Forever Wanted: Part One: A Contemporary Runaway Bride Romance

by Dee Palmer

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “I would hope so, or life would be pretty dull. It’s all about intention. I have no designs on you, and you’re getting married, so I sure as shit hope you feel the same. Even if you don’t love him like you should, you sure don’t strike me as a cheater.”

  “I’m not. I’d never…”

  “Well then, we’re both on the same page.”

  “I guess.”

  “So in answer to your actual question, yes, this is all the food I have.” He waves his hand at his pitiful supplies.

  “My question…yes, of course.” I draw in a long breath and try my best to look pensive, as if I’m pondering this food situation. I’m not. I’m processing everything but the food situation. “There’s nothing to eat in the cupboard. The mice would’ve eaten it if I had left anything. There might be some instant coffee but we should go to town and get you some supplies.”

  “I thought you said you were going to cook for me. You’re not reneging already, are you princess?”

  “No, not at all.” My instant rebuttal is rightly affronted. I always keep my word, which is why I’m in the darn mess I am. “I’m only cooking your evening meal, Pink, and I’m not going to be here for lunch or breakfast.”

  “Now that’s a damn shame.” He exhales and I’m sure I’m hearing things.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing. I’ll go to the store and you watch our little one.” He jumps down and grabs his keys from the counter. I follow his affectionate gaze and see the little fawn still sleeping on the couch. Our little one.

  “Okay, I can clean up a bit and make the bed.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Buttercup. I can manage. I’m a big boy.”

  Yes, you are. I’m thankful I mange to keep the yearning sigh of my response in my head. Even if I had to bite my lips to the point of pain to keep it in, I need to get a grip. This isn’t my reality. This is a fleeting and delightful distraction. Indulging sinful trains of thought may be exciting, even fun, but they are pure fantasy and have no right to occupy any headspace. I’m getting married next month. Harmless flirting.

  He reaches the door, turns, and walks back to me, up close and looking down for a long silent moment. His jaw twitches with tension, only he doesn’t look angry; he looks wild. My eyes dip to his lips and his do the same. Fire races through my veins. An incendiary heat is building between us. Just harmless flirting?

  “Do you need me to get anything for her?” His voice, low and gruff, rakes across my nerve endings like fingernails on delicate skin. His warm breath has a heady scent of cool beer and nutty chocolate.

  “Yes please, can you get some baby bottles, some spare nipples, and goat’s milk. If they don’t have that, some cans of unsweetened condensed milk will do for now. I can get some replacement milk that will be better for her, but not until tomorrow. She might not want to feed when she wakes but she’s going to need to. The first twenty-four hours are crucial.” I’m rambling, firing lists and instructions like bullets. He steps back, closes his eyes and the heat that was set to burn us both subsides.

  “Riiight.” He rubs the back of his neck and sucks air through his teeth. He walks over to the door.

  “I could come with you, if you want?”

  “It’s fine. Do you want anything?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay, I won’t be long.”

  “Bye.” I give him a little wave as he seems reluctant to leave, hovering on the threshold for a long second. He tips his hat and closes the door behind him. When I hear the truck start up and the tires spin on the dirt, I let out a proper breath.

  “You know I’m going to blame you if anything happens.” The fawn’s chest rises and falls with the deep sedative-induced sleep, and she remains oblivious to my hand gently stroking her fur from the velvet softness of her ears to the thicker fluffy down on her belly. “I know I know, nothing is going to happen. It’s just harmless flirting.”

  Pink returns just as I’ve finished dusting some of the larger cobwebs away. I’ve made the bed and washed up the only plate and cup so it’s clean to use. I’ll need to bring another set if I’m going to be eating dinner with him.

  I help him unpack mostly dry food, chips, protein bars and fruit. A dozen eggs but nothing else that looks like it needs cooking. He’s bought a small cooler that he fills with beer and a small carton of milk.

  “They didn’t have goat milk and I had no idea what size of these to get so I got all the sizes.”

