The Rebel and His Bride

by Bonnie Pega

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In Bonnie Pega’s novel of reignited love, a restless minister and his old flame must find a way to overcome their history and forge a new life together.
 
Blessed (or cursed!) with more compassion than he knows what to do with, Gregory Talbott spent his college years leading the chants at rallies to save the whales—or whatever his cause of the week happened to be. Now he’s a small-town preacher, and although he loves the fact that he’s able to spend his days helping others, he isn’t happy about going home to an empty house every night. Which makes it so much harder when the-one-who-got-away comes back into his life.
 
Annabelle Pace gave her life to a lost cause once before. In college, she endured too many nights alone as Gregory chased the latest movement. Back in town after all these years to take care of her grandmother, Annabelle promises herself she won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. But as memories of the good times they shared return, Annabelle is drawn to his side once again. And if Gregory can devote himself to her, she’ll have no choice but to surrender to her passion for the preacher.

Release date: May 13, 2014

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 240

Sample

PROLOGUE
 
Gregory Talbott looked around at the hundreds of students that packed the university commons. The attendance at the Food for Kids rally was better than he’d expected. The other students were enthusiastic and vocal, and he figured the media would show up anytime. He hoped they would get their message across. And maybe while the newspaper and television coverage was going on, he could get in a little free press about the antivivisection demonstration he was planning that weekend at the biology labs.
 
There were just so many things in the world that needed changing. He intended to tackle them all someday, even though there was hardly enough time in a day to do what he needed to do. Like eat, he thought as his stomach reminded him he hadn’t fed it since last night. He spotted a hotdog vendor at the outer edges of the crowd and headed that way. Gregory reached the cart at the same time as a pretty coed with curly pecan-brown hair, a beautiful face, and a slim figure.
 
“Hey, I only got one wiener left.” The vendor held up a shriveled frankfurter.
 
Even though his stomach growled in protest, Gregory smiled at the woman and offered the hot dog to her. She smiled in return and shook her head, and he thought he’d never seen anything as gorgeous as her smile. It was warm and sunny and crawled right inside him. Yeah, there were a lot of things in the world that needed to be changed, but he wouldn’t change that smile for anything.
 
“Are you sure you won’t take it?” he asked.
 
“No thanks,” she said. “You got here a couple of seconds before I did.”
 
Her voice. God, her voice. It was a voice to spin dreams around, a voice that could turn a guy inside out. A voice he wanted to take to a movie Friday night. He turned to the vendor. “I’ll take it.” He looked back at the woman. “What do you like on your hot dogs? I like catsup.”
 
“I usually take everything.”
 
“Put everything on it,” he said to the vendor, though he never took his eyes off the woman. “I’m Gregory Talbott.”
 
“I’m Annabelle Pace. Do your friends call you Greg?”
 
“They usually call me Talbott. You, however, can call me anything you want.”
 
“I heard you speak at the rally. You’re very good.”
 
“Thanks. Wanna bite?” He held up the hot dog.
 
“I don’t bite strange wieners.” She grimaced. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
 
Gregory grinned. “I know how you meant it. Does this mean you only bite wieners you know?”
 
She batted her lashes at him. “I’m sweet and innocent and won’t even step on ants on a sidewalk. I don’t bite anything.”
 
“Pity. I was hoping.”
 
She rolled her eyes. “Gimme that hot dog.”
 
He held it up to her mouth. She took a bite, but managed to nip the end of his finger in the process. “Ow! You did bite me.”
 
“So I lied. I do bite on occasion.”
 
“God, I love strong women. Go out with me, huh?”
 
ONE
 
“So, Preach, what’s the cause of the week this week?”
 
Gregory Talbott stiffened at the all-too-familiar voice. It was the last voice he expected to hear in his church office on a Saturday morning. He hadn’t heard it for nine years, but he hadn’t forgotten its sweet red velvet texture.
 
No, he hadn’t forgotten the slightest nuance, he thought as he felt the tendrils of past desire pull at him. It took an effort, but he managed to turn his head toward her and say coolly, “Hello, Annabelle. Long time no see.”
 
