Safe on the inland freeway, Samantha boosted her speed to seventy-five. She was running for her life. Of course, the patrolman might radio another car, but with luck nobody was close enough to catch her.
When no gray sedan showed up during the next ten minutes, she let her speed slacken. Her heart rate hopped and thrummed on its gradual descent to normal.
Now to carry out her plan.
Pulling over, Samantha found map directions to Hidden Hot Springs in her phone. As she rejoined the flow of traffic, she tried to imagine all those muscular guys crowding a recreation hall. She'd pick the biggest, beefiest one to be her protector. A huge hunk of muscle without a brain in his head.
That was what she needed. Brawn without brain.
Of course, there might be a few problems. Exactly what was she going to do with him? Marry the lug?
Oh, well, Samantha thought. As Alice had said, she could always get a divorce. And she already had the dress.
Chapter Three
Kieran let the men off at six on Friday, although they often worked later in summertime. Tonight there'd be showering and shaving like nobody's business around here.
He had to admit, posting the ad had boosted morale. Even the toughest characters had sorted through their collections for dance music, and during lunch hour he'd surprised one big lug teaching another to dance behind some trees. Washing at the pump in front of his cabin, Kieran smiled at the memory of their red faces.
He'd been asked countless times if he planned to show up tonight. His preference was to catch a "Star Trek" rerun on Netflix via the satellite dish, but he supposed the owner of Hidden Hot Springs ought to make an appearance. And, in all honesty, he was curious to see what sort of women would attend.
Although the posting hadn't included a phone number, several ladies had called construction headquarters to confirm it wasn't a joke. One mentioned she would be loading her girlfriends into a van for the trip.
Kieran hoped she meant it. He'd hate for the men to be disappointed.
In the fading light, he scrubbed his bare chest with a towel. Although water pipes led to the cabin, over the last few decades tree roots had reduced the flow to a trickle. For most uses, Kieran came outside to pump groundwater.
And with no women around, he'd grown accustomed to wearing casual attire. Now, for instance, he'd thrown on ragged cutoffs and shoved his bare feet into a pair of huaraches.
The cabin was located in a clearing, with a welcome air of privacy. The nearness of other cabins was indicated, however, by the blare of a televised announcer from one direction and, from the other, off-key singing. That would be Lew Jolson, the architect, listening to the nightly news, while Pete Zuniga’s whiskey tenor was wreaking havoc on "I Will Always Love You."
Kieran checked his waterproof, shatterproof watch. It was a few minutes past seven. Plenty of time to change clothes and shave before putting in his appearance.
A rustle of movement caught his attention, and he turned to see a mountain lion cub studying him. The area abounded with squirrels, chipmunks, deer, foxes, possums and raccoons, but larger animals rarely ventured this close.
Why was a cub by itself? Its mother couldn't be far behind, and that spelled trouble.
The project's plans set aside a botanical and wildlife reserve where Kieran hoped man and animal might coexist in peace. But he hadn't counted on big cats.
The cub pounced to one side, then stopped and stared at him again. The little fellow, a few sizes larger than a full-grown tomcat, didn't appear injured. But if it wandered onto the main road a few hundred feet below, it might fall prey to traffic, especially with the cars expected tonight.
Kieran circled downhill. If he approached from the opposite side, he might be able to shoo it to higher ground.
Before he reached position, however, Pete launched into another song. Wrinkling its nose in what looked for all the world like distaste, the cub padded down the hill.
"Wait!" Kieran called, and wished he hadn’t. His shout further alarmed the creature, which sped up as he stomped after it.
A minute later, he pushed aside an overhead branch to see the cub sitting in the middle of the two-lane road, calmly licking its paws as it regarded its surroundings.
On the far side of the road lay the tumbledown shack where Uncle Albert had lived. He'd claimed it was the only remaining cabin where he could still get decent water. pressure. In fact, Kieran suspected, the old man had enjoyed chatting with the occasional prospector or lost tourist whose vehicle chugged down the road.
