"Well of course I do, I mean, I think I do. Oh, I should have gotten some clothes yesterday, but under the circumstances…"
"You don't have any clothes in the bag." His expression turned serious, the fabulous smile faded into oblivion.
Savannah bit her lower lip. "A Sleep shirt."
"A what?" he asked as though he'd never heard of such.
"A Sleep shirt, you know a t-shirt to sleep in," she explained. "Well," she felt compelled to explain. "One doesn't plan these kinds of things out, when one runs from a wedding."
"That doesn't sound much better than what you have on," he shook his head and looked away again. "But I guess you have a point."
Savannah felt an unease creep up her back. She shuffled the camera equipment and set it down beside her. The man was infuriating, despite the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous, despite the fact that her whole body seemed aware of him. He saw what had happened to her, basically. He knew where her car was, that she was practically stranded. And the invitation to stay with him was issued with such reluctance she wouldn't go with him now if he pleaded.
"Thanks for all your help, Sheriff, but I'll figure something out," she muttered miserably and turned again toward the gas station. Bold words, but exactly what she was going to do. She didn't have a set plan, and she hadn't bothered calling her aunt because she wanted to put distance between her and the congregation at the church. Besides she'd already spent $40 of her $250. It wasn't going to last long at this rate.
"If your car wasn't twenty miles down the road, and your bag had something decent in it, I'd say you were probably right, but under the circumstances, ma'am, you're gonna have to come with me." Ben insisted as he got out of the jeep and approached her again.
His legs were long and lithe and he moved toward her like a predator, a very sexy predator.
"I can manage, Sheriff, please don't bother with me," she began, and that's when he put the cuffs on her wrist. Cold steel—handcuffs.
They pinched...
"No bother at all ma'am," he said with a smile pushing his hat back away from his face, so she could get a better view of the man. And what a view, but she was temporarily distracted by the new jewelry.
"What—what are you doing?" she protested the use of force, cold and hard against her wrists.
"Taking you with me." He insisted guiding her back toward the jeep. With one hand he picked up her camera and tripods, with the other, he nudged her toward the jeep.
She pulled away from him, jerking her arms about. "Am I under arrest?"
The man stood squarely in front of her, his legs slightly apart, his hands gripping her equipment, and then he stashed the equipment back in the same spot. His glance shot up and down her. "No ma'am. I'm taking you into protective custody till we can figure out what to do with you."
"Protective custody?" she choked out. "But Sheriff ..."
"It'll go a lot easier if you just come along with me," he insisted in a quietly steel-edged voice.
CHAPTER THREE
Ben dusted his clothes with a sweep of his hat, and led his so called prisoner into his house. This was about as dumb a thing as he'd ever done, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what else to do with the woman. He knew she'd be trouble from the moment he laid eyes on her, his trouble.
Did she honestly think he'd let her run all over town looking like that?
And why did it have to be a Sunday, the one day his housekeeper wasn't here. How was he supposed to manage with a woman in his home. Too bad Dana, his younger sister hadn't spent the summer with him like she usually did. At least she had left some clothes, and they just might fit this little gal.
The woman hadn't said a word all the way out to his place. She hadn't remarked that he practically lived in the boondocks. Instead, she had just sat there with that frown on her face, and those pitiful sad eyes staring at him, every time he hit a chuckhole.
"Sheriff, wouldn't it have been easier to just take me to my car?" She insisted when he went into the kitchen and brought back a couple of glasses of lemonade. Thank goodness Mrs. Johnson had made it earlier before leaving, with a note she'd see him first thing in the morning.
"It might, but I've had a long day, and I've got to get some rest before tomorrow. We'll see to your car tomorrow. Folks around here don't do much on Sundays."
"You've said that," she muttered mutinously.
He handed her the lemonade. That slip she wore played all kinds of tricks on his imagination. Tricks he didn't want to think about. He needed to get some clothes on her, and right away.
He set his drink down and went into his bedroom. Minutes later he came out with a t-shirt and pair of jeans.
"Why don't you take those into the bathroom and try them on. It might be a little big, but at least it will be decent." He suggested, taking the cuffs off her wrists and unthinkingly rubbing them for a second. Something clicked for a minute when she turned her pert little nose in the air, and her green eyes flashed at him, but he cleared his throat and turned his attention to his handcuffs. When her eyes widened and she looked at what he was doing, he fumbled and moved away.
"They belonged to my sister. She's taller and rounder than you, but you look like you might be able to manage."
"Where's the bathroom?" she asked peering about the place with idle curiosity, and a frown as big as Texas on her face.
"Straight through the hallway on the end." He motioned, trying not to look at her again.
He definitely didn't like what this lady was doing to him. The way her little tush swished back and forth down the hallway, had him reacting in a most basic way. A reaction he'd prided himself well under control. At least until she walked into his life. Standing there rubbing her wrists as though he regretted putting the cuffs on her. It was his job, he had to protect her from herself.
