Wife On His Doorstep. Alice Sharpe

side. “I demand you pull Mr. Winslow out of the water at once!” she sputtered.

      Ignoring her, John found Megan’s hand. “Hold this,” he said as he pushed the line into her hand. He then dropped to the deck, flattened himself out on his stomach and, reaching down, snagged Foggy Dew by the scruff of her neck, lifting her aboard as he stood.

      Without hesitation, Megan reached out and took the wild-eyed, sopping-wet cat, who responded to a stranger with a yowl and a manic attempt to escape. Several long red slashes popped out on Megan’s arm as she subdued the animal and folded it within the lacy bulk of her pristine wedding gown.

      “Captain Vermont, this is absolutely outrageous,” Mrs. Colpepper screeched. “I won’t stand for this. I simply won’t!”

      “Robert doesn’t swim,” an older woman cried. She looked enough like the groom to be his mother, and John turned back to the water. Sure enough, Winslow seemed to be having a difficult time. John quickly cast the life ring out to the man, who looped an arm over it and waited to be hauled aboard.

      Jeez, would it kill the S.O.B. to paddle some?

      “If Robert doesn’t swim,” John said with conviction as he heaved on the line, “why in blazes did he jump in the river? If he was sorry for kicking my cat, a simple apology would have sufficed. He very nearly made matters worse.”

      “But he didn’t jump!” Mrs. Colpepper squealed.

      “She pushed him!” the mother yelped, pointing an accusing finger at Megan.

      While John pulled Robert Winslow toward the boat, he looked down at the woman who cradled his cat. She met his gaze with a defiant look, the intensity of which was hampered only slightly by the bright pink flush that suffused her neck and face and the trembling of her beautiful lips.

      “Did you?”

      She nodded.

      He decided discretion was called for, so he put off thanking her until later. Instead he turned to the river and, along with a couple of the groom’s men, hauled the man back aboard the Ruby Rose.

      Some of the cockiness had been washed away by the cold, clean water, but John knew men like this, and he knew recovery would be swift and sure. Standing on the deck surrounded by friends and family, with water running down his face and dripping puddles around his patent-leather shoes, Winslow still managed to look in control, even with his tuxedo plastered against his sturdy body.

      “What in the world did you do that for?” Winslow snarled at Megan.

      Hugging the wad of the top layer of her skirt—which presumably held Foggy Dew—close to her chest, she met his gaze and replied, “You kicked a defenseless animal into the river!”

      He brushed away that comment with a wave of his hand. “You’ve ruined this ceremony, to say nothing of your gown. Do you know how much I had to fork over to get this boat on such short notice? Now we’ll have to reschedule—”

      “I don’t think so,” Megan interrupted.

      This statement, uncertain as it was, seemed to stun Winslow, who stared at her as though she was mad. “Meg, you don’t mean that—”

      “Yes, I do,” she said, this time more forcefully. “And please, don’t call me Meg.”

      He took a step toward her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

      “Yes, I am. Maybe for the first time in a long time—”

      He covered her lips with one finger as if to silence her. “No, you’re not. You don’t want to spoil everything.”

      She batted at his hand. “I don’t want to many you,” she stated flatly. “I don’t think I could marry a man who did what you did and then gloated about it.”

      Mrs. Colpepper looked near to fainting. “Now, now, dear, wedding jitters, that’s all.” Turning her attention to John, she snapped, “How could you rescue the cat before you came to the aid of Robert Winslow?”

      “Easy,” he said, looking for a way out of this mess. Besides marrying people, the other thing John Vermont wasn’t all that crazy about was scenes. Emotional outbursts, accusations, yelling—all this drove him nuts. He tried getting his cat away from Megan, thinking to himself that he could herd everyone up the ladder, deposit the cat in his cabin and get the Ruby Rose back to the wharf in time for a stiff drink and a thick steak. But she wasn’t letting go. Foggy Dew had all but disappeared in the increasingly ruined dress and Megan was too busy being mad to think of anything else.

      “Is that what this is all about?” Winslow chided as though Megan had informed him there was a speck of lint on his lapel. “For heaven’s sake, it’s just a cat.”

      His tone of voice was so condescending that even if John hadn’t already detested him, he would have been moved to react. “Where in the hell do you think you get off kicking a pregnant animal!” he yelled.

      This was the voice that shook shellfish loose from their moorings, and for a second, it served to quell all the chatter. But the moment passed.

      Mrs. Colpepper recovered first. “Captain Vermont! Really!”

      Another voice piped in. “Mr. Winslow? Should I still be taping all of this?”

      At that, everyone turned to see who had spoken. It was the gangly young man who was videotaping the ceremony. He was currently standing on a chair to get a better view. The camcorder pressed to his face and the steady red light said he was still trying to do his job.

      Winslow spat out the words. “Turn the damn thing off, you imbecile!”

      “Don’t talk to him like that!” Megan said.

      Once again Winslow searched Megan’s face with incredulous eyes. “Why in blazes do you give a hoot how I talk to him?”

      “He’s a human being—”

      Winslow shook his head at an observation he apparently found inconsequential, then turned back to John. “Believe you me, you sorry excuse for a captain. When the owner of this company finds out how you allowed a...a...cat to destroy a thirty-thousand-dollar wedding, you’ll be lucky to get a job swabbing decks!”

      “Is that all that matters to you?” Megan demanded before John could jump in with the information that he was the owner of this company. “It’s money, isn’t it?” she added as though a light bulb had just blinked on in her brain. “Just money.”

      “So, you are mad about the prenuptial agreement,” Winslow said with a know-it-all sneer. “I knew it!”

      “What I am is mad at you!” she said vehemently. “All you think about is your money—”

      “That didn’t seem to be a problem for you when I was writing you and your uncle all those hefty checks,” Winslow snapped.

      “What! How dare you—”

      He interrupted her with a laugh. “Grow up, Meg. Money is money. I have it, you don’t, and we both know you aren’t about to really break it off with me over a fleabitten cat, so go fix yourself up—”

      Her eyes clearly reflected her turbulent emotions as a smile slowly curved her lips. However, this smile, John suddenly realized, bore no resemblance to the earlier one that had so transformed her face. This smile lasted only a second. John had a feeling about what was going to happen next, but before he could react, Megan had interrupted her former fiancé’s diatribe by reaching forward and, once again, shoving him off the boat.

      A half dozen people sprang into action, either screaming or throwing enough life rings to save the doomed passengers of the Titanic. As John went to the rescue he saw Megan run up the stairs, one arm still holding Foggy Dew, the other clutching her skirt high so she could move easier. She disappeared from sight about the same time he yanked Robert Winslow out of the river. Again.

      

      Megan