A Risk Worth Taking

“I want the whole damned picket fence.”

Cressa didn’t know what to say, how to answer Adam’s proclamation. The wide-open spaces of the Galveston coast suddenly seemed too big. She felt swallowed up by it all. She was filled with a need for the green hills of home, for the safety of Aroha Bay. For a world where the scale was reasonable and the people predictable. Where the men were manageable. Only Adam, she thought bitterly, could make a proposal sound like a challenge. But before she could begin to frame an answer, Adam stepped close and clutched her arms.

“Don’t say it,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare.” His face was very close to hers, his breath warm on her cheeks. “You know what, Cressa? I’m going to save us both from repeating patterns. To save you from being the one who quits yet again and me from being the one abandoned. I’ve had one wife walk out on me. This time I’m going to walk away.”

Dear Reader,

Have you taken any risks lately? The gatekeepers to dreams, risks have to be braved before we can move forward or upward. Yet the task of identifying risks can be a slippery one as they are intensely personal; one person’s risk is simply another person’s thrill. Also, while many risks are physical or financial, some of the scariest are emotional. In the worst extremes, we risk our lives. In love, we risk our hearts.

We take the risk when the dream is more powerful than the fear.

We know this. We have age-worn sayings to remind us: faint heart never won fair lady; nothing ventured, nothing gained. We know—and yet all too often we hesitate. Fools rush in, we tell ourselves. We fear failure. We are afraid, even more, of people witnessing this failure.

And so what if we are afraid? It doesn’t need to stop us! I had a lot of fun writing this book in which the daredevil hero and heroine would infinitely prefer to jump out of airplanes than risk confronting their deepest, secret desires and pain. It is a book about past demons, conflicting goals, disguised defences and, above all, love in all its glorious, messy confusion.

Here’s to you and your pursuit of dreams—despite all their pesky attendant risks and fears.

Zana Bell

P.S. I love hearing from readers. Please contact me

c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road,

Don Mills, ON, M3B 3K9, Canada.

A Risk Worth Taking

Zana Bell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Life used to be full of risks for Zana Bell, who grew up in Zimbabwe, went to university in South Africa then lived hand to mouth in Scotland, England and Greece where she took a wide variety of jobs, each of which presented its own challenges. Then she immigrated to New Zealand and she now lives a richly blessed life with her family in a beautiful seaside cottage. Adventures are still to be had in Paradise, however, as on a regular basis New Zealand provides cyclones, floods, earthquakes and even the odd volcanic eruption. But as her deepest fear is public humiliation, signing up for dancing lessons when she lacks any sense of rhythm whatsoever might yet prove to be the scariest venture of all….

To Sally and Alan,

who constantly blaze new trails.

You are an inspiration.

Special thanks also to my splendid editor,

Victoria Curran.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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 SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PROLOGUE

THIS WAS THE HAPPIEST DAY of her life. That’s what everyone said. Cressa stared out of the window of the limousine, as the world spun past her. Everywhere in the city people were going to movies and restaurants or to the beach or playing sports, and here she sat, imprisoned in this white, beribboned Jaguar.

It’s just nerves, she thought to herself. Again. All brides have them.

She glanced at her father, seated beside her. He looked so handsome and proud. He smiled at her and patted her hands, clasped in her lap. “Nearly there.”

He thought she was being impatient. Her stomach rumbled, soured by champagne and doubt, and she rubbed it. Only a month ago she’d carried life there. For such a short time, really, yet it had created a nightmare of intense, conflicting emotions that she still did not know how to deal with. But now wasn’t the time. Not the place. She resolutely pushed the feelings aside.

“Dad,” she said. “I’ve got to pee.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“But…” He gestured helplessly out the window. They were driving through the outskirts of Auckland. The church where Brian was waiting for her was set on a hill surrounded by fields. Perfect, her mother had said, for photos.

“Please, Dad.”

He leaned forward and tapped the chauffeur on the shoulder. “We need to find a restroom.”

