The Runaway Bride

by Patricia McLinn

  The idea was distasteful. Except for a little zing somewhere down in the part of him that civilization hadn’t reached yet—and that was even more distasteful.

  She eased the car door closed with no more noise than a click.

  She completed her circuit, coming up the porch steps quietly, but with no apparent effort at stealth.

  “What were you doing?”

  She squawked. “You scared the life out of me, Thomas!”

  “Guilty conscience?”

  “The good sense to not like people materializing out of the dark,” she retorted.

  He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She didn’t take any guff from him or anybody else, that was for sure. And she wasn’t one of those women who got all fluttery when they were scared.

  “I didn’t materialize like something out of Star Trek. I was here all along.”

  “You don’t exist in my universe until I see you.” She didn’t even draw a breath before adding, “All along?”

  “All along. That’s why I asked what you were doing.”

  “Out for an evening stroll.”

  “Odd place to stroll—over by the wrecks, and around the corral gate. Considering the horses go in and out of there, it’s not safe for your shoes in daylight. At night—”

  “Oh!” She balanced with one hand on the railing to bend her knee to see the bottom of her left shoe. When that sole came up clean, she shot him a triumphant look before shifting to check the other shoe. “Oh…yuck.”

  A short laugh surprised him before he could hold back. “Yuck? That’s not the usual term for what you stepped in.”

  “My mother disapproves of the more technical terms,” she informed him.

  “So, you remember your mother.”

  Accompanied by a prim grimace she untied her shoe and held it by the shoelaces to carry it to where a collection of boots resided beside the door.

  He thought she might keep going, heading inside and leaving him and his question to chill in the night air.

  “I could say that I was making a general allusion under the presumption that at some point I, like most people—even you—have had a mother who cared about such matters, but I was really—” She peered up at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot—”

  “You trying to get out of finishing what you were saying about remembering your mother when you’ve got such an all-powered terrible case of amnesia?”

  She kept her eyes on his face, making him wish he had a hat on. “No. I was going to say that I do remember my mother very well—from my childhood. As Becky would tell you, it’s common with amnesia to remember the distant past quite clearly. It’s the more immediate past that gets murky.”

  She looked away on that last sentence, and her voice dropped.

  Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. Someone who wasn’t sharing something as basic as her identity wasn’t going to pour out her history.

  “Just tell me this, are you a criminal?” He felt like a fool asking it, because what was she going to say? Yes, you got me, I’m a criminal, and I’ll slink off now and leave you all be.

  “Wh— No!”

  She sounded indignant, but so would an accomplished liar or a con woman. But then she did something he couldn’t figure. She chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Maybe it’s another symptom of the blow to my head. Truly, Thomas, I’m not a criminal and I won’t hurt your family or you.”

  And damned if she didn’t more than half convince him.

  “So what were you doing out walking in the, uh, yuck?”

  “I wanted to get to know the place better. Interesting to see how little was left of that truck—at least I think it used to be a truck. Will my car look like that someday?”

  “Probably, unless you tell Gandy hands-off. You know you’d do better in daylight. Not only for avoiding stepping in yuck, but because you could see what it is you’re trying to get to know better.” He’d let the sarcasm loose.

  She leaned forward as if to confide in him. “Don’t I know it—but I have this mean boss. Works me sunup to sundown. Never have a moment to myself, much less a chance to take a walk.”

  “I’ll make sure Becky helps more. You shouldn’t—”

  “No, no, I was teasing, Thomas. Becky does help—a lot. And I’m starting to get the hang of it. I was just giving you a hard time because…well, because.”

  She’d placed her hand on his bare forearm, he felt the warmth and the smoothness against his skin. He looked down, and saw her fingers, pale and slender. He had the strangest urge to lift those fingers and kiss them.

  Him! Who’d never kissed a woman’s hand in his life. What was the matter with him?

  Her. That’s what was the matter with him. Helga or not Helga or whatever the hell her name was.

  “Thomas, I—”

  But he’d walked out from under her touch, and he had no intention of being lured back by her voice.

