Melissa (Daughters Series, #3)

by Leanne Davis

  I have to escape now or I’ll become Emily Hendricks Jencks. I’ll meekly settle into Ellensburg, Washington, where I’ve lived my entire life, and where my family lives, and Harrison’s family and where both of my sisters settled. Of course. I’ll remain a citizen here too. Forever. Here. As Harrison’s wife. Emily Jencks.

  I don’t think I want to be Emily Jencks.

  But unfortunately, that thought only occurs to me when I’m staring down the aisle at the man who is waiting for me to join him, along with the entire room. My whole future life as a married woman is waiting for me to begin it.

  I’m not ready at all for this. I don’t even feel old enough to be running down the street alone. I have no idea where I’ll go or what I’ll do. I know I’ll be spotted. Duh! I’m wearing a long, white wedding dress wrapped in tulle. I look ridiculous. I grip the door handle of the car, and to my amazement, it opens. Small town, and few people bother to lock their cars so it doesn’t totally surprise me. I get inside.

  At least now I have cover. What next? What should I do? Where should I go? How can I get away?

  Due to how I was about to walk to down the aisle as a bride, I don’t have a purse or my license or cell phone on me.

  I hear a knock on the window as I am sitting there, having a full–blown panic attack, and breathing hard, while squeezing the steering wheel in a death grip.

  A boy is standing there; he is Mexican, with deep black hair that’s a little long and shaggy around his head. He has deep, soulful black eyes and dark skin. Cautiously, I lower the window a crack.

  “I was passing by and I saw you. You okay?” He waves behind him. I see a truck with landscaping equipment in the back of it and the company name on the side. He seems legit enough.

  “Why would you ask?” I ask, glowering at him. Of course I’m suspicious. He looks my age, or maybe a year or two younger than me.

  “Um, because you were running out of a church wearing a wedding dress. Didn’t figure you just left your purse out here. You need a ride somewhere?”

  What? With a stranger? I glare at him. Is he stupid? How dare he come up to me in a parking lot and ask if I’ll just blithely go along with him but… I steal a glance towards the church. A man in a suit comes out, squinting against the bright sun and scanning the parking lot. I duck down and hide in the car. They must have discovered I’m gone. They’re searching for me. It’s only a matter of minutes before more people come… and I’m found. I glance at the boy again.

  “Where to?” I ask, my tone cautious.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Okay, that’s good enough. I scooch out of the car, and grab the hem of my dress as I run for his truck. He follows me and I jump in the open door, tucking the yards of tulle inside before sitting on the passenger seat. He’s much calmer as he gets in behind me.

  “Go!” I screech, fully panicked now. I spot more dressed–up attendees spilling from the church, streaming from every exit. Seconds stand between freedom and someone actually seeing me. He punches the accelerator and the truck lurches forward. I duck down again, huddling, hiding, but escaping. I eventually crouch all the way down on the floor and scrunch myself up into a ball.

  “Wow, the guy must be really unbearable,” my driver says and I look up at him. He’s smirking down at me before his gaze returns to the road.

  “Shut up,” I mutter, grinding my teeth. “He’s actually very wonderful, sweet, nice, and decent. He…”

  “So nice that you’re huddled on the floor of a stranger’s cab?”

  “Who are you?” I look harder, growing more suspicious.

  “Ramiro Vasquez. As if that would mean anything to you, snowflake.”

  “Oh, really? Super original.” I grimace at him. Not even a point for an original insult.

  “So what shall I call you, snowflake?”

  “Emily.” I discreetly omit my last name. After all, he’s a total stranger whose truck I’m hiding in so I can jilt my wedding and my groom who doesn’t deserve it. Not to mention, my parents who paid for it. My formerly immaculate, pristinely white dress is crumpled on the dusty, dirty, uneven bits of soil–covered floor mats in a landscaper’s truck. I nearly close my eyes, suddenly feeling totally horrified. What have I done?

  “What were you doing at the church?”

  I open my eyes after my moment of shame. He rolls his eyes in response, glancing at me for a second before he replies, “Landscaping, snowflake. You know, like the name says on the truck. Mowing. Trimming. Weeding. Labor. It’s called labor. The church is one of our monthly maintenance contracts.”