To Kieran's left, a half mile east around a bend in the road, lay the small town of Hidden Hot Springs. A short ways across the highway, the spring-fed trees petered out into scrubby brush. Either way, the cub could get into trouble. It needed to run back past Kieran's cabin to the preserve.
He strolled toward the road, keeping his distance from the unfazed animal. As per his original plan, he would try to approach the cub from the far side.
The thrum of a car engine whined into Kieran's nerves. Why did some driver have to show up now?
Too annoyed to care that his anger was irrational, Kieran planted himself in the middle of the road. Let the damn fool run over him first.
Alerted to its danger at last, the cub quivered but stayed put, as if unable to decide in which direction to flee. From the west, a sports car raised a cloud of dust as it roared toward them well over the speed limit.
Squinting against the setting sun, Kieran shouted, "Stop, you numbskull!" and waved his arms like windshield wipers.
Brakes squealed and the car skidded to a halt. A door flew open and a woman jumped out.
With the sun in his eyes, Kieran could discern only her silhouette. She had a small, slender frame, with straight shoulders and gentle curves. It was the kind of body that tempted a man—assuming he liked the person inside.
He didn't suppose this young woman liked him very much. The rigidity with which she stood, slim legs astride and hands planted on hips, testified to her fury. Kieran half expected to see sparks fly from her eyes.
"Well?" she demanded. "If there's road construction ahead, I'll forgive you, but otherwise, get out of my way!"
Couldn't the maniac see that she'd nearly hit the cub? "If you weren't so busy digging ruts in the pavement, you might have noticed ..." He turned toward the lion.
It wasn't there.
Kieran surveyed the landscape. Not a trace. The little rascal had made its getaway.
"Noticed what?" the woman snapped.
Beneath her withering gaze, Kieran became aware of his disheveled state. Not only was he shirtless, but he hadn't bothered to shave this morning, either.
Well, she'd ventured to Hidden Hot Springs seeking masculine companionship, hadn't she? She ought to be pleased that a representative of the gender stood half-naked in her path.
"Forgotten how to talk?" the woman challenged. "I guess living out here in the backwoods can do that to you. Well, let me remind you. This is a street. See, it's paved? That means it's for wheels, not feet. So please employ your feet to carry you away. Got that?"
She must take him for a slow-witted rube. Kieran fought a smile. "Why, yes, ma'am." He sketched a bow. "We don't often see them new-fangled automobiles round these parts. You got little horses in there to power those wheels?"
A low chuckle escaped her. "Okay, I guess I deserved that, but why the heck are you standing in the middle of the street waving your arms?"
"Just lonely, ma'am." Kieran favored her with what he hoped was a dirt-eating grin. "I put on my best duds and ever'thing. Been meanin' to get myself one o' them fancy tattoos, too, but we're a little behind the times in Hidden Hot Springs."
"This is Hidden Hot Springs? " She stared around in horror. "What did you do, place the ad yourself?"
He felt like teasing her until the sun sank a little lower so he could get a better glimpse. "Sure thing, ma'am. I'm angling for a mate to drag into the bushes."
"I don't scare easily." The woman cro
uched in one of those pseudo karate stances that self-defense instructors liked to teach women. "Don't come any closer."
He could see her face now, small and heart-shaped, framed by soft wisps of brown hair. The eyes tilted slightly, giving them a hint of exoticism, and her lips were full and moist. Thanks to her silky dress, he could follow the rippling course of every breath she took. And the way she lifted her chin in defiance challenged him to cup her face and taste her mouth. Except she probably bites.
Kieran shook his head. "Lady, no man in his right mind would tangle with a temperament like yours."
"Well, from all indications, you left your right mind in the north forty," she countered. "Is there really a town, or not?"
"Just around that bend."
The woman in the clingy dress hadn’t finished. "Tell me you aren’t typical of the guys here."
She was begging to be mocked. "Naw, they just let me out for special occasions,” he said. “Now you be careful with that horseless carriage, ma’am. Yer likely to scare the chickens."