  He let the door wheezing closed behind him be his good-night.

  Judi squeezed moisturizer onto her right hand. The white lotion created as great a contrast against her skin as her hand had against Thomas’s tanned and hair-dusted arm.

  Before he’d walked away from her.

  Very smooth, Judi. Yes, very smooth.

  She’d made so many mistakes in that conversation. She’d never win Thomas over to neutral at this rate.

  Was neutral where she wanted him?

  She wasn’t going to think about that, wasn’t going to think about him. Think about something else. Like, her nails would never be the same, she thought a little desperately. Dishes and housework had wiped out the last vestiges of her prewedding manicure. Not even a wizard like Pammy could do much with what remained.

  Oh, well, that’s what acrylic was for—if she wanted stylish nails.

  The more she thought about it, the more she liked the way her hands looked—utilitarian, capable, used.

  Plus, they felt better than they had in the weeks she’d worn Sterling’s engagement ring. People had said it was quite a rock and that’s what it had felt like on her hand—a huge, heavy rock dragging her hand down. Maybe part of the drag had been the number of times he’d told her how valuable it was.

  She smiled, knowing the ring and the rest were safely stowed away now.

  The bracelet was the worst of all.

  A heavy gold chain with gold and gem-studded mementos hanging off it passed as a gaudy and clunky version of an old-fashioned charm bracelet. Instead of following the sentimental tradition of gradually buying charms to mark special occasions, Sterling had presented it to her as a complete piece, with generic charms representing Chicago along with an elaborate rose and a heart totally out of proportion to the rest.

  Hanging on her wrist it had felt like an anchor. Maybe that’s why he’d insisted she wear it all the time. She rubbed her forehead.

  Geoff’s “girlfriend” could worry about what Sterling was or was not—but probably was—doing in Chicago. But there was no one other than her to try to straighten out this tension between Thomas and Becky.

  As if he wanted to hear anything from me right now.

  She rubbed extra moisturizer into her cuticle. Was there something significant about Becky’s right now? Was there something going on that she, as a newcomer, wasn’t aware of that was causing trouble?

  If so, it seemed to have eluded Gran, too.

  Yet the friction between Thomas and Becky clearly worried Gran at the very time she needed to put all her energy into healing, not mending strained sibling relationships.

  So it was up to Judi.

  “What smells so good?” Gran asked as Judi helped her out of bed with the leg band after a nap.

  She wasn’t taking naps every day, but the physical therapist, Alice, had come today, and that wore her out.

  “Turkey. The trouble is—”

  “Turkey? Good heavens, I didn’t know we had any turkey.”

  “Found it way
down in the freezer. Thomas said I could use anything in the freezer….” But judging by the woman’s expression, this anything was a bad move.

  Breakfasts were higher volume than she was used to, but pretty standard fare, with plenty of eggs, ham or bacon, toast and lots of toppings. For lunch, everyone was on his or her own, except Gran. Mostly they relied on sandwiches.

  Planning the dinners was the biggest chore. In her pre-Sterling life, the only meals she’d planned were dinner parties she could count on one-and-a-half hands. She went out a good bit—every night with Sterling. When it came to cooking for herself, crackers and cheese qualified as a two-course meal.

  Last night, digging into the chest freezer in the utility room, she’d found the turkey. She’d helped her mom with Thanksgiving year after year. She knew the drill on stuffing and basting and covering, then uncovering. And afterward…ah, turkey sandwiches.

  Her mouth already watering, she’d hefted the package the size of a bowling ball out of the freezer. A night defrosting in the fridge and it should be ready.

  She’d discovered this morning that she’d been overly optimistic. Who knew a bowling ball took this long to defrost? When she helped her mother, the turkey was always ready to go.

  And this bird wouldn’t fit in the microwave to speed defrosting. Between preparing the rest of the fixings, helping Gran and general housework, she’d soaked it in cool water the way the label said.

  Finally, at four forty-three she stepped back from closing the oven door after placing the roasting pan inside.

  At four-fifty-seven she put down her third attempt at the math, and realized she had a big problem.

