There Goes the Bride

He tugged the coarse material off her shoulders, her veil whispering against it. Cold air hit her chest, and she peered downward, realizing how much cleavage was exposed. She shifted, hoping he wasn’t as aware of it as she was.

His voice softened. “You really think Tarkin is coming after you.”

It was a statement, not a question. She remembered Peter’s face when he’d threatened her in his oh-so-silky way. Remembered his fingers, tightening, cutting off her gulp of surprise.

“Yes, he will,” she said.

Rick floated a dark glance over her shoulder, and she couldn’t help thinking that there was more to him than just being a black-sheep layabout.

When had he changed from a lean-against-the-lockers kid to this dark cloud?

He was looking at her again. Not at her breasts, but into her eyes, as if searching for an answer he’d never find. He reached out once more.

She wanted to rear back, but couldn’t. The good girl still wanted to be touched by the bad boy. She wanted to kick off the white-satin shoes and dance around in red stilettos.

She didn’t move.

Gently, he skimmed a hand over her veil, stopping when he came to the tiara. She felt bobby pins being loosened from her hair as he worked them free, and she closed her eyes, feeling the room spin. Then, finally, the weight of the accessory disappeared.

When she opened her eyes, he cradled the faux diamonds in his hands, almost like a man cupping a woman’s face before he whispered promises to her. The moment slowed, lasting a short infinity, before he grinned and tossed the tiara on the couch.

Then he focused on her again, his gaze hungry enough to put the fear of a good girl back into her soul.

He said, “Have you ever been to St. Louis?”

“Yes.” Croak.

“Not a safe place.”

As he moved forward, she moved back. Straight into the wall. He caged her between his muscled arms, leaning a lace-veil’s breath away from her lips.

She controlled her breathing, her hopscotch heartbeat, trying to keep calm, trying not to appear rattled. “St. Louis is where I’ll find a new life. Freedom.”

The word rang between them, as fleeting as a fear-driven skip of the pulse.

“You’re running away from your problems, Daisy.” His breath warmed her mouth, tingling her lips with thoughts of what might come next.

Daisy. The way he said her name made her want to run her fingers over his chest, to dip them into the tight space between his shirt and waistband. “I’m doing the right thing,” she said.

She didn’t know how she was even able to speak, what, with this loss of breath. When Rick was near, it was almost like running through rarefied air. She couldn’t help being light-headed and weak-kneed.

How could this even be happening? Didn’t Rick realize that the woman he had trapped in his arms wasn’t the same as she was in high school? Hadn’t he noticed that she was layered with a protective coat of chub these days?

Evidently, he was blind.

But he was still moving closer, his lips brushing over hers. “You’d better hope you’re doing the right thing,” he said, tickling the skin around her mouth with the heat of his words.

Before she could answer, he’d leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, his mouth soft as a flame’s curve, hinting at an element of danger.

Daisy heard herself moan low in her throat, heard it echoing down the halls of her heart. The sound slipped down her skin like the caress of a wilted rose petal, lost and fallen.

As she rubbed closer to him, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, satin and skin against the rough cotton of his shirt, wisping against each other with the easy rhythm of a fulfilled wish.

So this was what it felt like to kiss Rick Shane. This was what it felt like to wrap yourself in a rebel’s leather jacket, waving goodbye to your astonished friends and your past morals. His mouth felt so good on hers, so right.

Why had she resisted in the first place?

Though he still held her captive between his arms, Rick pulled back, depriving her of heat, a maddening grin on those lips. “Think about whether you’re flying into more danger now, Ms. Daisy Cox.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs as he increased his distance. She couldn’t believe he’d just stopped, leaving her wide-eyed and cold.

He ran a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. “If you’re still sure you want to go, use the phone to make your arrangements in St. Louis. I’ve got my own plans to make.”

As he walked away, Daisy slumped against the wall, angry with herself for giving in so easily.

But it wouldn’t happen again. She’d make sure of it.

Outside, after making his own calls, Rick clicked off his cell phone and convinced himself, yet again, that kissing Daisy had been a good idea.

