Fugitive Fiancee. Kristin Gabriel
insisted on a prenuptial agreement that would prevent him from receiving any of the Casville millions if they divorced.
So Mimi had said yes, believing she’d eventually grow to love him.
Then today, thanks to the ancient ventilation system in the old cathedral, she’d discovered her father had been paying him to romance her all along. Mimi had been alone in the dressing room, fighting off another impending panic attack, when she’d heard their illuminating conversation through the air vent.
She liked to think it was divine providence.
She closed her eyes, her head spinning. She’d almost married a man she didn’t love. Almost destroyed her own life, trying to please her father.
Fleeing her wedding was the first impulsive thing she’d done in her life. For the first time she could remember, she wasn’t standing in the suffocating shadow of the Casville name. And Garrett was the first man who didn’t see dollar signs when he looked at her.
Not that he wanted to look at her. The man had just ordered her out of his house. He obviously didn’t realize she wasn’t taking orders anymore.
Only she still wasn’t sure what to do next.
A dull ache throbbed in her temple as she contemplated her options. No doubt her father and Paul had already started a full-scale search. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t go to a hotel, either, since she didn’t have any of her credit cards with her.
More than anything, Mimi needed time to heal. And what better place than on a secluded ranch in the starkly beautiful Texas hill country?
But first she had to figure out a way to convince Garrett to let her stay.
“WOMEN,” Garrett muttered under his breath as he marched along the fence line, his way lit by the full moon. “I’ll never understand them.”
Hubert trotted beside him, emitting a tiny bark as he bounded forward to keep up with Garrett’s long stride.
“It’s like they go out of their way to drive a man crazy.” Garrett looked at his dog. “Take my advice, Hubert. Don’t ever get mixed up with some female. Even if she has eyes like the Texas sky and hair like clover honey.”
Hubert yelped, then drew up his front paw and limped on three legs. Garrett bent and pulled a sandbur from the tender pad of the dog’s small paw. Then he straightened and leaned against the corral fence, propping one boot on the bottom rail.
He gazed at the canopy of stars glittering across the big Texas sky. “Of all the haylofts in all the world, why did she have to end up in mine?”
Hubert barked at him, wagging his cropped tail.
Garrett sighed, wondering when he’d become such a coldhearted son of a bitch. Ordering the woman off his ranch hadn’t been one of his finer moments. He stared at the moonlit horizon, letting the nippy breeze cool his temper.
Women had plagued him all day. First his sister Lana, inviting him to dinner. Suspicious of the spark of mischief in her eye, he’d finally gotten her to confess that she planned to invite a date for him, as well. He’d turned down her invitation, but she hadn’t made it easy. Lana could be almost as stubborn as Garrett when she set her mind to something.
Then Venna had come after him again, still hell-bent on roping him into matrimony. He couldn’t decide if she was incredibly determined or just delusional. The last thing he wanted was a woman looking for husband number three.
Then there was Mimi.
Mimi. Ever since he’d caught her in his hayloft, she’d been like a sandbur under his skin. Only she didn’t cause him any pain. Far from it. She made him remember how damn long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms. How soft and warm and wonderful women could be.
If only they weren’t so damn much trouble.
He’d tried ignoring her, insulting her and intimidating her, but she hadn’t taken the hint. He wanted her off his ranch and out of his life. If she wouldn’t go willingly, then he’d fling her over his shoulder and haul her to Austin himself.
“Come on, Hubert,” Garrett said, turning to the house. “Time to take Mimi back where she belongs.”
He marched to the house and through the front door, ready to meet any resistance. But his resolve faded when he saw her curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open. He pushed the door shut behind him, a little louder than necessary, but she didn’t even stir.
Her wedding dress was in a heap on the floor. He moved closer to the sofa, noticing the shadows under her eyes. Then his gaze flicked to her bare feet, peeking out beneath the hem of her long silk slip. The raw scratches and livid welts on the soles of her feet looked even worse than before.
The fire popped in the hearth, shooting a spray of orange sparks and making shadows dance on the walls. Watching her sleep, Garrett wondered why he’d let her upset him so much. Mimi was no threat to him. She was some other man’s problem. She was also in obviously desperate straits if she’d trust a total stranger not to take advantage of her. He doubted either of his sisters would ever end up in such a crazy situation, but if they did, he hoped no one would kick them out into the cold night.
Picking up the lonestar quilt off the back of the sofa, he gently draped it over her sleeping form, then he switched off the living room light.
“First thing in the morning,” he vowed to himself. “She’s outta here.”
Austin American Statesman
WEDDING BELLE BLUES
Mimi Casville, daughter of prominent Austin industrialist Rupert Casville, ran out of St. Mary’s Cathedral in Austin yesterday, just moments before she was to exchange vows with local attorney Paul Renquist.
The runaway bride wore a stunning gown of oyster silk with a sweetheart-style bodice and delicate spaghetti straps. Hand-sewn pearls accented the box-pleated skirt and cathedral train.
The groom, resplendent in a black cutaway coat and tails designed by the incomparable Oscar de la Renta, refused to comment. The champagne reception went on as scheduled, absent the unwedded couple. All four hundred guests dined on Rockefeller oysters, Russian caviar and juicy rumors regarding the fractured nuptials.
Official word is that the bride succumbed to a sudden illness and that the wedding will be rescheduled in the near future. Unofficially, sources say that the bride fled the scene in her red convertible and hasn’t been seen since.
Destination of Ms. Casville unknown. Stay tuned to this column for further updates.
—Bettina Collingsworth
“DID YOU SEE this crap?”
Paul Renquist looked up from his breakfast plate as Rupert Casville marched into the formal dining room, waving a newspaper in his hand. Paul had spent the night at the Casville mansion, hoping to talk some sense into Mimi when she returned home.
Only she hadn’t come home.
“It’s in the society section, Rupert. Nobody who matters reads that.”
“I sure as hell read it.” Rupert slapped the newspaper on the polished oak table. “Who is this Bettina Collingsworth woman, anyway?”
“She reports all the high-profile weddings in Austin.”
“Obviously, she missed her calling. She should be writing UFO reports for the tabloids.” Rupert pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “I can’t believe a newspaper like the Austin American Statesman would print such melodramatic tripe. I’m tempted to buy the damn newspaper myself just so I can fire this dingbat.”
Paul picked up his fork. “I called Mrs. Collingsworth this morning and asked her to print a retraction.”
“And?”
“And she refused.” Paul hesitated as a maid brought in Rupert’s breakfast.