The Bride Ran Away. Anna Adams
his lips over hers.
A sane inner voice commanded her to run. She made herself deaf. She hadn’t touched him in nearly three weeks, and she’d pined for his hands on her, his kiss, his beating heart pressed against her seeking palm.
This was their strongest bond, and she needed him in ways she didn’t begin to understand. He closed the chilly space between them. Sophie slid her hands into the hair at his nape and pulled his head down to hers with strength born of inexplicable longing. Holding Ian was more like coming home than driving up the mountain road had been.
He tightened his arms as if surprised to find her in them. His warm hands bunched her sweater. She breathed in as his fingertips traced her spine, her rib cage, the curve of her breasts.
A moment’s shame flitted through her as she welcomed his touch. She’d run from that church because she hadn’t wanted to need him. Letting him hold her like this, giving vent to her desire, put the lie to that, but she’d stopped feeling whole without him.
A groan slipped from his mouth to hers, melting her against the car. She arched, claiming him, offering herself. But somehow sanity reminded her where they were.
“My gran,” she said against his throat, unable to make herself look over at the resort’s open windows.
At once he released her. They were both breathing hard. He caught her left hand. “Where’s your ring?” She’d never heard his passion-thickened tone in public.
Bemused, she shook her head.
“Your ring, Sophie.” Repeated more harshly, the question finally penetrated her thoughts.
“Nothing’s changed.” In case he didn’t understand, she widened a bland gaze, trying to force him to believe her. “You touch me—I want you. Apparently, I’d make love to you anywhere, anytime, but nothing else has changed, either. I don’t trust you, and I can’t live with you.”
“You can.” He rubbed his finger again, his thumb trembling in time with her heartbeat. “We’ll learn to trust each other.”
“Not in front of our child. I want to do motherhood right.”
He reached for her again. Thank goodness he expected her to give in as if she possessed no will of her own, because she caught him off guard, taking his wrists to drag him away from her car door. He didn’t seem to be a guy who struggled with women. He was easy to move.
She opened the door and jumped inside, completely unashamed of her healthy fear. Not of him—of herself and her apparent addiction to him. She wasn’t on her own anymore. Time to break bad habits.
She started the engine. Ian planted his hands on his hips, the picture of a gunslinger.
She reversed the car, staring straight into his unforgiving gaze. He’d find her before long. He had a gift for hunting down his quarry. She’d never hidden from anyone before, and how far could she run in Bardill’s Ridge?
DUST SETTLED ON THE GRAVEL that had skidded from beneath Sophie’s tires. Ian took stock of the faces at the windows of the resort. Somewhere among those reproachful women, Greta Calvert no doubt wished him dead.
He couldn’t blame her. He’d screwed up Sophie’s life, and he’d certainly want to destroy anyone who ever hurt his child.
He turned away, unable to go inside to reassure Greta, since he had to follow Sophie. Or anticipate where she’d head next. To her father. If she planned to move back to Bardill’s Ridge—and that had to be her plan—she’d tell Ethan Calvert about the baby.
Ian already knew the way. If only he’d kept his big mouth shut after the ceremony, they’d be telling her father together. She shouldn’t have to face him alone. A sense of guilt made him hurry to his own rental car. Sophie loved her dad, respected him, worried more about his disappointment in her than even Greta’s. Her parents’ divorce had driven her to want to please Ethan.
Ian quick-stopped through a couple of four-way intersections on the country roads before he reached town. Three red lights later, he had to slow for traffic at the square. Some of the local farmers had brought early wares from their greenhouses and set up stalls beyond the wrought-iron fence that protected the grass. Their customers upped the small-town traffic.
By the time he reached Ethan Calvert’s house, Sophie and her father, a tall man in jeans and logger’s plaid, were standing in front of the barn-workshop that rose higher than Ethan’s clapboard house. The pair were clearly at odds. Ethan leaned down to say something that made Sophie grimace. Ian didn’t think. He just launched himself from the car to protect his wife.
Ethan and Sophie turned at the sound of his slammed car door. Sophie tried to stop him with a hand up, looking like an impatient crossing guard.
“Ian, no. This is about our family.”
“I’m part of your family now, Sophie.”
She widened her eyes in an urgent, silent appeal that he keep quiet about the wedding. He shook his head. He’d rather saw off his own arm than hurt her again, but she’d made their child the spoils of this fight.
Ethan interrupted their unspoken battle, moving in front of his daughter.
“Dad.” She grabbed his flannel-covered arm. “It’s as much my fault as Ian’s.”
“Maybe you don’t know how we handle your kind of man down here.” A threat of bodily harm quivered in Ethan Calvert’s voice.
Ian restrained a ripple of anticipation. Physical danger he could handle all day long, but Sophie had him in an emotional trap, and he had to be smart. He strode to her side. “Tell him everything.”
“I have,” she lied. A blush drew her father’s closer attention. “You’ve already forced me to break the news about the baby to my dad on the doorstep because I knew you’d hare over here. Now leave us alone.”
Ian glanced from father to daughter. Ethan must know how much his divorce had hurt his daughter. He’d surely want Sophie to give wedded parenthood a chance to provide her child with two parents together in the same house. Especially when the baby’s father wanted to do the right thing—as detestable as the concept of responsibility might be to Sophie.
Behind them, another car climbed the hill. Ian turned, as did Sophie. It was her cousin Zach Calvert in a Bardill’s Ridge patrol car. Her grandmother must have rushed to the telephone.
The sheriff parked beside Ian’s car and climbed out. The slow-moving Southern lawman had a talent for kicking the shit out of bad guys. In his frustration, Ian thought a fight sounded good, but it wouldn’t guarantee his welcome into the family.
Another cousin, Molly, climbed out of the passenger side. She’d been one of the Calverts Ian had investigated before he’d allowed James Kendall to set foot in Bardill’s Ridge. The more the better he thought now.
“Sophie—” Zach settled his cap on his head “—do we have a problem?”
Without waiting for her answer, Molly pushed between her cousin and Ian, her glance setting him on par with a mugger. Molly’s parents had abandoned her, and she’d lived on the street until Sophie’s Aunt Eliza and Uncle Patrick had adopted her. She knew more about bad people than Sophie.
Molly’s abandonment put his own in perspective, and sympathy would have led Ian to be kinder about shutting her down, but Sophie showed no favorites in her habitual resistance to being helped.
She fended Molly off. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t know what you two are doing here.”
“Gran.” Ignoring Sophie’s resistance, Molly looped her arm around her cousin’s shoulders.
“Wait a minute.” Ethan towered over the two women. “I don’t need my mother or my nephew and niece to help me protect my own daughter.” Planted at his daughter’s side, Ethan looked strong enough to do the job.
“What