Chapter One
When Pam Stuart, formerly Baker, formerly Amadeo, formerly—and briefly—Harris, nee Watson's fiancé Leo suggested a destination wedding, she knew this could be her one shot at romance on a cruise ship.
"What about this?" Angie Cannon, Pam's maid of honor, held up a frilly knee length nightie with capped sleeves, faux fur edges, and too many layers of fabric.
"Ange. I'm not a rock star. All I need is something that can be taken off more easily than it can be put on. And that doesn't fit the bill." What Pam really needed was something that made her look ten years younger, not like an over-aged Barbie doll.
Angie cocked a single brow higher than the other. "If you're in such an all fired hurry to take it off I don't see why you bother wearing anything at all."
"Surely by now you've learned that for a man it's all about the chase, even after the I Do’s. There has to be at least a little mystery right up to the last second."
"Right. Mystery." Angie rolled her eyes and held out a simple spaghetti strap sheer negligee with swaths of heavier fabric in all the right places. "And this?"
Pam bobbed her head and smiled. "Now you're getting the idea." She added the garment to the growing stack of cruise clothes. The first time she'd married had been for love. At least the closest thing possible to forever love at the ripe old age of eighteen. Each wedding after that had probably leaned more toward hopeful than love, but she'd given each husband her best effort. This time she'd smartened up and done things the old fashioned way. Instead of expecting fireworks and crashing waves, she went for stability, compatibility, and Leo's hefty bank account went a long way toward lifetime security.
Not that he wasn't a nice guy. He was. Very nice. Friendly, funny, charming, not bad looking and a pretty good kisser too. Plus, it certainly worked in her favor that he was royally ticked off at his recent ex trophy wife and looking for a lifetime companion closer to his own age. Pam might not be that close to his age, but she wasn't young enough to be his daughter either and that had counted for something. Her future husband had learned the hard way that reliving his twenties wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Pam wasn't all that sure her twenties had been worth it the first time around.
"I think this about does it." Pam made an awkward effort to raise her garment laden arm. "I can't believe we sail in less than a week."
"I wish it were tomorrow. I am so ready for a little rest and relaxation." Angie beamed. "And maybe a few of those famous Bailey's Banana Coladas Michelle loves so much."
"Now you're talking." Pam laughed at her friend's silly grin. If not for the absurd twist in Pam’s former co-worker’s wedding plans, Angie and Pam might never have even met. Now Pam couldn't imagine a better best friend. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet the love of your life on board, like Michelle did."
"Fat chance." Angie shook her head. "It will be nice to see her and Kirk again. It's been a while. I just wish they were bringing the baby."
"I can't blame them for leaving her home. I'm sorry Corrie can't come either; that kid sister of Michelle's is growing up nicely. But I think staying home with the baby and letting Michelle and Kirk have a nice vacation is a smart move." Pam's cell sounded off. A sudden jolt zipped through her at the familiar area code. It had been years since she'd spoken with anyone from her hometown. Not since the day she's gone home to bury her father had she set foot in that sorry place, and even then all the old nags had nothing better to do but carry on over ancient history. No. Whoever had the urge to kick up the past was going to have to find someone new to jaw with. She'd heard enough about her sudden marriage and even faster divorce during her last days in Podunk Georgia, no need to listen to any more of it now.
"Who is it?"
"No idea." She rejected the call, sucked in a deep breath, and tossed off the sour memories. Not that the brief marriage had been distasteful, she'd loved Gil and being Mrs. Pamela Harris. But the price of staying married would have been too high—for Gil. "Let's stop at the Bun Shack. I'm feeling a craving for a smothered in onions swiss cheese burger with all the trimmings."
The phone sounded off again, same number. What the heck could they want?
"Sounds like someone really wants to reach you."
And Pam was just curious enough now to want to know why. "Hello."
"Pammy? Is this still your number?"
No one called her Pammy any more. "This is Pam."
"Oh, good. This is Marjorie Lane. I still have your number from when your daddy was sick."
The old lady had been good to Pam's father in those last months. No matter how much of a gossip the old bird was, Pam couldn't bring herself to be rude. "Nice to hear from you, Mrs. Lane."
"Listen, Pammy, it's none of my business but there's been a lot of talk about town."
Oh brother, now what? After all these years, weren't these people tired of talking?
"Seems some fancy law firm from Chicago's been poking their nose around at the county courthouse. Eloise Hannigan says they were wanting records." She paused for one very long moment and Pam wondered if the line had gone dead. Or maybe the old broad had. "The records they wanted were 'bout you. I didn't let on that I might know how to reach you, but I thought I owed it to your Daddy to give you a heads up. You know, for old time's sake. Just in case. Whatever it is, if there's a lawyer involved, it can't be good."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lane. I appreciate the call, but it's probably just a scam. Some prince from Nairobi wants to leave me all his money."
