The Runaway Bride. Patricia Johns
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River is pretty small,” Liam was saying, and she dragged her attention back to the present. “I think our population is seven hundred now—we hovered at 698 for about three years before some babies were born.”
He looked over at her, and she thought she caught some humor in his half smile. He looked kind, and after the day she’d had, she was grateful for a little bit of kindness.
“So why are you here?” she asked.
“I’ve lived here most of my life.” He shrugged. “It’s home.”
“And you have enough business around here?” she asked dubiously. This was her education in marketing and economics shining through.
“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m the only garage in Runt River, and then there are people coming down the highway who have engine trouble. There are garages in nearby towns, but those are far enough away that I do okay.”
“That’s a good setup,” she said with a nod. “A cozy little local monopoly. I like it.”
“I can’t complain.” He glanced in her direction again, and she noticed a new sparkle of respect in his eye. Most people didn’t expect her to care about anything beyond fashion and brunch, but she was no vapid socialite. Bernadette was the future owner and CEO of her father’s businesses—a responsibility she didn’t take lightly.
It was a relief to be so far away from New York and the pressures there, but she was nervous about meeting Lucille. She’d heard the stories. Lucille was her father’s sister, and apparently, there had been no love lost between them. She’d married some guy named Arnie Neiman—someone desperately below her—and settled into Nowhere, USA. But there was more to that story—one Bernie had managed to piece together over the years. The whole estrangement had been about a three-carat engagement ring that had belonged to a grandmother. She’d verbally promised the ring to her grandson, Milhouse, after he’d sweet talked her into it. Lucille had already turned down two very charming marriage prospects, and Grandma was planning on proving her displeasure by changing the will, but then died before she had the chance. The will left the ring to Lucille, and Lucille wouldn’t part with it. And a feud was born. It was ridiculous. A three-carat ring was a nice size, but it wasn’t exactly unattainable. Bernie’s own engagement ring was probably worth more. Milhouse had bought Kitty plenty of bigger diamonds over the years, so why let a three-carat ring come between siblings? That was why she’d decided to come out here to find Lucille—she might be the only person who understood her instinct to run like heck. Still, Bernie had never met her aunt, and she was curious...who was this woman who kept a ring and cut out the rest of her family?
“What’s my aunt like?” she asked.
Liam was silent for a few beats. “Lucille is kind. A good neighbor. Honest.”
“But you didn’t know she was a Morgan,” she countered. “Are you sure she’s that honest?” The mechanic’s description didn’t match what she’d heard about her aunt.
“I haven’t heard her side of it yet,” Liam replied. “So I’m reserving judgment.”
That was new—who did that these days, reserving judgment on another person’s failings? No one she knew personally. Apparently, Aunt Lucille had some loyal friends.
Runt River’s downtown consisted of a few stores—a ranch supply store, a burger joint, an ice cream shop, a drugstore—and only one stoplight that Bernie could see. Most vehicles seemed to be pickup trucks that parked in the angled spots in front of stores, their tails hanging out into the road. Downtown came and went in the space of two streets, and then they turned on to a street of houses. These were decent-sized, well-maintained, with large yards and mature trees. In New York, they’d be worth a couple million, but out here in Runt River, Ohio, they would probably sell for pocket change.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling into the drive of a large white house. An older woman sat on the porch, a toddler beside her eating crackers out of a box she held in her lap. The little guy was cute—with the biggest brown eyes she’d ever seen.
Was that her aunt?
Bernie couldn’t make out any of the Morgan traits in the older woman. She was gray—what woman let herself go gray in their family?—and she carried some extra weight. She wore a flower-patterned summer dress, and her hair was cut in a chin-length bob—just a touch of fashionableness. The older woman squinted when she spotted Bernie in the front seat, then leaned forward.
Liam got out of the truck, and looked back at Bernie. She slowly pushed the door open and raised a hand in a tentative wave.
“Hi, Lucille,” Liam said. “I’ve got someone here who says she knows you.”
Lucille stood up and fixed Bernie with a shocked expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”
Bernie’s hand flew up to the veil still affixed to her hair with clips and pins. The stylist had promised that it would stay put, and that was no lie.
“That was the plan,” Bernie replied, gathering her skirt up into her arms again. Liam had the decency to come over and offer her a hand as she climbed down so that she didn’t land flat on her face.
Lucille came down the steps, the toddler staying on the porch with the box of crackers, and she stopped a couple of feet away from Bernie, looking her over carefully.
“You’re Bernadette, aren’t you?” Lucille asked softly. She’d called her by her full name, and a place in Bernie’s heart warmed at that.
“Yes.”
“Did you marry him?”
Bernie blinked. “No. I...didn’t.”
Lucille nodded twice, then turned and headed back toward the porch.
“Come on in, then,” Lucille called over her shoulder. “I imagine you’ve got lots of questions, and so do I. You, too, Liam. We’d better sort this out.”
* * *
IKE STOOD ON the porch, a cracker in one hand, crumbs all over his fingers. He wore a new outfit—shorts that were long enough to be pants on him, and a too-small T-shirt. Lucille must have dug them up from somewhere. Liam was grateful for Lucille—she’d stepped in when he was fresh out of ideas—but even she didn’t seem to be enough for the little guy. Ike’s eyes were filled with grief, his little mouth pursed into a rosebud. He looked more like a Morgan to Liam. The curls, the eyes...
He misses Leanne.
And Liam couldn’t fix that one. He’d spent the last three years missing her, too, on some level or other. He’d known it was over when she left him, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her at the strangest times. They’d been married, after all. That had meant something—to him, at least.
Ike trotted over in Liam’s direction and held up a soggy, half-eaten cracker.
“Share,” Ike whispered.
Liam bent down and picked up the toddler, turning his face away from the proffered cracker.
“No, thanks, buddy,” he said. “Maybe later.”
Ike smiled, a tiny uplifting of the corners of his pink mouth. That was the closest thing to a smile Liam had seen from the kid, and he felt gratified. He’d wanted this so badly—to be a dad to someone—that holding Leanne’s son was both painful and a relief at once.
Lucille led the way into the house and Bernie followed, her dress dragging along the carpet behind her. The screen door banged shut behind them. The suitcase, which Liam had retrieved from the trunk of the Rolls, was still in the back of the pickup truck, and he idly wondered when Bernie was going to want to change out of that soiled wedding dress.
“Did you have a nice day?” Liam asked Ike. What would nice even be like for a two-year-old who’d lost his mother and was now with a bunch of strangers? He remembered what that had felt like when he was