Hell, half of him—the uselessly sentimental half—had given into those high-school hormones, kissing her because he’d always wondered what it would feel like. The more cynical half of him had only wanted to show her that running away from her problems in Kane’s Crossing wouldn’t end her misery. She needed to face them head-on.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

His conscience slapped him upside the skull. Pardon me, but aren’t you the hardhead who’s been running from problems for most of your life?

Yup, he said to himself. That’s me.

So practice what you preach, lazy boy.

Great. Now his inner voice was starting to sound like Lacey. After his real mom’s death, and ever since Lacey had moved into the household with her own mom, Rick’s stepsister had been a know-it-all. It was a terrible joke on him that she was usually right about things, too.

Even though she’d spent some of her childhood in a “home for disturbed girls,” as her mother politely described it, Lacey had a better grip on reality than Rick did.

He shook his head, stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He’d get by on his own judgment now, even if it killed him.

He returned to the cabin, hardly surprised that Lacey had arrived with a suitcase full of new clothes and toiletries for Daisy. The former bride was dressing in the bathroom, her wedding gown and veil abandoned on his dinner table.

Lacey met him at the door. “Okay. Daisy has called her contact in St. Louis, Harry Redd, and he’s given the go-ahead for a job. One down. She also got ahold of an old pageant friend who’s out of town until next week. That’ll eventually take care of living arrangements. Two down. And, until then—”

“—Drive to Blue Grass for take off, etcetera, etcetera. It’s all in a day’s work for us mercenaries.”

At Lacey’s jaded stare, Rick tweaked his sister’s nose. “I know what to do.”

She shooed his finger away. “I’m just covering all the bases.”

“As usual. Don’t you have a business to run or something?”

She sighed, evidently put out by his lazy attitude. “I’m worried, Rick. We’re dealing with a man who has connections. And he threatened her.”

He didn’t want to stress out his stepsister. She’d gone through too much in her short life to deal with that. In fact, during their younger years, Rick had made it a priority to shield her from insults and teasing. “Hey, don’t think twice about us. We’re big kids, Lacey.”

Her gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Okay, wiseacre.”

The bathroom door opened, and they both turned to find Daisy dressed in flats, roomy jeans and a baggy sweater. She’d washed away her makeup, her skin glowing, her baby-innocent eyes shining with the reflection from the blue sweater. Lastly, she’d pulled back her ringlets into a loose ponytail, curls framing her face.

Even in her modest clothes, Rick thought she was just as gorgeous as a bride. Her curves looked soft, feminine. He wanted to feel her beneath him, pliant and willing, just like she’d been during that kiss.

His body tightened. That kiss.

Lacey swept by him, clucking over Daisy. The other woman merely shot an irritated glance at him—not that he blamed her. He’d been damned forward this afternoon, and he’d liked it.

Seemed as if she did, too.

As Lacey grabbed the suitcase and led Daisy outside to his Jeep, Rick grinned to himself. Damn, he thought. I must be a real jerk for taking advantage of a princess in need of rescue.

He also knew he wasn’t about to change, either.

As the women’s voices faded, Rick wandered over to Daisy’s forgotten gown and veil. He grabbed the items, tossing the satin over the couch. He worked the filmy netting from the tiara and threw it away from him, as well.

He stared at the crown, at the sun sparkling over the jewels. Then, his jaw tightening, he walked to a chest of drawers and pulled open the first compartment.

There it was, gleaming in the light. His past. His shame.

He settled the tiara next to his Silver Star medal and slowly shut the drawer, burying another memory.

Chapter Three

T hat night, on a lone stretch of small, remote Illinois airfield, Daisy stood outside the plane and pulled her sweater over her mouth, biting into the material. It was the only way to stop herself from using every cuss word she knew.

Rick supplied the language for her as he let loose a stream of curses. He clicked his radio handset back into place and glanced at her. “We’re grounded for the night with that approaching thunderstorm. I’m not about to fly into poor visibility.”

He stepped out of the Cessna, misted moonlight revealing mightily ruffled hair, spiked from the constant rake of his fingers. His aviator glasses, which had shielded his eyes while they flew out of Lexington, hung precariously from a shirt pocket.

As he spoke, steam from the chilly night mingled with the shaded air. “This place is a ghost town.”