When she shifted position, flames burst from her furious figure, thanks to the setting sun behind her. "You're the second most annoying man I've met in a long time."
“What happened to the first?”
“He’s facing criminal charges.”
“You obviously have a gift for bringing out the best in men.” With that, he strolled off the road.
On the shoulder, Kieran paused to watch the visitor slide into her car and jerk it into gear. She hit the accelerator and shot down the road.
He wished he’d had an excuse to stand there for another half hour, watching the play of emotions animate her face. Maybe tonight’s party wouldn't be so boring, after all. Although Kieran hadn't intended to dance, he'd like to claim a turn around the floor with that spitfire.
If only to annoy her.
*
Samantha gritted her teeth and forced herself to ease up on the accelerator.
Who did that big lout think he was? He'd stared as if he planned to bid on her at an auction. She almost hoped he'd show up tonight just so she could ignore him.
On the other hand, a woman couldn't help noticing the way the sunset gleamed on his tan skin and well-defined muscles. It wasn't the kind of self-consciously sculpted body that developed in a gym, either. This guy had earned his muscles the hard way—with sweat and physical labor. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a physique like that, with a narrow waist and long, powerful legs.
This guy must think he was hot stuff. Well, maybe he was. Thick blond hair fell across his forehead, emphasizing the chiseled planes of his face. As for the blue-green eyes, if they hadn't been sparkling with glee at her expense, Samantha might have found them riveting.
Why was she cataloging the guy's features as if he were the destination in a vacation brochure? Of all the places she’d like to travel, none involved his bedroom. In fact, if she were designing a brochure, she knew precisely the words to describe him: Self-centered. Egotistical. Cute.
Cute? What was that doing in there?
Samantha hit the brakes and looked back. In her preoccupation, she'd scarcely noticed the scattering of ramshackle buildings she’d just passed, but the sign dead ahead said: "Leaving Hidden Hot Springs. Come Back Soon!"
Leaving Hidden Hot Springs? That was it?
As she backed up, a couple of chickens squawked out of the way. The man hadn’t been kidding about her car scaring them.
Samantha found a space next to something resembling a hitching post and killed the motor. In the fading light, the place might have materialized out of the Old West. Not a cleaned-up Hollywood version, either.
The rough-timbered building in front of her bore a hand-painted sign: General Store. A porch rambled across the front, and there were two small, dusty windows. A skewed placard read Closed.
Across the street, an equally ramshackle adobe structure was marked Public Restrooms. A whole building for public restrooms? There were outdoor showers, too, like at the beach. This must be where clods like that guy in the road scraped off the dirt once a month.
Beyond the small row of buildings, along a rise, sat several dozen trailers on crude foundations. This was where the natives lived.
She had half a mind to leave right now. This was the last place on earth she would choose to stay. The good part was that this might be the last place Hank would think to search for her.
With a sigh, Samantha got out of the car. She’d stayed in worse places around the globe. Besides, she could endure almost anything for a month.
After the trial, she'd be off on the trip of her dreams. She'd have a steady source of income and a new island every few days. With that thought in mind, she planned to breeze right through a month in Dullsville.
Samantha checked her watch. Not quite seven-thirty. Half an hour till the mixer.
Across the street, two men leaned against the bathhouse wall. One nodded politely, while the other gawked open-mouthed. Samantha clamped her lips together and marched along the buildings.
This place didn't even have sidewalks. The uneven ground made her high heels wobble, and she wished she hadn't worn such a short dress. When she'd picked it out this morning, she'd expected her legs to spend most of the day hidden behind a desk.
Well, those guys ought to grow up. Hadn’t they ever seen a woman before?
Maybe not recently. The ad had indicated they didn't have women around here. Was that possible? There must be a larger town within commuting distance, although Samantha hadn't passed one.
The half-naked man in the road didn't seem the type to find himself alone for long. With that masculine self-confidence, he emitted come-hither vibes that drew women at the subatomic level. But if he really had been celibate for months, bottled passions must boil beneath the surface. She was lucky he hadn't propositioned her right there on the highway.
