The Runaway Bride

by Patricia McLinn

  “Were you?”

  “Not a chance. And I’d had such hopes for that evening. Robby Socere was a hunk. Never had a second date with him, either. You know, it’s a wonder I didn’t murder all three of them a long time ago—at least Paul and Grady.”

  “Not Michael?” He was paying close attention. Should she be flattered, or worried that he was hoping she’d trip up?

  “Nah. Michael was always the nicest. Sweet really. Use to let me flirt with him like mad when I was a kid—younger than Becky,” she added with significance. “And great-looking. ’Course if that had been the reason, I would have spared Grady, too. No, it was Michael’s niceness. Which my cousin Tris finally recognized.” She smiled. “With a little nudge from me when she was being dense.”

  “So Michael and your cousin got together?”

  “Yup. It started at my brother’s wedding to Bette, the best sister-in-law in the world. And the mother of the most adorable nieces and nephew in the world. Tris and Michael’s three are pretty cute, too.”

  “So Grady’s the holdout.”

  “Wrong. He was the last of the three, but he married Leslie, and they’ve adopted Sandy and Jake, along with bringing up Leslie’s cousin, April Gareaux.”

  “So, you remember all those details of your teen years, and your brother and his friends and their wives and children? Not to mention—what was it?—the Hot Dog Inn?”

  She sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist forever.”

  “How much do you remember?”

  “Right up to when I started taking science courses to become a health aide,” she answered promptly.

  He laughed. And he didn’t ask any more questions.

  Instead, he took her hand.

  Just like that, he reached over and slid his hand over hers, and curled his fingers around her palm.

  For the first second she couldn’t breathe.

  It wasn’t like the touches to see if she’d been hurt in the accident. It wasn’t catching her to keep her from falling to the floor off a chair. It couldn’t be construed as polite or comforting or accidental or practical or anything other than what it was.

  A man holding a woman’s hand.

  It felt good. Warm, and rather sweet. At least on the surface. Beneath that was a charge of something hot and definitely not sweet. Or was that her imagination?

  “Thomas—”

  “Let it be.”

  “Let what be?”

  “This moment. Just for now.”

  And she did. She didn’t know the source of his need, but she knew he needed this moment. She owed him that.

  Be honest. This had nothing to do with what she owed Thomas or his family for the truth she couldn’t tell them. This had to do only with him.

  He did so much. Physical work that gave him the broad, muscled shoulders now so close she could feel the warmth.

  He carried so much. Worries, hopes, fears for his ranch and his family that weighed down those shoulders.

  He needed someone to soothe the aches of both what he did and what he carried. To make him forget for a while. She could do that.

  Oh, not permanently, she had no delusions there, even before he’d spelled out his requirements. But for now. For this solitary moment.

  She leaned over and kissed him.

  She’d aimed for his cheek. He turned as her lips made contact, and the kiss slid toward his mouth. The center of her mouth met the corner of his.

  Flames. In her belly, across her skin. High and hot enough to block her withdrawal for an extra two beats.

  She pulled back and clamped her mouth shut to keep from gasping. She’d intended a soothing caress. This had nothing to do with soothing.

  “What was that for?”

  “You…” Oh, lord, the flames had turned her voice into a raw, smoky whisper. She cleared her throat, looking straight ahead. “You’re a good man. That’s all.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Neither of them moved more than the slight flex of their ankles that kept the swing’s gentle rhythm going. They didn’t look at each other. And the heat building between them could have left a vapor trail across the sky.

  His hand tightened around hers and she knew, even before he turned to her.

  She shouldn’t. She was here under false pretences. She’d leave in a few weeks. She’d made a total mess of it the only other time she’d become involved so quickly.

  She turned toward him.

  He lowered his head, angling it. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for that first real touch of his mouth on hers.

  It didn’t come.

  Her breath came out in a huff of disappointment as she opened her eyes. But he hadn’t pulled back. He was just as close, and now he moved closer. Almost…

  Another stilling. Was he giving her time to back out? She wasn’t going to. Or was he arguing with himself? If his internal argument was anything like hers… But what if his conclusion was different? What if she was the loser in his argument?

  She shifted to match the tilt of his head.

  He moved in even closer, and she recognized it was neither hesitancy nor chivalry. It was anticipation. It was stretching the moment until it hummed. It was finding their way to each other in these tiny feints so that when their lips met, there would be no fumbling, no adjusting, just…

  Fireworks.

  Their mouths met full, hard and immediate.

  The flames had lit the fuse and now the fireworks exploded. A series of bursts down through her body, percussion blasts under her rib cage, sparklers delighting the tips of her breasts and explosions of color behind her eyes.

  And she wanted more. She reached out for it with greedy hands, touching his face, following the curve of his ear, sliding her fingers into his thick hair.

  What had she said about first kisses? Dull? She was the-earth-is-flat wrong on that one. This first kiss—their first kiss—was what had kept the species going for eons.

  His tongue met the seam of her lips, but no resistance. She opened immediately, because the taste of him seemed at this moment like the one nutrient her body had lacked forever. Their tongues touched, slid along each other, and the friction stretched a ribbon of heat down into her chest and to her core, where it coiled in a clutch of pleasure.

