Blind-Date Bride

by Jillian Hart

  Just breathe, she ordered. She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to feel it all the way to her toes, and then slowly released it. In came the good air, out went the bad feelings. Her counselor insisted it helped, but when she stopped, twenty breaths later, she was mostly light-headed. The fears lurked like danger in the dark.

  She was perfectly safe. Her second-story bedroom window was hard to climb into, and the locks on the doors were good ones. She was stronger than the fear, stronger than the men who had broken into the restaurant and who haunted her still.

  Okay, she was still trembling. That was not good. No way was she going to be able to go back to sleep like this. She didn’t dare look at the clock, in case her mind would start zeroing in on the time. Another thing to make it harder to relax, let go and fall into vulnerable sleep.

  Reading often helped, but she wasn’t going to pick up her inspirational romance book. No, because she would start reading about the hero in the book and that would remind her of Max. Remembering how kind he had been, giving her his coat and sitting her in his truck made the emptiness in her room expand.

  No, she would turn to a love she did have. She flipped open her Bible to the bookmark and found her place on the page. The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

  It was a great comfort to know that God never intended for that robbery to happen. But that His good would triumph, and she had to hold on. The nightmares would fade in time and so would the pain. God’s gift of life and love were ahead of her. She had faith.

  Thank goodness, her pulse had returned to normal, although now she was wide awake. The shadows remained, so she slipped out of bed, careful not to squeak the floorboards and wake up Brandi in the next room. She woke up her laptop and logged on. She could do a little library research. That was dry enough to definitely put her in a sleepy mood.

  But did she go directly to the university’s library site like she was supposed to? No. She noticed a new e-mail in her Inbox. Reading mail was always much better than finding reference books on phonics versus word recognition teaching methods.

  The e-mail was from her half brother Luke. She clicked on it, eager to read the letter entitled “Howdy!”

  Hey, Bree,

  I was in town today picking up feed and supplies for the farm. Hoped to get a chance to call you and Brandi, but not hardly. Too much to do, too little time, a temperamental pickup. You know how it is. Hunter came with me, and he’s my brother and all, but he was in an especially sour mood. No news there, right?

  A smile warmed her. She could hear Luke’s easy country cadence gently ribbing their older brother. They farmed land from their mother’s side of the family an hour’s drive from the city. She hadn’t grown up knowing her brothers, but after her hospital stay, they had kept in touch. Luke especially, who spent a lot of evenings on his computer.

  I’ve got two things on my mind. One—I know your trial is coming up in seven, or is it eight weeks? I’m not near a calendar. Anyway, we’re planning on coming down to be with you. Let us know the schedule in advance, if you can. I don’t know how the courts and lawyers do it, but any warning would make it easier on us here. We’ve got livestock and crops to consider, and we want to be there for you, kiddo.

  The trial. Bree took a deep breath. In with the good, out with the bad. But the shadows remained. She dreaded having to relive it all over again. She hated that she was going to have to testify and look at the surviving gunman, who would be sitting beside his lawyers looking innocent and misunderstood. When she knew the truth—the weight of Juanita’s limp body as she fought to clear an air passage, his violent shouting about wanting all of the money.

  Take another deep breath, Bree. She closed her eyes until the memories silenced. One day all of this would be in the past. One day she would say this experience, as bad as it was, strengthened her in spirit and in faith. It taught her how much she had wanted to survive her injuries, how much she loved her life.

  I’ve been e-mailing with Brooke, and I’ve got her halfway talked into coming back home ‘round that time for a visit. That sister of ours is having a hard time, but won’t admit it. How did the blind date turn out? If you’re interested, I know someone I could set you up with.

  Great. Double great. Another blind date. Why, when what were the chances she’d meet someone as perfect as Max? Although she had tried to stop thinking about him, he rushed into her thoughts. If only she could forget his stunning blue eyes, unassuming humor and manly tenderness. Or how he’d draped his coat around her shoulders like any romantic hero would, or that a girl could get lost in the deep comforting rumble of his voice.