How would she have reacted--slapped his face? She imagined the stubble of his cheek beneath her hand. Would he have reacted by grabbing her wrist and pulling her close?
She refused to speculate further on that oaf. Especially when she had doubts about his personal hygiene.
Past the general store, Samantha noticed a large, undistinguished structure marked Dining Hall. Through the closed door, she heard the clatter of dishes and the bass rumble of voices.
Inside, no doubt, lay rows of scarred tables, a cafeteria serving line and overcooked food drenched in salt and fat. Much like the dining hall at her old boarding school, except that the men were probably allowed to sit wherever they pleased.
Samantha wrenched her thoughts to a warmer memory: her favorite sidewalk café in Paris. Patrons meandered from table to table, catching up on gossip, while waiters skimmed between chairs with drinks and dinner plates. The flavors of wine, garlic and herbs made her mouth water. Now that was her idea of a place to eat.
Too bad she’d missed dinner, except for a granola bar retrieved from the bottom of her purse. She hadn’t noticed any restaurants in town, either.
Beyond the dining hall lay an adobe structure that, judging from the bell tower, might once have been a church. The sign in front read: Recreation Hall/Library. This must be the site of the alleged party.
She’d landed in Mudville, U.S.A. with its own Bigfoot planted on the highway. The idea of coming here struck Samantha as one of the stupidest things she’d ever done. Well, after nearly marrying Hank.
As for hiding out here, Samantha saw no sign of a motel. For heaven’s sake, surely some of the other women expected to stay overnight rather than drive back through the canyon in darkness.
Or would there be any other women? What if she were the only female in a remote town full of hungry men, and not for French cuisine, either?
She was edging toward her car when the sound of a motor drew her attention. A familiar blue Toyota halted, discharging a chubby figure in pink slacks and a flowered blouse. With a leap of joy, Samantha recognized her.
"Mary Anne!" Despite the jolt to
her high heels, she bounded down the dirt walkway. "It's me."
"Sam!" Her friend grabbed her in a hug. "We've been so worried. You just disappeared. I know you had to hide from Hank, but couldn't you let us know you were all right?"
Samantha ducked her head in apology. "The district attorney's office told me not to contact anyone. But Hank found me, anyway."
"He did?" Mary Anne's gray eyes widened. "Are you all right?"
"That's why I'm here,” Samantha admitted. “It's as good a place to hide as any. Or, that was the idea."
“Just because I found you doesn’t mean he will,” her friend assured her.
Inside the adobe building, lights flicked on and music blared intermittently as someone checked the sound system. "You’re here for the dance?"
Mary Anne bit her lip. "You told me that if I wanted something, I had to make it happen. When I saw the posting, it was as if you'd reached out and tapped my shoulder. So here I am."
She was glad her advice had helped a friend. "I'm proud of you. But why not meet guys on line?”
Mary Anne smoothed down her loose blouse over a long skirt. “I’d rather see what I’m getting. And let them see me, too, so there’s no letdown when we meet.”
Samantha hoped with all her heart that Mary Anne wouldn't be disappointed tonight. "What about Alice?"
"I didn't tell her.” She shrugged. “You know how cynical she is about marriage."
"I can see how a person could get that way. Cynical about marriage, I mean." Samantha shuddered. What if she’d actually married Hank? Bad as things were, they could have been worse.
From the cafeteria and the trailers, men were drifting toward the church building. Samantha linked her arm with Mary Anne's. Thank goodness she had a companion tonight.
"We should go inside," she began when an aging minivan rattled into sight on the road. Pink crepe paper floated from the antenna and Samantha could have sworn she caught a whiff of perfume.
The van ground to a halt behind Mary Anne's car, and a pretty, dark-haired woman rolled down the driver's window. "The Love Bug is here!" she cried. "Go get 'em, ladies!"
Run, Run, Runaway Bride Page 3