The driver flicked her a startled glance in his rearview mirror.

“Better text your sisters,” said Dad. “They can go on and tell people we’re coming.”

“Fine.”

She’d just texted the car behind, containing her four very excited sisters, when the chauffeur said, “There’s a petrol station up ahead.”

“Perfect.”

The car with her bridesmaids shot past them as they turned into the gas station. All her sisters waved madly and pulled silly faces. Cressa would have laughed if she hadn’t been so close to tears. As soon as the Jag stopped, she opened the door, then paused.

“I won’t be long.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “You’re the best, Dad.”

“I know all about performance nerves,” he assured her. “I always feel nauseous before I go onstage. Take as long as you need, sweetheart. This is your day.”

She heard good-natured laughter from the other customers and saw pointing fingers as she dashed through the convenience shop to the loo outback, but she didn’t care. Her veil was a nuisance, though, and it snagged on some boxes of biscuits on one of the shelves. She tugged and several boxes fell as her veil came loose. As she bent to pick them up, she realized she was still clutching her cell phone.

“Don’t worry,” said a teenage girl, rushing forward. “I’ll get them.” She smiled shyly. “You look beautiful.”

Cressa could see envy in the girl’s eyes. What would she have said if Cressa had asked, “Want to swap places?”

Fortunately, the restroom was a wheelchair one, so her voluminous dress wouldn’t get crushed. The size of the cubicle also meant she could pace, two steps forward, two back, her skirts sweeping the concrete floor. She couldn’t bail. Couldn’t do that to Brian, to her parents, to her sisters, to all the guests.

But she couldn’t say the vows, either.

She was sure to the pit of her stomach that she would never be able to utter those two words, I do.

Why did it have to be today that all her fears, all her misgivings had finally crystallized into one big, fat, undeniable conviction that she was on the brink of making the worst mistake of her life? A week ago wouldn’t have been so bad. Yesterday would still have been salvageable. But today? Now? Ten minutes away from the church? To be having these thoughts now was unforgivable.

She crossed to the sink, put her cell phone down and turned on the tap. She wished she could splash water in her face but didn’t dare spoil the lovely makeup that had taken over an hour to do. Instead, she held her wrists under the cold water.

Above the sink, her white reflection stared back at her in a fly-spotted mirror. The light wasn’t good, and the window above the loo had misted glass that probably enhanced her ghostly pallor. The window.

She turned slowly, gazed at it, then shook her head. She couldn’t. Then she thought of standing at the altar, saying her vows and becoming Mrs. Brian McKenzie forever.

Cressa shut off the water, grabbed her phone, flipped the toilet lid down and scrambled up on it. Luckily, the window was hinged at the top and quite wide. She hoisted herself up and landed half in, half out of it. Her veil fell forward over her head and dragged in the dust below. A couple of hairpins dislodged and she felt some of her heavy hair come free from the elaborate bun. The window frame dug into her stomach. Her feet no longer reached the toilet seat, but scrabbled against the wall, tangling in her skirts as she levered herself slowly forward. It wasn’t easy, especially since she still clutched her phone.

Her father would be wondering what had happened to her. At the sound of fabric ripping, she winced. Sorry, Ma. The dress had snagged on the window catch. Cressa wriggled to free herself. Then she was hanging, her thighs on the ledge. Only one way to go now. She gave an extra heave and slithered headfirst down the cobwebby wall to crash onto the grass, banging her elbow painfully. She scrambled to her feet, veil hanging over her face, hair in tangles. With a jerk, she wrenched the veil from her head, causing more locks to fall free. Then she picked up her cell phone, which she’d dropped, and looked around.

Two guys were sitting in a pickup, hamburgers halfway to their mouths, gasping in astonishment. Did white knights come with adolescent pimples and scraggly hair?

She ran over to the truck window. “You’ve got to get me outta here,” she said in a low voice.

They nodded mutely.

“Now!”

At her tone, learned over the years from her mother, a high school principal, they jumped in response. As Cressa pulled open the door, they swallowed their burgers like baby pythons, not stopping to bite or chew. She admired their economy of movement.