Well, he did. Despite the fact that he was as about as far from wanting a woman around as anyone could get, he found himself intrigued by this little misfit. She seemed so vulnerable but he couldn't quite put a finger on why. She looked so damned innocent all the time. No one was that innocent, he warned himself.
He went to the back door and let his hound in, Little Bit whined, his tail whipping about happily that his master was home. Ben patted him and fed him, then settled back into the living room. He checked his mail, got the paper off the porch and sat back in his easy chair. It felt so good being home.
He rubbed his chin absently. He still hadn't shaven. He didn't like beards, but he hadn't had time to shave and catch the bus back to Junction.
It was a long time before she came out again. But when she did Ben was astonished. She looked so different. Gone was all the grit and grime, replaced by a face that wore little or no make-up, hair that shone like varnished pine, and eyes wide and mysterious. The clothes didn't exactly fit either. The t-shirt hung loosely to her upper thigh, but the jeans were tight and showed every curve of her hip. Nice hips too, he noticed.
And his groin tightened like a silly schoolboy with his first crush. She was cute as a button and he couldn't stop the immediate attraction he felt.
Still she was in protective custody, and he began to wonder just how many might be out looking for her this very minute.
"Well now, you look decent again. Glad you had enough sense to take a shower," he muttered, trying his best not to notice that all of her curves seemed to stick out at him and yet he was more fascinated than ever with what he saw in her.
"Sorry for using your facilities, but I was a mess. You could have told me how dirty my face was, you know."
"Wasn't any of my business. You can call me Ben, I have a name, too you know," he barked not looking at her. He didn't like what looking at her did to him.
"No, I'll stick with Sheriff, it fits you better." she said with a deliberate sting.
"Whatever," he muttered. "While we're at it, what's your name?"
"Savannah Kingsley."
"Savannah Kingsley." He rolled the name over for a second. It
sounded aristocratic. It sounded like money to him. Judging from that piece of dress it had to be money, another reason to stay far away from her. She was a blue blood, and he was a blue collar.
"I guess you're hungry?" He asked after a few minutes of sizing her up. It was his job to figure people out, but this little lady was a puzzle.
Savannah shrugged, "A little."
Just then he heard a strange rumbling, it was her stomach, and she clutched it as though it had spoken out of turn. He smiled.
"Sounds like it. Sit down and enjoy your lemonade. After I shave, I'll rustle us up some grub." He said and laid the paper down.
He needed an excuse to get out of there anyway. The living room seemed so tiny since she came out of the bathroom all scrubbed up and smelling sweet. It was probably that damned lavender soap Mrs. Johnson was always laying out for him. Didn't she know men didn't use lavender soaps?
He went into the bathroom, still smelling the soap, and trying his best to ignore it. As he shaved he warned himself not to get involved with this little gal. She might be great as a roll in the hay, but she had that, "I want marriage and kids," look about her.
This was definitely the kind of woman he needed to stay away from. No problem, he thought to himself with satisfaction, she'd be gone as soon as he got her car taken care of.
There was cold fried chicken in the refrigerator and potato salad, he remembered as he walked through the house to the kitchen in the back. He brought it out and set the table. Unused to having company, he tried to make the table look a little nicer, even to the point of putting a daisy in water and in the middle of the table. He grew daisies out in the front and every now and then would bring them in to brighten the place. He had a weakness for flowers he had to admit.
"It's ready if you're hungry," he called to her some time later.
She didn't answer so he went looking for her.
She was standing on the front porch, perched against a corner of the house, looking out over the vast countryside.
"It's pretty out here," she said in a softer tone. She glanced at him, her eyes flashing with surprise at his transformation. "Funny, I didn't expect your place to be pretty."
"No? What did you expect?" He tried ignoring the fact that she looked so fragile.
"Certainly not a beautifully manicured lawn." Her gaze scanned the lawn and fields of fresh plowed dirt.
He shrugged, "I liked this place the moment I saw it. It's a little out of the way sometimes, but it's all mine." Ben said with pride.
"You own it?"
"Yeah, Old man Johnson died a few years back and I bought the place."
"So you've made Junction your home? Where are you from, originally?"
"My second home, Amarillo will always be home to me."
"Amarillo, huh?"
"Yeah." He watched her with renewed interest.
She nodded and stretched, moving away from him. Maybe she was just as nervous about being here with him as he was with her.
"So Sheriff where's your wife and kids?" She asked looking about the yards with a slight smile to her lips.
"Don't have any, don't have any use for marriage myself." he said quietly, glancing at the small flower bed and realizing they needed watering. His rose bushes were suffering from the heat. He walked to the side of the house, turned on the hose and began watering the flowers.
She seemed stunned. "Why's that?"
"Lots of reasons, I guess. I don't need to get tied down. The kind of work I do, can be hazardous. Most women don't want to deal with that."
"You mean in a town like Junction, your work could be dangerous?" She mocked.
"Things happen every now and then."
"So you don't intend getting married at all?"
"Hadn't thought about it that much, but I don't see it in my immediate future, if that's what you mean."
"There are a few things you can't do alone, Sheriff ..."
His glance slid up and down her quickly. "Maybe, but you don't have to marry to have that either."
