CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER THE PAPERWORK had been completed and the mechanic pushed Bernie’s car into the garage, he heaved that old door shut again. He stood there in cowboy boots and surprisingly clean blue jeans, squinting slightly in the lowering sun.

      “I’ll drive you over, if you want,” he said.

      “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Bernie tried to sound confident, but she didn’t feel it. She’d never met her aunt before, and all she knew was that Lucille had been part of a big family squabble that had started before Bernie was born and had only grown over the years.

      The mechanic opened the door of a rusty, old pickup truck, and gestured for her to get in. It was a far cry from the lambskin seats in the Rolls-Royce. Bernie gathered her skirt, then stepped onto the rail to hoist herself into the truck. Was it a good idea to trust a mechanic driving a wreck? That vintage Rolls-Royce was from her father’s personal collection, and if it didn’t come back in mint condition, that vein in his forehead would burst. Mind you, she’d just walked out on the society wedding of the year. That vein had probably already blown.

      The mechanic held the door open for her as she clambered up. Her wedding dress was ruined. She plucked at the place where her ring had snagged the gauze. A hole had spread, large enough to poke three fingers through. She’d dreamed about what her wedding day would be like, and nothing like this had ever occurred to her... Right now, if things had unfolded differently, she’d be at her reception, dancing with her handsome groom, making small talk with the who’s who of New York, turning toward camera flashes and cutting cake.

      The mental image of Calvin and Kimberly entwined in each other’s arms was sickening...and she couldn’t quite banish it from her head. She’d been numb to the full impact of what she’d seen, but it had slowly hit her as she drove the long stretch between Manhattan and Runt River.

      This wasn’t the future they’d all planned: Calvin was going to run for president down the line—he had Bernie’s father’s financial support, the backing of the Republican party and a boyish grin that charmed even the stoutest Democrats. He’d be the first from the Morgan family in the White House if he were elected, and the Morgans wanted this so badly that they salivated.

      They’d been trying to get Vince groomed and ready to run for president, but her cousin wasn’t quite clean enough. He’d had too many affairs, hired too many hookers, thinking no one would notice if they left by a back door... Calvin had been a compromise—a senator they could not only get elected, but who could be in the Morgans’ debt by virtue of how much they could do to support his rise to power. As his wife, Bernadette could supervise him... Bernadette wasn’t interested in running for office, but had she been willing, her father would have made ample use of her, too. But all those political plans mattered very little to her right now. She would never be his First Lady, and she sincerely hoped he never made the White House. And how had she not noticed that he was cheating?

      “I’m Liam Wilson, by the way,” the mechanic said.

      She hadn’t asked, she realized belatedly. She shot him an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride.”

      “No problem.” He slammed the door shut behind her and ambled around to the driver’s side. She followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, taking in his relaxed good looks. Where Calvin had been smooth shaven and smooth-talking, this man had stubble on his face and grease-stained hands. The inside of the truck was like a furnace, and sweat sprung up across her forehead. Liam hopped up into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She pushed the button to lower the window, the outside air meeting her face to provide some relief.

      “How long will it take to fix my car?” she asked as they snapped their seat belts into place.

      “I’ll have to look at it, see what parts we need and then order them.”

      That didn’t sound quick. “So how long is that?”

      He shot her a dry look. “Can’t say yet. I’ll get started first thing in the morning. If you don’t want me to work on it, you can always call for a tow to take you back to New York.”

      No, she didn’t want that in the least.

      “I’ll wait,” she said. But if he thought he was going to drag this out for money, she had lawyers who could end his business in a matter of days.

      “You said you’ve never met your aunt?” he asked as he backed the truck out of the parking space.

      “No. She’s always been distanced from the family, so I never got the chance.”

      “So she didn’t call you?” he asked.

      “Call me?” She frowned. “We’ve never even spoken. Why?”

      “Nothing.” He put the truck into Drive and pulled onto the road.

      This town was miniscule, and the fact that people actually lived in a place like this was mystifying. Compared to New York’s bustle, the three or four cars along this street were kind of eerie—like a Walking Dead episode. But even that didn’t make her want to head back to New York right away. The big city also held the wedding she’d run from. She closed her eyes, trying to dissipate the anxiety that bubbled up inside her. Her parents were already furious, as the McMann family would be. She’d talked to her parents briefly—long enough to have them order her to return and for her to tell them it wasn’t happening—and then she’d turned off her phone. She couldn’t deal with their anger right now, especially when it was all aimed at her instead of her cheating fiancé. She didn’t much care what Calvin thought; he could go rot somewhere, for all she was concerned.

      The newspapers, the magazines, network news channels...they’d have a field day with this. How long had it taken before people figured out the bride was missing? Probably not too long. The security detail would have made sure of that. But thanks to Kitty’s tireless PR work, no fewer than four newspapers and two bridal magazines would have been there to record the catastrophe.

      New York traffic had been miserable, as it always was, but luckily an angry bride shaking her fist out the window blended right in in New York. She hadn’t called her parents until she hit open road, and by that time, Milhouse and Kitty Morgan were beyond tender concern and had gone straight to irate shouting.

      Should she call them now? They’d be worried sick. Also furious, and she had no desire to bring her father’s security detail over to this tiny town