Читать книгу Her Wildest Wedding Dreams - Celeste Hamilton - Страница 10

Olivia Franklin knew no bride-to-be could ask for a more beautiful setting for a prenuptial bash. A breeze softened the late-May evening. The sun had slipped past the western horizon, painting the big, Texas sky in pinks and lavenders, hues echoed by the pansies and petunias edging the tiled patio. A string quartet accompanied the laughter of the guests and the tinkling of ice in fine crystal.

Groups strolled in and out of the stucco mansion and wandered from the veranda to the buffet set up in a tent on the lawn. The movers and shakers of Austin were out in glittering force to toast the wedding of Roger Franklin’s daughter.

That’s all she was to them. Roger Franklin’s daughter.

Soon to be Marshall Crane’s wife.

Olivia set her champagne flute on a table and walked, virtually unnoticed, around the periphery of the crowd. At the other end of the veranda, her father held court. Marshall stood beside him, smiling as Roger clapped him on the shoulder and grinned his approval. Tomorrow, when Marshall said “I do” to Olivia, he would become much more than just her father’s business protégé. He would be family. Roger would have exactly what he wanted. So would Marshall.

And what about her?

Olivia found it difficult to breathe.

She went into the house and made her way upstairs, nodding and murmuring excuses to the few who sought to detain her. How ironic. She was supposed to be the evening’s honored guest. The bride. But she could slip away almost undetected.

An excited bark greeted her as she closed her bedroom door. A tiny ball of fur streaked from the bed and began a dance around Olivia’s feet. She knelt and gathered her Yorkshire terrier into her arms. “Hello, Puddin’, baby. Hello, sweet girl.”

A sniff brought Olivia to her feet, still holding the dog. In the doorway to her dressing room, a mountain of a woman stood with a stack of clothing in her arms. Mary Gunter’s broad face registered her disapproval, and she addressed Olivia with the familiarity of over twenty years as nurse, maid and surrogate mother. “What are you doing up here?”

“No one cares if I’m at the party or not.” Olivia’s bronze silk skirt swished about her ankles as she stalked across the room. Puddin’ gave her a comforting lick on the chin.

Mary carefully tucked clothing into one of several suitcases open on the bed. “Poor little girl,” she said in a singsong voice, just as she might have when Olivia was ten. “All alone and feeling sorry for herself.”

The woman’s persistence in treating her like a child was a long-running battle Olivia couldn’t face right now. Pausing at one of the windows beside her bed, Olivia drew back a sheer panel. Her room overlooked the side of the house closest to the barns and stables, away from the gardens and the party, but she could still hear the music and laughter. “All of those people are here to see Father. They don’t care about me.”

“Now, now…”

“It’s true.” Idly Olivia watched a truck with a camper and a horse trailer turn off the main drive and down the road toward the barns.

“You’re being silly.”

The truck and camper drew to a stop at the stables, and with a sigh Olivia turned back to Mary. “I’m just the great man’s daughter. Not a great beauty like her mother. Not a genius like her father. Nothing too spectacular at all. A mere curiosity worth only a glance or two because I’ve been kept under lock and key most of my life.”

“Your father has tried to protect you. You know why.” The rebuke in Mary’s tone was clear.

Olivia bit her lip to stop her flippant retort. Of course she knew her father’s reasons. An electronics whiz kid, Roger Franklin had started his own company while still in his twenties. A millionaire by thirty-five, he married the most sought-after debutante in Austin. Fifteen years ago, when Olivia was only eight, her mother had been kidnapped. Roger had paid the ransom, but beautiful Leila Franklin was killed. Roger had never stopped blaming himself or striving to keep his and Leila’s only child safe.

Much of the time Olivia had been able to forgive her father his overprotectiveness. Though she had often felt like an unbroken horse kicking at the door of a stall, she had done as her father had asked. She agreed to the bodyguards who accompanied her everywhere, to school, shopping, on infrequent excursions with schoolmates or dates. She lived at the family town house in Austin instead of a dormitory or apartment while she attended college. She set aside her desire to use her artistic talents and start a career. Her father wouldn’t even consider her working in his own company.

