Читать книгу There Goes the Bride - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 10

R ick knew he looked like a piece of the devil’s handiwork as he stepped into the light.

“You’re insane if you think this is going to work.”

Daisy’s tiara wobbled to the side of her head as her gaze glued itself to the floor again. Her well-manicured fingers caught the delicate crown, righting it.

A protective urge flared to life inside Rick, but he tamped down the emotion. He’d never been very good at saving people. Didn’t his family and friends know that?

But his friend Ashlyn Reno, a.k.a. former town troublemaker, was just getting started. Her husband, the sheriff, of all things, merely sat back in his chair, evidently willing to wait out this new storm of inspiration.

“Here’s the thing,” Ashlyn said, her eyes wide with daring. “The quicker Daisy can get out of here, the quicker she can get away from that old dried-up fiancé of hers.”

“Ashlyn.” Rachel half laughed as she chided her friend.

“I’m sorry, the truth must be told,” she continued. “It’s not a pretty sight when an arrogant old fool salivates over a woman half his age. In fact, that’s downright disgusting.”

Her husband cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re willing to create a major Kane’s Crossing scandal because you object to Peter Tarkin’s drool?”

Ashlyn nodded, sending a saucy smile to the sheriff.

“That’s my girl,” he said, winking at her.

Rick cleared his throat. “As I was saying—”

By this time, Rachel had caught Ashlyn’s hell-raiser bug. She smoothed a strand of light brown hair from her forehead. “I’m warming up to this. Peter Tarkin has had a reckoning on the horizon for a while.”

Now it was her husband’s turn to protest. Matthew said, “So the man disapproved when you ran our horse farm while I was away, and he’s a bit of a misogynist, begging your pardon, Ms. Cox.”

Daisy crossed her arms over her chest, as if warding off the truth. The whole town had gossiped about Tarkin’s cavalier treatment of her ever since the engagement. Rick, busy hiding in his little cabin on the edge of Siggy Woods, busy trying to distance himself from life in general, hadn’t paid the news credence. He hadn’t really cared until Daisy had swept into the bakery today.

Not that he cared now, either.

As Matthew opened his mouth to continue, Rick tried to distance himself even more, especially since it was his big brother flapping his gums. The brother who couldn’t even admit to hoarding their dead father’s pride and attention. Not that Rick was bitter about it.

He cut across Matthew’s words. “I think Daisy knows more about this town’s history than you do,” he said, referring to Matthew’s recent bout with amnesia. Not more than two months ago, Matthew had returned home to Rachel and their daughter, claiming a loss of memory. He’d finally regained his senses, but he and Rick hadn’t ever ironed out what had happened between them so long ago. On graduation day. Before Rick’s time in the hot desert sun.

Something painful crossed Matthew’s brown eyes and, for a second, Rick thought he actually might be able to communicate with his brother, thought that they could, someday, sit down and talk about the tension between them.

But Matthew drew his mouth into a straight line, ignoring Rick. “As I was saying, Rache, do you really think flying Daisy away is going to solve the problem?”

Rick flowed back into the dark corner, his pride stinging. Vintage Matthew, the favored son. He’d slapped down younger brother once again. And Rick had deserved it.

Lacey, the stepsister who could take control of a situation even in a torn sweatshirt that had gone out of style two decades ago, slapped her palm on the counter. “I don’t hear any other ideas.”

Daisy held up a finger. “If I may say something?”

The room’s occupants blinked their eyes at Daisy, as if they’d all forgotten the reason for their rambling. Funny, but Rick had been aware of her the whole time. Aware of her light scent, her gleaming curls, her smooth skin.

Snap out of it, he told himself.

Daisy straightened her spine, tilted up her chin. “I believe St. Louis will do just fine. I even have a job prospect.”

Lacey gave her a thumbs-up sign. “So if Rick can manage to fly me and the local businessmen to our meetings every couple of days, maybe he can stop being so stubborn about it and volunteer to help around here.”

What was he, a mercy chauffeur? “Wait a minute. My Cessna’s due for its service.” Okay, so maybe he was stretching the truth a bit. His Cessna, his baby, was just fine. But all the same, “I can’t just up and fly out of Kane’s Crossing at the drop of a cowboy hat.”

He shot a glance at Matthew’s headgear, propped on his brother’s knee. When his gaze traveled higher, their eyes met, clashing.

“That’s okay,” said Daisy. “I’ll just take a commercial flight.”

Shame suffused Rick’s skin, marking him with stubborn rage. Why couldn’t he just offer to help? Why couldn’t he step away from his inner hermit—the one who liked to hide in that cabin by the woods—and be a savior?

Because he’d tried that before, and the results had been irreversible. Soul crushing.

Nick Cassidy finally spoke up from a corner booth, where he’d been watching Main Street from the window. “A commercial flight will make it easy for Peter Tarkin to track you down, Daisy.”

Rachel spoke up. “But let’s be fair here. We’re asking Rick to put his life on hold while Daisy gets established in St. Louis. He wouldn’t just drop her off and leave.”

She glanced at him as if asking, “Right?” It smarted that his sister-in-law was even wondering.

