Scarlett jumped at the ding of the microwave.
“What’s wrong darlin’?” Aunt Honey asked. “You’ve been as skittish as a newborn colt ever since you got back from Lass Vegas.”
That was the truth. Her nerves were a frayed tangle of anxiety. After she’d fled Gavin’s hotel room the day before, she’d high-tailed it home to Zachsville, Texas, to try to figure out how to get out of this colossal mess.
Honey ran her soft fingers across Scarlett’s cheek. “Your face looks just terrible. How’d you say it happened?”
Well, you see, Honey, I got spooked when my naked rock star husband growled at me, and I fell into a dresser.
“I’m fine. I stumbled into a door when I got up in the middle of the night, and its Las Vegas, Honey, not Lass Vegas.” She tried to assume a nonchalant lean against the kitchen counter only to jerk upright because of her sore backside. Who knew tattoos hurt so much? It was unfortunate that she’d discovered the tattoo in the plane’s lavatory and proceeded to lose her ever-lovin’ mind. Evidently, screaming like a woman possessed while at thirty thousand feet is frowned upon by the FAA. The ensuing conversation with the air marshal was not an experience she cared to repeat.
Honey gave Scarlett a pointed look and adjusted the jacket of her rhinestone-studded velour track suit. On her round body, it stretched like plastic wrap around an overly full bowl of pudding.
“Okay, fine.” Scarlett folded a dish towel and placed it on the counter. “I’m a bit jetlagged and I guess it’s made me jittery.” She took a deep whiff of Mr. Clean, fresh laundry, and banana-nut muffins. Exhaling, she relaxed into the comfort of the kitchen. The bright white walls, red counter tops, and yellow gingham curtains blowing in the Texas breeze embraced her as a mother would, and for a moment she was safe in the warm bubble of home.
“I’m still mad at you for not taking me with you to Sin City.” Honey spooned sugar into her coffee. “I bet that’s what’s wrong with you. You brought a little bit of Sin City home with you.” She winked one blue-shadowed eye.
And just like that, the bubble burst, and Scarlett’s vital signs ratcheted off the charts.
The concealed marriage license, like a matrimonial time bomb, ticked away. She could almost see the illuminated numbers counting backwards while she stood frozen in indecision, not knowing if she should cut the red wire or the blue. She had no idea what to do.
Some young women who decide to throw caution to the wind for one night get fired, or arrested, or contract a nasty STD—lucky girls. Not her. She got a husband. A notorious rock star husband.
For the last twenty-four hours, she’d done nothing but obsess over what had happened.
She’d been in Vegas for the Nevada Children’s Writer’s Conference, and more importantly, to finalize a deal with the Carousel Network to make her Fiona books into a weekly television show. The money would be a huge boost for her family. She’d been excited, but also a little apprehensive about signing her baby over to the network.
Imagine her surprise when she walked into the meeting to find Sarah Belle, author of the Molly Mayhem books, sitting at her negotiating table.
Honey set her coffee cup down with a thud. “I’m so mad at those Carousel people I could spit fire. They’re a bunch of idjits.”
Scarlett reached for the coffee pot and poured her aunt another cup. “I think they’re idjits too.” She grinned at Honey.
“Tell me again what they said.”
“They said they loved Fiona and all of her antics, but they wanted to make her more contemporary…more street smart.”
Honey scowled. “I don’t know why they would want to change that precious little thing.”
“Me either, Honey.” Scarlett wiped up a spot of spilled coffee. “So now they’re considering Sarah Belle’s books, along with mine, for the television series. Sarah’s main character lives in the city and is sassier than Fiona.” She was also crude and disrespectful, but Scarlett didn’t mention that to Honey. “They’ve decided to do some focus group testing to see which character appeals to the widest audience. We’re supposed to come up with changes we can make to our stories that better meet their criteria.”
Pressure built in Scarlett’s head every time she thought of turning her industrious, precocious, innocent Fiona into a cell-phone toting, slang spewing, sarcastic tart. She wanted to tell them to shove it, but in the end, she’d agreed. What choice did she have?