"Well, just the same—"
"I'm sure it's nothing." Pam reminded herself the old gal had been her father's only friend for years after her mother had passed away. "Thanks again."
"Very well. Now that I know this is still your number, I'll let you know if I hear anything more. Take care, dear."
Before Pam could repeat there was nothing to worry about the call had been cut off and she was left with a chill deep in her bones. The last thing she wanted now—so close to her wedding—was a blast from her past.
* * *
For Gil Harris there were a lot of good reasons for getting married. Things he was looking forward to. This morning's den of scowling attorneys was not one of them.
"There appears to be a small discrepancy in the current data."
The last time the lawyers had mentioned anything small, it had taken a stack of papers and hours of conversation to resolve. Not for him and Karen, they had no problem with any of the arrangements. But Karen's father was another story. The man had presented Gil with reams of papers to sign before the wedding less than a month away. Today's prenup was to be the last mountain for him to climb. He counted to ten before asking the obvious question, "What's the discrepancy?"
"Your marital status."
"What about it? I'm single."
"No." The lead attorney in the required dark blue suit with the red power tie shook his head.
"Okay, divorced. Same thing for all intents and purposes."
This time all three lawyers shook their heads at him. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach told him this was no joke.
"It seems," the attorney on the left who bore a striking resemblance to the Pillsbury Dough Boy shoved a paper across the conference table, "all is not as you presented."
Gil glanced at the paper in front of him. A copy of his marriage license to Pam. They'd been married all of a few weeks before things began to unravel. When he glanced up, another paper was shoved in front of him. The divorce papers he'd reluctantly signed. The same ones he'd given Karen's attorneys along with his bank statements, tax returns, and blood type. "What is this all about?"
"There's only one signature on the divorce papers."
"That's because that's my copy. The one filed with the courts should have Pam's signature as well." Gil resisted rolling his eyes. He didn't have time for this. "Gentlemen, just give me the final draft of the prenup so Karen and I can move on to the business of getting married."
"And there lies the problem. No county in Georgia has any record of your divorce. You can't marry Karen." Three heads shook and Gil's stomach did a rather clumsy somersault. "Like it or not, you and Pamela Watson are still legally married."
Chapter Two
Who would have thought in this day and age of big brother watching and internet tracking that finding one feisty redheaded ex-wife would have been so blasted hard.
"The report is quite thorough considering the short time frame you gave us." After two days of surfing the net searching for a Pamela Elizabeth Watson, Gil finally had to give up and hire a private detective.
At first he'd casually flipped through the multiple pages the PI had provided, quickly scanning the information. Now he was looking more carefully at the details. Pam hadn't had any better luck at picking a husband the second time around. Nor the time after that. Tiny pins pricked at his heart. He'd hoped all this time that she'd found someone to make her as happy as they'd been those first few weeks before everything changed.
Sucking in a deep breath, he set the pages aside. "You're sure this is the right Pam Watson?"
The lanky man across the desk gave a single dip of his chin. “There's a photograph in the envelope."
Photograph? Gil reached for the manila envelope the report had come in and tilted it upside down. A single picture drifted out. The proof of identity he'd asked for. Immediately his gaze fell on the array of colors staring up at him. Pam had always liked bright hues. He'd have thought with time she'd have outgrown her fashion choices, but according to this photo she seemed to have developed quite a flair for standing out.
A smile tugged at one side of his mouth. He'd never known what to expect when he was with Pam, and something told him that would still hold true today. Carefully fingering the edge of the glossy eight by ten, Gil studied it a bit more. A few years older, as was he, but she still looked awfully good. Her eyes held that same twinkle that would have everyone in the room wondering what she knew that they didn't. And her figure was just as slender yet curvy. According to the report, none of her marriages had produced children.
"Thank you very much." He pushed away from his seat and stood. "I'll take it from here."
The PI extended his hand. "Let us know if you need anything else."
Gil remained on his feet until the detective had closed the office door behind him, then slowly he eased back into his seat. Most of the folks back home had gossiped left and right about what had prompted the hasty marriage and almost immediate divorce. The blame always falling squarely on Pam, and she hadn't deserved any of it. Small towns could be vicious against their own. He couldn't blame Pam for moving far away from nowhere Georgia as soon as she could.
By the time he graduated college he hardly ever wanted to go back to that narrow-minded town either. With a master's degree under his belt and a successful career, making time for visiting Porterville, Georgia was no where on his agenda. It was simply easier for his parents to come to him. And now with a pack of nieces and nephews scattered across the countryside, family gatherings were few and far between. Maybe this year, he and Karen would make the time to go to his sister Tammy's for Thanksgiving. It would be the first time in years the entire family would be together, and something about digging through his past in search of Pam had him missing his family more than he'd ever allowed himself to before.
