Married While Intoxicated

MARRIED WHILE INTOXICATED

By Fran Shaff

Classic Contemporary Romantic Comedy

Married While Intoxicated by Fran Shaff

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Coypright 2011 by Fran Shaff

Characters, names and incidents used in this
story are products of the imagination of the author and are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and
retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

January, 2011

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MARRIED WHILE INTOXICATED

Melinda tried to open her eyes, but it felt
like they’d been glued shut. A heavy object was crushing her chest,
and a hundred-pound weight clamped down on her lower body.

A wool sock had somehow covered her
tongue.

Maybe waking up wasn’t such a good idea, she
decided when regaining consciousness made her feel more miserable
than she had in a long time.

She struggled against the restrictions on her
body until she was able to dislodge the object lying on her chest.
As her torso became free, the glue in her eyes miraculously
dissolved.

She opened her eyes and looked straight
ahead. Clusters of lilacs against a white background stared back at
her. They were beautiful, almost fragrant, but they were totally
unfamiliar to her.

This was not her room.

Where was she?

She ran her fingers through her hair, rubbed
her sticky eyes and tried to moisten the wool sock on her
tongue.

Then she saw him.

His heavy leg, covered by thick denim jeans,
lay across her legs, weighing them down heavily.

Suddenly realizing she was in bed with a man
she didn’t know, Melinda screamed. She grabbed her aching head when
the piercing sound met her ears, and she screamed again.

The man in her bed twisted away from her,
pulling his heavy leg from her lower body. He covered his ears with
his hands. “Stop screaming!” he shouted.

Melinda responded to his command by screaming
again.

He sat up next to her and placed his hand
over her mouth. “Stop screaming! In the name of all that is holy,
please, stop screaming. My head will explode if you don’t.”

She pushed his hand away from her mouth.
“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t put your hand over my mouth.”

“You gave me no choice. You wouldn’t stop
screaming, and my head feels like Quasimodo is inside using a
sledge hammer on his bells.”

“Never mind the haunting hunchback in your
head or his clanging bells. What are you doing in my bed?”

“Your bed?” he asked, raising a brow.

She rubbed her temples. No, this wasn’t her
bead, wasn’t her room.

She looked around the attractive boudoir with
the quaint lilacs on the walls and tried to remember where she was
and how she got there. Was she in a hotel? A bed and breakfast?

She looked at him again.

Dear heaven, what had she done?

Maybe he could explain what had
happened
, she thought.

But he didn’t look anymore clear-headed than
she felt.

“Where are we, and how did we end up in bed
together?” She decided a direct approach might just bring them both
to full consciousness.

He slid his fingers through his thick,
disheveled sandy-brown hair, and gave her a shameless grin. “What
I’d like to know is how we ended up in bed together fully
clothed.”

Melinda wanted to slap the charming smirk off
his face. “I’m not in the habit of waking up in bed with a man I
don’t know under any circumstances,” she said resolutely.

“Really?” His grin became even more
brazen.

She grabbed the collar of his green plaid
flannel shirt with both of her hands and got his full, wide-eyed
attention. “What happened last night?”

“You don’t remember?” That smirk of his was
three seconds away from being slapped away.

“If I remembered how I got into this
situation, I wouldn’t be asking,” she said, using every bit of
strength she had to try to calm down.

He rubbed a strong hand over his cheek. “You
must have been as drunk as I was.”

He tugged her fingers away from his collar,
stared at her a moment, and let go of her hands.

Drunk? She’d been drunk?

She wiped her hands over her face and ran her
fuzzy tongue around her Sahara-like mouth.

She’d only been intoxicated twice before in
her thirty-two years, and this is what it had felt like the
mornings after both of those occasions.

But how had it happen?

“Maybe I was drunk,” she admitted. When she
looked directly into his eyes she noticed he seemed to be sizing
her up. “Where did we meet,” she asked, undeterred by his scrutiny,
“and why did you get me drunk?”

“You think
I
got
you
drunk?” he
said, leaning back and grinning at her. His deep brown eyes
twinkled.

Gees, he had gorgeous eyes. Gorgeous eyes had
always been her downfall. Gorgeous man-eyes could get her to do
almost anything. She’d cancelled important plans she’d made just to
work overtime, given up seats on mass transit and left tips bigger
than the price of her meal all because exquisite man-eyes had
seduced her into giving a man what he wanted.

But gorgeous eyes had never convinced her to
go to bed with a man.

“You really don’t remember
anything
about last night, do you?”

She gnawed on her lower lip and looked away.
It was better if she didn’t look into his eyes. She was far too
vulnerable at the moment. “What happened last night?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she looked
at him. “Are you going to tell me?”

The devilish grin he’d issued too many times
already curved his lips once more. “I’m half tempted to let you
keep wondering. It hurts a man’s pride when a woman he’s in bed
with claims to have forgotten all she meant to him the previous
night.”

She threw back the covers. “I’ve had it with
you. I’m getting out of here!”

He seized her arm and pulled her next to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m not being a very good host.” He pulled the covers
over her when she settled back where she’d been a moment
before.”

