Running with a Sweet Talker (Brides on the Run Book 2)

by Jami Albright

  From the corner of his eye, he saw his passenger fidgeting. “You doing okay over there, Luanne?”

  “As fine as I can be stuffed into this huge dress and tiny sports car. What exactly are you compensating for with this vehicle, Jack?”

  “Not a thing, Thumbelina. Not. A. Thing.” He flashed her the smile, the one that worked with every woman but her.

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s what they all say, pretty boy. Just get me home in one piece, please.”

  “Alright, but you’re no fun.”

  His Porsche 911 ate up the twenty miles between the wedding venue and Luanne’s house. He tried not to speed, but, please, in this car it was a crime to go the speed limit.

  “So what’s your plan?” He watched in fascination as she peeled false eyelashes from her lids.

  She shrugged. “I don’t have one past gettin’ away from Zachsville.”

  “What about your law practice?”

  “I’ve cleared my case load for the next month. We’d planned a three-week honeymoon in Europe. So I have some time to figure out what I’m going to do.” She played with the eyelashes she’d removed. They looked like two caterpillars resting in the palm of her hand.

  “You gonna tell me why you’re running?”

  The look she gave him nearly put him in the grave. “No offense, but I’m not spilling my secrets to you, Jack.”

  He chuckled. “Why do people always start a sentence with no offense when they’re about to say something offensive? Besides, that was our deal.” He smoothed his hand over the top of the steering wheel. “Tell me. I’m kind of a neutral party. It might help.”

  “I doubt it. But if you must know, I caught Doug with another woman right before you found me.”

  “You must be heartbroken.”

  “I’m devastated,” she said on a tiny sob, then turned to look out the window.

  Bullshit. Oh, she was upset alright, but somehow he knew it had nothing to do with that idiot she was supposed to marry. If she didn’t want to talk about it, that was her business. He might be unhealthily fascinated with her, but whatever was going on with her was messy, and he didn’t do messy.

  Then she swiped a tiny tear from her cheek, and he was a goner.

  Damn. Apparently he did do messy with this woman.

  Luanne grabbed the top of the monstrosity she was wearing, and readjusted it. “I’ve got to get out of this dress. You can’t believe how uncomfortable this thing is.”

  “It’s not the type of dress you said you—”

  “No! We will never speak of that.” She held her hand up between them. “Do you hear me, Jack Avery? Never.”

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you—”

  “I mean it, Jack. No more.”

  “I’m sorry I—”

  “I’m warning you, Jack.”

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

  “Oh, my Lord, you’re not going to stop until I talk about the single most mortifying night of my life. Are you, asshole?” She threw her arms open. “Go ahead, Jack, complete my humiliation.” She knew it would probably be best to clear the air between them and purge the entire event from her life. But the thought of reliving that night was more than she could take today.

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m just saying, I understand. You had too much to drink and said some things that were…a little out of character.”

  She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Please stop talking.”

  “Fine. But it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

  That was total crap, and they both knew it. It was a huge deal. One that made him lay skid marks from her front door to the end of her street. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  “Sure, let’s talk about that loser Doug Divan. You really dodged a bullet with that one.”

  She picked up a St. Christopher medal from the console and examined it. “I’m afraid to ask, but why do you say that?”

  “Do I have to spell it out?” He plucked the medal from her hand and slipped it into his coat pocket.

  Whatever. She didn’t want to see his stupid charm anyway. “I guess so, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your name would’ve been Luanne Divan and darlin’ you would’ve lost any and all street cred with a name like that.” He snuck a peek at his watch.

  “Good point.” It had never occurred to her what the two names might sound like together, since she’d never intended to take Doug’s name.

  “Actually, it’s that weasel who dodged the bullet.” He laughed. “You would’ve chewed him up and used his bones to build yourself a new shoe closet.”

  He was right. It was the most appealing thing about her ex-fiancé. She would’ve run the show, exactly the way she liked it. “Never underestimate the appeal of a finely constructed shoe closest, Jack. Women have married and killed for less.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Can I stop you?” She gave him her man-eater stare but knew it wouldn’t stop him.

  “Why would you ever consider marrying him?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She picked at one of the many ruffles on her dress. “It was my father’s idea.”

  His look of confusion almost made her laugh. She understood. Why would an intelligent, professional woman let her father choose the man she would marry in this day and age?

  “He…ah…” How to explain this without sounding completely pathetic? She may as well tell him the same lie she’d been telling herself for the last six months. “He was concerned about me and wanted to make sure there would be someone to take care of me after he was gone.”

  “Ha!” Jack’s bark of laughter boomed through the car. “Why in the world would he think you needed someone to take care of you? You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met.” He turned off the highway onto the main drag of her little town.

  Happy sparks sizzled and popped in her chest at his high praise. “Thank—”

  “For that matter, why would you think you needed someone to take care of you? Or was it about that thing I’m not allowed to talk about?”