  He tips the bag full of plastic nipples all over the small kitchen table and stacks several cans of the condensed milk against the wall. He even bought a can opener.

  “This is great. She’s just started to stir. I moved the chairs and sofa so she’s got a makeshift pen in the corner for when she gets up.”

  “Is she going to be able to walk already?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Ideally it would be great if she would rest it. Since she’s not likely to listen to that, restricting the amount of space she can walk around will help. I will keep her lightly sedated so she should sleep a lot and that will also help.”

  “What about taking her outside to pee?”

  “Probably not a great idea. Do you have any newspaper?”

  “No I don’t. I do have some old cloths in the back of the truck?”

  “They’ll get ruined.”

  “It’s fine, they’re only rags.”

  “I’ll bring some newspapers tomorrow. I should be writing this down.” I look in the drawer for a pen, and unless I’m going to carve a list into one of the cut logs, I’m out of luck. Pink nudges me with his elbow.

  “Princess, the only thing you need to remember is my dinner.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  I make us both a coffee and I show Pink how to mix up enough feed for the fawn. “She will probably want feeding every couple of hours and maybe offer her a bottle of water in between. She’s going to be too unstable to stand and drink from any bowl for a day or two at least. I feel bad leaving her like this.”

  “I’ll take care of her, Buttercup.” He’s kneeling close and has carefully watched everything I’ve been doing, from cleaning the wounds and, dressing them to mixing up the food in the bottles and feeding. Not that this is rocket science. He’s attentive, and I can see he is taking it all in. Not sure he really needs to be sitting so close, and I know for certain I shouldn’t be so darn happy that he is.

  “I know. Honestly I don’t know why this is so important to me. I’m not normally so emotional.”

  “It’s been a strange day.”

  “The best day.”

  The fawn is pulling on the last few drops of formula. Smiling, I turn to face Pink who looks more than a little confused at my comment. “Okay, maybe not the best but… Never mind, not your problem.” Forcing myself to flash the brightest smile and not let the weight of everything bring me to my knees, I stand and walk over to the kitchen to wash up the baby bottle.

  “Let’s get you home.” Pink absently tucks the cover over the fawn since she’s already fallen back to sleep.

  “Yeah.” I don’t think I could sound less enthusiastic if I tried. I don’t want to go, I don’t want the day to end. My reality is knocking at the door with thumping great fists, and Kurt and his Uncle will be heading out to my place soon. If I leave it any longer and they see Pink dropping me home, I will have to explain what I’ve been doing on my day off. And it’s no one’s business. This is just for me, my last bit of freedom.

  Pink is quiet driving to my place. It’s an easy silence, I think. His arm is resting on the steering wheel, guiding the truck with his wrist and humming to the songs crackling through on the radio. The sun is low, casting a warm golden glow over the fields. Cresting the ridge, the view of my home nestled in the dip of the valley, bathed in the late afternoon light like it is, is quite stunning.

  “Pretty.” Pink is looking at me but pointing at the farm.

  “It is. I couldn�
��t bear for Grampa to loose it. I think he’d die.” My nose prickles with emotion. Pink lays his hand on my thigh and squeezes. I’m thankful he simply nods his understanding. It’s taking all my effort to keep the tears at bay, and I’m such a wreck at the moment I’m not sure what is going to send me over the edge.

  Bouncing our way down the long track to the farm, Pink rolls the truck right up to the steps of the house. Before I can open the truck door, Grampa is on the porch with a shotgun in his hand.

  “I might just stay in the truck.” Pink’s eyes are wide, and a semi-nervous smile is set like rigor on his face.

  “Oh, don’t worry, that’s how he greets everyone.” I’m only partly teasing. Grampa wouldn’t hurt a fly; however, he always has a gun loaded by the front door, and he does usually greet people like this. I’m used to it, and today, I find it hysterical.