  “Then how did you find me?”

  “I spotted a blur of white, sneaking out of the church like a burglar. I might have actually considered you were if you were heading inside. But coming out was the oddest damn thing I’ve seen for a while. I was finishing up anyway, so I figured, what the hell? Runaway bride. Something new for me.”

  The church is no longer in view so I climb up onto the seat and face forward, buckling the seatbelt and trying to seem semi–normal sitting there. I clear my throat as if I do this kind of thing all the time. I’m blasé, like it’s no big deal. Just taking a quick ride with my new friend, Ramiro.

  A few blocks go by. “So? What made you run, if I may ask?”

  “Um…” Wow. That is the question. Where’s my long list of items with all the answers on it? We’ve been driving for only twenty minutes. Shouldn’t I remember why I ran? And be able to articulate and honestly express it? But I can’t come up with a single reason. I’m stumbling around in my mind for a reasonable answer and doing it unsuccessfully.

  He gives me an odd glance. “Why is it such a hard question? Didn’t you consider the reasons why you were getting married before you actually decided to get married?”

  “I did. I mean…” I nearly screech in my defense, folding my arms over my chest. “I mean, I… we, Harrison and I, have been together for a long time. Since we were seventeen. Which makes it five years. We should be getting married. We are destined to be married, and there is no other outcome for us, is there? I mean, after five years together? I don’t know. He asked me last year, and of course I said yes and after I graduated college, it was the perfect time. Perfect. But…”

  “But something isn’t all perfect, snowflake, ‘cause you’re here with me, not Harrison.”

  I shake my head and stare blindly out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, but it seems a fair question, considering my role…”

  “Your role?”

  He turns and I see his smile. Wow. He’s a charmer, all right. His little half–assed grin has just the right amount of contrast between his white teeth and dark skin. “Yeah, Prince Charming. Or no, no. A knight in shining armor. That’s it, right? Where the handsome guy appears out of nowhere and saves the damsel in distress from a dismal future of hell and misery?”

  “I am no damsel, and my knight in shining armor wouldn’t show up in a landscaper’s truck. You’re simply the chauffeur and you have no other role. And you get no answers.”

  “So, where do runaway brides run to?”

  I’m stumped. I have no idea where to go. “I don’t know. Where were you going?”

  “Home. Gonna have a beer and watch TV.”

  That sounds wonderful. I don’t want to think or feel anything. Just float right out of my body and pretend none of this happened. I want to forget that I irrevocably ruined a long–term relationship with a good man, and disappointed and humiliated my whole family as well as myself. I think of my sisters wearing their matching purple dresses, whom I left standing at the altar as bridesmaids. I know I really screwed up and I hate myself for it. But not enough to ask my new chauffeur to turn his truck around and take me back there.

  “Could I, uh, come with you? Just for tonight? Until I can figure out what to do next?”

  “What? You wanna come home with me?”

  I glare at him again, and straighten my spine for courage. �
�Don’t, not even for a second, get the wrong idea and think it’s anything except that I need help. Now don’t be a jerk. Can I stay over one night?”

  “First of all, you should have learned by now not to take rides from strange men and certainly not to ask if you can go to their houses. Hasn’t your father taught you anything about self–preservation? Not to mention safety?”

  I cross my arms over my stomach. If only he knew all the things my father taught me. He’s ex–military and made a point of teaching me all kinds of self–defense tactics. My sisters never learned them. But I did. I feel confident I could take on Ramiro without any problem.

  “It’s a shame that the men of this world make it so women have to learn such things. Be careful of strangers. Never be caught alone anywhere, including your own house. Watch out for men always. Men are looking at you. Men are following you. I could go on. My father was very thorough and taught me all that. I can knock out any man out who grabs me from behind, or in front, or from the side.”

  He whistles. “Tough girl, huh?”

  “My father’s a retired soldier from the Special Forces of the United States. Yeah, I am.”

  He scoffs. “Yeah, you sure look like it, snowflake.”

