Run, Run, Runaway Bride

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  Remembering that this had been a tourist cabin, Samantha doubted anyone had ever polished that floor till it gleamed. Well, it wouldn’t be her.

  In the dim light of an overhead fixture, the walls, too, looked gray. The only decoration was a photograph of people in 1950s bathing suits wading through a pool.

  The furnishings consisted of a scarred table, several mismatched chairs, a lumpy brown couch over which someone had draped the bags containing their wedding clothes, and the cut end of a log, which served as a coffee table. Atop a rickety stand in one corner sat a small television set and a DVD player.

  The front window sported a threadbare set of beige curtains. She could scarcely see the front yard through the glass, although that cloudiness might be due as much to dust and spider webs as to age.

  Finally, she said, “You live here? Really?”

  "It's, uh, rustic," Kieran conceded.

  "Rusty is more like it." Samantha grimaced. "I'm almost afraid to see the kitchen."

  "You should be."

  Deciding to leave that treat for morning, she stepped into the bathroom. Better than expected, she noted with relief. The old claw foot tub gleamed, and someone had laid white tile patterned with flowers on the floor. The sink and commode appeared new.

  "Not bad," she said.

  "It was hopeless when I moved in," Kieran said from the doorway. "I didn't so much redecorate as rehabilitate."

  "Too bad you missed the rest of the house," Samantha said. "I don't suppose they have health inspectors in Hidden Hot Springs, though, so you're probably safe."

  “Lucky me.”

  On her way out of the bathroom, she had to brush past Kieran's bulky frame. As she did, his body went rigid in a very interesting place. Or perhaps she'd bumped into his cell phone.

  Wiggling past, she veered into the bedroom. Light from a bedside lamp, filtering through a yellowed shade, revealed a sagging, pressed-wood chest of drawers, a narrow closet and a double-hung window fitted with dusty miniblinds. Below it stood Samantha's well-worn suitcases.

  The bed, covered with a worn quilt, resembled an oversize cot. Samantha couldn't imagine two people sleeping there unless they were on very intimate terms.

  Don’t think about that.

  "The place could use fixing up," Kieran admitted. "Paint and new curtains ought to do the trick. I don't suppose you sew?"

  "Anything more complicated than a button, I send to the tailor," Samantha said. "And any painting more extensive than my nails, I hire out."

  He clucked. "Since you’ve agreed to be a housewife for a month, you should learn to act like one."

  "Housewife?" echoed Samantha. "I married a house?"

  "You do intend to earn your keep, don't you?" Kieran took a step forward, forcing Samantha closer to the bed.

  "I'll tell you what." She dodged aside. "I'll pay you room and board.”

  “How much?”

  “From the looks of this place, five bucks ought to cover it.”

  He dropped his teasing tone. “Is it really that bad?”

  Samantha surveyed the room. "I've slept in worse places."

  That was an understatement. She’d lain awake one night in a tropical hotel listening to mosquitoes munch holes in the netting over the bed. Then there'd been the Spanish boarding house where she'd discovered her room abutted the communal bathroom and that whenever anyone flushed the toilet, the pipes roared like a 747 on takeoff.

  "I’ll take that as a vote of confidence. Welcome home, Mrs. French." Kieran reached down and pulled his polo shirt off straight over his head, baring a broad chest that, at close range, filled Samantha's range of vision.

  "Excuse me." She tried to ignore the pectoral muscles monopolizing her personal landscape. "Where exactly are you planning to sleep?"

  "With my wife." Kieran flung the shirt onto the floor and slipped his hands around her waist.

  An alarming welter of sensations assaulted Samantha. The most powerful was the scent of spicy masculinity blended with the sun-ripened richness of her own skin.

  She lifted her hands to push him back. "We had a deal."

  Kieran lowered his face until his breath whispered across her cheek. "Deals have to be consummated, don't they?"

  "Not tonight."

  "Especially tonight."

  "That was one of my conditions," she responded. “Even if it weren’t, my body language ought to tell you I’m not interested.”

  Kieran released a long breath. "I'm expected to read minds?"

  "Just read my lips," she said, and mouthed the words: "Go away."

