Susan Mallery - The Rancher and the Runaway Bride

But she hadn’t mentioned them in her too brief conversation with Noah. Instinctively she’d guessed that he wouldn’t believe her. Why would he? It was such an insane story, she barely believed it herself. In the light of day it was easy to laugh off what had happened as some bizarre misunderstanding. But at night, when she was alone, the fear returned, and she knew that those few seconds when she’d faced death had been very, very real.

At least she’d recognized her brother had been right with his assessment of her character before the wedding. It was time for her to grow up. And that was what she was going to do while she was on the road. Grow up. Take responsibility for her actions and stop expecting other people to rescue her.

Maybe she should call again. It had been too many weeks since they’d tried to talk. But she didn’t really have anything to tell Noah, or anyone.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around at the large main room. Long sofas and overstuffed chairs filled the floor space. The homey prints, brass floor lamps and magazine-covered tables were so different from the cool elegance of her mother’s house. There wasn’t a nonfunctional antique in sight. Randi figured she should have been appalled or at least contemptuous. But she wasn’t. If anything, the room drew her in, invited her to stay awhile, to be comfortable. To be safe.

This room felt like home.

She crossed to the fireplace and stared at the pictures on the mantel. They showed an attractive couple, first as newlyweds, then in different stages of their lives. Randi picked up one that featured the parents and an eight- or nine-year-old Brady standing next to a horse. He proudly showed off a blue first-place ribbon.

The couple stood close, their arms brushing in a way that was intimate yet comfortable. The man beamed with pride as he rested his right hand on his son’s shoulder. Brady had his father’s size and strength, and his mother’s winning smile.

Randi touched the glass covering the picture and ignored the stab of longing. Someday she would find a place to belong and someone to love. Someday she would figure out what she wanted and be grown up enough to make it work.

Brady Jones was a lucky man. She hoped he was smart enough to appreciate all he had.

Brady stood in the entrance to the dining room and watched his men talk about their day. They were an interesting group, these cowboys he’d hired. Some had spent years on the rodeo circuit, some had grown up on nearby ranches, some hired on to escape a present or a past they couldn’t handle. He was used to strays, but telling himself Rita was no different from anyone else wasn’t going to cut it. She was a woman and that made her different.

Had he made a mistake? Maybe he should have turned her away, despite the fact she had nowhere else to go. There were cities with shelters. Not around here, but in the bigger towns.

He didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to have to care about a stranger’s fate. Yet he could no more escape that than he could change the color of his eyes or his height. He was his father’s son, and he’d learned early to look out for people.

He heard footsteps on the concrete path and grimaced. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know it was her. Her step was lighter and quicker, her stride shorter. He’d hired a woman—what on earth had he been thinking?

As he turned to greet her, he reminded himself it was too late for second thoughts. He’d offered her a week’s trial, and he wasn’t about to go back on his word. He would make it clear to the men that she wasn’t to be given special treatment, nor was she to be considered available.

She smiled when she saw him. Her hair was damp and pulled back in a tight braid. So far no curls had escaped to tease at her face and neck. Although she’d showered, she’d put on the same inexpensive, worn clothing. Times had been hard. For a moment, he allowed himself to speculate about her past, then he pushed the thoughts aside. As long as she did her job, her past wasn’t his business.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She laughed and touched her flat stomach. “Starving. I could smell whatever is cooking the moment I stepped out of the house. I felt like one of those characters in a cartoon who floats along, inhaling the scent.”

Her bright smile made him respond in kind. Then his expression froze as he realized she was hungry because she hadn’t eaten that day. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he sensed it as surely as he believed the sun would rise in the morning. Dammit, why hadn’t he thought to offer her something earlier? There was food up at the house.

He opened his mouth to apologize, then clamped his lips tightly together. Rita might not have a lot of money, but she had pride. Tomorrow he would casually mention there was food available for her whenever she wanted.

“You ready to meet the gang?” he asked.

She nodded. “I can hear their voices. There sure are a lot of them.”

A faint ribbon of nervousness wove through her words, but she squared her shoulders and stepped into the dining room as if she wasn’t worried at all.

He followed her and waited for the men to notice. It didn’t take long. Within five seconds, the room was silent.

Brady glanced at Rita, who stared at the men. They stared back. He wondered what she thought of his ragtag group of cowboys. Like good-working cow ponies, they weren’t much to look at, but they got the job done.

In turn, he wondered what the men thought of Rita. She might not be conventionally pretty, but her big eyes and smile were lovely, she had great hair and the kind of shape that was pure temptation.

“This is Rita Howard,” he said. “She’s our new groom.”

Several of the men reached up and pulled off their hats.

Rita smiled and said, “Hi.” There were mumbled “hellos” in return.

Brady motioned to the table. “There’s no assigned seating, so plant your butt wherever’s comfortable. Tex serves plenty to eat.”

“If it d-doesn’t k-kill you on the way down,” Ziggy said, smiling at Rita.

“I’m hungry enough that nothing’s going to kill me,” Rita said. “Who are you?”

“Ziggy.”

“Nice to meet you.”

One by one the men introduced themselves. They were cautious and polite. Brady figured that would last a couple of days, and then Rita would become one of the boys. At least that was his hope. Except maybe for Ziggy, who was staring at Rita with a wide-eyed puppy dog gaze. Ziggy and Rita were about the same age, although he’d always thought of Ziggy as a kid.

The sharp clang of a bell cut through the conversation. The men quickly moved to the table and took seats. Ziggy held out a chair. “M-Miss R-Rita,” he said, his stutter more pronounced than usual.

Brady frowned. He didn’t want her treated that differently. But before he could say something, Rita moved to the offered chair and sat down.

“Thanks, Ziggy. Do you do this for a different cowboy every night?”

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by an explosion of laughter. Ziggy’s face turned nearly as red as his hair. “No, ma’am. I ain’t never held a chair out for a man in my l-life.”

“I see.” She took a sip of iced tea. “Tell you what. Tomorrow night I’ll hold out your chair, then we’ll be even.”

“Yes, Miss Rita.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Just Rita, please. At six in the morning when you come to collect your horse, I’m going to be knee-deep in hay and horse manure. I won’t feel much like being called ‘Miss Anything’ then, okay?”

Brady saw that Ziggy had placed Rita to the right of the head of the table. As if he, Brady, were responsible for her. He was about to protest, then he realized it was probably for the best. Thinking he had a personal interest in Rita would keep the men from making any moves on her.