The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie Read online

  “Tell me, how’d Gregory manage to propose in a hot-air balloon when he’s scared of heights?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Bonnie K. Winn

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Tell me, how’d Gregory manage to propose in a hot-air balloon when he’s scared of heights?”

  Sputtering, Brynn almost choked.

  “I—I guess...he’d been working hard at conquering his fear....”

  The silence wasn’t thick; it was impenetrable. Finally Matt said, “Sounds like Gregory did a lot of things he never had before.”

  “Like I said, love...” She glanced up, meeting Matt’s gaze. There was something there—that same something she’d seen before. Whatever it was, she couldn’t complete the thought, couldn’t put the words between them again.

  “Changes people,” he finished for her.

  Brynn had the sudden urge to tell him the truth, to explain why she’d carried out the charade, how it had seemed like the right thing to do—

  “I guess it’s a good thing love can change people,” Matt continued, not meeting her gaze now, “otherwise you and Gregory wouldn’t be married. And right now, you’re what’s keeping Dad going.”

  Brynn’s confession died in her throat. What if she told all and his father took a turn for the worse? She never should have started the whole charade, but ending it now could be even worse!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A hopeless romantic, Bonnie K. Winn naturally turned to romance writing. This seasoned author of historical and contemporary romance has won numerous awards, including having been voted one of the Top Ten Romance Authors in America, according to Affaire de Coeur.

  Living in the foothills of the Rockies gives Bonnie plenty of inspiration and a touch of whimsy, as well. She shares her life with her husband, son and spunky Westie terrier.

  Bonnie welcomes mail from her readers. You can write to her c/o Harlequin Books, 300 E. 42nd St., New York, NY 10017.

  Books by Bonnie K. Winn

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  624—THE NEWLYWED GAME

  646—WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

  680—THE DADDY FACTOR

  720—HIS-AND-HERS FAMILY

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  The Accidental Mrs. MacKenzie

  BONNIE K. WINN

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  To Huntley Fitzpatrick for the inspiration, the faith and the friendship.

  To my partners in crime, Jean Case and Karen Rigley, for your invaluable assistance.

  Thanks for always being there, guys.

  Prologue

  Brynn Magee edged closer to the podium and the culmination of her plans—she was finally going to meet Gregory MacKenzie. Having jogged the same paths as he had for months, Brynn knew he was the one. Mr. Right.

  She didn’t care if the label sounded dopey, because he was dreamy, handsome, successful, outgoing—everything she’d always wanted in a man. Brynn hadn’t yet gathered enough courage to introduce herself, but that was all going to change.

  Now she was a valued charity-auction volunteer; one who’d stuffed envelopes, answered phones, lugged cartons, schlepped coffee, vacuumed sawdust, and dusted chandeliers. And Gregory would notice—because he was chairing this high-profile charity event. He would appreciate all her hard work, commiserate over the fingernails she’d sacrificed, laugh with her over her needless struggle for a simple introduction. Because, of course, he would tell her that it wouldn’t have taken more than a simple hello to catch his attention, a smile to keep it, and just a touch of encouragement to—

  “Excuse me,” the impatient voice intruded. “You in outer space, lady?”

  “No... Uh, of course not,” she mumbled, pushing at the heavy-rimmed glasses that nearly covered her face. “I guess I just didn’t hear you.”

  “Guess not.” The photographer shot her another disgruntled look as he pushed past her, nearly toppling her from the narrow stage area.

  Glancing around, Brynn saw that most of the press was crowding around. Which meant Gregory was probably ready to address them. Her heart thumping so hard she could scarcely hear above its rapid rush, she eased forward a bit, finding herself directly next to the speaker’s box. Closing her eyes, she made a quick, fervent plea.

  And was rewarded by Gregory MacKenzie’s dazzling smile. Of course, it was directed past her at the news media; still, she could almost reach out and touch that perfect smile, those flawless cover-model features.

  Then he spoke. It was the first time she’d actually heard him talk. Once Brynn had volunteered, she’d assumed she would meet Gregory, but instead she had been assigned to a committee under a minor director’s command. Now, though, she would have her chance.

  Enthralled, she clutched the framed clipping she intended to casually hand to him during their introduction. He would be touched by her consideration and sensitivity. So touched that he would make sure he knew just how to contact her after the charity auction they were working on, and then—

  “Excuse me.” One of the committee members passed behind Brynn, pushing her forward next to Gregory.

  Glancing up, Brynn caught the flash of the camera as she angled her head toward him. In an instant, she realized she’d just become part of Gregory’s photo op. Thrilled, she turned with a dazzling smile as another flash went off, and then dozens more. When the photographers slowed down, Brynn gulped back her nervousness, hoping her smile still dazzled as she looked at Gregory again.

  He started forward.

