Patricia Johns: The Runaway Bride

Liam headed toward the car just as she pushed open the door and stepped out, jerking a voluminous skirt out after her. Her makeup was streaked from tears, and she batted a curl out of her eyes. The veil was tangled behind her, but it was securely attached to her head by some feminine mystery.

“I can’t believe I made it,” she said. “It started with a clunking noise, and stalled twice along the highway. Can you take a look?”

“Uh—” Liam swallowed. “Sure. Yeah. Sure.”

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t every day a disheveled bride drove up in a Rolls. He angled his head toward the office.

“Come on inside and I’ll take down your information.”

She crawled back into the car, reaching for something, nothing but that poofy skirt and pale blue shoes visible. Then she emerged again, a small satin purse in her hand, and followed him toward the low, brick building. Liam had worked at this garage since he was a teen, and he’d eventually bought it. And in all the years this place had been in business, Liam was pretty sure this was the first time it had seen a Rolls-Royce and a rumpled bride.

Liam eyed the woman curiously as she passed into the office ahead of him. Her dress had little capped sleeves, and the skirt tumbled around her in waves of rustling fabric. A few stains were visible—a streak of grease, a splotch of dirt. She headed straight for the water cooler.

“I’m so thirsty. I’m starving, too. Is there anything to eat around here?”

Liam looked around helplessly. “Sorry, not really—”

He caught her looking at him with one eyebrow arched incredulously, and he chuckled. “You mean in Runt River. Of course. Yeah. There’s a couple of diners and a hotel. Look, you mind if I ask what happened?”

“I ran out on my wedding.” She drank a paper cup of water and bent to refill it. “That was in New York, and I just kept driving.”

From New York to Ohio—that had been quite the drive. Both of her hands were bare of rings, and the dress was dusty and soiled around the hemline. She drained the second cup of water.

“Do you need to borrow a phone?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve got a cell phone here.” She raised the small purse.

She didn’t offer any more information than that, and Liam watched her for a moment, trying to make sense of this. She was obviously in rough shape. She’d been crying, she was a mess and her car was toast. But that car—it was expensive, perfectly detailed and newly refinished. The motor looked original, though. She either came from money or had her own, he was willing to bet on it. Regardless, her affairs were her business. She was here to have her car fixed, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her because she had money. He did quality work for a fair price—always had and always would.

“Could I get your ID?” he asked, pulling up a form on the computer screen.

She opened the purse and pulled out her driver’s license and passed it over. He looked down at the card and froze. Bernadette Morgan...as in, the Bernadette Morgan of the American political family? Vince Morgan was the senator who’d seduced Leanne, and from what Liam knew, he was Bernadette’s cousin. The Morgan money had funded more than one illustrious political career. The wedding between Bunny Morgan and Calvin McMann had been splashed all over the news for weeks now, and Liam hadn’t been able to completely avoid it, much as he tried. The Morgans left a sour taste in his mouth, but then he had personal reasons for his resentment.

“Bunny Morgan?” he asked cautiously.

“Pleasure to meet you. But I prefer Bernie. And I’d appreciate it if you could keep all of this quiet. The reporters are already hunting for me, I’m sure.”

He wasn’t sure what to think, but while this woman was related to Vince Morgan, she hadn’t been the one to tear his marriage apart. What was he supposed to do, kick her out?

“Are you okay?” he asked at last.

“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Not at all.”

Okay, that was fair. He grabbed a box of tissues from under the counter and pushed them in her direction. She took one and wiped her eyes.

“What did he do?” he asked after a moment.

“Who?” she asked.

“What’s his name—the McMann fellow you were supposed to marry.” Avoiding news about the Morgans wasn’t really possible.

“Senator McMann,” she clarified, as if the title were important. She looked like she wasn’t going to say anything more, then she sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I caught him making out with his ex-girlfriend in the room where he was supposed to be getting dressed for the ceremony.”

Ouch. If something were going to end a wedding, that would be it. Looked like Senator McMann and old Vince had their philandering in common, even if they weren’t officially family.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me, too.” She smiled weakly. “But I made it here, and that’s something. I’m looking for my aunt. She’s supposed to live in this town. Her name is Lucille Neiman. Do you know her?”

“Your—” He swallowed. “Lucille is your aunt?”

“Yes...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t really know her myself. I just thought...maybe you could give me her phone number or address?”

Liam had known Lucille since he was a kid, and she was a fixture around Runt River.

“She’s my neighbor. I’ll swing you by when I’ve got all your information and I get the car into the garage,” Liam replied. “I’ve got to head on over there anyway.”

Bernadette Morgan had stumbled into town a month after her two-year-old relative had been left with him. Liam was a practical man, and he didn’t believe in coincidences this huge. Had Lucille called her? Maybe the Morgans would acknowledge the kid after all, and Ike would go to his biological family.

An image rose in his mind of that curly-headed boy, his eyes glistening with tears, whispering those plaintive words, “I want Mommy.” Leanne had died, leaving behind an innocent kid to whom she was the whole world. He’d had a month to get attached to Ike, and caring for him had awakened his fatherly instinct. When Ike had first arrived, Liam had considered what it would mean for the boy to go live with his biological family, and the thought had left him unsettled. Liam knew just how corrupt the Morgans were, and handing an innocent child over to people he didn’t trust—that wasn’t right.

Now, Bernadette Morgan was in town, and while she seemed to be here for totally different reasons, Liam’s suspicions were piqued. Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER THE PAPERWORK had been completed and the mechanic pushed Bernie’s car into the garage, he heaved that old door shut again. He stood there in cowboy boots and surprisingly clean blue jeans, squinting slightly in the lowering sun.

“I’ll drive you over, if you want,” he said.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Bernie tried to sound confident, but she didn’t feel it. She’d never met her aunt before, and all she knew was that Lucille had been part of a big family squabble that had started before Bernie was born and had only grown over the years.

The mechanic opened the door of a rusty, old pickup truck, and gestured for her to get in. It was a far cry from the lambskin seats in the Rolls-Royce. Bernie gathered her skirt, then stepped onto the rail to hoist herself into the truck. Was it a good idea to trust a mechanic driving a wreck? That vintage Rolls-Royce was from her father’s personal collection, and if it didn’t come back in mint condition, that vein in his forehead would burst. Mind you, she’d just walked out on the society wedding of the year. That vein had probably already blown.