Kaitlyn Rice - The Runaway Bridesmaid

A national disaster sounded bad enough.

“Were you and your husband affected?” he asked.

“I’m not married.” Briefly she lifted her ringless hand. “But yes, my house was damaged. I had to move out for a few months, until my family and I finished repairs.”

Not married. That explained some of it. Most husbands would have coached this reckless optimist about highway safety.

Ignoring the twitch in his libido at the new knowledge of her single status, Trevor took the map from the woman to study it.

Single or not, she was merely traveling through.

“You are so considerate to help me,” she said. “Roger told me I should stay home. He actually said I was too naive to travel alone. I told him to bug off.”

This Roger sounded sharp. Trevor knew he had no business asking, but he was curious. “Who’s Roger?”

The woman appeared to be startled by the question.

“Roger’s my, uh, neighbor. And Angie’s father.” She nodded. “He lives down the road a couple of miles. Anyway, Angie’s mother remarried recently, which surprised everyone since she’d known the guy all of a month. She’d taken time off to spend the summer with her kids, and suddenly that plan changed. Angie was heartbroken, so of course I brought her with me.”

Trevor knew that story. Too many people had kids and discovered later that it would take eighteen years to raise them. After murmuring his agreement that bringing the child was the right thing to do, he started detailing the best return route to Longmont.

“I truly appreciate this,” she said as she took her map from him moments later.

“It was nothing.”

“You’re a gentleman. Thanks.” She reached across the seat to pat his shoulder. But the touch was too soft. Trevor’s body responded as if it were a caress.

She must have felt that zing of attraction, too. She stared at the point of contact, then frowned and snatched back her hand.

Trevor met her gaze as an awareness flowed between them. He’d noticed her, sure enough.

Legs. Eyes. Warmth.

Now he knew she’d noticed him, too.

He tensed, willing away his body’s immediate and senseless response. It’d been a while, and she was sexy.

And a complete stranger, headed down the road in the opposite direction. Their paths had crossed for a few minutes. That was all. He hid his crazy regret behind a grin. “No problem.”

He was already too late to worry about the time, so Trevor decided to maintain his gallant image. He jumped out of the Jeep to run around and open her door for her. “Have fun in Longmont, doing whatever,” he said as she stepped onto the gravel shoulder.

“Thanks. And you have—” she gazed up the highway with a thoughtful frown, then refocused on him and shrugged “—a good life, I guess.”

Trevor watched to make sure she got in her car and turned around, then started his Jeep and drove away to do exactly as she’d suggested.

Less than ten minutes later, he sped up the drive that led to the Burch ranch. Although Sam’s parents had run a small-scale cattle operation here when he was growing up, their more enterprising son had added the lodge and guest cabins soon after taking over.

For the past three years Trevor had used part of his summer hiatus to come up here and direct a summer wilderness experience for teenage boys. He loved it, even if the precamp organization was a chore.

As he parked in front of the main lodge, he was pleased to see the front door open. That had to be Sam inside. Darla should be returning from Greeley this morning, after spending several days with her sick mother.

A gravelly voice drifted out from the back as soon as Trevor walked through the door. “You’re late.”

“Oh, I know. I stopped to help some woman out on the county road.”

“Car trouble?” Sam appeared in his office doorway, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Just hopelessly lost in some rattletrap car.” Trevor’s eyes were glued to Sam’s cup. “Any of that left?”

When Sam nodded, Trevor crossed to Darla’s work area to pour himself some. He took a sip and winced. Sam might be a master at mixing protein meal for his cattle, but he couldn’t remember how many scoops of coffee to put in a pot. Today he’d overshot by about two.

“Problem?” Sam scanned Trevor’s face.

“This is fine.”

Sam leaned his gaunt frame against the door sill. “You are really, really late. What’d you have to do, draw the woman a detailed map of the entire state?”

“No, I showed her the way on her map. That’s all.”

Sam held his gaze, then one side of his mouth lifted. “Must’ve been a looker.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re surly.”

Trevor lifted his cup. “Nah, caffeine just hasn’t had time to take effect.”

“This is more than a normal morning grump. If you hadn’t been interested in this woman, you’d be telling me all about what happened on that highway.” Sam narrowed his gaze, studying him. “I’m thinking she was a red-hot redhead.”

Ignoring him, Trevor took another sip of coffee and repressed the grimace when it went down.

“Exotic looking? Black hair?”

He didn’t bat an eyelash.

“A blond princess?”

“More like a sleeping beauty,” Trevor blurted. “She spoke openly to me, as if I were her brother or husband, and she was almost abnormally naive.”

“And you liked her.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Lord, Sam. Is this junior high?”

“Was that a yes, my cynical friend?” Sam’s tanned cheeks formed two deep crevices when he smiled.

Trevor scowled. Sam had been the world’s biggest cynic until he’d fallen for Darla. Now he’d decided he had some obligation to pull Trevor into romantic bliss alongside him. The guy had been nudging him toward women constantly, and he’d been way too interested in Trevor’s weekends.

“Did you get her number, bud?”

Sighing, Trevor strode into his office.

“What about her name?” Sam asked from beyond the wall.

“Just settle yourself down, Sam. She was a tourist. I’ll never see her again.”

Sam fell silent, thank God.

Trevor set the cup on top of his file cabinet and pulled out a topographic map, refusing to think about the woman another second.

He’d never been the type to start up with anyone he couldn’t afford to know well. His parents had been expert at that—between the two of them they’d been married six times. Several of those marriages had lasted less than a year, and several had produced children.

Trevor had eight stepsiblings between the ages of two and his own thirty-two. Except for the toddler, they all had commitment issues.

Not him, though. He stuck with long-term, noncontractual relationships with women who appreciated his realistic view of marriage. He’d been with Martie for four years and Christina for three. Chris had moved on five months ago, and Trevor hadn’t found his next serious girlfriend, yet.

But he would. And they’d have fun and no regrets.

Clearing a spot on his desk, Trevor moved his cup there, then carried the map around to sit and study it. Five college-age counselors would be arriving in three days, requiring a week of intensive training. The following Monday, twenty-six younger boys would arrive, and those were merely the first-session campers. By the end of the next seven weeks, ninety-six boys in various stages of adolescence would have rotated in and out of here. As director of the camp, Trevor needed to be ready.

He lifted the map, forcing himself to think about day hikes and climbing excursions.

“Hey, Trev?”

“Yeah.”

“What color was that rattletrap?”

He froze in his seat for a moment. Then he got up and walked out to the front office, where Sam stood gazing out the screen door. A tan car was pulling into the drive. Trevor watched it slow to a stop behind his Jeep.