  After a moment's internal debate, Kieran retreated across the room and pulled something from the closet. He marched back and dropped a stack of sheets and a blanket into Samantha's arms.

  "There you go," he said. "I'm sure you'll find the couch reasonably comfortable."

  "That lumpy thing in the living room?"

  "Surely you didn’t expect to find a couch in the kitchen."

  Samantha thrust the sheets back into his arms. "I don't expect to find a couch at all. I am not the idiot who chose that sagging piece of junk. If this were my cabin, it would be properly furnished with a large bed and a convertible sofa. You own that monstrosity, so you can sleep on it."

  "Although I'd love to humor you, the couch is much too short for me." Kieran beamed triumphantly.

  Pressing her shoulder into his ribs, Samantha shoved him toward the door. “I’m sure you'll manage. Besides, you told me how early you get up. Surely you wouldn't want to wake your new bride."

  For a moment, as he stood firm, she felt like a mouse trying to move a mountain. Then, perhaps thanks to the pile of sheets in his arms, he lost his balance, and she propelled him toward the living room.

  "My clothes are in the closet!" he cried, half laughing and half serious.

  "I'll toss them out before morning," she promised. "Now do sleep well." With a last burst of energy, she shoved him out and slammed the door.

  Samantha thought she detected a low chuckle as Kieran's footsteps retreated across the wooden floor. She heard the rustling of old springs and the plumping of cushions.

  She hoped sleeping on the sofa gave him a crick in his back as big as the one she'd just incurred in her shoulder.

  *

  They ate Sunday brunch in the dining hall. The cook set out food with a Mexican flair: scrambled eggs and salsa, spicy sausage, flour tortillas and sugary tubes of fried dough that tasted like doughnuts.

  "I thought the cook was Australian," Samantha observed as she filled her plate.

  "That doesn’t mean he can’t read a recipe." Kieran heaped his plate twice as high.

  Pete joined them at the table, but Lew, she learned, was out jogging. "It gets too hot later in the day," Pete explained. "I hope Beth likes to exercise. He's a fanatic."

  "She looks in good shape." Samantha missed her new friend. She wondered what the other women were doing this morning.

  If she were in Del Mar, Samantha would take a leisurely walk to a café for breakfast. Then she'd read the newspaper and drink coffee. Afterward, she'd head for the beach.

  "What do you guys usually do on Sunday?" she asked.

  Kieran’s forehead creased. "I catch up on paperwork. I don't know what everyone else does."

  "I play softball," offered Pete. "Some guys drive to a town for church. On special occasions, they go to San Diego."

  "I'd like to see the rest of Hidden Hot Springs," Samantha said. "Kieran?"

  He stopped, a forkful of sausage halfway to his mouth. “Uh,” he said.

  "Is he always this incoherent in the morning?" Samantha asked.

  Pete just beamed, as if delighting in the pair of lovebirds.

  *

  Kieran didn't understand what was wrong with him. He couldn't concentrate on the conversation, the food or his plans for the day.

  He kept thinking about how Samantha had looked last night when he left the bedroom: defiant with an edge of triumph. There sure was a lot o
f energy packed into that tiny frame—energy that he'd like to put to a much more rewarding use.

  Hell, she wasn't a kid. She must have had experience with men before, and he could tell she found him attractive. Why not enjoy having an affair for a month?

  He'd reacted like a lusty teenager last night, returning his date home when he yearned with every pounding inch of his adolescent body to take her to a motel instead. He'd lain awake for hours, not even able to toss and turn on the narrow sofa.

  He'd dreamt of her mouth opening to receive his tongue, of her nipples coming erect against his chest. He'd pictured them naked in a secluded glade, where she arched her back among the flowers, inviting him between her thighs.

  "Well?" Samantha demanded.

  Kieran nearly choked on his eggs. "Well, what?"

  "Aren't you going to show me around?" she said. "Or would you rather sit there all day chewing your fork?"

  A deep draft of coffee went down the wrong way. Kieran sputtered and choked, and Pete whacked him between the shoulders until his fillings nearly flew from his teeth. “Sorry,” Kieran gasped as be regained his breath. Rising, he carried his tray to the conveyer belt. Samantha hurried behind him.

