Run, Run, Runaway Bride

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  Doors flew open and women poured out. Samantha counted six, but she might have missed a few. Short tops, shorter skirts, a range of builds and ages, and stiletto shoes with toes so pointy that her feet ached in sympathy. Their smiles were infectious, and their laughter filled the air. How did they know each other? It hardly mattered.

  "You can say one thing for them. They're not shy," Samantha observed.

  Mary Anne smiled. "I like having a lot of women around. This way no one will notice me."

  "You deserved to be noticed," Samantha told her.

  Her friend didn’t answer directly. “Let’s stay here a while and see who else shows up.”

  “Good idea.” And more fun than standing around a rec room.

  More cars followed. Samantha was amazed at how many women showed up, mostly in threesomes and foursomes, with a variety of ages and dress styles ranging from conservative to flamboyant. What had attracted them to this out-of-the-way place? They couldn't all be running from vengeful ex-fiancé's. Meeting on the Internet obviously didn’t satisfy everyone’s idea of how to find a man.

  At last, she and Mary Anne went in. They found a large, open room with an arched ceiling and adobe walls bearing faded frescoes of Spanish missionaries and Native Americans. Along one wall stood a bookcase filled with aging volumes, and Samantha remembered that the sign out front had referred to a library. Near the far wall, a long table had been rigged, covered with several mismatched vinyl cloths and set with cans of soda and beer.

  How typical, she thought, her stomach grumbling. The men hadn't fixed anything to eat.

  Samantha was grateful when the brunette from the van plopped a tray of cupcakes on the table. "Hope you don't mind," she said, taking one. “I missed dinner."

  "That’s why I brought them. They're carrot cake," added the woman. "Full of vitamins. Sugar, too. Don't forget to brush your teeth." To Samantha's raised eyebrow, she explained, "I teach second grade. Dental hygiene is important."

  Samantha stuck out her hand, the one without a cupcake in it. "I’m Samantha. Unemployed you-name-it-I've-done-it. This is my friend Mary Anne."

  The tall woman shook their hands. "I'm Beth. You guys from San Diego?"

  They nodded. “You brought quite a crowd. How do you all know each other?” Samantha asked.

  "We're from Chula Vista, right on the Mexican border. We met on an email loop." Beth lifted her leg, displaying her short skirt and spike heels. “It’s for ladies who like to have fun.”

  “Isn’t dressing that way asking for trouble?” Mary Anne waved her hand. “I don’t mean to criticize.”

  “It’s like that old joke about the donkey-trainer.” Beth brushed back her long, thick hair. “Before you can train ‘em, you have to get their attention.”

  “I’m not sure I want attention,” Mary Anne murmured.

  “Don’t put yourself down,” Samantha told her. “There’s too many other people who’ll do that for you. Or any of us.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Beth said. “Stand tall. Or short. Or whatever you are.”

  The place was growing crowded, and someone turned up the amplifier until Samantha's eardrums threatened to pop. The pulsating rhythm throbbed with shrieking guitars.

  Women were outnumbered three to one. Finally, almost every one of them including Mary Anne was gyrating on the jammed dance floor. Mary Anne’s partner had a kind face, while Beth was dancing with a tall, gangly fellow.

  Samantha took refuge behind the refreshment table, pouring drinks into paper cups for the other guests. In these crowded circumstances, the remaining men blurred together into a sweaty mass of blue jeans and T-shirts.

  None of them compared to the human roadblock she'd met earlier. She’d enjoyed the mischievous glint in his aquamarine eyes and the grin that teased the edges of his mouth. But what she needed was a protector, not a good-looking lunkhead.

  Abruptly, the screaming music blew out a fuse, resulting in a lot of milling around while the men vied for the right to show off by fixing it. Beth and Mary Anne retreated to the refreshment table, accompanied by their guys.

  On closer inspection, these struck Samantha as management types. The short man, whom Mary Anne introduced as Pete Zuniga, wore a tweed sports jacket, while the tall fellow, Lew Jolson, was dressed in a navy blazer and slacks.

  “Pete’s the project foreman,” Mary Anne added.

