The Runaway Bride. Patricia Johns
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for surrounding farmers and ranchers, and it would affect everyone. If only the bad news had stopped with the weather.
Liam was trying to keep things “normal” at Runt River Auto—he still had vehicles to fix, after all—but last month normal had taken a backseat when a two-year-old boy with big brown eyes and a mop of dark curls had been delivered to his home by a police cruiser. The officers had said his name was Ike Wilson; the little guy wouldn’t answer any questions. With eyes welling with tears, the boy had simply whispered, “I want Mommy.”
Liam was Ike’s closest relative, even though that situation was about as complicated as it could get. This was his estranged wife’s child—not his. Leanne had been working on Senator Morgan’s campaign when the affair started. Liam had been blind to it all, trying to convince her that they should try adoption since an incredibly rare childhood episode of mumps had left him sterile. The vaccination hadn’t taken for him, and he’d suffered more than the painful illness—he’d also lost his ability to produce children. Leanne had desperately wanted to be pregnant and have a baby of her own. He couldn’t exactly provide that, but he’d wanted a baby just as badly as she did—he was just willing to adopt to make that happen. So when she’d told him that she was pregnant, there’d been no doubt about what that meant.
That was almost three years ago. Liam knew they should have divorced, but there hadn’t seemed to be any urgency, and she’d still been his legal wife at the time of her death in the car accident last month. He was her closest living relative, so Ike came to him—the baby his wife had with Senator Vince Morgan. According to Ohio law, he was Ike’s legal parent unless someone could prove otherwise.
Liam took a swig from a water bottle. He still had no idea how he’d sort all of this out. He obviously couldn’t keep the kid, but he didn’t want to send him off into the child welfare system, either. Liam had grown up in foster care, and he didn’t recommend the experience. So he’d done the only thing he could and called up Lucille Neiman, the kind older woman across the street, and she’d agreed to help out with childcare for a while. He’d just needed time to think. A month later, he was still stumped.
The sound of a faltering engine came rumbling up the street—a sputter, a bang. That was the sound of a customer. He stepped outside and shaded his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sunlight. Runt River Auto sat on a corner just south of the gas station. Travelers with car trouble stopped at the station and got pointed in his direction. About half his business came down that highway.
The car came around the corner, a white antique Rolls-Royce, by the look of it. He blew out a low whistle of appreciation, then squinted to see if he was hallucinating. He could see the driver clearly through the open window—a woman in a wedding dress and a veil, her dark hair disheveled. The car crept up to the sidewalk, let out one last rattling bang, then heaved out a hiss of steam.
Liam headed toward the car just as she pushed open the door and stepped out, jerking a voluminous skirt out after her. Her makeup was streaked from tears, and she batted a curl out of her eyes. The veil was tangled behind her, but it was securely attached to her head by some feminine mystery.
“I can’t believe I made it,” she said. “It started with a clunking noise, and stalled twice along the highway. Can you take a look?”
“Uh—” Liam swallowed. “Sure. Yeah. Sure.”
He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t every day a disheveled bride drove up in a Rolls. He angled his head toward the office.
“Come on inside and I’ll take down your information.”
She crawled back into the car, reaching for something, nothing but that poofy skirt and pale blue shoes visible. Then she emerged again, a small satin purse in her hand, and followed him toward the low, brick building. Liam had worked at this garage since he was a teen, and he’d eventually bought it. And in all the years this place had been in business, Liam was pretty sure this was the first time it had seen a Rolls-Royce and a rumpled bride.
Liam eyed the woman curiously as she passed into the office ahead of him. Her dress had little capped sleeves, and the skirt tumbled around her in waves of rustling fabric. A few stains were visible—a streak of grease, a splotch of dirt. She headed straight for the water cooler.
“I’m so thirsty. I’m starving, too. Is there anything to eat around here?”
Liam looked around helplessly. “Sorry, not really—”
He caught her looking at him with one eyebrow arched incredulously, and he chuckled. “You mean in Runt River. Of course. Yeah. There’s a couple of diners and a hotel. Look, you mind if I ask what happened?”
“I ran out on my wedding.” She drank a paper cup of water and bent to refill it. “That was in New York, and I just kept driving.”
From New York to Ohio—that had been quite the drive. Both of her hands were bare of rings, and the dress was dusty and soiled around the hemline. She drained the second cup of water.
“Do you need to borrow a phone?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got a cell phone here.” She raised the small purse.
She didn’t offer any more information than that, and Liam watched her for a moment, trying to make sense of this. She was obviously in rough shape. She’d been crying, she was a mess and her car was toast. But that car—it was expensive, perfectly detailed and newly refinished. The motor looked original, though. She either came from money or had her own, he was willing to bet on it. Regardless, her affairs were her business. She was here to have her car fixed, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her because she had money. He did quality work for a fair price—always had and always would.
“Could I get your ID?” he asked, pulling up a form on the computer screen.
She opened the purse and pulled out her driver’s license and passed it over. He looked down at the card and froze. Bernadette Morgan...as in, the Bernadette Morgan of the American political family? Vince Morgan was the senator who’d seduced Leanne, and from what Liam knew, he was Bernadette’s cousin. The Morgan money had funded more than one illustrious political career. The wedding between Bunny Morgan and Calvin McMann had been splashed all over the news for weeks now, and Liam hadn’t been able to completely avoid it, much as he tried. The Morgans left a sour taste in his mouth, but then he had personal reasons for his resentment.
“Bunny Morgan?” he asked cautiously.
“Pleasure to meet you. But I prefer Bernie. And I’d appreciate it if you could keep all of this quiet. The reporters are already hunting for me, I’m sure.”
He wasn’t sure what to think, but while this woman was related to Vince Morgan, she hadn’t been the one to tear his marriage apart. What was he supposed to do, kick her out?
“Are you okay?” he asked at last.
“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Not at all.”
Okay, that was fair. He grabbed a box of tissues from under the counter and pushed them in her direction. She took one and wiped her eyes.
“What did he do?” he asked after a moment.
“Who?” she asked.
“What’s his name—the McMann fellow you were supposed to marry.” Avoiding news about the Morgans wasn’t really possible.
“Senator McMann,” she clarified, as if the title were important. She looked like she wasn’t going to say anything more, then she sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I caught him making out with his ex-girlfriend in the room where he was supposed to be getting dressed for the ceremony.”
Ouch. If something were going to end a wedding, that would be it. Looked like Senator McMann and old Vince had their philandering in common, even if they weren’t officially family.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me, too.” She smiled weakly. “But I made it here, and that’s something.