Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (35 page)

“I love you, Denny,” she whispered.

“I love you, Fliss,” I breathed out. “My wife.”

We started being truly honest, for once. With ourselves and with each other. We explored this fragile, tenuous bond of love. It was the best couple weeks of my life.

Then I got a call from Frank, and he did not sound happy. Apparently Larry had pushed for a second marriage fraud interview, and it was scheduled for the following day. This was
NOT
a good sign. Frank suggested I call a lawyer.

So I did.

And Fliss called her dad.

“There are just too many circumstances I don’t buy into, Mr. Byrne.”

Larry the fuckhead was doing his bad cop routine again. Threatening Fliss, promising she might be okay if we would just told the truth, but they would likely hold me for deportation.

If we didn’t tell the truth, though, they would charge her as well. It could mean federal prison.

The lawyer had arrived not five minutes after we did, but, no matter what he said, Larry didn’t budge. He seemed to think he really had us now.

“You see there’s this little technicality I can throw down,” Larry said. “Your student visa was only good for six months following your time at Tech. And you haven’t been a student at Tech for quite some time, Mr. Byrne.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with now,” I said, trying to remain calm, but losing the battle with my temper. “My passport is renewed. I’m here legally now.”

“But it does have something to do with now,” Larry replied. “You overstayed a previous visa. That’s a
big
no-no. Technically, it makes you ineligible for your immigration visa.”

Fliss was standing by my side, but suddenly weaved, looking pale and unsteady.

“Oh God,” she gasped.

“Mrs. Byrne,” Frank said, “you look like you need to sit down.”

She was practically hyperventilating, terrified, and clutching my arm fervently.

“They can’t take you away from me,” she whispered in shock. “Denny, they can’t take you.”

“Mrs. Byrne?” the lawyer asked. “Do you need a doctor? You really don’t look well.”

Right then, Fliss’ dad stormed in with Brannon and Sophie hot on his heels. He looked about ready to tear Larry a new arsehole when he saw the pallor and fear on Fliss’ face.

“Now sheriff,” Larry began, “there’s no reason to—”

“What the hell have you done to my daughter?” Fliss’ da raged.

“I’m alright,” Fliss promised. “I just felt a little faint for a minute there.”

“Maybe you should go to the walk-in clinic or something,” Sophie suggested, kneeling by the chair Fliss had sunk into.

“No, I want to stay here. It’s okay. I don’t feel very well, but I need to stay here.”

“When is the last time you’ve eaten?” I asked, knowing full well that she hadn’t touched her breakfast. She had been entirely too nervous to eat. For that matter, I don’t think she ate dinner the night before either. She was nearing twenty-four hours with no food, and she was kind of a tiny thing. Not a lot of fat stores to go on.

“Do you want me to go get you a sandwich or something?” Sophie asked. “Maybe you need a little food to settle your stomach.”

“I can’t…” Fliss replied weakly with a shake of her head.

“Maybe crackers, something,” Sophie suggested. “I can run down to the drugstore on the corner. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Get her some Coke or 7-Up,” I suggested.

Fliss looked up at me sadly. “Nanny’s cure-all,” she sniffed, and I pulled her tightly against my chest.

Sophie took off in a heartbeat to run down to the corner. Just as they were getting ready to take Fliss and me into separate interview rooms once again, Sophie returned with a small paper bag and a bottle of Coke. She handed it to Fliss who pulled out a small package of saltines, then looked in the bag and eyed Sophie warily.

Sophie shrugged, and Fliss glanced over at me just as Larry urged me into the room and closed the door behind us.

More questions… and more after that. Larry was pretty sure he was going to bury me, and possibly take Fliss down too.

“Where do you keep the spare toilet paper?” he asked.

I was stumped. These stupid arse questions were starting to get to me. “Well,” I answered, “we used to just keep the whole package up on the back of the jacks, but since Fliss moved in, I’m not entirely sure.”

“On the back of the what?”

“The jacks… the toilet. But it just occurred to me that Fliss has gone and decorated the bathroom lately, so I don’t know where she’s got it at this point.”

Larry frowned while Frank actually smiled. I took it as a good sign.

“How many brothers and sisters does your spouse have?” Larry asked.

“None. She was very young when her ma died and her da never remarried.”

“How well do you know her father?”

“Well enough to be scared shitless of him, but I respect him. And I think we’ve gotten past his initial hatred of me.”