“Move over,” she ordered, and hauled herself and her skirts into the tiny cabin, realizing she’d have to crouch at their feet. She squished down, her wedding dress nestling like a marshmallow around her. The cabin was filthy, but dirtying her dress was probably the least damage her actions of the past five minutes would cause. The guys’ boots were eyewateringly malodorous, but she didn’t care. A sense of appalled elation was bubbling up inside her.

“Let’s go,” she urged. “Quick.”

The boys exchanged grins and the pickup roared off with a wheelie that was completely gratuitous, but somehow suited the occasion. She fell sideways as the truck rounded the corner of the gas station, then she was slammed again when the youthful rescuer driving the truck pulled another squealing wheelie as he turned onto the road and sped off.

Her heart was still pounding, but for the first time that day, her mind was completely calm as she began to text her sisters once more.

CHAPTER ONE

Two Years Later

THE HARDEST THING to explain, either to herself or others, was that she had no aversion to weddings as such. There was, in fact, lots to enjoy about them. Right now, Cressa was taking malicious glee in watching her cousin Jake, usually the supercool surfie, straighten his vest for the third time in as many minutes as he stood on the deck of the sleep-out, waiting for his bride to emerge from the main house.

As for the setting of this wedding, it was perfect. A house on the beach in Aroha Bay—Bay of Love. What could be more fitting? The harbor provided the backdrop for the groom, best man and celebrant, with winter sunlight reflecting off the tranquil high tide. Behind the guests, tables with white cloths, laden with plates and glasses, had been positioned under trees festooned with streamers. Fairy lights had been threaded through the branches, ready for the night’s entertainment. Cressa had never seen the old house look so festive.

Even the weather was behaving unexpectedly well for an outside wedding, and had provided one of those wonderful Northland midwinter days of blue skies and blue sea. All the guests gathered on the lawn below the sleep-out were wearing sunglasses and many had shrugged off their jackets in the unexpected warmth.

Cressa also loved a good party, and all her favorite people in the world were clustered around her at this one. She glanced affectionately at her parents and her four sisters, Juliet, Portia, Desdemona and Katherine.

“Really, Cressa,” muttered her mother. “I do wish you hadn’t worn black.”

Cressa looked down at the leather miniskirt she’d found in a secondhand shop and the satin top with spaghetti straps, and grinned inwardly. What would a family gathering be without Ma finding something about her to criticize?

“You should be glad I’m not wearing my boots,” she hissed back.

She’d foregone her ancient Doc Martens in favor of a pair of high-heeled shoes borrowed from Des, the baby of the family and its fashionista. The shoes were a nuisance, though, because the heels kept getting stuck in the lawn.

Her thoughts returned to weddings and she wondered about the nature of love. People, she was sure, married for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps there was the fear of living alone forever. Maybe they simply confused sex or friendship with something more. And let’s face it, after a certain age, going to parties and dinners was way easier to do as part of a couple than as a single person.

Yet Cressa had to admit that denying the whatever-it-was that had such a tangible effect on people was hard. She eyed her cousin. Jake could surf deadly ninety-foot walls of water, yet here he was, as jumpy as a kitten, running his fingers through tousled tawny curls for the umpteenth time as he leaned over to say something to his best man, Rob. Rob shot him a big-brother grin, patted his tuxedo pocket and gave a thumbs-up to indicate that yes, he still had the ring.

“What’s keeping Sass?” demanded Des in a whisper that carried to the guests, causing some to glance around. “We’ve been waiting ages.”

As if on cue, the opening chords of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” erupted from the speakers suspended from the branches of the pohutukawa tree. Everyone turned and a collective sigh rose from the crowd. Sass looked lovely in an ivory dress that hugged her trim midriff, then flared from her hips. Her blond hair was loose and she carried a simple bouquet.

