A Proper Wife

Devon laughed softly. “So I see.”

“Anyway, there I was, spinning dreams in my head of a table for two, candlelight, music, a diamond ring that would shine like your beautiful eyes.” He frowned. “And wham, bam, we walked right into Sharon.”

Devon smiled tremulously as she linked her hands behind his neck.

“I hated her,” she whispered. “She was so beautiful. So smug.”

“She never meant anything to me, Devon. No one did, until I met you.”

“Oh, Ryan, I love you so much.”

Ryan kissed her, long and deep. Then he drew back and took a little box from his pocket.

“Open it,” he said softly.

Devon did, with trembling fingers. An amethyst ring, as deep and dark as her eyes, the stone encircled by sparkling diamonds, winked back at her.

“Ryan? Oh, Ryan...”

“I thought I would buy you a diamond,” Ryan said as he slipped the ring on her finger. “But all I could think of was that your eyes were more beautiful and more mysterious than any diamond.”

“Miss Franklin! What is going on here?”

Devon gasped. “It’s Mr. Nelson,” she muttered. “The manager.”

Ryan let her break free of his embrace but he kept one arm firmly around her shoulders. He smiled at the tall, thin man in the shiny black suit who was striding toward them.

“How do you do, Mr. Nelson?” Ryan extended his hand. “M

y name is Kincaid.”

The manager took Ryan’s hand cautiously. “Is there a problem here, Mr. Kincaid?”

“No.” Ryan smiled. “No, there’s no problem.”

Nelson frowned and looked pointedly at Devon.

“Miss Franklin? Have you an explanation for your behavior?”

“Well,” Devon began, but Ryan’s voice cut across hers.

“The explanation’s simple.” His arm tightened around Devon’s shoulders. “I’ve come to take my wife home.”

“Your wife?”

“That’s right. You see, Mr. Nelson, this young woman’s name isn’t Devon Franklin. It’s Devon Kincaid.”

Devon’s heart filled with happiness. She smiled and looked into her husband’s eyes.

“Actually,” she said, “it’s Mrs. Ryan Kincaid.”

And then she was back in Ryan’s arms, where she had always belonged.

EPILOGUE

“NINETY-FIVE candles on a birthday cake,” James said irritably. “It’s enough to burn the place down!”

Agnes Brimley Kincaid shot her husband a look of disapproval.