The reason she knew few of the people at tonight’s party was because he wanted it that way. He had discouraged friendships. Olivia had found friends despite him, especially during college. However, most of those friends were busy leading lives that didn’t include guards and gates and fences. Olivia spent most of her time here at the ranch, where her father often entertained. She played hostess, but never became really close to any of their guests.

To some people she led an idyllic life. No worries about money. A beautiful home. Gorgeous clothes. Prize-winning horses. A pool and tennis courts. A staff to see to her every need. Travel to exotic destinations whenever her father deemed it suitable.

Olivia had tried very hard to see herself as lucky.

When her father had first pushed her to go out with Marshall, she had been surprised. And then grateful. For with Marshall, she had actually seen a way out of her gilded cage. With a man her father trusted, surely she could begin to live her own life.

Marshall was easy to like—good-looking, educated, a pleasant companion. He sympathized with Olivia’s desire for independence. She never once deluded herself into thinking she loved the man, but she found him kind and attentive. They shared interests in horses, in music and books. Olivia had looked forward to moving into his home when they returned from their month-long European honeymoon. She had imagined them living a pleasant, normal life. Surely, as a married woman who managed her own affairs, she would finally escape the shadows of fear which had haunted her father and enslaved her.

But this afternoon Marshall had informed her they would be living here. With the security cameras outside. With the guard at the gate. With someone watching her every move. When she had protested, Marshall had reminded her that here she was safe.

Safe? More like trapped.

He had sounded just like her father.

This afternoon Olivia had realized she saw her marriage only as an escape, a way out of the luxurious prison of her life. Before today, she had convinced herself she really wanted to make a life with Marshall. Now she saw he was prepared to join her father as an additional prison guard. And that was no life at all.

All day she had entertained fantasies of running away. Of kicking over the tables of wedding gifts downstairs and racing out the front door. Of stealing one of the caterer’s uniforms and sliding anonymously out the kitchen entrance. Of mingling with the guests, getting into a car and driving away.

But all she could think of were the times she had tried to escape. To an afternoon alone at the movies with a friend from school. For a weekend with her one-and-only boyfriend before Marshall. Or in Paris last year, when she simply wanted to walk down a legendary street with the knowledge that she was truly on her own. Her father’s men had found her. They had always found her.

Her father regarded these attempts at independence as indications of Olivia’s immaturity. He called her impulsive and naive, and made her feel foolish and none too intelligent. At the same time, he said he loved her and wanted to protect her.

Maybe that’s why Olivia couldn’t hate him, even when he made her feel so inadequate. He truly believed he was saving her as he had been unable to save her mother. The people who had kidnapped Leila had been hired to work here at the ranch. Roger had trusted them, let them into his family’s lives, and they had betrayed him. Since then his vigilance had never wavered. It never would.

Once more Olivia found she couldn’t breathe.

“Are you okay?”

Glancing up to meet Mary’s concerned gaze, Olivia managed to draw in and release a breath. “I’m just…excited…”

“Of course you are.” Smiling, Mary turned toward the corner where a shimmering dress of satin and tulle hung in front of a three-paneled mirror. “Tomorrow, you’ll wear your mother’s dress, walk down the aisle at the church, dance at the reception at the country club, and you’ll be the most beautiful bride Austin has ever seen. Mr. Roger and Mr. Marshall will be so proud. Those people downstairs will never forget you.”

Yes, she would be memorable. As Roger Franklin’s daughter. Marshall Crane’s bride. They would never know Olivia Kay Franklin. No one was allowed to know her. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.

Puddin’ gave a startled yip just as the door banged open. Roger Franklin strode into the room, and the dog leaped to the floor to greet him.

Olivia’s father wasn’t a tall man. No more than average height, he was stout of build and not handsome by any stretch of imagination. His red hair, which Olivia had inherited, had gone gray at the temples. His brown eyes, also like hers, flashed in a face unremarkable of feature. But what Roger Franklin lacked in looks, he made up for in presence. He exuded power, confidence and strength.

