I Won't!

by Gina Wilkins

The heavy man tugged a battered cap over his thin brown hair. “See you next week,” he growled on his way out. “And I sure hope the food’s better then.”

  Hazel shook her overteased gray head and muttered beneath her breath, “He liked the food any better, he’d explode for sure.” She glanced back at Case, as though surprised to see him still standing there. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Brannigan,” he replied. “I’m looking for—”

  A blonde with a stack of plastic-coated menus precariously balanced in her arms dashed out of the dining room. With her back turned to Case, she dumped the menus in the wooden rack attached to one side of the reception stand. Case sighed and moved out of the way, noting only briefly that the blonde was young and slender and that the blue-denim and red-checked uniform fit her much more flatteringly than it did Hazel.

  “How many are waiting?” she asked Hazel when the menus had been secured in the rack.

  Case stiffened in response to the woman’s voice. He frowned and looked at her more closely. It couldn’t be—

  “Two parties of two, and one family of six. Oh, and this man,” Hazel said, looking apologetically back at Case. “Sorry, what was the name?”

  The blonde glanced around—and froze. She and Case spoke at the same time.

  “Brannigan.”

  “Brannigan!”

  Aware that she’d said his name with something uncomfortably akin to loathing, Case stared in near shock at the woman facing him. “Maddie?”

  What the hell had she done to her hair? The formerly long, brown tresses had been sheared to collar-length and streaked with glittering gold highlights. She wore it loose and fluffed and a bit tousled, as though it had been combed with her fingers—or someone else’s. Her glasses were gone, exposing her large, purply blue eyes, which were emphasized by long, skillfully darkened lashes. Her soft mouth had been painted a deep rose—and she hadn’t chewed the color away.

  The short-sleeved denim dress was cut in a low scoop that bared a tantalizing expanse of her soft chest, the skirt was short enough to reveal entirely too much of her shapely legs. He’d only ever seen her in prim, almost excessively modest clothing. Like Case, she’d lost weight—but he had no reason to believe her loss was due to poor health. As a matter of fact, she looked fit and trim and tanned—she looked stunning.

  And Case wasn’t at all sure he approved.

  “Maddie?” he said again, when she only continued to stare back at him.

  Her face, which had paled at the sight of him, suddenly went red. Case smiled slightly in response to her blush. Of course, she was surprised to see him. He certainly didn’t blame her.

  And then he realized that the heightened color he’d arrogantly attributed to embarrassed pleasure had been a sign of a kindling temper. Her eyes sparked, her chin lifted, her slender body straightened, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Get out,” she said.

  He felt his jaw go slack. He hadn’t actually expected her to throw herself in his arms—well, okay, maybe he had—but surely he hadn’t heard her correctly. Surely she hadn’t just ordered him out of her restaurant.

  He held out a hand to her. “Maddie, it’s me,” he said inanely, though she’d already said his name. “Case.”

  “Go away,” she said, more loudly this time, causing several bystanders to look around in surprised curiosity. “Get out!”

  “What the—” He couldn’t believe this. This couldn’t be the woman he’d met at that resort in Cancú six months ago. The sweet, shyly eager young woman who’d responded so touchingly to his ardent courtship, who’d allowed him to sweep her into his arms and into a day-long engagement to be married.

  Was it possible that Maddie had a less friendly twin? “Maddie?” he asked again, uncertainly.

  “Maddie?” A busy-looking man with pale blue eyes and thinning hair the same light brown Maddie’s had once been came through the dining room doorway. “What’s going on out here?”

  Hazel cleared her throat. “This man wants a table,” she explained. “Maddie—uh—asked him to leave.”

  “We’re full,” Maddie said, her gaze holding Case’s in a glittering glare. “No more tables. He’ll have to find someplace else to eat. Someplace in another state, preferably.”

  Hazel choked.

  The man Case assumed to be Maddie’s father looked shocked. “Madelyn!” he said. “Is that any way to talk to a customer? Whatever has gotten into you?”

