The Wedding Promise

Logan sighed, his heart crushed by the weight of his promise About the Author Title Page Dedication 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 EPILOGUE Copyright

Logan sighed, his heart crushed by the weight of his promise

The promise he hadn’t fulfilled. He couldn’t keep putting it off.... Throwing back his head, he closed his eyes and wrote his mental checklist of attributes essential in a suitable bride.

LOOKS: plain, but not distractingly so

HEIGHT: average

BUILD: neatly assembled, but unobtrusively so

MANNER: modest

ATTITUDE: nonargumentative

He drew a line under “nonargumentative.”

Sara Wynter—now there was an argumentative female. In fact, the woman he was looking for was the very opposite of Ms. Sara Wynter....

Grace Green was born in Scotland and is a former teacher. In 1967 she and her marine-engineer husband, John, emigrated to Canada where they raised their four children. Empty-nesters now, they are happily settled in West Vancouver in a house overlooking the ocean. Grace enjoys walking the sea wall, gardening, getting together with other writers...and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that, once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.

Grace Green has written for the Presents series, but now concentrates on Harlequin Romance®...bringing you deeply emotional stories with vibrant characters.

The Wedding Promise

Grace Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Moyra Tarling, Kay Gregory and Kathy Garner

because they’ve been there from the beginning

And for Barbara Schenck

because of Taggart!

CHAPTER ONE

THE woman at the wheel of the cabin cruiser was a blonde.

A drop-dead-gorgeous blonde, Logan noted as he glowered at her through the brass telescope set up in the bay window of his sitting room. She had the face of an angel and an eye-popping figure set off by a flirty yellow dress—but though he could appreciate beauty as well as the next man all he felt now was irritation.

Intense irritation!

He’d come to his island summer place for a purpose and the last thing he wanted was uninvited company. But this craft so gaily riding the choppy waves of the Juan de Fuca Straits was headed directly for his waterfront property.

He swung the scope to the boat’s name: Zach’s Fancy.

Muttering under his breath, he swung the powerful instrument up again...

In time to see someone join the woman at the wheel.

A man, dressed in black, with the dark, rakish looks of a pirate and a physique to match. He smiled and draped an arm around the shoulders of his female fancy...who was, Logan recognised with distaste, young enough to be his—

A bell rang somewhere in Logan’s head and he frowned.

Refocusing the scope, he brought the man’s face in so close that the silver strands in his black hair were visible.

Good God. Logan blinked. Zach Grant!

Movie idol, modem-day Valentino, swinging bachelor. A tabloid wouldn’t have been a tabloid without a lurid spread on Hollywood’s most notorious womaniser and his current sex object.

What was the name of that rag Andrea was forever poring over? SuperGossip? GossipIsUs? Whatever Grant’s mug had adorned it only last week. Andy had pointed it out.

‘Look, Dad, he’s with Felicia Mosscov, that new red-haired model! She’s hot...and isn’t he something?’

‘He’s something, all right,’ he’d muttered, before telling his daughter to put the magazine in the trash where it belonged. She hadn’t, of course.

It was at times like those that he realised just how much Andy needed a mother.

Soon, he mused grimly, she would have one.

He jerked his attention back to the boat, and saw that the small craft had now almost reached his dock.

Tension snapped at him like a yappy dog. He shoved the scope aside and stormed across the living room, and the foyer, and then out of the open front door.

Damned intruders! He leaped down the flight of narrow steps, charged down the sloping lawn and thundered across the narrow strip of sandy beach to the jetty.

The sign at the end of the dock was executed in electric blue lettering and its message was clear:

‘PRIVATE: KEEP OUT.’

These idiots should have been able to see it by now. They should have been changing direction, and heading back out into the Strait. They were not. They were pulling in alongside the jetty. Logan saw red.

‘Ahoy there!’ He pounded along the wooden boards.

The couple turned to look up at him.

The breeze caught the woman’s glistening blonde hair, blowing it across her face. When she swept back the pale strands, he saw that her eyes were an unusual turquoise colour, and as they met his her expression of vulnerability took him by surprise...and touched something deep inside him that hadn’t been touched in five years.