“It has been a long time, hasn’t it, Gregory? Or should I say Reverend Talbott?”
 
“Gregory’s fine.” He’d known she’d show up in White Creek sooner or later; after all, she had family here. He wondered briefly if she’d ever told them about her relationship with him. Somehow he didn’t think so.
 
He made himself look at her, really look at her. Long time or not, she hadn’t changed much. She looked almost the same as she did when she was nineteen. Or better. Nine years later she still had tousled chestnut curls, only now they were softer and burnished with little streaks of sun-shot gold. She was still slim, but her figure had lost the almost angular slenderness of a girl and had taken on the softer, riper curves of a woman. Her hazel eyes showed the biggest change. The dark gold depths that had once sparkled with eager innocence shone instead with disconcerting maturity.
 
“When Gran told me you’d taken the church here,” she said, “I thought it was a joke. I didn’t see how you’d find time to tend a flock between Save the Whale meetings.” She perched on the edge of the polished oak desk that had graced the church offices since before World War II. The movement showed off her long gold-tanned legs and slender ankles. It put her breasts right at his eye level.
 
Gregory moved his gaze up to her chin and gave a weak smile. “What brings you back to White Creek? Did you come because of your grandmother’s broken arm?”
 
She absently ran her finger around the edge of the desk. “I came mostly for that, but I’d have come anyway for Daisy Jones’s engagement party in a few weeks.”
 
That drew Gregory’s attention away from Annabelle for a moment and he shook his head. It was Daisy’s third engagement that year—and it was only June. “You didn’t come for the other two.”
 
“The other two didn’t last long enough for anyone to worry about an engagement party.”
 
“So,” he began, hoping he sounded only casually interested, “how long are you going to be in White Creek?”
 
“I don’t know. I’m going to stay with Gran until the cast comes off. After that, I’m not sure.”
 
“Did Lute Simpson get rid of that motorcycle?”
 
“After the wreck he and Gran had, he said he wouldn’t get back on it if you paid him. He’s back driving his pickup.”
 
Gregory nodded and searched for something else to say. “Ah, so what are you doing these days?” He wanted to wince at how lame that sounded, but he couldn’t think of anything more dramatic. He could enthrall a Sunday-morning congregation, or so he’d been told, but he could only think of the most mundane comments right now—anything to keep from blurting out what was really on his mind. How could she sit there and look so calm and cool? He felt distinctly frayed around the edges.
 
“I’m teaching,” she answered. “I’ve taught in Raleigh for the past couple of years, but I’ll be teaching this fall at a middle school in Norfolk. Now that Mom and Dad are retiring to Florida to be near my brother and his wife, I want to be closer to Gran.”
 
“Well, family ties are important.” Great, he thought, here came the clichés and platitudes. They could always discuss the weather and everybody’s health—looks like rain and how’s your aunt Gladys’s gallbladder? Maybe he’d just shut up and let her think he’d grown more stupid instead of opening his mouth and proving it.
 
“Well, I expect I’ll see you Sunday,” she said, hopping down from the desk. She gave an airy wave of her hand and a toss of her head that set her glossy curls bouncing.
 
“Yeah, Sunday.” Gregory watched her walk away. She still had the same boyishly free, long-legged stride that had always captivated him, the sway of her hips accentuated by the snug cutoff jeans she wore.
 
Seeing her after all these years was like a kick in the stomach—sharp pain followed by an odd breathlessness. She’d been his first serious relationship. At the time he’d thought they’d be together forever. They hadn’t made it through his senior year in college.
 
He almost hoped she wouldn’t come to church tomorrow. If he felt this tongue-tied after just five minutes with her, he’d be lucky if he could remember his own name, much less the opening lines to his sermon.
 
He’d be luckier still if he could keep from grabbing her and shaking out of her the answer to the question that had burned through him all these years.
 
“Why did you leave me, Annabelle? Why did you leave me?”