Runaway Groom

by Fiona Lowe

  “I appreciate the offer but I’m not keen to leave Red on her own.”

  The man nodded in perfect understanding. “Oh, yeah, she’s a sweet ride. Hydra-Glide, eh? What year?”

  Ben was used to answering questions about Red, but getting one from someone who recognized her straight off the bat was unusual. “Nineteen fifty-seven.”

  “I’ve got a ’41 chopper myself.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Back in the day I ruled these roads on that baby.”

  Ben laughed thinking of the motorcycle club his father belonged to whose motto was Grow Old Disgracefully. “You probably still can and should.”

  “Mebbe you’re right. Just lately I got too much work to ride her much.” He tugged on his beard. “Your baby’s gonna be fine here. It’ll only take ten minutes to get back with the tow truck and we’ll have her tucked up safe by nightfall. Meanwhile, you look like you could use a beer, eh?”

  Ben grinned. He’d only been in Wisconsin one day but the locals’ love affair with beer almost matched Australia’s. He pulled his wallet, phone and passport out of a saddle bag and got into the truck. “Thanks, mate. I’m Ben.”

  “Al Swenson, Whitetail’s mechanic.” He shook Ben’s hand before putting the truck in gear and moving off. “Is that an accent I hear?”

  Ben tried not to laugh because Al sounded like a character off A Prairie Home Companion. “Yeah. I’m Australian.”

  “An Aussie on a Harley in Wisconsin, eh?” Al slapped the top of the steering wheel with his palm. “Damn. Now, that’s not something we see every day. Welcome to Whitetail, son. It’s a nice little town. Why not stay awhile, eh?”

  Ben saw an advertising flyer on the dash for Feel Like a Star Car and Carriage Service. It featured a photo of a bride in a horse-drawn carriage. He shuddered. “I’ll think about it,” he said, being polite, but there was no way in hell he would consider it for a second. Nothing short of the apocalypse could keep him in a town that celebrated weddings.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Ben stood in Al’s auto repair workshop not quite able to believe his luck that the guy who’d offered him help was a mechanic with a passion for bikes. Not that Ben didn’t know his way around Red’s engine; he did. He tinkered with it constantly and, truth be told, he probably took better care of it than he took of himself. Al would be great backup, though, if he couldn’t fix Red himself and a good contact if he needed parts.

  He glanced around. By the looks of the clutter in the workshop, Al was also a lover of all things that provided humans with transport. The front part of the workshop looked relatively modern but the back was filled with old engines, worn buggies that had once been pulled by elegant horses and something that looked like it might be a rusted-out Mustang. It reminded him of his dad’s shed.

  “Interesting collection.”

  “Some people would say I collect junk but I know different. Did up an old landau a while back and now it’s used as a wedding carriage.” Al rose from a squat after taking a quick look at Red. “Going on what you told me, Ben, it could be anything from valves to the manifold. I’ll take a look at her first thing in the morning.” He threw a tarp over Red.

  “It might just be dirty fuel. We could work on her now,” Ben said firmly, eager to find the problem, fix it and get out of town.

  “Son, you just finished telling me you’ve been on the road for over two hundred days. Red needs rest and, looking at you, you need a home-cooked meal. What’s your hurry, eh? We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” He opened the door and flicked off the lights as if the topic was now closed for discussion. “My daughter’s putting supper on the table right about now.”

  Ben was used to the beat of his own drum. “I don’t want to hold you up but if you’re happy for me to work here alone, I’m sure I can solve the problem. I’ve kept her going this long.”

  “And risk her breaking down on you again and this time in the dark?” Al gave him a look that said Ben was clueless. “It’s over a hundred miles to Eau Claire and there’s no town bigger than Whitetail in between. It’s not like you need to be anywhere in particular tonight, eh?”

  Al had him there. The whole point of life on the road was to take it as it comes. He was an expert at doing that but he didn’t want to do it in this town. Without transport, though, he was stuck and he could hardly break into the workshop and fix her.

  Recognizing a fait accompli, he reluctantly followed Al back to the truck. “Can you suggest somewhere cheap I can stay?”

  Al scratched his chin. “Oh, hell. I just remembered there’s a wedding tomorrow and everywhere’s booked solid.”

  Ben’s gut tightened. A town filled with happy and excited wedding guests was the last place he wanted to be. He turned back toward the garage door. “Let me take a look. It’s probably just the spark plugs.”

  Al’s beefy hand shot out and clamped on his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere except to my house for supper.”

  Ben wasn’t used to such insistent hospitality and he was getting the strong impression it would be easier to just give in but that wasn’t something he was very good at.

  “I’d invite you to stay with me,” Al continued, “but my family’s visiting from Saint Paul for the wedding.” He sighed. “The house is full of excited women.”

  Ben thought he’d just dodged a bullet. “No worries. I’ll pitch my tent.”

  Al shook his head again. “The mornings are mighty chilly this far north.”

  Ben had camped in a lot worse places. “I’ll cope. I saw a sign about a campground near the lake.”

  “It closed last week.” The mechanic’s pale blue eyes suddenly lit up. “But I know just the place and it’s right on the lake. How about I lend you my chopper and you head out there straight after supper, eh?”