Memories of Bethany, memories he’d managed to hold at bay ever since he’d returned to the island just hours ago, suddenly flooded his heart till he could hardly bear the pain. As a result, when he spoke again, his voice had a cold harshness that was quite unwarranted.

‘You can’t tie up here.’ He fisted his hands on his hips and glowered at the intruders. “This is a private jetty.’

Sara’s first glimpse of the man looming down from above threatened to buckle her knees. For a second, she’d thought it was Travis. Like her ex-husband, the stranger was tall and superbly built, dark-haired and attractive. But even as dismay curdled through her she realised the resemblance was superficial. Travis’s hair was brown; this man’s was black. Travis’s face was pale; this man’s was tanned. Travis’s eyes were tawny; the stranger’s were green.

Green and cold and hostile. And when they skimmed from Zach to her she detected a flicker of contempt.

Her hackles rose, and she felt Zach’s arm tighten around her shoulders, deliberately, warningly.

‘This is Madronna Island?’ he asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘And this is the Logan Hunter estate?’ Zach raised his brows.

‘Right again.’ The stranger rammed his hands into the pockets of his grey cotton shorts. Despite his casual attire every line of his body, from the arrogant set of his head to the confident set of his wide shoulders, indicated authority. ‘I’m Hunter, and this is my private property.’

‘The house.’ Zach nodded towards the enormous white house situated up on the crest of the hill. ‘You live there, I assume. But the cottage—’

Sara, for the first time, noticed the cottage. It was huddled beside a stand of trees, the setting sun pinking the white-painted stucco walls and glancing off the window-panes.

‘Yeah, the cottage?’ The man sounded as if he was having a struggle to control his temper. ‘What about it?’

‘I’ve rented it for the next couple of weeks. Till the middle of July.’ Zach withdrew a neatly folded form from the breast pocket of his black T-shirt. “Through—’ he glanced at the form ‘—Hunter West Realty in Vancouver.’

‘No way! Not this cottage, you haven’t—’

‘Yes.’ Sara finally found her voice. ‘We have. Zach, tie up the boat and let’s get settled in.’

‘Right, love.’ Zach scooped up the line and started to secure the vessel.

Sara put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and stepped off the deck onto the jetty.

She could feel the stranger’s hostility coming at her in almost palpable waves.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, lifting her chin haughtily and making to go past him.

He moved to stand in her way.

Resentment formed tight bands around her skull. ‘Do you mind?’

He didn’t budge. ‘There’s been a mistake.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘The cottage is not for rent.’

Zach heaved a large red cooler, a box of groceries and a travel bag onto the jetty. He bounded after them, and the wooden structure shuddered under the impact of his weight.

‘If there’s been a mistake,’ he said firmly, ‘it’s not mine. OK, you obviously didn’t want the place rented out, but somebody in your office screwed up. You are the owner of Hunter West Realty?’ He held out the contract.

After a tense moment, the other man took it. He scanned it. His lips tightened. He thrust back the form.

‘Somebody’s head’s going to roll,’ he snapped. ‘But in the meantime I’ll fax my Vancouver office; we’ll find you somewhere else—and since the mistake was ours it’ll be a five-star chalet, and I’ll absorb the difference in price—’

‘Here we are—’ Zach tucked the contract back into his pocket ‘—and here we stay. You’re going to have to make the best of it.’ He swung up the cooler and travel bag. ‘Sara, can you manage the groceries? Good, then let’s get going. Sun’s well over the yardarm—time for us to have a drink.’

Logan Hunter stood his ground. ‘I’m putting this property up for sale. I need to have ready access to the cottage, to show prospective customers around.’

‘No problem.’ Zach took off along the jetty, with Sara at a half-run to keep up with him. She could hear Hunter; he was right behind her. ‘Sara, love, have you the key?’

Sara slipped it from the deep pocket of her dress as they crossed the beach. When she and Zach reached the cottage, she had the key ready. She unlocked the door quickly and stepped inside, with Zach at her heels.

‘Wait!’ Hunter’s voice had a distinctly frustrated edge. ‘We need to talk.’

‘You know what they say,’ Zach called back over his shoulder. ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law.’

