a real sweetheart,” he told her with a cocky grin.

“Was stealing me away tonight, against my wishes, an example of the way a
sweetheart
behaves?”

“I thought you wanted me to be more romantic. And I wouldn’t have carried you off if you’d been quiet. I didn’t want the Mansfields for an audience.”

“Well, don’t we have an audience here?”

“The crew?” Bryce scanned the deck quickly. “I know there’s a man on watch, but no one’s in sight. Come on, let’s go to my quarters.” He released her and guided her toward the cabin with one arm.

“If we’re going to continue this relationship, I want you to stop trying to push me around,” Caitlin said firmly, shaking off his arm. As they reached the door she stopped short, Bryce right behind her. “What’s this?”

He didn’t reply. He looked as amazed as she felt. The room was literally overflowing with flowers! Probably every glass, can, and bowl on the ship held brilliant tropical blossoms: red amaryllis nestled among white angel trumpets; pink oleander flowers arranged beside orange frangipani; yellow allamanda crowding stalks of orange-and-purple birds of paradise. And there were orchids, hibiscus and bougainvillaea in a profusion of colors. The air was laden with a wonderful scent.

“Is this all for me?” Caitlin asked breathlessly.

“I guess so.” Entering the crowded room with her, Bryce pointed out the hand-painted sign amid the foliage.

Caitlin read it aloud. “‘Welcome home to the Captain’s Lady.’”

“The crew must have done this.” Bryce smiled crookedly. “The sentimental devils! I wondered why they were sneaking around and whispering behind my back. I wonder when they had time to get the flowers aboard without my noticing.”

“How sweet.” She moved lightly around the room, trailing the sheet as she fingered the beautiful blossoms. “I’ve never really thought of myself as…your lady.”

“Being married will help.”

“Married?” She stared at him with raised brows.

He grinned wickedly, looking rakish in his pirate shirt. “Yes, married. I’ve already taken care of the license while talking to the authorities, and I’ve made arrangements for someone to come to the ship from St. Vincent to marry us the day after tomorrow.”

He was doing it again! “Wait just a minute, Bryce Winslow. Didn’t I tell you I don’t want to be pushed around?”

His grin faded. “You don’t want to get married?” Then he looked aghast. “What will I say to the men? My crew might mutiny.”

“You have to ask me properly, Bryce. You can’t order me to do it.”

“I didn’t order you.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly propose.”

“Oh, I see.”

His grin returned as he took hold of her shoulders and seated her on the bunk. After turning off the lamp so only moonlight bathed them with its natural glow, he knelt on one knee, promptly getting the cutlass tangled in his feet. “Damn sword!” he cursed, quickly removing it. When he looked at her, she was sure that the sincere expression revealed by the silvery light was all she needed to know. He obviously loved her. “Will you marry me, Caitlin O’Connor? You already own my heart.”

“You
stole
mine.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“As long as I don’t have to scale fish.” She smiled, her joy making her feel light-headed.

“You can live in our house on Nassau if you want.”

“I want to live on the ship with you.”

“Hoisting sails and swabbing decks?”

She unfastened his belt. “And taking the captain’s clothes off and ravishing him.”

“Then we can get married?”

She nodded, nibbling at his ear as she removed his shirt. “As long as I can help plan it. I want Babs to stand up for me.”

But she wasn’t able to finish her list of demands right then, for Bryce covered her mouth with his own. There was so much more to the man than she’d expected when she’d first met him. He could be a fierce protector, a demanding leader, a sensuous lover, a dashing romantic, a skilled and honorable sea captain as well as a clever, thieving pirate.

He’d stolen her heart, awakening the loving woman within the shy dreamer she’d been. She’d accompany him anywhere, not knowing what the next day or night would bring. Finding his love had been an adventurous surprise, like uncovering a priceless treasure on a moonlit isle. And Caitlin knew they’d have a wealth of other riches to discover in the future—together.

About the Author

Lynn Patrick is a pseudonym of two authors who have been friends for thirty years. Also known as Jeanne Rose, Roslynn Patrick and Roslynn Griffith, they wrote 23 romances for 5 traditional publishers and have more than a million books in print together. Patricia also writes as Patricia Rosemoor and Linda is a college professor.

Look for these titles by Lynn Patrick

Now Available:

The Gentleman Farmer

Just a Lot More to Love

Double or Nothing

The Mermaid’s Touch

The Perfect Affair

Mistletoe Magic

More Than a Dream

Mystery in the Moonlight

When a city slicker buys her family farm, country girl Sarah will do anything to get it back.

The Gentleman Farmer

© 2013 Lynn Patrick

When the wealthy, city-raised Colin Wyndham buys her family farm, Sarah McFarland is determined to get it back at any cost. Standing by while the inexperienced Colin makes mistake after mistake with the land, Sarah knows it is only a matter of time until Colin gives up and goes back to his fancy life.

Colin is determined to make his new life as a farmer a success. But when he finds out his pretty next-door neighbor is actively rooting for his failure, even going so far as to plot against him, he knows it’s time to teach that cute little country mouse a lesson she’ll never forget…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Gentleman Farmer:

The familiar silhouettes of the McFarland barn and silos stood in sharp relief against the cold, clear February sky. The buildings had always been a landmark, an inviting beacon of sorts, when Sara McFarland had driven home to the family farm through the years.

But today would be different. Instead of pressing her foot down on the car’s accelerator to cover the last half mile of rock road, instead of hurrying toward the warmth of home, Sara found herself intentionally letting the car slow. As she caught sight of the long driveway that led to the farmhouse and the barn and buildings beyond, she noted the large number of pickups and cars parked on either side of the private entryway.

