Runaway Vegas Bride

by Teresa Hill

“Me either. What do we do?”

  “Unfortunately, he’s an adult, he’s competent to make his own decisions—according to the law, at least—and he gets to go on making his own decisions until you can convince a court to find him incompetent.”

  Wyatt groaned.

  “Look, you’re always welcome to come with him to his appointments with me, if he’ll let you, and then if you have concerns, I can try to play medical referee. If you’re trying to look out for his health and safety, I’ll back you up all the way. But I can’t force him into anything.”

  “I feel like I’m the grown-up and he’s the teenager,” Wyatt complained. “Or maybe even a toddler.”

  “In my experience, most family members caring for older relatives feel that way eventually,” the doctor sympathized. “Come to his next appointment. We’ll talk.”

  Wyatt said he would, was just hanging up the phone with the doctor when his secretary buzzed, sounding agitated. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

  “Lucy, I’m a fortunate man. There’s almost always a woman here to see me,” he spoke into the intercom.

  “This one’s different,” Lucy claimed.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Different, how?”

  “She says she just crawled out of some bushes and she has to talk to you right now. It’s about Leo.”

  Wyatt grinned broadly. Jane coming to him? This was a good day.

  He opened the door, and then gaped at her.

  She looked like a woman who’d been in a fight with a bush. There was a small twig of some kind sticking out of her hair, which was half falling down, half still in a droopy bun on her head. She had small scratches on her face and hands, leaves stuck to her skirt and bits of dirt clinging to her knees.

  “Jane!” He went to her side, looking her over more carefully to make sure she wasn’t really hurt. “What happened?”

  “I hid in a bush,” she said, as he took her hand and led her carefully into his office to a seat on his sofa. “Because I was spying on Leo and Gladdy, and then Leo left, and I didn’t have time to really get out of the way. It was the bush or nothing. Not that it worked. They saw me anyway. And…” ended up like this.”

  “Lucy, would you get…any thing you can find to help clean her up, please?” he called out the open office door, then turned to Jane, pulling stray leaves off her skirt, because that looked like the easiest place to start.

  She looked so sad.

  Wyatt carefully pulled the little twig out of her hair.

  “Oops,” she said. “I thought I got it all.”

  “It’s fine now,” Wyatt insisted, smoothing her hair back into place as best he could, which wasn’t really all that well, but she didn’t need to know that. He looked at her knees, dirt ground in, and asked, “You two didn’t get into another fight, did you?”

  “No,” she responded meekly. “I refused to come out of hiding until he left.”

  Wyatt got an image of the scene in his mind, then said, “Good thinking, Jane.”

  Lucy returned with a damp cloth, and Wyatt gently cleansed the scratches on her face, which were red and angry looking but not deep.

  “You poor thing,” Lucy said, looking at Jane like she came from Mars or something.

  She certainly wasn’t Wyatt’s usual type. He’d admit that. But it wasn’t like she came from Mars, either. She was just…a little reserved, serious, all buttoned-up, although today’s white blouse was coming untucked from her dark blue skirt in a couple of places.

  “Lucy, will you run to the market on the corner and get some antibiotic ointment for these cuts?” Wyatt asked.

  “No, it’s okay,” Jane said. “I can do that at home.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “You took care of me when I hurt my eye. I’m going to take care of you now.”

  That got Lucy’s attention as she was walking out the office door. She’d been sure his black eye had something to do with a woman, and he’d refused to explain anything about it. Which made Lucy all the more curious. He gave her a curt nod to get out of there, then started cleaning up Jane’s knees.

  “So, do you think we’re going to survive taking care of these three?” Wyatt asked, thinking he might at least get a smile out of Jane with that.

  She looked even sadder. Her bottom lip started quivering. She sniffled once, then again. Tears filled her pretty blue-green eyes.

  “No, no, no, don’t do that,” Wyatt begged.