He slammed the door shut, and ushered Sara through to the shabby living room. Dropping the bag on the worn beige carpet, he looked at her with twinkling blue eyes.

‘The man thinks you’re one of my floozies.’ He slapped his hand solidly against his thigh as he chuckled. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘Of course not!’ Sara kept her tone light, made it slightly scornful. The last thing she wanted was for Zach to guess how off-balance Logan Hunter had made her feel. ‘I don’t give a toot what he thinks of me. He’s the most hateful man I’ve ever met!’

Her lips twisted cynically. No, not the most hateful. Travis occupied that position. But certainly the second most hateful. And what rotten luck that Zach should have happened to choose this particular cottage for her holiday. He and her mother had wanted to give her a break, now that her divorce from Travis had finally come through. A time alone, a time for healing, a time for her to regain some peace of mind.

Peace of mind? With Logan Hunter sending hostile vibes her way from his rambling two-storey house on the hill?

Fat chance!

‘Daddy.’ Andrea Logan skidded to a halt just inside the kitchen doorway. ‘There’s somebody down there on our beach!’

Logan tightened his grip on the handle of the vegetable knife, sliced the blade viciously through the hothouse tomato on the cutting board, and turned to his daughter.

‘Yeah, I—’ He stared disbelievingly. ‘What the hell have you done to your hair?’

She put a hand up to the cropped brown strands that now raggedly cupped her head, dropped it again. And shrugged.

‘Cut it.’

But the careless twist of her thin shoulders was belied by the unmistakable welling of tears in her huge brown eyes. Tears she blinked back, but not before Logan had seen them.

She padded in her bare feet to the sink, and stood looking out, her back to her father.

Logan put down the knife, closed his eyes, suppressed an oath.

You’ve done it again, Hunter, he jeered silently: opened your big mouth and jammed both size eleven feet right in it.

Being the father of a motherless thirteen-year-old, he was fast discovering, wasn’t any cakewalk. Andy had been so easy to bring up...until she’d hit her teens. Then—wham! Overnight change, from angel to—

‘It’s Zach Grant!’ Andrea whirled round, her eyes no longer shining with tears, but with excitement. ‘Daddy, the man on the beach, it’s—’

‘Zach Grant. I know.’

‘But what’s he doing here? Did you invite him? Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you knew him. When did he arrive?’

‘He’s here because somebody in one of my offices screwed up,’ he muttered. At least Grant was good for one thing—taking Andy’s mind off his reaction to her new hairstyle. ‘I did not invite him—I have never met the man before. They arrived when you were burning up the phone talking to your friend Chrissie in Vancouver; he’s rented the cottage for two weeks—’

‘And the lady with him—’

Logan snorted. Lady! That was a joke.

‘—she must be his latest girlfriend. Ooh,’ she squealed, ‘he must’ve dumped Felicia Mosscov already. Wait till I tell Chrissie!’ She swivelled back to the window again and all but climbed up onto the sink, to get a better view. ‘But this one—she looks way cool, Daddy!’ She turned again, and this time her eyes were veiled, but behind the veil there was a spark that set off a warning bell in Logan’s head. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk.’ She made for the door.

Logan snaked out an arm and caught her by the tail of her shirt. ‘Young lady,’ he said, ‘you will do no such thing. I don’t want you talking to these people. The man’s got no morals, and as for the woman—’

‘I don’t plan to talk to them,’ Andy said smoothly. ‘I won’t.’ She grimaced. ‘Do you think I’d want Zach Grant to see me with my hair like this?’ She leaned up and kissed her father on the jaw. ‘OK, the cut was a mistake, but when we go back to Vancouver I’ll get it styled properly. Pax?’

Pax. It was what Bethany had always said when they’d had one of their teasing arguments and she’d wanted her own way. Andy knew it, had always known it, and played it like an expert. He had no defence against it. Against the memories.

‘Pax.’ He managed a grin as he ruffled the dark curly disaster. ‘But get back here in half an hour and we’ll eat. How was Chrissie, by the way?’

Andy called back over her shoulder, ‘Fine; she and her folks are coming by this way one day next week—they’re going to spend a couple of nights at their cabin on Galiano and Chrissie’s allowed to invite me along. Can I go? I told her yes, I knew it’d be fine.’