  The thought of a sweet ride on a chopper silenced all his concerns about spending time in the wedding town. He shot out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Amy eased the car down the long, overgrown driveway, with her heart sinking fast. If the cabin was in the same state as the driveway, she knew it would be a dump. God, she hoped there weren’t spiders. Or mice. She shivered at the thought and gripped the steering wheel harder. Ella had said there were clean sheets and towels and at this point of her day and her life that was all she cared about. She needed a shower to wash away the filth of the day—well, physically anyway. Nothing could wash away the poison of Jonathon’s words.

  You know more about the law, Amy, than you do about sex.

  How had she been so stupid? How had she managed to lose everything she’d worked so hard for so quickly? She didn’t know who she hated more right now—Jonathon or herself for being so blind.

  She peered into the darkness and a small building came into view so she pulled off the driveway and parked behind some trees. Grabbing her flashlight, she opened the car door and looked for a path. There wasn’t one. As she approached the log cabin she thought it odd that there were no windows on the back wall, especially as there wasn’t a chimney either. She walked around the rectangular building, looking for the door. She stopped short as the yellow beam of her flashlight bounced off a padlock.

  Oh, God, it was worse than she thought. This wasn’t even a cabin. It was some sort of shed. It probably reeked of fishing bait or Jet Ski oil. She pressed her forehead against the metal doors and tried not to cry. She didn’t have the heart to open it and face the contents.

  Go back to town.

  The thought tempted her so much she could feel herself giving in to it. Ella had a lovely house with a hot shower and she could stay the night and rethink her plan tomorrow.

  Ella will ask questions.

  Suddenly the idea of sleeping with the scent of engine oil and fish didn’t seem quite so bad. She fingered the bunch of keys in her hand and wondered what th
ey were all for. She couldn’t imagine what could possibly be inside a one-room shed that would need so many keys.

  As she tramped back to the car to grab her bag, she noticed what looked like a path off to her left. It probably led to the lake. Despite the fact there was only a half-moon and she wouldn’t be able to see much, she had an overwhelming need to see the water. Moving her flashlight back and forth in a wide arc, she walked slowly with her gaze on her feet so she didn’t trip over. At the end of a grove of pine trees, the path suddenly opened up into a large clearing.

  Bright lights came on and she stared, blinking, as she heard her stunned gasp echoing back to her on the night air. There was no lake. Instead, towering above her was the biggest house she’d ever seen. Scarcely able to believe its existence, she quickly crossed the driveway and walked straight to a wide wooden door that was housed under a portico.

  She frantically tried almost every key in the bunch until the sixth one yielded her entry. She quickly passed through a vestibule and then she was standing inside a massive room that had to be more than thirty feet high. She supposed that, as there were exposed log beam walls, this was technically a log cabin. Everything else about it screamed mansion.

  On one side of the great room was a floor-to-ceiling river-rock fireplace, the size of which put a Tudor castle’s to shame. On the other side was an enormous glass prow wall, the height of the house, and she’d stake her life it gave uncompromising views over the lake. She tried not to meet the glass eyes of the deer head that had pride of place on another wall along with other trophies of large fish. After all, this was the northwoods and people took their hunting and fishing seriously.

  As she moved through the house, the lights came on automatically and she ran up the wide staircase to a catwalk and still the huge ceiling beams were way above her. Deliberating for a moment whether to go left or right, she chose left. She discovered bedroom after bedroom until she got to the end of a wing and found herself in the master bedroom. The king-size bed barely made a dent in the enormous room and she leaped on it.

  Oh, my God. Sheer comfort enveloped her as she sank into pillow softness and let out a squeal of pure delight. A moment later, excitement had her back up on her feet and she found a panel that controlled the lights in sectors around the house. The question, Honey, did you turn off the kitchen lights before coming upstairs? never needed to be asked in the Rasmussens’ house. She bypassed the walk-in closet and went directly to the master bathroom. Like the rest of the house it was decorated in elegant and expensive rustic chic complete with a jetted tub and fluffy towels. She might never leave.

  Praying that the hot water hadn’t been turned off, she turned on the faucets, filling the tub. Cold water ran for thirty seconds and then hot kicked in. Yes. Finally, after having the crappiest day of her life, something was going right. She rifled through a vanity drawer and found a bottle of mango body gel and squirted it in. The tropical scent rose on the steam and she stripped off her soiled clothes and stepped in.

  As the water covered her body she leaned back, closed her eyes and sighed. She’d just found the perfect haven to stay while she worked out exactly what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  Chapter Two

  Amy didn’t realize her eyes had fluttered closed until they jerked open in fright. The loud and throaty sound of an engine reverberated around her, sending fear skimming along her veins. She sat up fast, her hands gripping the edge of the bath so hard it hurt. The house was well set back from the main road so traffic noise wouldn’t penetrate, which meant this engine noise was coming from just outside.

  It died away and a moment later she relaxed. It must have belonged to a passing boat of enthusiastic fishermen or maybe a local. She remembered there were some people who lived on the lake who used boats to get to and from the town because in the summer months it was quicker than the road. Who knew, maybe they used their boats three seasons out of four and not just during the summer.