“Scarlett darling, you are the most creative, hardworking person I know. If anybody can do it, it’s you.” Honey gave her hand a squeeze. “I know what will cheer you up. Let me tell you about my last trip to the casinos over in Shreveport.”
“Okay.” Scarlett pulled up a chair and, chin in hand, gave Honey her full attention. Honey’s stories were entertaining. Maybe it would help keep her mind off her own problems.
“Well, me and Birdie were havin’ a drink in the bar, and Wardell Pritchett came sniffin’ around me like I was a dog in heat, when all I wanted to do was listen to the band and drink my margarita.”
Perfect. Switch the margarita for an apple martini, and she was back in Vegas at the Bellagio’s bar being seduced by the baddest bad boy in rock-n-roll.
“Did you hear what I said, Scarlett?”
“What? Oh. No, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said, Wardell, if you don’t get your gnarly hand off of my backside I’m gonna yank your ten remaining hairs from your head. I don’t know what the dickens he was thinkin’—I would squash the man in any intimate situation. I like my men with some meat on ’em.” She cackled and toasted Scarlett with her cup of coffee.
Scarlett laughed and laughed until she realized she was crying. She was now officially hysterical. Before Honey could see her, she stood to face the window. Thankfully her aunt had switched on the TV and wasn’t paying attention.
“Looks like you’re not the only one who had a wild time in Sin City,” Honey said.
“I didn’t have a wild time.” The words clawed their way through tears. She yanked a paper towel to blot her face and pulled off half the roll. “What are you talking about?”
Honey laughed. “That fellow there got married in Lass Vegas, and his new wife got a tattoo on her derriere.”
Scarlett whirled around so fast the room tilted. When she regained her equilibrium, she saw a split screen on the television. One picture was of a girl in a white sundress, cowboy boots, and a straw cowboy hat strolling arm in arm with Gavin into a tattoo parlor. The other picture was of the same girl and Gavin exiting the tattoo parlor. He had his arm around her shoulder, and her head was down so you couldn’t see her face. Thank God Gavin had bought her the hat after they left the Bellagio.
She plopped down in the kitchen chair. “Turn it up, Honey.”
“Gavin Bain, the bad-boy front man of the multi-platinum band Wolfe’s Bain, tied the knot in Las Vegas last night with this unknown cowgirl. She marked the occasion by having Gavin’s name tattooed on her backside at Leave Your Mark tattoo parlor. The two were seen earlier in the evening drinking at the Bellagio Hotel. There is some speculation the two did not know each other prior to the meeting. A hotel employee has reported seeing the bride run from the hotel the morning after the wedding, which would explain rumors that the bride fled Las Vegas the following day without her groom.”
The reporter shook back his artfully tousled hair and changed his posture to speak into a different camera. “Bain has been out of the spotlight since the untimely death of his bandmate and friend, Johnny Wolfe. Wolfe died in an alcohol-related car accident seventeen months ago. After the death of Wolfe, and Bain’s reckless antics both on and off stage, Blast Records discontinued their association with Wolfe’s Bain. Rumor has it Bain has been shopping around for a solo record deal.”
A deafening roar in Scarlett’s ears drowned out the Hollywood Reporter, while small black spots danced at the edge of her vision. She bent and put her head between her knees to keep from fainting. Thankfully, Honey was engro
ssed in the program and didn’t notice.
Scarlett knew Gavin was famous, but it hadn’t occurred to her that their marriage would be all over the news. It wouldn’t be long before everyone knew what she’d done. Her thoughts careened into each other.
Will the media show up at the farm?
How will I explain this to my daddy?
What will people say?
Do I need a lawyer?
My legs look awesome in those pictures.
“Scarlett?”
The sound of fingers snapping intruded into her panic attack.
“Scarlett, did you lose something under the table?”
“What?” She rose to an upright position, blinking furiously. “Sorry. What?”
The doorbell chimed.
“Are you gonna get the door, or do you want me to?” Honey’s drawn-on eyebrows furrowed.
“Huh? Oh no, I’ll get it.” She smoothed her red curls from her clammy face and rose. “I’m expecting something from UPS.”