  He couldn’t stand the idea of Jane crying. Not tough little Jane, who could handle anything. Her expression just crumbled. The harder she fought to control it, the more difficult it become.

  Wyatt dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a tissue. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. See? No need to cry.”

  Finally, she just blurted out, “Do you think I’m a prude?”

  “No! My uncle called you a prude? I’ll kill him—”

  She shook her head, tears falling in earnest. “No, my aunt Gladdy did the other day, right before I ran into Leo and almost hit him. And I thought about it, but I didn’t really think it was true. But today…today, I wasn’t sure anymore.”

  Oh, God.

  What had Leo done? What had Jane seen from those bushes to have her thinking she was a prude?

  Ooh. Ick. This was like teenagers walking in on their parents having sex.

  Jane was sobbing now, and Wyatt was thinking he probably wouldn’t be too out of line if he just kissed her until she stopped. It wasn’t as if he’d had many opportunities to grab Jane and kiss her, when he didn’t think she’d maybe slap him for trying. But she was genuinely distressed now and kissing was a great distraction, he reasoned. Maybe taking advantage of the situation, just a little, but he felt certain he could stop her crying, and that was what was important. Wasn’t it?

  Poor thing had been attacked by a bush, called a prude and seen God-only-knows-what that had left her in this condition. Serious comforting was in order, Wyatt calculated.

  He took a seat beside her and then just lifted her onto his lap.

  Her eyes flew wide open, and she looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure what was up and that she might need to protest. He’d been right to be wary. Kissing her right now was not a good idea.

  “It’s okay, Jane,” he said softly, then urged her to let herself lean on him, put her head on his shoulder.

  She sat ramrod straight on his lap, stubborn to the core and resisting with all she had. She might just tell him she didn’t need comforting, and if she tried that, it would be all he could do not to laugh. It would be such a ridiculous assertion, but he could imagine Jane trying to make it.

  “Just for a minute,” he suggested. “I won’t tell. If anybody ever asks, you’re the toughest woman I know. I’ll swear to it.”

  She sniffled again and finally, ever-so-slowly, settled herself against him, her head falling to his shoulder, her sobs leaving her whole body shaking.

  Wyatt closed his eyes and let his face find its way to her hair, inhaling the scent that was Jane, taking in the warmth of her body, the softness of her, the satisfaction of finally having her in his arms.

  He was going to get her on her back on this couch and kiss her before this was over. He promised himself. As soon as she stopped crying.

  So he stroked her hair, her back, promised her that everything was going to be okay. That he would handle anyone who said mean things to her and make it clear that they were never to treat her badly again.

  Her head popped up off his shoulder and she sat up straight on his lap again. “I can’t believe they called me that name!”

  “I know,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s one of those awful labels people use against women, to try to rob them of their power by taking a dig at their femininity. It’s patently unfair. Especially when it comes from another woman. Especially a woman who’s supposed to love me!”

  A woman? Well, at least it wasn’t Leo. But still…

  “Your grandmother?”

 
“No, Gladdy.”

  “She loves you, Jane. You know she does. She’s just…old, and it’s like old people think that their age comes with the right to be as outrageous, as demanding and as stubborn as they please.”

  “Yes! I take care of her and Gram. I try really hard to take good care of them, and be a good girl. I mean…a woman. A good, responsible, hard-working, intelligent woman.”

  “You are. You’re all those things.”

  “And what do they do? They insult me and try to demean me with that word!”

  “They should be ashamed of themselves. Do you want me to try to make them ashamed? Because I will,” he promised. He could shame sweet, little old ladies for Jane.

  “I don’t think you could. I don’t think anyone could. I don’t think they have any shame. They never have!”

  He hated asking. Really, he did, but he figured he had to know, because he was still afraid Leo had something to do with this. “So…Jane…what happened, exactly? To make you so upset today.”

  She looked too embarrassed to tell him.

  This was going to be bad. Really bad.