She was gone before he could answer, and his ‘Yeah, that’ll be OK’ bounced back at him from the kitchen walls.

‘Zach...’

‘Mmm?’

Sara looked up at him uncertainly. ‘I have the oddest feeling somebody’s watching us.’

Zach took her hand and swung it as they walked along the beach, just below a stand of trees. ‘Somebody is,’ he said. ‘We’re being followed.’

‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘It’s just a teenager. I spotted the kid up there in the trees, a few minutes ago. Probably holidaying in one of the properties further along. I believe there are four or five other houses on the island.’ Zach yawned. ‘Let’s go back now, honey. I’m going to hit the sack early. I was up at five today, and I need to be out of here again at the crack of dawn tomorrow.’

‘Sure. Boy or girl?’

‘Boy or girl what?’

‘The teenager.’

‘Oh. Girl. Punky haircut.’

‘Where exactly did you see her?’

Zach looked round, scanned the treed area. ‘Over there...but she’s gone. Not nervous, are you?’

‘Good heavens, no. I haven’t a nervous bone in my body.’

‘That’s what I thought...otherwise I’d have rented you a de luxe condo where you’d have crowds of people around.’

Sara shuddered. ‘I’ve had my fill of de luxe, Zach. And I like to have my own space. Need it right now, actually... so the cottage is great. No frills. Back to basics. Just perfect. I really do appreciate you and Mom setting this up for me. Ever since I found out about Travis and—’ her throat tightened and she couldn’t get the words out ‘—you know... I somehow haven’t been able to get myself together enough to organise myself out of a paper bag!’

‘We’ve both been worried about you. But now that that rotter’s finally legally out of your life you can start to put the pieces together again.’

They’d reached the cottage door. Zach opened it, and stood back to let Sara pass.

She glanced around again, just before she went inside, and that was when she saw the girl.

The teenager was peering at them from behind an arbutus tree. The moment she realised Sara had spotted her she slipped out of sight, elusive as a forest nymph.

A leggy little thing, Sara mused, and pretty—except for the unfortunate haircut!

‘You’re smiling,’ Zach said. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh...that girl. I saw her...but she’s gone now.’

‘Probably the last you’ll see of her.’ Zach put his hand in the small of her back and nudged her inside the cottage. ‘Young kid like that...what could she find to interest her in a couple of old fogeys like us?’

Next morning, the sound of a motor boat woke Logan.

He grunted, flung his arms out over the mattress, and squinted at his bedside clock.

It wasn’t even six! Who the devil was making that racket before the birds had even started their dawn chorus?

Flinging himself out of bed, he stumbled, naked, across to the window overlooking the Straits, and yanked up the venetian blinds.

Eyes still bleary with sleep, he peered out. And blinked when he saw that the white cabin cruiser was no longer tied up at the dock. It was heading away fast in the direction of the mainland.

Deep satisfaction immediately followed his initial moment of surprise—deep satisfaction and a relish that was almost malicious. Had the cabin been too spartan for Zach Grant’s sybaritic tastes? Or had it been the haughty blonde who had found its shabby bareness intolerable? Whatever—Logan ran his fingers through his tousled hair and grinned—they were gone.

Hallelujah!

Fired with a sudden burst of energy, he crossed to the bathroom and snatched up a pair of swimming trunks from the towel rail. He’d go down there right now and remove their garbage—people like them always left garbage: empty bottles, unwashed glasses, overflowing ashtrays, soiled sheets...and worse. Contempt curled his upper lip.

Afterwards, he’d go for a swim off the dock.

The water would be icy; but it might help wash away his feeling of profound distaste at the thought of the cottage having been used as a love nest.

Sara had planned to return to her bed after seeing Zach off, but by the time she’d walked back to the cottage from the jetty the chilly morning air had slapped her wide awake.

So instead she made for the smaller bedroom which Zach had used; she tore the linen off the bed, packed the blankets away, and, after tidying up the room, tossed the sheets and pillow slips into the bathroom hamper.

Then she was about to step into the shower, when she changed her mind. She’d soak in a long and lazy bath...and then she’d make herself another pot of coffee.

