Fugitive Fiancée (3 page)

Mimi looked down to see that her pink pedicured toenails were torn, dirty and bleeding. Her head spun, and she reached out to grab his broad shoulder. She hated acting weak in front of him, but at the moment she was too busy trying not to pass out to care.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his callused hands cradling her foot.

“Nothing. It's silly.”

“Tell me.”

As Mimi struggled to remain conscious, she thought about all the money her father had wasted on doctors and even a hypnotist to help her overcome this ridiculous reaction to the sight of blood. Especially her own. But nothing had helped. In fact, her father's insistence that she conquer this weakness had only seemed to make it worse.

At last, she took a deep breath and focused her attention on his face instead of her foot. “The sight of blood makes me a little woozy. In fact, I have to wax my legs instead of shaving them because I'll pass out if I nick myself with a razor.”

Heat flooded her face when she realized how inappropriate it was to tell him that intimate little detail. Especially now that his thumb was absently stroking the sleek, bare skin of her ankle.

She swallowed hard at his sensuous touch, wanting it both to stop and to go on forever. “I…you…I mean, this really isn't necessary.”

“Don't look,” he ordered as he turned his attention to her left foot.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't stop the small gasp that left her lips when he tugged off her other shoe.

“Does that hurt?”

“Not really,” she breathed, warily opening her eyes.

“Liar,” he said softly. Then he stood, turned and tossed her shoes in the fireplace.

She watched in mute horror as her five-hundred-dollar shoes went up in flames. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm doing you a favor.”

“But…those are the only shoes I have with me.”

“My sister Shelby keeps a pair of boots here that she only wears when she comes out to ride.” His gaze flicked over her. “Might not be a perfect fit, but you two look about the same size.”

“That's not the point. You had no right to dispose of my property. How would you like it if I—” she motioned wildly toward the large picture window “—burned down your barn!”

He arched a brow. “Is that what you were planning to do in there?”

“Of course not. If you want to know the truth, I was hiding out. I figured a hayloft was the last place my fiancé would look, especially since he has horrible hay fever.” She swallowed, realizing the time had come to tell him everything. Well, maybe not everything. She did have some pride.

“I was supposed to be married today. But I…” Mimi's voice quavered, and she paused a moment to gain control. “I just couldn't go through with it. So I left him at the altar, hopped into my car and drove until it wouldn't go any farther.”

The memory rekindled her anger, making her voice stronger. “It didn't matter to me where or how far, I just had to get away. As far away as possible.”

A muscle ticked in Garrett's jaw, but he didn't say anything.

“I walked until I couldn't take another step,” she continued, her fingers flexing on the wrinkled skirt of
her gown. “That's when I saw your ranch. There wasn't anyone around but the dog, and he seemed friendly enough. I thought I could rest for a while in your hayloft. Maybe even stay the night.”

Garrett just stared at her.

“I know that was presumptuous. And I apologize for trespassing on your property.” She nibbled her lower lip. “But I really didn't know what else to do. I certainly couldn't walk right into your house, unlocked or not.”

She swallowed again, her throat dry. “I'd only been up in your hayloft for about thirty minutes when you arrived.”

The way Garrett was looking at her made her increasingly uneasy. Raw emotion smoldered in his eyes.

“Well,” she said after a long, uncomfortable silence, “don't you have anything to say?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded low and tight. “Get the hell off my ranch.”

M
IMI FLINCHED
as the front door slammed. Garrett had ordered her to leave, but he'd been the one to stomp out the door.
Men.
She'd never understand them. Her father was just as unfathomable. Not to mention prickly and stubborn.

Today she'd also learned he was a liar.

Her chest tightened, and Mimi sat up straight on the sofa, suddenly unable to breathe. Frantic fingers clumsily worked the silk buttons running down the back of her gown. The fabric ripped, and she gasped for air until she was finally free of the confining garment.

She stood up, shimmying out of the voluminous gown and letting it pile at her feet. Then she stepped out of it, still decently covered from ankle to collarbone by her white silk bridal slip. She kicked the gown into the corner, then sat on the sofa, placing her head between her knees to regain her equilibrium.

Not a full-fledged panic attack, but close enough. A sign that her life was spinning out of control. Again. It had first happened when she was a freshman in college. A silly infatuation with a charming upper-classman had turned her life upside down and almost caused her to quit school.

Then, two years ago, her father had been diagnosed
with colon cancer. Mimi had immediately left her job with the Archives Department of the Houston Metropolitan Research Center and moved home, devoting herself to her widowed father's care.

An astute businessman, Rupert Casville was suddenly faced with his own mortality. His illness and frailty terrified Mimi.

He lost all interest in Casville Industries, leaving everything in the capable hands of his business attorney, Paul Renquist.