  “It was about…picking and choosing,” she said finally. “Or…actually…not picking and choosing. Leo not having to pick between them, because…well, first, Gram said he had chosen her and that he was going to tell Gladdy everything. But he didn’t, and when I tried to tell Gladdy instead, she said maybe he would choose, but maybe he wouldn’t have to.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Because Gladdy doesn’t want him anymore?”

  “No, because Gram and Gladdy might…share.”

  Wyatt figured he must not have heard her right. Or understood.

  “Share…?” And then he got it. No, surely he hadn’t gotten it. “Share…Leo?”

  Jane nodded, looking truly horrified.

  Yeah, this was bad.

  “You mean…” Wyatt had really disturbing pictures of sharing in his mind. “Take turns with him? One gets him one night and another…the other? Like on a schedule or something?”

  “I don’t know,” Jane cried, looking pitiful and sad again.

  “Like they’d really put up with him going from one bed to the other?”

  Jane pressed her hands over her ears. “I don’t know! I really don’t want to know!”

  “God, neither do I,” Wyatt agreed. “That man’s eighty-six! Something like this could kill him.”

  “I would think so!” Jane whimpered.

  “Your aunt really said something about her and your Gram…sharing Leo?” Wyatt couldn’t quite take it in.

  Jane nodded. “She said it wouldn’t be the first time!”

  “With…they’ve already…shared Leo?” Oh, please, don’t let it be that, Wyatt thought. He couldn’t take it. It was too much.

  “No. It was another man. Years ago. During the war. I’m not even sure which war. I was too horrified to ask. But apparently, there was a war on, men were scarce and they were lonely. This man showed up and they liked him, but they didn’t love him or anything like that, and he stayed around for a while, and they…shared. It worked, Gladdy said. Got them all through a difficult time, and…I don’t know. That’s what she said.”

  “Damn, the women in your family are just full of surprises,” Wyatt said.

  Jane nodded, then started whimpering again. “Sharing? I mean, is this what modern women are putting up with these days, and calling it a sex life?”

  “Not the ones I know,” Wyatt assured her.

  “Either that or…I mean, don’t tell me that he’s not going back and forth, because they’re all…You don’t think they’re all in that bed together, do you?” she cried, tears falling once again. “Surely that’s not what they meant!”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No way. Not at eighty-six—”

  “Even with drugs?”

  “I don’t think any drug is that good,” he tried to reassure her.

  “Because I would never do that, Wyatt. No way. If that means I’m a prude, so be it. I’ll be a prude. But I just can’t do that.”

  “I promise, you don’t have to do that.” He would never ask her to share, or to take part in any kind of sharing, except the one-man, one-woman kind of sharing. Jane would be plenty enough woman for him, he decided.

  “I just…” She sniffed, looking thoroughly defeated. “I’m not the most…adventurous woman. I know that. I’m cautious. I’m careful. I admit that, but I’m not some kind of sexual dinosaur, either! At least, I didn’t think so. Until now.”

  “Oh, Jane. I’m so sorry,” he said, tucking her head to his chest once again. Poor thing. She was just overwhelmed by the hijinks of three sexually adventurous, eighty-something-year-olds.

  Who wouldn’t be?

  Wyatt let her cry a bit longer, rubbing her back, stroking her hair, trying to be a gentleman, promising that this would be okay somehow.

  He really hated to see her this upset, especially about that ugly word—prude. He was fairly certain she wasn’t a prude. And even if she did have some…prudish tendencies, he was sure he could fix those, that they couldn’t withstand the kind of effort Wyatt Gray was willing to put forth on her behalf.

  An effort he was eager to extend for Jane.

  He just wasn’t sure if she’d be happy about that or call him names in return, and he was seldom so uncertain with any woman. But this was Jane, and Jane was different. He tried patience, more soothing, more gentlemanly behavior, and then, when he wasn’t sure he could stand it any longer, she finally stopped crying.