  No. No, I don’t. Especially now, what with the ridiculous poof! of my tulle skirt. Now I wish I’d chosen something slimmer and less crazy. I wish I was wearing jeans and a t–shirt and my canvas shoes, which is my usual attire. I wish I never created this circus, and even more, that I hadn’t bailed on it.

  “So… can I?”

  His expression is totally puzzled. “Okay. I guess. But you know, it’s kinda odd for a girl like you to trust a guy like me so fast.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Um, duh,” he nearly grunts. “My brown skin clashes with your lily white skin.”

  “That sounds a bit bigoted, doesn’t it?”

  “What? Me towards you?” His eyebrows rise in disbelief.

  “No. That I would be bigoted about you. What I think about anyone, including Mexicans, is unknown to you.”

  “Oh, and you don’t live in the same reality, huh? You don’t see color?” he scoffs. “Get real.”

  I shift around, annoyed at his generalization. I’m well aware that my skin is pale and his is brown. But I don’t let that affect any of my assumptions about him. Obviously, he does. I mean, if a white guy gave me a ride, I know I’d treat him the same. Even if Ramiro refuses to believe that.

  He swings the truck in front of a trailer. It’s a single–wide with rickety stairs leading to the front door. No fanfare or individuality. It sits in a long row of a dozen such trailers. All are totally similar, except some are way worse than others.

  “Home sweet home. Still want to come in?”

  “This is your trailer?”

  “Well, no. I just rent it.”

  He gets out and so do I. The middle stair has a rotted board, a potential ankle twister. I keep my skirt wrapped up tightly in my hands. It’s a cumbersome load. He has to turn the light on as the drapes are shut tightly over the windows. It’s painstakingly bare, but neat. I’m relieved, I have to admit. I don’t really relish the idea of picking through some unappealing heap of his belongings. I’m a lot like my dad, a total germaphobe and neatnik. I don’t care how poor anyone is, I can’t handle gross neglect.

  I flop onto the couch. It’s old, with broken down springs and faded fabric. It reminds me of something from an antique store, but not as well kept. “Do you own your landscaping business?”

  He glances up from where he’s washing his hands. Thoroughly. Like for several minutes, he does it. Wow, he might be a bit like me. He scoffs. “Course not. I work for Eduardo.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, do I look like I own something?”

  I shrug. “I was just making conversation and I don’t know you… so, it seemed like a reasonable question.”

  “Be careful what you ask around here,” he mutters.

  I glare at him. “Are you trying to sound threatening? Because that is completely menacing. For what reason, if I may ask?”

  “Reality. Just saying, you don’t go around asking the wrong questions around here.”

  I shift and let my gaze wander. “Well, it’s not like I’ll be staying here long.”

  “You ready to go home now, snowflake? Perhaps just to make an appearance at your wedding?”

  “No!” I’m shocked at my vehemence. No. I don’t want to go back. The thought of it horrifies me because of how I left. My guilt is gnawing at me, but I can’t. It puts me into a near panic. I really don’t want to go back.

  He sits across from me. “What shouldn’t I ask around here?”

  “Just don’t ask any questions. About jobs, backgrounds… I’m sure you get the gist.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’d ask you if you were here legally or not. Or if you sold drugs. Or… or whatever you’re inferring I should not speak of.”

  “No? You just did.” His smile is small. “And no, to answer you.”

  “I meant it rhetorically. And what are you saying no to? The drugs?”

  “And my legal status.” He smiles more easily.

  I’m confused why he’d say such a thing to me. A complete stranger. I’m definitely no one to him. “Well, shouldn’t you avoid saying things like that?”

  “What are you going to do? Call ICE on your knight in shining armor? No, snowflake, I don’t think so.” He shrugs. “But then again, I could be wrong.”

  He flashes that smile again. He is so quick. And he makes me smile even though I’m annoyed. His nonchalance, casualness, and ease in telling me surprises me. I don’t get it, or him, at all. Then again, why should I?

  “So, snowflake, what now?”