  He didn’t dare look at her. The fantasy might return, the one about the private glen and his knee parting her legs.

  He strode outside, nearly colliding with a couple of men arriving for a late meal. "Sorry, guys."

  "No big deal," said one.

  “Yeah, we can understand you’re a little preoccupied,” added the other.

  “Woo woo!” they chorused, more or less in unison, and pumped the air with their fists. Ducking his head, Kieran scooted past.

  Samantha caught up with him "The guys giving you trouble?"

  "What? No. I'll show you the construction site."

  “Okay, for starters.”

  They crossed the highway and set off along the path. He steered Samantha onto a gravel road that ran through a grove of jacaranda trees. Their elegant branches raised a cloud of lavender blossoms against the sky.

  "My Uncle Albert planted those," Kieran said. "He loved this place."

  Samantha stepped through a drift of colorful blossoms that mirrored the shape of the jacarandas. "There's got to be someone who could vouch for your uncle's sanity. How about a doctor?"

  "He was healthy as a horse," Kieran said. "My uncle didn't go to a hospital until the very end, after he suffered a series of strokes. By the time I took him to the emergency room, he could hardly remember his own name."

  "Didn't your uncle correspond with anyone?" Samantha asked. "A coherent letter would show he was all there."

  "If he did, I can't find out who. As for his diary, it's vanished. If he burned it, I’m sunk."

  They emerged from the trees into the sweep of what would become a grand driveway. Before them rose the framework of the hotel, a series of interconnected buildings designed to provide maximum exposure to the open air. In a central courtyard lay a large hole that would be transformed into an inviting pool of mineral water. Kieran guided Samantha around the structures, pointing out the sites of the future lobby, the ballrooms, the massage and exercise rooms, the wings of guest rooms and the restaurants.

  "It fits the contours of the land," she mused. "When it's landscaped, I'll bet it will blend right in."

  "That's our goal," Kieran agreed, pleased that she could visualize the ultimate results. "Lew designed it, and he's always had a reverence for the natural setting."

  As he pointed out the future wildlife preserve on the slopes leading to the canyon walls, he saw a flash of brown between the trees. It might have been a deer, but the movement had been sinuous and collected, more like that of a big cat. Just what he needed, that mountain lion cub again. Or worse, its mother.

  With luck, it would stay in the brush. On a weekday, the noise around here was enough to scare them both away.

  Samantha recalled him to the conversation by asking, "Where would your uncle’s papers be? I mean, if they do exist."

  "In his cabin, I assume." Kieran tucked the mountain lion sighting among the thousand and one details in his mental filing system. "It's that tumbledown shack by the highway. But I've searched it top to bottom. There were almost no records at all. It created a real paperwork mess when I started out."

  "I could take a look," Samantha said.

  "Why so interested?"

  "As you pointed out, there's not much to do around here."

  Despite the reasonable explanation, her proposal stirred a quiver of suspicion. "You aren't feeling possessive about this place, are you?"

  "Possessive?" Samantha repeated.

  Kieran scowled. "You won’t back out of signing that quitclaim on Tuesday?"

  "Don't snarl at me or I’ll say I was forced to sign under duress," Samantha retorted. "Then my signature wouldn't be valid."

  Kieran didn't really believe she’d try to keep half of the property, but he'd placed himself in a delicate position. In his drive to defeat Beatrice, and under the mind-clouding fog of desire inspired by too many years of living alone, he'd married a woman he hardly knew.

  As Beatrice had demonstrated, even the most unreasonable of claims could cause major legal headaches. And Samantha's claim, he conceded glumly, was far from unreasonable. "Kieran French and his wife." That was how his uncle’s will read.

  His thoughts broke off as a group of men broke into the cleared area, Pete in the lead. They carried bats, softballs and catcher's mitts.

  "You're standing in the middle of our playing field," Pete said. "Care to join us?"

  "I'd love to." Samantha peered at Kieran. "How about you?"

  He shook his head. "I've got work. Have fun."