  “Not a comfort.” Pink swallows loudly and his knuckles whiten with his renewed grip on the steering wheel.

  “How about his eyesight ain’t all that great, so if he actually hit you, he’d probably only give you a flesh wound.”

  “Much better.” He narrows his eyes, and I laugh and lean over to push him playfully.

  “Come on, I want you to meet him.” Pressing the handle down, the truck door creaks open. I turn to see Pink hasn’t moved. “Chicken?” Taunting him, his lips curve from flat to pensive.

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing,” He shakes his head and swings his door wide, leaps from the truck, and walks around to my side. He offers his hand and helps me down from the truck and up the steps to where Gramps is still firmly holding his shotgun.

  “Grampa, can you put that down? You’re making Pink nervous.” I hold out my hand for the gun. Grampa ignores me.

  “Who?”

  “Pink. This is Pink. He picked me up when my car got stolen. He’s been very helpful, so you can put it away.” Gramps pushes his glasses further up the high ridge on his nose. He squints and makes a big show of looking Pink up and down. It might be unnerving for some; however, Pink’s biting back a smile; I can see the twitch in his cheeks.

  “What kind of name is Pink?” he asks with blatant disapproval, and I flush with embarrassment

  “Nickname, sir. My surname is Pinkerton. Pink for short. It’s nice to meet you.” Pink holds out his hand, and I might turn blue holding my breath and waiting for my grampa to shake it. We have so few people calling, I forget what a rude cantankerous old man he can be to strangers.

  “And what is it you’ve been doing with my granddaughter?” He jolts the gun up to his shoulder, and I’m shocked beyond belief when he raises it as fast as he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  “Grampa, he’s done nothing. He picked me up, gave me some clothes and fed me. Please put the gun down.” I go to step in front of Pink, and in a whoosh of manly maneuvering and lightning speed, Pink has me behind him. He has also taken the gun from my Grampa.

  “I wouldn’t like to see anyone get hurt, least of all me.” Pink cracks the gun and empties the chambers into his other hand. He rests it against the doorframe and hands the cartridges to my Grampa, tipping his hat with respect. Not sure Grampa deserves any, still it seems it was the right thing to do. Grampa steps back, his concern tinged with suspicion, but I can see he’s more impressed than worried.

  “So he’s not the reason you ran off in tears this morning?” He purses his lips and gives Pink the stink eye.

  “No, that had nothing to do with him.” I’m adamant and mouth an apology to Pink on the sly.

  “Good, because anyone making my granddaughter cry is gonna get both barrels.” Grampa nods at the gun and I roll my eyes. He’s protective, caring, and so darn dramatic.

  “I have no intention of hurting your granddaughter, sir. She has a good heart and deserves to be happy, every day of her life.” Pink looks at me and my breath catches. The intonation in his voice is weighted heavily with unspoken meaning, and it hits me like an anvil.

  “Yes, she does,” Grampa steps to my side and rests his arm across my shoulder, tugging me into his bony hold. I smile happily at him, and I know he believes it.

  Why wouldn’t he? I’ve never told anyone the truth, not until Pink.

  “I am.” I kiss his cheek.

  “So are you two going to come in or stand out on the porch all evening like a couple of strays.”

  “Oh no. Pink has to be on his way, don’t you?” My response is too harsh, too quick and panicked. Internally cringing, I hope he doesn’t think I want him to leave. That’s the last thing I want but…

  “Yeah, I have to get back to the little one.” Pink winks, only the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Oh, you got little ’uns, hmm?” Grampa asks.

  “Just the one. She’s not very well so I’ll take a rain check on your kind hospitality, sir.” Pink tips his hat and once more offers his hand. This time, Grampa takes it, shaking enthusiastically, affable, with a wide welcoming grin distorting the many lines of his weathered face.

  “Well, all right then, thank you for taking care of my Buttercup. She might think she’s all grown up, but she’ll always be my little girl.”