  Big, as in Thomas would be coming through that door for dinner at 7:30 p.m.

  Big, as in by her calculations, she’d be ready to serve dinner at 10:30 p.m.

  Then Gran had rung.

  “Oh, Helga, this could be a problem. Turkey, I mean.”

  “You’re telling me! This bird is never going to be done on time.”

  “That’s just as well, because this family’s not real fond of turkey.”

  “It won’t be dry—I promise. Or tasteless like some you get in restaurants. And wait until you taste the stuffing. It’s an old family recipe and—”

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful. It’s just that we lost our taste for turkey and—”

  A pounding of feet prepared them for Becky’s exuberant arrival. “Turkey! You’re fixing turkey!”

  This did not sound like a hater of turkey. Judi looked from Becky to Gran, but the older woman wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Well, I was, but there’s a problem…”

  “I never bought turkey,” Gran interrupted, “so how’d it get in the freezer?”

  “I bought it,” Becky said. “I don’t know what Thomas’s trouble is, but I decided that this year we’d have a Thanksgiving turkey. And it was on sale, so I bought it.”

  “You bought it for Thanksgiving? But it looked like it had been in the freezer for ages.”

  “Oh, I bought it a few months ago. I put it at the bottom for, uh, safekeeping.”

  In other words, so her grandmother wouldn’t see it.

  This was getting curiouser and curiouser. This family clearly had issues with turkey.

  “Becky, you know—”

  “I don’t care. We haven’t had turkey at Thanksgiving since I was nine years old—and I’m tired of not having it.”

  “Well,” Judi said, inserting calm into the rising tension, “if you’re going to have one this year, you’ll have to buy another one because this guy’s already cooking. Although he’s not cooking fast enough. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all. I messed up and didn’t leave enough time for him to defrost, so there won’t be any turkey tonight. Maybe for breakfast, but not tonight.”

  In one of her lightning changes of mood, Becky giggled. “Turkey for breakfast?”

  “Sure. That solves tomorrow morning’s breakfast, but what about tonight?”

  “How about scrambled eggs?”

  They were all chuckling about that when they filed into the kitchen.

  Judi decided on pork chops, based on what could be defrosted in the microwave and cooked on the range, since the oven was occupied. For fruit salad, Gran cut up apples and oranges on a board set across the arms of her chair. It wasn’t the best working surface, but at least being useful boosted Gran’s mood.

  Still, Judi noticed Gran checking the clock over the sink and glancing out the door much more often than usual. It had to be Thomas’s reaction to the turkey that had her concerned. And Becky was talking a mile-a-minute about nothing, which didn’t soothe Judi’s nerves.

  By the time boot heels sounded on the porch and the door swung open, Judi half expected them all to scream like overwrought actresses in a horror movie.

  Thomas stopped inside the door and took a deep sniff.

  “It’s turkey,” Becky’s defiant declaration was too loud.

  But Thomas only looked at his sister with a faintly puzzled frown. When he extended the look to her, Judi discovered an urgent need to find the pot holder she wouldn’t need for another five or six minutes. Be prepared, put that pot holder on early—that was her motto. And make sure you watch what you’re doing while you pull it on. Wouldn’t want to get your fingers caught in the seam and—

  “Smells great, doesn’t it?” Becky demanded.

  Judi looked up through her bangs to see Thomas look toward the stove top.

  “Smallest turkey I’ve ever seen if it fits in that pan,” he said mildly.

  Surprised laughter spurted out of Judi. “Pork chops in the pan. Turkey’s in the oven. I got a late start and it’s not going to be done until way past dinnertime. So we’re having pork chops for dinner and—”

  “Turkey for breakfast.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. That was a joke. We—”

  But Becky was not in a soft-pedaling frame of mind. “I bought the turkey for Thanksgiving, but Helga found it and started cooking it. I’m going to buy another one and we’re going to have it for Thanksgiving. No matter what. What do you have to say about that, Thomas?”

  If the teenager had been a prize fighter, she would have been inviting a knockout with that chin stuck out that way. As Thomas opened his mouth, Judi closed her eyes. She never had liked boxing.