  The touch of his tongue became an infinite exploration of pleasure. With slow, searching glides, and demanding strokes. She embarked on a return journey. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, lining the strong teeth, finding the taste of heat and strength, and stroking with an urgency that matched his.

  He released her mouth to kiss the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, then trail sensation to her temple and along her hairline.

  He murmured something in her ear. It didn’t matter what. It was the sound not the sense she craved. Then he darted his tongue in, and she arched at the reality of this touch and the anticipation of the ultimate act it hinted at.

  His arm curved across her back, supporting her, as he followed the flow of her arching motion by kissing down the side of her throat, and around its base, to lick and suck at the hollow there.

  The ribbon inside her turned to a streamer of fire.

  His hands stroked under the neckline of her shirt and across her skin. It was almost the same motion he’d made when he’d checked for injuries after her accident. And nothing like it at all. That relaxing warmth had made her want to purr. This call-the-troops-to-attention sizzle made her want to howl.

  When his fingers snagged against the strap of her bra, she knew she’d really howl if she didn’t do something to close her lips. She could have bit them, but why when there was a much better alternative. She raised her head and pressed her mouth to his.

  She had his immediate and complete cooperation. Oh, he didn’t dampen the howling danger, in fact he upped it, by continuing the caress across her collarbone, and sliding the strap right off the point of her shoulder. The surge of heat and hardness against her hip was ano
ther howl-index inflation factor. And the blatant movement of his tongue into her mouth had that ribbon through the center of her body shimmering and clutching.

  Ah…and then his hand slid lower, edging ever so slowly under the loosened top edge of her bra.

  A blaze of light caught Judi’s peripheral attention. Then the earth lurched. Good heavens, what—?

  No, not the earth. Them. Her and Thomas. And the swing.

  “Ooof,” she protested into the base of his throat when something hit her across the back. She became distracted when she opened her mouth against his skin and found his taste there.

  The something hit her in the back again. The edge of the porch swing, she realized. Thomas had wrapped both arms around her and pulled her to the floor in front of the swing.

  The light—headlights—came from a car turning into the driveway and had them pinned, like a prison bar of light over their heads. If Becky got out and came up the steps, she’d practically trip over them. While Judi buttoned her blouse, she sent up a small prayer that Steve would manage at least a good-night kiss.

  “C’mon, Steve,” Thomas muttered. He was pulling for the same thing.

  Then blackness and silence.

  Thomas tugged her toward the door almost before she realized Steve had turned off the lights and the car engine.

  “Gotta move before their eyes adjust,” he whispered.

  Staying low, they slipped inside the screen door. Thomas closed it without a sound, then pushed the inside door partly closed. His hand on her back guided her past the light from the stove and into the dim hallway.

  He turned her, a hand on each of her upper arms.

  “You okay? Did I hurt you when I pulled you down—”

  “No. I’m fine. Just a little…”

  “Undone.” His mouth lifted in a faint smile, but his eyes glowed as his hands came to the buttons of her blouse. She tried to take over the task, but his hands were bigger and there first and there was nothing left for her hands to do. He undid two mismatched buttons. Just when she thought he was going to put them in their proper holes, though, his hand smoothed across the skin below her collarbone, where one side of her bra was still displaced because the strap remained down her arm.

  She stepped back, pulling the strap up and holding the blouse with her hand.

  Her smile was shaky. “How’s that for a switch—the teenagers almost catching the adults, uh…necking on the porch?”

  “Helga—”

  She winced and backed away. “Good night, Thomas.” Then she fled.

  She was out of her mind.

  What else could account for a reasonably intelligent woman—she had the diplomas to prove the first half and the birth certificate to qualify for the second half—letting herself get carried away?

  Letting herself. Right. Like she hadn’t been a full participant

  But he’d thought it was Helga Helgerson responding to him that way.

  And look at her experience with rushing into a relationship. Aided by the comments of Geoff’s “girlfriend,” her hindsight was clear. Sterling’s latching onto marrying her had something to do with that shipment he expected in mid-July. Smuggling was most likely. It could be drugs, although that was a dangerous world, and he didn’t care for danger. All he cared about was Sterling. She’d been too caught up in the excitement of his courtship, in the attention he lavished on her, in the compliments he gave her to see that before her wedding day.

  She had no worries about being blinded by such flattery from Thomas. He’d need a vocabulary-expanding course to become acquainted with courtship, attention and compliments. But he didn’t need any lessons on kissing. Oh, my, no.

  But that didn’t alter that she was in no position to get involved with him.

  On the other hand, they needed her here, even more than she needed a place to spend these weeks of waiting. She could always get that waitressing job in Montana. But who would look after Gran? Who would straighten out Becky? Who would kiss Thomas? Well, okay, that last one wasn’t a good reason.

  So she had her role straight. She looked after Gran, straightened out Becky and as for Thomas, she made him laugh, she helped his relationship with his sister and she provided an outlet for his worries.

  But no kissing. Absolutely no more kissing. Or anything else.