Daisy peered at their surroundings. Cornstalks lined the airfield, and an old road branched into the dismal horizon.

“We were almost there,” she said, tugging her sweater’s neckline away from her mouth and shrugging farther into her down jacket.

Rick wiped his hands together, staring at his silver-painted aircraft. Blue lines raced over the Cessna’s curves, making the sleek high-winged plane a thing of grace. Daisy knew Rick doted on this machine; she could tell by the way he gently worked the controls, by the way he’d carefully touched down on this lonely airstrip.

He rested his hands on his lean hips. “You’ll get to your new life soon enough.”

Daisy bit the inside of her lip, holding back any complaints. Even if she was about to freeze her chilled cheeks off she wouldn’t be an ingrate.

“Is your plane going to be okay here?” she asked, shifting back and forth from the cold.

“Don’t worry.” Rick grinned, giving the Cessna a fond pat. “She’ll make it through the night.”

Boys and their toys. Daisy wanted to roll her eyes except for the fact that this certain toy was her ticket to freedom.

Rick started to secure the plane and unload their baggage. “In the meantime, we need a place to stay. What’s your pleasure? The Marriott? The Four Seasons?”

Once again, Daisy noted the bucolic landscape. “I’d settle for Mammy Yokum’s shack, if it had a warm stove to take off the chill.”

He chuckled. “It might just come to that, here in Armpit, U.S.A.”

When he liberated her wheeled suitcase from the plane, Daisy clicked out the handle, ready to roll. Rick was traveling lighter than she was. All he had was a tattered duffel bag to throw over his shoulder. That and the equally worn bomber jacket he’d slipped into.

With one last glance at the Cessna, Rick jerked his head toward the mist-shrouded highway. “Ready for a walk?”

She would jog the rest of the way to St. Louis if she needed to. “Ready.”

“Let me get that suitcase.” He held out a hand for her to surrender it.

Once again, she felt the need to refuse his outstretched palm. “No, thank you.”

Rick considered her for a moment, his gaze running over her body, providing a heated trail that warmed her through and through.

“It’s your party,” he said, shrugging.

They moved out, and when they reached the road, her suitcase wheels droned on the asphalt and popped over gravel. After their unexpected landing, Rick had run across the old highway to a farmhouse to inquire about food and lodgings. The residents had told him about the nearby town of Broken Wing, less than one mile down the way.

One mile didn’t matter, thought Daisy. This was an adventure, a new beginning. In a few months, she’d be thirty years old. Thirty. The end of an era. Thirty was when your bones started to creak and you lost touch with new music and fashion trends. Thirty was when you really became an adult.

Coral had lived with Daisy for so long that she hadn’t actually been on her own. Thirty was a scary change. A welcome change.

As the moist, sod-laden air rushed over her skin, Daisy tried to regulate her breathing. It’d been a long time since she’d exercised. When she was on a diet kick, she’d do hours of walking and cycling. But ever since getting engaged to Peter, all Daisy had done was think of running away. In spite of the intensity of her wishes, the mental calisthenics never even shaved off a pound.

Now, as she tried to match Rick’s long steps, Daisy could feel the wind being sucked from her burning lungs. God, she was out of shape. The reminder shamed her, but she wasn’t about to admit her weakness to Rick.

As if sensing her troubles, he slowed down. Daisy flushed, wanting to sprint ahead of him to prove that she wasn’t overweight, that she wasn’t anything less than she used to be.

A signpost increased in size as they walked closer to it. Broken Wing, 1/2 mile, it said.

Rick peered down at her. “That’s nothing.”

She didn’t miss the tacit question in his statement. Can you make it, Miss Huff-and-Puff?

“Good,” she said. “I can use the exercise.”

She’d meant it to be a joke, but somehow the flippant comment ended up thudding between them.

She was more aware than ever of his lean body, the corded muscles of his arms, while he’d looked over the Cessna. Why had she even put the subject up for inspection?

Rick stopped, and so did Daisy. The lack of sound from her suitcase wheels underlined his silence. When she peered over her shoulder at him, he’d all but disappeared in the shadow of the signpost.

“You look fine just the way you are,” he said softly.