  I have absolutely no idea. I am sitting with a complete stranger in my wedding dress and we’re at the absolute last place on Earth I ever dreamed this day, my wedding day, would end at. I can’t call my parents. Or my sisters. Or even my fiancé. Crap. My ex–fiancé. All I have right now is Ramiro Vasquez. No cell phone, money or identification, let alone a car or any other means of transportation. I swallow, my gaze finding his and something weird bubbles in my stomach. It’s like he touched my skin, when he didn’t. I’m all tingly and hyper–aware, which is plain stupid. I’m wearing a wedding dress that was meant for another man.

  I drop my gaze in shame. What have I done? What should I do now? He’s right, I have no idea. But the heavy guilt of what I’ve done to Harrison hits me hard. I feel as if someone has just socked me in the gut unexpectedly. Or knocked the wind out of my lungs.

  “He doesn’t deserve this,” I whisper out loud. I don’t know why I say it. I don’t want to talk about it. Not with this stranger. Or my own father. Or anyone else. I know I will have to eventually. But for some reason, here I am now, with a stranger and I feel the need to tell him.

  ~Ramiro~

  She’s an incongruous picture. She looks like a rose set in the middle of a gravel pit. She doesn’t belong at all. The gravel pit is dry and chunky with rocks and little water. No frills are needed there. Like this trailer, and my life even, there are also no pretty, wedding–clad damsels.

  Emily Hendricks. What are the damn chances I would see her, of all the women in the entire world, sneaking out of the church? Of course, I know who she is. I was at that church strictly because of her. I read the marriage announcement in the local newspaper and knew that Emily Hendricks was getting married today at the Presbyterian Church. I don’t know what I intended to find out by going there. Perhaps just to catch a glimpse of the famous Will Hendricks. It wasn’t about Emily. No, not at all. I didn’t even glance at his daughter. What the hell do I care about her? But Will Hendricks is someone I have an abiding interest in. I have no concern about her, until I spot her sneaking out. And oddly enough, I follow her and offer her a ride. What the hell do I hope to accomplish? I really don’t know. But the opportunity offers me a unique chance to have contact with someone who i
s directly involved with Will Hendricks.

  I nearly rub my hands together like Snidely Whiplash in a Dudley Do–Right cartoon. Here she is, right inside my lair. There’s no way I could have ever planned for this opportunity, and yet, she’s making it happen like clockwork.

  I stare at her, seeing much of her father’s features in her face. Their eye color, hair color, and the way their eyebrows arch, as well as the structure of their jaws are similar. And here she is. Totally at my mercy and disposal. What the hell should I do to capitalize on that?

  Right now, the guilt over her jilted groom is hitting her hard.

  “What’s the deal with you anyway? Is he some kind of jerk? Lazy? A player? Violent? Why humiliate him like that? Why not just say no before all your loved ones go to so much trouble and expense? I’m sure your dad is pissed.”

  She stares down at her hands, which are plucking the soft white material of her dress. My gaze follows the line of the dress. Wow, her skin seems so soft and seductive, like it’s calling to me. But I raise my eyes up when hers lift up to mine. Gotta show some respect. And get her to trust me. Keep her thinking I’m just a benign, poor immigrant who happened upon her.

  “My dad?” she groans, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even worry about that yet. And Harrison is none of those things. He’s kind and nice and hardworking and he loves me.”

  “And yet… here you are,” I point out. My tone is mild, and I wave my hands around to show off the trailer. “Here you are with me, not honeymooning with Harrison.”

  Her expression crumbles as she glances around. “I just… I couldn’t do it. It’s like they were all crushing me and I had to escape just to breathe. All I could see was”—she waves her hand around—“that church ceremony was about to end my entire life. I saw my family and every friend I ever knew. Every damn acquaintance even. There we all were, and here I was, trapped in forever. Stuck in this town. The very town I was born and raised in, now I’d surely die in. I’d live here and run my errands, seeing both of my sisters, who also live here with their significant others, along with my parents. I’d find a decent job here, raise my kids here, and they would go to the schools I went to, and then we’d all start over, and their lifetimes would be exactly like mine. Meanwhile, I could never leave here, or do any of the things I always dreamed of. All I would ever be was from here.”