  “Fifteen minutes late and I can’t go out for two weekends—it’s not fair!”

  Judi had recognized Becky was boiling with injustice since she and Gran had come into the kitchen this morning to find Becky and Thomas exchanging glares across the table. But there had been no opportunity for the girl to talk to her.

  Judi had made sure there was no opportunity for Thomas to talk to her either. Not that he’d tried. There’d been one sharp look when she came in the kitchen. She’d avoided meeting it, and he hadn’t come near her since.

  Becky, Thomas, Keith and Gandy had moved cattle while she stayed out of the way. Now, with the stragglers funneling by a gate, Becky had her chance.

  “You agreed to the time, and you were late,” Judi said. “If you want privileges, you have to earn them by taking responsibility.” Good Lord, she’d just channeled her mother.

  “That’s not why. He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. In his odd, big-brotherly way, he loves you very much.”

  Becky slanted a look at her, clearly connecting with the “odd” comment, but not buying the rest. Time to surround the kid with logic.

  “Did he always hate you?”

  “No. We used to get along okay.”

  “When did it change?”

  “A year ago or so.” Her shoulders tensed and her jaw tightened, making her look more like her brother.

  Since she was braced for What changed a year ago? Judi took a different route. “What’s your definition of getting along okay?”

  Becky glared at her, barely relaxing. “He didn’t yell at me. He didn’t think every single thing I did was wrong. He didn’t act like I was this horrible person.”

  “Those are all the things he didn’t do when you got along. I want to know what he did do. Say, when you were four. Did he read to you?”

  “I suppose. Gran read more. He’d get me books from the library. About horses.”

  “You were already interested in horses. Who taught you about them?”

  “Thomas.” She said it reflexively, then frowned as it sank in. “He put me on my first pony. And showed me how to care for her. Later on he showed me how to rope, and work cattle.”

  “Doesn’t sound like someone who hated you.”

  But she’d closed down. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be out of here for college. Who knows, maybe I’ll get of out before then.” She sounded miserable at the prospect.

  “What on earth—”

  Judi paused on her way to put Thursday’s breakfast leftovers away. A two-toned bell she’d never heard before sounded somewhere above her head.

  Becky and Gran were at the table. Steve, Keith and Gandy had come and gone, bringing word that Thomas had gone to the bank again, an announcement that left everyone subdued. Although, that was an improvement over the one-sided cold war Becky had waged since Sunday. Judi sure couldn’t fault his patience this time.

  In the next instant Judi recognized the sounds as a doorbell. It took her longer to realize it must be coming from the front door.

  Becky’s eyes widened almost comically. “I have a bad feeling about this…”

  The bell rang a second time. “Don’t be dramatic, Becky. I’ll go see who it is.”

  Through the window, she saw a middle-aged woman with short brown hair.

  “Is this the Vance residence?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then you should be expecting me. My name is Helga.”

  Chapter Seven

  Becky’s gasp from behind Judi sucked in enough air that she felt as if she’d been pulled into a vacuum. Or maybe not being able to move her feet—or fire up the synapses in her brain—came from the kn
owledge that the jig was most definitely up.

  If Becky hadn’t heard the woman’s announcement, maybe she would have tried to tough this out. But she wasn’t going to entangle Becky in her lies.

  “Helga Helgerson,” the woman said tentatively. “From the Rural Health Aide agency.”

  A stream of air she hadn’t been aware of holding came out of Judi, deflating her lungs, her spirits and hopes.

  “You’d better come in.”

  By the time Judi let the woman in, closed the door, and directed her toward the kitchen, Becky had disappeared. Judi wouldn’t blame the teenager if she’d gone to find rotten vegetables to heave at the false Helga. She deserved it. And she’d much prefer absorbing a few soggy tomatoes in the face to the possibility that Becky had gone to find Thomas.

  If she got away from the Diamond V before she had to watch Thomas’s face as all his distrust of her was confirmed, she would count herself a lucky woman for the rest of her life.

  “How is the patient faring?”

  Judi blinked back to the present. “Gran’s doing great. She’s a remarkable woman.”

  “Older patients need livening up to keep them from sinking into lethargy.”

  “Not Gran.”

  She stepped into the kitchen to find Becky urgently talking to her grandmother, her hands going nearly as fast as her lips. When Gran saw Judi and the woman behind her, she placed one hand on Becky’s arm. Becky spun around, her mouth still forming a word, and stared at them like they were the Headless Horseman and Medusa come to call.

  “Hello! I am so glad to be here after such a long delay,” Helga said in the overly bright voice of an insecure kindergarten teacher. “I just know we will all get along wonderfully. Ah, the patient!”

  “This is Gran,” Judi said with emphasis, not liking the way Helga had labeled the older woman.

  “Mrs. Swift, to you,” Gran added.

  Judi’s heart sank before she realized that Gran had aimed her fierce frown and words at Helga, not her.

  Helga blinked, then revved up her smile, advancing to twitch at the afghan to cover both Gran’s legs and rearrange the crossword puzzle book and the water on her table. “Such a shame I was unavoidably detained on my previous assignment—the patient didn’t rally the way we had hoped.”