  "Guess you're the boss, huh?" said Samantha as they shook hands.

  "No, he's not here yet." Pete cleared his throat. "Kieran's more of a loner."

  "He'll show up. It’ll be good for morale," added Lew. “I’m the architect, by the way.”

  Beth beamed. Samantha felt like congratulating her friends on snagging the best specimens in the room. As far as she could tell, anyway.

  “Mr. Kieran’s the owner?” she asked.

  "We're all shareholders." Lew draped an arm around Beth. "But he's the one who inherited the land and put the project together. If not for him, none of us would be here."

  "By the way, Kieran's his first name. Kieran French," added Pete. He gave Mary Anne a fond look. "Would you like to walk to the dining hall for a cup of coffee? We can come back when the music starts again."

  "Sure." Mary Anne radiated delight. They walked out together.

  Samantha made quick mental calculations. This Kieran guy must be older, perhaps in his fifties. Not physically a match for Hank, but obviously surrounded by loyal men, which meant he should be able to keep her safe. “Is this Kieran guy married?"

  Under ordinary circumstances she’d have considered the question too blunt. However, these weren’t ordinary circumstances.

  Lew shook his head. "The way he works eighteen hours a day, I doubt a marriage could survive."

  An absentee husband would suit her fine. "What’s he like?" Samantha asked.

  "He's a hell of a guy," the architect said. "When I first heard about this project, I didn't believe he could get it off the ground, but he did, against tremendous odds. He's one tough customer, let me tell you."

  Better and better.

  The music started. Beth tapped Lew's arm. "Are we or aren't we?"

  "Definitely, we are," he said, and escorted her to the dance floor.

  Samantha drummed her fingers on the table. The air was getting thick, and a couple of unappealing men were trying to catch her eye. She headed for the front door.

  As she stepped outside, she heard someone say, "There's Kieran. Glad he showed up."

  Finally! Samantha’s gaze swept the sidewalk and landed on a tall, broad-shouldered figure with his back to her, standing beside a pickup truck.

  Might as well walk over and introduce herself. Around here, boldness appeared to be the order of the day, or night.

  As she approached, she realized the man was talking on the phone. His baritone drifted back, the tone forceful but the words hard to make out. "... due this morning ... behind schedule ... expect you to deliver on time..."

  A take-charge guy. She approved of that, as well as of his tailored jacket. Well-cut slacks draped tight, muscular buttocks. Instead of the athletic shoes his men favored, he wore a polished leather style with rubber tread. This guy had found the sophisticated approach to dressing up in Mudville. Definitely the best prospect Samantha had seen here in the back end of nowhere.

  "Get that damn shipment out here if you have to hire the bloody Marines!" snapped Kieran French, and clicked off. He leaned against the truck, apparently allowing his fury to cool before entering the rec hall.

  Samantha waited for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Mr. French?" she said. "I've been hoping to meet you."

  "Yes?" He swung around, shaggy blond hair framing a face still clouded with anger. "And you are—?"

  They both stopped in surprise.

  "Bigfoot!" gasped Samantha, and then wished she could disappear into the dirt track that passed for a sidewalk.

  Chapter Four

  Kieran hadn’t expected the lady in the short skirt to corr
al him at his pickup. Stroke of luck, and he needed one before he suffered a stroke for real.

  During the phone call, his blood pressure had soared as he talked to the "what me worry?" contractor who had failed to deliver the building supplies on time. That kind of ineptitude threatened the future of this resort as much as did his greedy cousin Beatrice.

  Running into the pretty lady was the perfect distraction. He savored the determination in those amber eyes and the prospect of sparring with her for the evening.

  "Bigfoot?" he repeated.

  Despite the dim light, he could have sworn she was blushing. "Just a joke," she said. "I'm Samantha Avery."

  She thrust out her hand. It felt small but firm in Kieran's grasp. Every movement she made reflected a fierce self-awareness. She might be a foot shorter than his six-one, but this lady was a tough customer. Just his type.

  "You said you've been wanting to meet me?" he challenged.