As was often the case, Olivia resisted an impudent temptation to salute him. “Hello, Father.”

“You should be downstairs.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“I needed to get away for a few minutes.”

“Marshall wants you at his side.”

“Does he?” Hard as she tried, Olivia could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Once she might have been pleased to think she was needed at her fiancé’s side, but now that charade seemed foolish.

Her father lifted an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong, Olivia?”

Only everything, she wanted to say. But what would that prove? Instead, she shook her head.

At Roger’s feet, Puddin’ jumped and yapped, begging for his attention. Olivia had seen her father indulge her pampered pet, who was not the least bit intimidated by the man, but now he snapped, “Could you make her hush, Olivia?”

She picked up the dog, but Puddin’ continued to whimper, her soulful black eyes fastened on Roger.

He sighed wearily. “Olivia, you should return to our party, especially since I need to step away for a while.”

“Something wrong?”

He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “The breeder who is buying Royal Pleasure just arrived.”

Mention of one of her favorite mounts sent a pang through Olivia. “Must you sell her?”

“She served her purpose.”

The prize-winning Tennessee Walker had produced two colts sired by the cream of the Franklin stable. Now she was going to the highest bidder. Olivia felt a distinct kinship to the beautiful horse, who had no say in her own fate.

“Can’t the breeder just deal with Jake?” Olivia asked, referring to her father’s foreman. “Or wait until after the party?”

“You know I take care of these things myself. And there’s no reason to wait. The breeder can be on his way with Royal Pleasure first thing in the morning.”

“Of course,” she murmured, feeling silly. Her father made his own deals, operated strictly hands-on, in control, on his own schedule. It had been suggested that he would be even richer, his company even more successful, if he would loosen the reins a bit. He scoffed at such suggestions.

“Come down to the party,” Roger commanded.

“Just let me touch up my makeup.”

Her father nodded, scowled down at Puddin’ and reluctantly reached out and patted the dog’s head. Shivers of delight erupted in the tiny dog’s body.

Dryly Roger observed, “She’s coating you in dog hair.”

Glancing with dismay at her sheer white blouse, Olivia felt sixteen instead of twenty-three.

Roger started to turn away, then paused. His voice deepened. His harsh features softened somewhat. “You know you look like your mother tonight. Very lovely.”

Olivia swallowed hard. She knew she was nothing like her elegant, blond mother, and couldn’t imagine why her father mentioned any resemblance.

He continued, “She would be happy about this wedding. Just as I am. Marshall can take care of you.”

Words stuck in Olivia’s throat. The thought of being taken care of for the rest of her life was too terrible for comment.

Her father seemed to take her silence as agreement, for he nodded and strode out of the room.

Olivia sank down on the edge of the bed, anger pounding inside her.

I have to get out of here. I have to escape.

Puddin’s protests and Mary’s voice gradually penetrated the shouting in Olivia’s brain.

“You must go,” Mary murmured, regarding her with concern. “Go.”

Slowly Olivia released her dog and looked up at her longtime nanny. “Yes,” she agreed. “I must go.”

She wasn’t talking about returning to the party.

“Here, pretty lady. That’s right. Right here.” Noah Raybourne sighed his approval as he ran a hand down the mare’s sleek, ebony coat. Royal Pleasure stomped her front legs and turned her regal head toward him, her breath rising like a cloud in the cool morning air.

The grizzled Franklin ranch boss, Jake Keneally, scratched his beard. “It’s almost as if she knows you.”

“Maybe she recognizes family.”

Jake peered at him in puzzlement.

“Her mama’s sire belonged to my father,” Noah explained, stroking the mare’s velvety nose. “Carmen’s Best Boy was born and bred on Raybourne Farms. He was named for my mother.”

“I knew the horse,” Jake replied. “But he belonged to a breeder over toward Dallas.”

Familiar anger tightened Noah’s gut. “My stepfather sold him out from under us.”

