The Pregnant Bride. Crystal Green

her out of her home, the same anger that had basically orphaned her, cut off any hope of ever seeing her parents again. If she were to marry Nick, she’d have to live with anger. Could she do it?

      She raised her gaze to his. What she saw startled her. A flash of pale lightning in his blue eyes, zinging her, making her go weak. His desire to protect her baby was a gift she couldn’t turn down.

      Yes, she could do it.

      She tried to smile. “How soon can we make arrangements?”

      His shoulders relaxed slightly, but nothing else changed. Meg tried not to let that be a bad omen.

      “I’ll make an appointment with the county clerk today. Remember—” he moved away from the wall to stand in front of her, to rest his hand on her shoulder as a best friend would “—you’ve got no worries now. I’ll take care of Spencer.”

      Meg wished this were true, but she knew she’d exchanged one set of worries for another. Her new concerns had more to do with holes in faded jeans and eyes the shade of wishes gone by.

      Days later, Nick adjusted his necktie for the last time. He hated wearing these things because it felt like—what else?—a noose. Even more so today, his wedding day.

      He looked around the small, flower-laden room of the county courthouse, wishing he and Meggie could just get a certificate and be done with the whole process. But, in spite of his discomfort, he knew that Meggie would want some sort of special touch. A woman wasn’t a bride every day, so he’d arranged for the county clerk to marry them in a civil ceremony.

      So, here he was, waiting for Deacon Chaney, of all people, to walk his blushing bride down the narrow aisle. Nick was a great fan of irony, so he could appreciate having Chaney, the man whose building he’d been accused of bombing, on hand to give away Meggie. But the second witness Meggie had selected at the last moment was too much.

      Ashlyn Spencer stood beside him, bouncing up and down in time to the recorded harp-music wedding march. A Spencer, at his own wedding. Life didn’t get more hilarious than this.

      He’d watched Meggie with admiration as she’d calmly handled every stumbling block. First, Rachel Shane, Meggie’s best friend, had been called to the county hospital on an emergency, leaving them without a witness to their nuptials. Always the quick thinker, Meggie had hijacked Deacon Chaney, her lone customer, before closing the bakery early. Then, as Nick had driven past the general store on the edge of town, Meggie had realized that a second witness would be to their advantage.

      Ashlyn had been rocking in a dilapidated porch swing, smoking a cigar with the old men, cracking jokes and generally acting un-Spencer-like. With a gleam in her eye, Meggie had hopped out of the pickup, growing belly and all, and escorted Ashlyn to join Deacon in the back of the vehicle.

      In spite of the wedding party, Nick had a feeling that his life was about to change for the better.

      Meggie appeared, with Deacon hanging off her arm as a dazed father figure. Nick’s heart clenched when he saw her flushed skin, her genuine smile. She carried a modest bouquet of yellow-and-purple wildflowers that Ashlyn had gathered while they’d waited for the couples ahead of them to tie the knot. Some of the star-shaped petals had made it to her hair, lingering in the red curls, making her look like a flower child from the sixties. Even her clothes were slightly off kilter, reminiscent of the Gypsy girl she used to resemble. She wore a long-sleeved, shimmery, soft-pink dress that bagged at the waist and fell in a rainfall of material to her ankles. The texture reminded him of a dragonfly’s wings—luminous, catching the glow of her skin like the blush of a sunrise. A pearl choker encircled her neck, so Nick suddenly didn’t feel so persecuted at having to wear a tie.

      He’d decided to dress for the occasion, as well, having traveled out of the county to avoid shopping at the Spencers’ stores in Kane’s Crossing. He hadn’t dressed to the nines—not even when he was in a casket would he ever let anyone bind him in a suit—but he seemed a decent enough groom with his creased, blue Docker-style pants and white button-down shirt. With the damned tie, of course.

      As the wedding march ended, Deacon deposited Meggie at Nick’s side. Then the ceremony was just a blur of diamond rings, dragonfly wings, flowers, I-dos and Meggie’s soft lips. He’d shaved today, closely, thoroughly, knowing that the symbolic sealing of their union was inevitable. He’d even been looking forward to feeling Meggie’s lips beneath his; he’d always wondered how soft they’d be in their rose-red fullness. However, this would be a chaste kiss, a veritable handshake to close their casual deal.