by Seton, Cora
Austin was strong, muscled, his thighs powerful under his pants. His hands capable on the wheel of the truck. His western twang stirred up wicked sensations inside her. His kiss back at the church had surprised her—both its gentleness and then its intensity. She hadn’t meant to do more than kiss him back lightly—like she would kiss a friend at a party, say. Instead, she’d attacked him like a ravenous wolf once she’d gotten her first taste. He’d pulled desire out of her she didn’t even know she had. She’d thought she’d been happy when she’d been with Anthony. She’d thought he’d satisfied her.
Now she knew he hadn’t. But Austin could.
Too bad sex was off the table.
Squashing a desire to roll her eyes at her own melodrama, she decided she couldn’t be attracted to Austin. She didn’t know anything about him at all—not even what he’d done in the military. He was a good kisser, no more, no less. There was no need to read more into the situation.
He could be a lousy lay.
She stopped herself from snorting. “What’s on your mind?” She tried to match his slightly sarcastic tone.
“To be honest, I don’t know. Everything and nothing. I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
He turned the wheel suddenly and Ella grabbed the armrest as he made a sharp turn into a restaurant parking lot. “What are you doing?”
“You said you were hungry. Let’s eat.”
The sign above the door of the square, squat building read DelMonaco’s. “A steak house?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
There were a thousand reasons she didn’t want to walk through that door, but she settled on the easiest to explain. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Austin slammed on the brakes, only halfway into a parking space. “You’re a what, now?” He cocked his hat back and stared at her. How could a man make such a casual outfit so damned sexy? She had to tear her gaze away from his wide shoulders straining the seams of his shirt. She’d like those arms of his around her again. His hand resting at her waist.
“A vegetarian. I used to be a vegan.”
“And you thought marrying a cattleman was a good idea?”
“I guess I didn’t think it through.”
“Did you think any of this through?”
“Did you?”
“Maybe not.”
She wondered if that meant he was having second thoughts. He was right. What had she been thinking? Not much, really. In her mind’s eye Austin’s ranch had stretched for miles, with plenty of hiding spots for an actress longing to be out of the public’s eye. Sure, there’d be cattle in the distance, but she’d never thought about the nitty gritty of a cattleman’s life. Her family were horse people. “You don’t slaughter them right on the ranch, do you?”
His look told her just what he thought of her qualms. “No, the butchering is done off site. Don’t tell me you object to the line of work that’s going to feed and house you for the next twelve months.”
It was her turn to make a face. “I don’t need you to feed me, thank you very much. I can do that just fine for myself. And while I find butchering animals distasteful, I’ll admit it wasn’t moral reasons that made me a vegetarian. It was dietary ones.”
“You’re allergic to beef?”
“I’m allergic to fat.”
He slid a look her way. “Your weight looks fine to me.”
“Because I’m a vegetarian. If I wolfed down hamburgers I’d look like the Pillsbury dough boy in about five minutes.”
He sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who puts a lettuce leaf on a plate and calls it lunch.”
“My job requires me to watch my weight.” She snapped her mouth shut. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to say that—didn’t want to bring up her work—but she didn’t like his tone or the picture he was painting of her. Yes, she watched her weight. Scrupulously. She had to. Being an actress was like being a model; gain an ounce and lose your job.
“Sounds like a stupid job.” He backed out of the parking space.
“Now where are we going?”
“We’ll try the new restaurant in town. Fila’s. I’ve never eaten there, but Mason said it’s ethnic food. They’re bound to have something you can eat, right?”
She wanted to tell him to take her straight home, but she couldn’t muster the strength to argue with him. She’d demand they get takeout, though. The whole point of being here was for her to hide.
On the other hand, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to be alone with him. She observed him out of the corner of her eye. He sure was a good-looking man. She knew how kissable his mouth was, but the rest of him offered all sorts of possibilities. Shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world. Arms strong enough to hold her tight. An athletic build that suggested he’d be all kinds of fun in the sack.
For heaven’s sake.
She was not here to lust after Austin. She would have as little to do with the man as possible. When they got home, she’d explain who she was and why she needed to keep her presence here a secret. She wouldn’t leave the ranch again.
A minute or two later, Austin parallel parked in front of a small restaurant called Fila’s Familia. Ella’s lips twitched when she realized it served both Afghan and Mexican food. Austin was right; surely she could find something to eat here.
And she was ravenous. Her stomach let out a long growl as her hunger swept over her. She clapped a hand over it in a vain hope to make it stop.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Austin’s blue eyes regarded her as if she was some strange species whose place in taxonomy he wanted to establish.
She thought back. “Yesterday—lunch time.”
He heaved another sigh. “You are one of those women.”
“I am not one of those women.” One hand on the door, she turned on him.
“You look like one of them.”
“Stop looking at me then!” Every tabloid in the world talked about her weight. First they labeled her anorexic. The next month they turned around and accused her of runaway weight gain. She was sick of people’s obsession with her body.
“All right, all right. I take it back. You’re too pretty not to look at.” A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come and the cowboy looked away.