The ranch boss apparently had enough firsthand knowledge of troubles to keep from prying. He grunted and gave Royal Pleasure a loving stroke of his own. “I won’t say I’m glad to see this beauty leave us, but it’s good to hear she’s going where she’ll be appreciated.”

“That she will.” Noah took Royal Pleasure’s lead and walked her toward his horse trailer, talking gently to her all the while.

With a minimum of fuss, she was loaded aboard the white trailer emblazoned with an ornate R in black script.

Noah tossed his duffel bag on the front seat of his truck and turned to shake Jake’s hand. “Thanks for your help. I especially appreciate the grub and the comfortable bed last night.” He gestured toward the camper on his truck bed. “More than a few nights in this thing can get pretty old.”

With a final wave, Noah swung into the driver’s seat and was on his way. The sun, though not yet visible, was lighting the eastern horizon as he stopped at the gate. A uniformed guard, different from the man he had seen last night, stepped up to the window with a clipboard in hand. “Hello, Mr. Raybourne. Jake called to say you were headed out.”

“You folks take security seriously round here, don’t you?” Noah commented with a smile.

The guard gave him a steady, measuring look. “Mr. Franklin is pretty clear about how he wants things handled.”

“I’m sure he is.” Noah imagined Roger Franklin was crystal clear about all matters affecting his family, his business and holdings.

The guard made a notation on his clipboard, then stepped back and studied the truck and trailer for a moment. Apparently reassured there was no reason to conduct a search, he opened the automatic gate and waved Noah through.

The whole operation amused Noah. He understood that a rich man might have some security concerns, but this place was set up like a fortress. Maybe the extra precautions were in place because of that big party they had last night. Jake had told him Franklin’s daughter was getting married today.

Peering at the golden glow on the horizon and at the sky, which was changing from gray to blue, Noah muttered, “Looks like beautiful weather for a wedding.” He met his own gaze in the rearview mirror. “Sure hope it goes better than mine.”

If things had gone as planned, he and Amy would have celebrated their third anniversary a couple of weeks ago. Noah’s mother had blamed the passage of that date on the foul mood that had gripped him of late. She was wrong, Noah told himself. He was well and truly over Amy. He had gotten beyond being left at the altar. Only rarely did he think about having to walk out into that church and announce to everyone that the girl he loved had changed her mind about hitching her star to a struggling horse breeder whose only debt-free asset was the fire burning in his belly.

Realizing he gripped the steering wheel with undue force, Noah made himself relax. Maybe his mother was right, after all. Perhaps his foul mood wasn’t just the result of too much work and worry. He had been thinking about Amy. Her engagement to a successful Nashville businessman was announced last month. The news had started Noah questioning himself. Had what Amy wanted really been so wrong?

Before they were to marry, she had asked Noah to sell a half interest in his operation to her father. The capital would have provided Noah with the means to rebuild much of the farm and breeding business his irresponsible stepfather had tried to destroy. The money would also have allowed them to redo the farmhouse and live in the sort of comfort to which Amy was accustomed.

But Noah had wanted them to rebuild the farm themselves, as a team, working as his parents once had and as his grandparents before them. Though he knew Amy’s father to be a good, honest man, he was fearful of letting an outsider have any say in the farm his grandfather had founded and his father had run so successfully. The only other outsider to interfere in Raybourne Farms had almost ruined it. Noah couldn’t do what Amy asked.

She had called him a pigheaded, prideful fool, and they had argued. But he had still believed she loved him and intended to go through with the wedding. He had underestimated her fears about living on the limited means he had to offer. After all the other embarrassment his family had endured in the community, Noah still couldn’t believe she had left him standing at the altar. But she had.

Her willingness to humiliate him in such a public way should have Noah thanking his lucky stars to have escaped marriage to her.

But on those days when he worked his body to weary numbness, when he faced a lonely night at home, when he awoke to an empty bed, Noah wasn’t so sure he was lucky.

Struggling to clear the clouds of regret from his brain, he turned onto the main highway, heading east, toward home. He was going to avoid the high speeds of the interstate, keep to the secondary highways and stop as often as possible to stretch Royal Pleasure’s legs. That beauty was an integral part of his plans for Raybourne Farms. She had cost him the better part of his bank balance, and he wasn’t taking any chances with her.

