Celeste Hamilton - Her Wildest Wedding Dreams

He gave a disgusted snort. “Like I would do something like that.” He pulled the door open. “Get out. You can help me.”

“Me?”

“Surely you know something about scraping up horse poop.”

She wished she could tell him where to stick his horse poop and his domineering manner. But he had helped her. And she still needed him.

So she left Puddin’ in the truck and followed Noah, thankful at least to have the trailer between herself and the diner’s windows.

Seeing Royal Pleasure again was a joy, of course. The horse nickered and nuzzled Olivia with her velvety nose.

“You work with her at Franklin’s place?” Noah asked as they walked the horse through the parking lot. Away from the diner, thank God.

Trying desperately not to keep looking toward the diner, Olivia nodded. “Pleasure’s the sweetest horse.”

“And she breeds champions.”

“Which is why you bought her.”

“She belongs on my farm.”

“Belongs?” Olivia shot him a quizzical look. “Why?”

He shrugged, his handsome features hardening. “Long story.”

Olivia didn’t push, though she studied her companion thoughtfully. Because her father had been dealing in horses for as long as she could remember, she had met plenty of breeders. Noah Raybourne looked more like a wrangler than the owner of a farm.

He was young. Probably in his early thirties. Tall and well built, he had the kind of shoulders that come from continuous hard work. His light-brown hair needed a trim, curling over his forehead and the collar of his worn denim shirt. His jaw was clean-shaven and square, and along with his generous mouth and nose, made for a strong profile. His face was altogether and emphatically male. Except for the long, dark lashes fringing his blue eyes. He wore his clothes with the casual unconcern of a working man. He hardly looked affluent enough to have purchased an animal like Royal Pleasure.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Olivia asked, “This farm you’re talking about. It’s really yours?”

“My grandfather started it. My father worked it. Now it’s mine.”

“Your father’s retired?”

“He died.” The terse answer invited no further comment from Olivia.

Noah walked Royal Pleasure a couple of times around the parking lot. And to Olivia’s relief he merely asked her to lead the mare back to the trailer while he used a shovel and bucket to clean up after the horse.

Finally he flashed a grin at her as he walked Royal Pleasure up into the trailer. “I had you worried about that poop, didn’t I?”

“Not at all.”

“Yeah, you were worried.” Still grinning, he stored the bucket and shovel, secured the horse and ramp and closed up the trailer. “I bet you’ve never shoveled anything in your life.”

“Of course I have.” Shoulders squaring, she started back to the truck. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Back in the driver’s seat, Noah hesitated while Libby settled herself and her dog. Then he took firm hold of her hand, turning it palm side up. “This hand has never shoveled anything, much less horse sh—poop.”

She snatched her fingers away. “That’s not true.”

He waited a moment, studying her small, set features. No one could doubt the determination in her jaw. Just as anyone could see she was completely freaked out about the police officers in the diner. In fact, she had been ready to jump right out of her skin the entire time they were eating. She almost ran out the door. Hell, she almost knocked him down trying to take the side of the booth facing the door.

“I have no doubt you are running from something,” he said at last. “I just hope whatever it is doesn’t land me in a passel of trouble, too.”

She bit her lip. If her father figured out she was with Noah, who knew what sort of fuss he would make.

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”

She remained silent, stroking her dog’s fur and staring out the window.

“I might be able to help.”

“You are helping. You’re taking me to that bus station. That’s all I need.”

Noah let out a long sigh. “All right. I guess since we’ve come this far, I don’t really need to know the truth.”

Frowning, he navigated his rig out onto the highway. God only knew why he was compelled to know what she was hiding. Or why he felt so sorry for her. More of that sense of honor he had learned from his mother, probably. The same inclinations had led him to rescue injured squirrels, champion the nerdiest kids at school and stand up to his no-account stepfather. Nine times out of ten his good intentions had ended up costing him. Why couldn’t he learn?

With his luck, Libby was duping him but good, playing on his sympathies with her big, brown eyes, her cute behind, her tears and that bruise on her arm. He wished to hell he didn’t feel this compunction to rescue her.

They drove for quite a distance in silence, while Noah darted glances at her pale face. She kept leaning forward, studying the mirror on the passenger’s side.

“You think one of those officers might come after us?” he asked.

She said nothing, but the frantic glance she sent toward the mirror spoke volumes.

“Just tell me this much. Is Roger Franklin going to be really angry with me?”

“Would you please be quiet?” she demanded. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Because I’m close to the truth. You’ve got something that Roger Franklin’s going to want back, haven’t you?”

“No!”

“Quit lying. What is it? Did you hide it somewhere in the camper?”

“No.”

“In your bag, maybe?”

“Please just shut up!”

“Don’t I have a right to know what I’ve helped you steal from Roger Franklin?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” she exclaimed. “It’s me he’ll be looking for.” The words seemed to burst out of her. “I’m what he’ll want.”

“What are you saying?”

She twisted around to face him, the dog whining on her lap. “Roger Franklin is my father. I’m running away from him.”

Dread kicked Noah in the belly like a fist.

Roger Franklin’s daughter. Good God, the man was going to kill him.

Later, Noah wasn’t sure how he got the truck off the highway. All he remembered was turning into the parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned produce stand.

Moments after coming to a stop, he dragged Libby—yeah, like that was her name—and her dog across the front seat and outside the driver’s side door.

Once her feet touched the ground, she jerked away from him. “You don’t have to manhandle me.”

“I ought to do worse than that!” Noah let loose the crudest, most vulgar curses he could think of while he paced back and forth in front of her.

Libby huddled against the truck, clutching Puddin’.

Noah turned and stopped. “Are you saying Roger Franklin bruised your arm?”

Her answer was a slow, miserable shake of her head. “I fell out of a window while I was escaping.” She had the grace to at least look ashamed of having misled him about the bruise.

“You went out the window? Ran away?” Noah was just beginning to comprehend her choice of words. “Wait a minute. How old are you?”

She swallowed hard. “Almost twenty-four.”

He cursed again. “You’re an adult. Why couldn’t you just leave through the front door?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Tell me.”

Her sigh was dramatic. “Can’t you just take me on to the bus?”

“No!” he shouted. “From the looks of the security around your home, I don’t think your father takes kindly to anyone making off with what’s his. And he just might think I took you. So you owe me some kind of explanation.”

“You’re not going to understand—”