Now he faced a new dilemma. Should he simply pick up the phone and call Pam? There was no time for snail mail. And even if there were, though a lot of years had passed, he didn't want to send a cold, impersonal letter. Setting the photo down with a sigh, he reached for his cell phone. Not the best way to relay complicated news, but there wasn’t time for much more.
The truth was he probably wanted to hear her voice a little too much for his own good. Carefully punching in the number highlighted on the first page of the report, Gil sat back in his chair and waited for the call to go through. At the first ring his stomach clenched and he sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. The second ring sounded and he blew out the breath. The third ring was cut short with a snippy, "Hello."
He didn't need to be an FBI profiler to recognize the woman answering the phone was not pleased with his interruption. She probably thought he was a sales call. "Pam?"
Silence on the other end hung a tad longer than he would have expected. About to announce himself and hope she didn’t hang up on him, a softer, weaker voice, responded. "Ye…es?"
There was no way he should be able to recognize her voice on a single, elongated syllable, but nonetheless the brief throaty sound sent his mind whirling back too many years. "Pam, this is Gil. Gil Harris."
Another long pause had him squirming in his seat, wondering if maybe he should have just let the PIs handle this.
"Hi, Gil."
"You sound good." A dumb thing to say, but it was the truth.
Pam let out a nervous laugh. "You can tell that from two words?"
"Yeah," he relaxed, "I can."
"How are you doing?" Her voice came across less stressed, more like what he remembered. Almost as if she cared.
"I'm good. Getting married in a few weeks." No sense in beating around the bush.
"Oh." Slightly higher pitched again, he could once again hear the strained effort in her voice. "That's…nice."
"Which is why I'm calling—"
"To tell me you're getting married?" This time her tone took on the attitude of a wise cracking New Yorker. Not that she'd ever lived in New York. At least the report hadn't said so.
"Well, yes and no," he answered. And just like that he knew this was not something he could just blurt out on the phone, but that didn't help him with what to say next.
"Listen,” the single word dripped with impatience, “it's really nice of you to call and reconnect and all. Really. But I'm running around like a chicken with her head cut off. I've got my maid of honor sifting through what suitcase to borrow, two weeks of clothes to narrow down to under fifty pounds worth of luggage without wrinkling the wedding dress, and a fiancé who doesn't understand why I don't have time to see him tonight. Especially if he expects me to get to the port in Miami in time to sail on the Atlantis tomorrow. Maybe we can touch base and catch up when I get back."
"You're getting married again?" The second his mouth snapped shut, Gil knew he’d made a mistake. If only he could rewind and substitute some other more appropriate comment, like congratulations or best wishes or just about anything else. He didn't have to have spent the last years with Pam to know his tone and choice of words sounded like a judgmental jerk instead of a startled legal husband. "I mean—"
"Don't bother. I really don't have time. Let's just say it's been nice and call it a day. I have to go. And congrats on your impending nuptials. Whoever she is, I'm sure she's a lucky girl."
"No—" the call disconnected. "You don't understand," he mumbled into thin air.
Now what? He stared at his phone. Call back? Oh yeah, that would accomplish a lot. Really tick her off so she hangs up on him—again. If she answered at all? Besides there was a bigger problem now than just his impending nuptials. If he turned this over to the PIs to deal with, they might not reach her before the wedding. Letting her commit bigamy was not an option. At least not now that he knew better. Not to mention he had no idea what kind of man she was marrying and if he'd understand the snafu. So where the heck did that leave him?
Atlantis. Port of Miami. Setting his phone on the desk he reached for the keyboard. A few strokes and he had all the information he needed. The Atlantis sailed tomorrow at five pm for a two week cruise. Nice. But he had to find a way to fix this fast. All he needed was a few minutes to explain and have her tell him in what county and state she filed the final papers. At least he hoped it would turn out to be that easy. The alternative wasn't going to be fun.
A little more searching and he concluded there were only three or four flights she could possibly be on and still make the sailing. If he caught the first morning flight out of Chicago that would get him to Miami in time to catch her before she left the airport for the port, get his answers, and be back home before Karen even noticed he was gone. At least he certainly hoped so. Otherwise he was going to have two very unhappy women on his hands.
* * *
On the deck ready to wave Miami goodbye, Pam watched the crowds still boarding the ship.
"Is Leo on board yet?" Angie asked, her nose to the air, sucking up the Florida sunshine.
"From the minute they let the new passengers on the boat. You know him, always first in line. He's already settled in the suite."
"I think it's kinda sweet that you're not sharing a cabin until after the wedding in St. Marteen. Sort of romantic."