The sun was fast revealing the East Texas landscape. He shook his head. Some people might find this land appealing, but he’d take the rolling green meadows of Middle Tennessee any day.

He rested his elbow on the open window. A squeak sounded from behind. Followed by another. And still another. He eased up on the accelerator and leaned back, listening intently, then peered in the side mirror for signs of trouble with the trailer. He saw nothing.

Once more Noah relaxed and began to whistle.

Hours passed before the squeak returned. Then grew in volume. And Noah recognized the sound for what it was—the insistent yapping of a dog.

“What the hell?” He carefully eased the truck and trailer off the road, got out and hurried around to throw open the door at the back of the truck.

He heard a shout of warning.

Something small and furry bounced against his chest, sending him stumbling against the trailer. Then something else barreled past Noah. It was a boy…no, those breasts and that rounded rear end were most definitely feminine. They belonged to a young woman. She was dressed in jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap and was calling, “Puddin’, you stupid dog. Puddin’! Come here.”

Noah straightened in time to peer around the truck and see the dog relieve itself in a patch of grass beside the road.

“Oh, Puddin’,” the young woman crooned. Two long, red braids escaped from her cap as she stooped to stroke the little mutt’s head. “I’m sorry, girl. I know you couldn’t hold it another minute.”

The dog barked up at her mistress, then raced around her and made straight for Noah. Looking like an animated ball of long, silky fur, she circled his boots, fussing at him in her squeaky, high-pitched bark.

Noah looked from dog to woman and back again. At any minute he expected a video camera to emerge from around the trailer and some smarmy TV personality to announce he was the subject of an elaborate scheme.

Instead, the young woman tugged on the brim of her baseball cap and darted nervous glances toward the highway, where a car swished past.

Noah began, “Who the hell are—”

The young woman cut him short by grabbing her dog and ducking between the trailer and the camper to the other side of the truck. “Let’s get off the road!”

Noah had little choice but to follow. On the other side he caught hold of her arm. “What were you and this…” He glared at the dog, who peered up at him through its long hair, some of which was held back by silly, girlish hair bows. Useless creature, Noah thought, before returning to his demand, “What were you and this dog doing in my trailer?”

The stowaway offered a senseless explanation about mistaking his camper for her own, falling asleep and awakening when the dog started barking.

“You’ll have to do better than that. What are you up to?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Have you done something to my horse?”

He set her away from him and stalked around to throw open the doors to the spacious trailer. It made no sense that she could have gotten from the trailer to the camper without his knowledge, but he had to check.

Royal Pleasure whinnied and danced around a bit, but otherwise seemed just fine. Noah patted her reassuringly, then exited the trailer, eager for the explanation the redhead owed him. To his surprise she was hightailing it through the weeds beside the road, heading for a stand of trees nearby.

He was tempted to let her go. She had obviously been up to no good, stowing away in his camper like some little thief. She probably was a thief. The possibility made his blood run cold. Right now, she probably had something that belonged to Roger Franklin, a man who had his home barricaded like a castle keep. A man who might assume Noah was the real thief or in cahoots with her.

“Hey,” Noah shouted as he sprinted after her. “You come back here.”

She darted a glance over her shoulder but kept moving, her dog barking up a storm in her arms.

Overtaking her took only a few moments. She was such a little thing, Noah brought her to a halt simply by catching the hem of her T-shirt.

Brought round to face him, she pleaded, “Please just let me go. I didn’t hurt anything. I just needed a ride.”

“You needed to sneak off the Franklin ranch.” Noah anchored her in place with a firm grip on her shoulders. “What are you running from?”

Her brown-eyed gaze wouldn’t quite meet his. “I just had to get out of there.”

“Why? What’d you steal?”

“Steal?” she sputtered. “You think I’m a thief?”

“Why else would you be running away like this?”

Olivia remained silent, desperately searching for an explanation.