Was he embarrassed? He hadn’t even asked what she did, she realized. He must not care. Whereas she suddenly found herself chock full of questions about him.
She got out of the truck before she could open her mouth and start asking them. He wanted his privacy and he’d guaranteed hers. That’s what she wanted, so she’d be satisfied with it. She patted her sunglasses back in place.
“Let’s make this fast.”
“You in a rush to get home?”
Home. The word danced a shiver down her spine. His ranch was now her home. “I told you in my e-mail, I came here to… hide. I’ll come in to order my lunch, but then we need to be on our way.”
“Tell me one thing.” Austin blocked her way forward. “Are you running from the law?”
“No.” She could say that with a clear conscience. There was nothing illegal about escaping from the paparazzi.
“Okay, then.” Austin moved to open the restaurant door for her, and she decided that whatever else, he’d been raised to be a gentleman. As long as he didn’t turn into a psychopath when they got home, all would be well.
They were greeted by a cheerful restaurant interior of earthy reds and yellows. A menu was written in chalk on a huge chalkboard hanging on the wall behind the counter. Tables and booths filled the front of the restaurant, several of them containing chatting customers. The aroma made Ella’s stomach growl again. She kept her sunglasses on and longed for her baseball cap as they moved into the restaurant. This was a mistake. Too many people could see her. Any one of them could betray her presence to the world.
She paced straight to the counter, her gaze firmly on the menu, determined to order quickly and return to the truck. She scanned a sec
tion labeled vegetarian. The mixture of Mexican, Afghan and fusion dishes was quite remarkable—the last thing she’d expected in such a small western town. She was looking for a salad when Austin leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Remember, it’s your wedding day. Live a little.”
His breath tickled her neck and she shot him an exasperated glance, once more all too aware of him, but when her gaze returned to the menu, she found herself focusing on the vegetarian Afghan tacos—Afghan spiced veggies, beans, rice and cheese layered into naan and served with spiced yogurt instead of salsa. It sounded delicious.
And very fattening.
But she’d walked away from her acting career for good, hadn’t she? She’d maintained a radio silence for over a week. No one knew where she was—not even her family—and no one knew she was married, either.
Married.
She twisted the ring on her finger. The one she’d bought for herself. She and Anthony had purchased their real set months ago, soon after they’d become engaged, and Anthony had held onto them—one of the few things he’d taken an interest in. But as the wedding grew closer, she’d been overwhelmed with fear that he’d lose them before the ceremony. She’d purchased another set on her own and carried them in her purse ever since. She’d felt that if she didn’t keep them on hand at all times, she’d somehow forget to bring them on the one day that mattered, and if both she and Anthony forgot the rings, what would that say about their marriage?
She must have already known it was doomed.
She didn’t know what made her slip them on her finger earlier today—perhaps instinct had warned her that a man who advertised for a wife might not remember details like a ring.
It galled her that she and Austin were wearing the ones she’d bought out of fear, ones that had Anthony’s taint on them, but really, what difference did it make? She and Austin hadn’t married for love, had they? They’d married for practicality and nothing said practical like a pair of backup wedding rings.
She sensed the few customers’ gazes lingering on her hair and face. Her dress was out of place here—too exquisite for lunch at a casual eatery. Sooner or later someone would decide she was who she looked to be.
What then? She should tell Austin what he was in for. She should have told him earlier, before he yoked his life to hers.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and a moment later she found herself face to face with a very young, very pretty and very pregnant woman with a waist-length ponytail of shiny black hair and a nametag that read, Mia.
The young woman shrieked, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she hissed, “but you’re Ella Scales! You’re the runaway bride!” Ella jerked her head around, but the other customers seemed not to have heard. “No one knows where you are. The whole country has been looking for you since you clocked Anthony with that coffee cup.” Mia’s eyes were huge. “I can’t believe you’re here. Why are you in Chance Creek?”
“You two know each other?” Austin was frowning and Ella didn’t blame him. This must seem highly suspicious to someone who didn’t realize who she was.
“Everyone knows Ella Scales!”
There was a commotion in the kitchen, the doors opened again and another young woman with thick, dark lustrous hair, brown eyes and a wide smile rushed out. Her nametag read Camila. “It is Ella Scales! Our very first celebrity!” She whispered just like Mia had, but she had a slight Mexican accent and her apron and corn flour-dusted hands proclaimed her as one of the chefs. Behind her a third woman hovered in the doorway, also dark-haired and dark-eyed, but something about her made Ella certain she represented the Afghan side of the restaurant’s equation. Her nametag read Fila, and she held back as the other two enthused over Ella. Ella wished she could pull back and hide on the sidelines in a similar way.
“Shh! Please—I don’t want anyone to know,” she begged them.
“I don’t understand—what’s going on here?” Austin said loudly.
Mia turned her gaze on him. “This is Ella Scales!” She pitched her voice low, but her excitement was all too evident.
“I know who she is, I just married her, didn’t I? But the name is Ella Hall now.”