Right, she thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. He had to be lying. After all, a guy who’d drop everything to fly her away from trouble had to have some kind of chivalrous streak, even if that guy was Rick Shane.

She heard the scuff of his boots before he emerged from the darkness. When he did enter the muted moonlight, he was expressionless, his eyes night-shaded and guarded.

She watched him walk past her, and she noted the joust-approach wariness of his stride. It was almost as if he moved with a shield in front of his body, the shoulder-slung duffel bag primed to defend against anyone who got too close.

When he noticed that she hadn’t moved, he stopped. “We can rest.”

“Do you need to?” she asked.

He grinned sardonically and shook his head, waiting for her to catch up.

Thank goodness he hadn’t pursued the weight thing. When she’d come back to Kane’s Crossing this year, after losing her spokesmodel job, most people had looked at her with pity. Is that Daisy Cox? their eyes seemed to ask. The years sure haven’t been kind to her, poor thing.

Daisy knew she’d put on about thirty pounds worth of insulation since she’d last been in town. She didn’t need anyone to tell her, especially since Peter had always reminded her that he wanted Miss Spencer County for a wife. In fact, he’d put off the wedding once because Daisy hadn’t been in shape. Maybe it had been her subconscious at work. Who knew? But after the first wedding delay, Daisy had gained more and more padding, perhaps hoping the nuptials would be put off indefinitely.

It hadn’t worked. Peter had merely hired a dietitian and decided that, after the honeymoon, Daisy would begin to aerobicize in earnest, whittling her body back down to her glory-day slimness.

There were so many reasons to run away.

Wind rustled through the cornstalks, slapping her cheeks with cold. She gave an involuntary shudder, though she wasn’t sure it was due to the elements.

She wouldn’t go back to the old days. Not for the world. Being slender wasn’t worth the price she’d had to pay. It wasn’t worth the tearstained look of guilt she’d seen in the mirror day after day, after eating too much and then forcing it out. It wasn’t worth waiting until Coral would go to bed, then raiding the kitchen cupboards until she’d filled herself with so much food that she had to get rid of it.

Don’t think about that, she told herself. Those days are over. You’ve got control now.

Rick’s voice shook her out of the past. “There’s something up ahead.”

It was an eighteen-wheeler, the first they’d seen. They stepped to the side of the road, and Rick held out one side of his jacket to protect her from the rush of air and gravel as it roared past.

“Thank you,” she said.

He shrugged and regirded himself with the duffel bag. When they stepped back onto the road, he spoke.

“I heard Tarkin has a place in Lexington. Why did he decide to settle in Kane’s Crossing instead?”

Idle chatter. She wasn’t sure he really cared, but maybe conversation would steer her thoughts away from focusing on her weight. “Peter wanted to settle in a small town. He said it would be a good place to raise kids.”

“A real family man, huh?”

Daisy gave an unconcerned laugh, relieved that she’d never have to sleep with Peter. She’d been dreading the prospect, happy that at least he’d wanted to wait until they were married to consummate their union. “Imagine. Mrs. Peter Tarkin. I can’t believe it almost happened.”

Their steps had slowed, almost as if they’d chosen to take a walk down a country lane together instead of being stuck out here in each other’s company. Even the mist had lifted a little, offering glimpses of dark blue sky.

Rick said, “You got yourself into a real mess, Daisy Cox.”

“I suppose I did.” She switched her grip on the suitcase handle. “And I can’t believe it got this far. Maybe it started after I was crowned Miss Spencer County at the tail end of high school. I guess that’s when I said goodbye to Kane’s Crossing, hello to the world and the chase for Miss America.”

Daisy swallowed. “Needless to say, my sister’s dreams of fame didn’t materialize. I lost the Miss Kentucky pageant.” But she hadn’t lost the weight Coral had advised her to get rid of.

Stop. She wanted to small-talk with Rick for the sole fact of avoiding the ache of her past. All she was doing now was bringing it back.

“So,” she continued, determined to switch gears, “after the whole beauty-queen thing, I went from job to job, supporting me and my sister.”

Rick’s voice was rough, low, when he asked, “Can’t she work?”

