The Bridal Path: Ashley

by Sherryl Woods

  “And my father gave you the key just like that?”

  “Just like that,” he agreed. “He popped it into overnight mail the minute we got off the phone.”

  She stared at him, bemused by what he was suggesting. “Are you suggesting that you and my father are buddies?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Actually, the very thought boggles the mind,” she said, unconcerned about offending him. Clearly his ego was strong enough to take anything she cared to dish out.

  He grinned, in fact. “No more than the thought of you and me, sweetheart. And just look at the two of us all alone together here in the wilderness.”

  The words sent a shiver chasing down her spine. That old promise was in his eyes again, along with a bit of a dare. Ashley figured she better get out of the room before she took him up on it.

  “Good night,” she said hurriedly and headed down the hall.

  “Sweet dreams,” he called softly after her.

  Sweet? Hell, if she was very, very lucky, any dreams she had tonight wouldn’t burn the house down.

  Chapter Three

  Alone in the master bedroom, in the middle of the suddenly enormous and seductive feather mattress, Ashley determinedly closed her eyes and tried to shut out all thoughts of the impossible man who’d invaded her privacy. It was like trying to plug a hole in the Hoover Dam with a wad of gum.

  If she hadn’t been certain her father had no way of knowing she was at the cabin, she would have suspected him of setting her up. It would be just like him to put a macho, egotistical, testosterone-laden bully in her path just so he could sit back and watch the fireworks.

  But Dillon Ford? Was her father that perverse?

  Yes, of course, he was. He’d been telling her for the past ten years that the only men she was likely to meet in New York were criminals and wimps. Of course, that was his opinion of anyone who would knowingly choose to live crammed together in itty-bitty apartments, instead of on their own several-thousand-acre spread.

  She had a feeling there was a fascinating story behind any friendship that had blossomed between Dillon and her father. Maybe before she kicked him out in the morning, she’d ask Dillon for the details.

  More than likely, though, Dillon was on the run from the law, and Trent Wilde, exercising his own brand of justice, was choosing to help him hide out.

  Or maybe…oh, what the heck, the possibilities were endless. She’d never in a million years guess the truth. Her father’s thought processes were too unpredictable, except when it came to scheming to marry off his daughters.

  By daybreak she was exhausted, irritable and more determined than ever to get Dillon out of the cabin. She claimed she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. However, she dressed more carefully than she had since her arrival. She took her time brushing her hair until it gleamed, added a light dusting of makeup, steeled herself for battle and then stormed into the living room.

  Since she was prepared for all-out verbal warfare, Dillon, naturally, was nowhere to be found. A quick fizz of relief was all too rapidly dispelled by a vague sense of disappointment. Their verbal gymnastics–or whatever, she thought dryly–the night before had kicked her adrenaline into gear. Apparently she’d been hoping for more of the same. For reasons it was probably best not to examine too closely, she’d felt more alive in those few hours than she had in a long, long time.

  Better, though, that he was gone, she decided as she poured herself a cup of the rich, caffeine-laden coffee he’d brewed. She needed serenity right now far more than she needed a little sexual tension or a masculine sparring partner.

  She’d wasted days on self-pity. It was time to start making plans for her life. Logical, sensible plans. Plans that most definitely did not include a fling with a man of Dillon Ford’s questionable reputation and penchant for heartbreaking. Ninety-nine percent of the women in Riverton under the age of thirty could probably testify that he was bad news. She certainly didn’t want to be the one to give him a perfect record.

  Satisfied that she was on the verge of taking control of her destiny again, she sank into a comfortable chair and tucked her feet under her. Just as she prepared to get on with some serious thinking, she heard an all-too-familiar thump on the front deck. She closed her eyes and sighed. Apparently she’d spoken too soon. Trouble was back on the horizon. To her very deep regret, anticipation kicked in with predictable urgency.

  When Dillon entered a moment later, carrying two fat, sparkling trout, she could cheerfully have shot all three of them.

  Where the dickens had those fish been, when she’d been standing hip-deep in the water for the past week? The fact that she’d informed Dillon the night before that the fish weren’t biting made his gloating expression all the harder to take.

  “I thought you weren’t all that interested in actually reeling in a fish,” she commented, ignoring the laudable size of his catch. “Or did you go out this morning just to prove that I was wrong and that you–the superior male of the species–could lure one in?”

  “Why would I need to prove anything to you?” he inquired in a testy way that suggested she’d hit the nail on the head.

  “You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring the jibe, he wrapped the fish, stuck them in the refrigerator, then returned to settle in the chair opposite her, coffee mug in hand. Once again, he looked as if he had no intention of budging. She had to admit, he looked more at home in her father’s very masculine wood and leather environment than she did. That grated on her nerves, too. Wasn’t there anywhere these days that she belonged?

  “Maybe we should talk about this attitude you seem to have toward men,” Dillon suggested helpfully.

  That was a path Ashley had no intention of going down. Men were a topic she’d avoided ever since her last disastrous relationship. She’d discovered that Linc, like so many others infatuated with the glamour of modeling, had wanted a trophy, not a woman. Now that her modeling career was in doubt, she suspected her suitors would be moving on to new cover girls.

