Читать книгу With This Ring - Lee Mckenzie - Страница 5

Brent Borden pulled his flatbed truck onto the quiet, tree-lined street. The road was not a direct route from the lumberyard to the construction site—far from it—and he’d be the first to admit that he’d driven by the church on purpose. According to the clock on the dashboard, the ceremony would start any minute, so he couldn’t have said exactly what he was looking for. Closure, maybe. But he sure as hell never expected to see the bride running down the sidewalk.

Barefoot.

In the rain.

Away from the church.

He eased off the accelerator and peered through the blurred windshield. It was Leslie, all right. So he did what anyone would have done. He pulled over, leaned across the cab and wound down the window.

“Need a ride?”

FOR THE first time in her life, Leslie Durrance had no idea where she was going and, furthermore, she didn’t care. Anything would be better than what she had just left behind. Except maybe this. She had no intention of accepting help from a free-and-easy construction worker who also happened to be her brother’s best friend and, quite possibly, the most annoying man in the world.

“Hey, need a ride?” he asked again.

She slowed her pace but kept moving. “No, thank you.”

“Are you lost?”

She hitched the soggy skirt of the satin and lace Armani gown a little higher and shook her head.

“I see.” His truck inched along beside her. “Do you know you’re going in the wrong direction?”

She stopped then and glared at him through the partly open window. “I know exactly what I’m doing and where I’m going.”

He braked. “So you don’t need a lift?”

She wanted to say no, but the inside of his truck looked very inviting. Warm and dry, and just about the last place anyone in Collingwood Station would look for her.

As though he sensed her hesitation, he leaned across the cab and opened the door. “Hop in.”

What choice did she have? It wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for her, and looking for answers.

She hiked up her dress and climbed into the truck.

“Where to?” Brent’s voice held a hint of concern but he seemed surprisingly nonplussed by the ridiculousness of the situation.

Where could she go? Not to her town house, or to her mother’s house. Those would be the first two places people would look for her. Her office building was closed on Saturdays and she didn’t have the keys with her. She was too mortified to go to any of her friends for help. Besides, they were all still inside the church. A hotel? Not without some cash and a credit card.

She had no plan and no place to go, and some crazy twist of fate had landed her in the cab of a truck with a man she’d rejected more times than she could count.

“Why did you stop?” she asked. “After all the things I’ve said to you over the years, it wouldn’t have surprised me if you’d just driven by.”

The wounded look that flickered in his eyes was one she’d seen before. “You really think that little of me?” he asked, running his hand through his dark wavy hair that was, as it always had been, just a tad too long to be manageable.

She lowered her gaze and realized she was still clutching the stupid shoes she’d taken off so she could run faster. “No. Right now, that’s how little I think of myself.”

He didn’t respond to that. Instead, he reached behind the seat and pulled out a jean jacket. “You must be cold. Lean forward a bit.”

She was too numb to feel anything, but she couldn’t stop shivering, so he was probably right.

He draped the faded denim around her shoulders and she snuggled into it.

The workmanlike scent of sawdust was oddly comforting. “Do you think we could just drive around for a while till I figure out what to do?” This morning she’d thought this New England summer storm might ruin her wedding. Now it was the least of her worries.

“You’re soaking wet and you want drive around town with a truckload of lumber?”

No. She wanted to crawl under a rock and die. She turned to face him and his eyes softened immediately.

“How ’bout we go to my place?” he suggested.

Nice try, she thought. “You can’t be serious.”

“This isn’t high school, Leslie. I’m not going to make a pass at you. You can get dried off and warmed up, and take all the time you need to figure out what you want to do. But if you have a better idea—”

She felt like an idiot. He was being very sweet about this, a lot sweeter than she deserved. “Thank you. Your place will be fine.”

SLOWLY MANEUVERING the oversized truck through town gave him the opportunity to glance at her from time to time. “You want to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Okay. I wasn’t trying to pry or anything. Just thought you might want to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Got it. I live across town. We’ll be there in five minutes or so.”