Nick stood, his boots scuffing across the floor as he walked toward Daisy. “Here,” he said, slipping a wad of money into her hand. “Whatever you do, this should keep you for a while.”

Daisy shook her head. “I can’t possibly—” Then she stopped, probably remembering that she wasn’t carrying a purse. Besides, she couldn’t go home now, not for money, clothes or apologies.

“No worries,” said Nick. He looked at Rick.

Dammit. He’d always admired Nick Cassidy, especially with the way the man had cleaned up corruption in Kane’s Crossing while empowering the citizens of the town. Having his friend watch him like this was almost as bad as having a big brother glaring at his wayward sibling.

Funny. He could almost bear that sort of attitude from Nick, but never from Matthew.

As Daisy stared at the money, biting her lower lip, Nick reached in his pocket again.

“No,” said Rick, holding both palms outward, as if warding off an approaching enemy. “I won’t need your money.”

Damn. He’d just committed himself. He knew it by the way the women were smiling at him, by the way Nick and Sam were regarding him with a gleam of respect in their gazes. By the way his brother was nodding his head.

Rick averted his glance before Matthew could affect him.

Lacey swaggered over to hug him. “Rick’s got that bulging trust fund from our parents, remember? Money isn’t what makes him ornery.”

No, life had made him that way. From their deceased parents, Matthew had inherited the horse farm and the Louisville business until he’d disappeared from Kane’s Crossing. With Rick’s blessing, Lacey, the stepchild, had taken over the business. Rick had only been bequeathed money—something that hadn’t required brains or trust.

Subtly, so no one could see, he squeezed Lacey’s arm and disengaged himself from her embrace. Then he walked toward Daisy. She watched him wide-eyed, just like she had in high school. Rick’s stomach tightened, clenching with an unidentifiable hunger.

He hovered over her until she narrowed her eyes at him. Good, he thought. Don’t depend on me.

“I’m not baby-sitting you,” he said, knowing at the same time that he’d never be able to live with himself if he just plopped her in St. Louis and left her to fend for herself. Like it or not, his nature wouldn’t allow him to abandon her, to take the chance that Tarkin would catch up to his runaway bride and make good on his threats to make her pay.

“I don’t expect any special attention,” she said.

Well, she damned sure had it. Rick took a step closer, grinning when she sucked in a quick breath. He allowed his gaze to linger at the level of her blue eyes, to saunter down to her ample cleavage.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m up here.”

Their audience stirred and started small-talking amongst themselves. Rick chuckled as he took his time making eye contact with Daisy.

“Since I’m not about to spend the rest of my life following you around,” he said, “let’s set a time limit for your St. Louis settling.”

“Sounds reasonable. How about two weeks?”

He chuffed. “Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do? One.”

“One and a half.”

He wasn’t going to win this round, and Rick Shane had a pretty good idea when to cut his losses. He’d spent his life practicing the art of fading into the background. “Not a day more,” he said.

He backed away from Daisy and addressed Nick. “Might as well get this over with.”

Nick nodded, and Daisy went to him, hugging him tightly. He accepted the gesture, fixing his thumbs in his belt loops as she stepped away.

“I’ll repay you, Mr. Cassidy,” she said.

Nick fought a grin. “It’s an almost-wedding gift.”

“Come on,” said Rick, sensing the room temperature turning mushy.

As he moved through the baking room and out the back door, he heard Lacey promising Daisy that she’d bring her clothes and other essentials before takeoff.

He had to leave, before the women caught up to him, making a fuss about how he was so angelic and sweet for helping a damsel in distress. That was the last thing he needed, especially since he was a reluctant participant in the first place.

He opened the passenger door of his Jeep, removing the dog-eared flight manuals and greasy rags that littered the seat. Then he propped his body against the driver’s side, lighting up a good cigar while he waited for the emotional farewell inside the bakery to play itself out. Damn, his friends and relatives loved a good drama.

He peered around, blowing out a plume of smoke. Kane’s Crossing was Sunday silent, the backyards lining the rear of the bakery still and pious. The Jeep’s passenger door was nearest to the bakery, so smuggling Daisy out would be that much easier.

His heart was actually pounding, dammit. Just as it had years ago, when he’d had much more dangerous things to worry about. A bead of sweat fixed itself to his upper lip and, with a lack of patience, Rick swept it away with the butt of his cigar.

Rachel and Matthew escorted Daisy out the back door, her veil and satin covered by a blanket. They helped her into the vehicle, instructing her to get on the floor so no one would see her. After shutting her inside, they turned to Rick.

Rachel kissed him on the cheek, and Rick tried not to flinch. Instead, he glanced away, tossing his cigar to the ground and driving it into the dirt with a boot heel. He didn’t even bother acknowledging Matthew as he swept around the Jeep’s hood and hopped inside the cab.

Once he’d started the engine and turned onto the road, he flicked on the radio, only to find a preacher blaring a sermon out of the speakers. He grinned, turning it a little louder, checking to see if the bundle of blanket, satin and Daisy would protest.

But the only response he got was the bounce of a golden ringlet as it worked its way from the coarse army-green blanket.