Without his business to occupy his time, her father had focused on continuing the Casville legacy. He soon became obsessed with having grandchildren, and since Mimi was his only child, it was up to her to provide them. Rupert's obsession only got worse after his remission.

She bit her lip, remembering her father's wistful pleas for a grandson. But despite her empathy for him, she'd kept her secret. A secret she'd carried for a decade. Still, a sense of guilt made her agree to go on an endless series of blind dates. But none of the self-absorbed, eligible bachelors her father had found appealed to her.

At twenty-eight, she no longer expected to find her soul mate. But she was willing to settle for someone she could depend on. A man who shared her desire for children and treated her with respect.

A man like Paul Renquist.

He was handsome and charming. A self-made man and a savvy attorney, Paul had efficiently handled every business crisis during her father's illness. Strong and steady, he had been a solid rock to cling to in her suddenly stormy life.

Still, his marriage proposal had come as a complete surprise. Mimi had been stunned, since they'd never shared more than a few casual dinner dates. Paul's reasons for a marriage between them had made so much sense. She hadn't stood a chance against his polished negotiating skills. Especially when he'd insisted on a prenuptial agreement that would prevent him from receiving any of the Casville millions if they divorced.

So Mimi had said yes, believing she'd eventually grow to love him.

Then today, thanks to the ancient ventilation system in the old cathedral, she'd discovered her father had been paying him to romance her all along. Mimi had been alone in the dressing room, fighting off another impending panic attack, when she'd heard their illuminating conversation through the air vent.

She liked to think it was divine providence.

She closed her eyes, her head spinning. She'd almost married a man she didn't love. Almost destroyed her own life, trying to please her father.

Fleeing her wedding was the first impulsive thing she'd done in her life. For the first time she could remember, she wasn't standing in the suffocating shadow of the Casville name. And Garrett was the first man who didn't see dollar signs when he looked at her.

Not that he wanted to look at her. The man had just ordered her out of his house. He obviously didn't realize she wasn't taking orders anymore.

Only she still wasn't sure what to do next.

A dull ache throbbed in her temple as she contemplated her options. No doubt her father and Paul had
already started a full-scale search. She couldn't go home. She couldn't go to a hotel, either, since she didn't have any of her credit cards with her.

More than anything, Mimi needed time to heal. And what better place than on a secluded ranch in the starkly beautiful Texas hill country?

But first she had to figure out a way to convince Garrett to let her stay.

 

“W
OMEN
,” Garrett muttered under his breath as he marched along the fence line, his way lit by the full moon. “I'll never understand them.”

Hubert trotted beside him, emitting a tiny bark as he bounded forward to keep up with Garrett's long stride.

“It's like they go out of their way to drive a man crazy.” Garrett looked at his dog. “Take my advice, Hubert. Don't ever get mixed up with some female. Even if she has eyes like the Texas sky and hair like clover honey.”

Hubert yelped, then drew up his front paw and limped on three legs. Garrett bent and pulled a sandbur from the tender pad of the dog's small paw. Then he straightened and leaned against the corral fence, propping one boot on the bottom rail.

He gazed at the canopy of stars glittering across the big Texas sky. “Of all the haylofts in all the world, why did she have to end up in mine?”

Hubert barked at him, wagging his cropped tail.

Garrett sighed, wondering when he'd become such a coldhearted son of a bitch. Ordering the woman off his ranch hadn't been one of his finer moments. He
stared at the moonlit horizon, letting the nippy breeze cool his temper.

Women had plagued him all day. First his sister Lana, inviting him to dinner. Suspicious of the spark of mischief in her eye, he'd finally gotten her to confess that she planned to invite a date for him, as well. He'd turned down her invitation, but she hadn't made it easy. Lana could be almost as stubborn as Garrett when she set her mind to something.

Then Venna had come after him again, still hell-bent on roping him into matrimony. He couldn't decide if she was incredibly determined or just delusional. The last thing he wanted was a woman looking for husband number three.

Then there was Mimi.

Mimi.
Ever since he'd caught her in his hayloft, she'd been like a sandbur under his skin. Only she didn't cause him any pain. Far from it. She made him remember how damn long it had been since he'd held a woman in his arms. How soft and warm and wonderful women could be.

If only they weren't so damn much trouble.

He'd tried ignoring her, insulting her and intimidating her, but she hadn't taken the hint. He wanted her off his ranch and out of his life. If she wouldn't go willingly, then he'd fling her over his shoulder and haul her to Austin himself.

“Come on, Hubert,” Garrett said, turning to the house. “Time to take Mimi back where she belongs.”

He marched to the house and through the front door, ready to meet any resistance. But his resolve faded when he saw her curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open. He pushed the
door shut behind him, a little louder than necessary, but she didn't even stir.