The man gave her a little shake. “What is it? What are you running from?”

“My father.” The words burst out of her without preamble or thought.

Her captor’s blue eyes narrowed. “Your father?”

“I just can’t stand it any longer. I had to get away from him.”

The grip on her shoulders loosened somewhat. “Why? What’s the problem with him?”

“He…just…” Olivia swallowed hard, not certain what to say. She was a terrible liar. The few times she had tried, she had been found out instantly. But somehow she had to convince this man to let her go. She doubted that would happen if he found out she was Roger Franklin’s daughter. And if she had to go back now…

“What?” the stranger prompted.

Olivia’s heart knocked hard against her chest as she struggled for words. She had come too far to mess up. Getting out of the house in the early hours of the morning had been a minor miracle. She had escaped through a window she had left open in the library, falling hard on her right arm and almost crushing poor Puddin’. But when no lights came on nor alarms sounded, she realized the security system wasn’t fully engaged, possibly due to the party and the caterers who were still loading equipment and cleaning up near the kitchen entrance.

Aided by her knowledge of the outside security cameras and the schedule of the guards who patrolled the grounds each night, she had crept behind bushes on the perimeter of the yard and through the deepest of shadows to the stables.

Even then, she hadn’t a clear plan as to how she would get off the ranch. She was considering saddling a horse and riding out when she had noticed the horse breeder’s trailer. Remembering her father saying Royal Pleasure’s new owner would be leaving first thing in the morning, she had taken what seemed like her best chance and stowed away. She had been hoping to sneak out of the camper when he stopped for gasoline or to exercise Royal Pleasure.

Bringing Puddin’ had been a risk, and most likely a mistake. Yet leaving her only friend in the world had been impossible. Olivia couldn’t do it. And truly, the dog had been so quiet, so good. Until she simply had to go to the bathroom.

The horse breeder still regarded her with open hostility. “I don’t believe this nonsense about running from your father.”

“But it’s true,” Olivia protested, relieved that she didn’t have to lie. “I had to get away from him.”

“He works for Franklin?”

“Yes…in…in the stables,” she prevaricated. “As a trainer.”

“And he hurt you?” An emotion that could have been sympathy flickered across the man’s face.

“Yes, he hurt me.” At least that much wasn’t a lie, Olivia thought. Her father had hurt her.

“But why would you have to hide to get away?”

“My father would never willingly let me go.”

Looking even more suspicious, one of her captor’s hands slipped from her shoulder down her arm, the arm she had fallen on in her escape. Olivia winced and looked down. For the first time she noticed the purple bruise that started just below the hem of her sleeve.

The man saw it, too. Gently he pushed the sleeve up. The bruise stretched from near her elbow to her shoulder.

Muttering a curse, the man dropped her arm and stepped away. “Did your father do this to you?”

“He…he made me fall,” Olivia said. “He pushed you?”

She nodded.

The breeder peered at her again, clearly torn between believing and doubting her story. “How old are you?” he asked at last. “Over eighteen, I imagine.”

“Yes.”

“There’s no reason why you couldn’t just have left.”

“You don’t understand,” she explained, feeling desperate. “My father, he’s…nuts. I was so scared of him, so afraid.”

“You could have told someone. Told Jake or Mr. Franklin.”

She forced out a laugh. “You think a rich, important man like that would care about me?”

“Roger Franklin strikes me as a decent man. He’d care if one of his employees was beating his daughter.”

“Yeah, he’d fire my father, and I’d get blamed.”

“No, you would have gotten help.” The breeder shook his head. “There’s some other reason you’re running.” He took hold of her uninjured arm. “Come on back to the truck. We’re going to find a telephone and call the ranch.”

Olivia struggled to free herself, her eyes filling with tears. In her arms Puddin’ whined. She could not go back. The very fact that they had made it this far meant she had something of a head start.

“Please,” she begged. “Please believe me. I have to get away from my father. I can’t stand it any longer. Please.” Olivia didn’t want to break down completely, but hysteria rose inside her. She fought the sobs and started to tremble.

