The Wedding Secret. Janelle Denison
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distant town, in a rowdy, honky-tonk bar filled with men eager to take the place he was about to vacate.
“I just need to go talk to Harlan. Nobody will bother you,” he promised, feeling uncharacteristically protective toward this woman he didn’t know. Not a good sign. He wanted to say it was the same kind of paternal feeling he experienced with his daughter, but there was nothing nurturing about the awareness Jenna evoked. No, his response to her was all male and too threatening to the secure, stable life he’d built for himself and Chelsea the past six years.
And the sooner she found her way back to St. Louis and the life still waiting for her—a life certainly more sophisticated and exciting than this small, mundane town of Danby—the better off they’d all be.
He nodded toward her mug. “You finish up that coffee, all right?”
Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You’ll come back?”
He wanted to say no, but the beseeching way his damsel in distress looked at him got under his skin, made him feel things he hadn’t felt in too many years. “Yeah, I’ll come back.”
If only to help her out to a cab, or to make sure she was safe somewhere for the night, he told himself. That would be the extent of his involvement with this lost, complex bride.
“Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” Garrett gaped at Harlan as he absorbed the bartender’s absurd suggestion. “I can’t take her home with me!”
“Come on, Garrett,” Harlan said, giving him a what’s-the-big-deal kind of look. “I’m sure she’ll be in a better frame of mind in the morning, and she’ll realize her mistake and go back to wherever she came from. One night, Blackwell, not a lifetime.”
One night was one night too many in Garrett’s mind—not when this runaway bride affected his libido and emotions so strongly. “Find someone else to be your scapegoat, Harlan.”
The bartender’s gaze swept the rowdy room of patrons, and returned to Garrett on a serious note. “I don’t trust anyone else.”
A vein in Garrett’s temple throbbed with frustration, and he rubbed the offending spot with his fingers. “I don’t do strays,” he bit out in a last-ditch effort to convince Harlan that he was the wrong man to take care of Jenna Phillips. The only women he ever wanted to feel any obligation toward were his daughter, his mother, and his sister, Lisa.
Harlan swiped his towel over the gleaming mahogany surface of the bar, and sighed in resignation. “Then I guess I’ll just have to call the sheriff to come and pick her up, and she’ll have to spend the night down at the station in a holding cell.”
Harlan moved away to fill a drink order, leaving Garrett with a restless unease tightening his belly. He glanced toward Jenna, who looked so bewildered and lost, and imagined this beautiful, soft-skinned, city-bred bride waking up in the morning on a narrow cot, disoriented and fearful, and without a shred of that respectability and dignity she’d wished for earlier.
Indecision warred within Garrett, and he struggled with those more gallant tendencies his mother had instilled in him. He didn’t need the responsibility of taking care of this confused female, he argued with his conscience. He didn’t need the complication of embroiling himself in her problems, he thought irritably. And he sure didn’t need the distraction of her sleeping in his house, even for a night.
During Garrett’s silent brooding, Beau Harding, a drifter who worked at the lumber mill in town, sidled up to the bar. Garrett nodded toward the other man in polite acknowledgment, but there was something about Harding Garrett didn’t like, or trust. The young man was too arrogant for his own good. A month ago he’d come by Garrett’s company, Blackwell Engineering, looking for work for the summer. Though Garrett had been considering adding on an extra man to his crew, he’d gone with his gut instinct and turned him away.
Beau cast a leer over his shoulder toward Jenna, then grinned wolfishly at Harlan as the bartender returned to their end of the bar. “Hey, Harlan, what’s up with that lovely bride over in the corner?”
“We’re just trying to figure out what to do with her,” Harlan replied, very reluctantly.
Beau’s pale gray eyes glimmered with interest. “You need someone to take her to a motel for the night?”
The innuendo in Beau’s voice was unmistakable. The mere thought of this man touching Jenna, or possibly taking advantage of her current state, made Garrett feel unexpectedly territorial.
“No,” he snapped before Harlan could respond. “She already has a place to stay.”
Harlan’s brows rose in surprise, considering how adamantly Garrett had refused any involvement with the bride only moments ago.
Beau’s insolent gaze slid to Garrett. “Just thought I’d offer my assistance,” he drawled, then sauntered away.
Garrett just bet Beau would like to assist Jenna. His temper flared like wildfire in his blood, startling him with the level of possessiveness she inspired. The last time he’d experienced such an overwhelming reaction had been over another woman. Chelsea’s mother, to be exact.
And that encounter had led to nothing but grief, heartache, and a lingering bitterness over being used and betrayed.
“I’ll go get her suitcase from the storeroom,” Harlan offered, then quickly disappeared to retrieve Jenna’s luggage, as if he feared Garrett might change his mind if he didn’t hurry.
Garrett drew a deep, calming breath. One night, he told himself, and then this bundle of trouble would be gone, out of his life and back to St. Louis where she belonged.
It could be no other way.
CHAPTER TWO
FOR the first time in six years, Garrett was taking a woman home. He found it more than ironic that the woman in question had been someone else’s intended bride, and was currently passed out on the front bench seat of his truck, her frothy, satiny wedding gown enveloping her like a shimmering cloud.
Minutes after he’d pulled out of Leisure Pointe’s parking lot, without compunction or any serious thought to what she was doing, she’d stretched out, rested her head in his lap, and promptly fell asleep. Obviously, the long day she’d had, and the Amaretto she’d consumed had finally caught up to her.
That she trusted him to take care of her unsettled him. He was a complete stranger, after all. Though he’d never take advantage of a woman, he was sure if Jenna Phillips was sober and thinking clearly she never would have left Leisure Pointe with him so willingly. But considering the way she’d chosen to drown her sorrows, she’d had little choice. And as Harlan well knew, Jenna was safer with him than Beau, or even at the local motel.
The ten-minute drive to Garrett’s place seemed to take thirty, and every inch of the way he tried not to think about the woman with her cheek pressed intimately against his tense thigh, but discovered he could think about little else. Her slender hand was curled just above his knee, and with every deep breath she exhaled his skin heated through the heavy denim of his jeans, electrifying his nerves. And then there was all that wild, curly hair spilling all over his lap like rich, luscious honey.
Unable to resist the temptation, he touched one of those golden strands, rubbed it between his fingers, not at all surprised to find it silky-soft, and warm as sunshine. The impulse to sink his fingers deeper into all that warmth was strong, but he didn’t dare take that liberty.
Finally arriving at his two-story house, he turned into the drive and parked his truck near the front porch. A hush fell over the cab, except for Jenna’s deep, even breathing. Hating to disturb her, but knowing she’d be far more comfortable once he had her in a bed, he lightly touched her bare shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.
“Jenna?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her. “C’mon, you need to get up.”
Murmuring something about princes