  “Oh for the love of… No, Jack, it’s not about that.” Thank God, they were almost to her house.

  One more mile and he’d need that St. Christopher medallion as protection against her.

  Chapter Three

  Jack attributed the sickness in his gut to the number of cherry suckers he’d eaten and not the fact that he’d be dropping Luanne off at her house in a few blocks. He had no idea why he wanted to keep her around, but something about her sad expression when she spoke of her father got to him. There was definitely more to that story than she was telling, and for some unknown reason he wanted to know it all.

  Stupid.

  He had his own father issues to deal with. A difficult discussion about his dad’s drinking was one of the reasons for this trip home. He understood the man was grieving, but judging by the last few phone calls, it was getting worse. And his mother would never forgive him if he didn’t try to intervene.

  His father could hold a grudge. So if he didn’t handle the situation perfectly, they might end up not speaking until his dad got over it. Not for the first time, he wished he could talk to his mother. Grief stole his breath and yanked at his limbs like a drowning man in a riptide. It was like that—one minute he’d be fine, and the next, the quicksand of sorrow would suck him under.

  Luanne cleared her throat. “Jack, I…ah…”

  He yanked himself out of his misery and focused on her. “Yeah?”

  “I want to thank you for helping me.”

  “That tasted pretty bad, huh?”

  She laughed. “Horrible. I hope I never have to do it again.”

  He glanced at his watch once more. He was still okay on time.

  “Are you taking medication?”

  “What?” Jack gave her a confused look.

  She pointed at his hand re
sting on the steering wheel. “That’s the second time you’ve checked your watch in the last twenty minutes.”

  “Oh. No, I need to get home to Louisiana by seven.”

  Her dress made a ruffling sound when she turned in her seat to face him. “You’re from Louisiana?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?” He voice was high and incredulous.

  “Yes, Luanne. I think I know where I grew up.”

  “Weird. You don’t have an accent.”

  “No. I don’t. You don’t get taken very seriously in my business if you sound like a broke-ass, swamp-dwelling, backwoods Cajun when you walk into a meeting.”

  She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Guess you’re not very proud of where you come from.”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I believe you.”

  He could tell she didn’t believe him. He had put more bitterness into that statement than he’d intended. “Anyway, the Beauchamp, Louisiana School Board is honoring my mother at their yearly banquet.”

  “That’s nice. Is she a teacher?”

  “She should’ve been, but no. She managed the elementary school cafeteria for twenty-five years. After she retired, she volunteered by tutoring kids with reading issues. She passed away six months ago.”

  Her hand went to her chest. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t talk about it. But you see why it’s important I be there.”

  “Absolutely. How far of a drive is it?”

  “Three hours. I was wondering…and I hope you don’t mind, but would you g—”

  “Oh, no, Jack.”

  “I didn’t ask anything yet.”

  “I know, but you can’t possibly think it’s a good idea for me to ride to Louisiana with you. We’d kill each other.”

  “That’s not what I was going to ask you.” Oh, this was priceless. He followed the path of crimson as it crept into her cheeks.

  “You weren’t?”

  “No. Why would I ask you to go home with me?”

  She adjusted the air vent to blow on her pretty pink face. “I don’t know.”

  “I was going to ask you to give me a call when you get settled.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Why all the I was wondering and I hope you don’t mind buildup?”

  “Because I knew you’d give me crap about asking you to call. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you can be difficult sometimes.”

  “Difficult? I’m not difficult and I’ll prove it.” She plastered on a pleasant expression. It appeared to take a gigantic effort, but she did it. “Of course I’ll call. Thank you for your concern.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” He turned onto her street. “So, what are your plans?”

  “I need to get home, grab some clothes, my phone, and my wallet.”

  He looked her up and down. “Do you have your keys stashed away in that dress somewhere?”

  “Funny.” She yanked the bodice of the dress back into place. “I keep one hidden on the porch.”

  “What are you going to do about a car?”

  She went back to playing with the eyelashes in her hand. “I’ll have Charlie Riggs bring me a rental car from his shop.”

  “Doesn’t he own the feed store?”

  “Yes, but he also has rental cars.”

  “Makes perfect sense. Why is your phone and wallet at your house?”

  “I didn’t want to have to keep up with all of my stuff today, so we left our bags at my house. We were going to grab them on the way to the airport.” An evil smirk eased across her face. “I guess I’ll have to leave Doug’s things on the lawn, outside his suitcase, ripped to shreds, and on fire.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You scare me sometimes, Thumbelina.”

  “Be afraid, Jack. Be very afraid.”

  “Who’s that?” Jack asked, slowing the car.

  “What? Oh, that’s Tank, my dad’s assistant.” Luanne gathered her voluminous skirts and prepared to exit the car. “He does everything for my dad but wipe his ass. Come to think of it, he may do that too.” Jealousy over this meathead’s relationship with her father pinched and poked her heart. She was pathetic. What was next? Insane inferiority over the checkout lady at the Piggly Wiggly because her dad told the woman to have a nice day?