“Jeez.” The breeder’s forehead creased, and he thrust a hand through wavy, light-brown hair. “You really are scared to death, aren’t you?”

Olivia nodded while Puddin’ licked her trembling chin.

The man stared at her hard for a few moments more while she struggled to bring herself under control. He seemed like a kind person. Handsome in a strong, hard-planed sort of way. Clearly he sympathized with her somewhat, else he would have already hauled her back to the camper and locked her in.

Olivia focused on playing on that sympathy. “I’m so…sorry I hid in your camper. I’m not a thief. I just need a break. Please. Just drive away and leave us here. Please.”

Noah was tempted to do just that. Something told him this young woman wasn’t a thief. But something in her story didn’t strike him as quite right, either. The best thing he could do for himself was get in the truck and drive away.

And that’s exactly what he was going to do.

“You’ve got a deal, little lady. If anybody ever asks me, I’ll tell them I’ve never seen you before.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the truck. “You got anything in the camper?”

“A small bag.”

He swung the door wide open and retrieved a small, and to his admittedly inexperienced eye, expensive-looking tote bag. He thought about searching it for stolen jewelry, but decided he didn’t want to know if she was hiding something. He just wanted to get back on the road.

He rooted in a cooler and found two bottled waters. Outside, he handed everything over to her. “Here you go.”

She swiped at the tears on her cheeks before taking the bag and the water. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I’ve delayed you. You’ve really been so kind.”

Her choice of words didn’t strike Noah as those of a stable hand’s daughter. Determinedly, he slammed the door on his doubts. Giving her a little salute, he went around the trailer to make sure the door was secured. He closed and locked the camper door, as well, then climbed into the truck.

His stowaway had moved just ahead of him on the road, where she struggled to fit the water bottles into her bag while holding on to her dog. She looked small and awkward.

Noah’s conscience pinched him hard.

He leaned out the window. “You be careful.”

“I will,” she shouted back.

He waved. He even started the truck. But he didn’t move.

Ahead of him, she started walking. Her determined strides did nothing to disguise the downright tempting curves of her behind.

“Just let her go,” Noah told his reflection in the mirror.

And leave her and that useless dog alone on this stretch of highway?

“They’ll be just fine.”

If they don’t meet up with a rattlesnake.

“A snake would run the other way.”

But some pervert in a rusted-out pickup just might want a piece of her cute little butt.

Noah closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about that bruise on her arm or her tears when she said she’d been hurt by her father. God knew, he understood that kind of pain. He just wished his dear mother had not worked so hard to instill a sense of honor in him. Finally he let out a long breath, eased the truck into drive and leaned out the window, calling, “Hey, come here.”

She hurried up to the window. The hope mingling with fear on her face was more than he could stand.

“All right,” he muttered. “I’ve got this terrible feeling that I’m going to regret this, but here’s what we’re going to do. First, you get in the truck.”

She frowned, as if she didn’t understand him.

“Get in the truck, and at the next town you can catch a bus somewhere.” She gave him a blank look. “You do want to get on a bus or something, don’t you? There was some destination in mind when you set out on this little trip?”

Though she nodded, her expression gave her away.

“She has no idea where she’s going,” he muttered as she came around to the passenger side. “No clue. Just her and that damn dog, tearing off like Dorothy and Toto on the yellow brick road.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed as she climbed in beside him. “I was willing to walk, but this will be so much quicker and easier.”

The dog jumped onto the seat, then leaped up and licked Noah’s cheek.

He groaned. The dog barked and tried for a second lick.

“Just keep the mutt under control,” Noah ordered.

She pulled the dog onto her lap. “Her name’s Puddin’.”

“And your name?”

She hesitated. Briefly. But long enough for Noah to figure she was lying. “Libby. Libby Kay.”

“I’m Noah,” he said, offering a handshake. The hand she placed in his was soft as silk, with nails finely manicured. Not exactly the hands of a working man’s daughter.

“And your last name?” she prompted.

“Gullible as hell,” Noah murmured as he pulled back onto the road. “Just call me gullible as hell.”