His Stolen Bride. Barbara Dunlop
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car honked as their tires squealed against the pavement.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“How well do you know Vern Gerhard?”
What a ridiculous question. “He’s my fiancé.”
“Would it surprise you to know he was cheating on you?”
Crista’s jaw dropped. “Where did that come from?”
“Would it surprise you?” Jackson repeated.
“Vern’s not cheating on me.” The idea was preposterous.
Vern was sweet and kind and loyal. He made no secret of the fact that he adored Crista. They were about to be married. And his family was extremely old-fashioned. Vern would never risk disappointing his mother by cheating.
No, scratch that. Vern wouldn’t cheat because Vern wouldn’t cheat. It had nothing to do with Delores.
“Okay,” said Jackson, the skepticism clear in his tone.
“Take me back,” she said.
“I can’t do that. Not yet.”
“There are three hundred people in that church. They’re all waiting for me to walk down the aisle.”
She could only imagine the scene as the guests grew more restless and Vern grew more confused. She wasn’t wearing a watch, and she didn’t have her cell phone. But what time was it? Exactly how late was she to her own wedding?
She scanned the dashboard for a clock. Traffic was light, and Jackson seemed able to gauge the stoplights and adjust his speed, making sure he didn’t have to come to a halt.
“Would you care if he was cheating?” asked Jackson, eyeing her quickly. “Would that be a deal breaker for you?”
“He’s not cheating.” It didn’t look like she’d have a chance to bail out anytime soon. “Do you want money? Will you call in a ransom demand? They’ll probably pay. They’ll probably pay more if you take me back there right away.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Then what’s it about?” She struggled to keep her tone even but panic was creeping in.
He seemed to hesitate over his answer. “You deserve to be sure. About Vern.”
“You don’t even know me.” She stared at him more closely. “Do you? Have we met?”
Could he be some long-lost person from her past?
“We haven’t met,” he said.
She racked her brain for an explanation. “Then do you know Vern? Did he do something bad to you?”
She realized she ought to be frightened. She’d been kidnapped—kidnapped. This stranger was holding her hostage and wouldn’t let her go.
“I’ve never met Vern,” he said.
“Then are you crazy? Though I suppose that’s a stupid question. Crazy people never question their own sanity.” She realized she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“I’m beginning to think I am,” he said.
“A sure sign that you’re not.”
He gave a chopped laugh and seemed to drop his guard.
She tried to take advantage. “Will you let me go? Please, just pull over and drop me off. I’ll find my own way back to the church.”
It had to be at least fifteen minutes now. Vern would be frantic. Delores would be incensed. Unless someone saw Jackson grab her, they probably thought she ran away.
Now she wondered what Hadley was thinking. He might guess she’d taken his advice, changed her mind, that she didn’t want to marry Vern after all. She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. How had things gotten so mixed up?
“He’s cheating on you, Crista. Why would you want to marry a man who’s cheating on you?”
“First of all, he’s not. And...” She paused, experienced a moment of clarity. “Wait a minute. If I say I don’t care if he’s cheating, will you let me go?”
“If you honestly don’t care and you want to marry him anyway, yeah, I’ll let you go.”
“Then I don’t care.” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “It’s fine. No problem.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He can cheat away. I still want to marry him.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” She was.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ve never met me. You don’t know a thing about me.”
He shook his head. “I can tell you have pride.”
“I have no pride. Maybe I like to share. Maybe I’m into polygamy. After this wedding, Vern might find another wife. We’ll all live happily ever after.”
“As if.”
“Let me go!”
“I’m here because somebody out there cares about you, Crista.”
“I know somebody cares about me. His name is Vern Gerhard. Do you have any idea how upset he is right now?”
Jackson’s tone went dry. “Maybe Gracie could console him.”
The name set a shiver through Crista’s chest. “What did you say?”
“Gracie,” Jackson repeated, doing a double take at Crista’s face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. No, I’m not. I’ve been kidnapped!”
“Do you know someone named Gracie?”
Crista did know Gracie Stolt. Or at least she knew of a Gracie Stolt. Vern had once used that name during a phone call. He’d said it was business. It had been business, making the name irrelevant to this conversation.
“I don’t know any Gracie,” she said to Jackson, her tone tart.
“He’s sleeping with Gracie.”
“Stop saying that.”
The vehicle bounced, and she grabbed the armrest to steady herself. She realized they’d turned off the main roads and onto a tree-lined lane.
A new and horrible thought crossed her mind, and her throat went dry. Was Jackson some sicko with a thing for brides?
“Are you going to hurt me?” she rasped.
“What?” He did another double take. “No. I told you. I’m not going to harm you at all.”
“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, but then quickly disappeared. “We have a mutual acquaintance. The person who sent me is someone who cares about you.”
“Who?”
“I can’t reveal my client.”
“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that, too.”
She was vacillating between genuine fear and disbelief that any of this could be real.
“I’m sorry you’re frightened right now, but I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, I promise.”
They rounded a corner, and a lake fanned out before them, the gravel beach dotted with weathered docks. He pulled to the side of a small, deserted parking lot.
“Are we there?” she asked.
“Almost.” He nodded toward one of the docks.
A tall white cabin cruiser bobbed against its moor lines.