and waggled her fingers at Jo as she bent to examine the ring. ‘This belonged to your grandmother—the girl in the photograph.’
‘It’s so pretty! I don’t know how you could bear to part with it last time,’ said Jo, examining the posy of diamonds, and smiled at Jack. ‘My name’s Margaret, too.’
His eyes flew to Kate who nodded. ‘I told you I laid down the law about the names. So she is Joanna, which is the nearest I could get to your baptismal name of John, and Margaret after your mother.’
Seeing that his son was momentarily deprived of words, Tom Logan blew his nose loudly. ‘Right then. Now Joanna knows the truth, when are you two going to tie the knot?’
‘I hadn’t thought that far,’ said Kate, eying her daughter uneasily.
‘I had,’ said Jack with feeling.
‘If you get a special licence,’ said Jo matter-of-factly, ‘you could get married just before I go back to school, then you wouldn’t have to worry about me while you were away on your honeymoon.’ She grinned broadly as her parents stared at her open-mouthed. ‘You’re not getting any younger, so why hang about?’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ said her grandfather in approval.
‘Besides, Bran and I want to be bridesmaids,’ said Jo, hugging the dog.
On a sunny, brisk April day there was a big turnout for the marriage of John Logan to Katherine Durant. Due to the holeand-corner misery of his first marriage, Jack had insisted on celebrating in style as he finally married the love of his life. Miss Joanna Sutton, soon to be officially Joanna Logan, was chief bridesmaid, Mrs Ben Maitland having regretfully declined the office of matron of honour due to her rapidly increasing girth.
Tall and elegant in formal morning coat, Jack turned at the altar with Ben Maitland as the organist began the wedding march, and smiled, a lump in his throat, as he saw his bride, in a narrow dress of champagne slipper satin, enter the church on his father’s arm, with their daughter close behind in a matching chiffon which, she told Anna, made her look like the fairy off the Christmas tree, but which secretly was exactly the kind of dress she’d always yearned for. She winked at the Carey twins as she passed and beamed at Anna. But when she smiled reassuringly at her father as she took the bride’s bouquet, Jack smiled back so proudly she felt warm inside.
The sun shone on the wedding group as the photographers dodged about, with much laughter from the assembled guests when the bridesmaid insisted on the inclusion of a handsome black retriever in all the shots, complete with brand-new leash and a rose thrust through his collar. The reception in the hall of Mill House was a very animated affair with an array of Molly’s delicious food that had all the guests demanding the name of the caterer, and after Ben had made a witty, entertaining speech and proposed the health of the enchanting bridesmaid and her canine escort, Jack waited for silence, then smiled down at his wife and across the hall at the daughter standing between the Carey twins with Bran.
‘Today I’ve finally been united with the beautiful woman I wanted to marry years ago, the moment I first set eyes on her. And, to add to my incredible good fortune in doing so, I also gained a beautiful daughter.’
‘Logan’s luck,’ shouted someone, above the applause. The Carey twins cheered as Jack beckoned Joanna over to stand beside him and he grinned at them, then kissed Kate and Jo in turn and raised his glass. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a toast to Kate and Joanna, for making me the happiest—and luckiest—man on the planet.’
The Millionaire’s Reward
By
Angie Ray
A RITA® Award winning author for her first novel, Angie Ray has written historical and paranormal novels, as well as romance. The mind of this native Southern Californian is buzzing with ideas for stories and she loves brainstorming while taking walks. Her husband and two children also provide plenty of distraction, but sooner or later she’s always drawn back to the computer for ‘just one more scene’—which invariably leads to another book!
Chapter One
The necklace was the gaudiest, ugliest piece of jewelry Garek Wisnewski had ever seen.
Rubies and emeralds vied for glittering supremacy in a bright yellow-gold setting decorated with enough curlicues and whorls to make a Russian czar blink. Any woman wearing this necklace risked blinding innocent bystanders—or being mistaken for a Christmas tree. This bauble had nothing to