They made the drive in silence, during which he was acutely aware of the change from the stately old residences that surrounded the church to the much smaller and often rundown houses in his neighborhood. The drive also gave him time to ponder this unexpected turn of events. Whatever it was that had made her run, it had to be serious. Leslie Durrance didn’t do things like this. For as long as he’d known her, which had been pretty much his whole life, he couldn’t ever remember her doing anything impulsive. She’d been on the honor roll and the student council. Then she’d gone to college and law school, just like everyone knew she would. She’d been the prettiest girl in school and he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been completely crazy about her.

He’d always known the two of them would never work. Why would she settle for him when she could have any guy she set her sights on? She was from a wealthy, prominent family. He’d been raised by his mother in subsidized housing. A quick sideways glance assured him nothing had changed. She wore a necklace and earrings that had more diamonds than he’d ever seen outside a jewelry store. He stole a second look. Her engagement ring must have cost as much as he earned in two years. Maybe more.

He pulled the truck into his driveway, shut off the engine and turned to face her. “Here we are.”

She sat motionless, as though she might be having second thoughts. He could hardly blame her.

“Sit tight. I’ll come around and get the door for you.” If anything, the rain was coming down even harder than when he’d picked her up by the church. He jogged around the front of the truck and by the time he got to her door, his T-shirt was soaking wet. He opened the door and offered her a hand while being careful to keep his distance.

She placed her small, slender hand into his. For once she seemed willing to accept a little help without putting up a fight.

“You’re freezing,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

She was still clutching her shoes in her free hand but she managed to gather up the skirt of the wedding gown and step out of the truck. He should probably offer to take the shoes from her, but he sensed she’d only let him do so much before she let him have it.

“Ow!” She stumbled slightly when her bare feet touched the gravel.

Without giving her a chance to protest, he swung her off the ground and headed for the shelter of the veranda. With one arm supporting her shoulders and the other hooked behind her knees, he fumbled with the keys and finally found the lock.

“Brent?”

He looked down into her wide brown eyes and his hand froze on the knob. “What?”

“Put me down,” she whispered. “Please.” Her voice caught on the last word and came out in a little sob.

He set her down immediately. “Sorry. I was just trying to help.”

It sounded too lame to be the truth, even though it was. The wariness in Leslie’s eyes didn’t fade and he knew what she was thinking.

Smooth move, Borden. Since when did carrying another man’s bride across your threshold qualify as helpful?

LESLIE hadn’t given any thought to where Brent lived but she never would have predicted an old cottage that had been so carefully restored. She stopped inside the front door and looked around.

He came up behind her and she felt his hand on her back. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “What a charming little house.”

“You sound surprised.” He sounded offended.

“I just meant that it’s charming and it’s been beautifully restored and—” Hmm. Given that he worked for her brother’s construction company, he’d probably done the work himself. Still, the house seemed out of character for the Brent Borden she used to know, which suggested he probably hadn’t done this alone. “Did someone help you with it?”

He guided her into the entryway and closed the door. “You think I can’t fix up a house without a woman’s help?”

This was not going well. “I’m sorry.” How many times had she said that since he’d picked her up? “I’m not thinking too clearly. All I wanted to say is that you’ve done a great job. So, you live here alone?”

“No.”

Her brother had mentioned recently that Brent wasn’t married, but it made sense that someone as offhandedly charming and, let’s face it, downright sexy as Brent would have a woman in his life. Maybe even the one she’d seen him with at Donaldson’s Deli, not long after she’d moved back to Connecticut. Her stomach gave an odd little lurch.

“She won’t mind you bringing me here?” Stupid question. How many women would be happy to have their partner bring home a fugitive bride?

He eased around her, which brought him even closer. “I guess I could have called and left a message, but I’m pretty much used to doing whatever I want.”

More than anything, Leslie wanted to slap the smirk off his face, but the way he handled his relationship was none of her business. “Some things never change.”