  And then, finally, he kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  One minute, Jane was devastated, thinking she was a prude and just unable to get the image of all that sharing out of her mind, and the next, she was lying flat on her back on the couch with Wyatt stretched on top of her, kissing her.

  Not grabbing her, mauling her, rushing her. Just kissing her. Lazily, luxuriously, longingly. Jane wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed like that before.

  He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. Sweet. A wicked little zing that rattled around her whole body from head to toe. His lips were the softest things she’d ever felt and he smelled glorious, and the weight of his big, hard body on top of hers, the heat, the power…

  Jane did not feel like a prude at all.

  She did exactly what she wanted to in that moment—something she had seldom wanted to do in her life with a man. She opened herself to him completely, throwing herself into the moment, kissing him back, feeling her heart pound and her body go limp. He had a hand in her hair, tearing it down from what was left of her hairdo after her tangle with the bush. He freed her hair and then stroked through it, holding the side of her face in one hand, nuzzling his nose against her ear. Then his mouth found the sensitive hollow of her throat, her neck.

  She arched against him, heard him groan, thought about how she could just happily dissolve into a puddle in his arms, and let him do whatever he wanted to with her. Just like that.

  His mouth came back to hers, and she felt his thrusting tongue. Jane thought about taking him into her body in another way. Heat pooled between her legs. A pulse throbbed. He wanted her, too. His body told her so as he rocked gently against her.

  It was as if every sexual thought Jane had ever had came roaring to life, right here in this room, on Wyatt’s couch.

  “I am not a prude,” she said proudly.

  He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, grinned down at her. “No, you most certainly are not.”

  He started kissing her again.

  It felt glorious, sweet and wicked at the same time, overwhelming.

  And then Jane remembered—they were in Wyatt’s office, in the middle of the afternoon. His secretary was coming back to give Jane first aid for her skirmish with the bush at Remington Park.

  The bush, Leo, Gladdy, Gram, sharing…

  Jane pushed Wyatt away. “I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” he asked, holding himself up on his elbows, but still stretched out on to
p of her.

  “Your secretary’s coming back with first aid supplies, remember?”

  “No. Not until you reminded me.”

  “And besides, I don’t have sex with men on the sofas in their offices,” she said, then feared she was sounding prudish again.

  Did women often have sex with men in their offices? Was that a requirement of non-prudishness, too?

  “Am I supposed to?” she asked.

  “Supposed to what?” Wyatt questioned, carefully climbing off her and sitting on the edge of the sofa.

  “Have sex with men on their sofas?”

  “Not unless you want to,” he told her, running his hands through his hair, hair she thought she might have mussed up herself a moment ago.

  Jane sighed. It was all so bewildering. What was normal and what was not? What was expected? In her admittedly not abundant experience, men wanted a lot these days. They expected a lot. Quickly. Very quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He frowned. “Why? You’re right. Lucy is coming back. I told her to. And I know you’re not the kind of woman who’d be comfortable having sex in my office on a sofa during business hours.”

  She got worried. “But does that—”

  “That doesn’t make you anything except who you are, Jane, and there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Any man who tries to tell you there is is an ass and probably just out to get whatever he can get as fast as he can.”

  “But you…I know you…I suspect you…wouldn’t really have a problem with…something like this.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe every now and then, for something quick and different. But the thing I like best…is someplace totally quiet and private, no time constraints at all, no interruptions. And nothing to do with sharing.”

  “Really?” she asked in wonder.

  He nodded.

  “Oh.” She was thinking about pulling him back down on top of her on the couch. He knew it, too. She could tell by that flare of heat in his eyes as he watched her watching him.

  She sighed, took his tie in her hand and gave it a tug. Grinning like the no-doubt wicked man he was, he happily lowered his mouth to hers once again. If she was going to be wicked herself, she might as well start right now with the time they had until his secretary did get back.