  “There’s no time to discuss my attitudes or anything else,” she said blithely.

  “Oh, are you going somewhere?”

  “Nope, but you are. While you were gone, I gave this a lot of thought. I’ll make a couple of calls. I’m sure one of my father’s friends would be happy to loan you another cabin. In fact, there’s one about fifty miles upstream I’m sure would be available.”

  He grinned. “Fifty miles, huh? Do I make you that nervous?”

  “Oh, go to hell.”

  “I wish I could accommodate you, but I like it here.”

  “I was here first,” she reminded him, then clamped her mouth shut. This conversation was promising to disintegrate just as rapidly as the one they’d had the night before. Another argument would resolve nothing. It would just add to his impression that she was scared of being close to him. The sky would turn green before she’d admit that.

  He shrugged. “It’s not as if this is some tiny little shack. We’ll share. If we work hard at it, we’ll hardly notice each other.”

  Despite her resolve to find a workable compromise, Ashley was shaking her head before he’d finished. “No way. I came here for solitude, so I could do some thinking.”

  “Do you have a lot on your mind?” he asked, his gaze all too penetrating.

  “Don’t we all?” she retorted.

  “Maybe you need to do your thinking aloud to an objective outsider.”

  “And that would be you?”

  “Naturally.”

  “No, thanks. If I want an outsider’s opinion, I’ll see a shrink.”

  “I’m cheaper and I’m here.”

  “Yes, but you’re rapidly becoming part of the problem.”

  He grinned. “Already? We’re just getting reacquainted.”

  “Some people are just born nuisances.”

  “You look as if your life could use a little shaking up,” he retorted.

  The comment was more
accurate than she might have liked. What she really needed, though, was time alone to figure out what she was going to do with herself if her modeling career was over. Fortunately, she had more than enough money to take her time deciding. What she didn’t have at the moment was the solitude she craved.

  “By the way, I noticed this morning that you’re a little short on groceries,” Dillon said. “Maybe we should take a drive to the market and pick up a few things. All this fresh air gives me an appetite. What about you?”

  Unfortunately, her appetite was flourishing, too. She’d staved off disaster by stocking only the bare essentials, a little soup, some fresh fruit, a mountain of vegetables. She’d worked her way through most of them the first few days, eating compulsively to satisfy a hunger that clearly wasn’t entirely physical. The thought of a grocery store, its shelves lined with temptation, made her mouth water.

  “If you’re not happy with what’s here, you go,” she said determinedly. “I have everything I need right here.”

  “There were three oranges and a pear, when I checked.”

  “That’ll do for today,” she said stubbornly. “And we do have those fish you caught.”

  He studied her so intently, she felt herself blushing.

  “You mean that, don’t you?” he said at last.

  It had cost her the last of her willpower to get the words out, but she would never in a million years admit that to him. “Yes,” she said instead.

  “What happens if I decide to claim half, say one orange and the pear, along with my share of the fish?”

  “I’d have to break your arm,” Ashley said grimly.

  Dillon chuckled, then fell silent when she didn’t even smile. “You mean that, too, don’t you?”

  “Try me.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll go to the market by myself. You may have the appetite of a bird, but I don’t. I need junk food and meat to survive.”

  His words set off warning bells. “Junk food? Meat?”

  “Sure. Potato chips, tortilla chips and salsa, beer. Some hamburger. A big, thick steak. The stuff that makes life worth living.”

  Sighing heavily, Ashley stood up. “Maybe I’d better go with you, after all.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you approve of my menu?”

  The trouble was she craved it all. “That stuff will kill you,” she retorted.

  “Not in moderation.”

  “When did you ever do anything in moderation?”

  “Okay, you have a point,” he conceded. “Maybe I could use some guidance. I’ll get my keys and we’ll go.”

  The mention of his keys reminded her that she’d never heard his car the night before. “How did you get here, anyway? I never heard an engine.”

  “You must not have been listening too closely, then. I assure you I didn’t walk up here.” He stroked a finger down her cheek as he passed. “I’ll be with you in a minute, sweetheart.”

  Ashley practically ran outside, hoping for a blast of Arctic air to cool off her flushed skin. Unfortunately, spring was back, and the warm air was filled with promise. The rain had given way to bright blue skies. It was the kind of day that made sap and hormones run wild.

  She scanned the driveway for a second car but spotted none, which renewed her questions about Dillon’s mode of transportation. When he walked out and headed toward the edge of the woods, she automatically fell into step behind him.

  A few seconds later, her gaze fell on an impressive motorcycle. Black, naturally. If memory served, it was the same one Dillon had ridden out of town on years before. She was amazed he hadn’t had to hock it long before now.

  “You expect me to ride on that?” she demanded.

  He grinned. “You know you always wanted to.”

  “Did not,” she said, even as she moved toward it with an eagerness that belied the words. Riding on this Harley, her arms wrapped around Dillon’s waist as the wind whipped through her hair, had represented the epitome of excitement and rebellion as far back as she could recall.