  “Aren’t we ever going to have beef?” he asked. “This is a cattle ranch you know. It’s how we earn our money. Helga’s cooked chicken, shrimp, more chicken, and now turkey and pork chops. How about equal time for beef?”

  Her eyes popped open. She hadn’t thought about that. Not once.

  Becky laughed—it sounded nervous for the first few seconds then turned genuine—and she soon joined in.

  “Okay, equal time for beef.”

  While Becky set the table with the high spirits of someone who has faced down a major challenge, Judi decided she’d let her imagination get away with her.

  But then she heard Gran say quietly to Thomas, “You okay with this?”

  He raised a brow at her. “As long as it’s eatable, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Last time anybody made turkey in this house, you ended up throwing the whole meal out in the garbage.”

  For a split second, he didn’t seem to remember. Then he stiffened. “That was a long time ago.”

  “If you want to talk about it—”

  “It’s best forgotten.”

  Gran seemed a little older when she said, “Okay, Thomas.”

  Thomas wasted no time eating his pork chops and excusing himself.

  Judi cleaned up the kitchen, checked on the turkey—yup, right on track to finish at 10:30 p.m.—watched the end of a TV news magazine with Gran, then assisted her through her nightly routine.

  Only after Gran was in bed and Judi had drawn the covers up over the bolster to within Gran’s reach did she ask the question that had been clamoring for release.

  “So what’s the deal with turkey?”

 
; “It’s a long story.”

  Judi pulled up the chair and sat. “I’ve got till the timer goes off on the oven.”

  “You doing something with that turkey tonight? You’ll be up awfully late.”

  “Yes, I will. Now, let’s talk turkey.”

  Gran gave a wan smile. “It goes back to what I was telling you about Maureen, Becky’s mother. It didn’t take but weeks to see ranch life wasn’t her cup of tea. She got pregnant right off, and you’d have thought she was the first female in the history of the world to have morning sickness and swollen ankles. Rick asked if I could see my way clear to staying, to help out some.” She snorted. “Help out. Like we didn’t both know I’d be doing all the work. I had a real soft spot for Rick—he’d made my girl happy—but still, I’d’ve moved out if it hadn’t been for Thomas. He needed a buffer between him and his stepmother.”

  “He and Maureen didn’t get along?”

  “More like they saw each other as alien species. She kept saying it was too late for Rick, but she could make a gentleman out of Thomas—as if dressing fancy and using four forks ever made anyone a gentleman. As for Thomas, he made it real clear what he thought of her city ways. It got better when Becky came along. Thomas and Rick pure adored her and Maureen acted like she was a princess.”

  “But…but she left Becky behind,” Judi blurted out. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, and—”

  “If folks only paid attention to what was their business this would be a damned silent world. Besides, it’s the truth. When Maureen picked up and went, she left her five-year-old daughter behind.” She shrugged. “I suppose you’d have to be a psychologist to know why. I suspect Thomas would tell you—”

  As if she could get Thomas Vance to tell her anything!

  “—that it was because Maureen didn’t want a kid to slow her down as she tried the fast lane. Probably some truth to that. But I’d say mostly she got bored. And Becky wasn’t the pliable little doll she’d been as a baby. She’d always had a mind of her own and by five she was more than capable of holding her own with her mother.”

  “Five? Becky said the last turkey Thanksgiving dinner was when she was nine.”

  “Maureen first left when Becky was five, but even after the divorce was final, Maureen would show up out of the blue now and then. Never knew for sure, but I always figured she’d come when she was having trouble out there in the fast lane. She would throw everybody into a tizzy thinking maybe this time she’d stay, then she’d get bored, wheedle money out of Rick and sweep out again. That Thanksgiving dinner was the last time. There was a blowup. Things were said. And Thomas… Well, after that, Maureen got some big job with an advertising firm in Seattle and she didn’t come back. Maybe she didn’t need Rick’s help anymore or maybe she wasn’t bored anymore. Maybe something else.”