  “That’s what a lot of people have been wanting to know lately,” Hazel muttered.

  Case ignored all of them except Maddie. “We have to talk,” he told her.

  She tossed her head, causing the gold-streaked waves to ripple softly around her face. “I’m busy.”

  “Damn it, Maddie—”

  She turned on one high heel and stalked away.

  Case moved to follow her.

  Maddie’s father, the scowling Hazel and a beefy, bearded man in a red-plaid flannel shirt moved together in the doorway, blocking Case’s path.

  “Didn’t sound to me like she wants to talk to you,” the flannel-draped mountain growled from behind his bushy black beard.

  Case didn’t know where the guy had come from, but he eyed the massively muscled arms warily before turning to the smaller, less intimidating man who was wearing a worried frown. “You’re Maddie’s father?”

  The man nodded. “I’m Mike Carmichael. Uh—who are you?”

  “Case Brannigan. I’m sure she told you about me. I need to talk to her.”

  “Case Brannigan?” Carmichael repeated in confusion. And then he shook his head. “She’s never mentioned you.” He glanced at Hazel, as though for confirmation.

  Hazel shrugged one bony shoulder. “Never heard of him.”

  “Me, neither,” the bearded hulk muttered. “Want me to throw him out, Mike?” He sounded almost gleefully eager.

  Case instinctively backed up a step.

  Mike took note of Case’s visible limp, then shook his head. “Maybe I’d better have a little talk with him first, Andy. You go on back to your dinner, okay?”

  Case was still trying to deal with the staggering news that Maddie had never even mentioned him to her father. She’d led Case to believe that she and her widowed father were very close. Why hadn’t she told the man that she was engaged to be married?

  The answer, of course, was all too obvious after the way Maddie had received him. She no longer considered herself engaged. Case fully intended to set her straight. Just as soon as he managed to speak to her.

  Mike Carmichael was still watching him warily. Case held his chin high, tried his best to look like a respectable son-in-law prospect and plastered on a respectful smile as he offered his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Carmichael. I’m Case Brannigan. Maddie’s fianÉ.”

  * * *

  FORTUNATELY, Mike Carmichael was too busy with the Sunday lunch crowd to talk to Case, particularly when it became apparent that Maddie had left. “I’ll want to talk to you,” Mike warned, even as he was being called from three directions.

  “Just tell me how to find Maddie,” Case responded. “She and I will both talk to you later.”

  “Didn’t look to me like Maddie wanted to be found,” Mike mused out loud, studying him so intently that Case was tempted to squirm like an embarrassed teenager meeting his prom date’s parent.

  “It’s not as bad as it looked,” he assured Maddie’s father. “She’s just annoyed with me right now. She’ll understand after I’ve had a chance to explain everything to her.”

  “Mike! We really need you in the kitchen,” someone yelled.

  Mike sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I have to go. Maddie’s probably back at the house by now. Hazel, here, will give you directions. And you watch your step with my daughter, you hear?”

  “I will,” Case promised, impatient to leave.

  Mike hesitated a moment longer, but then turned away in response to another frantic call.


  Case released a silent breath and looked at the frowning Hazel. “Directions?” he prompted, knowing she had listened to every word.

  Her frown deepened. She looked Case over from the top of his dark head to his dusty leather shoes. “When did you and Maddie meet?” she demanded.

  Case had never been a patient man, and had never bothered expressing himself politely when his tolerance was tested. It took all his willpower not to snap at this woman to just give him the directions without the chitchat. Something told him he’d never get anything out of her if he hacked her off. “We met in Cancú,” he admitted.

  “Ah-hah!” she barked. “Thought so. Maddie ain’t been the same since she came back from that vacation. Dyed her hair, got those contact lenses, hasn’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive. Goin’ out with Jackson Babbit, when everyone knows what kind of man he is, and then telling everyone she’s going off to Europe before long and don’t know when she’ll be back.”

  Case scowled. Who the hell was Jackson Babbit? And just what kind of man was he?

