Groom Of Fortune. Peggy Moreland
neck. “Hold on to me.” He slipped one hand beneath her knees and the other behind her back. “Ready?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, her teeth beginning to chatter.
Straightening, he lifted her from the car, then looked down at her. Rain sluiced down his face and over his chin, dropping to stain the satin of her wedding gown. Bowing his head over hers and hunching his shoulders, he tried his best to protect her from the worst of the storm’s fury. “You okay?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the storm that continued to rage around them. “Any pain?”
“I’m o-okay.” She tucked her face into the curve of his neck. “P-please. Just h-hurry.”
He jogged his way back to his truck, slipping and sliding on the rain-slick ground. When he reached his truck, he braced her against the side in order to free a hand to open the door. Quickly, he slid her onto the seat, then straightened, his breath coming in hard, grabbing gasps. “I’ll be right back. I need to lock up your car.”
He slammed the door and ran back for her vehicle. He ducked inside and grabbed the keys from the ignition. As he withdrew, he noticed the suitcase on the back seat and grabbed it, too. By the time he reached the Blazer again, his boots were saturated with water and felt as if they were filled with cement. He heaved her suitcase into the back, then hopped inside the truck, slamming the door behind him. He dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the rain, then braced a hand against the steering wheel and turned to face her. Her gaze was on his, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. Her fingers were twisted into a knot on her lap. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Y-yes. Th-thank you.”
Always polite. Always the lady. But there was an edge of desperation, of hysteria, behind the polite manners. “What happened?”
“I—I lost c-control of my c-car.”
“I mean before. At the church.”
“I—I ran away.”
He watched her eyes fill again, and hated himself for asking. But he had to know. “Last-minute jitters?”
The violet eyes turned stormy, wild, and she grabbed for him, her nails biting deeply into his forearm. “I’ve got to get away. Please, Link,” she begged. “You’ve got to help me.”
Seeing the panic swirling in her eyes and hearing the hysteria rising in her voice, he knew he couldn’t press her for answers. Not now. He stared at her a moment, wondering if he’d regret asking the one question he needed answered. “Do you trust me?”
When she hesitated a second too long, he looked away, scowling at the rain-streaked windshield and the shadowed mountains ahead. “Doesn’t matter,” he said gruffly, and reached for the ignition key. “Right now I’m your only hope.”
The decision to head for the mountains with Isabelle wasn’t one Link made easily…nor was the drive he made to reach them. The storm that had blown up so quickly in the desert decided to hang around awhile, seemingly chasing them into the mountains and making the narrow roads treacherous to navigate in the growing darkness. More than once Link had felt the Blazer’s tires spin on the muddy incline and the rear of the vehicle fishtail out of control. Even with the four-wheel drive engaged, progress up the mountain was slow and tedious.
By the time he reached the well-concealed turnoff he’d been watching for, the tendons in his neck and shoulders felt like steel rods and a headache was punching him between his eyes. After making the turn, he glanced over at Isabelle and found her still curled against the passenger door asleep. How she’d been able to sleep through the hair-raising drive, he wasn’t sure. But after assuring himself she hadn’t suffered a head injury, he had let her sleep, thankful that she could. He wasn’t in the mood to make polite conversation…not that he’d know how.
She was the one with the manners, he reminded himself bitterly. All those years spent at that fancy boarding school back east where her parents had sent her, the finishing school in Europe that followed. The only school Link’s parents had ever sent him to was the school of hard knocks.
He bit back a growl and turned his face away from her, narrowing an eye at the road ahead and the trees that crowded it on both sides. But it was that school of hard knocks that had nudged him toward law enforcement, he reminded himself, and it was that same school that had given him the instincts he needed to succeed where others had failed.
And those instincts were the ones he’d use to protect Isabelle. Keep her alive.
The Blazer’s headlights bounced off the cabin’s windows and reflected the light back at the Blazer, making Link squint. He slowed, downshifting as he pulled as close to the front porch as he dared. Switching off the engine, he turned to look at Isabelle again. Asleep she looked even more innocent and fragile than she did when she was awake…and, if possible, more beautiful. He reached out a hand to brush the tendril of hair that curled like a damp question mark against her cheek…but caught himself just shy of touching her. That porcelain skin. All that womanliness. That innocence. Curling his fingers into a fist, he withdrew his hand and turned to shoulder open his door.
The storm had lost most of its steam and now only a light rain fell, misting his face and hair as he circled to the passenger side of the truck. He opened the door carefully, not wanting to startle her. “Isabelle?” he said softly. When she didn’t respond, he leaned inside, bracing one hand against the dashboard and laying the other on her shoulder. “Isabelle,” he said, gently shaking her. “Wake up. We’re here.”
She moaned softly and turned away, snuggling her cheek deeper against the Blazer’s worn upholstery. With a glance over his shoulder at the dilapidated cabin he was taking her to, he decided it might be better to let her sleep. He guided her arm around his neck and scooped her up into his arms, then headed for the porch. As he brushed past the post that supported the sagging front porch, the train of her dress snagged on the rough cedar, stopping him. He gave the train a sharp tug and swore under his breath when he heard the delicate fabric rip.
She awoke then, shoving at his chest as she tried to struggle free.
He tightened his grip on her. “Be still now, or you’re going to make me drop you.”
Her fingers froze on his neck as her eyes snapped to his. He saw the remembrance slowly settle there…as well as the fear.
She tore her gaze from his and glanced nervously around. “Wh-where are we?”
“At a buddy of mine’s cabin in the mountains. You’ll be safe here,” he added as she turned those wide, violet eyes on his again.
“He can’t find me,” she whispered, her grip on him growing desperate. “Please don’t let him find me.”
Something twisted in Link’s gut as he looked down at her. Something he thought he’d lost long ago. The ability to care. “He won’t find you,” he said gruffly, and reached for the door. “Not on this mountain. Nobody could.”
He pushed open the door and caught up her train as he hefted her higher in his arms. As he stepped inside the cabin, he was struck at the irony in that gesture. Link Templeton carrying a bride across a threshold. The man who’d sworn he’d never marry, who’d sworn he’d never be foolish enough to fall in love, was carrying a bride across a threshold.
The only comfort he found in that thought was that the bride wasn’t his.
She was a runaway.
Two
After stripping off his wet shirt and changing into a pair of dry jeans he found in the closet, bare-chested Link pulled fresh linens from the dresser drawer and began making the bed. Anxious to finish the job before Isabelle emerged from the bathroom, he kept an ear cocked to the sounds coming from behind the door she’d closed between them. The soft gurgle of water as it ran from the ancient faucet and splashed into the rust-stained sink. The dull thump of a satin heel striking the old footed tub, or perhaps the side of the toilet. The whisper of satin and lace as it whisked against