“You got caught in yesterday’s snowstorm. I
found you stuck in a snowdrift where our driveway meets the
highway. I plucked you out of your car and brought you inside.”

Melinda closed her eyes and massaged the ache
in her temples. “The storm.”

“You said you were on your way to your
sister’s wedding.”

Sunbeams were finally pushing away the clouds
in her brain. “Tamara’s wedding. The snowstorm. Gees, that storm
was awful,” she said, looking at him.

“That’s an understatement. We barely made it
in my four-wheel drive pickup from the highway to our
farmhouse.”

“I’m at your farm?”

“You’re at my family’s farm. My mother runs
it. You met her last night.”

More clouds began to dissipate. “Yes, Sheila.
Sheila Pottaski. And you have a brother, Derrik, and you are
Matthew Pottaski.”

He sent her a stunning smile. “That’s
right.”

Matthew. Now she remembered. How could she
ever forget that billion-dollar smile? Man, he was handsome. “You
rescued me.”

He released a half laugh. “I fished you out
of a snowdrift. That’s all. Anyone would have done the same
thing.”

“I suppose.”

But not just anyone had rescued her. Matthew
had been the knight, and she’d been very pleased. She remembered
that much anyway.

“Your mother is a sweet woman. She invited me
to dinner. We had roast beef with onions and mushrooms, mashed
potatoes, peas and apple pie. I remember it smelled and tasted like
a holiday here last night.”

“I’m afraid that meal is standard issue for a
North Dakota farm supper.”

“It was very good. She served wine after our
meal, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did.”

Confusion and curiosity settled into her
brain once more. “Sheila got me drunk?” But she’d seemed so sweet.
“That’s impossible.”

She plunged her fingers through her long
hair. “No way. That lovely old lady could not possibly have gotten
me drunk.”

She searched her memory trying to recall how
much wine Sheila had offered her. “I had only two small glasses of
wine,” she said when clarity returned. “That’s not enough to get me
drunk.”

He shifted and turned solidly on his side.
“Maybe you weren’t drunk. Maybe you were just so tired you passed
out once the wine relaxed you.”

That made sense. “Yes, that’s probably what
happened.”

He shrugged. “Probably,” he said, giving her
a look which seemed to suggest there was much more to the
story.

She tilted her head and scowled at him. “Why
were we sleeping in the same bed?”

A knock sounded at the door just before it
opened. Sheila slipped inside. She smiled at the couple in bed and
rubbed her hands together. “Good morning, my children,” she said
sweetly. She flicked her short, gray curls with her slender
fingers. “I hope you slept well.”

Melinda grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to
her neck as though she were covering a lot less than a navy blue
sweater and jeans. “Sheila, I know what this must look like. You’ve
got to believe me when I tell you nothing happened between Matthew
and me.” She tried to tug the sheet higher. “I would never do
anything to disgrace the family who took me in the way you did. I’m
very grateful for your protection from the storm.”

“Nothing happened?” she asked, raising a brow
in the same fashion Matthew had shown earlier.

Melinda shook her head vigorously. “No,
nothing. I swear.”

“But you don’t remember everything about last
night,” Matthew said suggestively. “You said so yourself.”

Melinda gave him the nastiest look she could
muster. “I’d remember if
something
had happened between us,
Matthew Pottaski.” She turned to Sheila. “
Nothing
happened.”

Sheila came to the bed and took Melinda’s
hand. “That’s a shame, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

“What?!” Melinda yanked her hand away from
Sheila. Had she heard the elderly woman correctly? Was that a look
of disappoint in Sheila’s eyes? She should have been relieved
Matthew and Melinda had managed to pass a celibate night, shouldn’t
have she?

“Maybe next time the two of you will have a
more…shall we say,
interesting
night together.”

“Mother!”

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

Matthew got out of bed and tucked his flannel
shirt into his jeans. “For heaven’s sake, Mother. How can you
suggest something as improper as an intimate relationship between
Melinda and me should take place? She’s a guest in our home,
stranded by a quirk of nature. I would never take advantage of
her--”

“Take advantage of her?” Sheila interjected.
She shifted her gaze from Matthew to Melinda and back to her son.
“But how can you call having intimate relations with your wife
taking advantage of her?”

“What?!” Matthew and Melinda said in
unison.

Sheila reached for Melinda’s hand. “You’re
married now, dear,” she said, squeezing her hand, “and I’ll be
wanting grandchildren. The sooner, the better.”

She looked at Matthew. “She’s a lovely girl,
son. Treat her right, and get her in the family way as soon as
possible.”

Melinda was so shocked by what Sheila had
said, she couldn’t speak.

Sheila pulled back her hand just as Matthew’s
brother Derrik entered the room. He was tucking his blue-gray
flannel shirt into his jeans. “Good morning, you two,” he said, his
blue eyes twinkling brightly.

“Derrik,” Matthew said, walking toward his
brother. “Something’s wrong with Mom. She’s talking nonsense. She
claims Melinda and I are married. Set her straight, okay?”