  He halted and appeared to waver. “Would you rather go in your car?” he asked, his expression innocent.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, let’s just go,” she said huffily, climbing onto the motorcycle.

  Dillon grinned as he swung his leg over the seat and settled in front of her. “You ever been on one of these?”

  “Never.”

  He warned her to lean with him, not against him on the curves. “And hang on tight,” he added.

  The last was unnecessary. As soon as he’d fired up the engine, Ashley circled his waist with her arms and clung.

  For the first hundred yards or so, she closed her eyes against a wave of pure terror. When no bolt of lightning struck as punishment for her decision to climb on the Harley, and when they didn’t land in a ditch straight off, she dared to open her eyes again.

  The rush of wind caught at her hair and tugged it loose from its neat ponytail. Dillon’s sharp masculine scent was mixed with the freshness of outdoors to tease at her senses. His vibrant energy and excitement tugged at her, surrounded her just as his warmth seemed to. The whole effect was…exhilarating, wonderfully, disturbingly exhilarating.

  Old fantasies merged with reality. This was Dillon, every shockingly sensual inch of him. Her fingers were linked across his flat belly. Her breasts brushed against his back. Suddenly, heart-stoppingly aware of every provocative sway of their bodies together, Ashley felt like laughing with pure joy at the thrill of it all.

  Though she wasn’t aware of any sound actually emerging, she must have laughed aloud, because Dillon joined her. He slanted a quick, thoroughly devilish look over his shoulder and winked.

  He said something that sounded vaguely like, “Told you so,” though the wind caught snatches of the words and carried them away.

  He couldn’t have ruined her mood with his taunts if he’d tried. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Ashley felt alive again. For once she decided against questioning the cause of this unexpected happiness. For the next few hours or days, she would stop fighting the inevitable. She would simply accept that Dillon had brought something into her life that had been missing.

  And for now, that was enough.

  * * *

  Grocery shopping with Ashley was an experience in pure frustration, Dillon decided as they roamed the overflowing aisles of the small country market.

  For one thing, there was the sway of her hips as she sashayed ahead of him around pyramids of canned goods and bins of fruit. If that motorcycle ride hadn’t already sent his hormones off the charts, watching her cute little tush would have done the job.

  Aside from trying to keep his rampaging lust under control, there was also the little problem of actually getting something he considered edible into their basket. She balked at potato chips. They had an outright row over tortilla chips. They finally settled for pretzels. No-fat pretzels.

  He supposed this obsession she had over the fat content of every little bitty item he plucked off the shelves had something to do with her career, but it was darned annoying all the same. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with her body just as it was. In fact, a few more pounds wouldn’t hurt. It would soften some of those sharp angles that might look great in a photograph, but didn’t look especially cuddly in real life.

  Not that he was complaining. He’d want to cuddle Ashley even if she looked like a damned stick. The truth of that had never been more apparent to him than it had become in the past twenty-four hours. No adolescent had ever been in a more constant state of aching arousal than he appeared to be in.

  He paused beside a crate of potatoes, envisioning them smothered with butter and sour cream or maybe mashed and swimming in gravy. He tossed a few into the basket, mindful that they could manage only so much on the Harley. For once Ashley didn’t even blink an eye.

  Unfortunately when they came to the dairy case, she smacked his hand as he reached for the butter and selected a container of no-fat sour cream
that had him grinding his teeth. The instant her back was turned, he grabbed the butter. Two glorious pounds of it.

  “I saw that,” she sang over her shoulder. “Put it back.”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart. I probably should have taken a stand over the chips, but I didn’t. I’m taking one now. If I want butter, then I’ll have butter. And meat,” he added, grabbing a handful of steaks.

  “All that stuff will clog your arteries,” she countered. “You’ll be dead before you hit fifty.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” He peered straight into her eyes and said seriously, “Sweetheart, at some point, you have to decide which things make life worth living.”

  Her disapproving expression faded. Her lips began to quirk up at the corners. “And for you that’s butter and beef?”

  “Among other things,” he said with a deliberately provocative note in his voice.

  Ashley promptly blushed and looked away.

  “That, too,” he said, chuckling, “but actually I was referring to food.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “I swear it.” He crossed his heart to prove it. “Fudge brownies, for instance. Rocky Road ice cream. Big, juicy hamburgers with crisp onion rings.”

  She rolled her eyes at the litany. “As if I’d believe anything you swore to.”

  “Still misjudging me,” he said with exaggerated sorrow. “And after we’ve been so close.”

  The shocked gasp he heard had not come from Ashley. He turned slowly and spotted a short, gray-haired woman in baggy denims, an even baggier sweatshirt and bright red high-top sneakers. She had disapproval written all over her pinched face.

  Dillon might not have recognized the casual, ill-fitting outfit, but he would have recognized that face anywhere. He’d stared at it every morning for his third period algebra class his sophomore year. And again his junior year, when he’d had to repeat the class.

  “Why, hello, there, Mrs. Fawcett,” he said cheerfully. Despite her current expression, she was the one teacher at Riverton High he remembered with any degree of fondness. She might have flunked him, but she’d eventually bullied him into learning.