  And what was this about Maddie planning to leave for Europe? He spoke quickly, before the grumbled monologue could resume. “How do I get to her house from here?”

  Ignoring the controlled chaos around them, Hazel shook her head, still following her own line of thought. “I told her when she won that trip to Mexico that she should wait until someone could go with her. It wasn’t like her to take off on her own like that. But she was hell-bent to go, and sure enough, she came back a different person. She was always so sweet and quiet and good-natured before. Did everything anyone asked of her, seemed content with the way things had always been around here.”

  She shook a finger at Case, as though deciding he was to blame. “Since that trip, she’s acted like one of those women’s libbers. Speaks her mind whether anyone asks or not. Dropped out of the Mitchell’s Fork Ladies’ Charity Club—her mama would turn over in her grave for that. There’s been a Carmichael in the L.C.C. since the club was founded.”

  “Maybe you could just—”

  “And now she’s decided she’s got to go off and ‘find herself.’ Don’t know why she thinks she can do that in Europe. ‘You can find yourself right here in Mitchell’s Fork,’ I told her. ‘Where you think you been hiding for the past twenty-nine years, hmm?’”

  “I really wish you’d—”

  “Know what she said to me?” Hazel answered before Case had a chance to respond. “‘The old Maddie Carmichael has been hiding in Mitchell’s Fork for the past twenty-nine years,’ she said. ‘There’s a new one out there somewhere, and I plan to find her.’ Ain’t that the damnedest fool thing you ever heard?”

  Everything Hazel had rambled on about made Case increasingly anxious to get to Maddie. “Look,” he said, moving toward the reception stand and giving her the glare that had made very large and very mean men take a step backward. “Are you going to give me directions to Maddie’s house or am I going to have to find it on my own?”

  To his utter surprise, Hazel gave a crack of laughter, looking far from intimidated. “I like a man with some pepper to ‘im,” she said. “You remind me of my late husband, Roy. He was always one to—”

  “Just give me the damned directions!” Case roared, finally losing all semblance of patience.

  “Want me to throw him out of here, Hazel?” the massive man in the flannel shirt yelled from his table twenty feet behind Hazel’s stand, causing nearly everyone else in the place to look around expectantly.

  “No, you finish your lunch, Andy,” Hazel called back. “I was just giving the man directions.”

  And then she proceeded to do so, to Case’s great relief.

  * * *

  MADDIE WAS still furiously pacing the length of her bedroom when the telephone on her nightstand rang—her private line. She glared at the instrument as though trying to see who waited at the other end of the wire. On the third ring, she snatched the receiver. “Hello?” she said, hoping it wasn’t Case Brannigan.

  “Maddie? It’s Jill. You remember—your best friend?”

  Frowning at the odd tone in her friend’s voice, Maddie asked, “What’s going on, Jill?”

  “Good question. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Why don’t you tell me how on earth you could have gotten yourself engaged without ever even mentioning it to me. Honestly, Maddie, we’ve always—”

  “Engaged?” Maddie repeated, startled. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “The same thing everyone else in town is talking about. Some gorgeous male walked into the restaurant and introduced himself to your father as your fiancé—right in front of half the population of Mitchell’s Fork. So what have you been holding back, hmm? Does he have anything to do with the trip to Europe you’ve been planning? And does Jackson know about this guy?”

  Maddie winced. Jackson. Oh, heavens! And what the hell was Case Brannigan doing, breezing into town and introducing himself as her fiancé? If he seriously thought their so-called engagement was still on, then Maddie intended to set him straight in no uncertain terms!

  “This is all a big mistake, Jill,” she said stiffly. “Trust me, I’m not engaged. To anyone.”

  “That’s not what your fiancé is saying,” Jill retorted, though she sounded more amused than hurt now.

  “I don’t have a fiancé!”

  “Okay, okay. You don’t have to shout.”

  Maddie grimaced and lowered her voice. “Sorry. I’m just...a bit stressed at the moment.”

  Jill laughed. “I can certainly understand why. So who is this guy, Maddie? Where did you meet him? And why does he think you’re engaged?”

