The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom by Dixie Browning

they pulled into what passed for his driveway. He parked over in the sand, leaving the narrow stretch of marl to her. That toy car of hers wasn’t cut out for sand driving. Pausing a moment before easing himself out of the high cab, he took in the now-familiar surroundings. House, outbuildings, tombstones and what was left of an ancient wharf down on the marshy edge of the Pamlico Sound.
    Stark was the word that came to mind here. If the weathered frame house that had obviously been added onto at random had ever boasted a lick of paint, there was no sign of it now. The whole thing sloped slightly to the northeast. There were a few sections of picket fence still standing, one on the ground. A few rusty strands of barbed wire curled uselessly around some freestanding posts.
    Well, hell, he hadn’t promised her a rose garden.
    â€œThis looks…interesting.”
    She’d come up behind him and caught him off guard, one more indication that he’d lost his edge. Whether or not he decided to take early retirement, he would do well not to forget his training.
    â€œI’ll carry your gear inside,” he said gruffly. “The boxes can wait until after I open up.”
    The inside was no better than the outside. He didn’t even know if the bed in the other room was dry. When he’d first moved in, everything inside had felt damp, smelled of mice and mildew, which wasn’t too surprising in a house that had been boarded up for a couple of years. The key he’d been given wouldn’t work, and rather than break in he’d driven down to Avon, the nearest village to the south, and made a few inquiries.
    He’d located an old friend of his father’s who had told him he’d boarded up the windows and put on new padlocks after the house had been broken into a few times.
    â€œThere weren’t much left to steal. I reckon kids took whatever they could haul off. I’m real sorry about that. Me and your daddy sort of lost touch.”
    You and me, both, Curt had wanted to say but hadn’t. He’d opened up the place and let the wind blow through while a local carpenter made basic repairs. Once it was habitable, he’d moved in.
    Marginally habitable, he amended now, watching the woman who looked as out of place as a pig at a tea party. Elegant, sexy and windblown, she was trying hard not to show her dismay.
    â€œThere’s a pretty decent motel not too far from here. I can call and see if they have a vacancy,” he offered hopefully.
    â€œNo, thanks, this is fine. I’m pretty sure Bess didn’t stay at any motel.”
    She had a way of smiling that started in her eyes, then tugged at the corners of her mouth. Curt found himself smiling back before he thought better of it. Quickly switching to a scowl, he led the way to the guest room. “Probably needs airing out. There’s some linens in the closet on the shelf. I’ll make your bed for you.”
    â€œThanks, but that won’t be necessary.”
    Relieved, he nodded. His back didn’t take kindly to the thought of any more bending and stretching. But God, the place was a dump. The bed sagged, the ticking was stained, the mattress one of those cotton-filled ones that looked about as comfortable as a bushel bag of potatoes. There was a three-legged dresser against one wall, with all five drawers stuck tight. He’d tried to open them when he’d first moved in. Hadn’t bothered since. For the short time he planned to be here, he didn’t need the storage, and besides, he didn’t particularly care to invade the privacy of any nesting mice.
    The room’s only chair had once been varnished, but was now blotched with whitish stains. It was ugly. Everything in the house was ugly. Seeing her standing there, in her black slacks and white silk shirt, he suddenly felt like swearing for no real reason except that by contrast, she pointed up the bleakness of his own