“And why would he hate you?”

I shook my head like the question he had asked was completely ludicrous. “I married his daughter.”

Larry frowned again, and looked back at his sheet. “What color are your wife’s pajamas?”

“Seriously? If you were married to a hot little thing like my wife, would you really want her wearing pajamas?”

I had been trying. I really had. But I was so over this shit, especially now that Fliss and I had things kind of worked out. And I was worried about my wife, knowing she was probably sitting out there twisting her fingers together until we were done.

“Frank,” Larry finally said after giving me a long, hard stare-down, “will you go get Mrs. Byrne?”

Frank barely had the door open before Fliss was through it and sitting in the chair by my side. The others followed her into the room, with her father standing along the back wall of the office, Brannon beside him, and Sophie behind Fliss. Fliss was still a little-peaked looking, looking even more pale than she had been before I’d come in here.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, leaning a little closer to whisper in her ear. “Did you drink some flat Coke?”

She shot me a look, half horrified and half amused, before she offered me an anxious smile that made me even more nervous.

“The fact is,” Larry began, “I think this marriage is fraudulent, so I intend to start the deportation process.”

“No,” Fliss cried, shooting up out of her chair and leaning over the desk, “you can’t do that. You can’t.”

I stood as well, pulling her back to put my arm around her.

“I can, and I will,” Larry replied.

“Sir—” Frank began.

“Mr. Byrne,” Larry cut him off, sternly ignoring his subordinate, “I’m afraid you’ll be staying here tonight. For the next couple nights, actually, until we have everything in order to send you home.”

“No,” Fliss shouted again, “wait, I have to—”

I wrapped her in my arms and pressed her head against my chest, hushing her. “Stop, Fliss. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“But Denny—” she cried, struggling against me.

“I don’t know what else to do. I’ll go back to Ireland and file paperwork from there. We’ll do it, we will keep pushing for it.”

“I don’t want to be away from you,” Fliss argued passionately.

“Then come with me. Stay there with me in Dublin until we can get it to go through.”

“But wait, Denny—”

“It might take a few years, but we can be together. I don’t need anything else. I don’t even need Montana if I have you. All I want is to be with you.”

“It would actually help your case, too,” Frank suggested, much to the chagrin of Larry. “The longer you’re married, the less likely immigration is to think it’s a sham.”

Fliss shook her head and looked up to me.

“It might be the best way to do this, Fliss,” I said.

“No,” she argued.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I groaned. “I’m not going to let them take you down for this.”

“Denny, I’m pregnant.”

Everyone froze except Sophie who squealed loudly, running over to hug Fliss.

Fliss’ dad looked at me in a way that damn near had me begging for immigration to throw me in jail. A nice poke up the arse by some big manky fucker in the clink was likely way more pleasant than what he was thinking of doing to me at the moment.

“Are you sure it’s his?” Larry scowled at Fliss. “I’ve heard about some of the perverse shit that goes on at that house.”

“Absolutely,” Fliss spat back at him.

“Ya probably shouldn’t be saying shite like that about my wife,” I growled.

“Or my daughter,” Sheriff Williams said.

I was exceedingly grateful that he seemed to be backing me instead of still looking like he wanted to murder me in my sleep. I glanced up at him to see his fury trained on Larry now. Looking back to Larry, I puffed out my chest a little.

For once in my life, I had the law on my side. And he was a big, scary guy.

“Especially with her da here,” I scoffed. “Have ya not seen the fella?”

Larry had grown a little pale when Fliss’ da spoke, and, as the cold fury radiated out from the bulky form at my back, he actually looked a bit scared.

“So it was positive?” Sophie whispered.

Fliss looked at her a bit stunned and nodded.

“What was positive?” I asked.

“The pregnancy test,” Sophie grinned.

I shook my head. “What pregnancy test?”

“The one Fliss just took in the bathroom.”

I felt all the blood rush from my brain. I had halfway wondered if it was a ruse. Something to buy more time. But it was starting to seem like maybe…

Utterly gobsmacked, Larry loosened his hold on me and I pulled away to stand before my wife.

“Fliss?”

“When we got back from Ireland, with everything going on, I missed my regular appointment. I rescheduled, and got in right before the party where we got into that big fight,” she said quietly. “Then we made up.”

I cupped her cheek, gazing down at her. “We made up very well, mind you.” I couldn’t help the smile dazedly spreading across my face. “For days.”