  While she’d dozed, the water in the bath had cooled and the lights in the bathroom had automatically switched off. She stood up, stepped out of the bath and picked up the gloriously soft and enormous bath sheet. As she rubbed herself dry, she heard a squeaking sound. She immediately paused, listening for it again but when she didn’t hear it, she figured it must have been the floorboards creaking under her feet.

  It’s just new house jitters. You’ll get used to the sounds. She forced herself to go back to her drying and was just about to pop the edge of the towel between her toes when the bang of a door made her jump.

  Her heart leaped in her chest. Oh, God. Someone was in the house.

  Sometimes in the off-season, we get break-ins.

  Ella’s words amplified her fears and she realized the throaty engine noise she’d heard hadn’t been a boat at all. It was a motorcycle.

  A gang?

  Don’t be ridiculous. It was one engine.

  Every stereotype ever created about bikers filled her with panic.

  It might be a woman.

  And pigs might fly.

  With an engine that loud and thundering, it had to be ridden by a man who had a serious ego and put himself above the law. That could be the only reason why he hadn’t ridden away the moment the outside security lighting had come on. Why he hadn’t been deterred by the sight of her car.

  She shoved her fist into her mouth to stifle a scream. He wouldn’t have seen her car. She’d parked it well off the driveway and it was hidden behind trees. The biker wouldn’t know she was in the house. The news was full of the unpredictable things thieves did when they were unexpectedly confronted. Her breaths came in short, choppy rifts. She was alone in a huge house with a probable violent intruder and no neighbors close enough to hear her scream. Why had she been so against the idea of carrying a small gun in her purse?

  Think, Amy, think.

  Tying the large bath sheet firmly under her arms, she reentered the bedroom. The low glow of the bedside lamps came on instantly and she threw herself at the switch, turning them off. Acid surged into the back of her throat. There was no way she could move in this house without activating the lights and drawing attention to her presence.

  Her body took another jolt of fear-induced adrenaline but instead of paralyzing her, it activated her brain.

  The control panel.

  She turned on the long-handled flashlight Mrs. Norell had given her and pointed it at the panel, praying there’d be an obvious master switch to turn off the lights and keep them off. She didn’t want to press random buttons and risk turning on every light in the house. Biting her lip hard, she pressed the switch that read, Good-night. Then she tried to get the lamps to turn on. Nothing happened.

  Yes!

  She swallowed in relief but it was short-lived. No lights didn’t change the fact there was someone downstairs. If she had anything to do with it, she would find him first and not the other way around. Very carefully, she eased her way out of the room and made her way very quietly along the hallway until she stood in the shadows of the catwalk.

  Heavy footsteps sounded loud and ominous and then the loud scrape of wood against wood floated up to her, followed by a thud.

  “Shit.”

  The male voice confirmed her suspicions but the way he’d said the curse was odd. It sounded sort of flat and elongated.

  She crept forward and saw a small spill of light. He was holding his phone and it silhouetted him as he bent over rubbing his shin. He straightened up.

  Her mouth dried. She was five feet ten inches tall in flat feet but this guy was taller. Exactly how much more was hard to tell because he was wearing a motorcycle helmet, but she guessed he was well over six feet. But it wasn’t his height that was intimidating, it was his breadth. The square tilt of his shoulders and the way they filled his leather jacket said he could squish her like a bug if he chose.r />
  Not if I get to you first, buddy.

  Her hand tightened on the flashlight. If she could somehow get downstairs without him knowing she was there then maybe she could sneak up on him and...

  What? What? Years of arguing for a living and reading dry contracts had hardly prepared her for a stakeout and a raid.

  As he turned around and started walking very carefully and slowly back across the great room, she thought she heard him mumble, “Bloody lights” but perhaps she’d been watching too much British television on late-night cable. Why would he want to turn on the lights if he was going to burglarize? He was either not very bright or very certain the house was isolated enough for no one to notice. The fact he didn’t have a flashlight indicated the former.

  He disappeared through a doorway that Amy hadn’t explored and she took her chance. Holding her towel tightly against her chest, she pressed her body against the banister and walked slowly down the stairs.

  Don’t come back, don’t come back, don’t come back, she silently chanted as she felt her feet touch each step. She finally reached the bottom and left the safety of the banister, walking carefully toward the doorway he’d exited through. If or when he returned, she’d be there ready to hit him with her flashlight.

  She was halfway across the great room when the enormous antler chandelier above her head lit up.

  Terror froze her to the spot. He must have found another control panel and any minute he was going to reappear and find her. Frantically she gazed around, taking in the entire open space and running through her limited options. Hiding behind one of the four-seater leather sofas would put her at risk of being found crouching down and vulnerable. Unless she could jump up and surprise him.

  Wearing a towel?

  Okay, bad idea. Oh, why hadn’t she thought to put her clothes on?

  Just move! Like a sprinter hearing the starter’s gun, she raced to the doorway and flattened herself up against the wall. Sucking in her breath as if that would make her even less noticeable, she raised the flashlight high above her head.