  Her heart nearly stopped.

  Then he stepped aside, leaving the podium, and was immediately caught up in the crowd. Brynn stared at him hopelessly. Her golden opportunity had been lost.

  One photographer stayed behind to reload his camera. Brynn started to leave but then realized he was the one who’d taken most of the pictures of her with Gregory. Seeing that he’d nearly finished changing his film, she scrambled off the podium.

  “Sir, excuse me?”

  The photographer glanced at her without much interest, once he’d realized she wasn’t anyone important. “Yes?”

  “You took pictures of Mr. MacKenzie that I believe I was in.”

  “So?”

  She slid two fingers behind her back. “As historian of the auction I need to collect all the pictures I can for our records. Could I get duplicates of everything you took today? I... We’ll be happy to pay for them.”

  He spared her a brief glance. “I think the newspaper can cough up a few extras for charity.” He pulled out a rumpled card from his jacket. “Just give me a
call—I took about two rolls.”

  Brynn held fast to the card. “Thank you so much! I can’t tell you how much this means to me...us.”

  “Sure, lady. Money goes to the children’s hospital. Gregory MacKenzie might be a corporate stuffed shirt, but he knows how to raise the dough.”

  Brynn stiffened, but he didn’t seem to notice as he ambled away. Her affront faded as she clutched the card. She was going to have pictures of herself and Gregory. That in itself was a dream come true.

  BUT BRYNN FOUND THAT her dream needed something more. True to his word, the photographer had given her a complete set of the pictures, yet she longed for them to have more meaning than an image of two strangers sharing the same podium.

  Brynn stepped away from her drawing board where she was working on the comic strip, Stephanie, that she drew. She picked up the stack of pictures, looked at them once more, then tossed them down on a copy of Brides magazine she’d bought as research for Stephanie. As one photograph slid across the magazine it landed in a position that made it look as though Brynn’s face was above the wedding gown on the cover.

  Chuckling, she lined the picture up more carefully so that her head completely covered the model’s face. It really did look like a fragmented page from what could be her own wedding album.

  Flashbulbs ignited so quickly in her mind that they could have come straight from one of her own cartoon strips. Brynn glanced sideways at her drawing table to make certain they hadn’t.

  Her own wedding album... A ridiculous idea. So silly it wasn’t even worth a thought. So ludicrous a sane person wouldn’t even have let it enter her mind. So absurd it was laughable. Still... Her own wedding album. One she could share with Gregory.

  Even without his cooperation.

  It could be done. Computer-enhanced photos could place people anywhere—including the dream wedding she’d fantasized about.

  Brynn traced the outline of Gregory’s face on the picture. She’d planned to speak to him the day after the auction on the jogging path, but he hadn’t been jogging since the charity event. She guessed he was out of the country again. His position at an international manufacturing firm took him away often—she knew that from the frequent mentions in the papers. But when he got back, nothing was going to stand in her way. She’d gazed from afar for too long. And her elaborate plan to meet him had fizzled. It was time for the direct approach.

  But first... She picked up the magazine and positioned her picture above the bride on the cover. She had a wedding album to create.

  Chapter One

  Brynn leafed through the morning paper, absently dividing her breakfast between her pets. While her cat, Snookems, preferred protein, the fussy feline did like to nibble on a bite of bagel liberally covered in cream cheese. Lancelot, her small, mixedbreed terrier, wasn’t as particular, although he loved fruit, eagerly accepting bites of strawberries and bananas. Bossy, her parrot, aptly named because of his commandeering attitude, pecked at the bagel, while muttering a mixture of offbeat slang and sailors’ curses.

  Brynn shook her head, correcting Bossy’s ill manners while knowing he was a lost cause. She didn’t have many guests, and luckily those few didn’t mind his off-color remarks.

  All three of the creatures for various reasons had been practically unadoptable, which was why they’d wound up in her home. It was a good thing she only volunteered twice a month at the shelter, otherwise she would have had to invest in a farm ... or possibly a zoo.

  Turning another page of the newspaper, she dropped the rest of the strawberries on Lancelot’s head. He didn’t mind, eagerly chasing the berries as they rolled across the kitchen floor. But Brynn didn’t notice. Her gaze was riveted on Gregory’s picture and the shocking caption beneath it: Prominent Local Business Executive Kidnapped in South American Coup.

  Quickly reading the article, Brynn learned that Gregory had been taken captive while negotiating arrangements to build another plant for his firm. Details were sketchy, but the situation sounded grim. More than one American had been detained, as firms tried to capitalize on uncertain governments and cheap labor. Apparently the terrorists were holding Gregory for ransom—not out of any political motives, but rather financial ones.