That was the plan. "Figured this time if I'm going for old fashioned, I'm going to do everything right. Besides, I think it's getting Leo all fired up, and that will be fun."
Angie's phone clinked. "Oh, Michelle and Kirk just checked into their rooms. They're going to grab lunch upstairs. They want to know if we'd like to join them."
Pam would rather watch the crowds and bask a short while longer in the Miami heat. She certainly understood why folks migrated south. She'd love to move into a cabin on a cruise ship and just keep sailing. "You can’t be hungry."
"No, not really." Angie leaned more heavily on the railing. "It's still early by my clock."
"The two six-inch Subway sandwiches you scarfed down at the airport probably didn't hurt any."
Biting back a sweet smile, Angie shrugged. "I didn't have time for breakfast before we left the house."
A couple of guys leaned over the railing beside Pam. Not bad looking, the question of course was whether they were here together or together. Not that it mattered, she was off the market. But Angie could use a little fun in her life. She was too young to be cloistered at home working late hours almost every day of the week. The few times Pam could drag her out of the house it was only for dinner or a movie. Her friend hardly every joined her at the nightspots for a drink or dancing. Pam really hoped this cruise would loosen her up at bit.
"Looks like we're going to have great weather," the taller fellow with the sandy blonde hair said in her direction.
"Is there such a thing as bad weather in Florida?" Pam tilted her head, studying the two men.
"Depends on whether or not you like rain." The blonde stuck his hand out. "I'm Brian Reynolds, this here is my brother Taylor."
"Nice to meet you." She extended her hand as well. "I'm Pam, and this is my friend Angie."
"You ladies traveling alone?" Taylor asked, as though deciding this talking to strangers wasn't such a bad idea.
"There are a few more friends joining us. This is my wedding cruise."
"Congratulations." For a split second she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in Blondie's eyes, but that couldn't be, she had a few good years on him. "Great venue for a wedding."
"Angie is my maid of honor. My fiancé's brother is standing up for him. He brought his wife and two kids. My best friend and her husband are joining us from California. Small and intimate." Pam noticed Taylor glancing at Angie. Maybe this cruise thing could work out for Angie after all. "Just the seven of us and the kids."
"They're not really kids. They're in college." Angie added, oblivious to Taylor's interest.
"Sounds like fun just the same." Blondie's smile seemed genuine.
Another place and time and getting to know Blondie better would have been appealing. But not any more. Pam was settling down for real this time. Her cell phone sounded off and she didn't bother to look at the caller ID. "Must be Michelle wanting to convince us to go eat, like there's not going to be food twenty-four seven for the next two weeks. Hello."
"Pam."
One syllable and she knew the voice. After all these years how could one word from one man still make her toes tingle. She stepped away from Angie, turning her back to the now chatting new friends. "Gil, I thought we agreed that there was nothing to say."
"Actually, we didn't. There's something very important for me to say to you. But I'd rather do it in person. Are you still here at the airport?"
Pam glanced around. What did he mean by here? "No. I told you. I'm sailing on my wedding cruise." She took two more steps away. "Listen, Gil. I'm flattered you want to visit. But this is simply not a good time. I really have to go."
"Don't hang up! Please."
She almost did exactly that, but something almost desperate in his tone stopped her.
"Pam, I need to know where you filed the divorce papers. What county?"
"Where did I file the papers?"
"That's what I said."
"I didn't file anything. I signed the papers my lawyer gave me. His assistant told me that after you signed your lawyer would file. Ask him where he did it."
The acid churning in Gil’s stomach for the last couple of hours as it finally dawned on him that he'd missed Pam at the airport was now on fire. Someone somewhere had things back asswards. The way he remembered the situation going down was that he signed a copy, and his attorney was giving it to Pam's attorney for her to sign, and then she and her attorney were to file the papers. He never saw anything with her signature on it. "Pam, are you sure?"
"What do you mean, am I sure? I sat in the lawyer's office. Signed on the dotted line and left."
Slinging his carryon bag over his shoulder, he bypassed the baggage claim area and headed toward the taxi stand area. "This is really important, Pam." He had to take a deep breath himself to stay calm. "Was my signature on those papers?"
"I'm not a senile old lady, Gil. I don't have to think hard. I remember that day like it was yesterday. It's not the same as an ordinary day of going to the grocery store for milk and bread. Things like signing divorce papers have a way of sticking with you. Mr. Henry's legal assistant pulled the pages off the printer, set them in front of me and showed me where to sign. Mine was the only signature."
Gil stopped walking. Pinching the bridge of his nose he couldn't think of any way that would be a good way to say this. "I want you to stay calm, but if what you say is correct, and I have no reason to doubt you, then there's trouble in paradise."
"What kind of trouble?" The hint of anger in her earlier tone slipped away giving in to a nervous crack.
"Pam, we're still married."
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