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

  Discover Fran Shaff books and short stories available in e-format, paperback and hardcover by visiting her website at: http://sites.google.com/site/fshaff

  E-mail Fran Shaff at: [email protected]

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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 you
r 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?”

  Derrik slapped Matthew’s shoulder. “Be happy to, brother.”

  Melinda got out of the bed and pulled her sweater down over her hips. “Sheila,” she said, gently taking the older woman’s hand, “you’ve been a dear. You took me in, fed me and gave me a warm place to wait out the storm.”

  “You’re a gift sent from God himself, my dear.” She patted Melinda’s hand. “You’re the answer to my prayers. I’ve been hounding Matthew for years to take a wife. I’m so glad he finally has.”

  Sweet or not, it seemed Sheila’s gray matter had been replaced by a block of Play Doh. “That’s a lovely thing to say, but I’m afraid you’re a bit confused.” She released Sheila’s hand.

  “You see what we’re up against, Derrik?” Matthew said. “Straighten Mom out.”

  “Yes, Derrik,” Sheila said, “straighten me out. Straighten all of us out.” She looked at Matthew, Melinda and finally Derrik. “Are these two married or not?”

  Derrik straightened to what seemed to be a six-foot height, falling short of Matthew’s stature by about two inches. “Yes, Mother, these two are married. I married them myself last night.”

  “You married us?” Melinda asked incredulously. “By what authority do you marry anyone?”

  “By God’s,” Sheila quickly replied. “Derrik’s a minister.”

  Melinda’s stomach churned. “You’re a minister?”

  Derrik slid his fingers through his dark blond hair. “I’m afraid so.”

  “But he didn’t marry us. Not really,” Matthew said. “This is all some sort of joke.” He looked at Sheila. “Tell her what a prankster you are, Mother.”

  She looked at Melinda. “I’m a prankster.”

  “There, you see?” Matthew went to Melinda and took her hand. “I’m terribly sorry for this nasty joke my brother and mother have played on you.” He gently pulled her toward the door. “Why don’t you go into the bathroom and freshen up? I’ll fix something for breakfast, and I’ll send a certain beautiful elderly lady and a maniacal minister out into the storm so they can cool down their senses of humor.”

  Sheila reached out and took Melinda’s free hand. “Wait just a minute.”

  Matthew and Melinda stopped and looked at Sheila.

  She quirked a brow and lifted her chin. “I’m a prankster, all right, but this is no joke. Derrik married the two of you last night, and I’ve got the video and the marriage certificate to prove it.”

  ***

  Melinda was thoroughly grateful to Matthew for remembering to bring her suitcase along with them when he’d rescued her from her snowbound car. Having fresh clothes to wear after her shower helped her feel much better.

  Her headache had lightened, thanks to curative steam and the scent of Sheila’s lilac soap, and her mouth wasn’t a storage bin for cotton anymore, thanks to mint-fresh toothpaste.

  As she stood ahead of the bathroom mirror and combed through her long blonde locks, Melinda tried to digest Sheila’s proclamation regarding the marr
iage she claimed had taken place the night before. She smiled and fantasized about really being married to Matthew Pottaski.

  Man, he was handsome. A woman could very quickly get used to waking up with someone like him everyday.

  She snagged a snarl with her comb and chided herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts.

  Then she fantasized some more.

  “Matthew and Melinda Pottaski.” That might look pretty good on a matchbook cover or a place card--or on a front door, she mused. “Mrs. Melinda Pottaski. Melinda Pottaski. Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Pottaski.” Melinda grinned as she finished combing through her hair. “Wouldn’t that just shock the pants off them all if I showed up at Tamara’s wedding with a husband on my arm?”

  Having finished combing her hair, Melinda took out her makeup kit and added a little color to her cheeks and a dusting of powder to her face. Satisfied with the fit of her jeans and red sweater, she left the bathroom and went to meet her new family for breakfast.

  The fragrance of fried bacon tantalized her senses as she followed the hallway leading to the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she was starving.

  She found Sheila in the bright yellow kitchen setting a plate of bacon on the table next to a platter filled with eggs and toast. A bowl of fruit salad sat at one end while a serving bowl full of oatmeal sat at the other.

  “Sheila, this is a feast,” Melinda said when she saw the large meal resting happily on top of a cheery gold and white checkered tablecloth. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

  “I didn’t. Matthew made the breakfast, everything except the oatmeal. Derrik made that. I had to run out to the barn and tend to one of the horses. When I came in, Matthew told me to set things on the table while he took a quick shower in the bathroom upstairs.”

  “Can I help with anything?”