Elizabeth August - The Bride's Second Thought

“This is not the kind of weather to be out for a Sunday drive in.”

“I had a destination,” she returned in her defense.

“And where was that?”

“I’d promised myself I’d see Canada. I’ve never seen Canada.”

Suspicion spread over his face. She had that innocent, girl-next-door kind of look, but he’d been tricked before. “Are you running from the law?”

She scowled. “No.” His gaze remained locked on her, and she had the feeling he wasn’t certain if he should believe her. “It’s a man. All right?” She’d meant to stop there, but the anger she’d been suppressing took control. “My fiancé, Charles. I didn’t want to be in the same country with him.”

“You nearly got yourself frozen to death because of a lovers’ quarrel?”

The “I can’t believe anyone could be so stupid” look in his eyes grated on her nerves. But she couldn’t fault him. “I’ll admit I acted a bit rashly. I regret it. It certainly won’t happen again. Now can we drop this subject?”

Whoever Charles was, he had a tiger by the tail with this one, Peter thought. “I’ve always made it a point to stay out of the middle of lovers’ spats.”

Her scowl darkened. “This was a great deal more than a spat.” Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut. She’d said enough. As she started toward the couch, a sudden worry came to mind. She’d called Paul Saunders, her supervisor, and explained that she needed to take a few vacation days effective immediately. She’d told him it was a family emergency. To her relief he hadn’t asked any questions. He’d simply told her to take the time she needed. But she hadn’t called her parents. They would have wanted an explanation, which she hadn’t been ready to give. And she’d been in no mood to be diplomatically evasive. “I will take you up on the offer of the phone. Charles will probably think I ran home to Kansas City to my parents. He’ll call them, and they’ll worry. If you don’t mind, I’ll tell them I’m visiting a friend.”

He gave a shrug of indifference and returned to making the corn bread. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the enticing little wiggle she had when she walked. A scowl spread over his face. She was already spoken for. Only a fool would consider getting involved with a woman who was in love with another man, and he was no fool.

Alone in the study, she made the call. Still unable to talk about the scene that had sent her on this insane drive, she simply reassured her parents that she was fine and that she just needed a few days away. After obtaining their word that they wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts to anyone, she gave them the phone number for the cabin in case they needed to contact her.

“You’re just having a little case of cold feet,” her mother soothed. “It will pass. After all, you’ve been waiting a long time for the right man.”

“I’m really not in the mood to talk right now,” Ellen replied firmly, and said a quick goodbye before her mother could do any serious prying.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out the window at the storm beyond. She’d lied; she didn’t feel fine. Beneath her anger was the pain of betrayal, and it hurt worse than she’d ever imagined anything could hurt.

Chapter Two

Ellen dried the last pan and put it away. She’d insisted on cleaning up after dinner, partially because it was the polite thing to do and partially to keep busy. When they’d first sat down at the table, she’d prepared herself to discourage any further conversation about her private life. But she hadn’t had to. Her host had been content to eat in silence. The extent of their verbal exchange had consisted of her complimenting him on the meal and him thanking her for the compliment.

Bane had eaten at the same time they had and now he was sleeping in front of the fire while Peter sat in a nearby chair reading. She’d noticed the book earlier. It was a massive tome about the Mayan civilization. He didn’t exactly strike her as the scholarly type, but then she wasn’t the best judge of men, she thought acidly.

“I noticed a large assortment of books in the study. Would it be all right if I chose one to read?” she asked.

“Consider yourself at home,” Peter replied without looking up from the page. He’d been trying to concentrate on a map of the ancient Mayan empire, especially that portion that had spread into Guatemala, but his unexpected guest had proved to be a distraction. He’d found himself covertly watching her and enjoying the view. Hopefully, she’d find a book, sit down and he’d be able to ignore her.

Bane lifted his head, looked disgruntled at having had his rest disturbed, then again laid his head down and went back to sleep.

Clearly, I’m the sort of woman who can’t hold any male’s attention, Ellen mused dryly, going into the study. A handsome, blue-eyed, blond-haired man’s image filled her mind. Her stomach knotted and she felt sick. Pushing the image from her mind, she concentrated on the shelves of books. Most were nonfiction. Some were histories. The majority dealt with Native Americans. On closer inspection, she found that several pertaining to the healing arts practiced by the various Indian nations were written by Jack Greenriver. He’d also written one concerning the Eskimos. Choosing a book at random, she considered remaining in the study, but being alone made it too easy to remember what had sent her on this trek.

So far, her host and Bane had proved to be enough of a distraction to keep her mind off last night, and with any luck they would continue to be.

“You said this place belonged to Jack Greenriver?” she asked, returning to the living room.

Peter looked up. Her hair had dried into a mass of tiny ringlets. It looked cute, he thought, then frowned impatiently at himself. “Yes.”

She got the distinct impression he didn’t want to talk. “I just wondered,” she said crisply. “I found a shelf of books with that name as the author.”

She’s taken, Peter reminded himself curdy. “Jack wrote them. He’s in Arizona visiting family and doing some research for a new book at the moment.”

A blast of wind rattled the window in the kitchen area. “He’s probably having a lot better weather there than we are here. Warmer, at least,” she murmured.

Not any warmer than the heat she was kindling inside of him, Peter admitted silently. Apparently, he had been spending too much time alone. He returned his gaze to the page in front of him. “I suppose.”

Again sensing that her host was not in the mood. for conversation, Ellen told herself to keep quiet. She seated herself on the couch and began to read. But as interesting as the subject matter was, it could not hold her attention. Instead, she found herself covertly studying her host and comparing him to Charles.

Charles was thirty-five. She’d placed her host somewhere near that age. They were also near the same height and build. But they were clearly men of different ilks. Peter obviously did not make regular trips to the barber. She also guessed that the jeans and flannel shirt were his normal attire. Charles, on the other hand, had a standing weekly appointment with his hair stylist, and he never wore jeans. She tried to picture him in them but the image felt wrong. Denim didn’t suit his personality. At work, he was always in a suit. At play, he wore designer slacks or shorts. He was a sophisticated, well-educated man with impeccable manners. But he wasn’t a snob...just a louse.

She turned her attention back to her host. He’d displayed pleasant manners while they’d eaten. He hadn’t belched or slurped. As for education, she knew he could read.

Peter had been attempting to ignore his guest. But her gaze was causing an uncomfortable prickling sensation. He cast an irritated scowl her way.