Sara glanced at her watch. Surely the auction must be over by now. She’d come late today on purpose in order to miss most of the event, having no desire to see her family’s land and possessions pass into some interloper’s hands. She wouldn’t have come at all if her parents, George and Alice McFarland, hadn’t expressly requested her presence. They needed her.

 
Sara’s older brother, John, her only other sibling, certainly wasn’t about to fly in from California for the sale.

Sara knew she’d have to steel herself in order to present a good front for her parents. The older couple felt badly enough over losing the fertile acres that had belonged to their family for more than a hundred years. Unfortunately, selling the farm had been the only option left.

Thank goodness a few years ago she’d had the foresight to purchase her great-grandparents’ original 1870s stone house situated further down the road. Sara might have been able to buy more land than the four acres surrounding the old house if only she’d had more time to save money from her teacher’s salary.

But how could she have known that the bleak economic climate would force her parents into hopeless debt in only a few years?

Thinking about low stock market prices, unrealistic agricultural programs, and whatever else she could blame for the farmers’ current problems, Sara cursed silently. She made a sharp left turn into the driveway and angrily gunned the old Chevy over the frozen ruts. Her heart almost leaped into her throat when a figure suddenly stepped out from behind a pickup and into the middle of the roadway.

“What the—!” Sara exclaimed, slamming the brakes so hard that the Chevy skidded a few feet on the drive’s frozen, rocky surface.

Her pulse pounding, she glared through the windshield at the tall, dark-haired man who stared back at her in surprise. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit over which he wore an equally well-cut topcoat, the man had cleanly chiseled features, a level gaze, and a wide mouth that was curving into a tentative smile. Who was he? Some new bank official? A well-dressed auctioneer? Sara could hardly believe it when he raised his hand as if to wave a friendly greeting.

Not feeling up to dealing with banks, auctioneers, or any kind of officialdom, Sara yelled, “Move it, will you?” then beeped the Chevy’s horn for emphasis.

She regretted her hostile action almost immediately, however, and tried to make amends by pasting a tense smile on her face. By that time the man was already moving out of the road, casting a wry glance her way as he slipped and slid in his fancy leather shoes. Still embarrassed by her rudeness, Sara drove quickly to the large white farmhouse.

The stranger had gotten into his own car and was pulling out of the driveway as she walked down the narrow sidewalk across the yard. The sleek gray BMW that sported Illinois plates looked as out of place on a southwestern Iowa farm as had its duded-up driver. As she mounted the steps of the house’s wide porch Sara wondered briefly about the stranger’s identity until her thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s enthusiastic greeting.

“Sara Sue, I’m glad you made it.”

Alice McFarland swung open the door for her daughter, then gave her a hug and a kiss. The older woman’s bright blue eyes sparkled in a lovely face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a smooth complexion that made her look younger than her sixty-one years. Alice’s once-blond hair was now silver, but in most respects, mother and daughter looked very much alike.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sara apologized, hanging her down jacket on one of the hooks to one side of the door. The huge kitchen and the dining room beyond seemed overflowing with familiar faces. She glanced around nervously. “Did the auction go well?”

“Don’t worry, honey, we’ll all live through this,” Alice replied with her usual philosophical cheerfulness. “The auction went just fine. And look what our friends and neighbors have done for us.” She motioned to the central table loaded with a variety of appetizing dishes. “I told them not to bring food, but I should have known they’d do it anyway. We’re having a big potluck supper.”

“Did you sell everything?”

Alice didn’t answer. She led Sara across the crowded kitchen, smiling and nodding to various individuals who were helping themselves to fried chicken, baked beans, homemade rolls, salads, and several kinds of pie. Alice halted near the counter where the electric coffeepot sat and picked up a cup from a stack of dishes.

“Can I pour you some coffee?”

“Sure.” Sara took the beverage, then asked again, “Did you sell the farm?”

“Yes.”

Despite her preparation for this moment, Sara felt her heart sink. “To whom and for how much?”

“You don’t know the man, but he’s buying the land plus most of the equipment,” Alice explained reassuringly. “And the money will cover our debts.”

“Well, I should hope you’ll also have something left over for savings.”

“Your father and I are satisfied with the sale.”

“Satisfied?” Tom Landsburg, a young farmer whose land bordered the McFarland place, had been listening as he stood nearby. Holding a plate of food, he waved a half-chewed drumstick at the women. “How can you be satisfied with three hundred dollars an acre when this farm is listed at nine hundred? And exactly what is the city slicker who bought this place going to do with it, I’d like to know? Build condos out in the country? Buy more of our land and set up a corporation farm? We could all be endangered around here.”

“A corporation farm?” murmured Sara, aghast at the idea. It was bad enough the land had passed out of the McFarland’s’ hands.

“Now, Tom,” Alice admonished, “don’t spread rumors. We don’t know anything about Mr. Wyndham’s intentions.”

“He’s got to be up to no good, if you ask me,” Tom insisted.

“Maybe the man only bought the land for a tax write-off,” suggested Lloyd Simmons, the local mailman, joining the discussion. “Who could be serious about going into farming nowadays? We’re in a depression out here. My rural route keeps growing smaller and smaller as farmers sell out and move away.”

Tom persisted, “I tell you, this means trouble—”

“And you’re going to cause trouble by running off at the mouth.” A pretty, plump young woman with thick chestnut hair suddenly silenced Tom’s discourse by firmly grasping his arm and staring him down. Judy Landsburg, Sara’s best friend since grade school, cautioned, her husband, “We should be pleased the McFarlands were able to get the price they needed today.”