It was wonderful, she reflected as she turned on the taps and slipped out of her robe, to be on holiday. To have no worries; no deadlines; no plans of any kind.

And the best thing about this particular holiday was that she was going to spend it absolutely on her own.

As for that hateful man in the white house on the hill, she would just ignore him, pretend he didn’t exist.

It was the only way to deal with people like him!

Logan stuck the key in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

The interior of the cottage was silent. The only sounds came from outside. Birds warbled, dancing wavelets splashed against the jetty, the brisk breeze rustled leaves in the garden. He left the door open and stepped inside.

The air was dusty, with the faint lingering smell of coffee. So...they’d breakfasted before they’d gone.

He moved through to the kitchen, and snorted with disgust. Just as he’d expected, they’d left the place a pigsty. Hadn’t even emptied the coffeepot; hadn’t even cleared the table, far less washed the mugs and plates.

He’d start cleaning in here, but first he’d check to see what kind of a mess they’d left in the other areas.

He poked his nose into the smaller bedroom and saw that the mattress was bare. He assumed the couple had used the larger room, with its double bed, and, when he checked it out, saw that his assumption had been correct.

Slobs.

The sheets were on the floor, as were the tumbled blankets. They’d had some kind of a wild night, he thought as he glowered at the bed.

And if they’d left the bedroom like this he could only imagine what was awaiting him in the bathroom.

He strode down the narrow hallway, took a deep breath...and flung the door open.

CHAPTER TWO

SARA screamed.

Lost in daydreams and pampered to the chin in gardenia-scented bath bubbles, she had drifted off to sleep. Now, as the door crashed inwards, with her scream shrilling in her ears, she shot up to a sitting position. And with her heart in her mouth she stared with horrified disbelief and fast-rising panic at the figure in the doorway. She’d always felt nature had dealt her a generous hand in the courage department; now she felt terror squeeze that courage down to the size and consistency of a mini-marshmallow!

Logan Hunter.

Man on the prowl.

Naked man on the prowl!

No, not naked; he was wearing swimming trunks—but they were the same brown as his skin so her error had been understandable. She gulped back the lump that almost closed her throat. His black hair was dishevelled, his jaw dark-stubbled, and his eyes were fixed, with the blank look of a person hypnotised, on the foam frothing up over her breasts.

Sex. He wanted sex. He’d seen Zach leave and had lost no time in coming after her! The man was a raving maniac!

‘Get out!’ she shrieked. Snatching the heavy glass bottle of bubble beads from the rack at her elbow, she threw it wildly at him. She missed by a country mile. It smashed against the wall and clattered unbroken to the floor.

‘Get out,’ she screeched, ‘you nasty, disgusting old pervert—’ She scooped up the giant-sized cake of Heavenly Gardenia soap from the edge of the bath and rocketed it at his face. Her aim was atrocious, but he dodged, and the hard oval bar met his brow with a crack that made him wince.

‘Ouch!’ He staggered back a step. ‘Cut it out.’

To her dismay, she noticed that the bath bubbles had started to deflate. Frantically she threshed the dying suds with the flat of her hands in an attempt to revive them, but in vain. The water had cooled, and the bubbles only grew smaller and smaller, concealed her less and less...

With a quavering moan, she slid down as far as she could go without submerging herself fully, and prayed that the few remaining bubbles would continue to act as a veil.

‘I’ll drown myself!’ she moaned, splaying her hands over her breasts and almost throwing out her back as she twisted her crossed legs away from him. ‘I’ll drown myself, I swear, rather than give in to you and your wicked—’

‘Give in to me?’ His curse turned the air blue. ‘Lady, you’re out of your mind. I saw the boat leave and I merely came down to see what Zach Grant had left behind. What I certainly didn’t expect to find was...you.’ He crossed to the mirror above the sink, swiped a hand over the glass to clear the steam, and leaned forward to inspect his brow. ‘You just missed my eye,’ he accused. ‘Lucky for you—’ he turned ‘—or I’d have sued the pants off you...’

His gaze trailed from her face to her body, and he raised a cynical brow. ‘But I guess,’ he added mockingly, ‘they’re already off.’