  You weren’t going to go there, right? She turned her attention back to the computer screen.

  The other thing I’ve got to mention to you. I got a letter from Dad. Yes, he’s still in prison, but he’s coming up for parole. He wanted to borrow money. No surprise there, but heads up. He might be contacting you or Brandi next. Take care, little sister. Write when you can.

  Luke

  Dad. Up for parole. That was nothing but trouble. Brianna’s stomach cinched up into an impossibly tight knot. How old did you have to be until your past stopped mattering? Until the wounds of your childhood stopping hurting?

  She didn’t have any answers to that. She had stopped counting on her dad a long time ago, but his sins seemed to cling to her, part of the shadows, too. Those shadows dimmed the brightness, every last thought of Max and the hopes she had for her life.

  It was a long time until the darkness thinned and the shadows eased. Only then could she sleep.

  Chapter Four

  “Heard you bombed out big-time with that classy woman Dobbs set you up with.” His little brother took a shot and the basketball swooshed through the net—a perfect two points. Marcus pumped his fist in the air. “All right! I’m up four points on you now, old man.”

  “Watch who you’re calling old.” His growl was more bark than bite, but it was tradition between the two of them. “You got in a few lucky shots is all.”

  “It’s not luck. It’s called skill.” Marcus hopped after the ball and tossed it into the court. The echoing ruckus from the other one-on-one games bounced around the cavernous downtown gym.

  Max caught the ball, enjoying their good-natured banter. Hanging out with his bro was number one on his list of favorite activities. “It’s called false hope, because I’m going to make the next three baskets. Watch and learn.”

  “Pathetic.” Marcus’s basketball shoes squeaked on the varnished floor as he tried blocking.

  The kid was good, which was one reason why Max had given notice, packed his possessions and moved him from California to Montana. Not an easy transition for a man born and bred in the heart of the city, but worth it. He shot, he scored, and it was his turn to pump his fist. “You’re only ahead by one basket, hot shot.”

  “I’m not worried.” He dribbled the ball like a pro, loping with his long stride toward the basket.

  “You’d better be worried.” Max blocked, stealing the ball and dropping it through the net. “Who’s the king now?”

  “The game’s not over, bro.” The kid grabbed the ball, dribbling, setting up a nice layup and the shrill note of a whistle cut through the boy’s concentration.

  “Time to pack it up for the night,” the pastor, who oversaw the youth program, called above the noise. While groans and protests rang out, the gym full of teens stopped their games and began tossing their basketballs into the cans near the back door.

  “Saved by the whistle.” Max tapped the ball, knocked it out of the kid’s grip and gave it a toss. It sailed into the end basket, neatly missing everyone, and into the bin. “Another two points for me.”

  “Sad. I feel sorry for you. The only way you can beat me is to cheat.” Marcus winked, although he shook his head, feigning sympathy. “It only proves it. You’re washed up. Obsolete. It�
��s a wonder the police department doesn’t retire you. Can’t even beat a kid at basketball.”

  “I’m pathetic, I know, but next week, watch out.” The kid was good. And if things kept going as they were, he would graduate high school at the top of his class with a college scholarship in hand. They walked to the bleachers, keeping the conversation up as they pulled sweatpants over their workout clothes. Zipping up jackets, they headed out the door into the surprisingly cold evening.

  “Loser buys the pizza, so it’ll be your turn to treat. Again.” Marcus held out his hand to check the falling chunks of precipitation, for it was amazingly white. “Is that snow? Man, I can’t believe this place. I miss L.A.”

  “Tell it to the weatherman.” Personally, he didn’t care if it snowed all year long. All that mattered was that Marcus was in a good environment, doing well in school and keeping his nose clean. He beeped the remote and his truck’s door locks snapped open.