"I see. Maybe you're just gay then?" She blurted out.
He glanced at her and frowned, "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, are you gay? I mean, you don't seem to like women, so I thought maybe you were gay."
"No," his eyes narrowed into a frown. Whatever possessed her to ask that question, he didn't know. Nothing seemed to fit with this gal, she managed to surprise him at every turn. Where had that question come from? "I'm not gay. I'm just a cautious man, and she'd have to be awful special to rope and hog tie me."
"Rope and hog tie you?" Her expressive eyes narrowed on him, like a green laser beaming at its target. "Is that how you see marriage?" She was almost indignant. "But the flowers ..."
When he cocked his head she continued. "It doesn't all fit."
"What, you've never known a man to like flowers. I planted these myself," he said quietly as he brought the water hose around from the side of the house and continued to water them. Turning the water off minutes later, he looked up at her.
"A big tough Sheriff like you plants flowers?"
"Something wrong with that?" He asked moving to stand beside her, intimidating her with his size.
"No, of course not. You just don't look like the type to do something like that." She moved away quickly.
Ben nodded. "I guess I have my Mama to blame for that. We used to plant flowers together every spring."
"Used to?" she watched him closely.
"Yeah, she's dead, has been for a long time."
"I'm sorry." She flushed and seemed embarrassed to have blurted out so. "I shouldn't have pried."
"No reason to be sorry. My life's pretty much an open book. I have a younger sister at home, she lives with my dad."
"I have a brother and two sisters."
"Where you from?"
"Dallas."
"Big city, huh?" He asked leading her back across the porch by the elbow. A touch that sent signals to his brain to lay off touching. Why this particular woman was affecting him so, he didn't understand. It was new to him and curious all at the same time.
"Never thought of it like that, but yes, I guess so." she said, her tone much lighter, almost friendly.
"What are you doing out here?" He needed some answers, not idle conversation.
"A person doesn't plan where they are going when they are running away, Sheriff?"
"Then you really are a runaway bride?" He regarded her carefully, watching her every move.
"In a matter of speaking," she muttered, flicking an imaginary piece of fuzz from her t-shirt. She went inside, he followed. "But I did let at least one person know where I was going. If that's any consolation. I watch the news and I'm not silly enough to run off without a little thought. I wouldn't want search parties after me, too."
He dragged a chair out for her at the table. She hesitated, looking at him strangely. "And just who did you leave word with?"
"The groom." she uttered.
He let that information soak in. At least she had confronted the groom before she ran out on him. He had to give her credit, she had guts.
"What do you photograph, with your camera?" he asked passing her the chicken as he pulled up a chair beside her. He'd have to notify authorities and let them know she was okay.
"I do animal photography, mostly." she answered, taking the chicken eagerly and motioning for the salad. "I've worked with magazines some."
"I'm impressed. But looking at you, I figured you'd be in front of the camera, not behind it," he said casually.
Her head jerked about and those ultra grey-green eyes narrowed on him with nothing short of surprise. "Me?"
"Yeah, I mean you've certainly got the—the figure and face for it," he said so matter-of-factly she nearly dropped her fork.
"Boy, you've been out here in the boonies too long, Sheriff."
"I only meant it as a compliment."
"Really, well stick me in front of a camera and you might think otherwise. One of the first t
hings a model learns is that the camera adds about ten to twelve pounds every time you step in front of it."
"Well, I don't think ten or twelve pounds would hurt you a bit." He eyed her for a minute, sizing up the honesty of that statement. After all, all he saw was curves and more curves, how could that be bad, camera or no. "So, do you have any plans?"
"As a matter of fact, I do... I needed to get away from the hum-drum city life for a while. I've got an aunt I'll be staying with, not too far from here. Maybe you know her, Lucy Kingsley?"
He nodded, "Lucy? That's where that name sounded so familiar. Yeah, I know her. But you are completely out of luck if you plan to stay with her. She's gone to Europe with a church friend."
"Europe? Oh...no. This can't be. I was so counting on her being there. Well, surely, I could stay at her house, while she's gone?"
Ben eyed her a moment, despite the fact that she was pure trouble, he felt just a tad sorry for her and knew if she could furnish some identification he'd take her out to Lucy's place.
"I suppose you could stay, if you can identify yourself, that is. I mean, I really don't have any way of knowing if you are who you say you are."
Savannah's eyes rounded. "Well, I'm sure...I've got something..."
"Yeah, a driver's license, social security card, anything." Ben took a bite and watched her.
* * *
But Savannah had left her identification in her luggage, at home. She didn't even have her driver’s license and if he found that out, she was sunk. How could this be happening? All she wanted to do was get away from that church, that wedding, and her parents long enough to figure out what to do next.
"Look Sheriff, you aren't going to believe this..."
"You don't have any identification?" his eyes narrowed on her now, a frown forming.
"Well, yes, I do. But not with me. I mean...come on Sheriff; I was running from a wedding. Give me a break..."
"Not even a driver’s license?"
Runaway Bride Page 4