He did a mini eye roll. “You got that right. But you’re here now so you might as well come in and meet Max.”

Max? Unusual name for a woman.

Brent kicked off his boots and walked across the living room and through the kitchen.

Leslie waited by the front door, not sure if she should venture farther until she knew what Max’s reaction would be. Besides, her dress was making a puddle on the floor and she didn’t want to make an even bigger mess of the gleaming hardwood.

A door opened and closed and that was followed by the sound of skittering on linoleum and by Brent’s voice. “Hey, boy, glad to see me? Come on. Yeah, good boy. Come on. Somebody wants to meet you.”

Max was a dog. And a boy dog at that. Brent had rescued her from an impossible situation and brought her here until she could figure out what to do next, and she’d insulted him and made herself look even more foolish. What was it about this man that brought out the worst in her?

No, that wasn’t fair. That made it sound as though this was his fault, and it wasn’t. A better question was, why did she still overreact to everything he said?

Before she could figure out the answer, a huge gray and white sheepdog bounded across the living room, heading straight for her.

“Max! Down!”

Max planted his front paws on the floor and skidded to stop in front of her, his entire back end wagging. He gazed at her through a shaggy curtain of fur.

“Max, sit.”

The dog’s ears perked up and he glanced back at his master as if checking to see if he really meant what he said.

“Sit.”

Max slowly lowered his wagging haunches to the floor.

Leslie patted his head. “Good boy.”

Humor sparkled in Brent’s eyes. “He doesn’t always behave but what he lacks in manners, he makes up for with enthusiasm.”

That makes two of you, she thought, but resisted the urge to say it out loud. After the way Brent had rescued her this morning, that would be unfair.

And at least Max hadn’t turned out to be the woman she’d seen him with at the deli. She’d seemed a little young for Brent, anyway. They had been sitting at a table that Saturday morning, his arm draped across the back of her chair. They were leaning close and gazing into each other’s eyes, and then she’d dipped her finger into the foam of her cappuccino and offered it to him. From the way he looked at her and took her finger into his mouth, it was obvious the two of them had spent the night together.

Brent hadn’t seen Leslie, so she’d quickly moved to the counter, her back toward him. After she’d made her purchase and chatted briefly with old Mr. Donaldson, she turned away from the counter and caught Brent watching her. His smile had been a combination of surprise and his old good-natured, happy-to-see-you charm. She’d given him a brief nod in return and hurried out of the shop. In high school she’d had to spend a certain amount of time with him because he was her brother’s best friend. This was no longer high school, and she was glad to see that he’d found someone to be with.

Half an hour later she’d finished shopping and was loading her purchases into the trunk of her car when she saw Brent helping Cappuccino Girl into his old blue and white truck. His hand had curled over her butt and lingered just a little too long.

Leslie withdrew her hand from the coarse, wiry fur on Max’s head and pulled the denim jacket more snugly around her shoulders as she shivered.

“You must be freezing,” Brent said. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

She glanced at him warily.

He rolled his eyes again but didn’t comment on her reaction. “Maybe a hot bath while I see if I can find some dry clothes that will fit you?”

“A hot bath would be wonderful.” She set her shoes on the floor and was again aware of the puddle that her dripping dress had made. “Look at this mess. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just water,” Brent said. “I’ll wipe it up, if Max doesn’t get to it first. The bathroom’s through here.”

Max leaped to his feet and trotted next to him, through an archway that led to a small space that couldn’t really be called a hallway, since it was only as long as it was wide.

Leslie followed, noticing for the first time just how tall and broad shouldered Brent was.

Most of the tiny bathroom was taken up by the biggest claw-foot tub she’d ever seen. She could hardly wait to get out of the cold, wet dress and into a tubful of hot water.

“There’s a shower if you’d prefer that.” He indicated the curtain suspended from a brass rail over the tub.

She shook her head.

Without a word, he inserted a plug in the drain and turned on the taps.

Max settled himself on the bath mat.