  Samantha's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "I guess we already met, didn't we?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  Now that she didn't have the setting sun behind her, he caught the full impact of her vibrant skin and the full breasts outlined by her silky blouse. The brief skirt bared slender legs. Nice.

  "Like my outfit?" Samantha challenged.

  "Very sensible," Kieran said. "For a hot day." Or a hot night.

  What was on the woman's mind, anyway? Kieran could almost have sworn she was doing what she'd accused him of earlier: viewing him as a product for purchase.

  That must be his imagination running wild. He'd spent so much time alone, he'd almost forgotten how to act in social situations. The young woman had come here to dance, maybe meet a man she'd like to see again. Or go home with?

  Music blared from the rec hall. "Care to dance?"

  "Sure." She swung around on one of her high heels and led the way.

  Other men on the rec hall sidelines fixed their gazes on her longingly. Kieran wondered why, with all these guys to choose from, she had sought him out.

  He’d let Samantha tell him in her own sweet time. Right now, he was in the mood to dance.

  *

  Kieran French wasn't such a hopeless prospect after all, Samantha mused as she walked. Where else was she going to find a man with both the mental and physical strength to protect her if Hank showed up?

  Freshly brushed, the shaggy hair looked stylish instead of sloppy. Clean-shaven, Kieran's resembled a take-charge executive rather than a mountain man. As for that mouth, it might quirk with amusement at her expense, but it could also bark orders and command obedience.

  His men’s, not hers. But if he hadn’t learned that already, he was slower than she guessed.

  For a front-office type, he’d developed powerful shoulders and upper arms. He must stride around the construction site hoisting large beams with a single hand.

  Down, girl.

  Kieran French wouldn't be an easy man to bring to heel. And once conquered, he wasn’t likely to stay there. But in the meantime, he might be the guardian she sought.

  *

  Kieran tried not to stare at Samantha's soft form, swaying with feminine grace ahead of him. He acknowledged the greetings of his men, calling each one by name. It was a matter of pride to him that Hidden Hot Springs would be built by a real community and not just hired hands.

  In the flat lighting of the former church, he caught sight of Lew Jolson waltzing with a tall, vivacious brunette. A moment later, Pete Zuniga strolled in the door with a chunky young woman and whirled her onto the dance floor as well. This get-together had was proving a success.

  Perhaps for him, too.

  As Kieran and Samantha found a small clear space, the music changed from vibrant rock 'n' roll to a sultry tango. Other couples retreated, perhaps unfamiliar with the steps.

  "Who the hell picked that one?" muttered Lew as he led his companion toward the food table.

  Samantha's eyes dared Kieran. "Any idea how to tango?"

  "Try me," he dared.

  He doubted she'd be able to keep up. The tango was one of the most difficult ballroom dances, although when performed correctly, it was both theatrical and sensuous. He and Michele, his former fiancée, had spent months mastering it during their weekly ballroom dance lessons.

  “Oh, I intend to,” Samantha replied.

  What did this fresh-faced, smart-mouthed woman know of the intricacies of Latin American rhythms? He suspected she'd spent her whole social life in San Diego nightclubs and, until not long ago, from the looks of her, at her high school prom.

  To Kieran's surprise, Samantha moved smoothly into position, close against him. He slid his right arm tightly around her waist and claimed her free hand in his.

  Keenly aware of the tension in her body, he struggled to control his response. The last thing he needed was to get physically excited with his men watching. They'd be cracking jokes at his expense for weeks.

  To test her reflexes, he whirled Samantha around without warning. She teetered for an instant but caught on quickly, then nearly threw him off-balance by draping herself over his arm, head thrown back in a pose.

  The onlookers applauded. A crowd gathered to watch.

  Kieran twirled Samantha upright and she straightened against him. The rules of the dance called for allowing no light to show between them, and she certainly didn't.

  Then the music took over, awakening long-dormant responses. With Samantha undulating in perfect harmony, Kieran moved into the drama of the tango.

  Knees flexed, bodies rigid, they covered the floor in a series of long, languorous steps and staccato short ones. Cheek to cheek, they melted into the provocative cadences born in the depths of Buenos Aires.