  “Hand over the keys, bro.” The kid’s palm shot out. “I won. I get to drive.”

  “You played a good game, Marcus.” Max hadn’t grown up in a touchy-feely home but he handed over the keys, sure the boy would understand that the gesture was meant to be affectionate. “Don’t you chip my paint job, you hear?”

  “Sweet.” Ignoring the warning, the kid loped toward the driver’s side. “I wish I had a rig.”

  “That money in your account at the bank is for college. Not a truck. End of story.”

  “Yeah, I know. I get it.”

  Hiding a grin, Max hopped into the passenger seat and buckled in. He was glad he’d come with his brother tonight. Being busy kept his mind off of certain subjects—work and, more troubling, Brianna McKaslin. Ever since he’d stayed up most of the night after reading that newspaper article, she’d taken up residence in his head. Days had passed, and he couldn’t explain why. She didn’t belong there.

  That didn’t stop him from remembering how she’d looked in the bakery. His first sight of her had been a mix of “wow” and “oh no.” She was too naive, too young, too perfect, too sweet for him. Her voice had been low and musical, a quiet melody that he wanted to hear again. He wasn’t a complicated man, and he knew what he felt was interest. She had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

  “Hey, bro. Are you paying attention?” Marcus called out, sounding amused.

  Max shook his head. “Sorry, I was off thinking.”

  “For about four whole minutes.”

  That was the truth. He glanced around, realizing they were already out of the snowy parking lot and on one of the main roads, where the traffic kept the streets wet, with only a slight layer of white up the center of the lanes.

  “Look at that poor person.” Marcus nodded once, gesturing toward the upcoming block where a bike’s reflective taillight flashed amid the stubbornly falling snow. “Someone really needs a car. That can’t be pleasant. It’s freezing out there.”

  “Freezing,” Max agreed, staring at the biker.

  It was too dark to recognize anyone, much less from behind. The rider was diminutive, slender of shoulders and of frame, but it was hard to see much more than that. He spotted light reflected off the helmet, but that’s all the information he could gather. He moved in his seat and gave the shoulder harness a tug. It felt suddenly tight against his chest. Why did his heart stop beating? Why was he struggling for air? The last time he’d gotten the identical feeling, it had been watching Brianna McKaslin walk away from him.

  Better planning, Bree told herself as she stopped for the red light. That’s all it would have taken, but oh no, she had been sure she could make the twenty-minute bike ride from the library on campus to the bookstore. She should have foreseen disaster. Planned for delays. For getting caught behind the bus. And snow, she added when a white flake caught on her eyelash.

  Only six more blocks. She hated the shadows that seemed to hide all kinds of danger. She wished her nerve endings would stop popping and her pulse would stop thudding in her ears with the decibel level of a marching band. Cars swished by in the opposing lanes, headlights glaring as they swung to make left-hand turns. She shivered, vulnerable on her bike.

  You’re fine, Bree. Everything’s fine. The road is well lit. You’re going to be okay. Doom is not right around the corner. She glanced to her left and right, wanting to be aware of her environment. A pair of students, with backpacks slung over their shoulders, walked along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Light spilled from the streetlight above, and the parking lot paralleling the road was busy with people. Students piled out of cars or carried pizza in boxes back to their vehicles, and shoppers walked along the specialty shops browsing.

  No reason to panic. She shook snow off her bike helmet, wiped her eyes with her sleeve and focused on the light overhead. Okay, it could turn any time now. Once she was moving, she would feel less vulnerable.

  A big white truck pulled up in the lane beside her. No big deal. Except for the fact that the passenger window began to roll down. Great. It was going to be all right, even if she didn’t recognize the truck.

  Wait. Or did she? There was something at the back of her mind, a memory just out of reach. Recognition bolted through her like lightning. Max. It looked like his truck. And, the man shadowed in the interior of the truck looked remarkably like him, too.