“Help yourself to towels,” Brent said, pointing to a wall shelf, “and anything else you need. I’ll see what I can find for you to wear.”

“Thank you.” She hoped he meant something of his because she would die of embarrassment if he produced another woman’s clothing.

Once he was out of the room, she slipped his jacket off her shoulders and hung it on a hook on the back of the door. The cool air raised goose bumps on her arms and shoulders.

Shivering almost uncontrollably, she stretched one arm over her shoulder to unzip the back of her dress. It was just out of reach. She extended her other arm around her back and still couldn’t unfasten it. Getting into the thing hadn’t been a problem because Allison and Candice, her bridesmaids, had been there to help. At least, Allison had helped. Candice, not so much.

An inviting cloud of steam rose from the water in the tub. Maybe she should just climb in, dress and all. Or find a pair of scissors and cut her way out of the damn thing. The very idea sent a giggle rising up her throat. Not even in her current state could she destroy such a beautiful and expensive gown.

Max’s dark, soulful eyes stared up at her.

“Whatever you do, don’t ever get married.”

“Excuse me?” Brent stood in the doorway.

“Sorry. I was talking to Max.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think there’s much danger of him doing anything rash. He and I have already had that talk, and besides…” Brent shielded his mouth with one hand and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “He’s been fixed.”

She refused to let herself be baited again. “You’ll have to give me the name of his surgeon. I know someone who would benefit from that procedure.”

“Ouch. I’ll have to be careful to stay on your good side.”

“Good plan.”

“All right, then.” He handed her a pair of gray sweatpants, a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and a thick pair of black cotton socks. “This is the best I can do. The pants have a drawstring,” he said, glancing at her waist. He stepped closer and she quickly backed away, narrowly missing Max’s paw.

Brent leaned over the tub and turned off the taps.

“I can look after that,” she said.

His sharp glance had her wishing, yet again, that she could stop overreacting. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

“No trouble. While you’re in the bath, I’ll run out and pick up some more clothes for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can—” She paused. She could do what? Go back to her town house and deal with Gerald and her mother? No way. “Thank you. But please keep the receipts and I’ll pay you back.”

He gave her an odd look. “I wasn’t planning to go shopping. My mother collects clothing for the homeless shelter, so she always has things on hand. Everything will be secondhand, but it’ll be clean and mended.”

“Oh.”

“Unless that’s not going to work for you.”

What he meant was, unless that’s not good enough for you. She could hardly blame him for having such a low opinion of her.

She squared her shoulders and wished she could stop shivering. “Since I’m temporarily homeless, that’ll work just fine. Please thank your mother for me. When my life gets backs to normal, I’ll have the clothes dry-cleaned and return them.” Under the circumstances, it was the least she could do.

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” He looked as though he’d like to say more. Whatever it was, she was glad he kept it to himself. She was on the verge of tears again, and the last thing she wanted was for him to try to console her.

He fished his keys from his pocket, and Max jumped up right away. “Sorry, boy, not this time. You stay here with Leslie.”

The dog’s tail-wagging—assuming there was a tail under all that fur—subsided only slightly as he looked from Brent to her and back again.

“You can take him with you. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be. Still, I’ll leave him here. He’ll let you know if anyone comes to the door and he’ll keep barking until they leave. You won’t have to bother answering, and you’ll know when they’re gone.”

“Are you expecting someone?” Since she was absolutely certain that no one would come here looking for her, she could only assume that Brent didn’t want any of his potential visitors to know she was here.

“No one in particular. Your brother’s been known to show up, though, and I just thought that given what’s happened…”

Of course. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Good thinking. I don’t want to see anyone right now.” Especially not her family.

“I don’t get a lot of company, so it looks like you’ve come to the right place.”

She looked longingly at the steam rising from the tub. “Thanks again,” she said, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. “I really do appreciate this.”

“You’re freezing. I’ll get out of your way.” He was out the door before she remembered the zipper.

“Brent?”

He looked back. “Yeah?”