  “Why is he here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe my dad forgot something at the house, and Tank came by to get it.”

  “Does he have a key?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would he be here? You’re supposed to be twenty miles away getting married.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure he has a good reason.” She pointed toward the curb. “You can let me out in front of the house.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like what?”

  “That your dad’s goon is here waiting on you.”

  “Goon? You’re paranoid. I’ve known Tank for years. Except for his murderously awful personality, he’s harmless.”

  “Luanne, the guy’s as big as a brick shit-house. Why isn’t he playing in the NFL?”

  “He could have,” she said in her best good ’ol boy accent. “He’s the best damn linebacker to ever play for Zachsville’s football team. Raider Pride!” She nearly choked on her spot-on impersonation. “Too bad he’s lazy and entitled, with zero ambition,” she added. “He got into some trouble at UT and expected it to be brushed under the rug. It wasn’t, and he had to come home. The Raider’s Booster Club was thrilled when he moved back. They believe Tank Thompson’s non-existent progeny are the future of Zachsville’s athletic program.”

  “When did he go to work for your dad?”

  “About a minute after he got back to Zachsville, where he’s gotten an education in assholery. He gets high marks in that, but then again, he learned from the best.”

  “And I shouldn’t be worried?”

  She waved off his concern. “No. He’s an asshole to everyone else. He mostly ignores me. I’m too small and scrawny to garner his attention. I’m not good breeding stock for the big man. Thank God.”

  Jack stopped the car in front of her house. “Maybe I should stay until Charlie Riggs brings the rental.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You need to get on the road. I’ll be fine.”

  She opened the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Seriously, Jack, thank you. Be safe, and I hope they honor the hell out of your mom. She sounds like she deserves it.”

  He never took his gaze from Tank, who was speaking into his phone. “Okay. You be safe, too.”

  She watched the car crawl away from the curb. If Jack had pushed the vehicle it would’ve moved faster. “Sheesh. Men.” She hiked up her dress and headed toward her visitor. “Tank—”

  “Luanne, you need to get into the car.”

  “Why?”

  “That was your father on the phone. He’s on his way to take you back to the wedding. He told me to hold you until he gets here.”

  “Hold me? Is he crazy?”

  One blond eyebrow crawled up Tank’s bullet forehead. “He is not.”

  Would her father actually force her to marry Doug? Yes, she’d let him orchestrate this sham of a wedding, but seriously, wasn’t it obvious she didn’t want to get married anymore? “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint him, but I’m not going back.” She went to the flower pot where she kept her extra key. It wasn’t there.

  “Looking for this?” Tank dangled the keyring from his finger.

  Fury had her stomping toward him. “Give that to me, Tank Thompson.”

  “What? This?” He swung the key out of her reach.

  She fought the urge to jump and grab for it like a child. Instead, she held her hand out like the adult she was. “Yes. Give it back.”

  “I don’t think so.” He walked to the curb and dropped the key down the storm drain.

&
nbsp; Her brain couldn’t make sense of what she was going on. Her father was coming to drag her back to the wedding. She had no way to get into her house. And Tank might truly be dangerous. Panic began to inch its way around her chest. “You’re insane. I’m calling the police.” She took off toward her neighbor’s house to borrow their phone.

  Two steps were as far as she got before a beefy pair of arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.

  “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  What the hell? “Put me down, you meathead.” She wriggled and kicked, but in Tank’s iron grip it had zero affect. This was a nightmare. She couldn’t see her father, she’d never been able to tell him no. If she went back she would end up Luanne Divan.

  Tank swung her around like she weighed nothing and deposited her into the back seat of his Range Rover. He buckled her in, slammed the door, and locked it with the fob. The interior of the vehicle was like a sauna and made getting a deep breath difficult. Her cold, numb fingers fumbled with the seat belt. One click, and she was free, or so it seemed. But the child safety lock was engaged on both back doors. They wouldn’t open. A frustrated scream ripped from her throat, and she banged impotently on the window. Her anxiety ratcheted up with every step Tank took toward the driver’s door.

  Just as he got to the front of the car a black streak knocked him to the ground.

  Jack.

  She fought to crawl into the front seat, but couldn’t get her dress out of the way. The smell of new car and stress sweat curdled her stomach. A cocktail of fear and adrenaline made her head swim, but determination not to be this meathead’s victim propelled her past those things.

  Miles of lace and crinoline hampered her crawl over the console, not to mention the fight ensuing between the two men on the lawn. Her muscles strained for every inch of progress. Finally, she tumbled into the front seat and jumped out of the car.

  Neither man seemed to notice. Jack sat on Tank’s chest, pummeling him with blows, but Tank deflected as many as Jack landed. The lawyer had him in height but the ex-linebacker was strong as an ox. Tank bucked, reared up, and threw Jack over his head.