  “What are you doing out here in this?” Max Decker hung out the window, clearly undaunted by the cold and the pummeling snow.

  It wasn’t relief that zipped through her like a funnel cloud. No, it was something much more troubling. “Hey, detective. I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

  “Haven’t been on a blind date lately.” His lopsided grin could have been a movie star’s. “What are you doing out in this weather?” he repeated.

  “My stolen car hasn’t turned up yet.” She couldn’t help feeling like a doofus. Hel-lo? Max had a lot going for him—and she so didn’t, the proof being she was on her old ten-speed. “I didn’t go for the rental-car part of the policy, so here I am, biking it.”

  “Can we give you a lift? This is Marcus, my little brother. Half brother, really, but I’m stuck with him the same as if he was the real thing.” He winked, obviously joking. The teenager behind the wheel gave a “Hey!” in good-natured protest.

  So, a new piece of the puzzle that was Max Decker. Interesting. Brianna swiped another snowflake from her eye and noticed the light had changed. Green glowed in the falling snow as she waved off his offer. No cars had pulled in behind them so she had time to answer. “Thanks, but I only have six blocks to go.”

  “Six blocks, huh?” He glanced down the street, thoughtful and unruffled. “Six block up, there’s another shopping mall. You can’t live there.”

  “No, but my sister works there. My half sister, since we’re being specific.” She couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Was she flirting with him?

  Most of all, was he flirting with her?

  No, he couldn’t be. No way. She gripped both handlebars securely, both ready to kick off and unable to move.

  “It’s snowing harder.” His tranquil observation forced her to notice the pummeling flakes now falling as if they were hail. Tap, tap, tap on the street, obscuring the road ahead. Thump, thump, thump on her helmet. His door swung open and he hopped to the ground. “Looks like the weather’s getting serious. Stow your bike in the back. Go on, get up in there.”

  “But, it’s only six blocks.”

  “Just do it.” His order was softened by something in his voice. Concern. Caring. Interest?

  No, that was just her hopes talking. “It’s my policy not to take orders from domineering men.”

  “Every policy has got to be broken some time.” He planted one capable hand in the middle of the handlebars, holding the contraption steady. “Go on, climb in. It’s warm in the truck. Shelter from the storm.”

  Yeah, she knew all about that. The intense blue glint in his eyes and the tug of amusement at the corner of his mout
h and his commanding presence made her weak. Too weak. She had an independent streak a mile wide, but it shrank to nothing as she swung off the bike.

  “Marcus, turn on the hazards, would ya?” He lifted it easily, hauled it after them and opened the door for her. “And amp up the defroster.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  Bree caught an impression of a strong-featured teenager—a shock of dark hair and mocking deep blue eyes—before she plopped onto the seat. Max remained at her side, riveting her attention, filling her senses: the crisp scent of the snowy night, the dark hint of a five-o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, the vibration of his voice and the heat radiating off him as he leaned close.

  Stop noticing, Bree, she instructed, but did she comply? Impossible.

  “Brianna, meet Marcus. Kid, you be nice to the lady until I get back.”

  “We’re still going for pizza, aren’t we?” The teenager looked alarmed.

  “Food. It’s all he thinks about.” Max shook his head, winked at her and closed the door.

  Warmth cradled her as the heater blasted over her face. As she struggled with her helmet straps and snow tumbled onto her lap, onto the seat, onto the floor. She shivered. Apparently she hadn’t realized she was a walking, talking, biking human icicle until Max had stepped away from her. Proof that she was way too hung up on the man.

  Try a little dignity, huh? She blushed, realizing the brother was watching her. He was a big kid, wide-set the way Max was, and sharp-eyed. He hadn’t missed a thing.

  “He’s not bad. Wanna go to eat with us? We’re gettin’ pizza.”

  The back door of the crew cab swung open. “No, kid, she probably doesn’t want to get pizza with us. You don’t have to feel obligated, Bree.”