She turned sideways and pointed over her shoulder. “Um…I can’t reach the zipper. Would you mind?”

He looked as though he’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear, but he slowly stepped back into the room. “Turn around,” he said gruffly.

She complied and stood stock-still. The day had been filled with unexpected situations. What was one more?

Firm fingers brushed her skin. She closed her eyes, as if that might somehow block out his touch. No such luck.

The length of time it took him to undo the hook-and-eye closure at the top of the zipper was proof that the tiny device had not been designed for big workman’s hands. When it finally gave way, his breath came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding it, and sent a delicious shower of warm air down the back of her neck.

The zipper gave him no trouble at all and when it neared her waist, he let go all of a sudden and backed away. “You can manage the rest.” And then he was gone.

Startled, Leslie opened her eyes.

The front door opened and banged shut.

Max’s ears perked up and he dashed out of the room.

For a few seconds she’d actually forgotten where she was, and who was undressing her. No, that wasn’t the truth. Every heightened nerve ending and every inch of chilled skin had been perfectly well aware of who was doing the undressing. Careful, she warned herself. That’s one place you never wanted to go, and now is not the time to consider it.

She had every intention of having a quick bath and being dressed by the time Brent returned, but just to be safe she closed the bathroom door and turned the lock.

She shimmied out of the dress and let it fall to the floor. The air against her damp skin made her shiver. She quickly unfastened her wet bra and dropped it onto the dress. She tried to slide her panties down her legs. The damp fabric stuck to her thighs but she finally managed to roll them off.

She stepped into the bath and lowered herself into the water, gasping slightly as her cold skin adjusted to the warmth. Then she rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. The dangling, diamond-studded strands of her earrings grazed her shoulders. She slipped them off and reached for the clasp of the necklace. The jewelry had been a wedding gift from Gerald. She reached over the edge of the tub and tossed them onto the dress.

She slid deeper into the tub, hot water swooshing around her shoulders. She wanted to be furious with Gerald, but she was having trouble mustering any real anger. Loathing. Disgust. Definitely those. As the wedding date had drawn closer, she’d started to feel antsy and unsure of herself. She didn’t believe in premonitions, but maybe her subconscious had been picking up things that she hadn’t wanted—or even been ready—to acknowledge.

Things like what a two-timing, no-good son of a bitch she’d almost married. Luckily she’d found out about his affair before the ceremony and not afterward.

She was even grateful for the bizarre twist of fate that had landed her here. Brent’s timely rescue had bought her some precious time. No one knew where she was, and when she finally did see her family and her good-for-nothing slimeball of an ex-fiancé, it would be on her terms.

By now Gerald would have figured out that she’d seen him with another woman. And not just any woman, but one of her bridesmaids, one of her best friends. Meanwhile he’d be trying to convince everyone that today’s disastrous events had been her fault.

She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of the two of them in the back of the coat room at the church.

A big, fat tear rolled down her cheek. You will not cry, she told herself. Gerald Bedford III and Candice Bentley-Ferguson deserved each other. Not only were they cut from the same bolt, they’d each chosen someone who was bound to cheat on them.

Leslie opened her eyes and reached for a bar of soap. The ring on her left hand sparkled.

Damn it.

It was a gorgeous ring. She’d been the envy of everyone she knew, and probably lots she didn’t. When Gerald had given it to her, it had represented everything that was right about their relationship. They were young successful professionals with brilliant futures. They had everything going for them.

Why wasn’t that enough? Better question. Why wasn’t she good enough for him?

In spite of her best efforts to hold the tears at bay, her eyes filled up and the room blurred. Today she was supposed to cross number five off her Life List. She slid the ring off her finger and tossed it into the soap dish. She’d earned the right to a little self-pity, as long as she got herself under control before Brent came home with her hand-me-downs.

BRENT SLAMMED the gear shift into Reverse and backed out of the driveway as fast as a ton of lumber would allow. Leslie probably thought he was a lunatic for tearing out on her like that, but he’d had a hard-on that would stop a train and there had only been two possible outcomes.