  “It’s a long story, and I’d rather not go into it over the phone. Would you mind if I save it until I see you?”

  Jill sighed, but agreed. “I’m going to want every juicy detail,” she warned before hanging up.

  Maddie swallowed a moan.

  The phone rang again two minutes later. It was Mrs. Underwood, a member of Maddie’s church who’d known the Carmichael family since before Maddie’s birth. “I heard the most exciting news this afternoon,” Mrs. Underwood said. “So, you and Jackson have decided to tie the knot, hmm? I must say, I’m surprised. I never would have thought...but, still, I didn’t like the thought of your haring off to Europe alone.”

  “I’m not engaged to Jackson,” Maddie protested automatically.

  “You’re not? Then who are you engaged to?” Mrs. Underwood asked in blunt surprise.

  “I’m not engaged to anyone,” Maddie answered, wondering how many times she would have to say those words before the day was over. Mitchell’s Fork was a small town and a closely knit one. She knew all too well how quickly news traveled through the gossip lines—she’d left the restaurant less than an hour ago!—and how wildly distorted it could become after a few avid tellings. “This is all a mistake.”

  “But Sarah Kennedy said she heard from Martha Jean Claypoole that your engagement was announced at the restaurant this afternoon.”

  “Martha Jean was misinformed,” Maddie replied, her voice strained. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Underwood, but I really have to go now. Thank you for calling.”

  “But—but—”

  Mrs. Underwood was still sputtering when Maddie gently set the receiver in its cradle. It was the first time in her life Maddie had ever deliberately hung up on anyone. Something else to blame on Case Brannigan, she thought grimly.

  The phone rang again. Maddie groaned loudly, and backed hastily away from it. She couldn’t go through that again. Not now. She really needed to think.

  She hurried toward the bedroom doorway, nearly tripping over the denim-and-gingham uniform she’d tossed to the floor after exchanging it for a more comfortable T-shirt and shorts. She kicked the garment aside, leaving it lying in a tangled heap that seemed out of place in the otherwise neat room.

  She had to get out. She needed time before she had to face Case again.

&n
bsp; And she knew she would be facing him again. All too soon.

  2

  CASE WAS BEGINNING to wonder if Hazel had deliberately led him on a wild-goose chase. He’d been driving for some ten minutes since turning off the main highway, and the only sign of life he’d seen had been cows grazing in the pastures that lined the rutted asphalt road. It was with some relief that he topped a hill and spotted a large farmhouse at the end of the road.

  His optimism grew as he approached the house. This was great, he thought, looking around approvingly. Exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d decided to retire to rural America and start living a quiet, normal life.

  The farmhouse was a two-story white frame structure with neat black shutters and a full-length front porch complete with a porch swing. There were winding rock pathways, flower beds just coming into spring bloom, white picket fences, a sparkling pond in the distance—even a couple of dogs lolling on the thick, neatly trimmed front lawn. A second, smaller house sat off to one side—a guest house, perhaps, or staff housing.

  Straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, Case thought with a contented nod. Perfect. He would have bet any amount of money that the Maddie Carmichael he’d met in Cancú had grown up in surroundings like this.

  He parked in the circular driveway and climbed out of his car. The two dogs ran toward him, barking. It took him only a wary moment to realize that their tails were wagging and that they seemed absolutely delighted to see him. He patted their shaggy heads, and quickly gave up trying to guess their breeds. Both looked like mutts to him. Big, noisy, friendly mutts.

  An older woman with almost blinding white hair appeared from behind one corner of the house, thumping a heavy wooden cane against the ground as she walked. She seemed surprised to see Case. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Case Brannigan. I’m looking for Maddie.”

  The woman studied Case from head to toe—he was getting used to being examined like a sideshow exhibit, he thought resignedly. And then she shrugged. “She’s probably up in her room. Ring the bell and ask the housekeeper. I have to tend to my rosebushes.”

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Case murmured, though the woman had already moved past him. He was a bit bemused as he climbed the three steps to the front porch.