Cressa was certainly not immune to the sight of a beautiful bride. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched Sass make her way down the steps, her mother beside her. She appeared composed and confident, and as she gazed across the guests to Jake, a dazzling smile lit her face. Their union did seem, Cressa had to concede, very much like true love.

Given all the advantages she could see in weddings, her misgivings must therefore have their root in the happily-ever-after bit, she concluded thoughtfully. She just didn’t buy that. And if one really did live in marital bliss forever, well, where was the fun and adventure? It sounded like Sunday-school heaven: serene, beautiful—and mind-numbingly boring.

With a deep breath and an inward sigh, Cressa straightened, bracing herself to listen to vows that would lock her dashing cousin and his beautiful, strong-minded Texan wife in bland matrimony for the rest of their lives. But just as Sass reached the steps of the deck, the throaty roar of a motorcycle drowned out the music.

Bride forgotten, all heads whipped around to watch as the bike plunged down the steep driveway at a suicidal pace, swerved just in time around a pothole, only to hit a root. The bike launched and flew through the air for the last few yards before landing with a thump and skidding to a halt in front of the stunned gathering. The rider killed the engine and eased back in the saddle, looking blankly at the guests through his visor as though taken aback to suddenly be the center of attention.

“Adam!”

Sass abandoned her husband-to-be and rushed over to hug the man as he swung off the bike.

“Is that the brother?” whispered Juliet.

“Must be,” Portia muttered.

“They’re completely different,” said Katherine, pointing out the obvious when the man removed his helmet and enfolded his sister and then his mother in great bear hugs, his black hair and olive skin contrasting sharply with their fairness.

“Wow! He’s gorgeous,” Des murmured. “I bet he’s an Eastern European spy.”

Cressa smiled, remembering the silly game they used to play when sitting in the mall as teenagers. “Or a Mississippi steamboat gambler,” she whispered back.

“Oh, yeah!” Des fanned her cheeks with her hands, as Juliet cast them a withering look.

Juliet’s demeanor was another strike against marriage. Since her wedding to Mike a year earlier, she had become exceedingly dull company. Cressa had skipped that wedding because Brian had been Mike’s best man. Even Ma had agreed that Cressa’s absence might be the best option. Mike was away at a conference this weekend, and Cressa supposed Brian was there, too.

“Adam!” Jake vaulted off the deck and strode across the grass to shake his brother-in-law’s hand. “We thought you’d never make it after your flight was delayed.”

“Well, there was this real helpful ground attendant…” His voice was warm and deep, with the same slow Texan drawl as his sister’s.

“Around Adam there always is,” said Sass resignedly. “What was her name?”

Her brother just smiled. “She found a spare seat on a different airline and voilà.” He turned to Jake. “Tell me I’m not too late to give Sass away. I’d hate to miss the opportunity of a lifetime.” He looped an arm around his sister and squeezed. “No one else would be rash enough to take her on.”

Sass whacked him with her bouquet. “I might have known that even at my wedding you’d find a way to upstage me.” She tucked a hand into his arm. “Come on, you’ve arrived just in time.”

Amid laughter and the buzz of comments, someone got the music going again and the Texan siblings waited for Jake to return to the deck before they walked arm in arm through the crowd as it parted for them. The brother passed so close to Cressa she could have put out her hand and touched him, but his attention was on his sister as he beamed down at her. Sass’s blond hair and classical looks made her brother’s dark features even more dramatic. They mounted the steps of the deck and Cressa noted he was almost as tall as her cousin. Adam bent his head and kissed Sass’s cheek, before placing her hand in Jake’s. Then he stepped aside and the ceremony began.

Despite thinking she was completely over her own wedding-that-never-was, and despite her rationalization of the whole marriage scene, Cressa began to feel slightly sick as the ceremony progressed. Marriage-a-phobia? She couldn’t flee and disgrace herself a second time. Think about something else.

She focused on Sass’s brother. Adam. Nice name. Very Genesis. His thick black hair fell straight to his collar, and even though she could see only part of his face, his hawkish nose and knife-blade cheekbones were striking.