“Okay, I’m going to take a nap, then I’m gonna start your daddy’s supper.” Honey got to her feet, deposited her dishes into the sink, and made her way out of the kitchen.
Scarlett’s panic tripled at the thought of her sweet father. “Where is he?”
“He had an appointment this afternoon. He won’t be back for several hours.”
The doorbell rang again, accompanied by insistent knocking.
“Coming.” Geez, the UPS man needed to take it down a notch. She was a woman on edge and there was no telling what she would do if someone gave her attitude today.
She opened the door to a handsome thirty-something man wearing a red power tie, a tailored white shirt, and a gray suit that cost more than her car. His attire had probably been crisp and starched before it took a butt-kicking from the Texas heat. Now his clothes looked like the face of an aging movie star, still attractive but a bit droopy.
“Can I help you?”
If he was a salesman, he was out of luck.
“Scarlett Kelly?” He handed her a card. “My name is Jack Avery, and I represent Ga—”
“Honey, I’m home,” Gavin said as he stepped up onto the porch.
“Gavin, I thought we agreed you would wait in the car until I had a chance to speak to Ms. Kelly.” He spoke like one might speak to an overindulged child.
“No, Jack, you decided that. I didn’t agree to anything.”
Scarlett made a strangled noise and quickly stepped onto the porch. The door frame rattled as she firmly closed the door behind her. Right. As if she could keep this calamity from the inhabitants of the house with two inches of wood.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Her vision went slightly wonky and sweat trickled down her face.
“Do these look familiar?” He dangled her white, sensible underwear around one finger. Her name, like a brand, clearly visible on the tag.
“Oh, my Lord, give me those.” She lunged and snatched the undies out of his hand, then shoved them into her pocket.
Betrayed by her granny panties.
Gavin pulled in a huge breath and had to remind himself to exhale. His memory had not done her justice. She was beautiful, or she would be as soon as all the blood returned to her face. Her curly red hair, the color of a new copper penny, hung past her shoulders. The yellow skirt she wore and long, tan legs were hot as hell. But it was her sapphire eyes that held him rooted to the spot, a good thing, too, because he was finding it hard not to pin her against the wall and lick her up one side and down the other.
He frowned when he saw the bruise on her cheek that stood out in stark contrast to her freckles. That must have happened when she fell. He didn’t like that he’d played a part in her injury. This protectiveness and his attraction to her were definitely a complication he didn’t need.
Scarlett clearly didn’t share his feelings. She looked at him like he was her worst nightmare come to life. Not the usual reaction he got from women. Maybe he should have waited in the car until Jack had talked to her. She looked like she might keel over, and they needed her cooperation to take care of this disaster.
“You have to leave. Right now. I…I will meet you anywhere, but we can’t talk here.”
Her gaze darted from one man to the other.
“Well, Scarlett…may I call you Scarlett?” Jack asked.
“I don’t care if you call me Lady Gaga as long as you leave right now. I’ll call and we can meet somewhere else.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Scarlett.” Jack stood his ground. “We’re here, and I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we discuss this now.”
“No, no, no. You have to leave.” She dragged her hands through her hair.
Gavin could see the man was losing her. Awkward, emotionally uncomfortable situations like this were exactly what he paid his people a buttload of money to avoid. He nudged Jack and hissed, “Handle this.”
His attorney squared his shoulders and put on his scariest Hollywood power face. “Scarlett, I need you to calm down. You have an obligation to deal with this situation. You married my client, a very wealthy and famous man. For all we know, you took advantage of him in his inebriated state, and you did it with possible nefarious intent. Then you disappeared with the marriage license, which makes us question your character. We’re here to ensure you do not try to use this marriage for self-promotion and in the process harm Mr. Bain’s career. We also need to discuss the best means by which to dissolve this union.”
She stopped fidgeting and focused all her attention on Jack.
Gavin saw the self-satisfied expression on his friend’s face that clearly said, You’re playing with the big boys now, little girl.
She gave Gavin an assessing look. “This is your representation?”
He nodded.
“Then you’re an idiot.” She crossed her arms under her world-class breasts. “You should never let him speak for you. Ever.”