Her wedding dress was in a heap on the floor. He moved closer to the sofa, noticing the shadows under her eyes. Then his gaze flicked to her bare feet, peeking out beneath the hem of her long silk slip. The raw scratches and livid welts on the soles of her feet looked even worse than before.

The fire popped in the hearth, shooting a spray of orange sparks and making shadows dance on the walls. Watching her sleep, Garrett wondered why he'd let her upset him so much. Mimi was no threat to him. She was some other man's problem. She was also in obviously desperate straits if she'd trust a total stranger not to take advantage of her. He doubted either of his sisters would ever end up in such a crazy situation, but if they did, he hoped no one would kick them out into the cold night.

Picking up the lonestar quilt off the back of the sofa, he gently draped it over her sleeping form, then he switched off the living room light.

“First thing in the morning,” he vowed to himself. “She's outta here.”

“D
ID YOU SEE
this crap?”

Paul Renquist looked up from his breakfast plate as Rupert Casville marched into the formal dining room, waving a newspaper in his hand. Paul had spent the night at the Casville mansion, hoping to talk some sense into Mimi when she returned home.

Only she hadn't come home.

“It's in the society section, Rupert. Nobody who matters reads that.”

“I sure as hell read it.” Rupert slapped the newspaper on the polished oak table. “Who is this Bettina Collingsworth woman, anyway?”

“She reports all the high-profile weddings in Austin.”

“Obviously, she missed her calling. She should be writing UFO reports for the tabloids.” Rupert pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “I can't believe a newspaper like the
Austin American Statesman
would print such melodramatic tripe. I'm tempted to buy the damn newspaper myself just so I can fire this dingbat.”

Paul picked up his fork. “I called Mrs. Collingsworth this morning and asked her to print a retraction.”

“And?”

“And she refused.” Paul hesitated as a maid brought in Rupert's breakfast. Maria only spoke a few words of English, or at least that's what she claimed. Paul didn't believe in taking chances, so he kept his mouth shut.

“This looks wonderful, Maria,” Rupert said, unfolding his napkin. “Thank you.”

She nodded, then, with a dismissive glance at Paul, walked out of the room.

A hot flush crept up his neck. He hated the way the servants looked at him, as if he'd crawled into the Casville mansion on his belly. He'd put his foot down when Mimi had wanted to invite them to the wedding.

Was that why she'd left him at the altar?

He shook his head, still baffled by her behavior. For the last six months, he'd bent over backward to accommodate her every need, grant her every wish. He'd even agreed to her outrageous request not to consummate their relationship until the wedding night.

What more did she want?

Rupert reached for the salt and pepper, liberally sprinkling his plate with both. He ate the same breakfast every morning. Three eggs over easy, a rasher of bacon, hominy grits and a big glass of tomato juice. “So what else did she say?”

Paul looked at him. “Who?”

“That Collingsworth dame.”

Paul picked up a spoon and returned his attention to his grapefruit. “She told me she witnessed Mimi running out of the church herself. So she didn't buy our story about the bride suddenly taking ill.”

“Damn.” Rupert reached into his suitcoat and pulled out a small silver flask. He unscrewed the lid, then poured a generous shot of vodka into his tomato juice.

Paul swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry. “I'll take one of those.”

Rupert raised a grizzled brow. “I thought you gave up the booze.”

“Hell, Rupert, my bride's run out on me! I can't think of a better occasion to fall off the wagon, can you?”

Rupert set the flask on the table and pushed it toward him. “There you go, Paul. Enjoy. Of course, you take one drink, and you can forget about ever marrying my daughter.”

Paul froze, his hand already outstretched toward the flask. He glanced at Rupert's slate-blue eyes and instinctively knew he meant business. But then, Rupert Casville always meant business. And he never let inconsequential things like friends or family, or even his only daughter, stand in his way.

“Marry her?” Paul's hand curled into a fist as he slumped in his chair. “We can't even find her.”

“Mimi simply got a case of cold feet. She'll be back.” Rupert took a sip of tomato juice. “Her mother was skittish, too. High-strung. The thoroughbreds always are.”

Paul watched Rupert push his food away, half-eaten. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight in the last two years. Of course, Rupert's loss was Paul's gain. His illness had given Paul a golden opportunity for a more powerful role at Casville Industries. Not only had he succeeded in a professional sense, but he'd impressed Rupert enough for the CEO to consider him husband material for his man-shy daughter.

Rupert tossed his linen napkin on the table. “I still can't believe Mimi didn't come home last night. It's not like her to be so irresponsible.”

“I suppose we just need to be patient.”

“Patient?” Rupert snapped. “I didn't become one of the richest men in Texas by sitting around on my backside. I make things happen.”