  She flicked him a smile. "See you later."

  En route to his office trailer, Kieran forced himself not to look back at her slender figure in the sunlight. Well, not more than once.

  He was glad he hadn't slept with Samantha last night. That might interfere with obtaining an easy annulment. In view of how many things could go wrong, he’d be wise to play it safe.

  However, as Kieran sank into his desk chair, a none-too-subtle masculine urging reminded him that his body hadn't promised to go along with his decision. Damn it, he had to tough this out.

  The morning flew by, and in the afternoon Lew had arranged to show a movie in the recreation hall. It was a classic, Ben-Hur, which everyone had seen but seemed eager to see again. After lunch, though, Kieran spent the hours buried in his office. The longer he stayed away from Samantha, the better.

  When he joined her for dinner, he found her surrounded by men. Trays crowded the long table as Samantha and the guys swapped jokes.

  "Did you see the sign that says 'Illiterate? Write For Free Help’?" Samantha tossed out as Kieran set his tray next to hers.

  “What about that T-shirt somebody was wearing this morning?” a guy returned. “It says, Instant Human. Just Add Coffee.”

  “Aw, that’s not new,” some responded.

  “Yeah, I’ve got one that says…” the man broke off. “Aw, I can’t say it around a lady.”

  “Yeah, let’s keep it clean,” Kieran muttered.

  “You guys are old fashioned.” Apparently Samantha caught their puzzled expressions, because she added quickly, “And I like it!”

  Good save, Kieran thought, and wolfed down his spaghetti.

  After the meal, the men seemed in no hurry to depart. Kieran began to find their presence annoying. Just because he'd sworn off sex didn't mean he couldn't enjoy his wife’s companionship.

  At last he drew Samantha away with the promise of showing her yet another aspect of Hidden Hot Springs. "What is it?" she asked, bouncing out the door beside him.

  "You did bring a swimsuit, didn't you?"

  "This is Southern California," she replied. "Of course I brought one. In fact, I brought two."

  “Ready to try the hot springs?” he challenged.

  “Whoa.” She regarded him sternly. “You're not
getting me out there alone.”

  Kieran flexed his shoulders, knotted from eight hours at a desk. "My motives are pure. I'm stiff all over."

  "I bet," she said.

  He laughed. "Actually, you have nothing to fear."

  "Oh?" Samantha stood on the path, hands on hips. "What's the next line? 'Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen?' I wasn't born yesterday."

  "I mean it. I've changed my mind." Kieran nudged her up the path. "No sex. I promise."

  She eyed him uncertainly. "What brought this on?"

  He debated whether to invent an excuse, but she'd see through it. "I want to be able to annul our marriage with no strings attached."

  "This just occurred to you?" Mistrust dripped from her voice. "Come on, Kieran, it's a trick, isn't it?"

  "Absolutely not." He’d better come clean all the way. "I’ve decided we shouldn’t consummate our marriage. Not that I honestly think you'd hang onto your half-interest in the property, but I'm taking no chances."

  She shook her head in disbelief. "You mean no matter what I do, even if I strut around naked, you'll keep your hands and other body parts to yourself?"

  Kieran groaned inwardly. He’d played right into her mischievous hands. "That's right."

  "Well, well," said Samantha, and skipped ahead of him toward the cabin.

  Twenty minutes later, Kieran realized he'd made a mistake by suggesting the dip in the hot springs. Maybe because of that photograph of people bathing in 1950s costumes, he hadn't given any thought to what kind of swimsuit Samantha had brought. He was returning from the utility room with towels when she exited the bedroom in the poorest excuse for a cover-up since Watergate.

  The black-mesh top dropped straight from her shoulders to the upper thighs. Plainly visible beneath it shimmered two tiny strips of space-age fabric and a lot of gloriously curved flesh.

  She had the nerve to stare back at him, as if there were anything unusual about the sight of a man in short black trunks. Kieran never bothered with a T-shirt around here, but her gaze reminded him of his state of undress. Still, it was nowhere near as spectacular as hers.

  "Don't you have anything more conservative?" he asked.

  "What's wrong with this?" She batted her eyes in feigned innocence.