  Samantha felt feather-light in his arms. How did she sense which way he was going to pivot as soon as he thought of it? She keyed into every twitch of his muscles, right down to the electrical impulses jolting his nerves.

  Her cool gaze and confident air told him she was more sophisticated than he'd imagined. Kieran tried not to think about what might happen if he held her in his arms without the intrusion of all these onlookers. How she would tantalize his mouth and arouse his passion, sensitive to every breath of desire and every thrust of passion.

  The tempo quickened and her body answered his with faster steps and sharper turns. There was a question in her eyes that probed at him as he spun her and flung her away, then drew her back.

  She wants something from me.

  She hadn't come to this dance from idle curiosity. What had drawn her, Kieran couldn’t guess. Yet.

  He had underestimated Samantha Avery. Now he must bide his time through the enticing intimacy of the tango until he learned the truth.

  *

  Where had Kieran French learned to tango?

  Samantha had always loved to dance. In every city she visited, the ballrooms became her source of release, and her hope of finding her own Fred Astaire.

  Never in any man's arms had she experienced the elegance and confidence that Ginger Rogers must have known. Until tonight. She'd never dreamed her body possessed such grace. She'd never had a man balance her with such skill.

  For a backwoods Romeo, Kieran had a lot going on upstairs, and probably downstairs, too. Not only were many of the construction workers eyeing them, but the stares of a dozen lusty women proved their readiness to take Samantha’s place.

  Why should he settle for letting her hide out in his cabin on a platonic basis, as she’d assumed, when he could have his pick of partners? If she didn't snap him up, somebody else surely would.

  The wording of the ad gave her pause, though. Mail-order brides? Kieran didn’t strike her as the desperate type, but becoming Mrs. French instead of Ms. Avery would be a definite advantage in covering her tracks. True, she'd have to deal with that business of sleeping arrangements, but if she absolutely had to yield, Samantha figured it wouldn’t be too big a sacrifice.

  If things worked out that way, she might as well marry Kieran F
rench until Hank's trial did them part.

  *

  Kieran feared his body might explode from the energy pounding through his arteries when the dance ended much too soon. Then he had to stand there accepting the praise and good-natured teasing of his friends. Aware of Samantha fidgeting at his side, he finally escaped with her toward the door.

  They stumbled right into Pete. "Hey, Kier," said his friend. "Aren't you glad we went ahead with the mixer?"

  Kieran nodded in resignation. He had about as much chance of fleeing anonymously into the night as he did of performing the mazurka upside down on the ceiling.

  The redhead on Pete's arm beamed at Kieran. After a moment, he realized her affection was targeted at Samantha, not him. "You two know each other?" he asked.

  "I was a bridesmaid at—" The woman stopped. "I mean, I'm Mary Anne Montgomery." She gazed at Samantha as if in appeal.

  "I almost got married recently," Samantha explained. "Fortunately I discovered my fiancé's true nature before it was too late."

  "That makes two of us," said Kieran.

  "You know Hank?" Mary Anne asked in astonishment.

  "I was referring to my own fiancée." Something still didn't click for Kieran. "You two didn't drive down together, though."

  "I had no idea she was coming," Samantha said. "I'm glad she did."

  "You're both staying for the picnic tomorrow, aren't you?" Pete put in.

  To a flurry of questions, he explained that Lew and the tall brunette, Beth, had decided to organize a picnic for the following day. The men were rounding up tents and sleeping bags in the hope that the women would sleep over.

  "Wait a minute." Kieran frowned. "Since when do the men take Saturdays off?"

  "Since we don't have the supplies we need," answered Pete. "Come on, give everybody a break."

  Pete had a point. Kieran had spent the better part of the afternoon trying in vain to figure out how to work around the missing supplies.

  "We'll have to put in extra hours next week to make up for it," he warned.

  "Slave driver," commented Lew, approaching from one side.

  "Damn right." Kieran noticed that the dark-haired woman seemed perfectly at home with her arm linked through the architect's. Both his pals had lucked out tonight.