She narrowed a glare at the attorney. “Did you expect to get my cooperation with that condescending speech? You arrogant ass.”
“Ms. Kelly—”
“You listen to me, Mr. Avery. I couldn’t give two flips about who either one of you are.” She pointed one elegant finger in Jack’s face. “My life is as screwed up as his.” Her finger jerked toward Gavin. “In fact, I’d venture to say I’m more screwed than he is because I’m not a rock star with a bevy of lawyers to do my dirty work for me.”
Her frosty eyes stayed fixed on Jack. “I will say this once and use small words, so you don’t misunderstand. Go. To. Hell.”
She directed her gaze at Gavin and her expression softened. “I panicked, and I ran, but it’s not every day I wake up married to a rock star I don’t remember marrying. I’m deeply sorry for my part in this entire mess. This situation can’t have been any easier on you than it has been on me. I will do whatever I need to do to make this right, but can we please not do this on my family’s front porch?”
Gavin nodded, fascinated. One minute she’d been a scared, intimidated mouse, the next she’d grown fangs and claws and gone toe-to-toe with one of the most ruthless lawyers in Hollywood. He couldn’t decide what was more remarkable, the fact that she’d put him and Jack in their places, or that she’d taken responsibility for her actions.
“Good, because if either one of you does anything to upset my daddy or my aunt, I’ll castrate you both.”
Ouch. Note to self: don’t piss off the redhead.
Chapter 3
If the wall hadn’t been behind her, Scarlett would’ve slid to the porch. Her legs quivered like Jell-O. Confrontation always made her feel this way. She’d used profanity. She hated when she did that. It was so…improper. One more thing to lay at Gavin Bain’s feet and another reason she needed to get rid of him.
Before she could, a shiny red convertible careened down the dirt driveway, kicking up dust like a crimson tornado. It skidded to a stop, spraying gravel into the air. A diminutive dynamo, in
a power suit and Jimmy Choo heels, sprang from the driver’s seat and marched up the sidewalk. Her short black tresses fluttered with every step she took.
Scarlett closed her eyes and exhaled the lungful of air she’d been holding since Gavin and his attorney arrived. She’d never been so happy or surprised to see anyone in her life. Everything would be okay now.
“Scarlett Rose Kelly, don’t say another blessed word.” Her best friend and attorney climbed the three steps to the porch and nodded to both men as she handed them a card. “Luanne Price. I’m Scarlett’s attorney.”
She zeroed in on Scarlett’s bruised cheek. “What the hell happened to your face?” Her mouth thinned, and she shot Gavin an accusatory look.
Scarlett took an involuntary step in front of Gavin. “Calm down, Luanne. I fell.”
A warm hand slid over her hip and lightly patted her behind. A soft whisper blew across her neck. “How’s your butt, tattoo girl?”
Her humiliation reminded her it was boys against girls, and he was the enemy. A low masculine chuckle chased her back to the ladies’ side of the porch.
When she looked at Gavin, he shrugged and grinned. How could a man as unholy sexy as him manage to look like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar?
“Ms. Price, I’m Jack Avery, Mr. Bain’s attorney, and manager.” He extended his hand and offered her a professional smile. “I’m sure you understand this situation is time sensitive. The story is being reported by the media, and your client’s erratic behavior has only served to fuel their curiosity. My client’s reputation could be irreparably damaged because of this marriage and its inevitable conclusion.”
Luanne snorted. “Your client once tried to drown Paris Hilton and kidnapped her dog. By comparison, a quickie marriage in Vegas seems somewhat tame.”
“To be fair,” Gavin interjected, “I only provided the diversion, Johnny stole the dog.”
“You call a near drowning a diversion?” Scarlett was appalled.
“No.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. “Johnny hated that chick. He especially hated the way she carried that poor dog around all the time. It made him nuts, I mean, he was really obsessed. So, we were at the same party as Paris one night, and he decides to rescue…what was that damn dog’s name?” He snapped his fingers a few times. “It doesn’t mat—”
Brides on the Run (Books 1-4) Page 2