The question took Daisy aback. “She shouldn’t have to. It was my turn to take care of Coral. After all, she never let me forget that she could’ve had a wealthy law practice if only she’d used her college scholarship instead of raising me.”

“Sounds like emotional blackmail.” Rick glanced at her, a hard look.

Daisy took great pains to avoid making eye contact. “Don’t say that. She gave up so much to make my life what it is.”

Still, her justification sounded exactly like what it was. A justification. Coral could’ve gotten a job after the Miss Kentucky debacle. With both of them employed, they might’ve been able to pay off Peter Tarkin’s loan.

But Daisy’s pride wouldn’t stand for it. She said, “Coral worked her fingers to the bone to put me through my pageants.”

“You must’ve wanted to win pretty badly then.”

No, she hadn’t wanted that at all. One of Daisy’s first memories came to mind. She’d won a children’s pageant—she couldn’t have been more than five or six—and instead of feeling happy about the crown, Daisy had looked at Coral’s face in the audience. Her sister’s pleasure had been worth every caked-on inch of makeup, every hour she’d spent rehearsing her little Liza Minelli showstopper talent song. Granted, Daisy’s collective prize money had helped them get through the years, but it hadn’t been enough. Coral had aided the pittance by working double shifts as a waitress, staying up late hours going over the checkbook to find ways of saving money.

But then Peter and his loan had come along. He’d remembered Daisy’s reign as Miss Spencer County and wanted to sponsor her bid for the shiniest crown in the land—Miss America. After she’d failed even that, Peter had called in the money he’d spent on her. But Daisy had always suspected that her title’s monetary value far exceeded the cash itself. The new king of Kane’s Crossing needed a queen.

Had she wanted the glory badly enough to work her sister senseless? Daisy decided not to answer Rick’s question.

Instead, she said, “We thought things would be okay when I became a spokesmodel.”

She could almost feel Rick’s caustic grin.

“Be quiet. It’s a very legitimate line of work,” she said.

“No doubt.”

Silence. She waited for him to ask why she wasn’t still spokesmodeling. Could she tell him that she’d started gaining weight again, and her employer had fired her?

Rick cleared his throat. “How does Peter the Great, the love of your life, come into the picture?”

She shook her head. “Coral and I knew we couldn’t pay him back for his loan. But he said it didn’t matter. That he wanted to marry me. You know, he seemed like a gentleman. He’d helped us in our time of need. Coral encouraged me, told me that maybe I’d return his feelings after a while.”

Rick stayed silent, and she could feel the weight of his judgment.

“I wanted to repay my sister for taking care of me. And I truly thought I would be good for Peter. I’d be his perfect hostess and support his career.” Cold, cold, cold. Had all the hours she’d wasted trying to decide if she could marry Peter come down to this? An ice-cold excuse?

She hadn’t seemed so callous when she’d said yes to him.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the semitrailer breathing steel behind them. She didn’t hear Rick reminding her to leave the road.

She only felt the shuddering swirl of air suck by them as Rick grabbed her to safety, holding her in his strong arms as they darted into the cornstalks.

In the truck’s aftermath, debris danced, lagging after the massive tires as the stale smell of asphalt and dust lined the night. Daisy and Rick breathed against each other. It wasn’t until he shifted against her that she realized she was still wrapped in his protective embrace.

He was so warm under his jacket. Daisy allowed her fingers to linger on his rib cage just a moment longer, stealing heat, feeling the thud of his heartbeat.

It would feel so good to lay her cheek against his chest, to allow herself to rest and stop running from her problems for just a moment.

He tightened his grip on her waist, and she felt his body go hard. Her skin tingled, leaving her breathless once again.

When she peered up at him, his expression shocked her into a frozen second of fear. He had a bloodred moon reflected in his eyes, his mouth drawn as tight as a battle line. As she shifted against him, his fingertips dug into the small of her back.

She gave a tiny gasp of discomfort, and that seemed to break his spell.

He stumbled backward, as if someone had shot him in the chest.

Then, without another word, Rick Shane faded into the night, leaving Daisy to trail after him into Broken Wing, Illinois.

The road sign indicated that Broken Wing had a population of two hundred and three. From the looks of it, Rick thought that most of them were probably living in the nearest graveyard.