Kaitlyn Rice - The Runaway Bridesmaid

Whether they were on a break or not, Isabel shouldn’t give up on Roger. He might be a little gun-shy about a second marriage, but at least the marriage gun he wielded was loaded with fairly innocuous pellets. Eventually she’d convince Roger to marry her.

And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Marriage to a man who would stick around. And happy children. She thought she could achieve that with Roger. Why, she was already halfway there if she counted Angie and RJ.

Trevor was actually a year older than Roger and he’d never been married.

She didn’t think he had any kids. He was a committed bachelor, she had no doubt, and she could see why.

An enigmatic, sexy man like Trevor would surely come equipped with a machine gun.

A relationship with him simply wasn’t safe.

Dear Reader,

Do you know these people? She thinks nothing of sacrificing an afternoon to watch her down-on-their-luck neighbors’ kids. He brings a dozen doughnuts to the office on Monday morning, including several of those chocolate old-fashioneds you like and a jelly-filled Danish for the receptionist. She plans a girls’ night out on the second anniversary of your breakup, because she’s been there and she knows some times are still rough.

Thoughtful folks. I’m lucky enough to know a few of them. Isabel, my heroine and the second of the HEARTLAND SISTERS, is just such a people person. Sometimes she gets so caught up in helping everyone else that she forgets about her own wishes. She tells herself that her greatest desire is to make other people happy. Maybe so. But maybe she’s also afraid. Will people think she’s selfish? Will she try and fail? Will she try and succeed, and have to let someone down?

Oh, yes. I know a few Isabels.

Trevor Kincaid doesn’t have any trouble striving for his goals, and he lives the kind of exciting life Isabel only dreams about. He has a few fears of his own, however, and he’s missed out on the great adventure of trusting and loving another person to the depths possible in a truly committed relationship.

As with the best of couples, Isabel and Trevor have much to teach each other, and much to learn. I hope you enjoy their story.

I love hearing from readers. Please contact me through my Web site at www.kaitlynrice.com.

Happy reading!

Kaitlyn Rice

The Runaway Bridesmaid

Kaitlyn Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To a few great adults who recognize the importance of cherishing childhood and children: Jim C., Jamie and Jane, Kim and Lisa.

With a huge hug and thanks to each of you for helping my children feel special, in your own ways and times.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

972—TEN ACRES AND TWINS

1012—THE RENEGADE

1051—TABLE FOR FIVE

1085—THE LATE BLOOMER’S BABY*

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

“Toss it to me!” hollered a petite blonde as she bounced around on the lawn in front of Isabel Blume. The thirty-something dynamo had introduced herself as Peyton at the bridal shower, two weeks ago Isabel recalled, and she’d arrived at this afternoon’s wedding on the arm of a George Clooney look-alike.

“Aim left and throw hard,” another woman commanded from her spot near the rose-trimmed arbor. Isabel didn’t remember the name of the tall redhead, but the Wichita ob-gyn had celebrated her forty-first birthday last year by touring French castles.

“Watch out, gals, this un’s mine!” The husky female drawl from the back had come from the bride’s college roommate, a Dallas banker who, at twenty-six, had recently been promoted to VP of her company.

From the sound of things, a person might think the women were throwbacks to a time when a nice, single gal over twenty had cause to be concerned about a dwindling pool of potential suitors. That wasn’t the case here at all. Most of these women had the world by the tail: careers, lovers, numerous friends. Plans for houses and children and travel.

These women were bachelorettes, not spinsters. They were merely having fun as they waited for the bride to stop posing for the photographer and toss the bouquet.

Isabel wished she could get into a party mood, too, but she had never felt comfortable around so many people. She’d inherited too many of her mother’s traits, she supposed. She glanced toward the waiting crowd just in time to watch Roger leave the backyard through the gate.

Where was he going?

Isabel scanned the folding chairs for Roger’s two kids, then offered a quick wave when she spotted them. Maybe their dad had stepped out for a moment of quiet.

She was here as Roger’s guest, of course—his cousin was the bride. Isabel didn’t really know these folks. Though she’d grown up in the nearby Kansas countryside, she hadn’t gone to school in Augusta. Her mother, Ella, had taught Isabel and her sisters at home. She’d kept them at home, period, always insisting that a rudimentary life was the better way.

How many times had Isabel wished she could trade places with any other girl in town? To attend school in a classroom with a desk her size. To accept birthday party invitations and giggle with friends over cake and musical chairs. To travel on cheerful yellow buses to the zoos and museums she’d only read about.

Even now, she’d love to switch with one of these other women for an hour—just long enough to feel her confidence. Maybe Peyton, with her obviously devoted swain, crisp gingham suit and slinky black thong sandals.

Or maybe Isabel would rather be the bride. Roger’s cousin had traded vows with an Arkansas man, and the couple was moving to the Ozarks to run a shop specializing in custom-built cradles. What a dream!

When the photographer finished, the bride turned her back to the group, and the ladies resumed shouting as eagerly as the most talkative catcher behind home plate at Augusta Middle School, where Roger’s son played league softball.

Isabel bit her tongue and crossed her arms in front of her. She had no business catching the bouquet. She was only standing with this group now because one of the bridesmaids had dragged her out here.

The bouquet left the bride’s hands and arced over the space. Isabel watched the gorgeous pink mixture sail past the others, heading straight for her nose. At the last minute, she reached up and caught it.

Groans and chuckles filled the cool April air while Isabel righted the bouquet and inhaled its fine scent. Any magic in these flowers, she knew, was merely in the enjoyment of them.

The other women scattered into the crowd, and Isabel carried the bouquet across to the chairs, where Roger’s six-year-old daughter looked as if she might burst from excitement.

“You catched the flowers,” Angie hollered, jumping up from her seat to clap her hands on either side of her punch-stained mouth. “I know what that means. If you marry my daddy, you’ll be my ee-bil ol’ stepmother, right?”