  No wonder Gregory hadn’t been on the jogging paths lately. While she’d been agonizing over introducing herself, he’d been—Well, who knew what he’d been going through. Brynn shuddered at the possibilities. She’d been gifted or cursed—depending on how she looked at it on any given day—with an overactive imagination. It provided the grist for her comic strip, but in situations like these she could practically feel whatever discomfort he was experiencing.

  Disregarding the alarm that rang reminding her to read the collection of notes tacked around the apartment, Brynn stared at the newspaper until the last shrill echoes of the clock faded away. A scribbled message reminding her to reset the alarm fluttered to the floor unnoticed.

  After rereading the article nearly a dozen times, she carefully clipped it out. Retrieving the wedding album she’d pored over countless times, she opened its cover. The clever photographer she’d chosen had done an extraordinary job using his computer to create images of herself and Gregory in appropriate wedding attire and poses.

  The pictures were so realistic that even she had to remind herself they weren’t authentic. She’d known from drawing her own strip that the capacity of computer technology to change photos was nothing short of remarkable. And these pictures were even a cut above her expectations. People who either didn’t have the funds for original wedding photos or who wanted to utilize ones from a previous marriage were turning to computer enhancement. Brynn wondered how many former spouses would be appalled to see someone else’s face smiling from their photos. But it was being done more and more. The photographer hadn’t even questioned Brynn’s request, assuming the photos were for both her and Gregory.

  To the unknowing, the pictures appeared to be the genuine article. And in her dreams they were. She knew her wedding album would seem silly—even ridiculous—to anyone else, but it was her indulgence, a bit of harmless fantasy. With nothing substantial of Gregory’s to hold on to, the album was her only link to the relationship she hoped would materialize.

  Lancelot pushed his moist nose beneath her hand, begging to be petted. She obliged, picking up his sturdy little body to cuddle. “Do you suppose Gregory is all right?” she asked him, a slight hitch in her voice.

  Instantly empathetic, Lancelot licked her hand.

  Snookems, sensing her distress, moved closer as well, arching toward Brynn’s knees and winding her fluffy tail around her legs. Only Bossy continued his muttering.

  Another alarm clock, set in case she forgot to heed the first one, now shrilled. But she ignored it, too.

  “I don’t guess we’ll really know, guys. Who’s going to keep us updated on Gregory?” She sighed. “Nobody, I suppose.”

  Brynn searched her memory for contacts she’d made during the auction, but she’d been her usual shy, reserved self, especially since she’d been thinking of Gregory the whole time. “Nope,” she said aloud. “No help there. I guess we’ll just find out with the rest of the world.”

  BRYNN SAT AT HER DRAWING table, doing her best to concentrate on the strip, but her gaze kept wandering to the wedding album that rested on the coffee table. Giving in to the urge yet again, she abandoned her work to study the photos.

  She had some time before the strip was due, but she needed to fill her mind with something other than worry about Gregory. And yet she couldn’t resist leafing through the album. Each morning since his disappearance, she’d risen early, opening the paper the moment it arrived, searching for any news about him. There had been an occasional update, all indicating nothing had changed.

  Brynn tried to tell herself that no news was good news, but it was getting to be a thin platitude. Hearing Lancelot growl suddenly, she paused, listening as well. The doorbell rang and her apartment erupted in sound as Lancelot raced to the door, b
arking madly. Snookems took up her position in the window seat, proceeding to yowl as usual when Lancelot barked. Bossy launched into a limerick after calling out, “Enter.”

  Rolling her eyes, Brynn glanced through the peephole, not recognizing the face that peered back, equally close to the door. Startled, she pulled away. “Who is it?”

  One word penetrated the chorus of voices that greeted her: “MacKenzie.” Could it be news of Gregory? Forgetting logic or rationale, she picked up Lancelot as she whipped open the door. And stared.

  Five curious faces stared back at her.

  “Hello,” Brynn finally managed. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet?” a middle-aged woman gushed, holding out her hands to grasp Brynn’s, forcing her to shift Lancelot, then put him down.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You’re right, Ruth, she looks delightful,” another older woman agreed. “And we’re taking her by surprise.”

  “No, that is—” Brynn began.

  “Of course we are,” a man interrupted, although in a weak voice. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves. We’re the MacKenzies—Gregory’s family.”

  Struck dumb, Brynn could only stare. Had something happened to him? And how had they known about her? “But, how... I mean—” Brynn tried to recover some sort of poise. “Please come in, won’t you?”

  The ladies filed in first, then a girl of about fourteen or so, a boy who looked to be about nine, and finally the man with the weak-sounding voice.

  “I’m Ruth MacKenzie,” the first woman began. “And this is my husband, Frank.”

  He solemnly held out a thin hand and Brynn shook it carefully, feeling its fragility.

  As she released his hand, Ruth was already steering her toward the others. “This is Frank’s sister, Miranda.”