Have Gown, Need Groom. Rita Herron
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pulled her hand away, her eyes glued to his long tanned fingers. “I…er, I didn’t get married today.”
His dark eyebrows lifted slightly over high cheekbones. “I could have sworn I saw you in a wedding dress. Must have been hallucinating from the pain.”
“No, I was wearing one when I arrived,” Hannah admitted, figuring he’d hear the news from the car-lot grapevine. “I called off the wedding.”
A streak of surprise lit his sleepy, bedroom eyes. “That’s too bad.”
She arched a brow at him. He didn’t sound as if he thought it was bad at all. And he was a stranger; she didn’t owe him an explanation.
“I’m sure my dad will come by to thank you for your heroics,” she said, reverting back to their earlier conversation.
A brooding expression tightened the lines at the corner of his mouth. She’d run out on a good, stable man because she’d dreamt of this stranger?
Forget hormone pills. She should call the men in the little white coats to come and haul her away. Maybe she needed to see a psychiatrist. Except Seth was the best psychiatrist in town and she had a feeling he wouldn’t be sympathetic.
She suddenly felt dizzy again.
“Tell your dad he doesn’t need to come by,” Jake mumbled in a low voice.
“What?”
“I’m no hero, Dr. Hartwell. Catching that guy was a freak thing.”
Hannah frowned, confused by the intensity of his words. She needed to get away from this man, and fast. Something deep and troubled lurked in the depths of his eyes. Something dangerous and dark that called out to her.
Something that scared the life out of her.
“I need to see those other patients now.” Without waiting for a reply, she backed toward the door, fighting the urge to touch the man’s broad shoulders and remind him he was a hero. But the memory of the erotic dream floated around her, the warmth in her belly sending a sliver of uneasiness up her spine. She must have seen Jake before, probably at her father’s dealership. Subconsciously she’d found him physically attractive and conjured him in her dream. Simple.
End of story.
The dream wouldn’t come true. Even though the man was sexy as homemade sin, she’d never ever in a cajillion years become involved with a used-car salesman. Especially one who worked for her lovable but notoriously outlandish father.
JAKE GROANED, his brain foggy from the sedatives the nurses had administered, his thoughts registering the fact that Hannah Hartwell had canceled her wedding. There had to be a story there; one Wiley would probably embellish when he dropped by to visit. Had the woman’s poor fiancé cheated on her or done something equally heinous to make her dump him? If so, Wiley would be ticked.
Like a vision, she glided out the door. Her lithe figure disappeared just as a plan formulated in his mind. Wiley had boasted about Hannah’s intelligence, and Joey DeLito, Wiley’s top salesman, commented that she’d helped him with his books a few times. Perhaps she knew something about her father’s business that could aid his investigation. He’d been searching for a way to embed himself in the Hartwell family. Her sister Mimi was dating Joey, so he couldn’t move in on her. And her youngest sister was too young for him. But Hannah wasn’t married now or engaged; he’d use Hannah to find out more about Wiley.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes, deciding his plan to see her had nothing to do with the fact that lying face-down with a bullet hole in his backside and an IV in his arm he was rock-hard from wanting the woman.
No, it had everything to do with his job. And he’d do anything he could, use anyone he had to, to solve the case and get out of this little sleepy backwards town. He had to get transferred back to the city where he belonged. Where he could get lost in the endless crowds. Where he could simply exist as a number. Where he could live in peace and die the same way, without having to explain himself to anyone. He was a loner. And he always would be.
Hell, he’d learned the hard way about untrustworthy females. And obviously Hannah Hartwell fitted that description well—she’d just jilted her fiancé at the altar. He’d rather take another bullet than get personally involved with a woman like her.
Chapter Four
She must be losing her mind.
It was the only plausible reason for her to have such intense feelings about a silly dream—and such a strong attraction toward a strange man who differed so drastically from the men she normally dated.
Hannah Hartwell had always been predictable and cautious and rational—she never did anything erratic or spontaneous or…or emotional.
Until that dream.
She’d let that silly legend destroy her sensibleness and dictate her choice in marriage. Which meant she either needed to see a shrink or to find out if some cursed psychic power she didn’t know existed ran in her family.
The answer lay with Grammy Rose.
Hannah’s fingers trembled as she punched in her grandmother’s phone number. Please let her be there, she prayed, her stomach lurching when the phone rang at least a half-dozen times.
Finally, on the seventh ring, her grandmother answered. “Hello.”
“Grammy?”
“I said hello. Speak up now, my left ear’s full of dust. Herman Whitewall’s been plowing up my garden and I can’t see three feet in front of me or hear my own self think.”
Hannah laughed. Her grandmother must be getting senile. Herman Whitewall had passed away three years ago. “Grammy, it’s me, Hannah.”
“Oh, hello, dear. How was the wedding? I wanted to be there so badly but the doctor made me stay in bed with that cold, ’fraid I’d get pneumonia. I told him nothing could get this old lady down.”
“I didn’t exactly get married, Grams.”
“Really?” Her grandmother’s tone held a hint of amusement, but not surprise.
“No. I…I called off the wedding at the last minute.”
“Decided Simon didn’t light your torch, huh?”
Hannah smiled. “No. And his name is Seth, Grammy.”
“Seth, smeth. I didn’t think that man was right for you.”
“You didn’t?” Hannah’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Why not?”
Her grandmother made a chortling sound. “Woman ought to light up when the man she’s going to marry walks in the room, and frankly, honey, you didn’t. But don’t worry, you’ll make a beautiful bride some day. When the right man comes along, of course.”
Hannah twisted the phone cord in her fingers. “Grammy, I appreciate the hope chest you sent me and all the nice things. Your gown was beautiful, but I have to know—are you psychic?”
“Heavens, no.” Her grandmother chuckled. “I wish I was. I’d win the lottery and buy myself a fancy cane and some new teeth.”
Hannah smiled, mentally adding the cane to her Christmas list. She took a deep breath, and her gaze automatically landed on the pearl ring. “If you aren’t psychic then, I need to ask you about the ring—”
“What did you want to know, dear?”
“Did you wear the ring and dream about Grandpa the night before your wedding?”
Grammy Rose’s soft laughter echoed over the line. “Lordy, did I? Honey, it was X-rated. I woke up in such a sweat I had to go out and buy new bloomers.”
Heat climbed Hannah’s neck. Her father had definitely inherited his outrageousness from Gram—maybe senility and eccentricity