Wife On His Doorstep. Alice Sharpe
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Why had he brought her home? Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication Acknowledgments About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright
Why had he brought her home?
He’d known it was a mistake. It was just that for a second he’d been overcome by a protective streak he couldn’t explain, one he didn’t even like. Rescuing women was a fool’s errand—he’d done it once, and he wasn’t going to do it again. He glanced back at Megan, and the memory of holding her swamped him—the soft, yielding quality of her body, the smell of her hair. She was so beautiful. Was that it?
No, it wasn’t just her current vulnerability that attracted him. It wasn’t just her big blue eyes or her body, either. Those things were distractions, sure, but distractions that were relatively easy to dismiss. After all, there were lots of pretty and needy women in the world.
What Megan possessed was far more dangerous. To his resolve. To his heart.
But he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her ...
Dear Reader,
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Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor Silhouette Romance
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Wife On His Doorstep
Alice Sharpe
This book is dedicated to Barbara Brett and
Marcia Book Adirim, whom I have been fortunate enough to count as both editors and friends.
A special thanks to Captain Dennis Moore and the crew of
the sternwheeler Columbia Gorge, who I hope will forgive me for taking a few small liberties with their ship.
ALICE SHARPE
met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.
Chapter One
John Vermont, owner and acting captain of the stern-wheeler Ruby Rose, didn’t like marrying people. For one thing, seeing as he currently spent most of his time ashore, he was sorely out of practice, which meant that instead of reciting the vows in his deep baritone—which could, when he wanted, scare an oyster off a rock—he had to read them from the manual. For another, face it, he didn’t really believe in marriage—personal experience had taught him the term “wedded bliss” was an oxymoron.
Take the couple standing in front of him now. Within the next few minutes John would pronounce them husband and wife, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they had any idea what they were getting into.
The groom was a man about his own age, sporting an out-of-season tan and a twelve-hundred-dollar tuxedo. Earlier, before the ceremony, John had seen the guy strutting around the deck, acting like he owned the boat, a crowd of cronies following in his wake, laughing at his jokes, smiling into his eyes while he puffed out his chest and ate it up.
The bride was a good five or six years younger than the groom—still in her twenties. She had sassy blond hair cut short around her ears, a lithe figure, and huge blue eyes filled with doubts. She used those eyes to cast furtive glances at the man she was marrying, glances of which the groom seemed totally unaware, glances that seemed to say “Just a second, let me rethink this!”
Made you wonder why she was marrying him.
Judging from what John had heard, money was the likely answer. Mrs. Colpepper, the new events coordinator John had hired after the old one ran away with the thenacting captain of this boat, had mentioned that