Either he’d do something he’d regret, or he’d get the hell out of there before he did something he’d regret.

The feel of her skin, the scent of her damp, sweet-smelling hair and the sight of her lacy white bra were now branded into his brain, and still had his libido on full alert. Which might account for his uncharacteristically bad driving, although it would make a lousy defense if he crashed into someone. He eased off the accelerator and brought the truck to a stop at a red light, chiding himself for being such an idiot.

She’d always made it abundantly and sometimes scathingly clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. In the seventh grade, at Candice Bentley’s birthday party, he’d finagled his way into playing seven minutes in heaven with her. That kiss had lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of four seconds.

Leslie had been a little slip of a girl in those days but she’d packed a mighty wallop.

Undaunted, he’d pursued her through high school. It had actually turned into a game, and he’d always been the loser.

He would ask her out. She’d say no.

He’d call her. She’d hang up.

He’d tuck a note into her locker. She’d scrunch it into a ball and toss it in the trash.

A horn honking behind him told him the light had turned green. He was glad to have an excuse to get away from her for a while. Too bad it meant going to his mother’s place though. She would question his sudden need for women’s clothing, and he’d never been any good at flying under her radar.

Maybe she wouldn’t be home, he thought. He could just help himself to whatever he could find and she’d be none the wiser. He pulled up along the curb and spotted her ancient Dodge station wagon in the driveway. No such luck.

He sprinted through the rain to the back door and let himself in. “Mom? You home?”

“In here, dear. What brings you by this morning?”

He followed his nose into the kitchen. She was making chicken stew. “It’s almost lunchtime. And since when do I need a reason to visit the most gorgeous woman in Collingwood Station?”

“Since you’re blocking the street with a truckload of building materials and trying to use that sweet talk on someone who knows better than to fall for it.”

“We were supposed to start a new job on Monday. I have to deliver that load to the site sometime today, so I won’t be here for long.” He crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“What do you mean by ‘supposed to’?” she asked.

“I might be tied up with something else for a few days.” He reached over her shoulder and snagged a piece of raw carrot from the pile on the chopping block.

“Watch it, young man, or you might lose one of those fingers.”

He laughed. “I’ll take my chances. Are you expecting company?” he asked. If the size of the stewpot was anything to go by, she was cooking for a crowd.

“I thought I’d make enough for a meal or two for myself and take the rest to the shelter. They’re a little short on food this weekend.”

At this rate she’d never be able to retire, but talking to her about it was a losing battle. She’d carry the weight of the whole world on her shoulders if anyone asked her to. His mother was younger than most of the mothers of his friends, but she often looked tired and older than she actually was. Today was one of those days.

She’d become a single parent at sixteen and had struggled through a lot of hardship. He remembered her helping him with homework while she studied and worked to put herself through college. Nothing had changed when she became a social worker. In spite of an ample salary, she still lived in the little old house she’d purchased twenty years ago, and somehow she managed to keep her geriatric Dodge running. Every spare penny went to help those who were less fortunate than she was.

She tossed handfuls of diced carrots and celery into the pot and started on the potatoes. “So, you haven’t told me what brings you by.”

He might as well cut to the chase. “I need to borrow a few things.”

“What would you like? And don’t tell me it’s take-out chicken stew. If you want any of that, you’ll have to come back and have dinner with me.”

“Sorry. No can do.”

“Your loss.” She gave him one of her big, warm smiles. “So if it’s not food, what are you after?”

“I need some women’s clothing. Enough for a few days. Size four,” he said. “If you have anything.”

She set her knife on the butcher block and wiped her hands on a towel as she turned to face him.

“That’s an odd request.”

“Not really. A friend of mine is in kind of a jam and she needs a few things. Just temporarily, until…”

His explanation trailed off as his mother’s scrutiny intensified.

“Please tell me this friend of yours isn’t Leslie Durrance.”

Damn, she was good.