First Comes Marriage. Sophia Sasson
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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
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I DON’T MEAN to disturb you...”
“Then don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Disturb me.”
Meera sighed in frustration. Americans! Does he have to be so rude? She stood on her tiptoes, peeking over the stall door. She could only see his back. White T-shirt, snug jeans streaked with mud and a straw cowboy hat. He knelt in front of a black mare who whinnied as he lifted her leg.
Meera took a breath. The air was thick with the smell of animal manure. “Pardon me,” she said more forcefully. “I understand you have a room to let.”
He turned and her breath caught. Too much dust in the air. Green eyes sparkled mischievously, sandy-blond hair glistened angelically in the sunlight and a broad smile showed straight, white teeth. All perfectly packaged in a tall, athletic body. She blinked.
“‘To let’? Is that French for ‘toilet’?” he drawled.
Thank you for changing your image from American cowboy to Forrest Gump.
She put on her best finishing-school smile. When in Rome... She had to remember to speak redneck.
“Sorry, it’s British for ‘do you have a room for rent?’”
He stood, surveying her. She smoothed her black pantsuit, wishing for the millionth time she’d dressed more casually, especially in this oppressive heat. He patted his hands on his jeans, sending up clouds of dirt. She sneezed and instinctively brushed her arms. “Why would the Queen of England want a room at my dusty ranch?” The tone was sardonic, his eyes crinkling.
She pressed her lips together. She would rather leave than deal with such arrogance, but this was her last option for a place to stay tonight. This being her first time in America, she really didn’t want to test her precarious, wrong-side-of-the-road driving skills to search for accommodations in the dark. “If you must know—”
“I must.” He mimicked her tone and accent.
She took a short breath. Keep your cool—remember you made the decision to be in this middle-of-nowhere town. “I’m doing a medical rotation with Dr. Harper.” Despite her frustration, she couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Even if she couldn’t be in New York, she would still get a month to herself and a much-needed break from wedding planning. She wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—spoil it for her.
“Ah, lemme guess—Marty said you couldn’t stay at his inn.”
“And it seems you would be able to tell me why.”
His eyes danced with amusement. “Because the town doesn’t want you to stay.”
She tapped a finger against her thigh. I’ve only been here a day. What could I possibly have done to turn a whole town against me?
He opened the stall door, and Meera took a step back. He leaned forward, and she took another step back. He towered over her. She was only five feet tall and he was north of six. He smelled of dirt, sweat and something...manly. She shifted. Why must he stand so close?
He wiped a hand on his jeans and held it out to her. “Jake Taylor.”
He raised his eyebrows as she eyed his hand, still caked with dirt. She took it, meeting his gaze and feeling the gritty roughness of his skin.
“Meera Malhotra.”
“Ah, what now?”
“Mee-ra Mal-hot-ra,” she said more slowly.
“Well, that’s quite a name. Welcome to Hell’s Bells.”
“Hell’s Bells? I thought the town name was Bellhaven.”
“The townspeople call it Hell’s Bells. There’s a story behind it.”
He let go of her hand and picked up her suitcase. Apparently, she was not going to hear the story today. She followed him out of the barn, struggling to keep up with him in her heels as he strode across the field. The point of her heel kept getting stuck in the mud. He looked back, his lips curved in a smirk.
“Bollocks!” She reached down and took off her shoes, noticing the ruined heels. So much for the Manolo Blahniks. This was not the place for her London wardrobe.
“Are you coming, princess?”
“I thought I was the Queen of England!”
“You’ve been demoted.”
She rolled her eyes; he would be a handful.
He extended his arm, offering his hand to her. She eyed it warily, not wanting to touch him again.
“Come on now, I don’t have all day waitin’ on your delicate feet to make the trek.”
She sighed and took his hand. It was warm and large. Grass and clover tickled her feet as he firmly but gently tugged her across the field.
They arrived at a gravel road. She slipped her shoes back on and eyed the big stately house at the end of it.
Wow! The place could have been Tara from Gone with the Wind, one of her favorite movies. Ivy grew up the white stone walls. There was a wraparound porch on the main level and a balcony on the second story. They climbed a set of brick steps that led to the front door. Jake opened it and set her suitcase down.
Her eyes widened as she took in the two-level foyer. A double staircase wound up to the second floor, and worn-out gilding begged to be shined on the banisters. Dark wood floorboards were covered in a light blanket of dust. A coffered ceiling replete with cobwebs finished the look. Meera’s home was considered a small palace, especially by London standards, but this house was something else. Despite the grandeur, it lacked the stuffiness of aristocracy. Black-and-white family pictures, some yellowed with age, hung on the walls in different-sized frames. There was a spaciousness and welcoming charm that was missing in her family home.
“This