Ella wanted to drop her head in her hands. Sure enough, the women behind the counter shrieked again. A silence behind her told Ella this time the restaurant’s patrons were paying attention.
Mia regained her speech first. She leaned over the counter and spoke hurriedly, her voice barely a whisper. “You dumped Anthony Black to marry Austin Hall? Our Austin Hall? I’m Mia, by the way.” She reached over the counter to shake hands.
“I’m Camila Torres,” the second woman said, holding out her hand as well. Ella shook with both of them automatically. What else could she do?
“Anthony Black?” Austin leaned forward, too. “Like… the Anthony Black?” His voice was low, but his question was urgent.
Anger sliced through her fear. So he knew Anthony’s name, did he? “That’s the one. Although he dumped me,” she said through tight lips.
“You were going to marry Anthony Black? The actor?”
She nodded, growing more irritated. What was it about Anthony that made everyone look at him? Remember him. Worship him. Even when they didn’t recognize her?
Austin looked her up and down. This was it—the moment when he realized just who he’d married. But his confusion didn’t lift. “Who the hell are you?” he finally asked.
Mia’s eyebrows shot up. Camila looked equally shocked.
“I’m your wife. Ella Hall,” Ella said pointedly, but when his gaze narrowed and his jaw hardened, she added, “Formerly Ella Scales—the actress. And yes, I was going to marry Anthony Black until he announced on television he was screwing around with someone else. If you had watched the Academy Awards this spring, you would know all about it. And that,” she leaned toward him to make her point clear, “is the last I ever want to hear about either of them. Do you understand me? I came here to get away from all of that.”
After an uncomfortable moment, Austin nodded slowly, his gaze traveling over her more carefully than it ever had before. She had the feeling he was finally seeing her. Whatever had made him want to marry a stranger must have prevented him from taking her in previously. Now he took a good, long look.
She didn’t like his scrutiny, so she turned to the two women she’d just shaken hands with and the third hanging back by the door to the kitchen. “That goes for you, too. I’m no longer Ella Scales. I’m just plain old Ella Hall. No more acting. No more Hollywood. I want to be left alone. Utterly and completely alone. If you so much as whisper my name to a reporter, I swear I’ll skin you alive!”
Mia, wide-eyed, nodded.
Camila cocked her head. “You should have won that Oscar. You’re a far better actress—”
Ella held a hand up to stop her. “Done. Finished. Never want to hear about it again. Understand? Once I leave this restaurant, Austin’s taking me to his ranch. I don’t intend to leave it again anytime soon. If even one reporter shows up there, I’ll know that one of you three sent them. And there will be hell to pay.”
Camila looked like she wanted to say something, but an elbow from Mia shut her up. Fila peered at them curiously and moved to join her friends.
Mia put an arm around her. “Sure thing. We won’t tell a soul that you’re here, Ms. Scales. This is Fila, by the way. This is her restaurant.”
“Hi, Ms. Scales,” Fila said.
“Mrs. Hall,” Austin corrected them both sharply.
Mia chuckled. “Can I take your order, Mr. and Mrs. Hall?”
“Let’s make it to go,” Ella said.
When they were done ordering, and Camila and Fila had returned to the kitchen, Mia said, “Your food will take a few minutes. You can go wait outside if you want to keep a low profile. I’ll bring your order out.”
“Sounds like a good idea. You can’t miss us. We’ll be in the red Chevy truck.” Austin ushered Ella back outside and held the truck’s door open
for her. Ella climbed in, her appetite gone. Her plan to slip into an anonymous existence at Austin’s ranch was sliding out of reach. She slumped down sideways in her seat, her back to the window, as Austin got into the driver’s side, pulled out his phone, tapped away at it, then stared at its screen before turning it to face her.
Runaway Hollywood Actress Still Missing, the headline proclaimed. Ella cringed at the photos of her. One must have been snapped at the Academy Awards, probably when Kaylee first kissed Anthony. Another showed the moment of impact when she smashed the coffee cup against Anthony’s head.
“You didn’t think it important to tell me you were supposed to marry someone else?”
“You said right in your ad you didn’t need to know my story,” she snapped.
Austin scrubbed a hand over his face. “And that’s all the apology I’m going to get, huh?”
“What secrets are you hiding?” she challenged him.
He looked away. “I guess that’s fair.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Nothing like yours—no ex-fiancées.”
She frowned at his tone. He sounded—jealous. “I’m glad to hear that. But something must have made you want a fake marriage.”
“There’s nothing fake about this marriage.” Austin leaned toward her. “We may have made an arrangement others would find unusual, but we took the same vows everyone else makes. This is it—there’s no going back. Not for a year, Ella.”
Why did his words bring every nerve in her body to attention? They were possessive. Challenging.
Wrong.
Well, maybe not wrong, but not right, either. They didn’t belong to each other—not like married couples were supposed to. They were using each other. He had no right to make any demands on her, and she had no right to expect anything from him, either. They were two single people who had pledged to live together to accomplish their respective goals.