  “Gramps.” Groaning with a fresh hit of embarrassment, I nudge my Grampa further into the house. I maneuver myself between him and Pink and manage to pull the front door closed behind me. Pink’s soft smile falters when it’s just the two of us standing on the porch.

  “Sorry about that. I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just Kurt and his uncle will be here soon and…um…” My hands are clasped together, sliding against one another with agitation. My glances are already being split between Pink and the driveway.

  “I’m your dirty little secret,” he says flatly, and it slices deeper than I thought possible.

  “What? No!” Shock makes me reel; the churning in my stomach at the notion makes me feel sick. A chill races the length of my spine, cooling my blood. I feel the color drain from me when I realize my reaction has nothing to do with the idea of cheating on Kurt and everything to do with not wanting Pink to be a dirty anything.

  “I was teasing.” He brushes hair from my eyes and runs it through his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. “I understand, and it’s fine. There’s nothing to be gained from making this more than it is, princess. I’m helping with the fawn because you’ve asked and I can. It’s nothing more.” I search his eyes for something…more.

  I feel it, I’m sure I do, or maybe I don’t and this is all in my head. I have zero experience in harmless flirting, but this feels like…No Buttercup! Even if it is, so what?

  “I know.” I hold his gaze, schooling my emotions to mirror his reflection.

  “Good.” He steps backward and tips his hat, then pauses at the top of the steps.

  “Right, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Folding my arms to stop myself reaching for him, my body language is easier to control. I just have to remember that hugging him now would be a bad idea.

  “Have a good evening, Buttercup.” He holds my gaze until he doesn’t, and then he turns away. When he reaches his truck, he faces me.

  “Buttercup…” He exhales, and before I know what’s happening, I’m closing the distance.

  “Yes?” I look up as he looks down. My heart is kicking up a storm in my chest, and he looks as cool as a winter breeze coming down from the ice-capped mountaintops. He feels it; surely he feels this? A nuclear power plant could feed off the amount of energy firing between us right now.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” His tongue wets his lips and I’m suddenly parched.

  “A kiss goodbye?” Noooo! It’s out of my mouth, all breathy and pleading and out there. What are you Buttercup? Twelve?

  “Um, no. You forgot your pie.” He opens the back door and lifts out the aforementioned pie, which may as well be plastered all over my face for how embarrassed I feel.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Stupid Buttercup.

  The maids begin t
o clear the plates. I’ve barely spoken and I notice the curious glances exchanged between Mrs. Mason and my sister-in-law Bonny, which fly then land with judgment on me. It’s not like I am usually the heart and soul of these Mason family dinners, not when Mr. Mason holds court like he does, but I know I have been usually quiet. I’m not even going to venture to guess why; I know why.

  “That was really delicious Mrs. Mason.” My gratitude is wasted on the hostess. I don’t believe she’s so much as boiled a kettle since she married into the wealthiest family in the county. Still, as platitudes go, it will, at the very least, break my uncharacteristic silence.

  “I will be sure to let Ruby know you enjoyed it, dear.” Her thin-lipped smile barely registers on her artificially frozen face.

  “And Buttercup’s pie was her best, don’t you think, Momma?” Kurt boasts, reaching under the table to take my hand. He makes a show of lifting it slowly to his mouth, kisses the back and flashes me a confident wink. If I thought for one second the look he levels my way was one of pride, love, or even affection for me, perhaps I wouldn’t feel so adrift. The only thing Kurt loves is himself; the pride he feels is because he’s won, and I’m the prize.

  “It was passible,” She blinks slowly, tipping her head so she can physically peer down her nose. “But when you’re married, she might need to take some lessons from Ruby. I can’t have my son wasting away.” The veil-thin facade of being remotely pleased about her son’s choice in bride slips. Her gaze narrows, and she has this little tic in the corner of her left eye whenever she looks at me. It doesn’t bother me. I could be the Queen of England and she wouldn’t be happy. Kurt is her favorite, and no woman is ever going to be good enough. Period.