In a burst of mental gunfire, memory blinded him.

He saw another cowering female, desert sand burying itself in her hair like jewels in a crown.

Just as quickly, he shook himself back to the present, ignoring the throbbing pulse in his neck. His breath shortened, and he fought to regulate it.

But he couldn’t steady his hands.

As he gripped the sweat-dampened steering wheel, he aimed toward home, toward a little cabin in the woods where, once, he’d been able to hide from the rest of the world.

Daisy wanted to ask Rick to turn off that darned radio.

No. She wouldn’t push her luck. She’d been fortunate to find a way out of this wedding disaster, and she wasn’t about to blow it by testing Rick Shane’s temper.

Let him listen to fire and brimstone. Let him smile his cocky smile and try to get a rise out of her.

Daisy Cox was flying toward freedom, toward St. Louis, and nothing was going to stop her.

Under the blanket, she could pretend she was safe. Not like when she’d been a young girl, huddled under her comforter when Coral had told her that Mommy and Daddy were never coming home again. No, this time she was going to be reborn, emerging from this dark place with a new purpose, a new identity.

No more Daisy Cox, has-been beauty queen.

The Jeep shuddered to a halt, and she heard Rick’s door open, then shut.

Seconds passed. Was that jerk leaving her here?

She knew he hadn’t wanted to fly her anywhere. In fact, from the way Rick had protested his involvement in her escape, it was obvious that he’d just as soon strangle her for disrupting his life.

She felt guilty about it, too. Boy, did she ever. She didn’t enjoy grinding weddings to a halt, inconveniencing her sister for the rest of her life or dragging a man away from his beloved existence in Kane’s Crossing. But if she’d had any other choice, she would have taken it.

Finally, her door swished open. “Are you that relaxed?” asked Rick.

She peeked out of the blanket’s dark comfort, squinting as sunlight and Rick’s irritation poured over her. “A gentleman would help me out.”

“I am helping you out.” He walked a couple of steps away, then paused. Shaking his head, Rick returned, holding out a hand.

She peered down her nose at it, then made her way out of the Jeep. She could feel her breasts working themselves out of her bodice, but that’s what you got when you power ate before a big wedding. The seamstress had almost slapped Daisy silly when she’d shown up for her final fitting, ten pounds heavier than the last time.

And it wasn’t as if she’d been a twiggy creature during the first fitting, either.

When she finally managed to get to her feet without Rick’s help, she grinned at him. He stared right back, his face emotionless.

“Your crown is crooked,” he said, then turned away to walk toward his cabin.

As she adjusted her veil and followed him, she couldn’t help widening her smile. Freedom. Rick had it, with this cabin nestled on the fringes of a woodland copse. Pine trees guarded the solemn cabin with its knotholes decorating a cozy porch. All Rick Shane needed to be Davy Crockett was a coonskin cap and buckskins hugging his long legs.

Daisy sighed. She wasn’t about to think teenaged-girl thoughts about Rick again. That was then, this was now. And now was a whole lot more stressful.

He opened the unlocked front door and gestured for her to come in. She almost refused, just to be contrary. Just to see him grin at her like he used to in high school.

But she didn’t know if he’d respond the same way now. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if Rick hated her guts for roping him into her mess of a life.

As she stepped inside, the smell of pine washed over her senses. It was a man’s abode, all right, with patterned Indian blankets strewn over a spindly-legged couch, with woven mats serving as rugs and with a pillow-tossed, unmade bed resting in the corner. A T-shirt slouched over a chair back, trailing a pair of well-worn jeans that had found pooled sanctuary on the hardwood floor. It looked as if he’d stepped out of the clothing on the way to bed.

She could almost imagine him without a stitch of material covering his body, could almost imagine shadows playing over his hard chest while a rumpled sheet hid everything below. What if she slid that phantom sheet lower and lower…?

Stop right there, she told herself.

When she glanced at him, his brow was cocked, obviously aware that she was aware of the discarded clothes.

As if the sight of them was enough to unnerve her. All her life, she’d been paraded in front of judges, cheering parents, back-stabbing Miss So-and-so’s. Did he think she was so easily flustered?

Daisy pasted on her best panel-winning smile. “I want to take this opportunity to thank you for your help, Rick.”

Hmmm. She shouldn’t have said his name. It seemed far too intimate in light of the tossed-away jeans.

He must have possessed nerves radar, because just as soon as she thought “Hmmm,” he started moving toward her, shadowing her with his long body.

“Don’t thank me now. We’ve got a ways to go, darlin’.”

Daisy swallowed, coating her suddenly dry throat with indifference. “Well, it needed to be said.”

Well? The word was a time buyer, a dead giveaway to a loss of composure.

He took a step closer, bringing with him the slight scent of tobacco. Closer, close enough so she could see the outline of his Adam’s apple against a corded throat.

Close enough so his low voice rained through her with a liquid vibration. “You actually think this hare-brained plan is going to work?”

He reached out, grasping her blanket with both hands, the heat from his fingers making the skin of her throat tingle.

“It’s got to work.” Oh, she sounded scared, desperate.

Nervous.

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.