He’d handled his bike like a pro. She should know, having nearly hurtled off her own bike when going too fast down that treacherous driveway full of ruts and stones. How long was he staying in New Zealand?

She was dimly aware of soft Texan vows entwining with the more staccato Kiwi ones, so she deliberately turned her thoughts to the bike. She guessed it was a 600. She’d always wanted to try something that big. She looked back at Adam. Would he let her take it for a ride? After all, they were family now. She screwed up her face as she tried to determine the relationship. He was the brother of her cousin-in-law, which would perhaps make them cousins-in-law once removed. Twice, if you took in national differences.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The words rang out, snapping her back to the proceedings. As Jake gathered the new Mrs. Finlayson in his arms to kiss her, another audible sigh went up from the crowd. Cressa glanced at her parents and saw they were staring goofily into each other’s eyes, as if remembering their own wedding day, and she was surprised to find her formidable mother quite tearful. Cressa was less surprised by her sisters.

“That was so beautiful,” said Juliet, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“I know,” sniffed Des, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Why do weddings always make one cry?”

“Because they mark the end of freedom, that’s why,” Cressa said darkly.

Portia gave a watery chuckle, but Katherine rolled her eyes. “Oh, Cressa!” She turned to the others. “Come on, let’s go congratulate the bride.”

Her family abandoned her and started pushing through the crowd surrounding the newly married couple, but Cressa slipped away and drifted over to the bike. It was a KTM 640 Motard, a lovely beast, and she ran a hand tenderly over the seat.

“In Texas we shoot horse rustlers.” The deep, slow voice made her spin around. “You got designs on my bike?”

He was even more gorgeous close up, his face all swooping planes and dark hollows. He looked tired—which wasn’t surprising, since he’d just stepped off a trans Pacific flight, then ridden three hours north—but he was still alert.

“I do,” she admitted. “I was wondering if you’d let me take it for a spin.”

His interest sharpened. “You ride bikes?”

“I’ve got a GPX250.”

“Yeah?” He nodded approvingly. “That’s a tidy little bike.”

She snorted. “Little? She’d give your monster a run for its money on the roads around here.”

They were mostly unfinished, and Cressa had first learned how to ride a motorbike on the twisting, backcountry roads.

Adam surveyed her. “Is that a challenge?”

She stuck her fists on hips and eyeballed him. “Damn straight it is,” she said. “My bike’s back at the motel, but if you’re here tomorrow…”

She watched a smile slowly spread across his face. “Do you always pick on bikes twice your size?” he asked.

“Well, you know what they say.” She put on a leer and waggled her brows. “It’s not the size that counts…”

He laughed and stuck out his hand. “I’m Adam Walker. Pleased to meet you.”

She took his hand. It was large and warm. “Hi, Adam. Actually, we’re family now.” His eyebrows rose. “I’m Jake’s cousin Cressida, but everyone calls me Cressa.”

ADAM FOUND IT HARD not to stare into her wide, gray-green eyes. She had the most direct gaze he’d ever seen in a woman, and her thick, dark hair fell to her ass. Her nose, long, strong and slightly hooked, dominated her face, lending her an imperious air. Right now she was blatantly checking him out.

“Cressida? As in Troilus and Cressida?”

“That’s the one.”

He frowned. “Strange play. I can’t recall much of it apart from the dragging of the corpse at the end. I enjoyed that bit. Except, that wasn’t Troilus, was it?”

She did a double take. “It was Hector, but I’m impressed. You’ve actually seen the play? It’s not one of Shakespeare’s better known ones.”

“Way back when. I was only about fourteen then. Wasn’t she kind of a bad apple?”

“That’s me.”

There was something almost wolfish in her grin, and he found himself grinning back. Then he became aware he was still holding on to her hand. She hadn’t been in a hurry to claim it back, either. With some regret, Adam let it go. He was in New Zealand only to give his sister away and keep an eye on their mom while Sass was honeymooning. There was no room for flirting. All his time and energy during the next month had to be for studying.